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Too Late.

“Tis better to have loved & lost

Than never to have loved at all.”

Tennyson. In Memoriam.

Guy followed Mrs. Rivers in silence as she led the way across the polished hall & up a short flight of stairs. Leaving him a moment in a small, sunny boudoir bright with pictures & flowers, she went on into an inner room where there was a faint sound of voices. Returning a moment later, she came up & laid an appealing hand of his arm. “You will be careful, dear Guy, not to agitate her? She is so easily excited, so weak, poor darling! Come now.” She threw the door open, standing back for him to enter the room, & then closed it softly upon him. It was a large room, with two windows through which the mellow afternoon sunlight streamed; & beside one of these windows, in a deep, cushioned arm-chair Georgie sat with a pale, expectant face. So fragile, so sad & white she looked that he scarcely knew her as he crossed the threshold; then she held out her thin little hand & called softly: “Guy!” It was the old voice; that at least had not changed! He came forward almost blindly, & felt his hand grasped in the soft, trembling fingers on which his parting kiss had fallen more than a year ago. He could not speak at first, & she too was silent; both lost in the intensity of their emotion. “Sit down beside me,” she said at last, still clasping his hand gently; & then he looked up again & met the wide, burning hazel eyes brimmed with tears. “Oh, Guy,” she cried, “I never thought to see you again. Have you come to forgive me?” “Do not talk of that,” he answered with an effort. “Only tell me that you are stronger, that you will be well soon.” She shook her head quietly. “I cannot tell you that; & I must tell you how I have suffered through my folly—my wicked folly.” Her tears were falling softly, but she made no attempt to hide them. “I think,” she went on, still holding Guy’s hand, “that the thought—which pursued me always & everywhere—of the wrong I did you, has killed me. When I look back at the hours of shame & suffering I have passed, I almost wonder I lived through them—I almost feel glad to die! Surely, surely there never was so wicked & miserable a creature in the world—I shudder at the mere thought of my hard, silly selfishness.” She paused, her voice broken by a sob; then hurried on, as if to relieve herself of a great weight. “Oh, Guy, it would not have been so bad if all this time I had not—cared; but I did. There was no one like you—no one with whom I could feel really happy as with you. Then I thought I would drown all these sad recollections by going into society; but under all the gayety & the noise, Guy, my heart ached—ached so cruelly! Listen a moment longer. When I thought how you must despise me & hate me, I felt like killing myself. I seemed to have been such a traitor to you, although you were the only man I ever loved! I gave up all thought of seeing you again until—until I heard them say I was dying, & then I got courage, remembering how tender & how generous you always were—& as I lay there after the fever left me, I could think nothing but: ‘I must see Guy, I must be forgiven,’ over & over again.” Her voice failed again, & she leaned back among her cushions. “And you came,” she continued, presently, “you came though I had wronged you & insulted you and—and deserved nothing but your contempt. You have come to forgive me!” “Hush, dearest,” Guy answered, struggling to master his voice, “try to forget everything that is past. Let us be happy—for a little while.” “Oh, I am so happy,” she cried; “perhaps, after all, then, you did not think of me quite so hardly—as I deserved. Perhaps—you understood a little—you felt sorry—” “My dearest,” he answered, passionately; “I did more; I—loved you.” A new light seemed to flash over her face; he could feel the hand that clasped his tighten & tremble. “Don’t—don’t,” she gasped, in a voice full of pain, “it can’t be true—don’t try to love me—I—I only meant to be forgiven.” “Forgiven!” said Guy, with a sudden bitterness, “it is I who need to be forgiven, if there is forgiveness in Heaven or earth for such folly & madness as have been mine! Oh, Georgie darling, I think I have been in a horrible dream.” Startled by the sudden wildness of his words, Georgie lifted her eyes full of sorrowful questioning to his. “What is it, Guy? Are we all to be unhappy?” And then, in a few, broken words of shame & self-reproach, he told her how when all the hope & sacredness of life was slipping from him, he had met Madeline, & thinking that such a pure presence might hallow his days, & recall him from the reckless path to which despair had beckoned him, had asked her to be his wife. When he ended, Georgie sat quite still, a grave pity shining in the eyes that seemed too large for her little, wasted face. “I am so glad, Guy,” she said, in her sweet, tremulous tone, still clasping his hand; “so glad that I may die without that dreadful thought of having spoiled your life as well as my own. Oh, Guy, I am quite happy now! I am sure she must be good & gentle, because you are fond of her; & I am sure she will be a good wife to you, because—no one could help it.” She paused a moment, but he could not trust himself to speak, & gathering strength, she went on with touching earnestness, “Guy, you will be good to her, will you not? And you will make her home pleasant, & forget everything that is gone for her sake? And kiss her, Guy, on her wedding-day, from some one who calls herself her sister. Do you promise?” “Anything, dearest girl,” he answered, brokenly. She smiled; one of those rare, brilliant smiles that to his tear-dimmed eyes made her face as the face of an Angel. “My own brave Guy,” she whispered. “And you will go back to your painting, & your work—& when I am dead, no one will say ‘She ruined his life.’” “They will say, dearest, that if forgiving love & tenderness could wash out his folly, when he thought that nothing but despair was left in life, she did so as no one else could.” “Hush, Guy, hush,” she faltered, as he kissed the trembling hand laid on his own, “you pain me. I do not deserve so much. I do not deserve to die so happy—so unspeakably happy.” “To die!” he repeated, passionately. “Darling, do [not] say that—I had almost forgotten! They said you were better.” She shook her head, again with that sweet, flitting smile. “It is better you should know, Guy—& indeed all is best! I have not courage to live, if I had the strength. But you must go back to a braver & a happier life, & then to die will be like going to sleep with the consciousness that the day is over, & when I wake there will be … no more sorrow & regrets….” There was a long pause. The clock ticked steadily; the afternoon sunshine waned, & the sand in an hour-glass on the table trickled its last grains through to mark the ended hour. Guy sat clasping the little wasted fingers, & leaning his face against his hand in the hopeless silence of grief. At last Georgie, bending towards him, spoke, very tenderly & quietly: “Look Guy; the twilight is coming. We must say goodbye.” “Goodbye?” he echoed vaguely, only half-startled out of his bitter dream by the strangely calm, low words. “For the last time,” Georgie went on, drawing her hand softly away. “Oh, Guy, say again before you go that you forgive me everything—everything.” He had risen, dazzled by his tears, & turned to the window that she might not see his white face & quivering lips; he could not answer. “Guy, Guy,” she repeated passionately, “you forgive me? Guy, come closer; bend down, so, that I may see your face—for it is growing dark. Say ‘I forgive you,’ Guy!” “I—forgive you.” Once more the old, radiant smile, transfiguring her pale features as health & enjoyment had never done, answered his broken words. “Thank you—that is all I wanted,” she whispered, gazing up into the haggard face bent over her. “If you knew, Guy, how happy I am … now….” Silence again. “Now kiss me, Guy, & bid me goodnight.” Almost childishly, she held up her little, trembling lips; & stifling back his anguish he stooped & kissed them solemnly. “Guy, goodnight.” “Goodnight … my Love! my Love!—”

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Someone led him gently from the room; & he knew that he had seen the face of his beloved for the last time on earth. The next morning word was brought him that Georgie had passed very quietly with the dawn, “to where, beyond these voices, there is Peace.”

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