Hobomok/Chapter XV

Her eye still beams unwonted fires, With a woman's love and a saint's desires; And her last, fond, lingering look is given To the love she leaves, and then to heaven,--- As if she would bear that love away, To a purer world and a brighter day.
 * Percival

During several weeks Mr. Johnson continued almost constantly at Shawmut and Tri-Mountain, full of zeal and perseverance in his new enterprise. Lady Arabella in the mean time remained at Salem, and entered with enthusiasm into all the plans of her honored husband. She never spoke of the reverse in her situation, and scarcely seemed to think of it. Her character was indeed all that her countenance indicated. The expression of her eyes was gentle, but her high forehead, aquiline nose, and the peculiar construction of her mouth, all spoke intellect and fortitude, rather than tenderness. Firmness of purpose had been her leading trait from childhood; and now she tasked it to the utmost. But it was soon evident that the soul, in the consciousness of its strength, had too heavily taxed its frail, earth-born companion. The decline of each day witnessed a bright, shadowy spot upon her cheek, too delicate to be placed there by the pencil of health---her lips grew pale---and her eyes had lost all their lustre, save a transient beam of tenderness when she welcomed the return of her beloved partner. These changes could not escape the watchful eye of affection. The important business in which Mr. Johnson was engaged, rendered his frequent presence at Shawmut absolutely necessary; but notwithstanding the solitary and wearisome distance between them, evening seldom returned without seeing him by the side of Lady Arabella. Mrs. Conant too was fast drooping, and there seemed but a hair's breadth between her and the grave. It was interesting to observe the contrast between the two invalids. One, always weak and gentle, bended to the blast, and seemed to ask support from every thing around her. The other, struggling against decay, seemed rather to give assistance, than to require it. Their husbands watched over them, with the tender solicitude of a mother over her sickening infant. Mr. Conant, stern as he was, felt that a sigh or groan from the woman whom he had so long and sincerely loved, had power to stir up those deep recesses of feeling, which had for years been sealed within his soul; and Mary's heart was ready to burst with keen and protracted anguish, when she saw death standing with suspended dart, taking slow, but certain aim, at two endeared victims. But medicine, anxiety, and kindness, were alike unavailing; and soon they both retired to the same apartment, and laid themselves down on the beds from which they were never more to rise. Their feeble hold upon life daily grew more precarious, till at length nothing could tempt their anxious husbands from the pillow. Neither of them had spoken much for several days, when on the 24th of August the faint voice of Mrs. Conant was heard, as she whispered,

"Roger---My dear Roger."

In a moment he was at her side.

"What would you say, Mary?" asked he.

"There are many things I would have spoken," she replied; "but I fear I have not strength wherewith to utter them. If Brown comes back, you must remember our own thwarted love, and deal kindly with Mary. She hath been a good child; and verily the God who had mercy on our unconverted souls, will not forsake her. Will you promise?"

"I will," answered the old man, in an agitated voice. "Verily, my dear wife, your dying request shall be obeyed."

"I would fain turn to the light," said she, "for I feel that my departure draweth nigh."

Mary and her father gently raised her, and turned her toward the little window. She looked on her husband, with the celestial smile of a dying saint, as she said,

"I die happy in the Lord Jesus. Sometimes I would fain tarry longer for your sake; but the Lord's will be done."

The agonized man pressed back the crowding tears, as he said,

"If in the roughness of my nature, I have sometimes spoken too harshly; say that you forgive me."

"I have nothing to forgive," she replied. "To me you have been uniformly kind."

She reached out her hand to Mary---"For my sake," added she, "be as dutiful to your good father as you have been to me."

"I will---I will," answered Mary, as she, sobbing, hid her face in the bedclothes.

She spoke no more for several hours. At length, Mr. Conant, who remained close by her side, heard her whisper, in low and broken tones, "My dear husband." She attempted to extend her hand toward him, but the blindness of death was upon her, and it feebly sunk down by her side. As her husband placed it within his, she murmured, "I cannot see you, dear Roger. Kiss me before I die." He stooped down---and oh, how deeply painful was that last embrace. Mary likewise bent over her, and kissed her cold cheek.

"My child---God---bless"---was heard from the lips of that dying mother; but the utterance was troubled and indistinct. Her breathings soon became shorter and more disturbed, and the last agonies seemed passing over her. No sound was heard in the room, till presently a short, quick gasp announced the soul's departure. Mr. Conant placed his hand upon her heart---its pulse no longer throbbed. He held the taper before her mouth---no breath was there to move the steady flame. Mary uttered an involuntary shriek, and sunk upon her knees. There is nothing like the chamber of death to still the turbulence of passion, and overcome the loftiness of pride. What now was the shame of human weakness to that bereaved old man? He stood by the corpse of her, who for twenty years had lain in his bosom, and he heeded not that the big, bright tears fell fast upon the bed. Nothing now remained but the last, sad offices of friendship; and they were silently performed. Not a word was spoken by father or daughter. The sheet was carefully drawn over that pale face; and both bowed down their weary, aching heads upon the pillow, in still communion with their own souls.

During this time, the Lady Arabella had sunk into a slumber so deep and tranquil that she seemed almost like her departed companion. Mr. Johnson remained with her hand clasped in his, half doubtful whether it was not indeed the sleep of death. Towards morning she awoke; and resting her eyes upon her husband with a look of unutterable love, she feebly returned the pressure of his hand, as she said,

"You are always near me, dear Isaac." After a thoughtful pause, she asked, "Is not the Lady Mary dead?"

"She is," answered Mr. Johnson.

"Assuredly I so thought," continued she. "I dreamed that angels came for her, and she said they must wait for me. They are standing by her bed-side now. Don't you see the light of their garments? Well, I shall soon be ready."

"My God, my God," exclaimed the young husband, "would that the bitterness of this cup might pass from me."

"But it may not pass," rejoined his wife, calmly; "and you must drink it like a christian. Let your whole trust be on the Rock of Ages."

"I could bear all, Arabella," replied he, "had I not brought you into trials too mighty for your strength. But for my selfish love, you might now be living in ease and comfort."

"My dear Isaac, does this sound like a follower of the Lamb?" said she. "The time of my departure hath come, and what matters it whether it be in England or America? In the short space we have been allowed to sojourn together, I have enjoyed more than all my life beside; and let this remembrance comfort you when I am gone. Remember me most kindly to my good brother. May his earthly union be as happy and more permanent than mine."

For a long time she seemed exhausted by the effort she had made. Then, taking the ring from her finger,

"Give this to Mary" said she; "and when she looks thereon, bid her think to what all human enjoyment must come. I know you will always wear my miniature. It would have been a great comfort, had I been permitted to leave a living image of myself; but it hath pleased the Lord to order otherwise. Faint not in the enterprise whereunto our blessed Lord has called you; and remember we meet again in Jesus."

The heart of her husband was too full to speak; and he could only kiss her emaciated hand in reply. She fixed her dying gaze upon him, and a faint smile hovered round her lips, shedding its unearthly light over her whole countenance, as she said, "I hear the angels singing. 'Tis time for me to go." Her look was still towards her husband, when her lids closed as if in peaceful slumber. All was hushed. The flickering lamp of life was extinguished.

There, in that miserable room, lay the descendants of two noble houses. Both alike victims to what has always been the source of woman's greatest misery--- love---deep and unwearied love. The Lady Mary had in her life time been so still and fair, that the smile on her placid countenance seemed but a mockery of death; and whoever looked upon the Lady Arabella would have judged that thought was still busy beneath those closed eye-lids.

The next day all was still in that house of mourning. Each one spoke in a subdued tone, and moved with light and cautious tread, as if fearful of awakening the repose of the dead. All had passed a sleepless night, and as they arose from the pillow which had for hours received their tears, a silent grasp of the hand, strong in the first desperation of grief, was their only salutation.

"My friend," said Mr. Conant, "it becometh not christians to be cast down in time of tribulation. Let us pray to Him who is always a present help in time of trouble."

Mary handed down the Bible; and her father read the 88th Psalm, without evincing any other emotion than the slight quivering of his lip and the gathering moisture of his eye. Mr. Johnson rose to prayer, and for awhile his voice was clear and undisturbed; but in a few moments sobs were alone audible. Even his exalted piety sunk in that dreadful conflict of feeling. One burst of weakness, earth claimed as its own---the rest he gave to heaven. His brethren were all eager to speak words of comfort. He thanked them for their kindness, and tried to hear them calmly; but the mourner only can tell how painful at such seasons, are well-meant offers of consolation.

Few honors could there be paid to deceased nobility. The bodies were placed in rough coffins, covered with black, and supported side by side, even as they had expired. The procession stopped on a neighbouring eminence, and after Mr. Higginson had dwelt long on the sufferings and virtues of the departed, the earth closed over them forever.

Grief, like all violent emotions, is still when deepest. Mr. Johnson returned from that sad funeral, and not a sigh or tear was seen to escape him. The next day, he went to Shawmut, mingled in the debates of his associates, encouraged the settlers, and surveyed the tract he had purchased at Tri-Mountain. How to build up the church seemed to occupy his whole thoughts; and to that purpose he directed his active and constant exertions. But in the midst of this artificial strength, it was plain enough to be seen, that his heart was broken.

A few weeks after Lady Arabella's death, he was seen slowly proceeding through the forest, on his way to Salem. He paused not to rest his weary footsteps till he reached the place where he had last seen the features of his adored wife. Silently he laid down his head upon the ground, and wept. He arose, and for awhile rested his melancholy gaze on the bright sun and verdant earth. Then kneeling beside the grave, he prayed, "Heavenly Father, I beseech thee to forgive this worship of an earthly idol; and if it so pleaseth thee, take me from this world of sin and misery."

He entered Mr. Conant's dwelling, and slightly partook of the food which Mary's assiduous kindness prepared for him. No expostulations could prevail upon him to remain through the following day. He retraced his solitary path to Shawmut, and it soon became evident that the hand of death was upon him.

The day before his decease, he called Governor Winthrop to his bed-side.

"Let not the laborers of the vineyard mourn that I am removed," said he. "Tell them to go on, like brave soldiers of Christ Jesus, until they perfect the work wherewithal he hath entrusted them. I bless the Lord that he has called me to lay down my life in his service, inasmuch as he has suffered me to witness the gathering of one church in apostolic purity. I have but one request to make unto you. Bury me in the lot which I have laid out at Tri-Mountain;* that at the great judgment-day I may rise among the heritage which I have feebly endeavored to build up. I would fain have the Lady Arabella placed by my side; but it is a wearisome ways to Salem, and wheresoever our bodies may be, our souls will be united. God forgive me, if in sinful weakness, I have loved that dear woman even better than his righteous cause."

The excellent man soon after followed his young wife to the mansions of eternal rest; and on the same day that the news arrived at Salem, the pious and revered Mr. Higginson was likewise numbered with the dead. Misfortunes and discouragements seemed crowding upon the infant colonies, which had so lately been rejoicing at their prosperity and increase. "In all their streets was the voice of lamentation and wo." The countenances of men became disconsolate, and mournfully they passed each other, as they said, "Ichabod! Ichabod! Verily the Lord hath sorely smitten us."