"True faith and reason are the soul's two eyes,Faith evermore looks upward and descriesObjects remote."Quarles.
"True faith and reason are the soul's two eyes,Faith evermore looks upward and descriesObjects remote."Quarles.
Mr. Keith and Wallace Ormsby were busy, each at his own desk; unbroken silence had reigned in the office for the last half hour, when suddenly dropping his pen and wheeling about in his chair, the elder gentleman addressed the younger:
"Why, how's this, Wallace? I haven't seen you in my house or heard of your being there for weeks; what's wrong?"
Wallace, taken by surprise, could only stammer out rather incoherently something about having had a good deal to do—"correspondence and other writing, studying up that case, you know, sir."
"Come, come, now, you're not so hard pushed with work that you can't take a little recreation now and then," returned his interrogator kindly; "and really I don't think you can find a much better place for that than my house; especially since Mildred's at home again."
"That is very true, sir," said Wallace, "but—I'd be extremely sorry to wear out my welcome," he added, with a laugh that seemed a trifle forced.
"No fear of that, Wallace; not the slightest," Mr. Keith answered heartily: "why, we consider you quite one of the family; we can never forget how kindly you nursed us in that sickly season. And we've a new attraction."
"Yes, sir, so I heard. A very fine instrument, isn't it?"
"Yes; if we are judges. Come up this evening and hear Mildred play. I think she has really a genius for music; but that may be a fond father's partiality."
The invitation was too tempting to be declined: it had taken a very strong effort of will to enable the love-sick swain to stay so long away from his heart's idol, and now under her father's hospitable urgency his resolution gave way.
"Thank you, sir; I shall be delighted to come: and I have no doubt Miss Mildred is quite as fine a performer as you think her," he said; and each resumed his pen.
Mrs. Keith, with strong faith in the wisdom of the old adage, "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," always insisted uponeach member of her household taking a due amount of recreation. The older girls would sometimes, in their eagerness to finish a piece of work or learn a lesson for the morrow, be ready to take up book or sewing immediately on leaving the tea-table; but their mother put a veto upon that, and by precept and example encouraged a half hour of social chat, romping with the little ones, or gathering about the piano to listen to Mildred's playing: and often a little time before tea was given to music both vocal and instrumental, every one, even down to little Annis, frequently taking part in the latter.
This season of mirth and jollity was over for the evening, Mrs. Keith had taken the younger children away to put them to bed, Zillah and Ada were at their tasks in the sitting-room; but Mildred still lingered at the piano, feeling that she had need of practice to recover lost ground.
Mr. Keith listened a little longer, then remarking that he must see Squire Chetwood about a business matter, donned hat and overcoat and went out.
Rupert stood beside his sister, turning the pages of her music and praising her execution. "I'd like all the town to hear you," he said."I should prefer a much smaller audience," she returned, laughingly. "Ru, did you remember to mail that letter?"
"No, I didn't!" he cried, in some consternation.
She drew out her pretty watch.
"There's time yet," he said, glancing at its face; "so I'm off."
Hurrying out of the front door, he encountered Ormsby in the porch.
"Hollo! is that you, Wallace?" he cried. "A little more and there'd have been a collision. Haven't seen you here for an age! been wondering what had become of you. Well, walk right in. You'll find Milly in the parlor. But you must excuse me for awhile as I've a letter to mail."
He held the door open as he spoke, and having seen the caller inside, hastily shut it without waiting for a reply to his remarks, and rushed away.
The parlor door stood ajar. Wallace tapped lightly; but Mildred, intent upon her music, did not hear, and he stole quietly in. He stood for a moment almost entranced by the low sweet tones of voice and instrument.
Mildred was thinking of Charlie, and her voice was full of pathos as she sang—
"'When we two partedIn silence and tears,Half broken-hearted,To sever for years.'"
"'When we two partedIn silence and tears,Half broken-hearted,To sever for years.'"
A deep sigh startled her and she turned hastily to find—not Charlie, but Wallace regarding her with eyes full of despairing love mingled with tender compassion.
He saw that her eyes were full of tears, and coming quickly to her side took her hand in his.
"Dear Mildred, I can't bear to see you unhappy," he said, in low, tremulous tones. "Don't grieve, it will all come right some day. Ah, if only I could have won your heart!" and again he sighed deeply.
"It's the old story, 'the course of true love never will run smooth,' and we can only be sorry for each other," she returned with forced gayety, and hastily wiping away her tears. "Take a seat, won't you, and I'll give you something more cheerful than that sickly sentimental stuff you caught me singing. That is, of course, if you wish to hear it;" and she looked up into his face with an arch smile.
A tete-a-tete with him at that time was not desirable—would be rather embarrassing; she wanted to avoid it, and heartily wished someone of the family would come in immediately; therefore was not seriously displeased at the sudden and unexpected entrance of Celestia Ann.
This very independent maid-of-all-work came bustling in, dressed in her "Sunday best" and with a bit of sewing in her hand.
"Good-evenin', Mr. Ormsby," she said, nodding to him; then turning to Mildred: "I declare, Miss Mildred, your playin' is so powerful fine I couldn't noways stand it to set out there in the kitchen while the pianner was a goin' in here and nobody to listen to it. You see I thought you were alone; but I reckon Mr. Ormsby won't mind me."
Wallace was too well aware of the value of the woman's services and the difficulty of retaining them to make any objection. He merely nodded and smiled in reply to her salutation; then turning to Mildred answered her with, "Indeed I should be delighted. In fact your father invited me to call this evening for the express purpose of listening to your music, and," he added in a whisper, "though I feared my visit might not be altogether welcome to you, I had not the courage to deny myself so great a pleasure."
"There was no occasion," Mildred said, inthe same low tone: "we all want you to feel yourself quite at home here. You'll excuse the intrusion of—"
"Oh, certainly: I understand it."
Celestia Ann had seated herself beside a lamp burning on a distant table, and was industriously plying her needle.
"Come, give us a lively toon, Miss Milly, won't ye?" she said. "'Yankee Doodle,' or 'Hail Colomby,' or some o' them toons folks dances to."
"Which or what will you have, Mr. Ormsby?" asked Mildred.
"I?" he said, with a smile; "oh, I own to sharing Miss Hunsinger's partiality for our national airs, and am well satisfied with the selections already made."
Mildred gave them in succession.
A tall man with a book under his arm stood in a listening attitude at the gate. Mrs. Keith, seeing him from an upper window, came down and opened the front door.
"Good evening, Mr. Lightcap," she said in her pleasant voice, "won't you come in out of the cold?"
"I come to fetch back your book, Mrs. Keith," he said, moving toward her with long strides, "and I thought I'd not disturb thefolks in your parlor by knockin' whilst that music was agoin'. I'm a thousand times obleeged fer the loan o' the book, ma'am;" and he handed it to her, then lifted his cap as if in adieu.
"No, no; don't go yet," she said. "I have another book for you, and you must have some more of the music, if you care to hear it, without standing in the cold to listen."
Her pleasant cordiality put him at his ease, and he followed her into the parlor.
Mildred was playing and singing "Star Spangled Banner," Wallace accompanying her with his voice, both so taken up with the business in hand that they did not perceive the entrance of Mrs. Keith and Gotobed until they joined in on the chorus; when Mildred looked up in surprise and nodded a smiling welcome to the latter.
"Tell you, that's grand!" he exclaimed at the close, his face lighting up with patriotic enthusiasm; "there's somethin' mighty inspirin' about them national airs o' ourn. Don't ye think so, Mrs. Keith?"
"Yes," she said, "they always stir my blood with love for my dear native land, and awaken emotions of gratitude to God and those gallant forefathers who fought and bled to secure her liberties."
"Ah!" he sighed with a downward glance at his mutilated arm, "I can never lift sword or gun for her if occasion should come again!"
"But you may do as much, or even more, in other ways," she responded cheerily.
"I can't see how, ma'am," he returned, with a rueful shake of the head.
"'Knowledge is power;' intellect can often accomplish more than brute force: go on cultivating your mind and storing up information, and opportunities for usefulness will be given you in due time," she answered with her bright, sweet smile; then turned with a cordial greeting to Lu Grange and Claudina and Will Chetwood, ushered in at that moment by Celestia Ann, who now took her departure to the kitchen—probably thinking Miss Mildred had listeners enough to be able to spare her.
The piano was a new and powerful attraction to the good people of Pleasant Plains, and all the friends and acquaintance of the Keiths, as well as some whose title to either appellation was doubtful, flocked to hear it in such numbers that for two or three weeks after its arrival Mildred seemed to be holding a levee almost every evening.
"How my time is being wasted!" she sighed one evening as the door closed upon the last departing guest.
"No, dear, I think not," responded her mother, with an affectionate look and a kindly reassuring smile; "you are recovering lost ground—perfecting yourself in facility of execution, and giving a great deal of pleasure; and it is no small privilege to be permitted to do that last—to cheer heavy hearts, to lift burdens, to make life even a little brighter to some of our fellow creatures. Is not that so?"
"Yes, mother, it is, and yet I find it very trying to have my plans so often interfered with."
"Ah! my child, we must not allow ourselves to become too much attached to our plans," returned Mrs. Keith, with a slightly humorous look and tone, and passing her hand caressingly over Mildred's hair; "for all through life we shall be very frequently compelled by circumstances to set them aside."
"Is there any use in making plans, then?" the girl asked half impatiently.
"Surely there is. If we would accomplish anything worth while, we must lay our plans carefully, thoughtfully, wisely; then carry them out with all energy and perseverance: yet not allow ourselves to be impatient and unhappy when providentially called upon to set them aside. 'It is not in man that walketh to directhis steps;' and we ought to be not only willing to bend to God's providence, but glad to have him choose for us."
"Ah, yes, mother—yes indeed!" Mildred murmured, a dewy light coming into her eyes; "if one could only always realize that he sends or permits these little trials they wouldn't be hard to bear; for it is sweet to have him choose for us."
It so happened that this was the last of that trial of Mildred's patience. A storm set in that night which lasted for several days, keeping almost everybody at home; then came weeks of ice and snow, making fine sleighing, skating, and sliding; thus furnishing other and more exciting amusement to the residents of the town, both old and young.
The Keiths took their share in these winter pastimes—Mildred as well as the rest: often doing so to please her mother rather than herself, yet always finding enjoyment in them.
'Twas a busy life she led that winter, and by no means an unhappy one, spite of the obstinate refusal of the course of true love to run smooth.
It came to a rougher place, to deeper, swifter rapids, in the ensuing spring.
Through all these months of separation she and Charlie had kept up a correspondence,though at somewhat irregular and infrequent intervals. A much longer time than usual had now passed, and yet her last letter to him remained unanswered. She was secretly very much disturbed in mind, sorely troubled lest some evil had befallen him, though not permitting herself to doubt for a moment that his love for her remained as strong and fervent as ever.
At last a letter came. Rupert brought it from the office at noon, and handed it to her with a meaning smile, a twinkle of fun in his eyes.
"Something to brighten this dull, rainy day for you, sis," he said gayly.
"Thank you," she returned, flushing rosy red, and her heart giving a joyous bound as she slipped the missive into her pocket.
"What! not going to read it after the long journey it has taken to reach you?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows in mock astonishment.
"Not now, it will keep; and I must get mother's toast and tea ready for her—there'll be barely time before father comes in to dinner."
"How is she?"
"Better, but not able to be up yet. These bad headaches always leave her weak, and Ishall try to persuade her to lie still all the afternoon."
With the last word Mildred hurried away to the kitchen.
The morning had been a very trying one: it was Monday, the day of the week on which Celestia Ann always insisted upon doing the family washing without regard to the state of the weather. She prided herself on getting her clothes out early and having them white as the driven snow, and her temper was never proof against the trial of a Monday-morning storm.
There had been a steady pour of rain since before daybreak, and the queen of the kitchen consequently in anything but an amiable mood. A severe headache had kept Mrs. Keith in bed, and to Mildred had fallen the task of guiding and controlling the domestic machinery and seeing that its wheels ran smoothly.
She had had several disputes to settle between Ada and Zillah on the one side, and the irate maid-of-all-work on the other; also much ado to induce the younger children to attend to their lessons, and then to keep them amused and quiet that her mother might not be disturbed by their noise, and through it all her heart was heavy with its own peculiar burden;besides, atmospheric influences had their depressing effect upon her spirits, as upon those of the others, and more than once a sharp or impatient word, repented of as soon as uttered, had escaped her lips.
"An undeserved blessing," was her remorseful thought at sight of the letter. "It may be ill news to be sure—oh if it should!—yet anything is better than this terrible suspense."
But that must be borne until she could snatch a moment of solitude in which to end it.
Zillah, stooping over the kitchen fire, looked up hastily as her sister entered. "You've come to get mother's dinner, Milly? Well, here it is all ready," pointing to the teapot steaming on the hearth, beside it a plate of nicely browned and buttered toast.
"O you dear good girls!" was Mildred's response as she glanced from the stove to the table, upon which Ada was in the act of placing a neatly arranged tea tray.
"As if it wasn't the greatest pleasure in the world to do a little for mother!" exclaimed the latter half indignantly. "You needn't think, Milly, that the rest of us don't love her just as well as you do."
"I meant no such insinuation," Mildred said,half laughing. "I'm sure our mother deserves the greatest possible amount of love and devotion from all her children. But may I claim the privilege of carrying up the dinner you two have prepared?"
"Yes: I suppose it's no more than fair to let you do that much; but you needn't expect me to think it's any great goodness," Ada answered, putting the finishing touches to her work, and stepping aside to let Mildred take possession of the tray.
"Certainly nothing is farther from my thoughts than claiming credit for any service done to mother," Mildred answered good-humoredly as she took up the tray and walked away with it.
With quick light step she passed up the stairs, and entering her mother's room with almost noiseless tread, was greeted with a smile.
"I am not asleep, dear; and the pain is nearly gone," Mrs. Keith said, speaking from the bed in low, quiet tones.
"I am so glad, mother, and I hope a cup of tea will complete the cure," Mildred answered softly, setting down her burden on a little stand by the bedside and gently assisting her mother to a sitting posture.
"A dainty little meal! My dear child, youare the greatest possible comfort to me!" Mrs. Keith remarked presently, as she handed back the empty cup.
"But it was Zillah and Ada who prepared it to-day, mother," Mildred returned, ever careful to give others their just due, though her eyes shone.
"Yes, they are dear girls too," the mother said; "I am greatly blessed in my children: but I was thinking more of the freedom from care given me by having you here to take the head of affairs. The others, though doubtless equally willing, are still too young for that. So I could never give myself up to the full enjoyment of a headache while you were away," she added in her own peculiarly pleasant, sportive tone and manner.
"I cannot half fill your place, mother dear; I have not half your wisdom or patience," Mildred said with a blush and sigh.
"You exaggerate my virtues, Milly; I can imagine from past experience how your patience may have been tried to-day. Well, dear, if there has been a partial failure, do not let that rob you of your peace. 'Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him;' and though he cannot look upon sin with any degree of allowance, yetwhen we turn from it with true repentance and desire after holiness, pleading the merits of his dear Son as our only ground of acceptance, we find him ever ready to forgive. What a blessing, what a glorious privilege it is that we have, in that we may turn in heart to him for pardon and cleansing the moment we are conscious of sin in thought, word, or deed!"
"Yes, mother; I do feel it so. And how strangely kind he often is in sending joys and comforts when we feel that we deserve punishments rather," Mildred said with tears springing to her eyes, as she drew out her letter and held it up.
"From Charlie!" Mrs. Keith exclaimed, with a pleased smile. "My darling, I am very glad for you. I hope it brings good news."
Mildred turned it in a way to show that the seal was not yet broken, answering in low, tremulous tones, and between a smile and a sigh, "I have not found out yet. It must wait for a quiet after-dinner half-hour."
"My brave, patient girl!" Mrs. Keith said tenderly, passing a hand caressingly over Mildred's hair and cheek. "Let mother share the joy or sorrow, whichever it brings."
Mildred brought but scant appetite to themeal, which seemed to her an unusually long and tedious one; but she was able to control her impatience and give due attention to the comfort of father, brothers and sisters, until at length she found herself at liberty to retire for a season to the privacy of her own room.
Her hand trembled and her heart beat fast between hope and fear as she drew the letter from her pocket and broke the seal. What if it brought ill news—that Charlie was in trouble, or that his love had grown cold! Had she strength to bear it?
Oh, not of herself! But there was One who had said, "In me is thine help." "Fear thou not, for I amwiththee; be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee."
One moment's silent pleading of His gracious promises, and she had grown calm and strong to endure whatever His providence had sent. Tears dropped upon the paper as she read, for Charlie was indeed in sore trouble. The first few sentences read as though the writer were half frenzied with distress.
"He had lost everything," so he wrote; "both his own and his uncle's property had been suddenly and completely swept away, and the shock had killed the old gentleman—hisonly near relative—leaving him friendless and alone in the world; utterly alone, utterly friendless; for he could not hope that she who had refused him in prosperity would be willing to share his poverty. Nor could he ask it. But never, never could he forget her, never love another."
Then under a later date, and in apparently calmer mood, he continued:
"I am about to leave the home of my childhood and youth; it passes to-day into the hands of strangers, and I go out into the wide world to seek some way of retrieving my broken fortunes. With youth, health and strength, and a liberal education, surely I need not despair of finally attaining that end, though it will doubtless take years of toil and struggle; but when it is accomplished you shall hear from me again: nay, you shall find me at your feet, suing for the priceless boon I have hitherto sought in vain. I will not despair, for my heart tells me you will be true to me even through many long years of separation—if such fate has decreed us—and that in answer to your prayers the barrier between us will one day be swept away."
"Share his poverty! Ah, would I not if I might!" Mildred cried half aloud and with aburst of tears. "What greater boon could I ask than the privilege of comforting him in his sorrows! O Charlie, Charlie, you have given no address, and so put it out of my power to offer even the poor consolation of written words of sympathy, of hope and cheer!"
No one came to disturb Mildred in her solitude; she had time for thought and for the casting of her care upon Him who was her strong refuge, whereunto she might continually resort.
Mrs. Keith had not left her own room, and downstairs the two elder girls were busied with their needles, while Rupert kept the younger children quiet with kite-making and a story, moved thereto partly by a good-natured desire for their amusement, but principally through affectionate concern for mother and elder sister.
Mrs. Keith lay on her couch, thinking, a little anxiously, of Mildred, when the door opened and the young girl stole softly to her side.
"Is it ill news, my darling?" the mother asked in tender, pitying accents, glancing up compassionately at the dewy eyes and tear stained cheeks.
"I will read you his letter, mother. Youknow I have no secrets from you, my loved and only confidante," Mildred answered a little tremulously, and stooping to press a kiss on her mother's lips.
Then seating herself, she unfolded the sheet and read in low tones, which she vainly tried to make calm and even.
"Ah, mother, if only he were a Christian!" she exclaimed with a burst of uncontrollable weeping.
"Do not despair of seeing him such one day," her mother returned, laying a gentle, quieting hand on that of the weeper. "God is the hearer and answerer of prayer; the answer may be long delayed, for the trial of your faith, but it will come at last."
"What is Charlie waiting for?" sighed Mildred. "How strange that he cannot see that God's time for the sinner to come and be reconciled to him is always now! Ah, I do so want him to know the comfort of casting all his care on the Lord—the blessedness of the man who trusts in him!"
"Yes, it is a strange delusion! It is one of Satan's devices to persuade men to put off this most important of all transactions to a more convenient season, which he knows will never come. But, dear child, we will unite ourprayers on Charlie's behalf to Him who has all power in heaven and in earth, and who has graciously promised, 'If two of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in heaven.'"
"Ah! what is human life?How, like the dial's tardy moving shade,Day after day slides from us unperceiv'd!The cunning fugitive is swift by stealth;Too subtle is the movement to be seen;Yet soon the hour is up—and we are gone."Young.
"Ah! what is human life?How, like the dial's tardy moving shade,Day after day slides from us unperceiv'd!The cunning fugitive is swift by stealth;Too subtle is the movement to be seen;Yet soon the hour is up—and we are gone."Young.
"Mother, he seems to imply that I am not likely to hear from him again for years," Mildred remarked, half in assertion, half as asking her mother's understanding of the drift of young Landreth's communication.
"Yes, I think so," Mrs. Keith responded in gentle, pitying tones. Then more brightly and cheerily, "But perhaps, dear, that certainty is better—will be less trying—than a constantly disappointed looking for of letters."
Mildred gave a silent assent, while a tear rolled quickly down her cheek. She dashed it hastily aside. "Mother, dearest mother, you must help me to be brave and cheerful, not letting this disappointment and anxiety spoil my life and make me a burden to myself and others," she whispered tremulously, laying her head on her mother's pillow and gazing lovingly,but through gathering tears, into those dear eyes.
"I will, my poor darling," returned Mrs. Keith in moved tones, putting an arm about her daughter's neck and drawing her closer till cheek rested against cheek; "and there is One who, with all power at his command, and loving you even more tenderly than your mother does, will give you such help and consolation in this sore trial as she cannot give."
"I know it; I am sure of it," murmured Mildred. "I can trust him for myself—though the way looks dark and dreary—but—O mother, it is not so easy to trust for Charlie!"
"Perhaps, dear, that is one reason why this trial is sent you: trust for our dear ones as well as for ourselves is a lesson we all need to learn."
"And to teach me patience, which is another lesson I greatly need and am very slow to learn," sighed Mildred. "'The trying of your faith worketh patience. But let patience have her perfect work.' Oh, shall I ever be able to do that!"
"Yes, at last; I am assured of it: 'being confident of this very thing, that he who hath begun a good work in you will perform it untilthe day of Jesus Christ.' 'In all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us.' And trusting in him, living near to him, in the light of his countenance, wemayhave, weshallhave great joy and peace in spite of tribulations."
"And those I know all must have in one way or another," said Mildred a little sadly, "because we are told in Acts, 'we must through much tribulation enter into the kingdom of God;' and Jesus told his disciples, 'In the world ye shall have tribulation.'"
"But, he added, 'Be of good cheer: I have overcome the world,'" Mrs. Keith said with emotion, a joyous light shining in her eyes.
"Mother," said Mildred, "I once heard the assertion that God's people were peculiarly marked out for trouble and trial in this world; that they must expect to have more than was allotted to worldlings. Do you think that is true?"
"No, I find no such teaching in Scripture, nor has experience of life taught it to me. 'Many sorrows shall be to the wicked, but he that trusteth in the Lord, mercy shall compass him about.' 'Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivereth him out of them all.' 'O fear the Lord, ye his saints,for there is no want to them that fear him!' 'Godliness is profitable unto all things, having promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come.' The Bible is full of the blessedness of those who fear and trust the Lord."
"'Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth,'" quoted Mildred doubtfully.
"Ah, yes; the afflictions of the righteous are the loving discipline of a tender Father, while upon the incorrigibly wicked he pours out his fury in judgments that bring no healing to their souls—only retribution for the sins unrepented of and unforgiven. 'Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone, and an horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup.'"
The door opened softly and Ada looked cautiously in.
"That is right, dear," Mrs. Keith said, greeting the child with a loving smile; "come in and give mother a kiss. The pain is quite gone, and I am going to get up now and dress for tea."
"Don't, mother, unless you feel quite,quitestrong and well," the little girl entreated, receiving and returning a tender caress. "I'm so glad you are better (oh, it isn't nice to haveto do without mother! though I'm sure Milly has tried her very best to fill your place). I wouldn't have come here—because I was afraid of disturbing you—but there's a boy down stairs asking if Milly will go and watch to-night with a sick woman—Mrs. Martin. Claudina Chetwood's to watch, but there ought to be two, he says, and they don't know of anybody else for to-night. She's been sick so long that 'most everybody is worn out."
Professional nurses were unknown in the town, and in time of sickness the only dependence for needed attention, outside of the sufferer's own family, was upon the kindness of neighbors, and as a rule they were exceeding kind.
Mrs. Martin's health had been declining for many months; for weeks she had been confined to bed and in a condition to need constant watching and waiting upon.
The Keiths had scarcely a speaking acquaintance with her, but that made no difference when help was needed.
"Do you feel equal to the task, Mildred?" asked her mother. "I shall be sorry to have you lose your night's rest; but you can make it up to-morrow. I am not likely to have a return of the headache, and when I am 'to thefore' you can be spared, you know," she added sportively, and with a world of motherly pride and affection in the look she bent upon her first-born.
"Yes, mother; it will not hurt me, and I can't hesitate when duty seems so plain," Mildred answered cheerfully. "How soon do they want me, Ada?"
"He says about nine o'clock. Mrs. Prior's going to stay till then. I'll go down and tell him they may expect you;" and with the last word Ada left the room.
Mrs. Keith had left the bed for a low seat before her toilet table, and Mildred was softly brushing out and arranging her still beautiful and abundant hair, very tenderly careful lest too rude a touch should cause a return of the torturing pain.
"Poor, poor woman!" sighed Mrs. Keith, thinking of Mrs. Martin.
"Is she considered very dangerously ill, mother?" asked Mildred.
"Mrs. Prior was telling me about her yesterday," Mrs. Keith answered. "Dr. Grange says she has not long to live; but worst of all, Milly, she is dying without hope."
"O mother, how terrible! And has no one tried to lead her to Jesus? has no one told herof his great love and his power and willingness to save?'"
"Yes, months ago, while she was still up and about her house, Mrs. Prior and others tried to talk to her about her soul's salvation, but she refused to listen, angrily telling them she was too weak to trouble herself with trying to think on that subject now, and must wait until she grew stronger; and all the time growing weaker and weaker. My child, I'm glad you are to be with her to-night, for who knows but you may find a fitting moment in which you may speak a word that God may bless to the saving of her soul."
"How glad I should be to do it," Mildred answered with emotion, "but I am so young and foolish and ignorant! Mother, how can I hope to succeed where older and wiser people have failed?"
"'Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord of hosts.' He often works by the feeblest instrumentalities, and may see fit to use even you, my dear girl. Ask his help and his blessing upon your effort, remembering his promise, 'If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.'"
"I will watch for an opportunity, and you will help me with your prayers, mother?"
"You may be sure of that, dear child."
"But, O mother! how very much better you could speak to her than I."
"I doubt it, Milly; for the work must be of God, or it will come to naught; and he can as readily make use of your mind and tongue as of mine. Don't rely on yourself; don't forget that you are only an instrument."
In spite of a very honest and earnest determination to be cheerful under this new trial of her faith and patience, and to bear her own burden according to the scriptural command, Mildred seemed to her father a little sad-eyed and paler than her wont, as he looked at her across the tea table.
"My child," he said, "I hear you are expecting to watch with the sick to-night, but really I'm afraid you are not able to do so; you do not look well."
"Appearances are sometimes deceitful, you know, father," she returned, with an effort to be bright and lively. "I am quite well, and if fatigued to-night can rest and sleep to-morrow."
"Well," he said, only half convinced, "lie down until it is time for you to go."
"Yes, Mildred, if you can get an hour or two of sleep before your watch begins, it will be a great help," said her mother. "We will call you at nine."
"Half-past eight, if you please, mother. I want to be there in time to ask directions of Mrs. Prior before she leaves."
Mildred was not sorry to seek the quiet and solitude of her own room, but she scarcely slept. She seemed to have but just fallen into a doze when Rupert knocked at her door to say that it wanted but ten minutes of the time she had set for starting, and he was ready to see her to her destination.
"I'm glad you came early," was Mrs. Prior's greeting, "for indeed I ought to be at home seeing to things there. They're pretty sure to go at sixes and sevens when I'm away; and even if my boarders don't growl about it, 'tain't treatin' 'em exactly fair. But I'll not leave you alone with her. Claudina'll be here directly, and I'll stay till she comes."
"Oh, thank you!" Mildred said. "I shouldn't like to be left alone with any one who is so ill, and I shall need to be told just what I'm to do. How is she now?"
"Can't last much longer, poor thing," Mrs. Prior returned with a sad shake of the head;"she's dreadful weak and short o' breath, and awful afraid to go. Dear, dear, to think of anybody putting off preparation to the last minute when theyknowthey've got to die, and after that the judgment! And she won't allow a minister to come into the house, or let anybody say a word to her about her soul. Several has tried; I have myself, but it's no use. Perhaps if she'd been approached in the right way at first, it might have been different. Damaris Drybread was the first, I believe, to say anything to her; and between you and me, though Damaris means well, she's not always over wise in her way of doing what she considers her duty. But there! I must run back to her. She oughtn't to be left alone a minute. Come into the sitting-room and take off your things."
The door into the next room, where the invalid lay, was open, and Mildred could hear her moaning and complaining in hollow, despairing tones, Mrs. Prior answering in cheerful, soothing accents.
Presently Mrs. Prior stepped back to the door and beckoned Mildred in.
"This is Miss Keith, Mrs. Martin," she said. "She and Miss Chetwood will watch with youto-night and do all they can to make you comfortable."
"Yes, you're all very kind. I know you'd help me if you could; but nobody can give me a minute's ease, and nobody knows what I have to suffer," moaned the sick woman, gazing piteously into the fresh young face bending over her.
Mildred's eyes filled with tears, and she opened her lips to speak, but was stopped by a hasty exclamation: "Hush! don't say a word! don't talk to me! don't ask me any questions! I won't hear it! I can't bear it! I'm too weak."
"I can only pray for her," was Mildred's thought as she turned sorrowfully away and hastened to the outer door, where some one had rapped lightly.
It was Claudina, and after giving them the necessary instructions Mrs. Prior left them to their melancholy duty.
As there was not more to be done than one could easily attend to, she had advised them to take turns in watching and sleeping. There was a lounge in the sitting-room, where one might rest very comfortably; Claudina stretched herself on it and almost immediately fell asleep, Mildred having chosen the first watch.
The latter established herself in the sickroom in an arm-chair by the bedside. She had brought a book, but the night lamp did not give sufficient light for reading.
The invalid slept fitfully, tossing, moaning, and sighing in her sleep, and still more during her moments of wakefulness.
Mildred had never felt wider awake, so strangely, fearfully solemn it seemed to sit there alone, waiting the coming of the angel of death to one who shuddered and shrank at his approach. Again and again while the dying woman slept her watcher knelt by the bedside and poured out fervent though silent petitions on her behalf. And for Charlie too; for her thoughts were full of him as well, and oh! at that moment it seemed a small matter that they might never meet on earth, could she only have the blessed assurance that eternity would unite them in another and better world.
"What's that you're doing?" asked the patient, waking suddenly. "Oh, I'm in awful distress! Rub me with some of that liniment, won't you?"
Mildred complied, doing her best to give relief to the physical suffering, and crying mightily in her heart to the Great Physician for the healing of the sin-sick soul.
Oh, the distress and anguish in those hollow, sunken eyes, and expressed in every lineament of the wasted features!
The bony hand clutched wildly at Mildred's dress and drew her down close, while the pale lips gasped, "I'm dying, and I'm not prepared! But I can't think—I'm too weak. I must wait till I get stronger."
"Oh no, no! come now to Jesus! He waits with open arms to receive you," cried Mildred, the tears coursing fast down her cheeks. "He died to save you, and he is able and willing to save to the uttermost all who come to him. Come now."
"Too late, too late! I'm too weak! I can't think! Don't talk to me any more."
Mildred's ear barely caught the faintly breathed words, and with the last the hollow eyes closed, whether in sleep she could not tell.
She found herself growing very weary, and the hands of the clock pointed to a half hour past the set time for her vigil. She stole softly into the next room, roused Claudina, and took her place.
Her last thought as she fell into a dreamless slumber was a prayer for the two for whom she had been so importunately pleading.
She had not slept more than a moment whena hand was laid on her shoulder, and Claudina's voice, trembling with fright, said, "Mildred, Mildred, O Mildred, she's gone!"
"Who?" she asked, starting up only half awake.
"Mrs. Martin. I was rubbing her, and she moaned out, 'I'm too weak. I can't think. I must wait till I'm stronger,' and with the last word turned her head, gasped once, and was gone."
Claudina shuddered and hid her face. "O Mildred," she whispered, "those words of our Saviour are ringing in my ears, 'What shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?' As a girl her head was full of dress and beaux and having a good time; as a married woman—keeping the best table, the neatest house, and helping her husband to get on in the world. She had no time to think about her soul until sickness came, and then she said she was too weak, she must wait to grow stronger."
They clasped each other's hands and wept silently.
Presently there was a sound of some one moving about the kitchen. "The girl's up," said Claudina, rising from her kneeling posture beside the lounge. "I'll go and tell her,and she'll let Mr. Martin know. O, the poor, motherless baby!"
She left the room, and Mildred, starting up, saw through the crack at the side of the window-blind that the sun had risen and Mrs. Prior was at the door, come to inquire how the sick woman was.
Through the sweet morning air, pure and bracing after yesterday's showers, Mildred walked home, full of solemn, anxious thoughts: Charlie was a wanderer, she knew not whither, his absorbing desire and anxiety to retrieve his broken fortunes. "Oh that he would seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness!" Henceforward that should be the burden of her prayer for him, for herself, for all her dear ones.
Then her heart was filled with a great thankfulness for the spared lives of all these. Some of them had already made preparation for that last, long journey which, sooner or later, every son and daughter of Adam must take, and to the others time was still given.