Staggering a few paces backward--a death-like sickness overspread my heart--a crowd of confused and terrible emotions rushed through my mind.--But a momentary reflection recalled my scattered thoughts. Once before, I had saved from death an object so fatal to my repose. I exerted all my powers, his hair was clotted, and his face disfigured with blood; I ordered the servants to raise and carry him to an adjoining apartment, wherein was a large, low sopha, on which they laid him. Carefully washing the blood from the wound, I found he had received a dangerous contusion in his head, but that the scull, as I had at first apprehended, was not fractured. I cut the hair from the wounded part, and applied a proper bandage. I did more--no other a.s.sistance being at hand, I ventured to open a vein: the blood presently flowed freely, and he began to revive. I bathed his temples, and sprinkled the room with vinegar, opened the windows to let the air pa.s.s freely through, raised his head with the pillows of the sopha, and sprinkled his face and breast with cold water. I held his hand in mine--I felt the languid and wavering pulse quicken--I fixed my eyes upon his face--at that moment every thing else was forgotten, and my nerves seemed firmly braced by my exertions.

He at length opened his eyes, gazed upon me with a vacant look, and vainly attempted, for some time, to speak. At last, he uttered a few incoherent words, but I perceived his senses were wandering, and I conjectured, too truly, that his brain had received a concussion. He made an effort to rise, but sunk down again.

'Where am I,' said he, 'every object appears to me double.'

He shut his eyes, and remained silent. I mixed for him a cordial and composing medicine, and entreating him to take it, he once more raised himself, and looked up.--Our eyes met, his were wild and unsettled.

'That voice,'--said he, in a low tone, 'that countenance--Oh G.o.d! where am I?'

A strong, but transient, emotion pa.s.sed over his features. With a trembling hand he seized and swallowed the medicine I had offered, and again relapsed into a kind of lethargic stupor. I then gave orders for a bed to be prepared, into which I had him conveyed. I darkened the room, and desired, that he might be kept perfectly quiet.

I retired to my apartment, my confinement was yet but recent, and I had not perfectly recovered my strength. Exhausted by the strong efforts I had made, and the stronger agitation of my mind, I sunk into a fainting fit, (to which I was by no means subject) and remained for some time in a state of perfect insensibility. On my recovery, I learnt that Mr Lucas, the a.s.sistant of my husband, had returned, and was in the chamber of the stranger; I sent for him on his quitting the apartment, and eagerly interrogated him respecting the state of the patient. He shook his head--I related to him the methods I had taken, and enquired whether I had erred? He smiled--

'You are an excellent surgeon,' said he, 'you acted very properly, but,'

observing my pallid looks, 'I wish your little nursery may not suffer from your humanity'--

'I lay no claim,' replied I with emotion--'to extraordinary humanity--I would have done the same for the poorest of my fellow creatures--but this gentleman is an old acquaintance, _a friend_, whom, in the early periods of my life, I greatly respected.'

'I am sorry for it, for I dare not conceal from you, that I think him in a dangerous condition.'

I changed countenance--'There is no fracture, no bones are broken.'--

'No, but the brain has received an alarming concussion--he is also, otherwise, much bruised, and, I fear, has suffered some internal injury.'

'You distress and terrify me,' said I, gasping for breath--'What is to be done--shall we call in further advice?'

'I think so; in the mean time, if you are acquainted with his friends, you would do well to apprize them of what has happened.'

'I know little of them, I know not where to address them--Oh! save him,'

continued I, clasping my hands with encreased emotion, unconscious of what I did, 'for G.o.d's sake save him, if you would preserve me from dis--'

A look penetrating and curious from Lucas, recalled me to reason.

Commending his patient to my care, he quitted me, and rode to the next town to procure the aid of a skilful and experienced Physician. I walked up and down the room for some time in a state of distraction.

'He will die'--exclaimed I--'die in my house--fatal accident! Oh, Augustus! _too tenderly beloved_, thou wert fated to be the ruin of my peace! But, whatever may be the consequences, I will perform, for thee, the last tender offices.--I will not desert my duty!'

The nurse brought to me my infant, it smiled in my face--I pressed it to my bosom--I wept over it.--How could I, from that agitated bosom, give it a pernicious sustenance?

CHAPTER XXI

In the evening, I repaired to the chamber of Mr Harley, I sat by his bed-side, I gazed mournfully on his flushed, but vacant countenance--I took his hand--it was dry and burning--the pulse beat rapidly, but irregularly, beneath my trembling fingers. His lips moved, he seemed to speak, though inarticulately--but sometimes raising his voice, I could distinguish a few incoherent sentences. In casting my eyes round the room, I observed the scattered articles of his dress, his cloaths were black, and in his hat, which lay on the ground, I discovered a c.r.a.pe hatband. I continued to hold his burning hand in mine.

'She died,'--said he--'and my unkindness killed her--unhappy Emma--thy heart was too tender!'--I shuddered--'No, no,'--continued he, after a few minutes pause, 'she is not married--she dared not give her hand without her heart, _and that heart was only mine_!' he added something more, in a lower tone, which I was unable to distinguish.

Overcome by a variety of sensations, I sunk into a chair, and, throwing my handkerchief over my face, indulged my tears.

Sometimes he mentioned his wife, sometimes his mother.--At length, speaking rapidly, in a raised voice--'My son,'--said he, 'thou hast no mother--but Emma will be a mother to thee--she will love thee--_she loved thy father_--her heart was the residence of gentle affections--yet, I pierced that heart!'

I suspected, that a confused recollection of having seen me on recovering from the state of insensibility, in which he had been brought, after the accident, into our house, had probably recalled the a.s.sociations formerly connected with this idea. The scene became too affecting: I rushed from the apartment. All the past impressions seemed to revive in my mind--my thoughts, with fatal mechanism, ran back into their old and accustomed channels.--For a moment, conjugal, maternal, duties, every consideration _but for one object_ faded from before me!

In a few hours, Mr Lucas returned with the physician;--I attended them to the chamber, heedfully watching their looks. The fever still continued very high, accompanied with a labouring, unsteady pulse, a difficult respiration, and strong palpitations of the heart. The doctor said little, but I discovered his apprehensions in his countenance. The patient appeared particularly restless and uneasy, and the delirium still continued. On quitting the apartment, I earnestly conjured the gentlemen to tell me their opinion of the case. They both expressed an apprehension of internal injury.

'But a short time,' they added, 'would determine it; in the mean while he must be kept perfectly still.'

I turned from them, and walked to the window--I raised my eyes to heaven--I breathed an involuntary e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n--I felt that the crisis of my fate was approaching, and I endeavoured to steel my nerves--to prepare my mind for the arduous duties which awaited me.

Mr Lucas approached me, the physician having quitted the room. '_Mrs Montague_,' said he, in an emphatic tone--'in your sympathy for a _stranger_, do not forget other relations.'

'I do not need, sir, to be reminded by you of my duties; were not the sufferings of a fellow being a sufficient claim upon our humanity, this gentleman has _more affecting claims_--I am neither a stranger to him, nor to his virtues.'

'So I perceive, madam,' said he, with an air a little sarcastic, 'I wish, Mr Montague were here to partic.i.p.ate your cares.'

'I wish he were, sir, his generous nature would not disallow them.' I spoke haughtily, and abruptly left him.

I took a turn in the garden, endeavouring to compose my spirits, and, after visiting the nursery, returned to the chamber of Mr Harley. I there found Mr Lucas, and in a steady tone, declared my intention of watching his patient through the night.

'As you please, madam,' said he coldly.

I seated myself in an easy chair, reclining my head on my hand. The bed curtains were undrawn on the side next me. Augustus frequently started, as from broken slumbers; his respiration grew, every moment, more difficult and laborious, and, sometimes, he groaned heavily, as if in great pain. Once he suddenly raised himself in the bed, and, gazing wildly round the room, exclaimed in a distinct, but hurried tone--

'Why dost thou persecute me with thy ill-fated tenderness? A fathomless gulf separates us!--Emma!' added he, in a plaintive voice, '_dost thou, indeed, still love me?_' and, heaving a convulsive sigh, sunk again on his pillow.

Mr Lucas, who stood at the feet of the bed, turned his eye on me. I met his glance with the steady aspect of conscious rect.i.tude. About midnight, our patient grew worse, and, after strong agonies, was seized with a vomiting of blood. The fears of the physician were but too well verified, he had again ruptured the blood-vessel, once before broken.

Mr Lucas had but just retired, I ordered him to be instantly recalled, and, stifling every feeling, that might incapacitate me for active exertion, I rendered him all the a.s.sistance in my power--I neither trembled, nor shed a tear--I banished the _woman_ from my heart--I acquitted myself with a firmness that would not have disgraced the most experienced, and veteran surgeon. My services were materially useful, my solicitude vanquished every shrinking sensibility, _affection had converted me into a heroine_! The haemorrhage continued, at intervals, all the next day: I pa.s.sed once or twice from the chamber to the nursery, and immediately returned. We called in a consultation, but little hope was afforded.

The next night, Mr Lucas and myself continued to watch--towards morning our exhausted patient sunk into an apparently tranquil slumber. Mr Lucas intreated me to retire, and take some repose, on my refusal, he availed himself of the opportunity, and went to his apartment, desiring to be called if any change should take place. The nurse slept soundly in her chair, I alone remained watching--I felt neither fatigue nor languor--my strength seemed preserved as by a miracle, so omnipotent is the operation of moral causes!

Silence reigned throughout the house; I hung over the object of my tender cares--his features were serene--but his cheeks and lips were pale and bloodless. From time to time I took his lifeless hand--a low, fluttering, pulse, sometimes seeming to stop, and then to vibrate with a tremulous motion, but too plainly justified my fears--his breath, though less laborious, was quick and short--a cold dew hung upon his temples--I gently wiped them with my handkerchief, and pressed my lips to his forehead. Yet, at that moment, that solemn moment--while I beheld the object of my virgin affections--whom I had loved with a tenderness, 'pa.s.sing the love of woman'--expiring before my eyes--I forgot not that I was a wife and a mother.--The purity of my feelings sanctified their enthusiasm!

The day had far advanced, though the house still remained quiet, when Augustus, after a deep drawn sigh, opened his eyes. The loss of blood had calmed the delirium, and though he regarded me attentively, and with evident surprize, the wildness of his eyes and countenance had given place to their accustomed steady expression. He spoke in a faint voice.

'Where am I, how came I here?'

I drew nearer to him--'An unfortunate accident has thrown you into the care of kind friends--you have been very ill--it is not proper that you should exert yourself--rely on those to whom your safety is precious.'

He looked at me as I spoke--his eyes glistened--he breathed a half smothered sigh, but attempted not to reply. He continued to doze at intervals throughout the day, but evidently grew weaker every hour--I quitted him not for a moment, even my nursery was forgotten. I sat, or knelt, at the bed's head, and, between his short and broken slumbers, administered cordial medicines. He seemed to take them with pleasure from my hand, and a mournful tenderness at times beamed in his eyes. I neither spake nor wept--my strength appeared equal to every trial.

In the evening, starting from a troubled sleep, he fell into convulsions--I kept my station--our efforts were successful--he again revived. I supported the pillows on which his head reclined, sprinkled the bed cloaths, and bathed his temples, with hungary water, while I wiped from them the damps of death. A few tears at length forced their way, they fell upon his hand, which rested on the pillow--he kissed them off, and raised to mine his languid eyes, in which death was already painted.

The blood forsaking the extremities, rushed wildly to my heart, a strong palpitation seized it, my fort.i.tude had well nigh forsaken me. But I had been habituated to subdue my feelings, and should I suffer them to disturb the last moments of him, _who had taught me this painful lesson_? He made a sign for a cordial, an attendant offering one--he waved his hand and turned from her his face--I took it--held it to his lips, and he instantly drank it. Another strong emotion shook my nerves--once more I struggled and gained the victory. He spoke in feeble and interrupted periods--kneeling down, scarce daring to breathe, I listened.

'I have a son,' said he,--'I am dying--he will have no longer a parent--transfer to him a portion of--'

'I comprehend you--say no more--_he is mine_--I adopt him--where shall I find--?'