The Story of the White-Rock Cove Part 12

"I am thankful to see you," he said, as the doctor sprung from the dog-cart; "you have heard the circ.u.mstances?"

"I have," answered Dr. Wilson, following my father quickly up-stairs.

"Is he still unconscious?"

The answer was lost to me; but all at once, as I thought of Dr. Wilson, and how much depended upon his visit, the recollection of my mother's words came back to me, "We must pray G.o.d, Willie, if it be His will Aleck may get better;" and with a sudden impulse I jumped up, shut the door, and kneeling down, with my head pressed upon my hands, I prayed with a sort of intensity I had never known before: "O Lord, make Aleck well, do make Aleck well, don't let him die,"--repeating the words over and over again, and getting up with some dim sense of comfort in my mind, as I thought that G.o.d had the power as much now as when in our human nature He walked upon this world, to heal all that were ill; and had He not said, "Ask, and you shall receive?"

Why was it that the verse which I had repeated that morning to my mother, after breakfast, came back so often to my mind? "_If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me._" Generally my mother explained my daily text, but this morning, owing to the anxiety about Aleck's disappearance, there had not been the usual time, and she had simply heard the verse, and sent me off, as before-mentioned, to the school-room. Now I took to explaining it for myself. What business had I to pray with that iniquity hidden in my heart, of which no one knew but G.o.d? How could I get forgiven? what was I to do?

Conscience took courage and put in the suggestion, "Confess boldly to your parents the sin that is lying so heavily upon you." But then the thought that, if Aleck never got better, they would think me his murderer, took possession of me, and I took pains to convince myself, against my own reason, that after all, I had not actually been guilty of falsehood, since the real manner in which the ship had been lost was actually guessed by my father; that it would do no good if I were to give them the pain of knowing that I had allowed it to happen, having it in my power to prevent it; that, after all, it would be enough to confess to G.o.d and get forgiven.

But the reasoning, though for a time it silenced the promptings of conscience, did not give me peace of mind; and a sense that I could not pray--that, at least, my prayers would do no good--took from me the only comfort that was worth thinking of.

I was so taken up with these reflections, that I never heard steps upon the stairs, and started with an exclamation almost of fright when the door opened rather quickly, and my father and Dr. Wilson came in.

"Why, Willie, there's nothing to be frightened at," exclaimed my father.

"Here's Dr. Wilson come to cheer us up about Aleck, who is to get quite well by-and-by, we hope."

"Yes, yes, little man," said Dr. Wilson, kindly chucking me under the chin, after a fashion which I have noticed prevails amongst grown-up tall people who are amiably disposed towards children; "we shall soon hope to bring him round again. With all your monkey-like ways of climbing about the rocks, my only wonder is I've not had you for a patient long ago!"

Something seemed to strike him in the face he was holding up by the chin, and releasing me from a quick glance of inspection, he asked presently whether I had seen Aleck, and listened to the account I had to give of how Ralph had first noticed him lying at the foot of the rock.

Then he and my father stepped out by the window, and walked up and down on the lawn; and I heard Dr. Wilson say to my father, "Any one can see the boy has had a shock; take care he does not get frightened."

From the fragments of conversation which reached me,--sitting as I did in the open window, whilst they pa.s.sed by, walking up and down on the lawn outside,--I gathered that they were discussing the possibility of communication with Uncle and Aunt Gordon; and as they came in again through the school-room, my father said, "You are sure that the crisis will be over by that time?"

"Quite sure. There is nothing for it now but perfect quiet, the administration of the medicines and cordials I have prescribed, when possible, and close watch of all the symptoms. I can a.s.sure you I am not without hope. You may look for me again by ten o'clock."

And so saying, Dr. Wilson drove rapidly off, and my father went back again to Aleck's room. I think it must have been his planning, that nurse soon afterwards came down to the school-room and bestowed her company upon me for quite a long time, entertaining me at first, or meaning to entertain me, by a wearisome narration about a little boy who lived nowhere in particular a long time ago; but she wakened up all my interest when at last, unable to keep off the subject as she had intended, she gave me a detailed account of my cousin having been put into the bed in the spare room; and how he had lain so still, she could scarcely believe her senses he was not dead; and how, when Dr. Wilson set his arm, the pain of the operation seemed to waken him up for a moment from the stupor, but he had gone back again almost immediately.

"The doctor said," she added, "that it was the injury to the head that was of the greatest consequence--the arm was nothing to signify, a mere simple fracture; as if a broken arm were a mere nothing. I should like to know whether, _if his own_ were broken, he would call it a simple fracture, and say it didn't signify!" And nurse looked righteously indignant, and as if she would be rather glad than otherwise for Dr.

Wilson to meet with an accident, and learn, by personal experience, the true measure of insignificance or importance attaching to a broken limb.

Remembering, however, at this point, the inconvenience which might result to ourselves from such a catastrophe, she retreated from the position, and took to speculating what the doctor's views were likely to be with reference to his night accommodation; whether he would go "between sheets," or merely lie down on the sofa, and what motives might be likely to influence him towards either decision; reasoning it all out to me as if I had been grown-up.

In fact, one of the peculiar sensations which are stamped upon every recollection of that long sad day, was that of being treated as though I were a "person," and not a child, by almost every member of the community; a sensation bringing with it a dim sense of glory--that might have been--but which my guilty position kept me back from enjoying.

Both my parents came down to a sort of dinner-tea, which we had together at about seven o'clock, and my mother stayed a little while with me afterwards, and then sent me off, rather earlier than usual, to bed, upon the plea of my being weary with the long, anxious day.

CHAPTER IX.

SORROWFUL DAYS.

To bed; but not to my usual peaceful sleep; for all the night through one terrible dream seemed to succeed the other, until, in the act of landing at the White-Rock Cove, and calling for help, I woke at last to find myself standing somewhere in the dark, I could not at first make out where, though it turned out to be in Aleck's room, to which I had made my way in my sleep.

I began to cry with fright, and my father came running up to see what was the matter. He was quite dressed, and brought a candle with him, and looked so natural and real that he chased away all spectral frights.

After he had put me back to bed, and sat with me a little, I fell into a quieter sleep than I had had before; and slept on, indeed, quite late, for n.o.body called me the next morning, and I did not come down until prayers were over, and breakfast just about to commence.

Only my father and Dr. Wilson were in the room. My father looked very anxious; but Dr. Wilson spoke to me cheerily enough.

"So this is the young gentleman," he said, drawing me towards him, "that is not content to walk by day, but must needs walk by night also!" and he looked straight at me, as if he could read me through and through; whilst I, knowing the dreadful story hidden in my heart, felt quite alarmed lest he might read _that_ there; and I could feel the beatings of my heart, as if a steam-engine were at work, as I tried not to meet the glance of those keen, piercing eyes.

He released me after a moment, and presently afterwards said to my father,--

"Close your lesson-books for a while; the boat and the saddle will be the best lesson-books, or you may have more trouble than you think of."

I felt sure what he said had something to do with me, and wondered what he meant,--finding the explanation in Mr. Glengelly's strange indisposition to give me anything but a drawing-lesson that morning, and taking me off for a long ride before dinner, contrary to all established customs.

Aleck grew no better all through the day, and the next night he was worse.

On Sat.u.r.day morning, two other doctors came to consult with Dr. Wilson; and I could read in the grave faces around me that the worst was apprehended. But I saw scarcely anything of my father or mother, or even nurse, so that all tidings from the sick-room came through remote channels--servants who had taken something up to the room, or Mr.

Glengelly, who had seen one of the doctors for a moment, and whom I suspected of keeping back the full gravity of the verdict.

If I could only have seen my father or mother alone quietly, without their being in a hurry, I thought I should have told them everything; but no opportunity presented itself, and another weary day wore by without any unburdening of my conscience, or relief to my gloomy antic.i.p.ations.

Sunday morning! Such a happy day generally! for my parents contrived to make it really, and not nominally, the best of all the seven; but now, how dreary was the awakening to a Sunday which I expected to be only the melancholy repet.i.tion of the preceding days, if not far sadder!

The weather had turned chilly, and the servants, to make things look a little brighter, made this the excuse for a fire in the dining-room, by which I crouched down on the rug, after breakfast, with a Sunday story-book in my hand, wondering whether I should go to church, or what would happen in a state of things so different from what was usual; and why it was I was told I need not prepare my repet.i.tion lesson from the Bible, according to custom. By-and-by my father came in and told me to get ready to go with him to church; he thought he might safely leave Aleck for a little while, and would like to have me walk with him.

We had not far to go, for the church stood but a quarter of a mile from our house, and there was a direct pathway to it through the woods. I thought perhaps I should muster courage to open my heart to my father as we went along. But first we met one person and then another, anxious to know the last report from the sick-room, so that we had no time alone, and I had to reserve my confession until we should come home after church. Aleck was to be prayed for in church, my father told me; and he added that I was to think of Uncle and Aunt Gordon too, in the Litany, for it would be a sore trouble to them to have been away from their only child in such a time as this. And then he spoke to me of childish fears about death, and said that, for those who were safe in Jesus, death was a friend, and not an enemy; and that I must pray that, if it pleased G.o.d Aleck should never get well, he might go to the beautiful home prepared for all the children of G.o.d: and the firm grasp of my father's hand, and his clear, unhesitating voice, conveyed to my timorous, troubled heart, a sort of belief in a calm, sheltered haven, that might succeed in time to the outside tossings on stormy waters, and I felt comforted, though I scarcely knew how.

Mr. Morton, our clergyman, was away for a month's holidays, and it was a stranger who performed the service. When I heard the prayers of the congregation requested for "Alexander Ringwall Gordon, who was dangerously ill," it seemed almost more than I could bear, the long formal enunciation of his name sounding so terribly like a death-warrant.

If ever I tried to _pray_ the Church prayers, and not merely say them, it was that morning; and it seemed to me quite wonderful how much of them agreed with my own feelings, how many things there were in the service that were exactly what I wanted. Hitherto the singing had appeared the only attractive portion of divine worship; but now that, for the first time in my life, I knew what it was to have a really sin-burdened conscience, the sweetest music seemed as nothing in comparison with the a.s.surance that a broken and contrite spirit would not be despised of G.o.d, or to the comfort of ranking myself unreservedly amongst the miserable sinners in the Litany--concerning whom I had hitherto only wondered, Were they so miserable after all?--and pleading alike with voice and heart for G.o.d's mercy, of which I felt myself to stand so sorely in need.

The Commandments were being read when the little door leading into our large family-pew was opened, and Rickson softly came in and whispered to my father, who in his turn leant over and whispered to me. A message had come from the house, he said, and he must go back at once; he knew I could be trusted to stay by myself and walk home afterwards. He and Rickson quietly slipped out, and I was left sole tenant of the large square pew, with its high part.i.tion, and ponderous chairs, and fire-place, and table, just like a small room, as is the custom in old-fashioned churches.

Very lonely indeed I felt, as I stood up by myself, and tried to join in the hymn, and wished that I were not so small or the pew not so lofty; it seemed so strange to be joining in singing with people of whom no single individual could be seen--it had never struck me before, with my own dear parents always at my side. Presently the clerk appeared opening the door of the pulpit--that at all events I could see--to the strange clergyman, who seemed to me to look with a searching glance of inquiry straight down into my solitary domain, as if he meant to call me to account for being there all alone.

Having n.o.body to look at as an example, I sat myself timidly upon a corner of one of the chairs after the hymn was over, and then, suddenly remembering I had made a mistake, knelt down with the colour mounting to the very roots of my hair, and a terrible sense of the congregation all looking at me and taking notes of my behaviour.

We smile at our childish embarra.s.sments as we look back upon them, but they are very serious and real troubles whilst they last.

When I rose from my knees, I was far too shy to place myself comfortably, but sat, as before, upon a little corner of a chair, and hoped the congregation wouldn't take any notice, whilst mentally I prepared myself for unrestrained meditation on the all-engrossing subject of my thoughts, in place of the many speculations with which I was wont to beguile sermon-time in general.

For here I must pause to observe that Mr. Morton's sermons were usually entirely beyond my childish understanding, and attention to them on my part was practically in vain; so that after learning the text by heart, which I was always expected to repeat perfectly afterwards, I used to spend a great part of the time remaining to me in a minute survey of all objects falling within the limited range of my observation, including especially the monumental tablets, of which there were many on the church walls; those on the right being for the most part to the memory of the Grants of Braycombe; those on the left to the successive rectors of Braycombe parish, who had lived and died after what seemed to me boundless periods of ministry amongst their attached flock.

Two of these tablets in particular had supplied much food for consideration in my early days.--I used to look back upon early days even at ten years old with a sort of affectionate patronage.--These tablets exactly corresponded with each other in size and position, and were both beyond the range of complete legibility, only words in capitals coming out distinctly. But these very words in capitals were the cause of my anxious meditations. For on the one hand I read the name of the "Rev. Joseph Brocklehurst, Rector," with, a line or two further down, "Mary, wife of the _above_;" whilst on the other, which was to the memory of my grandfather, my own name at full length, "William Preston Grant," was underneath the only other word I could distinguish, and that word was "_Below._" Many a Sunday did I ruminate upon the unpleasant contrast which, to my mind, was suggested by the two prepositions between the present condition of the Rev. Joseph Brocklehurst and that of my grandfather; and it was not without some hesitation that I revealed my perplexity to my father at last, by the abrupt inquiry, one day on our way home from church, whether my grandfather had been a _very_ wicked man. Greatly surprised were both my parents at this unlooked-for question, and I believe not a little amused at the train of reasoning which had led me to it; but they took an early opportunity of taking me into the church, not on a Sunday, and permitting me to go near to the tablets, pointing out the connecting words which were not legible, and which supplied a full explanation of all that I wanted to know, and showing me that the _below_ referred to the position of the family vault under the church, and the _above_ to the relative position of the Rev. J. Brocklehurst's name to that of his wife.

Often after that explanation I thought, as I looked at the tablets, of the words my father said to me at the time: "Willie, there are many things in G.o.d's dealings with his children that are hard to understand _here_; by-and-by, when we see things nearer, in the light of eternity, we shall find out that our difficulty has just been because here we see in part--as you did the inscriptions--but _then_ we shall see face to face, and know even as we are known."

There was another monumental tablet about which I thought a great deal, which preached to me a silent sermon as often as I looked at it. Under the name and date of birth and death of the person it commemorated were the words, "_Prepare to meet thy G.o.d._" I spent a long time looking for them in my Bible, and thought a great deal about the verse when I had found it; wondering whether the young midshipman, son of one of the rectors, upon whose monument it had been engraved, had thought about them too, or whether it was a sort of warning because he had _not_ prepared. It was upon this latter train of thought, with reflections concerning Aleck and myself woven into it--_I_ clearly not prepared, and wondering whether Aleck was prepared--that I found myself starting as I settled shyly upon my little corner of the chair, and looked timidly for my Bible in order to find the text.

What was my surprise when Psalm lxvi. 18 was given out, and the well-known words, so often repeated to myself, were repeated slowly and impressively by the stranger clergyman from the pulpit--"If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me."

It seemed to me so wonderful and so strange that he should have fixed upon the very pa.s.sage that I had thought of so often within the previous two days, that at first I almost fancied I was dreaming. But I felt still more surprised when, after anxiously attending to what was said for a few minutes, I found the sermon was as easy to understand as my mother's conversation after a Bible reading: all inattention was gone, and for the first time in my life I was listening with interest deep and anxious, whilst the clergyman, in simple language, explained the text so clearly that not one in the church need have gone away uninstructed.

_The_ great question that I wanted to hear answered was, Whether, in my circ.u.mstances, with an unconfessed sin lying heavily on my heart, it was of any use for me to pray to G.o.d for Aleck?--what was the exact meaning of _regarding iniquity_ in my heart?