Elsie's Vacation and After Events Part 16

"I hope there is nothing serious ailing dear mamma," Violet said rather anxiously to herself, as the carriage rolled swiftly on toward Ion; "there was really nothing in her note to indicate it, but she has never been one to complain of even a pretty serious ailment. She is not old yet; we may hope to keep her with us for many, many years. But then she is so good--so ripe for heaven!" And a silent prayer went up to G.o.d that the dear mother might be spared for many years to help others on their pilgrim way, especially her children and grandchildren. "For oh, how we need her!" was the added thought; "what could we ever do without her--the dear, kind, loving mother to whom we carry all our troubles and perplexities, sure of comfort, the best of advice, and all the help in her power to give. Dear, dear mamma! Oh, I have never prized her as I ought!"

It was only the previous evening that Mrs. Travilla herself had learned that she was a.s.sailed by more than a trifling ailment. What seemed to her but a slight one, causing discomfort, and at times quite a good deal of pain, she had been conscious of for some weeks or months, but had not thought it necessary to speak of it to anyone.

About the time of her return home, however, there had been a very decided increase in the suffering; which at length led her to confide her trouble to her cousin and family physician, Dr. Arthur Conly, and she had learned from him that it was far more serious than she had supposed; that in fact her only escape from sure and speedy death lay in submission to a difficult and dangerous surgical operation.

Arthur told her as gently and tenderly as he could--a.s.suring her that there was more than a possibility of a successful result--bringing relief from her suffering and prolonging her life for many years.

His first words--showing her ailment as so much more serious than she had ever for a moment supposed it to be--gave her a shock at the thought of the sudden parting from all her dear ones--father, children, and grandchildren; yet before he had finished she was entirely calm and composed.

"And what would death be but going home?" she said; "home to the mansions Jesus my Saviour has prepared for those he died to redeem, and to the dear ones gone before, there to await the coming of those who will be left behind for a little while. Ah, it is nothing to dread or to fear, for 'I know that my Redeemer liveth.'"

"And yet, Cousin Elsie," Arthur returned, with ill-concealed emotion, "how illy you could be spared by any of those who know and love you.

Even I should feel it an almost heartbreaking thing to lose you out of my life, and your father, children----"

"Yes, I know, dear cousin, and shall not hesitate to do or bear all that holds out a hope of prolonging my days here upon earth; for otherwise I should feel that I was rushing into the Master's presence unbidden, and that without finishing the work he has given me to do here.

"Nor would I be willing to so pain the hearts of those who love me. I am ready to submit at once to whatever you deem necessary or expedient. But ah, my dear father! How distressed he will be when he learns all that you have just told me! I wish he might be spared the knowledge till all is over. But it would not do. He must be told at once, and--I must tell him."

"That will be very hard for you, dear cousin; would it not be better----" Arthur began, but paused, leaving his sentence unfinished.

"It will come best from me, I think," she returned, with a sad sort of smile. "But when?"

"Day after to-morrow, if you will. I think you would prefer to have the trial over as soon as possible?"

"Yes; I think it will save both me and all concerned from some of the suffering of antic.i.p.ation, if you can make it suit your convenience."

"Perfectly," he answered; "there are few preparations to be made and I do not want long to contemplate doing what must be a trial to so many whom I love."

Their talk had been in her boudoir. He lingered but a few moments longer, then went down to the drawing-room.

"Uncle," he said, in a low aside to Mr. Dinsmore, "I have just left Cousin Elsie in her boudoir and she wishes to see you there."

"She is not well, Arthur?" asked the old gentleman, with a slightly startled look, as he rose from his easy chair and the two pa.s.sed out into the hall together.

"Not very, uncle," was the sad-toned reply. "She has been consulting me and there is something she wishes to say to you."

Mr. Dinsmore paled to the very lips. "Don't keep me in suspense, Arthur; let me know the worst, at once," he said, with almost a groan. "Why has anything been hidden from me--the father who loves her better than his life?"

"I have been as ignorant as yourself, uncle, till within the last half hour," replied the doctor, in a patient, deeply sympathizing tone. "It is astonishing to me that she has been able to endure so much for weeks or months past without a word of complaint. But do not despair, my dear uncle; the case is by no means hopeless."

"Tell me all, Arthur; hide nothing, nothing from me," Mr. Dinsmore said with mingled sternness and entreaty, hastily leading the way as he spoke to the little reception room opening from the other side of the hall, and closing the door against any chance intruder.

Arthur complied, stating the case as briefly as possible, and laying strong emphasis upon the fact that there was reason to hope for, not spared life alone, but entire and permanent relief.

"G.o.d grant it!" was the old gentleman's fervent, half agonized response.

"My darling, my darling! would that I could bear all the suffering for you! Arthur, when--when must my child go through the trial which you say is--not to be escaped?"

"We have agreed upon the day after to-morrow, uncle, both she and I wishing to have it over as soon as possible."

A few minutes later, Mr. Dinsmore pa.s.sed quietly into his daughter's boudoir, where he found her alone, lying on a lounge, her eyes closed, her countenance, though deathly pale, perfectly calm and peaceful.

He bent down and touched his lips to the white forehead; then as the sweet eyes opened and looked up lovingly into his, "Oh, my darling, idol of my heart," he groaned, "would that your father could himself take the suffering that I have just learned is in store for you."

"Ah no, no, my dear, dear father, I could illy bear that," she said, putting an arm about his neck; "suffering and danger to you would be far harder for me than what I am now enduring or expecting in the near future. Arthur has told you all?"

"Yes; kind-hearted and generous fellow that he is, he felt that he must spare you the pain of telling it yourself."

"Yes, it was very, very kind," she said, "Dear papa, sit down in this easy chair, close by my side, and take my hand in yours while we talk together of some matters that need to be settled before--before I am called to go through that which may be the end of earthly life for me."

Then, in response to the anguished look in his face as he bent over her with another silent caress, "My dear father, I do not mean to distress you. Arthur holds out strong hope of cure and years of health and strength to follow; yet surely it is but the part of wisdom to prepare for either event."

"Yes; and I am sure you are fully prepared, at least so far as your eternal welfare is concerned; should you be called away--our grief will be for ourselves alone."

"I am glad the choice is not left with me," she said, in low, sweet tones, after a moment's silence. "For your dear sake, papa, and that of my beloved children, I am more than willing to stay here on earth for many more years, yet the thought of being forever with the Lord--near him and like him--thrills my heart with joy unspeakable, while added to that is a great gladness in the prospect of reunion with the dear husband who has gone before me to that happy land. So I am not to be pitied, my dear father," she added, with a beautiful smile; "and can you not rejoice with me that the choice is not mine but lies with him whose love for us both is far greater than ours for each other?"

"Yes," he replied with emotion; "blessed be his holy name that we may leave it all in his hands, trusting in his infinite wisdom and love; knowing that if called to part for a season, we shall be reunited in heaven, never again to be torn asunder."

"Yes, dear father; we cannot expect to go quite together, but when reunited there in that blessed land, never again to part, the time of separation will seem to have been very short; even as nothing compared to the long, the unending eternity we shall spend together.

"And oh, what an eternity of joy and bliss, forever freed from sin and suffering, near and like our Lord, altogether pleasing in his sight, no doubts, no fears, the battle fought, the victory won. 'And there shall be no more curse, but the throne of G.o.d and of the Lamb shall be in it, and his servants shall serve him; and they shall see his face; and his name shall be in their foreheads. And there shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light of the sun; for the Lord G.o.d giveth them light, and they shall reign for ever and ever!'"

"Yes, my darling; blessed be his holy name for the many great and precious promises of his word, and I have not a doubt of your full preparation for either event; but oh, that it may please him to spare you to me as the light, comfort, joy of my remaining days! Yet should it please him to take you to himself--ah, I cannot, dare not allow myself to contemplate so terrible a bereavement," he added, in low anguished accents, as he bent over her, softly smoothing her hair with tenderly caressing touch.

"Then do not, dear father," she said, lifting to his eyes full of ardent love and sympathy; "try to leave it all with the dear Master, and he will fulfil to you his precious promise, 'As thy days, so shall thy strength be.' Has it not ever been the testimony of all his saints concerning his precious promises that not one faileth?"

"Yes," he said, "and so will it ever be. By his grace I will trust and not be afraid for you, my beloved child; nor for myself, his most unworthy servant."

Then with an upward glance, "'Lord increase our faith.' Oh, help us each to trust in thee and not to be afraid, be the way ever so dark and dreary, remembering thy gracious promise, 'I will in no wise fail thee, neither will I in anywise forsake thee.'"

"Sweet, sweet words, papa," she said, low and tremulously, lifting to his eyes full of glad, grateful tears.

"And those others, 'When thou pa.s.seth through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee; when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. For I am the Lord thy G.o.d, the Holy One of Israel, thy Saviour.'

"Oh, what more could I ask? what have I to do with doubt or fear, since he is mine and I am his?"

"Only the physical pain," he said, low and tenderly; "and Arthur tells me that with the help of anaesthetics there will be little or none of that during the operation, but----"

"What may come afterward can be easily borne, dear papa," she said, as he paused, overcome by emotion.

"My dear, brave darling! a more patient, resigned sufferer never lived!"

was his moved, though low-breathed, exclamation.

A moment's silence fell between them, he leaning over and caressing her with exceeding tenderness; then, "Papa," she said, with a loving look up into his eyes, "I cannot bear to see you so distressed. Arthur holds out strong hope of cure, of speedy and entire recovery; and we may be spared to each other for many years if the will of G.o.d be so; but--surely it is my wisest plan to prepare for every possibility.

"I feel very easy about my dear children, most of them having already arrived at years of maturity, and being comfortably settled in life; Edward and my two older daughters, at least; while the others I can leave in the safest of earthly hands, even those of my dear and honored father, whose love for them is only secondary to my own; and for each one I have reason to hope that the good part has been chosen which can never be taken away."

"I do indeed love them very dearly," he responded, "for their own sake, their father's, and most of all because they are the offspring of my own beloved child. Should I outlive her, they shall want for nothing their grandfather can do to make them happy."