Lady Helena had
shed her last tears over it. Lord Airlie had asked to be alone
for a time with his dead love. They had humored him, and for
three long hours he had knelt by her, bidding her a sorrowful
farewell, taking his last look at the face that would never again
smile on earth for him.
They respected the bitterness of his uncontrollable sorrow; no
idle words of sympathy were offered to him; men passed him by
with an averted face--women with tearful eyes.
Lord Earle was alone with his dead child. In a little while
nothing would remain of his beautiful, brilliant daughter but a
memory and a name. He did not weep; his sorrow lay too deep for
tears. In his heart he was asking pardon for the sins and
follies of his youth; his face was buried in his hands, his head
bowed over the silent form of his loved child; and when the door
opened gently, he never raised his eyes--he was only conscious
that some one entered the room, and walked swiftly up the gloomy,
darkened chamber to the bedside. Then a passionate wailing that
chilled his very blood filled the rooms.
"My Beatrice, my darling! Why could I not have died for you?"
Some one bent over the quiet figure, clasping it in tender arms,
calling with a thousand loving words upon the dear one who lay
there--some one whose voice fell like a strain of long-forgotten
music upon his ears.
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