Beth Woodburn Part 10

Her voice changed to wonder and fear. His overcoat was gone and he seemed a ma.s.s of ice and snow. His beard was frozen together; his breath came with a thick, husky, sound, and he looked so pale and exhausted.

She led him to the fire, and began removing his icy garments. She was too frightened to be of much use, but May's thoughtful self was flitting quietly around, preparing a hot drink and seeing that the bed was ready.

He could not speak for a few minutes, and then it was only brokenly.

"Poor creatures! She had nothing over her but a thin quilt, and the snow blowing through the cracks; and I just took off my coat--and put it over her. I thought I could stand it."

Beth understood it now. He had driven home, all that long way, facing the storm, after taking off his warm fur overcoat, and he was just recovering from a severe cough, too. She trembled for its effect upon him. It went to her heart to hear his husky breathing as he sat there trembling before the fire. They got him to bed soon, and Aunt Prudence tramped through the storm for Dr. Mackay, the young doctor who had started up on the other side of the town. He came at once, and looked grave after he had made a careful examination. There had been some trouble with the heart setting in, and the excitement of his adventure in the storm had aggravated it. Beth remembered his having trouble of that sort once before, and she thought she read danger in Dr. Mackay's face.

That was a long, strange night to Beth as she sat there alone by her father's bedside. He did not sleep, his breathing seemed so difficult.

She had never seen him look like that before--so weak and helpless, his silvery hair falling back from his brow, his cheeks flushed, but not with health. He said nothing, but he looked at her with a pitying look sometimes. What did it all mean? Where would it end? She gave him his medicine from hour to hour. The sleet beat on the window and the heavy ticking of the clock in the intervals of the storm sounded like approaching footsteps. The wind roared, and the old shutter creaked uneasily. The husky breathing continued by her side and the hours grew longer. Oh, for the morning! What would the morrow bring? She had promised May to awaken her at three o'clock, but she looked so serene sleeping with a smile on her lips, that Beth only kissed her softly and went back to her place. Her father had fallen asleep, and it was an hour later that she heard a gentle step beside her, and May looked at her reproachfully. She went to her room and left May to watch. There was a box on her table that her father had left before he went out that evening, and then she remembered that it was Christmas morning.

Christmas morning! There was a handsome leather-bound Bible and a gold watch with a tiny diamond set in the back. She had a choked feeling as she lay down, but she was so exhausted she soon slept. It was late in the morning when she awoke, and May did not tell her of her father's fainting spell. Aunt Prudence was to sit up that night. The dear old housekeeper! How kind she was, Beth thought. She had often been amused at the quaint, old-fashioned creature. But she was a kind old soul, in spite of her occasional sharp words.

Dr. Woodburn continued about the same all the following day, saving that he slept more. The next day was Sunday, and Beth slept a little in the afternoon. When she awakened she heard Dr. Mackay going down the hall, and May came in to take her in her arms and kiss her. She sat down on the bed beside Beth, with tears in her beautiful eyes.

"Beth, your father has been such a good man. He has done so much! If G.o.d should call him home to his reward, would you--would you refuse to give him up?"

Beth laid her head on May's shoulder, sobbing.

"Oh, May--is it--death?" she asked, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper.

"I fear so, dear."

Beth wept long, and May let her grief have its way for a while, then drew her nearer to her heart.

"If Jesus comes for him, will you say 'no'?"

"His will be done," she answered, when she grew calmer.

The next day lawyer Graham came and stayed with Dr. Woodburn some time, and Beth knew that all hope was past, but she wore a cheerful smile in her father's presence during the few days that followed--bright winter days, with sunshine and deep snow. The jingle of sleigh-bells and the sound of merry voices pa.s.sed in the street below as she listened to the labored breathing at her side. It was the last day of the year that he raised his hand and smoothed her hair in his old-time way.

"Beth, I am going home. You have been a good daughter--my one great joy. G.o.d bless you, my child." He paused a moment. "You will have to teach, and I think you had better go back to college soon. You'll not miss me so much when you're working."

Beth pressed back her tears as she kissed him silently, and he soon fell asleep. She went to the window and looked out on it all--the clear, cold night sky with its myriads of stars, the brightly lighted windows and the snow-covered roofs of the town on the hill-slope, and the Erie, a frozen line of ice in the distant moonlight. The town seemed unusually bright with lights, for it was the gay season of the year. And, oh, if she but dared to give vent to that sob rising in her throat! She turned to the sleeper again; a little later he opened his eyes with a bright smile.

"In the everlasting arms," he whispered faintly, then pointed to a picture of Arthur on the table. Beth brought it to him. He looked at it tenderly, then gave it back to her. He tried to say something, and she bent over him to catch the words, but all was silent there; his eyes were closed, his lips set in a smile. Her head sank upon his breast.

"Papa!" she cried.

No answer, not even the sound of heartbeats. There was a noiseless step at her side, and she fell back, unconscious, into May's arms. When she came to again she was in her own room, and Mr. Perth was by her side.

Then the sense of her loss swept over her, and he let her grief have its way for a while.

"My child," he said at last, bending over her. How those two words soothed her! He talked to her tenderly for a little while, and she looked much calmer when May came back.

But the strain had been too much for her, and she was quite ill all the next day. She lay listening to the strange footsteps coming and going in the halls, for everyone came to take a last look at one whom all loved and honored. There was the old woman whom he had helped and encouraged, hobbling on her cane to give him a last look and blessing; there was the poor man whose children he had attended free of charge, the hand of whose dying boy he had held; there was the little ragged girl, who looked up through her tears and said, "He was good to me." Then came the saddest moment Beth had ever known, when they led her down for the last time to his side. She scarcely saw the crowded room, the flowers that were strewn everywhere.

It was all over. The last words were said, and they led her out to the carriage. The sun was low in the west that afternoon when the Perths took her to the parsonage--"home to the parsonage," as she always said after that. Aunt Prudence came to bid her good-bye before she went away to live with her married son, and Beth never realized before how much she loved the dear old creature who had watched over her from her childhood. Just once before she returned to college she went back to look at the old home, with its shutters closed and the snow-drifts on its walks. She had thought her future was to be spent there, and now where would her path be guided?

"Thou knowest, Lord," she said faintly.

CHAPTER XI.

_LOVE._

In the soft flush of the following spring Beth returned to the parsonage at Briarsfield. It was so nice to see the open country again after the city streets. Mr. Perth met her at the station just as the sun was setting, and there was a curious smile on his face. He was a little silent on the way home, as if he had something on his mind; but evidently it was nothing unpleasant. The parsonage seemed hidden among the apple-blossoms, and Mrs. Perth came down the walk to meet them, looking so fair and smiling, and why--she had something white in her arms! Beth bounded forward to meet her.

"Why, May, where did you--whose baby?" asked Beth, breathless and smiling.

"Who does she look like?"

The likeness to May Perth on the little one-month-old face was unmistakable.

"You naughty puss, why didn't you tell me when you wrote?"

"Been keeping it to surprise you," said Mr. Perth. "Handsome baby, isn't it? Just like her mother!"

"What are you going to call her?"

"Beth." And May kissed her fondly as she led her in.

What a pleasant week that was! Life may be somewhat desert-like, but there is many a sweet little oasis where we can rest in the shade by the rippling water, with the flowers and the birds about us.

One afternoon Beth went out for a stroll by herself down toward the lake, and past the old Mayfair home. The family were still in Europe, and the place, she heard, was to be sold. The afternoon sunshine was beating on the closed shutters, the gra.s.s was knee-deep on the lawn and terraces, and the weeds grew tall in the flower-beds. Deserted and silent! Silent as that past she had buried in her soul. Silent as those first throbs of her child-heart that she had once fancied meant love.

That evening she and May sat by the window watching the sunset cast its glories over the lake, a great sheet of flame, softened by a wrapping of thin purplish cloud, like some lives, struggling, fiery, triumphant, but half hidden by this hazy veil of mortality.

"Are you going to write another story, Beth?"

"Yes, I thought one out last fall. I shall write it as soon as I am rested."

"What is it--a love story?"

"Yes, it's natural to me to write of love; and yet--I have never been seriously in love."

May laughed softly.

"Do you know, I am beginning to long to love truly. I want to taste the deep of life, even if it brings me pain."

It was a momentary restlessness, and she recalled these words before long.

Mr. Perth joined them just then. He was going away for a week's holiday on the following day.

"I suppose you have a supply for Sunday," said Mrs. Perth.

"Yes, I have. I think he'll be a very good one. He's a volunteer missionary."

"Where is he going?" asked Beth.