Part 106

"Yes."

Her articulation was indistinct but intelligible.

"In what way?"

She looked at him unwaveringly.

"Is--she going--to marry--him?"

Father Honore read her thought and wondered how best to answer. He was of the opinion that she would remember Aileen in her will. The girl had been for years so faithful and, in a way, Mrs. Champney cared for her. Humanly speaking, he dreaded, by his answer, to endanger the prospect of the assurance to Aileen of a sum that would place her beyond want and the need to work for any one's support but her own in the future. But as he could not know what answer might or might not affect Aileen's future, he decided to speak the whole truth--let come what might.

"I sincerely hope so," he replied.

"Do--you know?" with a slight emphasis on the "know."

"I know they love each other--have loved each other for many years."

"If she does--she--won't get anything from me--you tell her--so."

"That will make no difference to Aileen, Mrs. Champney. Love outweighs all else with her."

She continued to look at him unwaveringly.

"Love--fools--" she murmured.

But Father Honore caught the words, and the priest's manhood asserted itself in the face of dissolution and this blasphemy.

"No--rather it is wisdom for them to love; it is ordained of God that human beings should love; I wish them joy. May I not tell them that you, too, wish them joy, Mrs. Champney? Aileen has been faithful to you, and your nephew never wronged you personally. Will you not be reconciled to him?" he pleaded.

"No."

"But why?" He spoke very gently, almost in appeal.

"Why?" she repeated tonelessly, her eyes still fixed on his face, "because he is--hers--Aurora Googe's--"

She paused for another effort. Her eyes turned at last to the portrait of Louis Champney on the wall at the foot of her bed.

"She took all his love--all--all his love--and he was my husband--I loved my husband--But you don't know--"

"What, Mrs. Champney? Let me help you, if I can."

"No help--I loved my husband--he used to lie here--by my side--on this bed--and cry out--in his sleep for her--lie here--by my side in--the night--and stretch out his arms--for her--not me--not for me--"

Her eyes were still fixed on Louis Champney's face. Suddenly the lids drooped; she grew drowsy, but continued to murmur, incoherently at first, then inarticulately.

The nurse stepped to his side. Father Honore's eyes dwelt pityingly for a moment on this deathbed; then he turned and left the room, marvelling at the differentiated expression in this life of that which we name Love.

Octavius was waiting for him in the lower hall.

"Did you see her?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes; but to no purpose; her life has been lived, Mr. Buzzby; nothing can affect it now."

"You don't mean she's gone?" Octavius started at the sound of his own voice; it seemed to echo through the house.