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On a lovely summer morning she woke to a sense of returning health. She had been lying like a waste shore, at low spring-tide, covered with dry seaweeds, withered jelly-fishes, and a multitudinous life that gasped for the ocean: at last, at last, the cool, washing throb of the great sea of bliss, whose fountain is the heart of God, had stolen upon her consciousness, and she knew that she lived.
"Yes, my father, only ," and here a human throb broke in her voice, "if I could but go with you!" "No, my child, it is but a little time, at most. For her sake be content to wait." "Father, I am content." "And happy?" "Very, very happy, father!" The dying man closed his eyes, and a faint murmur rose to his lips.
By this time the throb in his temple had become a stroke of pain. While still sitting at the breakfast-table Dr. Angier returned from his visit to Mrs. Ridley. Dr. Hillhouse saw by the expression of his face that he did not bring a good report. "How is she?" he asked. "In a very bad way," replied Dr. Angier. "New symptoms?" "Yes." "What?"
Without warning, a throb of memory assailed her: was it only a month ago she had stood in this room in the moonlight, waiting to go and meet Ishmael in the field? Her fingers shook a little as she took a few blossoms of creamy-yellow toadflax he had picked for her out of their vase and laid them tentatively against her gown.
Whereas his coat had something of a fly-away and half-off appearance about the collar and breast, her little bodice was so placid and neat, that there should have been protection for her, in it, had she needed any, with the roughest people. Who could have had the heart to make so calm a bosom swell with grief, or throb with fear, or flutter with a thought of shame!
But unsought surrender, plus the mortification of failure, was more than she felt prepared to risk, even for a chance of winning the one man in all the world: the man who could at least belong to no other woman, she assured herself with a throb of satisfaction. Thus there seemed no choice left but to go blindly forward along the line of least resistance.
He thought he could hear his heart throb quite distinctly, although he could not account for it oh, it was pounding and stabbing so unpleasantly in his breast; he had never felt it do like that before. But he had never run like that before, at any rate since his illness. He had to fight for air, he thought he was going to choke.
And then in the silence that followed she knew that he fell asleep. Someone touched her shoulder, and she looked up. Burke was standing by her side. "You can leave him now," he said. "He won't wake." He spoke very quietly, but she thought his face was stern. A faint throb of misgiving went through her. She slipped her hand free and rose.
"She's getting homesick, mother. Kit never writes tenderly like that unless she feels a heart throb. I never thought she'd last as long as she has " But Mrs. Bobbins looked dubious. "She seems to have made such a good impression. I hate to have her spoil it by jumping back too soon. It's such a benefit for her."
But where was the heart? That, indeed, had withered, had contracted. had hardened, had perished! It had ceased to partake of the universal throb, He had lost his hold of the magnetic chain of humanity.
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