"'Twas not mere human woman who sat there,"they said afterwards in the stables among their fellows."'Twas somewhat more.Had such a will been in an evil thing a man's hair would have risen on his skull at the seeing of it.""Go now,"she said to them,"and send women to set the place in order."She had seen delirium and death enough in the doings of her deeds of mercy,to know that his strength had gone and death was coming.His bed and room were made orderly,and at last he lay in clean linen,with all made straight.Soon his eyes seemed to sink into his head and stare from hollows,and his skin grew grey,but ever he stared only at his daughter's face.
"Clo,"he said at last,"stay by me!Clo,go not away!""I shall not go,"she answered.
She drew a seat close to his bed and took his hand.It lay knotted and gnarled and swollen-veined upon her smooth palm,and with her other hand she stroked it.His breath came weak and quick,and fear grew in his eyes.
"What is it,Clo?"he said."What is't?""'Tis weakness,"replied she,soothing him."Soon you will sleep.""Ay,"he said,with a breath like a sob."'Tis over."His big body seemed to collapse,he shrank so in the bed-clothes.
"What day o'the year is it?"he asked.
"The tenth of August,"was her answer.
"Sixty-nine years from this day was I born,"he said,"and now 'tis done.""Nay,"said she--"nay--God grant--"
"Ay,"he said,"done.Would there were nine and sixty more.What a man I was at twenty.I want not to die,Clo.I want to live--to live--live,and be young,"gulping,"with strong muscle and moist flesh.Sixty-nine years--and they are gone!"He clung to her hand,and stared at her with awful eyes.Through all his life he had been but a great,strong,human carcass;and he was now but the same carcass worn out,and at death's door.Of not one human thing but of himself had he ever thought,not one creature but himself had he ever loved--and now he lay at the end,harking back only to the wicked years gone by.
"None can bring them back,"he shuddered."Not even thou,Clo,who art so strong.None--none!Canst pray,Clo?"with the gasp of a craven.
"Not as chaplains do,"she answered."I believe not in a God who clamours but for praise.""What dost believe in,then?"
"In One who will do justice,and demands that it shall be done to each thing He has made,by each who bears His image--ay,and mercy too--but justice always,for justice is mercy's highest self."Who knows the mysteries of the human soul--who knows the workings of the human brain?The God who is just alone.In this man's mind,which was so near a simple beast's in all its movings,some remote,unborn consciousness was surely reached and vaguely set astir by the clear words thus spoken.
"Clo,Clo!"he cried,"Clo,Clo!"in terror,clutching her the closer,"what dost thou mean?In all my nine and sixty years--"and rolled his head in agony.
In all his nine and sixty years he had shown justice to no man,mercy to no woman,since he had thought of none but Jeoffry Wildairs;and this truth somehow dimly reached his long-dulled brain and wakened there.
"Down on thy knees,Clo!"he gasped--"down on thy knees!"It was so horrible,the look struggling in his dying face,that she went down upon her knees that moment,and so knelt,folding his shaking hands within her own against her breast.
"Thou who didst make him as he was born into Thy world,"she said,"deal with that to which Thou didst give life--and death.Show him in this hour,which Thou mad'st also,that Thou art not Man who would have vengeance,but that justice which is God.""Then--then,"he gasped--"then will He damn me!""He will weigh thee,"she said;"and that which His own hand created will He separate from that which was thine own wilful wrong--and this,sure,He will teach thee how to expiate.""Clo,"he cried again -"thy mother--she was but a girl,and died alone--I did no justice to her!--Daphne!Daphne!"And he shook beneath the bed-clothes,shuddering to his feet,his face growing more grey and pinched.
"She loved thee once,"Clorinda said."She was a gentle soul,and would not forget.She will show thee mercy.""Birth she went through,"he muttered,"and death--alone.Birth and death!Daphne,my girl--"And his voice trailed off to nothingness,and he lay staring at space,and panting.
The duchess sat by him and held his hand.She moved not,though at last he seemed to fall asleep.Two hours later he began to stir.
He turned his head slowly upon his pillows until his gaze rested upon her,as she sat fronting him.'Twas as though he had awakened to look at her.
"Clo!"he cried,and though his voice was but a whisper,there was both wonder and wild question in it--"Clo!"But she moved not,her great eyes meeting his with steady gaze;and even as they so looked at each other his body stretched itself,his lids fell--and he was a dead man.
