Clarissa, Volume 9 | Page 8

cried she, with folded hands--the dear lady--A heavy
sob permitted her not to say more.
Mrs. Smith, with clasped fingers, and uplifted eyes, as if imploring help
from the only Power which could give it, was kneeling down at the
bed's feet, tears in large drops trickling down her cheeks.
Her nurse was kneeling between the widow and Mrs. Smith, her arms
extended. In one hand she held an ineffectual cordial, which she had
just been offering to her dying mistress; her face was swoln with
weeping (though used to such scenes as this); and she turned her eyes
towards me, as if she called upon me by them to join in the helpless
sorrow; a fresh stream bursting from them as I approached the bed.
The maid of the house with her face upon her folded arms, as she stood
leaning against the wainscot, more audibly exprest her grief than any of
the others.
The lady had been silent a few minutes, and speechless, as they thought,
moving her lips without uttering a word; one hand, as I said, in her
cousin's. But when Mrs. Lovick, on my approach, pronounced my
name, O Mr. Belford, said she, with a faint inward voice, but very
distinct nevertheless--Now!--Now! [in broken periods she spoke]--I
bless God for his mercies to his poor creature--all will soon be over--a
few--a very few moments--will end this strife--and I shall be happy!
Comfort here, Sir--turning her head to the Colonel--comfort my cousin
--see! the blame--able kindness--he would not wish me to be happy --so
soon!
Here she stopt for two or three minutes, earnestly looking upon him.
Then resuming, My dearest Cousin, said she, be comforted--what is
dying but the common lot?--The mortal frame may seem to labour--but
that is all!--It is not so hard to die as I believed it to be!--The
preparation is the difficulty--I bless God, I have had time for that--the
rest is worse to beholders, than to me!--I am all blessed hope--hope
itself. She looked what she said, a sweet smile beaming over her
countenance.
After a short silence, Once more, my dear Cousin, said she, but still in
broken accents, commend me most dutifully to my father and
mother--There she stopt. And then proceeding--To my sister, to my

brother, to my uncles--and tell them, I bless them with my parting
breath--for all their goodness to me--even for their displeasure, I bless
them--most happy has been to me my punishment here! Happy indeed!
She was silent for a few moments, lifting up her eyes, and the hand her
cousin held not between his. Then, O Death! said she, where is thy
sting! [the words I remember to have heard in the burial-service read
over my uncle and poor Belton.] And after a pause--It is good for me
that I was afflicted! Words of scripture, I suppose.
Then turning towards us, who were lost in speechless sorrow--O dear,
dear gentlemen, said she, you know not what foretastes--what
assurances--And there she again stopped, and looked up, as if in a
thankful rapture, sweetly smiling.
Then turning her head towards me--Do you, Sir, tell your friend that I
forgive him!--And I pray to God to forgive him!--Again pausing, and
lifting up her eyes as if praying that He would. Let him know how
happily I die:--And that such as my own, I wish to be his last hour.
She was again silent for a few moments: and then resuming--My sight
fails me!--Your voices only--[for we both applauded her christian, her
divine frame, though in accents as broken as her own]; and the voice of
grief is alike in all. Is not this Mr. Morden's hand? pressing one of his
with that he had just let go. Which is Mr. Belford's? holding out the
other. I gave her mine. God Almighty bless you both, said she, and
make you both--in your last hour--for you must come to this--happy as
I am.
She paused again, her breath growing shorter; and, after a few minutes
--And now, my dearest Cousin, give me your hand--nearer--still nearer
--drawing it towards her; and she pressed it with her dying lips--God
protect you, dear, dear Sir--and once more, receive my best and most
grateful thanks--and tell my dear Miss Howe--and vouchsafe to see,
and to tell my worthy Norton--she will be one day, I fear not, though
now lowly in her fortunes, a saint in Heaven--tell them both, that I
remember them with thankful blessings in my last moments!--And pray
God to give them happiness here for many, many years, for the sake of
their friends and lovers; and an heavenly crown hereafter; and such
assurances of it, as I have, through the all-satisfying merits of my
blessed Redeemer.
Her sweet voice and broken periods methinks still fill my ears, and

never will