Medoline Selwyn's Work Part 48

"Then I am forgiven, and you will trust me once more," I pleaded softly.

"Yes, Medoline, as I expect to be trusted by you," he said, with a solemnity that made me tremble. My eyes closed in utter weariness and then I seemed to be floating, floating over summer seas, and under such peaceful, blessed skies, I began to wonder if I was not pa.s.sing out to the quiet coast bordering on the Heavenly places.

Of one thing only was I certain--the hand that still held mine, which kept me from drifting quite away from the sh.o.r.es of time. I tried to cling to it, but my hand could only lie nerveless within its firm grasp.

I believed if once the hold was loosened I should slip quietly out into the broader sea just beyond me. I wondered which was best--life or death,--then far down in my soul I seemed to grow strong, and could calmly say, "as G.o.d wills;" and for a long time I seemed to be pa.s.sively awaiting His will. It was very strange, the thoughts I had, lying there so far within the border land; as if the faculties of mind and soul had nearly slipped the fleshly leash, and independently of their environment, boldly held counsel, and speculated on the possibilities of their immediate future.

But gradually the wheels of life began to turn more strongly. When next I opened my eyes the daylight was softly penetrating the closely drawn curtains. Mrs. Flaxman was standing near, looking worn and pale; but Mrs.

Blake was also there, and loomed up before me, strong as ever--a look into her kindly face was like a tonic. When she saw me watching her she turned around, and very softly whispered to Mrs. Flaxman, who, casting a startled, anxious glance towards me, went silently from the room.

Mrs. Blake, without speaking, gave me some nourishment. After I had taken it I began to feel more like a living creature.

"Mrs. Blake," I whispered. She stooped down to listen. "Tell me, please, how long I have lain here."

"A good long bit, but the doctor says we mustn't talk to you, or let you talk."

"I am so tired thinking; won't you sing to me?"

"My voice ain't no great shakes; but I'll do the very best I can for you, dearie."

She went to the other side of the room, and seating herself in a comfortable easy-chair began in a low, crooning voice to sing one of Doctor Watts' cradle melodies.

Probably she had learned it in childhood from her own mother, and in turn sung it again to the infant Daniel. It soothed me better than Beethoven or Wagner's grandest compositions could have done. I lay with closed eyes, seeing in imagination the great army of mothers who had lulled their babies to sleep with those same words, and the angels hovering near with folded wings guarding the sleeping nestlings.

The voice grew indistinct, and presently sleep, more deep and refreshing than I had known for weeks, enfolded me. The doctor entered the room at last to put a stop to the music, and found Mrs. Blake tired and perspiring, but singing steadily on. Without missing a note she pointed to the bed and the peaceful sleeper. He smiled grimly and withdrew; no doubt realizing there were other soporifics applied by nature than those weighed and measured by the apothecary.

CHAPTER XXVII.

CONVALESCENCE.

When the curtains were withdrawn from my windows, and I was strong enough to look once more on the outer world, I found the late April sun was bringing back life and beauty to the trees and shrubbery around Oaklands.

Thomas and Samuel were well on with their gardening, and already a few brave blossoms were smiling up at us from mother earth. I felt like one who had been visiting dim, mysterious sh.o.r.es, and had got safely back from those outlying regions. I used to lie in those quiet hours of convalescence, trying to decide what was real and what fanciful in the experiences of the last few weeks. When Mrs. Flaxman considered me strong enough to listen to consecutive conversation she gave me the particulars of my sudden attack of illness and the incidents connected therewith.

I was one of the first stricken with a virulent type of typhoid fever which, in very many cases, had proved fatal.

A want of sanitary precaution in Cavendish had caused the outbreak which caused, in loss of life, and incidental expenses, far more than the most approved drainage would do in a generation. I was amazed when the names of my fellow sufferers were mentioned; among them Mrs. Le Grande, whose recovery was still considered by the doctors exceedingly uncertain.

Mr. Winthrop, she informed me, had not sufficient confidence in the local doctors to trust me entirely to their care, and at the height of the fever had sent for one from New York. "But for that," she continued, "I believe you would be in your grave to-day."

"I did not think Mr. Winthrop would care very much. He is so angry with me."

"He very soon got over his anger when he found how sick you were. At first he was nearly beside himself; for he thought it was the message I had taken to you from him that day that caused your illness. He would come to your bedside, and listen to your appeals for forgiveness with such an expression of pain on his face. Sometimes he would take your hands in his, a.s.suring you of his forgiveness; but you never understood him. I was afraid you would die without ever knowing."

"But I would have known all about it, once my spirit had got freed from the body; I cannot describe what glimpses I have had of other worlds than ours. It seemed so restful there; so much better than we have words to describe."

"We are so glad you did not leave us for that place, even though it is so beautiful."

"When this life is done, and its work all finished, I may slip away there. I think my soul saw its home and can never again be so fully content with earth."

"Try not to think about it, Medoline, any more."

"Why not?"

"When a person's spirits begin to get homesick for a higher existence, usually they soon drift quietly away where they long to be."

Another day she told me how much Mrs. Blake had done for me, nursing me with a skill and patience that drew high praise from the dignified city physician accustomed to skilled nurses. Mr. Winthrop used to come and go, watching her closely, and one day he said:--

"No matter what happens, Mrs. Blake's future will be attended to."

Then I asked the question that had been troubling me ever since I had been getting better.

"Why do I never see or hear anything from Mr. Winthrop? you say he has forgiven me; but he has not so much as sent me a message, or flower since I came to myself."

"Why, Medoline, did you not know?"

"Know what?" I asked, interrupting her, "has he gone away with Mrs. Le Grande?" I had forgotten for the moment that Mrs. Le Grande was even weaker than myself.

"Oh, no, indeed; marriage has been one of her least anxieties of late.

Mr. Winthrop is in London before this: I am looking for letters now every day."

"Has he gone to Europe?"

"Yes; I thought of course you knew; he left the very day the doctor p.r.o.nounced you out of danger."

"Did you know he thought of going?"

"No, we were greatly surprised; I cannot think why he left so abruptly."

"Perhaps he was afraid of Mrs. Le Grande. He knows how fascinating she can be when she chooses."

"I do not think she had anything to do with it. She was perfectly harmless when he left, in the delirium of fever, with two physicians in attendance."

I was not convinced by Mrs. Flaxman's words, but said no more on the subject.

My strength rapidly returned once I had got in the open air. Thomas always found it perfectly convenient now to take me for a drive, even at most unseasonable hours. His gardening was pressing heavily upon him, and no doubt it was hard for him to trust the care of flower and vegetable beds to other hands; but of the two he preferred to trust them rather than me, to strangers.

We took long drives over hill and valley--for the most part taking the road that skirted the seash.o.r.e. Silently I would watch the white sails disappearing beyond the eastern horizon, wishing that I could follow them to my guardian's side. I missed the delightful hours I used to spend in his study listening to his conversation, so different from that of any human being I ever knew. He lived so far above the range of little minds, the trivialities of everyday life, social gossip, and the like, seemed to shrink from his presence. One always felt the touch of n.o.ble thoughts, and the longing for high endeavor where he was. I lived over again in these long, quiet drives, with the silent Thomas, those last few months, when, with my innocent child's heart, I sunned myself in his presence, unconscious of the rare charm and fascination that drew me to him.

But as I grew stronger I turned from the past and its memories, bitter-sweet, and set myself resolutely to the duty of living my life well, independently of its secret unrest and pain. I knew that many before me, mult.i.tudes after me, would be called to endure a like discipline, and the world, no doubt, is the richer in what it holds as imperishable because of the compensation suffering brings; for if we take with a docile mind the discipline G.o.d gives, there will always be compensation. One day, when I had come back strengthened from a long drive along the seash.o.r.e, a very pleasant surprise awaited me. Mrs.

Flaxman had received letters from Mr. Winthrop which, to my surprise, she did not share with me. But she handed me a check for two hundred dollars, which I was to distribute among my poor friends. That money I believe helped to change the destinies of several lives: for I tried to lay it out in a way that would help some to improve their chances to make life a success.

June, with its flowers and perfumes, came at last; and in the early morning, when I used to ramble through the stretches of flowers and shrubbery, and under the trees, tremulous with bird song, I wondered how the owner of all this beauty could willingly banish himself from it.

Thomas permitted me to gather flowers at will--a favor I used to the utmost, among others sending Mrs. Le Grande a daily remembrance from Oaklands, in the shape of a bouquet of the choicest blossoms.

At last I resolved to follow the flowers myself, though at the risk of the second time incurring Mr. Winthrop's displeasure; but if she were soon to die, as her attendants seemed to expect, surely here was missionary work right at my door. I found the cottage a perfect bower of roses. The garden in front was a wilderness of the choicest varieties I had ever seen, and in the windows nothing could be seen but green leaves and blossoms of every varying tint. It seemed hard to believe that the rarest rose of all was lying there, fading slowly away amid all this fragrance and beauty. I rang the bell, which was answered by the same little maid who had received me before. I asked for Mrs. Le Grande.