Elsie's Motherhood Part 37

"Nothing! nothing!" sobbed the girl, resting her head for a moment on Elsie's shoulder; "But come into the parlor, dear Mrs. Travilla, and let me call mamma."

"Ah, stay a moment," Elsie said, detaining her, "are you sure, quite sure that I can do nothing to help you?"

Annie shook her head. "This trouble is beyond human help. Yes, yes, you can pray for us, and for him."

The last words were almost inaudible from emotion, and she hurried away, leaving the guest sole occupant of the room.

Involuntarily Elsie glanced about her, and a pang went to her heart as she noticed that every article of luxury, almost of comfort, had disappeared; the pictures were gone from the walls, the pretty ornaments from mantel and centre-table; coa.r.s.e cheap matting covered the floor in lieu of the costly carpet of other days, and rosewood and damask had given place to cottage furniture of the simplest and most inexpensive kind.

"How they must feel the change!" she thought within herself, "and yet perhaps not just now; these minor trials are probably swallowed up in a greater one."

Mrs. Foster came in looking shabbier and more heart-broken than at their last interview.

"My dear Mrs. Travilla, this is kind!" she said making a strong effort to speak with composure but failing utterly as she met the tender sympathizing look in the sweet soft eyes of her visitor.

Elsie put her arms about her and wept with her. "Some one is ill, I fear?" she said at length.

"Yes--my son. O Mrs. Travilla, I am going to lose him!" and she was well nigh convulsed with bitter, choking sobs.

"While there is life there is hope," whispered Elsie, "who can say what G.o.d may do for us in answer to our prayers?"

The mother shook her head in sad hopelessness.

"The doctor has given him up; says nothing more can be done."

"Dr. Barton?"

"No, no, Savage. Oh if we could but have had Barton at first the result might have been different. I have no confidence in Savage, even when sober, and he's drunk nearly all the time now."

"Oh then things may not be so bad as he represents them. Let me send over for Dr. Barton at once."

"Thank you, but I must ask Wilkins first. He was wounded some weeks ago; injured internally, and has been suffering agonies of pain ever since. I wanted Dr. Barton sent for at once, but he would not hear of it, said the risk was too great and he must trust to Savage. But now--" she paused, overcome with grief.

"But now the greater risk is in doing without him," suggested Elsie.

"May I not send immediately?"

"Excuse me one moment, and I will ask," the mother said, leaving the room.

She returned shortly to say that Wilkins had consented that Dr. Barton should be summoned; accepted Mrs. Travilla's kind offer with thanks.

Elsie at once sent her servant and carriage upon the errand, and meanwhile engaged in conversation with her hostess. It was princ.i.p.ally an account by the latter of her son's illness.

His sufferings, she said, had been intense: at first borne with fierce impatience and muttered imprecations upon the hand that had inflicted the wound. He had likened himself to a caged tiger, so unbearable was the confinement to him,--almost more so than the torturing pain--but of late a great change had come over him; he had grown quiet and submissive, and the bitter hate seemed to have died out of his heart.

"As it has out of mine, I hope," continued the mother, the big tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I am now sensible that the feelings I have indulged against some persons--the Lelands princ.i.p.ally--were most unchristian, and I hope the Lord has helped me to put them away. It has been hard for us to see strangers occupying our dear old home; and yet it was certainly no fault of theirs that we were compelled to give it up."

"That is all true," Elsie said, "I think I can understand both your feelings and theirs, but they are dear good Christian people, and I a.s.sure you bear you no ill-will."

"Ah, is that so? I am told Leland has not really gone North, as was supposed, but has returned to the plantation since--since the coming of the troops."

"He has, and is nearly recovered from his wound."

"He was wounded, then?"

"Yes, pretty badly."

"And was in hiding somewhere; and his wife staying on alone with her children and servants? I wonder she had the courage."

"She put her trust in the Lord, as I believe both you and I do, my dear Mrs. Foster; and he has not failed her."

Mrs. Foster mused sadly for a moment. "I have felt hard to her," she murmured at length, in low, trembling tones; "and she a Christian, whom I should love for the Master's sake, and it was quite natural for her to--defend her husband and children. I should have done the same for mine."

She had not mentioned when or where Wilkins had received his wound, but Elsie knew now that it was at Fairview and that Mrs. Leland's or Archie's hand had sped the bullet that had done such fearful work.

Dr. Barton came: Mrs. Foster went with him to the sick-room and Elsie lingered, anxious to hear his opinion of the case.

But Annie came hurrying in with her tear-swollen face. "Dear Mrs.

Travilla, won't you come too?" she sobbed. "Mamma will be so glad; and--and Wilkins begs you will come."

Elsie rose and put her arm about the waist of the weeping girl. "I will gladly do all I can for him, your mamma or any of you," she whispered.

There was no want of comfort or luxury in the sick-room. Mother and sisters had sacrificed every such thing to this idol of their hearts, this only son and brother. He lay propped up with pillows, his face pale as that of a corpse, and breathing with great difficulty.

Dr. Barton sat at the bedside with his finger on the patient's pulse while he asked a few brief questions, then relapsed into a thoughtful silence.

All eyes were turned upon him with intense anxiety, waiting in almost breathless suspense for his verdict; but his countenance betrayed nothing.

"O doctor!" sighed the mother at length, "have you no word of hope to speak?"

"Let us have none of false hope, doctor," gasped the sufferer, "I would know--the--worst."

"My poor lad," said the kind-hearted old physician, in tender, fatherly tones, "I will not deceive you. Whatever preparation you have to make for your last long journey, let it be made at once."

With a burst of uncontrollable anguish the mother and sisters fell upon their knees at the bedside.

"How--long--doctor?" faltered the sick man.

"You will hardly see the rising of another sun."

The low, gently-spoken words pierced more than one heart as with a dagger's point.

"Was--this--wound--mortal in the--first place?" asked Wilkins.

"I think not if it had had prompt and proper attention. But that is a question of little importance now: you are beyond human skill. Is there anything in which I can a.s.sist you?"

"Yes--yes--pray for--my guilty soul."