Page:Walter Scott - The Monastery (Henry Frowde, 1912).djvu/143

RV 75 (Rh) Much of this premeditated disputation escaped the good father when Elspeth returned, her tears flowing faster than her apron could dry them, and made him a signal to follow her. 'How,' said the monk, 'is she then so near her end? Nay, the church must not break or bruise, when comfort is yet possible'; and forgetting his polemics, the good sub-prior hastened to the little apartment, where, on the wretched bed which she had occupied since her misfortunes had driven her to the Tower of Glendearg, the widow of Walter Avenel had rendered up her spirit to her Creator. 'My God!' said the sub-prior, 'and has my unfortunate dallying suffered her to depart without the church's consolation! Look to her, dame,' he exclaimed, with eager impatience; 'is there not yet a sparkle of the life left? may she not be recalled—recalled but for a moment? Oh! would that she could express, but by the most imperfect word, but by the most feeble motion, her acquiescence in the needful task of penitential prayer! Does she not breathe? Art thou sure she doth not?'

'She will never breathe more,' said the matron. 'Oh! the poor fatherless girl—now motherless also! Oh, the kind companion I have had these many years, whom I shall never see again! But she is in heaven for certain, if ever woman went there; for a woman of better life'

'Woe to me,' said the good monk, 'if indeed she went not hence in good assurance; woe to the reckless shepherd who suffered the wolf to carry a choice one from the flock, while he busied himself with trimming his sling and his staff to give the monster battle! Oh! if in the long hereafter aught but weal should that poor spirit share, what has my delay cost? the value of an immortal soul!'

He then approached the body, full of the deep remorse natural to a good man of his persuasion, who devoutly believed the doctrines of the Catholic Church. 'Aye,' said he, gazing on the pallid corpse, from which thé spirit had parted so placidly as to leave a smile upon the thin blue lips, which had been so long wasted by decay that they had parted with the last breath of animation without the slightest convulsive tremor. 'Aye,' said Father Eustace, 'there lies the faded tree, and, as it fell, so it lies—awful thought for me should my neglect have left it to descend