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her parched lips. And trembling as I
listened, J wiped away tkn heavy dew
from her dying brow, and supported her
emaciated frame in my arms, when on a
sudden, she called wildly on the Mar
quis to draw near, and cried aloud in a
hoarse voice that she must not die till all
should be accomplished.
‘ ‘1 cannot go hence,’ said she, ’till jus
tiee has been done. A secret lies heavy
on my sou!—to weigh me down to des
truction. My husband will curse me in
my last moments — my children will
loathe me in the grave—yet, behold, my
task must be fulfilled.’
.‘‘No, no, no! 1 ejaculated Monsieur de
tion, and willing to consterna
words ot his wife to delirious excitement.
‘You are destroying yourself by this vio
lence. Tranquilize your nerves by a
night’s rest. The Cure of Icart has been
sent for, and in the morning, the spir
itual consolations of the Church will
restore you to a happier frame of
mind.’
‘He shall seek me !n the morning and
he shall not find me,’ answered the Mar
chioness in a wild but solemn voice. ‘But
tell him that if I died unblessed by the
sacraments of grace, it was that I held
myself unworthy to approach them in my
struggle with death; although, if earthly
penance may avail in the sight ot the
Most High, tor years and years 1 have
neither stirred nor rested, save with
the remembrance of my sin before my
eves.’
‘lf not in mercy to yourself,—in pity
to me, —desist! 1 cried the poor Marquis,
covering his face with his hands.
‘Nay !’ replied the dying penitent, in a
tone hoarse w ith the near approach of
death; ‘I have deferred my confessions
too Jong already. Husband, my eyes are
dim, and I behold your face no longer,—
Children, my hands are cold as the cold
of the valley, and your embraces must be
mine no more. Grant me only a word
of pity, a word of pity,—a word of par
don !’
‘Mighty heaven!’—cried Ma’mselle So
phie, almost distracted, ‘restore her to
herself! She raves !’
‘Oh ! no, no. lam not raving,’ faltered
Marchioness. ‘With the full and perfect
possession of my faculties, 1 avow that
one of the daughters now weeping be
side me is not the of spring of my hus
band.
‘A thunderbolt falling into the chamber
of death could not have produced a more
startling sensation. The horror of the
announcement burst at nrv-o upon the
minds of the girls. One of them, then,
was in alien. One of them was about to
be cast forth ! One of them on the verge
of orphanhood ! Involuntarily the three
sisters precipitated themselves at the feet
SOUTHERN LITERARY GAZETTE.
of him whom each still trusted might be
her father. The words resounded in their
ears, —One of them is not the offspring of
my husband !
‘Oh! do not say it is 1! Mother,
mother! say not, say not, that it is
1 !’ —cried Sophie, writhing with agony.
‘We have been so happy together !’
ejaculated Claire, embracing both her sis
ters; ‘and must we part at last!’ —while
Antoinette, pale as her dying mother,
was unable to utter a syllable; but kept
convulsively kissing the hand of the Mar
quis, as it a sentence of illegitimacy
would prove to her young heart a sen
tence of death.
‘And since 1 must die with.the. hwmd
<-r j uruw,’ adu’ed the dy
ing woman, ‘let me at least atone the
injury I have inflicted by a (inal act of
justice.’
‘Not another word !’—cried Monsieur
de St. Sauveur, advancing solemnly
towards the bedside; ‘such atonement
were a deeper injury. 1 have loved—l
love these children as my own. J can
not spare the one of which you would
deprive me. 1 have heard too m ch—
I wish to hear no more! —You have
robbed me of my tenderness of the w ife
of my youth; bereave me not ot one of
my beloved girls !’
‘The sisters sprang at once into his
arms ! They bathed him with their
tears, —they clung to the heart, the gen
erous heart of that best of men; and lo !
a flush of indescribable joy lighted up
the countenance of the guilty mother,
whom for a moment they had forgotten.
‘1 die content!’—she faltered, laying
her poor head upon my shoulders. ‘The
innocent one will not be driven forth to
perish- Blessings on him —blessings on
them I die content.’
‘Loudly, at that moment, did 1 call
upon the Marquis t*, extend his hand to
her in token of forgiveness, for 1 saw that
her spirit was passing away. And after
a moment’s pause, he did so; but the
concession came too late. She was gone !
she was at rest! Yet I would have given
much that her dying ears had caught the
parting adjuration of her husband :
‘Thy sins be forgiven thee above, as I
have truly and freely forgiven them !
Vade in paced
* * * * -* *
‘A few hours afterwards, as the morn
ing sun broke into the ehamber, and
shone upon the corpse, a smile dawmed
on the dead face of the marchioness, as
though her triumph over her misery was
accomplished ; as though she had sur
mounted the ordeal ; as though the su
preme Creator, who had fostered her
repentance and perfected her expiation,
had received her into the number of his
elect.’
‘And think you that the marquis had
strength of mind to inquire no further 1 ?’
said Captain R mistrustfully.
‘He was a man of honour, sir,’ said the
widow reproachfully; and he was a]
Christian ; and before the remains of his
wife were cold, he proceeded, in my pre
sence, to consign to the flames every
paper and memorandum she had left ;
peradventure lest, in a moment of human
frailty, he might be tempted to do that
which years of repentance could not avail
to efface. He had mourned for her as
for a wife whom he had loved ; he was
the best of fathers to her chi Id ■en ; and
if the blow, which had thus cruelly and
unexpectedly fallen upon him, tended to
llOi - tulC.l Ulti COllSOicillOn
of having fulfilled a heavy duty/
‘And did you never discover,’ resumed
Mauame Le Tellier’s |piest, ‘which of the
three daughters was the one to whom
the generosity of the marquis was in truth
available V
‘Far be it from me to have made ihe
attempt!’ said the good widow. ‘Yet
methinks no one who witnessed, or hath
heard speak of the conduct of the mar
chioness, need entertain a doubt upon
the subject. Think you, that a woman
of such depth of feeling would have borne
a child unto her husband, after having
once stooped to shame?’
‘lt was Antoinette, then,’ said Captain
R musingly ; ‘the youngest’ —
‘The youngest and best beloved, the
especial favourite of the house ; she who,
thanks to the glorious goodness of Mon
sieur de St. Sauveur, is about to share
the fortunes of her sisters; having al
ready become the wife of an honourable
mn, whose haughty family would as
suredly have rejected the alliance of a
nameless alien/
‘You are right, Madame Le Tellier,’
cried the Eng!i>h gentleman, as if reluc
tantly convinced.
‘Your departed friend was indeed a
great man ; for who so mighty as he who
accomplishes the subjugation of a power
ful human passion? 1 fully sympathize
in your respect towards such a man,’
continued he, tossing off the cup of spiced
Bordeaux which Marion had placed, mean
while, on the table by his side; ‘1 re
joice with you that your friend, your
marquis, your whoever or whatever he
may be, was restored to his native
country, and died in the enjoyment of
his estates/
‘And blessed in the happy prospects of
his grateful children !’ added the widow,
motioning her niece to withdraw her
chair from the hearth, and aid her in re
tiring to rest. ‘And now, young gentle
man, good night, and happier dreams to
you than rnv narrative, l fear, is likely to
excite. Visit us again with my nephew
in a week or twm, and Aucel’s arrival at
St. Medard shall be the signal for anew
[December 18,