Her manner had caught him unawares; but now recovering himself he turned
back determinedly. Bursting out upon the roof he clasped her in his
arms, and kissed her several times.
'Viviette, Viviette,' he said, 'I have come to marry you!' She uttered a shriek--a shriek of amazed joy--such as never was heard on that tower before or since--and fell in his arms, clasping his neck.
There she lay heavily. Not to disturb her he sat down in her seat, still
holding her fast. Their little son, who had stood with round conjectural
eyes throughout the meeting, now came close; and presently looking up to
Swithin said-'Mother has gone to sleep.' Swithin looked down, and started. Her tight clasp had loosened. A wave of whiteness, like that of marble which had never seen the sun, crept up
from her neck, and travelled upwards and onwards over her cheek, lips,
eyelids, forehead, temples, its margin banishing back the live pink till
the latter had entirely disappeared.
Seeing that something was wrong, yet not understanding what, the little
boy began to cry; but in his concentration Swithin hardly heard it.
'Viviette--Viviette!' he said.
The child cried with still deeper grief, and, after a momentary
hesitation, pushed his hand into Swithin's for protection.
'Hush, hush! my child,' said Swithin distractedly. 'I'll take care of
you! O Viviette!' he exclaimed again, pressing her face to his.
But she did not reply.
'What can this be?' he asked himself. He would not then answer according
to his fear.
He looked up for help. Nobody appeared in sight but Tabitha Lark, who
was skirting the field with a bounding tread--the single bright spot of
colour and animation within the wide horizon. When he looked down again
his fear deepened to certainty. It was no longer a mere surmise that
help was vain. Sudden joy after despair had touched an over-strained
heart too smartly. Viviette was dead. The Bishop was avenged.