Poor Algernon! I have paid a heavy debt for
his generosity to me. Yes," he continued, more cheerfully, "I will leave
Godfrey to enjoy his ill-gotten wealth, nor waste the few hours which
now remain to me on earth in vain regrets. How is it with the dear
Clary? How has she borne up against this dreadful blow?"
Frederic's sole answer was a mournful glance at the sables in which he
was clad. Anthony comprehended in a moment the meaning of that sad, sad
look. "She is gone," he said--"she, the beautiful--the innocent. Yes,
yes--I knew it would kill her, the idea of my guilt. Alas! poor Clary!"
"She never thought you guilty," said Frederic, wiping his eyes. "She
bade me give you this letter, written with her dying hand, to convince
you that she believed you innocent. Her faith towards you was as strong
as death; her love for you snapped asunder the fragile threads that held
her to life. But she is happy. Dear child! She is better off than those
who weep her loss. And you, Anthony, you--the idol of her fond young
heart--will receive her welcome to that glorious country, of which, I
trust, she is now the bright inhabitant."
"And she died of grief. Died--because others suspected of crime the man
she loved. Oh, Clary! Clary! how unworthy was I of your love! You knew I
loved another, yet it did not diminish aught of your friendship, your
pure devotion to me! Oh, that I had your faith--your love!"
He covered his face with his hands, and both were silent for a long
time.
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