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Before turning in we went to look at poor Lucy. The undertaker had certainly done his
work well, for the room was turned into a small chapelle ardente. There was a
wilderness of beautiful white flowers, and death was made as little repulsive as might
be. The end of the winding sheet was laid over the face. When the Professor bent over
and turned it gently back, we both started at the beauty before us. The tall wax candles
showing a sufficient light to note it well. All Lucy's loveliness had come back to her in
death, and the hours that had passed, instead of leaving traces of `decay's effacing
fingers', had but restored the beauty of life, till positively I could not believe my eyes that
I was looking at a corpse. The Professor looked sternly grave. He had not loved her as I
had, and there was no need for tears in his eyes. He said to me, "Remain till I return,"
and left the room. He came back with a handful of wild garlic from the box waiting in the
hall, but which had not been opened, and placed the flowers amongst the others on and
around the bed. Then he took from his neck, inside his collar, a little gold crucifix, and
placed it over the mouth. He restored the sheet to its place, and we came away.
I was undressing in my own room, when, with a premonitory tap at the door, he
entered, and at once began to speak.
"Tomorrow I want you to bring me, before night, a set of post-mortem knives." "Must we
make an autopsy?" I asked.
"Yes and no. I want to operate, but not what you think. Let me tell you now, but not a
word to another. I want to cut off her head and take out her heart. Ah! You a surgeon,
and so shocked! You, whom I have seen with no tremble of hand or heart, do
operations of life and death that make the rest shudder. Oh, but I must not forget, my
dear friend John, that you loved her, and I have not forgotten it for is I that shall operate,
and you must not help. I would like to do it tonight, but for Arthur I must not. He will be
free after his father's funeral tomorrow, and he will want to see her, to see it. Then,
when she is coffined ready for the next day, you and I shall come when all sleep. We
shall unscrew the coffin lid, and shall do our operation, and then replace all, so that
none know, save we alone." "But why do it at all? The girl is dead. Why mutilate her
poor body without need? And if there is no necessity for a post-mortem and nothing to
gain by it, no good to her, to us, to science, to human knowledge, why do it? Without
such it is monstrous."
For answer he put his hand on my shoulder, and said, with infinite tenderness, "Friend
John, I pity your poor bleeding heart, and I love you the more because it does so bleed.
If I could, I would take on myself the burden that you do bear. But there are things that
you know not, but that you shall know, and bless me for knowing, though they are not
pleasant things. John, my child, you have been my friend now many years, and yet did
you ever know me to do any without good cause? I may err, I am but man, but I believe
in all I do. Was it not for these causes that you send for me when the great trouble
came? Yes! Were you not amazed, nay horrified, when I would not let Arthur kiss his
love, though she was dying, and snatched him away by all my strength? Yes! And yet
you saw how she thanked me, with her so beautiful dying eyes, her voice, too, so weak,
and she kiss my rough old hand and bless me? Yes! And did you not hear me swear
promise to her, that so she closed her eyes grateful? Yes!