Other Things Being Equal [88]
upon her, "I wanted to get home; but it is all right now. Is the child in bed, Esther?"
"Here she is; lie still, Jules; you know you are ill."
"But not now. Ah, Kemp, I can get up now; I am quite well, you know."
"Wait till morning," he resisted, humoring this inevitable idiosyncrasy.
"But it is morning now; and I feel so light and well. Open the shutters, Ruth; see, Esther; a beautiful day."
It was quite dark with the darkness that immediately precedes dawn; the windows were bespangled with the distillations of the night, which gleamed as the light fell on them.
Mrs. Levice seated herself beside him.
"It is very early, Jules," she said, smiling with hope, not knowing that this deceptive feeling was but the rose-flush of the sinking sun; "but if you feel well when day breaks you can get up, can't he Doctor?"
"Yes."
Levice lay back with closed eyes for some minutes. A quivering smile crossed his face and his eyes opened.
"Were you singing that song just now, Ruth, my angel?"
"What son, Father dear?"
"That--'Adieu, --adieu--pays--amours'--we sang it--you know--when we left home together--my mother said--I was too small--too small--and--too--"
Ruth looked around wildly for Kemp. He had left the room; she must go for him. As she came into the hall, she saw him and Louis hurriedly advancing up the corridor. Seeing her, they reached her side in a breath.
"Go," she whispered through pale lips; "he is breathing with that--"
Kemp laid his hand upon her shoulder.
"Stay here a second; it will be quite peaceful."
She looked at him in agony and walked blindly in after Louis.
He was lying as they had left him, with Mrs. Levice's hand in his.
"Keep tight hold, darling," the rattling voice was saying. "Don't take it off till--another takes it--it will not be hard then." Suddenly he saw Louis standing pale and straight at the foot of the bed.
"My good boy," he faltered, "my good boy, God will bless--" His eyes closed again; paler and paler grew his face.
"Father!" cried Ruth in agony.
He looked toward her smiling.
"The sweetest word," he murmured; "it was--my glory."
Silence. A soul is passing; a simple, loving soul, giving no trouble in its passage; dropping the toils, expanding with infinity. Not utterly gone; immortality is assured us in the hearts that have touched ours.
Silence. A shadow falls, and Jules Levice's work is done; and the first sunbeams crept about him, lay at his feet a moment, touched the quiet hands, fell on the head like a benediction, and rested there.
Chapter XXVII
I thought you would be quiet at this hour," said Rose Delano, seating herself opposite her friend in the library, the Thursday evening after the funeral. They looked so different even in the waning light, --Ruth in soft black, her white face shining like a lily above her sombre gown, Rose, like a bright firefly, perched on a cricket, her cheeks rosy, her eyes sparkling from walking against the sharp, cold wind.
"We are always quiet now," she answered softly; "friends come and go, but we are very quiet. It does me good to see you, Rosebud."
"Does it?" her sweet eyes smiled happily. "I was longing to drop in if only to hold your hand for a minute; but I did not know exactly where to find you."
"Why, where could I be but here?"
"I thought possibly you had removed to your husband's home."
For a second Ruth looked at her wonderingly; then the slow rich color mounted, inch by inch, back to her little ears till her face was one rosy cloud.
"No; I have stayed right on."
"I saw the doctor to-day," she chatted. "He looks pale; is he too busy?"
"I do not know, --that is, I suppose so. How are the lessons, Rose?"
"Everything is improving wonderfully; I am so happy, dear Mrs. Kemp, and what I wished to say was that all happiness and all blessings should, I pray, fall on you two who have been so much to me. Miss Gwynne told me that to do good was your birthright. She said that the funeral, with its vast gathering of friends, rich, poor, old,
"Here she is; lie still, Jules; you know you are ill."
"But not now. Ah, Kemp, I can get up now; I am quite well, you know."
"Wait till morning," he resisted, humoring this inevitable idiosyncrasy.
"But it is morning now; and I feel so light and well. Open the shutters, Ruth; see, Esther; a beautiful day."
It was quite dark with the darkness that immediately precedes dawn; the windows were bespangled with the distillations of the night, which gleamed as the light fell on them.
Mrs. Levice seated herself beside him.
"It is very early, Jules," she said, smiling with hope, not knowing that this deceptive feeling was but the rose-flush of the sinking sun; "but if you feel well when day breaks you can get up, can't he Doctor?"
"Yes."
Levice lay back with closed eyes for some minutes. A quivering smile crossed his face and his eyes opened.
"Were you singing that song just now, Ruth, my angel?"
"What son, Father dear?"
"That--'Adieu, --adieu--pays--amours'--we sang it--you know--when we left home together--my mother said--I was too small--too small--and--too--"
Ruth looked around wildly for Kemp. He had left the room; she must go for him. As she came into the hall, she saw him and Louis hurriedly advancing up the corridor. Seeing her, they reached her side in a breath.
"Go," she whispered through pale lips; "he is breathing with that--"
Kemp laid his hand upon her shoulder.
"Stay here a second; it will be quite peaceful."
She looked at him in agony and walked blindly in after Louis.
He was lying as they had left him, with Mrs. Levice's hand in his.
"Keep tight hold, darling," the rattling voice was saying. "Don't take it off till--another takes it--it will not be hard then." Suddenly he saw Louis standing pale and straight at the foot of the bed.
"My good boy," he faltered, "my good boy, God will bless--" His eyes closed again; paler and paler grew his face.
"Father!" cried Ruth in agony.
He looked toward her smiling.
"The sweetest word," he murmured; "it was--my glory."
Silence. A soul is passing; a simple, loving soul, giving no trouble in its passage; dropping the toils, expanding with infinity. Not utterly gone; immortality is assured us in the hearts that have touched ours.
Silence. A shadow falls, and Jules Levice's work is done; and the first sunbeams crept about him, lay at his feet a moment, touched the quiet hands, fell on the head like a benediction, and rested there.
Chapter XXVII
I thought you would be quiet at this hour," said Rose Delano, seating herself opposite her friend in the library, the Thursday evening after the funeral. They looked so different even in the waning light, --Ruth in soft black, her white face shining like a lily above her sombre gown, Rose, like a bright firefly, perched on a cricket, her cheeks rosy, her eyes sparkling from walking against the sharp, cold wind.
"We are always quiet now," she answered softly; "friends come and go, but we are very quiet. It does me good to see you, Rosebud."
"Does it?" her sweet eyes smiled happily. "I was longing to drop in if only to hold your hand for a minute; but I did not know exactly where to find you."
"Why, where could I be but here?"
"I thought possibly you had removed to your husband's home."
For a second Ruth looked at her wonderingly; then the slow rich color mounted, inch by inch, back to her little ears till her face was one rosy cloud.
"No; I have stayed right on."
"I saw the doctor to-day," she chatted. "He looks pale; is he too busy?"
"I do not know, --that is, I suppose so. How are the lessons, Rose?"
"Everything is improving wonderfully; I am so happy, dear Mrs. Kemp, and what I wished to say was that all happiness and all blessings should, I pray, fall on you two who have been so much to me. Miss Gwynne told me that to do good was your birthright. She said that the funeral, with its vast gathering of friends, rich, poor, old,