Bessie's Fortune Part 44

"Would you like me to kiss you Bessie?"

"Ye-es," she answered, faintly, and then Grey pressed his lips to hers in a long, pa.s.sionate kiss, with no thought that there was danger and possible death in the hot breath which he felt upon his cheek as he laid it against hers.

He thought of nothing but the sick girl before him, whom he had kissed, and whom he now knew that he loved better than anything it life; ay, whom he had loved since the Christmas-time when he first looked into her blue eyes and played for the knot of ribbon she wore at her throat.

Grey had seen much of the world, and many bright eyes had flashed upon him glances which mean so much, but which had never affected him.

Nothing, in fact, had touched him until he saw Bessie McPherson, whom he had remembered always, and sometimes to himself he had said:

"I will see her again. I will know her better, and if--"

He never got farther than that "if," though he was conscious that in all his pictures of a future home there was a face like hers as he had seen it in the old stone house at Stoneleigh. He had not sought her again, but he had found her unsought--sick, helpless, dying perhaps, and he knew how much he loved her, and how dark would be the future if she were s.n.a.t.c.hed from him.

"Oh, Heaven, I can't let her die!" he cried; and, falling on his knees by the bedside, he prayed long and earnestly that she might live for him, who loved her so devotedly.

This was the night before the second day of the carnival, when Grey felt obliged to leave her for a few hours and do duty at his Aunt Lucy's side. Miss Grey had that morning heard rumors of fever in Rome, and with her fears aroused she signified to Grey her wish to leave the city the following Monday.

"You are looking very thin," she said, regarding him anxiously as he bent over her chair, "and I am not feeling very well myself. It is time we were out of Rome I am sure it is not healthy here."

She did look pale, Grey noticed, and, as his first duty was to her, he signified his readiness to leave with her on Monday.

"I shall know the worst by that time," he thought "If she is better, I can go with a good heart; if she is dead, it matters little where I am.

All places will be the same to me."

And so it was settled that with his Aunt Lucy he should leave for Florence on the following Monday, and with a heavy heart he said good-by to her when the festivities of the day were over, and went back to his hotel.

CHAPTER II.

FAREWELL.

It was Sunday, and the gay pageant of the carnival was moving through the Via Nazzionale, on which the Hotel du Quirinal stands. This was the grandest, gayest day of all, and the spectacle which the long street presented, as carriage after carriage, and company after company pressed on, had in it nothing of the calm, quiet repose which we are wont to a.s.sociate with Sunday. It was not Sunday to the throng of masqueraders filling the streets, or the mult.i.tude of spectators crowding the balconies and windows of the tall houses on either side of the way. But to the little group of friends gathered in the room where Bessie lay it was the holy Sabbath time, and, save when by the opening of some door across the hall a strain of music or shout of merriment was borne to their ears, they would never have guessed what was pa.s.sing. The fever had burned itself out on Bessie's cheeks and left them colorless as marble; while in her eyes, so large and heavy with restlessness and pain, there was a look of recognition, and on the pale lips a smile for those around her. She had known them all since the early morning, when, awaking from a heavy sleep, she called her mother by name, and asked where she was and what had happened to her.

The last three weeks had been a blank, and they broke it to her gradually, and told her of Grey Jerrold's presence, and how she had mistaken him for Neil, from whom they had that day heard, and who would be with them on Monday. It was Flossie who told Bessie this last, as she kissed the white forehead, and said through her tears:

"I am so glad to see you better; it nearly broke my heart when I thought that you might die--and Mr. Jerrold, too, I am sure would have died if you had. Oh, Bessie, I never saw this Neil, but he can not be as nice as Mr. Jerrold, who, next to Sir Jack, is the best man in the world."

"Hush, Flossie!" Bessie whispered, for she had not strength to speak aloud, "such things are over with me now. I shall never see Sir Jack again; never see Neil, for when he comes to-morrow I shall not be here."

"Oh, Bessie," Flossie cried, with a great gush of tears; but Bessie motioned her to be silent, and went on:

"Tell Sir Jack that I might have loved him had I seen him first, but it will not matter soon whom I have loved, or who has loved me. Tell Neil, when he comes and stands beside me, and I cannot speak to him, that I loved him to the last, and if I had lived I would have been his wife whenever he wished it; but it is better to die, for perhaps I could not have borne the burden and the care again. I am so tired, and the rest beyond the grave looks very sweet to me. You say Mr. Jerrold is here. I should like to see him and thank him for his kindness."

Grey had not been to the room that morning, but he soon came and was admitted to Bessie's presence. Smiling sweetly upon him as he came in, Bessie said:

"I cannot offer you my hand, for I have no power to move it; the life has all gone from me--see," and she tried in vain to lift one of the thin, transparent hands which lay so helplessly just where Flossie had put them.

"Don't try," Grey said, sitting down beside her, and placing one of his own broad, warm palms upon the little hands, as if he would thus communicate to them some of his own strength and vitality. "I am glad to find you better," he continued; but Bessie shook her head and answered him:

"Sane, but not better. I shall never be that; but I want to thank you for all you have done for us--for mother and me. You were with me when father died I remember all you did for me then, and I prayed G.o.d to bless you for it many a time; and now, I am going where father has gone, and shall sleep by him in the little yard at home, for they will take me back; mother has promised--I could not rest here in Rome, lovely as the grave-yard is. Flossie told me you were to leave to-morrow, and I wanted to say good-by, and tell you how much good you have done me, though you do not know it. Neil told me once of your resolve to make somebody happy every day, and I have never forgotten it, and have in my poor way tried to do so, too, in imitation of you, but have failed so miserably; while you--oh, Mr. Jerrold, you are so n.o.ble and good. You have made so many happy. G.o.d bless you, and give you everything which you desire most."

She was too much exhausted to talk any more, and closing her eyes, she lay as if asleep, while Grey watched her with the bitterest pain in his heart he had ever known. Would she die? Must he give her up? Was there yet no brightness, no happiness in the world for her, whose life had been one of sacrifice and toil? He could not think so, and all his soul went out in one continuous prayer: "Don't let Bessie die."

All day she lay motionless as the dead, scarcely lifting even an eyelid, or showing that she was conscious of what was pa.s.sing around her, save when her mother's low, moaning cry, "Bessie, oh, Bessie, I cannot give you up," sounded through the room. Then she moved uneasily, and said:

"Don't, mother, please; G.o.d knows best. He will care for you--and you--you--will keep your promise?"

"Yes, child; so help me G.o.d!" Daisy answered, excitedly. "I promised you to be a better woman, and I will; but oh, my Heavenly Father, don't let Bessie die."

It was the echo of Grey's prayer, and Flossie took it up and made it hers, and so the day wore on and the night stole into the quiet room, and it was time for Grey to say good-by, for he was to leave on the early train, and he had yet much to do in settling bills both for himself and Daisy, and providing for her needs in case Neil did not come.

"If I thought he would not be with you to-morrow I would stay, though to do so would greatly disappoint my Aunt Lucy," he said to Daisy, who was unselfish enough to bid him go, though she knew how she should miss him, and fell intuitively that twenty Neils could not fill his place.

"I cannot ask you to stay longer. May G.o.d bless you for all you have been to us," she said, as she took his hand at parting, and then turned away with a feeling of utter desolation in her heart.

Only Flossie was with Bessie, who was sleeping quietly, when Grey entered the room to say farewell to the young girl, whose face looked so small and thin, and white as it rested upon the pillows. When her fever was at its height and her heavy hair seemed to trouble her, her physician had commanded it to be cut off.

"It will all come out anyway if she lives," he said, and so the cruel scissors had severed the long, bright tresses which had been Bessie's crowning glory.

But the hair, which had only been cut short, grew rapidly and lay in little curls all over her head making her look more like a child than a girl of nineteen.

Flossie knew it was Grey's farewell, and guessed that he would rather be alone with Bessie, even though she were sleeping. So she arose, and offering him her chair, stole softly out and closed the door behind her.

For a few moments Grey sat gazing intently upon the beautiful face as if he would stamp its image upon his heart, so that whatever came, whether for weal or woe, he should never forget it; and then he prayed fervently, that, if possible, G.o.d would give back the life now ebbing so low, and that he yet might win the prize he longed for so ardently.

"Oh, Bessie, poor, little tired Bessie," he whispered, as he gently touched one of the hands near him; "if I might call you mine, might take you to my home across the sea, how happy I would make you. I cannot let you die just as I know how much I love you, and something tells me you will yet be mine. We should all love you so much, my mother, Aunt Lucy, Aunt Hannah, and all."

And then suddenly, as his mind leaped to the future, Grey seemed to see the old farm-house in the rocky pasture-land far away, and Bessie was there with him, sitting just where he had so often sat when a child, on the little bench in the wood-shed close against the wall, beyond which was that hidden grave whose shadow had, in a way, darkened his whole life. And it fell upon him now with an added blackness as he thought:

"Could I take Bessie and not tell her of that grave? I don't know; but G.o.d will help me to do right, and all things will seem possible if He gives Bessie to me."

She was breathing a little more heavily now; she might be waking; he must kiss her good-by before she was conscious of the act, and bending over her he kissed her forehead and lips and cheeks, on which his hot tears fell fast.

"Good-by, my darling," he whispered. "In this world you may never know how much I love you, but in the next, perhaps, I may be permitted to tell you how it broke my heart to see you lying so low and to know that I must leave you. Darling Bessie, good-by;" and with another kiss upon her lips he lifted up his head to meet the wondering gaze of the blue eyes, in which for an instant there was a puzzled, startled expression, then they filled with tears, and Bessie's lips quivered as she said:

"Don't, Mr. Jerrold, such words are not for me. I--don't you know?"

She hesitated a moment, and he said:

"I know nothing except that I love you with my whole heart and soul, and whether you live or die you will be the sweetest memory of my life.

Don't talk; it is not necessary," he continued rapidly, as he saw her about to speak. "I am not going to trouble you now; you are too weak for that. I am here to say good-by, for I must leave to-morrow; but in the future, when you are well, as something tells me you will be--"

"Oh, Mr. Jerrold, listen," Bessie began, just as the door opened and Flossie came in.

"Time's up," she said, smilingly, as she glanced at Bessie's flushed cheek and Grey's white face, and guessed that something exciting had taken place.

When Jack Trevellian returned from his unsuccessful wooing the previous summer, he had in strict confidence told Flossie _why_ he failed, so that she knew of Bessie's engagement to Neil, but did not feel at liberty to communicate what she knew to Grey, even though she guessed the nature of his feelings for Bessie. And so he was ignorant that he had a rival, and did not in the least suspect the truth, as he once more said farewell and followed Flossie out into the hall.