Page:She (1888).djvu/37

 ‘Is there anything more?’ asked Leo, in a kind of excited whisper.

I groped about, and produced something hard, done up in a little linen bag. Out of the bag we took first a very beautiful miniature done upon ivory, and, secondly, a small chocolate-coloured composition scarabæus, marked thus:—



symbols which, we have since ascertained, mean ‘Suten se Rā,’ which is being translated the ‘Royal Son of Rā or the Sun.’ The miniature was a picture of Leo’s Greek mother—a lovely, dark-eyed creature. On the back of it was written, in poor Vincey’s handwriting, ‘My beloved wife.’

‘That is all,’ I said.

‘Very well,’ answered Leo, putting down the miniature, at which he had been gazing affectionately; ‘and now let us read the letter,’ and without further ado he broke the seal, and read aloud as follows:—

‘,—When you open this, if you ever live to do so, you will have attained to manhood, and I shall have been long enough dead to be absolutely forgotten by nearly all who knew me. Yet in reading it remember that I have been, and for anything you know may still be, and that in it, through this link of pen and paper, I stretch out my hand to you across the gulf of death, and my voice speaks to you from the silence of the grave. Though I am dead, and no memory of me remains in your mind, yet am I with you in this hour that you read. Since your birth to this day I have scarcely seen your face. Forgive me this. Your life supplanted the life of one whom I loved better than women are often loved, and the bitterness of it endureth yet. Had I lived I should in time have conquered this foolish feeling, but I am not destined to live. My sufferings, physical and mental, are more than I can bear, and when such small arrangements as I have to make for your future well-being are completed it is my intention to put a period to them. May God forgive me if I do wrong. At the best I could not live more than another year.’

‘So he killed himself,’ I exclaimed. ‘I thought so.’

‘And now,’ Leo went on, without replying, ‘enough of myself. What has to be said belongs to you who live, not to