When they had had ten years of happiness,Anne died.'Twas of no violent illness,it seemed but that through these years of joy she had been gradually losing life.She had grown thinner and whiter,and her soft eyes bigger and more prayerful.'Twas in the summer,and they were at Camylott,when one sweet day she came from the flower-garden with her hands full of roses,and sitting down by her sister in her morning-room,swooned away,scattering her blossoms on her lap and at her feet.
When she came back to consciousness she looked up at the duchess with a strange,far look,as if her soul had wandered back from some great distance.
"Let me be borne to bed,sister,"she said."I would lie still.Ishall not get up again."
The look in her face was so unearthly and a thing so full of mystery,that her Grace's heart stood still,for in some strange way she knew the end had come.
They bore her to her tower and laid her in her bed,when she looked once round the room and then at her sister.
"'Tis a fair,peaceful room,"she said."And the prayers I have prayed in it have been answered.To-day I saw my mother,and she told me so.""Anne!Anne!"cried her Grace,leaning over her and gazing fearfully into her face;for though her words sounded like delirium,her look had no wildness in it.And yet--"Anne,Anne!you wander,love,"the duchess cried.
Anne smiled a strange,sweet smile."Perchance I do,"she said."Iknow not truly,but I am very happy.She said that all was over,and that I had not done wrong.She had a fair,young face,with eyes that seemed to have looked always at the stars of heaven.She said I had done no wrong."The duchess's face laid itself down upon the pillow,a river of clear tears running down her cheeks.
"Wrong!"she said--"you!dear one--woman of Christ's heart,if ever lived one.You were so weak and I so strong,and yet as I look back it seems that all of good that made me worthy to be wife and mother I learned from your simplicity."Through the tower window and the ivy closing round it,the blueness of the summer sky was heavenly fair;soft,and light white clouds floated across the clearness of its sapphire.On this Anne's eyes were fixed with an uplifted tenderness until she broke her silence.
"Soon I shall be away,"she said."Soon all will be left behind.
And I would tell you that my prayers were answered--and so,sure,yours will be."No man could tell what made the duchess then fall on her knees,but she herself knew.'Twas that she saw in the exalted dying face that turned to hers concealing nothing more.
"Anne!Anne!"she cried."Sister Anne!Mother Anne of my children!
You have known--you have known all the years and kept it hid!"She dropped her queenly head and shielded the whiteness of her face in the coverlid's folds.
"Ay,sister,"Anne said,coming a little back to earth,"and from the first.I found a letter near the sun-dial--I guessed--I loved you--and could do naught else but guard you.Many a day have Iwatched within the rose-garden--many a day--and night--God pardon me--and night.When I knew a letter was hid,'twas my wont to linger near,knowing that my presence would keep others away.And when you approached--or he--I slipped aside and waited beyond the rose hedge--that if I heard a step,I might make some sound of warning.Sister,I was your sentinel,and being so,knelt while on my guard,and prayed.""My sentinel!"Clorinda cried."And knowing all,you so guarded me night and day,and prayed God's pity on my poor madness and girl's frenzy!"And she gazed at her in amaze,and with humblest,burning tears.
"For my own poor self as well as for you,sister,did I pray God's pity as I knelt,"said Anne."For long I knew it not--being so ignorant--but alas!I loved him too!--I loved him too!I have loved no man other all my days.He was unworthy any woman's love--and I was too lowly for him to cast a glance on;but I was a woman,and God made us so."Clorinda clutched her pallid hand.
"Dear God,"she cried,"you loved him!"
Anne moved upon her pillow,drawing weakly,slowly near until her white lips were close upon her sister's ear.
"The night,"she panted--"the night you bore him--in your arms--"Then did the other woman give a shuddering start and lift her head,staring with a frozen face.
"What!what!"she cried.
"Down the dark stairway,"the panting voice went on,"to the far cellar--I kept watch again.""You kept watch--you?"the duchess gasped.
"Upon the stair which led to the servants'place--that I might stop them if--if aught disturbed them,and they oped their doors--that Imight send them back,telling them--it was I."Then stooped the duchess nearer to her,her hands clutching the coverlid,her eyes widening.
"Anne,Anne,"she cried,"you knew the awful thing that I would hide!That too?You knew that he was THERE!"Anne lay upon her pillow,her own eyes gazing out through the ivy-hung window of her tower at the blue sky and the fair,fleecy clouds.A flock of snow-white doves were flying back and forth across it,and one sate upon the window's deep ledge and cooed.All was warm and perfumed with summer's sweetness.There seemed naught between her and the uplifting blueness,and naught of the earth was near but the dove's deep-throated cooing and the laughter of her Grace's children floating upward from the garden of flowers below.
"I lie upon the brink,"she said--"upon the brink,sister,and methinks my soul is too near to God's pure justice to fear as human things fear,and judge as earth does.She said I did no wrong.
Yes,I knew."
"And knowing,"her sister cried,"you came to me THAT AFTERNOON!""To stand by that which lay hidden,that I might keep the rest away.
