JOHN TO SARAH.
She is gone, Sarah, gone, forever and ever! gone, in
terrour and distraction, to a grave of blood. Never was
there such a death-bed scene!---I will not attempt to desscribe
the whole; I cannot, but I will try—with the feeble
remains of my strength, to relate what happened after
my arrival.
The first person that I saw, was Molton---sitting by
her bed side; immoveable; and, with a countenance of one
death-struck, holding one hand upon her temples, and
supporting his own forehead with the other.
She had just life enough to move her lips, and to perceive
whose hand it was that allayed, with its chilliness,
the scorching fever of her temples. Her vivid eyes were
lifted now and then, to his, with an expression of tenderness,
passionate tenderness, so unlike aught that I had
ever seen in them before, that I could scarcely believe her
to be Jane. It was a comfort to her, to have him near
her---that, I could see distinctly---though his face was
the face of a Destroyer; of one, that nothing, no weeping,
nor prayer, nor terrour, nor trial, may move,---unrelenting,
stedfast and inexorable.
I listened; but I could not hear him breathe. I approached;
and, as he turned to me, he moved his hand---
and she caught it, as it passed her lips--and pressed it to
them, again and again---with a low, sobbing, inarticulate
sound of transport---“O, do not leave me, Molton; do
not take it away!” But he gave me his hand, hot and
moist, from the pressure of her mouth, nevertheless. It
was like the touch of a serpent to me. I shuddered.---
Jane saw it, and a sickly smile went over her features;
and then they grew, all at once, rigid, fixed,---motionless.
“She is gone!”---said Molton---in a low whisper;
and, as he spoke, her hand dropped from his---and her
jaw fell. Ah, how suddenly!---it was just as if her spirit had
sprung, without notice, from her tenement, dislocating
and shattering every joint, in her wrath and determination;
as something obscene and horrible, and hateful to it.
I was about to be left alone, immediately, with Molton,
and the body; but he arose, and put himself between
one of the women, and the hall, just as she was shutting
the door. “Come back, madam!” said he. “Nay, do
not resist me,—I will be obeyed.” She shook in every
joint; and, when he led her to the bed, the sweat started
out upon her quivering lips; and her eyes looked as if she
were about to be immolated on the spot. It was Matilda.
The lights burnt with a pale, funereal, uncertain light.
“Woman!” said he—turning down the clothes and revealing
the body of Jane—“woman! that is your work.”
I looked—and beheld the sheets sprinkled with drops
of blood.
There was a deep ruffle about the neck of Jane, which,
from its singularity, I had before observed. He was
about removing it, when Matilda arrested his hand with
a loud shriek.
“Man! monster! monster, forbear!”—she cried. And
pushed away his hand—but, not till I had seen—O, Sarah!
Sarah!—I cannot tell thee what. No, no—I cannot,
—my blood thrills yet, at the thought of it.
Jane had destroyed herself.
I know not why, nor wherefore. I only know that, when
I spoke of it to Molton, he shuddered, locked his hands
—and his eyes rolled inward, as if to contemplate something
that no other man would dare to look upon. Yet—
he recovered, almost immediately.
“I did not expect this,” said he. “But—there was a
duty to perform, to the innocent and devout. I did it.
That woman, whose body lies there, is now before her
Maker, in judgment. Let us not speak unkindly of her.
She had a noble spirit; and, under any other training
than thine”—turning to Matilda, who was leaving the
room—“thou bad woman—nay, thou shalt not leave me
—thou and I will sit by the body together, till the turf be
piled upon it—but for thee, it had been instinct with spirit;
beautiful; and innocent as beautiful, at this moment!
Tears!—nay, then,—go—go in peace. If thy heart be
touched indeed, I have no more to do with thee. My
commission has expired. Go in peace!”
“I am glad that you have come, Mr. Omar, late as it is.
But, for your sake, it would have been better that you
had arrived a few hours earlier. You are a man of
strong passions. To have seen that body, sir, convulsed
and heaving, with bloodshot eyes, and locked hands;—
every limb cramped with agony; and her lips trembling
with blasphemy—to have seen her, as I saw her, all
night long, delirious and red—God!—it would have
shaken the stoutest heart, that was ever inhabited with
life. What did this, sir? What hath left that beautiful
tenement a wreck?—that shrine, a ruin?—that woman
of power—a mass of dust and ashes—blood and corruption?
What did it, sir? Look at me.
It was her passions!”
“I stood before her. I charged her with a conspiracy
against the honour and peace of the newly married; the
newly blessed;---with having driven two human beings
into wedlock, for no other purpose than to break their
hearts, and unsettle their minds, with jealousy and despair.
She denied it. I charged her, in the name of the
living God—in the presence of Jahovah and his angels.
Still she denied it---but, while the words were upon her
lip, she staggered and fell. The spirit of truth had
touched her---but still she resisted. There was one more
appeal. I desired a private interview. I entreated her
not to put me to it. Nay, I would have forborne; but I
dared not. I spoke a few words---no matter what they
were---they related to an event in her own life---it is a
secret, that will die with me. She knew not that any
other human being, except her aunt Matilda, perhaps,
had any suspicion of the truth. I demanded certain papers.
Her countenance fell. I was appalled by the expression.
She put her hand to her heart---and turned,
as I thought, to her writing-desk, for the purpose of delivering
the papers---when I saw her take something up
---raise her arm---and, the next moment, some liquid
spurted into my eyes. I was blinded---but, when I came
to my sight, I found that my hands were red. It was
blood---I could not be deceived---I had seen it before.---
She was lying upon the floor; and the cry of murder, was
ringing in my ear.”
“The people of the house entered--and, seeing my face
and hands bloody, and Jane lying at my feet, they never
waited a moment; but attempted to pinion me. I was in
no mood for such trifling. Should she die, what might
be the consequences? There was only one course. It was
a desperate one. I plucked out my knife---I brandished
it. “Stand back!” I cried---“I will bury this in the
heart of the first man that lays a finger on me, or
speaks;---yet, I will not attempt to escape. Hear me!---
Jane, hear me! Declare that I am innocent of thy death
---this moment!---this moment!---or, by the God that
made me, I will proclaim thy—”
“Stop!---stop!---for heaven's sake, stop!”---cried Matilda;
who was among the people that rushed in at the
cry of murder---“She is trying to speak, now---leave
her to me.”
“Speak out, then,” I cried, “at once!--Speak! or—”
“He is innocent;---it was my own hand!”---said the
poor creature; and instantly died away, as I thought,
forever.”
“She recovered, however, a little, during the night.
But circumstances rendered it necessary, that nobody,
but Matilda and I, should watch with her. We did.---
And you may believe me---I have passed some terrible
nights---many, many!---that few men would have survived;---but
never did I pass a night---no, never!---so
frightful and alarming as that. But I obtained what I
wanted---the papers.”
“She is now a wreck. God forgive her!---God, in his
infinite mercy! And may her death-bed be a terrour to
them, that give ay to any headlong passion.” Having
said this, he left me.
Such is the death of that extraordinary woman, Sarah.
She was sorry, and very penitent, before her death, for
all that she had done to Juliet; retracted a long and
grievous fabrication about her; and signed it with her
own blood---and, finally, forgave Molton, and blessed
him—for what? I cannot imagine. What was that
tremendous secret? Whence had he that power over
her? I cannot imagine. Good night---I am sick, and
weary, and dark---such a death-bed!
