Six Girls Part 43

"It must be," said Jean slowly, in her sweet, quiet way. "G.o.d never does what isn't right; He can't, girls, though we can't always understand why some things are."

No one was disposed to speak further on the subject, the like of which has vexed many great minds, the world over, but they sat there hushed and quiet, and with awe-stricken hearts, as though they heard or felt the noiseless approach of the coming king, who pa.s.sed them by, and went into the room where the pale mother watched and prayed beside the quiet sleeper.

Dr. Barnett came back soon, and brought Bea with him; but after looking in to speak a few hurried words that tried to be of comfort, she went into the other room, to take her place by the bedside, while the worn mother s.n.a.t.c.hed a little rest, if not sleep, on the lounge near by. So the night crept slowly by, while anxious hearts and sleepless eyes kept sad vigil. In the first grey dawn of morning, Olive came; but when daylight fairly blushed into rosy sunshine, Ernestine awoke from a long sleep, clear-eyed, feverless, and rational, and recognized them all with a quiet, peaceful smile.

"You home in the middle of the week?" she said to Olive, with a little wondering surprise.

Dr. Barnett sent one swift, wordless glance of warning, and Olive caught it.

"Yes, I was not very busy this week and thought I would come home last night," she said, warmly pressing the almost transparent fingers lying on the coverlid, adding brightly: "How well you look this morning!"

"I feel better," answered Ernestine, slowly. "So strangely better; all rested and in no pain. Where is mama?"

"Here, darling."

"I--I feel so much better, mama," lifting the feeble hand, with a look of pleasure in her wan face. "It seems as if I was lying on the softest feathers, and all well again. Everything is so very easy, and I haven't any pain."

"You are much better, dear, and we are very glad;" but Mrs. Dering bent her head as she spoke, that no one might see the tremble of her lips, for well she knew, without any word or glance at her son-in-law's face, that the sufferer was pa.s.sing into the sunlight of G.o.d's rest and love, and that the pa.s.sing away of pain was because His hand had already touched her.

But to the girls it seemed different. To them, the clear, bright eyes, the quiet, easy breathing, and restful feeling, meant better for life, and they had a joyful jubilant time over it down stairs. They gathered the loveliest flowers in bloom, and took them up stairs, and Ernestine smiled brightly and even held them for a few moments in her weak hands, keeping a pure, pale, creamy bud, when they put the rest in water.

During the day Dr. Barnett brought some mail from the office, among which was a letter from Ralph for Kat, and a strange one from New York for Kittie, which proved to be from Mr. Murray.

"How funny!" she said, with a pleased smile.

"What is he writing to you for?" inquired Kat, sharing the general interest and curiosity to such an extent that she forgot her own letter.

"Is Pansy sick?"

"No; he only says how she is, and how she wishes for me every day, and wants me to write a letter, all to herself," answered Kittie, too busy running her eyes over the few lines, with the signature

"Yours, most sincerely, "PAUL MURRAY."

in bold, handsome hand, to notice the different expressions in the eyes that were watching her pleased, smiling face. Perhaps no one detected therein just what Mrs. Dering did, for it takes a marvelously small thing, to open a mother's eyes. But then Kittie's pleasure was as innocent as a child's; she read that letter over and over, and admired the beautiful writing, but thought that all her pleasure grew from the fact of hearing from Pansy, who had been gone a month, and said, as she put it in her pocket, "It was very kind in Mr. Murray to write, I'm sure for I did want to hear from Pansy."

But every one forgot the letters after awhile.

At supper-time Ernestine asked for something to eat. She even raised herself from the pillow by her own strength, and said how very hungry she was, and as the girls left the room to get what she asked for, a strange cold thrill struck their hearts. Eagerly, as though famishing, Ernestine ate the cream toast that they brought, drank the chocolate, and asked for more.

"Give her all she wants," said Dr. Barnett, in answer to an appealing look from Mrs. Dering; and so they brought more, with the strange pain still in their hearts; and she ate it eagerly, with that unearthly brightness in her eyes, and such a fluttering stain of scarlet in her wasted cheeks. The sad truth came first to Beatrice, as she looked from husband to mother, and read it in their pale, quiet faces; then it came to Olive, for she drew near, and put her arm around Bea, with a touch that both gave and asked for help; and then Kittie and Kat, seeing the hopeless sadness in their faces, suddenly realized that they stood in the dread presence at last, and with one accord turned to each other for help; while Jean crept to her mother's side, and hid her face in the folds of her dress. So death found them, as he drew near, and claimed a place before mother, sisters, or brother; but he did not come repulsively, or like the grinning head that portrays him to our mind's eye; instead, it seemed as though a white angel, with kindly eyes had drawn near, and breathed upon the sufferer before he kissed the life from her lips; for after a short stupor Ernestine awoke, and looked upon them with peaceful, shining eyes.

"Don't cry," she said, softly. "I am only going before, as papa did. I think I saw him while I slept, and I am not afraid. It is not a dark river, mama, but beautiful and bright, and nothing can happen, for G.o.d stands there and smiles. Please don't cry, or shut the windows; let the sunshine come in, and be glad that I will never suffer any more. Lift me up, mama."

Mrs. Dering did so, and with her head pillowed on that dear breast, Ernestine sank to sleep like a child, breathing softly; while the shadows fell, and no one stirred. But the early moon rose slowly, and lighted the room, and as she drew her last breath, with a fluttering little sigh, it fell across her face, pure and sweet, and touched the withered rose-bud, lying on the pillow.

CHAPTER XXIV.

TWO SECRETS.

Joy and sorrow, laughter and tears come and go and mingle as one in memory of the past. Between _now_ and _then_, time weaves a veil, misty with tears of our sorrow, and diamond dusted with the bright laughter of our joy, and as we look through it, on the path that weaves our footsteps, the sunshine and shadows, that have fallen thereon, mingle and soften each other, so that neither the brilliant light of one nor the saddening shade of the other can pain our eyes, that look back, in wistful, happy memory.

In the fresh, pure air, that follows rain on a summer day, Kat was leaning from the window, and watching the sun go slowly down behind the hills; while slender spires of light shot up into the hazy atmosphere, and pierced the flitting clouds. She was gazing idly, with eyes in which many thoughts lay dreamily, and the slight smile that touched her lips came, perhaps, from something in the letter that lay open in her lap, or maybe from the distant view of a basket buggy, drawn by a white pony, coming slowly down the road, as though the riders were in no haste.

At any rate, she smiled; and it crept from the corners of her roguish mouth up to her eyes, and made her face very attractive, especially as she leaned it against the vines that crept in at the window, and looked thoughtfully down at the open letter. It was one such as she received very often now-a-days, as a very large pack, all of that year's date, much worn, and tied with a blue ribbon, would testify. Most of them were dashed boldly off on large office paper, with "Kathie dear," flourished into one corner, and news of all kinds, inquiries and odds and ends, filling several sheets, and "Yours, Ralph," in business scrawls at the bottom. But this was different. It was on small note paper to begin with, much more carefully written than usual, and contained no address whatever, simply starting off with what the writer had to say, and only filling three pages.

There was one particular place where Kat's eyes lingered, and where she smiled, very slowly, as though it was something not to be enjoyed fully, all at once; and we will look right over her shoulder and read it as she does again and again:--

"The time is up now, and I am coming, if you say for me to. Will you? All my work has been done with the hope that you would let me come and share my success, whatever it might be, with you. It has been my one thought, and greatest incentive since I learned to know, and love you, as I did in the old days, when we skirmished and were gay, together. To-day, when I saw my name added as junior partner, to the finest law firm in our city, I thought of you, and felt more willing and proud to offer you that name. If you bid me come, I will do so; the walk out to Raymond's is short, and shall I meet you on the road!

"RALPH."

Should he meet her on the road? I've no way of telling you, I'm sure, for her answer is written and gone, and I, like you, will have to wait and see.

The white pony and basket buggy draws nearer, it comes through the gate and up the drive, and as Kat watches it, some one comes to her side and looks out also.

"They've been a dreadful long ride," says the new-comer, with an impatient relief, as she leans against the window.

"Yes," answered Kat, with a little start, just realizing the fact.

"I think it's very funny," Pansy continued, with a truly puzzled air.

"When we was here before, papa always said to me, 'come, Pansy, let's go take Miss Kittie to ride,' and now he never does; he goes off all alone by hisself, and takes her."

"Is it possible!" said Kat with an air of interest.

"Yes, 'tis; an' he does a lot of funny things. Once when we was to New York, I wanted a penny, and he said to get it in his pocket, an' there wasn't one penny there, but all the pretty letters Miss Kittie had writed to me for my own. I thought 'twas so funny, but he said they were safer there, than in my box, an' I better leave 'm, so I did."

"Very strange," said Kat, with a solemn shake of her head.

"I'll guess I'll go down and ask him what for he didn't take me," said Pansy, going away, and leaving Kat to put her letter up and try to look quite composed before Kittie came.

You must know that this was two years later, and that the twins were spending a few weeks with the Raymond's, where there were several other young people. Olive was working hard and rising steadily, and had never once been heard or suspected of wishing that Roger Congreve would come home from the continent, where he still roamed and threatened to settle.

She was completely devoted to her art, and was now paying her way by teaching, while she was being taught. Mrs. Dering and Jean were in Virginia, and when Olive or the twins came home, it was to Bea's home, where everything was cosy and happy, with the rising young physician and his pretty little wife.

Two years had made some changes in the twins, more perceptibly so in Kat than Kittie; for time and love work wonders, and while she would never quite reach the perfection of lady-like grace and dignity, that made Kittie so charmingly attractive, she certainly had quieted much, was more careful of her language and dress, and bade fair to be a most delightful little woman after all, and one that Ralph might well love and be proud of having won.

When Kittie came up stairs, she was very quiet, and in answer to inquiries, said that her head ached. Kat was relieved to think she would not have to be on close guard, for she did not feel like telling her secret just then, and had rather dreaded Kittie's eyes. But Kittie was wholly absorbed in something else; she put away her things, and sat down by the window without saying much.

"It's pretty near tea-time," remarked Kat presently. "Are you all ready?"

"I--don't believe I'll go down," said Kittie. "I'm not hungry."

"Humph!" thought Kat, with a sudden and intense curiosity. "I guess I'm not the only one that has a secret."

"Did you have a pleasant ride?" she asked, after some silence.

"Yes--very;" answered Kittie absently.