Mostly Mary Part 9

It is a marvel that she is not badly spoiled."

"Her mother is too wise a woman to permit that, Sister. I admit that I do not know the child as you do, but I have seen enough of her to feel sure that she is all that you say of her, and that her loss would be a great blow. I find her so well instructed that, if the Doctor thinks she will not recover, I shall allow her to make her First Communion.[1] I have not mentioned the matter to her, however. Speak to the Doctor as soon as he comes in, and if he thinks that there is grave danger, let me know when she again becomes conscious, and I shall come at once. At all events, I shall call again to-morrow."

[Footnote 1: The decree of our late Holy Father, Pope Pius X., concerning the First Communion of little children, had not at this time been issued.]

The next morning, three of the finest doctors of New York gathered with Doctor Carlton about the sick child, sadly shook their heads, and quietly went away. In the afternoon, the Doctor himself opened the door for the priest and drew him into the library.

"I would have telephoned to you last evening, Father, but it was useless to do so, for my little niece has not been conscious since your visit yesterday. I have little hope that she will become so before--the end. I have known from the first that she could not pull through except by a miracle. Humanly speaking, it is now merely a question of how long her heart can hold out."

"_Humanly_ speaking, yes, Doctor; but the days of miracles are not pa.s.sed, and He Who raised the dead to life is still the all-powerful G.o.d. Mary became conscious yesterday just after I had read a Gospel over her. I feel that our Divine Lord permitted it so that she might make her first Confession for which she was preparing when she became ill. He may permit the same thing to happen to-day so that she may make her First Communion. I am going now to the church for the Blessed Sacrament. Ask Sister Julia to have all in readiness when I return."

But though Father Lacey prayed long and earnestly over the little girl, and her mother and the nurse spoke close to her ear of the happiness awaiting her, Mary gave no sign that she understood. Then the priest anointed her and raised the Blessed Sacrament in benediction above her; and promising to come again the moment he should hear that she had become conscious, he returned to the church.

The long night began. The house was very quiet, for Mary had ceased to moan and cry out, and lay perfectly still, her breath coming in little gasps. Close by her pillow sat the Doctor, his watch in his left hand, the fingers of his right on the child's fluttering pulse. Across from him knelt Sister Julia, her eyes never wavering from his haggard, gray face as she watched for the least sign from him that something was needed. Her lips moved in prayer as the beads slipped through her fingers. At the foot of the bed knelt Mr. Selwyn, his arm supporting his wife, his head bowed on the railing where Mary had so often during the past week seen the strange little birds hopping about. Tom was at his post at the head of the stairs; and Aunt Mandy and Liza had taken the babies down to the kitchen so that nothing would disturb the little sufferer.

The hours dragged on. Midnight pa.s.sed. The child's breathing grew fainter--then a great stillness fell upon the room. Mr. Selwyn looked up with a start, and his wife clung closer to him. The Doctor had slipped to his knees, his eyes on the still, white face. Suddenly, the little eyelids fluttered open, the big blue eyes looked straight into Mr.

Selwyn's, then rested for an instant on the Doctor, while a wan little smile flitted across the child's face. A faint sigh issued from her parched lips, and her eyes closed. The Doctor raised his hand. No one stirred. Was it life or death? Did they hear the rustle of angels'

wings, or was it the murmur of the night wind?

The father's eyes sought the Doctor's face, and soon a look of wonder and doubt crept over it. By degrees, the wonder increased, and the doubt disappeared, and two great tears of relief rolled down the haggard face which turned toward Mr. Selwyn with a smile, while the warning hand remained uplifted.

Close to the mother's ear, the father whispered just one little word; then carried her into the next room where, some minutes later, the Doctor joined them. Mr. Selwyn stepped out into the hall, and the next instant, Tom, shoes in hand, was making all possible speed toward the kitchen.

Slowly, oh, so slowly, the little girl crept back from the chill, dark shadow into the warm, bright love-light waiting to envelope her. It would be many and many a long day before she would be able to play with the babies and romp with her little friends; but to those who loved her, it was happiness enough just to have her still among them.

Several remarks that were made caused Mary quite a little surprise.

"But I tried and tried to tell you ever so many times that I was going to get well, Mother. Didn't you hear me?"

"Yes, darling; but, for once, we did not believe you. You can hardly blame us for that, however, when Uncle Frank and three of the finest doctors in the city had said that you could not recover."

"Hm! I think I shall ask Uncle to take me to see those doctors some day just to prove to them that G.o.d can make people well if He wants them to get well."

CHAPTER IX.

A GRAVE QUESTION.

"I am sorry, Rob, that my answer is not what you wish it to be."

"But, Frank, think what a winter in Italy would mean to the child."

"Yes, if you can get her over there by wireless. But you speak of going by steamer, and I need not remind you of the cold and dampness of an ocean voyage at this season."

"I had not thought of that." Mr. Selwyn rose and began pacing to and fro. "How soon _will_ Mary be equal to the trip, Frank?"

"Not before the first of June at the earliest. Her recovery, judging from the past two weeks, will be very, very slow. Why do you take this trip just now? Can't you put it off for six or seven months?"

"No, Frank, that is not possible. We have been waiting for this chance to open a branch of the business in Rome, and now that it has come, we must act promptly."

"Then let Bryce or Ryan go. Bryce has no one but himself to think of."

"His father would have been just the man to put the thing through; but young Bryce is not his father by any means. For one thing, he does not know the business well enough. Ryan says that he is too old to begin to learn Italian; and as I have a fair knowledge of that language, he thinks I should go. I made no objection, because I thought it would be a splendid chance to take Mary away from the winter here. Do you really think that it would be a risk, Frank?"

"So great a risk that I am almost sure you would have a burial at sea."

"_Frank!_"

"I mean it, Rob. A mere trifle would bring on a relapse; and a long sea voyage is no trifle."

"But what are we to do? Elizabeth will never consent to my living in Italy for a year unless she and the children can be with me."

"She is right about that. Her place is with you."

"But she cannot leave Mary----"

"Why not, Rob?--You know that I would be the last one to ask that question if there was any other way of solving the problem; but since there is not, why cannot Mary be left with me? I need not a.s.sure you that she will be taken care of to the best of my ability."

"You have more than proved that, Frank. If she were your own child, you could not show greater love for her. And she almost worships you."

"Yes, I flatter myself that I come a close second to you and Elizabeth and the babies, and I promise to do all in my power to lessen the pain of this separation for her. She is the one who will suffer most, for she is not old enough to see the matter in the proper light. To us, a year is only twelve short months which pa.s.s all too quickly; but to a child, it is an eternity. I am sorry that this trial should come upon her now after all that she has been through."

"That is just it, Frank,--not only for her but for all of us. It seems a terrible thing to be separated from her now for so long a time, when we came so near to losing her. I am sure that Elizabeth will not consent to leave her----"

"Then Elizabeth will have to remain at home. Here she is to speak for herself."

"What plan is afoot now, gentlemen? You look as sober as judges,"

laughed Mrs. Selwyn.

"An ocean voyage followed by a year in Italy is a subject for rather serious thought, is it not?"

"No, indeed, Rob. I should say it is a very pleasant subject. Who among our friends has this treat in store for him?"

"It happens that, in this case, the pleasure is not unmixed with pain."

"But is it not always so, Rob? Is there not a thread of sorrow running through every earthly joy?"

"Yes, even our little Mary has found that out. I think I told you how perfectly happy she was over the twins; but in less than fifteen minutes, she found cause for sorrow in the fact that there was not a third baby to be called Frank."

"Yes, I remember. But you have not answered my question about our friends who are planning a trip to Europe."

"Your husband's name heads the list, Elizabeth; and it remains for you to decide whether he will go alone, or have the company of any other members of the family."

"You are joking, Frank."

"I was never more in earnest."