“I do not doubt it,” cried Standish, in a voice of anguish. “Though you pardon me, I can never pardon myself.”
“Think no more of me,” she said. “Let no remembrance of me mar your future happiness. Heaven never intended I should be your wife, and though I have reconciled myself to my hard destiny, I feel this death is a boon to me, and has saved me much suffering. May you be happy with Engracia!”
The effort was too much, and she sank back upon the pillow.
Standish thought all was over, and with difficulty repressed a cry.
After remaining quiet for a few moments she again spoke.
“One thing distresses me greatly,” she said. “I cannot see my father—I cannot receive his blessing. But you will see him. Tell him I thought of him, and reproached myself that I have not adequately requited his strong affection for me. Heaven, therefore, has denied me his blessing.”
“I will tell him what you say,” cried Standish. “Have you any further injunction for me?”
“Should you behold my father again, give him this necklace,” she said, taking off a little string of beads; “and now, farewell for ever!”
Seeing she was sinking, Standish flew to open the door, and in another moment the countess and her daughters were kneeling by the bedside.
She beheld them not, for her eyes were closed, but she heard them, and breathed their names.
They were followed by Archdeacon Rutter, who likewise knelt down with Standish, and recited the prayer for the dying. But ere it was ended her spirit had passed away.
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XXVII
How the Soldiers of the Garrison looked their last on their Favourite
No event had occurred during the siege that caused such a painful sensation as the death of Gertrude Rosworm.
Next to the countess herself, no one was more universally beloved than Gertrude. Her beauty, her courage, her devotion made her the pride of the garrison. All the officers were secretly in love with her, though she favoured none of them. The men adored her, and whenever she appeared among them, they testified their delight. To catch sight of her figure on the parade, on the Eagle Tower, or in the chapel, was always a gratification to them. To be thus deprived of their favourite by the hand of an assassin was a blow that all felt severely; but if anything could mitigate their regret, it was that she had saved the countess.
However, on that melancholy day, the garrison presented a very different aspect from what it usually wore. Sorrow was depicted on every manly countenance. The young ladies Stanley were overwhelmed with grief, and Lady Derby suffered deeply.
In compliance with the earnest wishes of the soldiers expressed through their officers, they were allowed to behold their favourite once more.
Placed on a bier, in the attire worn when she met her fate, the body of the unfortunate damsel was conveyed to the chapel. It was partly covered by a black velvet mantle which served as a pall, but the face and upper part of the person could be seen.
As yet the features had lost none of their beauty—nay, perhaps they looked more beautiful than in life—at least, the beholders thought so, and the striking spectacle was never effaced from their remembrance.
Some of the officers were stationed at the door of the chapel, and others inside, while Archdeacon Rutter and Docter Brideoake were likewise present.
The musketeers came in singly, but lingered not. After gazing for an instant at the lovely and now placid features of the dead, each passed on.
It was touching to see how deeply these stout-hearted men were moved. For the time they repressed their grief, but gave vent to it when they left the chapel.
All the garrison, at intervals when the men could quit their posts, came to look their last on their favourite.
The body remained there till evening, when it was taken back to the house, and placed in a coffin that had been prepared for it.
At midnight it was brought back again to the chapel, where the funeral rites were performed by Archdeacon Rutter in the presence of the countess and her daughters, the officers, and a great part of the household, both male and female. Many tears were shed on this sad occasion.
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