Part 11 (2/2)
Finding the poor woman still delirious, Frida took off her cloak and bonnet and prepared to spend the night with her, and sitting down beside the bed she once more began to sing some sweet gospel hymns. In low and gentle tones she sang of Jesus and His love, and again the sufferer's restlessness and moaning ceased, and she seemed soothed.
Hours pa.s.sed, and the early summer morn began to dawn, and still the old woman lived on. Every now and then she muttered the name of Miss Hilda, and once she seemed to be imploring her not to vex her mother; and more than once she said the name of Heinz, and whenever she did so she became more excited, and moaned out the words, ”Woe's me! woe's me!” Frida watched anxiously every word, in the hope that she might hear the name of Hilda's mother or the place where they lived; but she watched in vain. It was evident that though there was a look of returning consciousness, life was fast ebbing. A glance upward seemed to indicate that the dying woman's thoughts had turned heavenward. Frida opened her Bible and read aloud the words of the ”shepherd psalm,” so precious to many a dying soul, ”Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.”
To her amazement the sick woman repeated the words, ”_thou_ art with me;” and as she finished the last word the soul fled, and Frida and Maggie were alone with the dead. The story of Frida's birth was still undisclosed, but G.o.d's word, as recorded in Holy Scripture, had again brought peace to a dying soul. Neighbours came in, and Frida turned away from the death-bed with a heart full of grat.i.tude to the Lord that she had been allowed with His own words to soothe and comfort the old nurse, who she felt sure had tended and loved her own mother.
When she returned to the Hall, the Stanfords were truly grieved to hear that the old woman was dead, and that there had been no further revelation regarding Frida's relations. Lady Stanford and Ada had just persuaded Frida to go to bed and rest awhile after her night of watching, when the door opened, and the butler came in bearing a telegram to Miss Heinz. Frida opened it with trembling hands, saw it was from Miss Drechsler, and read the words, ”Come at once; you are needed here.”
What could it mean? Was Miss Drechsler ill? It looked like it, for who else would require her in London? Fatigue was forgotten; she could rest, she said, in the train; she must go at once. In a couple of hours she could start. Ada was disconsolate. Nevertheless, feeling the urgency of the case, she a.s.sisted her friend to pack her boxes; and erelong Frida was off, all unaware of what might be awaiting her in the great city.
But ere we can tell that, we must turn for a while to other scenes, and write of others closely linked, although unknown to herself, with the life and future of the child found in the Black Forest.
CHAPTER XV.
THE POWER OF CONSCIENCE.
”Being convicted by their own conscience.”
The day on which Reginald Gower met Dr. Heinz on the street, and sent through him a farewell message to Gertrude Warden, found him a couple of hours afterwards seated in his mother's boudoir, communicating to her his suddenly-formed plan of starting in a few days for America.
It was no easy thing to do. The bond between mother and son was a very strong one, and her pleasure in having had him with her for some little time had been great. Her look of pleasure when he entered the room made it more difficult for him to break the news to her.
”Earlier back to-day than usual, Reggie,” she said, ”but never too early for your old mother. But is anything amiss?” she said in a voice of alarm, as she noticed the grave look on his face. ”Have you heard any bad news, or are you ill?”
”No, mother, it is neither of these things--there is nothing the matter; only I fear, mother dear, that what I am going to say will vex you, but you must not let it do so. I am not worth all the affection you lavish on me. Mother, I have made up my mind to go to America, and to remain there for some time. I cannot stop here any longer. I am tired--not of my dear mother,” he said, as he stooped over her and kissed her fondly, ”but of the idle life I lead here; and so I mean to go and try and get work there, perhaps buy land if I can afford it, and see if I can make anything of my life as a farmer. Nay, mother, do not look so sad,” he pleaded; ”you do not know how hard it is for me to come to this resolution, but I must go. I cannot continue to live on future prospects of wealth that may--nay, perhaps ought never to be mine, but must act the man--try and earn my own living.”
”Your own living, Reginald!” interposed his mother; ”surely you have enough of your own to live comfortably on even as a married man, and your prospects of succeeding to Harcourt Manor are, I grieve to say for one reason, almost certain. O Reginald, don't go and leave me so soon again!”
But the young man, usually so easily led, fatally so indeed, stood firm now, and only answered, ”Mother, it must be, and if you knew all you would be the first to advise me to go. Mother, you will soon hear that Gertie Warden is engaged to be married to a man worthy of her--a n.o.ble Christian doctor of the name of Heinz; but don't think that that circ.u.mstance is the reason of my leaving home. Fool though I have been and still am, I was never fool enough to think I was worthy of gaining the love of a high-principled girl like Gertie Warden. But, mother, your unselfish, G.o.d-fearing life, and that of Gertie and Dr. Heinz, have led me to see my own character as I never saw it before, and to wish to put right what has been so long wrong, and which it seems to me I can do best if I were away from home. Ask me no more, mother dear; some day I will tell you all, but not now. Only, mother, I must tell you that the words of the Bible which you love so well and have so early taught to me have not been without their effect, at least in keeping my conscience awake. And, mother, don't cease to pray for me that I may be helped to do the right. Oh, do not, do not,” he entreated, as his mother began to urge him to remain, ”say that, mother; say rather, 'G.o.d bless you,' and let me go. Believe me, it is best for me to do so.”
At these words Mrs. Gower ceased speaking. If, indeed, her loved son was striving to do the right thing, would she be the one to hold him back?
Ah no! she would surrender her will and trust him in the hands of her faithful G.o.d. So with one glance upward for help and strength, she laid her hand on his head and said, ”Go then, my son, in peace; and may G.o.d direct your way and help you to do the right thing, and may He watch between us when we are separate the one from the other.”
Just as Reginald was leaving the room Miss Drechsler entered. She greeted Mrs. Gower cordially, remembering her in old times; and she recognized Reginald as the young man who had spoken to Frida the day after the concert, though then she had not heard his name.
As Reginald was saying good-bye, he heard his mother ask Miss Drechsler where her friend the young violinist was. ”I thought you would have brought her to see me,” she added. Her answer struck Reginald with dismay.
”Oh! she did not accompany me to London after all. A great friend of hers was ill, and she had to go to her instead. It was a great disappointment to me.”
Reginald went to his room feeling as if in a dream. Then it might never come to pa.s.s, after all, that Frida's parentage would be found out; and Satan suggested the thought that therefore he need not disclose all he knew, but let things go on as they were.
He hugged the idea, for not yet had he got the victory over evil; at all events he thought he would still wait a bit, but he would certainly carry out his intention of leaving the country for a while at least; and two days after the time we write of, his mother sat in her own room with a full heart after having parted from her only son. Well for her that she knew the way to the mercy-seat, and could pour out her sorrow at the feet of One who has said, ”Call upon me in the day of trouble, and I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me.”
CHAPTER XVI.
THE STORM.
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