A Knight of the Nineteenth Century Part 52

"Don't go just yet, Orton. I--to tell you the truth, I feel that dying is rather serious business, and you and I have always taken life somewhat as a good joke. Call the girls."

They came and stood by their mother. Amy was beyond tears, but little Bertha could not understand it, and with difficulty could be kept from clambering upon the bed to her father.

"Amy's naughty, she keeps me away from you, papa. I've been wanting to see you all day, and Amy won't let me."

The doctor and Haldane retired to the hallway.

There was an unutterable look in the dying man's eyes as he fixed them on the little group.

"How can I leave you? how can I leave you?" he groaned.

At this the child began to cry, and again struggled to reach her father.

She was evidently his idol, and he prayed, "Wherever I go--whatever becomes of me, G.o.d grant I may see that child again."

"Mother," he said (he always called his wife by that endearing name), "I'm sure you are mistaken. I want to see you all again with such intense longing that I feel I shall. This life can't be all. My hearts revolts at it. It's fiendish cruelty to tear asunder forever those who love as we do. As I told you before, I'm going to take my chances--with the publican. Oh! that some one could make a prayer! Orton!" he called feebly.

The doctor entered, leaving the door open.

"Couldn't you offer a short prayer? You may think it unmanly in me, but I am in sore straits, and I want to see these loved ones again."

"Haldane," cried Dr. Orton, "here, offer a prayer, for G.o.d's sake, if you can. I feel as if I were choking."

Without any hesitancy or mannerism the Christian man knelt at Mr.

Poland's bedside and offered as simple and natural a prayer as he would have spoken to the Divine Man in person had he gone to him in Judea, centuries ago, in behalf of a friend. His faith was so absolute that he that was pet.i.tioned became a living presence to those who listened.

"G.o.d bless you, whoever you are," said the sick man. "Oh, that does me good! It's less dark. It seems to me that I've got hold of a hand that can sustain me."

"Bress de Lord!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed an old negress who sat in a distant corner.

"I install this young man as your nurse to-night," said Dr. Orton, huskily; "I'll be here in the morning. Come, little girls, go now."

"We shall meet again, Amy; we shall meet again, Bertie, darling; remember papa said it and believed it."

Haldane saw a strange blending of love and terror in Amy's eyes as she led her little and bewildered sister from the room.

Dr. Orton took him one side and rapidly gave his directions. "His pulse," he said, "indicates that he may be violent during the night; if so, induce Mrs. Poland to retire, if possible. I doubt if he lives till morning." He then told Haldane of such precautions as he should take for his own safety, and departed.

The horrors of that night cannot be portrayed. As the fever rose higher and higher, all evidence of the kind, loving husband and father perished, and there remained only a disease-tortured body. The awful black vomit soon set in. The strong physical nature in its dying throes taxed Haldane's powerful strength to the utmost, and only by constant effort and main force could he keep the sufferer in his bed. Mrs. Poland and the old colored woman who a.s.sisted her would have been totally unequal to the occasion. Indeed, the wife was simply appalled and overwhelmed with grief and horror, for the poor man, unconscious of all save pain, and in accordance with a common phase of the disease, filled the night with unearthly cries and shrieks. But before the morning dawned, instead of tossing and delirium there was the calm serenity of death.

As Haldane composed the form for its last sleep he said:

"My dear Mrs. Poland, your faithful watch is ended, your husband suffers no more; now, surely you will yield to my entreaty and go to your room.

I will see that everything is properly attended to."

The poor woman was bending over her husband's ashes, almost as motionless as they, and her answer was a low cry as she fell across his body in a swoon.

Haldane lifted her gently up, and carried her from the room.

Crouching at the door of the death-chamber, her eyes dilated with horror, he found poor Amy.

"Is mother dead also?" she gasped.

"No, Miss Amy. She only needs your care to revive speedily. Please lead the way to your mother's apartment."

"I think there is a G.o.d, and that he sent you" she whispered.

"You are right," he replied, in the natural hearty tone which is so potent in rea.s.suring the terror-stricken. "Courage, Miss Amy; all will be well at last. Now let me help you like a brother, and when your mother revives, I will give her something to make her sleep; I then wish you to sleep also."

The poor lady revived after a time, and tried to rise that she might return to her husband's room, but fell back in utter weakness.

"Mrs. Poland," said Haldane gently, "you can do no good there. You must live for your children now."

She soon was sleeping under the influence of an opiate.

"Will you rest, too, Miss Amy?" asked Haldane.

"I will try," she faltered; but her large, dark eyes looked as if they never would close again.

Returning to the room over which so deep a hush had fallen, Haldane gave a few directions to the old negress whom he left in charge, and then sought the rest he so greatly needed himself.

CHAPTER LI

"O PRICELESS LIFE!"

When Haldane came down the following morning he found Bertha playing on the piazza as unconscious of the loss of her father as the birds singing among the trees of their master. Amy soon joined them, and Haldane saw that her eyes had the same appealing and indescribable expression, both of sadness and terror, reminding one of some timid and beautiful animal that had been brought to bay by an enemy that was feared inexpressibly, but from which there seemed no escape.

He took her hand with a strong and rea.s.suring pressure.

"Oh," she exclaimed with a slight shudder, "how can the sun shine? The birds, too, are singing as if there were no death and sorrow in the world."

"Only a perfect faith, Miss Amy, can enable us, who do know there is death and sorrow, to follow their example."

"It's all a black mystery to me," she replied, turning away.

"So it was to me once."

An old colored man, the husband of the negress who had a.s.sisted Haldane in his watch, now appeared and announced breakfast.

It was a comparatively silent meal, little Bertha doing most of the talking. Amy would not have touched a mouthful had it not been for Haldane's persuasion.

As soon as Bertha had finished, she said to Haldane:

"Amy told me that you did papa ever so much good last evening: now I want to see him right away."

"Does she not know?" asked Haldane in a low tone.