Possessed Part 30

"No. He is far from well. You did not realize, dear, what an effect that letter of yours would have upon him. It was a mortal blow."

I tried to speak, but I could not; my bosom rose and fell with quick little gasping breaths, as if I was suffocating.

"There was no particular illness," my friend continued, "just a general fading away, a slow discouragement. He had no interest in anything, and about a month ago Doctor Owen told me the poor fellow would not live long unless we could find you."

"Oh, if I had only known! If I had dreamed that he would care so--so much," I sobbed. "How--how did you find me?"

Seraphine answered with that far-away, mystic look in her eyes: "It was your mother, dear--she told me we must go to Lourdes, she said it quite distinctly, she said we must sail that very week, or it would be too late--and we did sail."

I stared at her with widening, frightened eyes.

"Seraphine! You don't mean that--that Christopher is--here?" I cried.

The clairvoyant bowed her head slowly.

"He is here, at the hotel, but he is very ill. He took cold on the s.h.i.+p and--it got worse. He has pneumonia."

"Oh!" I breathed. I could feel my lips go white.

"The doctor is with him now, and a trained nurse. I left them to search for you. I knew I should find you--somewhere."

I rose quickly and caught my companion's arm.

"Come! We must go to him."

"No! You cannot see him until tomorrow. This is the night of the crisis."

"Please!" I begged.

"No! You must wait here. I will send you word." Then she left me.

Hour after hour I waited at the hospice, knowing that Seraphine would keep her promise and send me some message. At about nine o'clock a little boy came with a note saying that I must come at once.

Christopher was worse.

As we hurried through the square, the whole place was ablaze with lights, the church itself outlined fantastically in electric fires, while great crowds of chanting pilgrims moved in slow procession, each man or woman carrying a torch or lantern or shaded candle and all lifting their voices in that everlasting cry of faith and wors.h.i.+p:

_Ave, Ave, Ave, Maria!

Ave, Ave, Ave, Maria!_

Until the day of my death I shall hear that thunderous chorus sounding in my ears whenever memory turns back my thoughts to this fateful night.

Seraphine met me at the door of the chamber where Christopher lay, feverish and delirious. A French doctor, with pointed beard, watched by the patient gravely, while a sad-eyed nurse held his poor feet huddled in her arms in an effort to give them warmth. Already the life forces were departing from my beloved.

The doctor motioned me silently to a chair, but I came forward and sat on the bed, and bending over my dear one, I called to him fondly:

"Chris! It's Penelope! Oh, my dear, my dear! Don't you know me?" I pleaded.

But there was no answer, no recognition.

An hour pa.s.sed, two hours and still there was no indication that my dear Christopher realized that I was near him, bending over him, praying for him. He turned uneasily in his fever and now and then cried out with a great effort in his delirium; but he never spoke my name or made any reference to his love for me. It was heartbreaking to be there beside him and yet to feel myself so far away from him.

At about eleven the doctor saw that a change was coming and warned me that there would be a lucid interval which would precede the final crisis.

"Within an hour we shall know what to expect," he said. "Either your friend will begin to improve--his heart action will be stronger, his breathing easier, or--he will sink into a state of coma and--" the doctor finished his sentence with an ominous gesture. "You must have courage, dear lady. The balance of his life may be turned by you--either way. It will be a shock for him to see you here, a great shock. I cannot tell how that shock may affect him. It may save him, it may destroy him.

No man of science in my place would take the responsibility of saying to you that you must or must not show yourself to this man at this moment.

You must take the responsibility for yourself--and for him."

"I understand, doctor," I said. "I will take the responsibility."

Again we waited in anguished silence, and soon the change came just as the doctor said it would. Christopher's eyes opened naturally and I saw that the gla.s.sy stare had gone out of them. He knew where he was, he knew what he was saying, he would recognize me, if he saw me; but I drew back into the shadows of the room where I could watch him without being seen. I wanted to think what I must do.

Christopher beckoned Seraphine and the doctor to come close to him.

"I want you to write something for me," he said in weak tones but quite distinctly to Seraphine. "I may not come out of this. I--I don't care very much whether I do or not, but--get some paper--please--and a pencil. The most important thing is about my money--all that I have--everything in the world, understand? I--I leave it all to the only woman I have ever loved--or ever could love--Penelope Wells."

When he had said this he settled back on the pillow and breathed heavily but with a certain sense of relief, as if his mind was now at rest. I bit my lip until my teeth cut into it to keep myself from crying out.

"You are both witnesses to this--to what I have said--you've written it down?" he looked at Seraphine and the doctor who nodded gravely.

"You must find Penelope and tell her that--that she made a mistake to go away. I understand why she did it, but it was a mistake. Tell her I said that we all of us have a whole lot to be sorry for and we must not only ask to be forgiven, but we must be glad to accept the forgiveness of others for--for whatever we have done that is wrong, and we must believe that they are sincere in forgiving us. Tell her that I would have been glad to--to forgive her for--for everything."

His strength was evidently failing and the doctor told him that he had better not try to talk any more. But Christopher smiled in that quaint brave way that I knew so well and lifted his thin white hands in protest.

"Just one thing more--please. It won't make any particular difference, doc, and I want to say it. I want you to be sure to tell her this--write it down. Tell her two things. One is that there isn't any argument about my loving her because I am dying for her--now--that's a fact. There isn't anything else I want to live for if I can't have Penelope. The other thing is that--" He paused as a violent spasm of coughing shook his wasted body, and again the doctor told him to be quiet, but he gave no heed.

"The other thing is--be sure to tell her this--that I would sooner have lived with Penelope--I don't care how many devils she was possessed with--than with all the saints in the calendar. I loved her--" He struggled to raise himself and then lifting his voice in a supreme effort, "I loved her good or bad. I--I couldn't help loving her.

There--that's all. Let me sign it."

This was too much for me. As I saw my dear love tracing his name with painful strokes, I could control myself no longer and rushed out of the darkness to him, feeling that I must cry out wildly against his leaving me. I must fight the grim shadows that were enveloping him. I must keep him for myself by the fierce power of my love.

Just then a great glare from the torches filled the chamber and Christopher's eyes met mine. I stood speechless, choked with emotion, and as I tried to force my will against these obstacles of weakness, the cry of the pilgrims resounded from the streets below, a vast soul-stirring cry:

"_Hosanna! hosanna au fils de David!_"

At this I fell on my knees by the bedside and buried my face in my hands. I realized suddenly that it was not for me to dispute G.o.d's will even for this life that was so dear to me, even for our great love. Once more I must fight my selfish pride and yield everything into G.o.d's keeping for better or for worse. But with all my soul I prayed, not daring to look up: "Dear G.o.d, save him! Give him back to me."

Then I felt Christopher's hand on my head, resting there lovingly.

"Penelope!" he said.

"Chris!"

Down in the street the lines of fire swept past in a molten sea while the roar of wors.h.i.+pping voices came up to me:

"_Hosanna! hosanna au fils de David!_"

And still I prayed, with my head buried in my arms: "Save him! Dear G.o.d, save him and give him back to me!"

_And G.o.d did._