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That night the Michelle you saw at the lighthouse was born, she was tiny, but the doctors said she was strong. Her mother was not strong enough; she died two hours later; never waking enough to miss Danny or know Bill. I watched her face just as she passed, and I thought I saw a small smile on her lips. Poor Bill collapsed in the chair by her bed, and sobbed into his hands. I could not bear to watch his sorrow, so I went outside to get some fresh air. Danny was there leaning against the wall of the hospital. I went to him, and stood beside him.
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"She's dead," he said. "I have not waited for you to learn that. Put your handkerchief away Maria, she'd want none of your tears."
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I was weeping for him as much as her. When I first looked into his face, a foolish notion struck me that his heart was crushed, and he prayed, because his lips moved, and his head was bent to the ground.
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"Yes she's dead," I answered, drying my tears. "She's dead and gone to heaven, I hope. Where we may, every one, join her."
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Danny started at my words. "Tell me Maria, did she receive her last rites? Did she receive absolution? How did----" He tried to pronounce her name, but he could not manage it. "How did she die?" he resumed at last. He closed his eyes tight, and held back his tears. I noticed that he trembled with the effort.
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"Poor Danny," I thought. "You have a heart and nerves like every other man. Why should you be anxious to conceal them? Your pride will not blind God."
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"Quietly as a lamb," I said aloud. "She sighed, and stretched like a child; then she sunk back into her sleep."
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"And---did she ever mention me?" he asked, hesitating, as if he dreaded the answer to his question would introduce details that he could not bear to hear.
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"Her senses never returned. She recognized nobody from the time you left her," I replied. "She lies with a sweet smile on her face. May she wake as kindly in the other world."
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"May she wake in torment!" he cried with frightful vehemence, stamping his foot and groaning in a fit of passion. "She's a liar to the end. Where is she? Not there--not in heaven--not dead---where? I pray one prayer---I will repeat it until my tongue stiffens---Michelle Bauer, may you not rest as long as I am living! You said I killed you---haunt me, then! The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. Be with me always----take any form---drive me mad---only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! I cannot live without my life! I cannot die without my soul!"
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He smashed his head against the wall, and lifting up his eyes, he cried out--not like a man, but like a savage beast. I noticed several splashes of blood on the wall. His hand and his forehead were both stained; probably the scene I witnessed was a repetition of others acted during the night. It hardly moved my compassion--it appalled me. The moment he recollected himself enough to notice me watching, he shouted for me to leave him, and I obeyed. He was beyond anyone's consolation.
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We buried her body in a small patch of grass by the lighthouse. Bill was reluctant to bury her there; still so jealous of Danny he could not bear for her to be close to him, even in death. I told him about a conversation that I had with her shortly before she died. Michelle had asked me if I believed in heaven, and I told her I did. She told me she had a dream that she died, and went to heaven. But she cried so, that the angels flung her out, down to the shores of the beach by the lighthouse. She said she danced in her dream, delirious with happiness that the angels had not allowed her to stay with them.
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I watched as they threw the first bits of dirt into her grave. Tears filled my eyes, and I turned my head up to look at the lighthouse that was so special to Michelle. Danny was standing on the balcony by the light. He leaned over the railing searching the water with his eyes. I know he was waiting for Michelle to come to him.
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