MICHAEL'S HOUSE BECOMES A HOME
THE reconciliation so late effected between the brothers was complete. Michael's one thought now was how he might, in the brief time that remained to him, atone in some degree for the coldness and indifference of years. He would fain have removed his brother to a more comfortable dwelling; but the medical man whom he brought to give his opinion refused to sanction the attempt. The risk was too great. The excitement and fatigue involved in the removal would probably hasten the end. All that could be done was to give as homelike an appearance as possible to the dreary room in which the sufferer lay, and to provide him with every comfort his condition demanded.
These efforts were not without result. His heart relieved of the load which had pressed on it, and gladdened by his brother's kindness, the sick man now enjoyed an ease of mind which could not fail to influence beneficially his bodily condition. He rallied wonderfully, and Kate even began to hope that her father's life would yet be spared. But Michael knew better. He was too old to be deceived by such hope. He could see that death, though it had relaxed, had not relinquished its grasp.
Every hour that Michael could spare, he spent by his brother's bedside. He even engaged a young man to help him with his business, that he might have more time at his disposal. But the new interest he had found did not make him forgetful of little Margery. Every day he sent to the house to enquire how she was doing. He knew that Kate, when she saw him, would be sure to question him eagerly as to the report he had received. She was not so absorbed by anxiety for her father as to be forgetful of the dear little maiden who was ill, or of her mother, the kind friend to whom she owed so much. She and Michael, whom she was learning to call "uncle" now, a name which sounded strangely in the ears of each, rejoiced together over the good news of the little invalid which each day brought. Margery was out of danger now and advancing steadily towards health.
One pleasant April afternoon, Michael determined to walk round to Mrs. Lavers' house ere he went to see his brother. He had bought that morning of a dealer at his door a pot of pretty pink cyclamen which he thought would please little Margery, and he wished to carry it to her ere the flowers began to fade.
As he was handing it to the servant at the door, Mrs. Lavers came down stairs, and, seeing him, advanced to speak to him.
"How very kind of you!" she said, as she admired the pink blossoms. "Margery will be so pleased. I never knew such a child as she is for flowers. Won't you come upstairs and see her for a minute? I know she would like to see you, and all fear of infection is past now."
Michael could not resist this invitation. He followed Mrs. Lavers upstairs, treading as gently as he could.
Margery had been carried into the little sitting-room, and lay on a sofa near the window. The room seemed full of flowers; there were so many friends who loved to send flowers to little Margery. She looked very fair and fragile as she lay there clad in a little blue dressing-gown, with her golden curls tossed in wild disorder on the pillow. Michael was dismayed to see how white she was, save for the rosy spot which glowed in each cheek, and how plainly the blue veins showed on her wasted temples. Her favourite doll reposed by her side, and open on her knee lay a book with coloured pictures, which Michael recognised at a glance as the "Pilgrim's Progress," with the purchase of which their acquaintance had begun.
The smile with which Margery greeted him as soon as she caught sight of him was reassuring to Michael. Surely no child who was not getting well could look so radiant.
"Mr. Betts has just come up to say, 'How do you do?' to you, dear," said her mother, "and see what lovely flowers he has brought you."
"Oh, what beauties!" cried the child delightedly, "I haven't had any like them, have I, mother? Thank you very, very much, Mr. Betts. Please put them here, where I can see them, mother."
"And are you feeling a little better, missy?" asked Michael.
"Oh yes, much better, thank you. Mother says I shall soon be able to run about again, but I don't feel as if I should be able to run fast for some time to come. I can't even play with Noel yet. He seems so rough and noisy."
"I see you are able to amuse yourself with your book," Michael said.
"I like looking at the pictures," she replied, "but it tires me to read much. It is funny you should come just now, Mr. Betts, for I was only thinking of you a moment ago. I often think of you when I look at my 'Pilgrim's Progress.'"
"That's because you bought it of me, I suppose, missy."
She shook her head, and her little face grew thoughtful.
"No, that's not the reason. It's because I never can tell to what part of the book you belong. You can't be Christian or Faithful, don't you see, because you say you never did anything wrong in your life."
A deep, dull red suddenly suffused Michael's face.
"Don't say that, miss," he exclaimed in a tone of pain; "I never ought to have said it. When I spoke so I did not know myself."
"Then it wasn't true," said Margery.
"No, indeed, miss. If I'd spoken the truth, I should have said that I'd been doing wrong all my life, and cherishing a hard, proud, unloving spirit. I did not love God, nor even my own brother, and you can't love one without loving the other, you know, miss."
"I could never help loving Noel," said little Margery, "but what did you do that was so wicked, Mr. Betts?"
"Don't ask me, miss. I would not like to tell you the bad things I have done. Why, you've been one of the sufferers by my wrong-doings. You ask your mother, and she'll tell you how shamefully I wronged both her and you."
"No, no," said Mrs. Lavers, laying her hand gently on the old man's arm, "Margery will never hear of that from me, Mr. Betts. That's all over and done with. Don't speak of that again, please."
Margery looked curiously from one to the other.
"Then you had a burden all the time, Mr. Betts?" she said.
"Ay, that I had, missy, and a burden which grew heavier and heavier, when once I began to feel it."
"Why that was just like Christian," said little Margery, looking much interested; "and have you lost your burden now, Mr. Betts?"
"Yes, thank God, I have lost it, miss. I lost it as Christian lost his, at the foot of the cross. In other words, missy, I believe that God has forgiven me my sins for the sake of Jesus Christ, who died for me and such sinners as me."
"Then you are very happy now," said little Margery.
"I'm happier, miss; yes, truly, I'm happier than ever I was before, but I can't forget the past. I'd give anything to be able to live the years of my life over again."
"What a number you would have to live!" said little Margery thoughtfully. "For you're very old, aren't you, Mr. Betts?"
"Ay, missy, I'm old," he answered.
He felt old indeed when a little later, he found himself by his brother's bedside. To think that that big, sturdy girl was the daughter of his brother Frank! It did not seem so very long ago that he had been "little Frank," his mother's spoiled darling. He had always seemed so very much younger than he, Michael, was; but now he lay there a haggard, wasted, aged-looking man, drawing near to death. His feet were on the brink of the dark river now. A change had set in during the night. Michael needed not to be told that his brother had but a few hours to live.
"I would not mind if it were not for Kate," the dying man murmured, turning towards his daughter with love and yearning in his glance. "I don't like to leave her alone in the world."
"She shall not be alone," said Michael, "there shall always be a home for her with me."
"Do you hear that, Kate?" the sick man asked with brightening eyes. "Your uncle says you shall have a home with him."
But the girl's look did not brighten.
"I don't care what becomes of me if you leave me, father," she said almost sullenly; then added, with passionate emotion as she bent over him, "If only you would get better, we might be so happy yet."
A lump rose in Michael's throat as he watched the girl's look, and heard her words. No one had ever loved him like that.
"Frank," he said slowly, "folks reckon me a well-to-do man; but you're richer than I am. I've no one to love me, or to care whether I live or die."
His brother turned his eyes on him and understood.
"She'll love you, Michael; she'll love you too, if you're good to her. She is a good girl, is Kate, though she has had a rough bringing up. I called her Katharine, you know, after our mother. I've tried to tell her what our mother was, that she might be like her. But I've been a poor father to her. Mine has been a wasted, ill-spent life, and now I can but give it back into the hands of God, trusting in His mercy through Jesus Christ."
He lay back exhausted by the effort he had made in saying so much. His life was ebbing fast. He said little more save in feeble, broken utterances. The end came peacefully about midnight, and the life which, with its errors and failures, God alone could truly judge, was sealed by the hand of death.
Michael took the weeping girl to his own home, and did his best to comfort her. Mrs. Wiggins predicted that Kate would not long live with her uncle. It seemed to her impossible that so ill-assorted a pair could get on together, or a girl accustomed to a free, independent life, put up with an old man's fidgets. But the result proved her prediction false. Kate was of a warm, affectionate nature, and pity constrained her to be patient with the poor, lonely old man, whilst he was disposed to cling at any cost to the only being who belonged to him.
Their common interest in Mrs. Lavers and sweet little Margery was a lasting bond of sympathy. Mrs. Lavers still showed herself a true friend to Kate. She encouraged the girl to come often to her house, and sometimes of an evening, she and her children would "drop in" to pay a visit to old Michael and his niece. The little ones loved to explore the marvels of Mr. Betts' shop, and never ceased to wonder at "the heaps and heaps of books." Mrs. Lavers was able to give Kate many a useful hint which helped her to adapt herself to her new position.
By-and-by, Kate came to take an intelligent interest in the book trade, and developed quite a talent for mending and covering dilapidated volumes. Customers were surprised to find now in the shop a bright, quick, dark-eyed damsel, who passed lightly to and fro, fetching and carrying books as her uncle directed her. She learned his ways more quickly than any youth would have done, and was careful to observe them. She found her new work infinitely preferable to making matches, and had a sense of responsibility in connection with it, which heightened her self-respect, and made life seem well worth living.
As for Michael, he was only now conscious of living a life that is life indeed. Released from the prison house of a hard, unloving, selfish heart, he had entered on a new existence. The touch of affection had awakened new faculties within his soul. In finding another to love and care for, he had truly found himself. New hopes and aspirations were springing within him, which soared beyond this mortal life, and would have their fruition in eternity. For only he who loves has a hope which reaches beyond the life of earth. The man who has no love for his brother man cannot love his Father in heaven, nor can he, who has no sense of sin in himself, experience the peace which comes from knowing the love of God in Christ Jesus.
THE END.
Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London.