Chapter 60 - Page 2

to bring me ease and
rest? You mean the children who used to take me up, and make
me light?'

Eugene smiled, 'Yes.'

'I have not seen them since I saw you. I never see them now, but I
am hardly ever in pain now.'

'It was a pretty fancy,' said Eugene.

'But I have heard my birds sing,' cried the little creature, 'and I
have smelt my flowers. Yes, indeed I have! And both were most
beautiful and most Divine!'

'Stay and help to nurse me,' said Eugene, quietly. 'I should like
you to have the fancy here, before I die.'

She touched his lips with her hand, and shaded her eyes with that
same hand as she went back to her work and her little low song.
He heard the song with evident pleasure, until she allowed it
gradually to sink away into silence.

'Mortimer.'

'My dear Eugene.'

'If you can give me anything to keep me here for only a few
minutes--'

To keep you here, Eugene?'

'To prevent my wandering away I don't know where--for I begin to
be sensible that I have just come back, and that I shall lose myself
again--do so, dear boy!'

Mortimer gave him such stimulants as could be given him with
safety (they were always at hand, ready), and bending over him
once more, was about to caution him, when he said:

'Don't tell me not to speak, for I must speak. If you knew the
harassing anxiety that gnaws and wears me when I am wandering
in those places--where are those endless places, Mortimer? They
must be at an immense distance!'

He saw in his friend's face that he was losing himself; for he added
after a moment: 'Don't be afraid--I am not gone yet. What was it?'

'You wanted to tell me something, Eugene. My poor dear fellow,
you wanted to say something to your old friend--to the friend who
has always loved you, admired you, imitated you, founded himself
upon you, been nothing without you, and who, God knows, would
be here in your place if he could!'

'Tut, tut!' said Eugene with a tender glance as the other put his
hand before his face. 'I am not worth it. I acknowledge that I like
it, dear boy, but I am not worth it. This attack, my dear Mortimer;
this murder--'

His friend leaned over him with renewed attention, saying: 'You
and I suspect some one.'

'More than suspect. But, Mortimer, while I lie here, and when I lie
here no longer, I trust to you that the perpetrator is never brought to
justice.'

'Eugene?'

'Her innocent reputation would be ruined, my friend. She would be
punished, not he. I have wronged her enough in fact; I have
wronged her still more in intention. You recollect what pavement
is said to be made of good intentions. It is made of bad intentions
too.