Author: Martha Finley
Category: Childrens
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Chapter Eighteenth.
"Never morning wore To evening, but some heart did break." --Tennyson.
They brought the housekeeper and the family physician. The latterpronounced the patient very ill, and with good reason; for she passedout of one swoon only to fall into another, till they thought that herend was surely near at hand.
However after some hours the immediate danger seemed over and thedoctor left, promising to return before night.
Mrs. Dinsmore had been awed and frightened into something slightly akinto terror and remorse on account of her excessive harshness, but nowshook it off.
"Really she takes her dismissal very hard," she remarked to Mildred asthe latter was leaving the dinner table. "I had no idea she was so muchattached to Roselands."
"I do not think it could be that alone, aunt," Mildred returned insurprise and disgust.
"What then?"
"Her relative's disgrace; the poverty and distress to herself and amother and sister dependent on her, consequent on being thrown out ofemployment."
Then with a sudden recollection of that paper with its markedparagraph, Mildred hastened from the room and went in search of it.
The patient had fallen asleep, Rachel watching at her side.
A glance showed Mildred the paper folded and laid upon the table. Sheopened it cautiously, found the article she sought and read it.
"A case of lynching occurred in one of the southern counties of Texas,about two weeks ago. A man named Joseph White, said to be from oneof the Northern States, suspected of horse stealing, was taken by aposse of some forty armed men, carried into the woods and hung. He wasgiven ten minutes to prepare for death; died bravely, protesting hisinnocence to the last; but of course nobody believed him, as the proofagainst him was strong."
Sick and faint with horror, Mildred laid down the paper and dropped,shuddering, into a chair. Oh, this was worse than all! If he was thatpoor woman's husband, and she loved him, no wonder news so dreadful,and coming at such a time as this, should bring her down to the verygates of death.
The girlish heart was filled with a great compassion for the poorstricken creature, a great longing to comfort her in her grief anddesolation.
"She will not live, she cannot," she whispered to herself; "I shouldnot wish to were I in her place; for oh, it is so horrible, sohorrible! How can men be such savages as to take human life to atonefor the loss of an animal! and that perhaps the life of an innocentman?"
"I should be loath to assume your responsibility in this matter,"remarked Mr. Dinsmore to his wife, as Mildred left them lingering overtheir dessert.
"Why?" she demanded, bridling; "did _I_ cause the ruin of her brotheror the poverty of the family?"
"You seem to have added to that last burden; thus supplying the onedrop that makes the cup overflow."
"I only did my duty to my children," she retorted angrily.
"I cannot see it," he said; "the children have improved very much inthe two years that she has been with us."
"And of course all the credit of that belongs to her! there is none atall due to me. I often wonder, Mr. Dinsmore, how you came to marry awoman for whom you entertain so little admiration or respect."
"That is hardly a fair inference from what I have said," he rejoined ina tone of weariness and disgust; for she had tried his patience not alittle that day with her whims and follies.
He rose with the last word and withdrew to the library. He was sittingbefore the fire in his easy chair, seemingly lost in thought, when thedoor opened softly and Mildred glided across the room and stood at hisside.
As he looked up he saw that her features were working with emotion, hereyes full of tears.
"What is it?" he asked, in a startled tone; "she's not gone, I hope?"
Mildred shook her head, and with a burst of tears and a whispered "Icould almost wish she was if--if I was quite sure she was prepared,"pointed significantly to the marked paragraph in the paper which sheheld before him.
He read it, and then looked up at her with an inquiring "Well?" uponwhich Mildred told her reasons for connecting that item of news withMiss Worth's sudden seizure, repeating the words gasped out by thepale, trembling lips of the governess on her partial restoration toconsciousness.
"I thought then that her mind wandered," concluded Mildred, "but sincereading this, I fear her words were only too true."
"Poor thing!" he sighed. "I'm afraid she knows by sad experience allthat she rescued Juliet from. Well, Milly, we will do the best we canfor her. And, child, don't distress yourself unnecessarily. It will doher no good, you know."
"You are always kind and thoughtful for me, uncle," she respondedgratefully, "but this seems no time to be considering myself. Do youknow what the doctor thinks of her?"
"He told me that the attack must have been occasioned by some severemental shock coming upon an exhausted frame. What she has had toexhaust her I don't know--her duties were light enough, I supposed--butthe shock I took to have been the arrest of her brother. It would seem,however, from this, that a far more terrible one was superadded."
"Yes," Mildred said, shuddering. "Oh, my heart bleeds for her. But howstrange that she is married? Why should she have kept it so profound asecret? going back to her maiden name?"
"That I cannot tell," Mr. Dinsmore answered; "but probably it was aclandestine and unfortunate affair, and she wished to avoid unpleasantexplanations. We will say nothing about it to your aunt, as it wouldonly increase her displeasure against the unhappy woman?"
"Ah, uncle," Mildred said musingly, "how little idea I have hadhitherto of the dreadful distress that comes into some lives! I beginto think myself a very fortunate mortal."
"It is well to learn to appreciate our blessings," he returned with asmile that had little of mirth in it; for he was thinking with concernof the condition and prospects of the stranger within his gates.
"I must ask Dr. Barton whether she is likely to be long ill," hesaid, thinking aloud rather than addressing Mildred, "that we maymake arrangements accordingly. And I think we should show him this,"indicating the fatal news item.
"It is her secret," Mildred suggested doubtfully.
"True, my dear, but physicians have often to be entrusted with thesecrets of their patients and Dr. Barton is a safe depository for suchthings."
Mrs. Dinsmore was impatient for Dr. Barton's opinion, very impatientover the unfortunate circumstances of the serious seizure of thegoverness underneath her roof; for she entertained an utter detestationof sickness and death, and was always ready to fly from them at amoment's warning; whatever might be the character of the illness, sheinsisted there was danger of contagion, and saw it to be clearly herduty to take care of herself by running away.
She spent the afternoon in overseeing the packing of trunks, thatshe might be prepared for any emergency; then anxiously awaited thedoctor's report.
It was her husband who brought it to her at last, late in the evening.He had been closeted for a quarter of an hour with the physician, andnow came into his wife's boudoir with a countenance full of graveconcern.
"Well, what is it? what does Dr. Barton say?" she queried fretfully, "Ithought you would never come back to tell me."
"He fears there is little hope of recovery," her husband answeredgravely, pacing slowly to and fro with the air of one who is seriouslydisturbed.
"And is she going to be sick long?"
"It may be for some weeks, he cannot tell certainly."
"Can she be moved?"
"Moved? What occasion for that? The room she occupies now iscomfortable; is it not?"
"Dear me, Mr. Dinsmore, you can be very stupid! I want to know if shecan't be sent to the village to a hotel or boarding house. It isn't atall pleasant to think of her dying here. I don't want any haunted roomsin my house."
He paused in his walk, and stood looking at her in amazement, thatpresently gave place to an expression of extreme chagrin and disgust.
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"Isabella!" he exclaimed, "are you utterly heartless? utterly destituteof womanly compassion for the helpless and suffering?"
"Of course I'm not," she said, resorting to tears, as was her wont whenat a loss for better weapons of defence. "I'm sure she could be madevery comfortable there, and I spared the necessity of being turned outof my own home in the depth of winter. But you can think of everybody'scomfort and happiness except your wife's; _it_ isn't of the leastconsequence, and never will be."
"Really," he said, "I do not know what you are talking about. Icertainly have not proposed your leaving home, and cannot see theslightest necessity for your doing so."
"No, you would be quite as well pleased to have me stay here and getsick and die, and give you a chance to find a younger and prettierwife."
He disdained a reply to that, and presently she went on:
"I shall take the children, and go to Kentucky to visit my sister. It'sfortunate that Mr. Marsden comes to-morrow, and is going to returnimmediately. I could not have a better escort."
"As you please; I have become somewhat used to being left out of mywife's plans," he said coldly, turning on his heel to leave the room."Go if you like," he added, turning toward her again, "but don't talkof necessity; for there is not the remotest danger of Miss Worth'ssickness proving contagious. She is dying of a broken heart."
"Ridiculous!" she muttered as he went out and shut the door, "the ideaof a governess coming to such a romantic end. It's far more likely toturn out scarlet fever or small-pox."
By morning she had worked herself up to the belief that such was reallythe case.
The next step was to bring her nieces to a like conviction; in whichshe succeeded so well that they were greatly alarmed, Juliet nearlyforgetting the disappointment and disgrace of her late attempt atelopement, in the fear that small-pox might rob her of her beauty.
She had not much to lose, to be sure, but of that fact she wascomfortably ignorant, and as what she had was but skin deep, small-poxwould have made sad havoc with it.
Mr. Marsden arrived in the evening, and early the following morningthe whole party, consisting of himself and his two daughters, Mrs.Dinsmore and her six children, with their nurses, set out for his homein Kentucky.
They departed without seeing Mildred, who had been so much in thesick-room that they were afraid of her, but left good-bye for her withMr. Dinsmore.
He made no effort to detain his family, but simply remarked to hiswife, on taking leave of her, that when she felt it safe to return, hewould be happy to see her and their children.
The house seemed strangely quiet and deserted as he turned back into itafter seeing them off.
He went up to the sick-room. Mildred was there, moving softly about,supplementing the work of the housemaid with a few skillful toucheshere and there, that seemed to brighten up the place wonderfully.
He had said to her at the first, "Mildred, you are not to bear any partof this burden. Mrs. Brown and Aunt Delia are both excellent nurses,and will not neglect anything that can be done for her relief orrestoration; and I cannot have you wearing yourself out."
He said substantially the same thing now, speaking in an undertone thatcould not disturb the patient, who was sleeping under the influence ofmedicine.
"I shall not wear myself out, uncle, never fear," she answered in thesame low key, smiling up affectionately into his face, "but I cannot becontent to stay away all the time, for she seems to cling to me."
"Yes," said Mrs. Brown, coming in; "and Miss Mildred has a wonderfullysoothing way with her that quiets her in her fits of restlessness anddistress, when nothing else can.
"And I think, Mr. Dinsmore," she added, in a still lower tone, "thatit won't be long the poor creature will be troubling any of us. I seedeath in her pale, sunken face now."
Mildred stole out into the hall, and her uncle following her, foundher wiping away the fast-falling tears.
"O, uncle," she sobbed, "what do you think I have discovered? that shehas been wearing herself out sitting up half the night, for monthspast, writing articles and stories for newspapers and magazines, inorder to earn a little more for the support of that mother and sister."
"Indeed!" he said, looking much concerned. "I am very sorry; I wouldrather have added a hundred dollars to her salary, if I had known it.But unfortunately it is too late now."
"I can't help feeling angry at them!" cried Mildred; "why didn't theybear their own burdens according to the Bible command? And then thatbrother--and husband! Oh, it is too bad!"
"Have you learned any more of her story?" he asked.
"No, sir; she hardly speaks at all except that I have heard her murmurto herself in, oh, such a heart broken way, 'My darling, my darling,oh, my darling?' and two or three times she has whispered to me, 'Tellme about Him--that Friend.'"
"That Friend? whom does she mean?"
"The Lord Jesus. I told her of Him once when I found her sad andtroubled, and it seemed to do her good."
"You are a blessed little comforter! you must have taken lessons ofyour mother," he said in a moved tone, as he turned and went away.
Going down stairs, he ordered his carriage and drove over to Ion.
When he returned, Mrs. Travilla was with him.
It was a glad surprise to Mildred, a greater comfort than anything elsebut the arrival of her own mother could have been; for here was onewith a heart ever tenderly alive to human woe, and far more capablethan herself of pointing the sufferer to the only true source of helpand consolation.
Together they watched, day after day, by the sick and dying bed; forthe poor woman had indeed received her death blow in that last terribleannouncement.
She said little, made no complaint, but lay there growing weaker, andoften lifting her eyes to their faces with a look of hopeless anguishin them that wrung their hearts.
Then Mrs. Travilla would lean over her and in low, tender tones tell ofthe love and sympathy of Jesus, repeating now one, now another of themany exceeding great and precious promises of His word.
"'As one whom his mother comforteth so will I comfort you; and ye shallbe comforted.'
"'Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will giveyou rest.'
"'I have loved them with an everlasting love.'
"'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.'"
"Ah, if He loves me, why does He send such fearful trials?" she askedone day.
"My dear," said Mrs. Travilla, "He told his disciples, 'In the worldye shall have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome theworld.'
"'We must through much tribulation enter into the kingdom of God.' But'our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a farmore exceeding and eternal weight of glory.'
"Trust Him and He will do for you just what is best; will give youstrength to bear all that He sends, and take you at last to Himself tobe unspeakably happy forever and forever."
"I will, I do," she said. "Ah, Miss Keith," turning her sad eyes uponMildred, who sat near with tears streaming down her cheeks, "I thankGod that you were sent here to tell me of this heavenly Friend! for Hislove is all that sustains me in this dread hour."
She closed her eyes, and for some moments they thought she slept; butopening them again, "I am dying," she whispered; "but I am not afraid,for He is with me. Ah, how much easier than _his_ death--_his_--_mydarling's_!" she added with a shudder. "Only ten minutes to prepare;and--I--fear he had never found this Friend."
The keenest look of anguish they had ever seen came into her eyes withthose words, and for some minutes she was too much overcome to proceed.
When at last she did it was in tones so low and tremulous that theystrained their ears to catch the sounds.
"Six years ago we married; secretly,--against my parents' wishes. Theywere right; he was wild--loved wine, cards, fast horses, but me too,and oh, _how_ I loved him! He was Harry's ruin; both had to fly, and Ihave never taken his name openly; no one knew what he was to me, but myown family;
and I thought no one need know. Perhaps it was wrong--buthow could I bare my heart to a stranger?"
"You were not called upon to do so," Mrs. Travilla said, with emotion;for the sad story had deeply touched her heart.
The mournful eyes turned upon her with a grateful look, then closed inthe sleep of utter exhaustion.
She passed away that night very calmly and peacefully, trusting in herRedeemer; and as Mildred gazed upon the solemn scene she thanked Godthat she had been permitted to lead one soul to Him, to smooth onedying pillow, and that Heaven would make amends to the sorely triedone, for all she had been called upon to endure on earth.