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sleeping, overcome by fatigue, but Ghita and the dying man.
"That star haunts me, Ghita!" Raoul at length muttered, "If it be really
a world, some all-powerful hand must have created it. Chance never made
a world, more than chance made a ship. Thought--mind--intelligence must
have governed at the formation of one as well as of the other."
For months Ghita had not known an instant as happy as that. It appeared
as if the mind of Raoul were about to extricate itself from the shallow
philosophy so much in fashion, and which had hitherto deadened a nature
so kind, an intellect ordinarily so clear. Could his thoughts but once
take the right direction, she had strong confidence in the distinctness
of their views, but most of all in the goodness of the Deity.
"Raoul," she whispered, "God is there, as he is with us, on this rock.
His spirit is everywhere. Bless him!--bless him in thy soul, my beloved,
and be forever happy!"
Raoul answered not. His face was upturned, and his eye still remained
riveted on that particular star. Ghita would not disturb him, but,
taking his hand in hers, she once more knelt and resumed her prayers.
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Minute passed after minute, and neither seemed disposed to speak. At
length Ghita became woman again, and bethought her of her patient's
bodily wants. It was time to administer the liquids of the surgeon, and
she advanced to hold them to his lips. The eye was still fastened on the
star, but the lips did not meet her with the customary smile of love.
They were compressed, as when the body was about to mingle in the
strife of a battle, a sort of stern resolution being settled on them.
Raoul Yvard was dead.
The discovery of the truth was a fearful moment to Ghita. Not a living
being near her had the consciousness of her situation, all being bound
in the sleep of the weary. The first feeling was that which belonged to
her sex. She threw herself on the body, and embraced it wildly, giving
way to those pent-up emotions which her lover, in his moody humors, was
wont to accuse her of not possessing. She kissed the forehead, the
cheeks, the pallid, stern lips of the dead; and, for a time, there was
the danger that her own spirit might pass away in the paroxysm of her
grief. But it was morally impossible for Ghita to remain long under the
influence of despair. Her gentle spirit had communed too long and too
closely with her Heavenly Father, not to resort to his support in all
the critical moments of life. She prayed, for the tenth time that night,
and arose from her knees calm, if not absolutely resigned.
The situation of Ghita was now as wildly picturesque as it was moving to
her inmost spirit. All around her still slept, and that, to the eye, as
profoundly as he who was only to rise again when the sea and the land
give up their dead. The excitement and exertions of the past day
produced their reaction, and seldom did sleep exercise a more profound
influence. The fire was still burning bright on the islet of the
gig-men, casting its rays fairly athwart the ruins, the different
sleepers in them, and the immovable body of the dead. At moments, gusts
of the Tramontana, which was now blowing fresh, descended so low as to
fan the flames, when the glare that succeeded seemed to give a startling
reality to all that surrounded the place.
Still the girl was too highly sustained to be moved with anything but
her loss, and her restless inquietude for the departed spirit. She saw
that even her uncle slept, leaving her truly alone with Raoul. Once a
feeling of desertion came over her, and she was inclined to arouse some
of the sleepers. She did approach the spot where the surgeon lay, and
her hand was raised to stir him, when a flash of light shot athwart the
pallid countenance of Raoul, and she perceived that his eyes were still
open. Drawing near, she bent over the body, gazing long and wistfully
into those windows of the soul that had so often beamed on her in manly
tenderness, and she felt like a miser with his hoarded gold, unwilling
to share it with any other.
Throughout the livelong night did Ghita watch by the body of her
well-beloved, now hanging over it with a tenderness no change could
extinguish, now besieging heaven with her prayers. Not one awoke to
interfere with the strange happiness she felt in those pious offices, or
to wound her sensibilities by the surprise or the sneers of the vulgar.
Ere the day came, she closed the eyes of Raoul with her own hands,
covered his body with a French ensign that lay upon the rock, and sat,
patient and resigned, awaiting the moment when some of the others might
be ready to aid her in performing the last pious offices in behalf of
the dead. As a Romanist, she found a holy consolation in that beautiful
portion of her church's creed that admits of unceasing petition for the
souls of the departed, even to the latest hour of earthly things.
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Winchester was the first to stir. Starting up, he appeared to be
astonished at the situation in which he found himself; but a glance
around told the whole truth. Advancing toward Ghita, he was about to
inquire after the welfare of Raoul, when, struck by the expression of
her seraphic countenance, he turned to the body, and read the truth in
the appropriate pall. It was no time for self-upbraidings, or for
reproaches to others; but arousing the sleepers, in a subdued and
respectful manner, he gave to the place the quiet and seeming sanctity
of a chapel.
Carlo Giuntotardi soon after begged the dead body from the conquerors.
There was no motive for denying the request, and it was placed in a
boat and towed to the shore, accompanied by all who had remained. The
heavy sirocco that soon succeeded drove the waves athwart the islet of
the ruins, effectually erasing its stains of blood, and sweeping every
trace of le Feu-Follet and of the recent events into the sea.
At the foot of the Scaricatojo the seamen constructed a rude bier, and
thus they bore the dead up that wild and yet lovely precipice, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]