Chapter XXThe End

Chapter XXThe End

LORD ASHDEN spent that night pacing restlessly up and down the floor, and when the doctor came out of the sick-chamber early the following morning, he called him into his room. “I want to know,” he began in a strange, monotonous voice, “just what the chances are for the boy’s life. No, don’t try to spare me, please. I prefer to know the truth.”

The physician, a strictly professional and apparently unsympathetic man, was moved to sudden pity as he remarked the traces of intense suffering in Lord Ashden’s face and manner:

“My dear fellow,” he said, an expressionin his eyes which was most unusual to them, “I did not know the little chap was so dear to you.”

“He is all I have,” said Lord Ashden quietly. “All I have,” he repeated as though to himself, and then he went on:

“But you have not told me yet what you think of his condition.”

It was the strictly professional man who spoke this time.

“It is difficult to tell—just yet,” he said. “The burns are serious, although not necessarily fatal, and there has been a great shock to the general system, a very great shock; the action of the heart is weak, and there is a deplorable lack of vitality and less recuperative energy than I could wish to see. However”—He paused and looked at Lord Ashden steadily.

“Go on,” he said almost sternly, and, taking up the physician’s sentence, headded, “you have, in short, little encouragement to offer?”

“I think,” said the doctor slowly, “that the boy’s chances are about even; yes, about even,” he repeated, and then he held out his hand.

“I must go now,” he said, “but I will return in a few hours. And be assured, my dear sir, that everything possible will be done.”

“Thank you,” said Lord Ashden, opening the door to allow the physician to pass through; and as the latter went downstairs he heard the door close again, and the sound of a key turning in the lock.

“Poor fellow!” the busy surgeon said, as he buttoned up his coat and went briskly down the steps, “poor fellow!”

Toward noon of that day Philip began to come out of the kind of stupor in which he had lain all night. Hesmiled faintly at Aunt Delia as she leaned over the bed, and tried to speak, but he was too weak, and presently he closed his eyes again. He suffered a good deal from the burns, which quite covered his hands and arms, and as night came on again he grew restless and feverish, talking incoherently and sometimes starting up in bed; once he thought the manager was calling him to go upon the stage and play.

“In a moment!” he cried, and then he lay back upon the pillow, smiling. “They are clapping,” he whispered; “they like my music, I think, and I am glad—for Lord Ashden’s sake.” After that the pain grew worse, and he tossed restlessly about on the bed, sometimes moaning, and muttering indistinctly to himself; now and then the watchers caught a word.

“All ready, sir! Is it my turn to go on? Are they all there, Aunt Delia,Lord Ashden, Miss Acton? All but Marion, I don’t see her. Wouldn’t she stay to hear me play? Oh, yes, there she is, sitting between Miss Acton and Lillie, dear little Lillie! I must play my very best to-night.”

It was the concert—always the concert; once when he lay so quiet that they thought he was asleep, there was a distant sound of the barking of a dog. “Dash!” he exclaimed, opening his eyes, and he made them understand that he wanted to see his favorite. Aunt Delia hesitated, but the nurse nodded her head, and the little dog was sent for from a distant part of the house where he had been confined, an unwilling captive. The poor little fellow seemed to realize that something dreadful had happened, and when he was brought to Philip’s bed he neither fidgeted nor barked, but remained perfectly quiet, his dumb,loving soul looking out of his bright eyes. Philip tried to hold out his poor bandaged arms, and they laid the dog gently beside him; it was very touching to see the joy of both; Dash crawled as closely as he could to Philip’s side, and the boy lay looking at him with a faint smile of perfect satisfaction. “Dear little Dash!” he murmured, and then he closed his eyes again. That night he grew much worse, and Lord Ashden, pacing restlessly about in the adjoining room, covered his ears to shut out the sound of groans and feeble cries which pierced his great loving heart like sharp knives. He was trying with all his might to reconcile himself to the thought of giving up the dear child who had wound himself so closely around the strong man’s affections. “Shewas taken from me,” he moaned “and God knows I loved her; and nowhe is going too, and he is all I have—all I have.”

Not once or twice, but many times, during the night Aunt Delia stole in to comfort him; her heart, too, was very near to breaking, but she had learned to say, “Thy will be done,” and her sweet wrinkled face, on which were the traces of recent tears, wore a look of peace and resignation which Lord Ashden observed with wonder.

“Why should God punish us in this way?” he said once, and his companion laid her fingers gently on the rebellious lips.

“Hush!” she said; “do not say that, dear friend; when, three years ago (it seems but yesterday), you came to us and asked that you might take Philip to Italy, it was very hard to give him up, yet his uncle and I knew that it was for the boy’s best good; we said ‘Go’ when our hearts were murmuring‘Stay.’ Would it not have been selfish to have kept our Philip by our side in the narrow circle of our love and care, when before him lay the chance of the life of Italy and the musical training which he so needed and wished for? And now, dear, dear friend, think a moment; may it not be something the same way now? Surely our Heavenly Father knows what is best for our darling, when He would take him from our clinging arms into the fuller life of light and love.”

She paused and laid her hand with the most caressing tenderness upon the bowed head of her companion.

“You will be brave, I know, dear heart,” she whispered. “God bless and help you.”

A few hours later the whole family were gathered in a sorrowful group around Philip’s bed. The end was very near, the doctor said, and the boy hadasked to see them, calling for each one by name. He looked about upon the familiar faces, his own shining with love and peace, and there was no trace of fear or even of regret in his calm, clear eyes. Strangely enough, it was Marion’s name which he spoke first, and he tried to hold out his hand, stiff and heavy with bandages, as she knelt sobbing beside his pillow. “Why do you cry?” he asked wonderingly. “Not for me, surely, dear cousin; there is no pain now, you know.”

“Oh, Philip, Philip,” cried the girl, “forgive me! Only say that you forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive, dear Marion,” replied the boy; “I love you very much; you will not forget that I said so, will you, dear?” And Miss Acton gently led the weeping girl from the room.

Philip followed her with troubledeyes, and then he turned to the others; he had a word for each, but his chief thought was for Lord Ashden, who sat beside the bed, outwardly quite calm, for he feared to disturb Philip by any show of emotion; he even tried to smile when the boy looked at him, and bent low over the pillow to hear the whispered words. The others moved away while the two talked together, and no one else heard what the boy said to his friend. Once or twice the latter gave a great, deep sob, and Aunt Delia coming to his side for an instant heard Philip whisper:

“I shall seeher, you know, Lord Ashden. Do you suppose she will know me?”

“The doctor says you must not talk any more for the present, dear boy,” whispered Mrs. Seldon softly, and Philip looked up with a radiant smile and a little weary, but quite contented, sigh.

“I am a little tired,” he murmured. “I will sleep awhile,” and he closed his eyes, but presently he opened them again and looked around the room. “Are they all here?” he asked faintly. “I cannot quite see.”

“We are all here,” replied Lord Ashden steadily; and Philip looked up languidly and smiled.

He lay very still after this, only opening his eyes once when Dash moved a little closer to his side. The nurse would have taken the dog away, but Philip shook his head, and after that there was perfect stillness in the room. The end came very quietly—so quietly that they thought he was only asleep, until the nurse nodded gravely to Aunt Delia and she arose and put her arms around Lord Ashden, whispering:

“Come, dear Frederick, our Philip has gone home.”

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

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