A Lifes Eclipse | Page 9

but you."
And for those brief minutes all was the brightest of life's sunshine in that humble room. There were tears in Mary's sweet grey eyes, and they clung upon the lashes and lay wet upon her cheeks; but that sunshine made them flash irradiant with joy before the black cloud closed in again, and John Grange's pale face grew convulsed with agony, as he shrank from her, only holding her hands in his with a painful clasp; while, as she gazed at him wildly, startled by the change, she saw that his eyes seemed to be staring wildly at her, so bright, unchanged, and keen that it was impossible to believe that they were blank, so plainly did they bespeak the agony and despair in the poor fellow's breast.
"John," she cried excitedly, "what is it? Shall I go for help? You are in terrible pain?"
"Yes, yes, dear," he moaned; "pain so great that it is more than I can bear. No, no, don't go, not for a minute, dear; but go then, never to come near me more. Don't, don't tempt me. God help me and give me strength."
"John, dear," he whispered piteously, as she clung to his hands, and he felt her press towards him till the throbbings of her heart beat upon his wrists.
"No, no," he groaned. "Mary, dear, let me tell you while I have strength. I should be no man if I was silent now. I shouldn't be worthy of you, dear, nor of the love you have shown me you could have given."
"John, John!"
"Don't, don't speak to me like that," he groaned, "or you will make me forget once more, and speak to you as I did just now. I was half mad with joy, beside myself with the sweet delight. But 'tis taking a coward's, a cruel advantage of you in your innocence and love. Mary, Mary dear," he said faintly; and could those eyes which stared so blankly towards her have seen, he would have gazed upon the calm, patient face, upon which slowly dawned a gentle tenderness, as she bent lower and lower as if longing to kiss his hands, which she caressed with her warm breath, while she listened to his words.
"Listen, dear," he said, "and let me tell you the truth before you say good-bye, and go back to pray for me--for your own dear self--that we may be patient and bear it. Time will make it easier, and by and by we can look back upon all this as something that might have been."
"Yes," she said gently, and she raised her face a little as she knelt by the couch to gaze fondly in his eyes.
"I am going away, dear, and it is best, for what we have said must be like a dream. Mary, dear, you will not forget me, but you must think of me as a poor brother smitten with this affliction, one, dear, that I have to bear patiently to the end."
"Yes, John," she said, with a strange calmness in her tones.
"How could I let you tie yourself down to a poor helpless wretch who will always be dependent upon others for help? It would be a death in life for you, Mary. In my great joy I forgot it all; but my reason has come back. There is no hope, dear. I am going up to town because Mrs Mostyn wishes it. Heaven bless her for a good, true woman! But it is of no use, I know. Doctor Manning knows it well enough. My sight has gone, dear, and I must face the future like a man. You well know I am speaking the truth."
She tried to reply, but there was a suffocating sensation at her throat, and it was some moments before she could wildly gasp out--"Yes!"
Then the strange, sweet, patient look of calm came back, with the gentle pity and resignation in her eyes as she gazed at him with sorrow.
"There," he said, "you must go now. Bless you, Mary--bless you, dear. You have sent gladness and a spirit of hopefulness into my dark heart, and I am going away ready to bear it all manfully, for I know it will be easier to bear--by and by--when I get well and strong. Then you shall hear how patient I am, and some day in the future I shall be pleased in hearing, dear, that you are happy with some good, honest fellow who loves and deserves you; and perhaps too," he continued, talking quickly and with a smile upon his lip, as he tried to speak cheerfully in his great desire to lessen her grief and send her away suffering less keenly--"perhaps too, some day, I may be able to come and see--"
He broke down. He could, in his weak state,