Christie Redfern's Troubles Part 9

She moved the light so that his face might be in the shadow, and then laid herself down on the low bed near him. She did not mean to sleep; she thought she could not, but weariness overcame her, and she did not waken till Annie lifted the window-curtain and let the light stream in on her face. She woke with a start and a cry; but a glance at her sister's serene face rea.s.sured her.

"You frightened little creature! What makes you jump out of your sleep in that way? I doubt if you have slept much, and yet father says he has had a good night."

"Oh, yes, I have," said she, with a sigh of relief. "I think I have been dreaming."

Looking into her father's face for confirmation of Annie's a.s.surance that he was better, he met her look with a smile which quite banished her fears, saying he was very comfortable and had slept well. Once or twice during the day her fears came back; but she strove to chase them away, calling herself foolish and unthankful. And she could easily do so; for he did seem really better. He conversed more than usual with Aunt Elsie--though Christie did not understand all they said. She only knew that they spoke earnestly, and that her father spoke cheerfully.

Aunt Elsie looked grave and doubtful enough. "But she always does,"

thought Christie. "I can judge nothing by that."

He went farther down the garden-walk than he had ever gone yet; and he looked so cheerful, sitting in the sunshine, that Christie smiled at her unreasonable fears. Alas! that day was to be ever memorable to the Redfern children, as the last on which the sunshine ever rested on their father's face. He never trod the garden path again.

That night Effie came home, and did not go away again till all was over.

Christie never knew very well how those days pa.s.sed. She remembered running down the lane to meet her sister in the twilight, and the irresistible impulse that came over her to tell of the terrible fear that had come upon her as she sat that night with her father's hand on her head. She called herself foolish and weak, and hastened to tell her sister how much better he had been through the day, how he had walked down the garden and enjoyed the sunshine, and how easy and peaceful he had been since then. But the shadow that had fallen on Effie's face at her first words did not pa.s.s away as she continued to speak; and it was with eyes opened to see "the beginning of the end" that she came into her father's chamber.

She did not leave him again. Christie slept on the couch near him; but all night long Effie sat with her eyes fixed on her father's changing face. He did not bid her lie down, as he was wont to do. He always smiled when he met her look, and once he said, "I have much to say to you, Effie;" but, while she listened for more, he slumbered again. And so the night pa.s.sed.

The light of the morning made the change more visible. Sarah saw it when she came in. They did not need to tell each other what they feared. When Christie awoke, it was to see the anxious faces of the three sisters bending over their father. She rose mechanically, and stood beside them.

"Is he worse?" she asked. "He seems sleeping quietly."

She did not need to say more.

"Annie," said Effie, in a little time, beckoning her sister away from the bed, "Aunt Elsie must have her breakfast before she is told this; and the bairns--" Effie's voice failed her for a moment. "We must try and keep them quiet."

Annie said something in a low voice about the doctor; Effie shook her head.

"It's of no use," said Effie. "Still, we might send. I'll tell James."

And she went out.

A little after daybreak he seemed to rouse himself for a moment; but he soon slumbered again. By and by their neighbours, who had heard from the messenger sent for the doctor that Mr Redfern was worse, came dropping in. They looked in for a moment upon the group of girls gathered round their father's bed, and then, for the most part, seated themselves in the outer room with Aunt Elsie. Mrs Nesbitt and her son John lingered in the room, and whispered together. In a little while the mother beckoned to Effie.

"My poor bairn," she said, "if you have anything to say to your father, or anything to ask of him, it had better be now."

Effie gave a quick, startled look.

"Now?" she said. "So soon?"

"Effie, my bairn, for the sake of the rest," whispered her friend.

In a minute or two she was able to take her old place by the pillow. As she bent over her father, the doctor came in. He stood for a moment looking down on him.

"Speak to him," he said.

"Father," said Effie, stooping, with her face close to his. "Father."

He stirred a little at the sound of her voice, and his fingers wandered aimlessly over the coverlet.

"Is it morning?" he asked.

"Father," repeated Effie, "Dr Grey is here."

He opened his eyes at that, and met the look of the doctor fixed on him.

"Oh, is the end come?" he asked. "I didna think it would be so soon.

Did I hear Effie's voice? I have so much to say to her! My poor bairns!"

Effie bent her face again close to his. Her voice was low, but firm and clear.

"Father, don't let any thought of us disturb you now. G.o.d is good. I am not afraid."

"And your aunt, she has suffered much, sacrificed much for us. Consider her first in all things. Be guided by her."

"Yes, father."

"There are other things. I didna think this was to be so soon; and now it is too late. But you have some kind friends. Did I hear John Nesbitt's voice?"

"Yes, father; he is here." And she beckoned to John to come nearer.

But he seemed to have forgotten him John stooped towards him, and said, in a low voice:

"Is there anything I can say that would make it easier for you to leave them?"

The eyes of the dying man turned towards him, slowly.

"John, you are a good man, and true. They will be very solitary. You will be their friend?"

"Always. So help me G.o.d!"

The words were spoken like the words of a vow.

The dying man's mind seemed to wander a little after that; for he asked again if it was morning, and what was to be done in the field to-day.

But Effie's pale face bending over him seemed to recall all.

"Effie," he said, "I leave them all with you--just as I would have left them with your mother. Be to them what she would have been to you all.

You will ay be mindful of the little ones, Effie?"

"Father, with G.o.d's help, I will," she answered, firmly.

"Poor little ones! Poor wee Christie!" he murmured.

They brought them to him, guiding his hand till it rested on each head, one after the other.

"Fear G.o.d, and love one another." It was all he had strength to say, now. John Nesbitt read from the Bible a verse or two now and then, speaking slowly, that the dying man might hear. Then an old man, one of the elders of the kirk, prayed by the bedside. The uneasy movement of his head upon the pillow, and the aimless efforts of his hands to grasp something, were the only signs of suffering that he gave; and when Effie took his hand in hers, these ceased.

"If Christie would sing, I think I could sleep," he said. "Her voice is like her mother's."

Effie beckoned to her sister.

"Try, Christie; try," she said.