The Birthmark, Page 3

his watch. Nor was it without avail. The Crimson Hand, which at

  first had been strongly visible upon the marble paleness of

  Georgiana's cheek now grew more faintly outlined. She remained not

  less pale than ever; but the birthmark, with every breath that came

  and went, lost somewhat of its former distinctness. Its presence had

  been awful; its departure was more awful still. Watch the stain of the

  rainbow fading out of the sky; and you will know how that mysterious

  symbol passed away.

  "By Heaven, it is well-nigh gone!" said Aylmer to himself, in

  almost irrepressible ecstasy. "I can scarcely trace it now. Success!

  Success! And now it is like the faintest rose-color. The slightest

  flush of blood across her cheek would overcome it. But she is so

  pale!"

  He drew aside the window-curtain, and suffered the light of natural

  day to fall into the room, and rest upon her cheek. At the same

  time, he heard a gross, hoarse chuckle, which he had long known as his

  servant Aminadab's expression of delight.

  "Ah, clod! Ah, earthly mass!" cried Aylmer, laughing in a sort of

  frenzy. "You have served me well! Master and Spirit- Earth and Heaven-

  have both done their part in this! Laugh, thing of the senses! You

  have earned the right to laugh."

  These exclamations broke Georgiana's sleep. She slowly unclosed her

  eyes, and gazed into the mirror, which her husband had arranged for

  that purpose. A faint smile flitted over her lips, when she recognized

  how barely perceptible was now that Crimson Hand, which had once

  blazed forth with such disastrous brilliancy as to scare away all

  their happiness. But then her eyes sought Aylmer's face, with a

  trouble and anxiety that he could by no means account for.

  "My poor Aylmer!" murmured she.

  "Poor? Nay, richest! Happiest! Most favored!" exclaimed he. "My

  peerless bride, it is successful! You are perfect!"

  "My poor Aylmer!" she repeated, with a more than human

  tenderness. "You have aimed loftily! you have done nobly! Do not

  repent, that, with so high and pure a feeling, you have rejected the

  best the earth could offer. Aylmer- dearest Aylmer, I am dying!"

  Alas, it was too true! The fatal Hand had grappled with the mystery

  of life, and was the bond by which an angelic spirit kept itself in

  union with a mortal frame. As the last crimson tint of the birthmark-

  that sole token of human imperfection- faded from her cheek, the

  parting breath of the now perfect woman passed into the atmosphere,

  and her soul, lingering a moment near her husband, took its heavenward

  flight. Then a hoarse, chuckling laugh was heard again! Thus ever does

  the gross Fatality of Earth exult in its invariable triumph over the

  immortal essence, which, in this dim sphere of half-development,

  demands the completeness of a higher state. Yet, had Aylmer reached a

  profounder wisdom, he need not thus have flung away the happiness,

  which would have woven his mortal life of the self-same texture with

  the celestial. The momentary circumstance was too strong for him; he

  failed to look beyond the shadowy scope of Time, and living once for

  all in Eternity, to find the perfect Future in the present.

  THE END

  .