Part 17 (1/2)
”And now, mother, I must get up and go to him.”
Phaedra brought his clothes from the closet in which she had put them, and then left the room, while Valentine arose and dressed himself, and went to his master's apartments. It was in painful doubt and humiliating embarra.s.sment that he sought Oswald Waring's presence. He got to the door, knocked, and at the words, ”Come in,” he entered.
Mr. Waring was in bed, and looking very pale and ghastly; and as Valentine saw him, a pang shot through his heart at the thought that, but for the merciful intervention of Providence in averting the consequences of his own rash anger, Oswald Waring might have been lying there--not a sick man, but a dead one! And a secret vow to forsake intemperance, in all its forms, material and moral, was made in Valentine's mind, and registered in heaven.
”Is that you, Valley, old fellow? I had begun to fear that you had suffered more than myself, when I asked after you this morning and they told me you were sick. Were you thrown out, also?”
”Good Heaven,” thought Valentine, as a new light burst upon him; ”he does not recollect what happened. He must have been much further gone than myself.”
”Well, old fellow, why don't you answer me? I asked you if you were thrown out. Don't be afraid to tell me, for you see I'm a great deal better; besides, seeing you there alive and well, I shall not be much shocked to hear of what might have happened, you know. Come! where were you pitched, and how much were you hurt, and who picked you up? Tell me, for I can't get the least satisfaction out of anybody here.”
”I was not thrown out--I sprang out.”
”When the horses were rearing? A bad plan that, Val.; that is, if you really did it as you think you did. For my part, I doubt if you know anything more about it than I do myself; and if my soul were to have to answer for my memory, I could not tell whether I jumped out or was thrown out. Bad course we've been pursuing, old boy; like to have cost us both our lives, really has cost me that beautiful buggy--that is ruined, they tell me. Bad course; bad course, Val. Not safe for master and man both to be glorious at the same time. Another evening, old fellow, do you try to keep sober, when you think it likely that I shall be--otherwise.”
”I never mean to touch another drop of intoxicating drink as long as I live, sir, so help me Heaven!” said Valentine, fervently.
”Oh, pooh, pooh! old fellow. Resolutions made with a bad headache, the day after a frolic, are as worthless as the oaths sworn in wine the night previous, both being the effects of an abnormal state of the soul and--stomach. Now, wine is a good thing in moderation--it is only a bad thing in excess. Don't look so dreadfully downcast, old fellow, nor make such dismally lugubrious resolutions. 'The servant is not greater than his master,' says the good Book; and, if I was overtaken, how could you expect to escape? Give me your honest fist, old fellow; those who have had such a d--d lucky escape together might shake hands upon it, I should think,” said Oswald Waring, offering his hand.
Valentine took it and squeezed it, and then, in the warmth of his affectionate nature, pressed it to his heart, while tears welled to his eyes--tears, that came at the thought how nearly he had occasioned the death of this man--this man, who, with all his faults, had, from their boyhood, been ever kind, generous, forbearing--more like a brother than a master. All that was unjust and galling in their mutual relations was forgotten by Valentine at that moment; he only remembered that they had been playmates in childhood, companions in youth, and friends always, up to the present, and that he had narrowly escaped causing Oswald's death; and, in the ardor and vehemence of emotion, he pressed the hand that had been yielded up to him, to his heart, exclaiming in a broken voice:
”It was my fault, Master Oswald, all my fault; but I will never--never touch any sort of intoxicating liquor again--never, as the Lord hears me.”
”Oh, tut, tut! you best fellow that ever was in the world! Who asks you for any such promises? Only promise that when there is a wine supper or card party in the wind, or any other signs of the times in the sky to warn you, you will take care to keep sober, knowing that I shall be likely to be something else. Wine is a good servant, but a bad master.”
”Not good for me, ever, Master Oswald; certainly not good for me; probably not so for you, either.”
”Come, come; you exceed your license, Valentine. You're a pretty fellow to preach to me, after nearly breaking my neck. However, that's ungenerous, after once forgiving you; so we'll say no more about it forever. But don't preach to me, whatever you do. Phaedra nearly wears my patience out.”
”Can I do anything to make you more comfortable, or help the time along?”
”N-o-o, I think not. Dr. Carter says I must keep quiet, and my head begins to ache now; so you had better darken the room, and leave me to rest.”
Valentine closed all the shutters, and let down all the curtains, and then asked:
”Shan't I sit here, Master Oswald, to be at hand in case you should want anything?”
”No! Lord, no! it must be a d--l of a bore to sit in a dark room, with no better amus.e.m.e.nt than to watch somebody going off to sleep. No; go and take care of yourself, old fellow. I can ring if I should want anything,” said Oswald, cheerfully.
”Always so very considerate when he is in his right mind,” thought Valentine, as he took the ta.s.seled end of the bellrope and put it in reach of his master's hand, before leaving the room.
That was the last time that Valentine saw his master in his right mind for many weeks. The effects of his fall, acting upon a system weakened and vitiated by dissipation, was much more serious than any one had foreseen. Before night a brain fever, with delirium, had set in, and, for days after, the life of Oswald Waring hung upon the feeblest chance.
For many weeks of his illness, Phaedra and Valentine nursed him with the most devoted affection. Poor Phaedra prayed constantly for his recovery, and also for his reform, and solicited every Sabbath the prayers of the congregation of her church in his behalf. And Valentine, in deep despair, daily accused himself of his master's death, as if he had purposely stricken a fatal blow, and Oswald were already dead. The long days and nights of watching by the side of the sickbed, that might at any hour become a deathbed, were very fruitful in good to Valentine.
There he learned to hate and dread the demon anger, that had caused him so much misery; there he came to listen with patience and reverence to his poor mother's tearful pleadings and counsels; there he began to pray. It was six weeks before Mr. Waring left his room, and one more before he was fully restored to health. And this brought midsummer--a season that camp-meetings were frequent in the neighborhood.
This summer there was much greater excitement than ever before among the religious revivalists. The Rev. Mr. M---- and several others, equally eloquent and successful field preachers, were making a circuit of the country. Their fame always preceded them as an _avant courier_, and crowds congregated to hear them.
There was a camp-meeting held, by permission of the owner, in a magnolia grove where there was a fine spring, upon the grounds of Mr. Hewitt, Mr.
Waring's nearest neighbor. And it was given out that on Sunday morning the eloquent field preacher, M----, would address the a.s.sembled mult.i.tudes. There was a great deal of excitement and antic.i.p.ation among all cla.s.ses in that quiet rural district; and when the Sabbath came, congregations forsook their own churches, and a.s.sembled to hear M----.