Part 26 (1/2)

Then he sent his respects to Mrs Stone, and added--”I was not surprised to hear that Miss Faithful had chosen to remain at home with you; and may the comfort and joy which her presence must give you be given to her by the best Comforter when her day of trial shall come!” In a little while he wrote again, sending also a book which he was sure Eunice would like; and after that he wrote with no excuse at all.

He told them about his new work in the college to which he had been appointed professor, and about his friends, and his pleasant social relations, and his outside work. Eunice did not answer all his letters, but she took pleasure in receiving them. Kind brotherly letters they were, which Fidelia read, and which they discussed a little, as they might have discussed the letters of Dr Everett himself, if he had been away from and had written, to them.

So the spring pa.s.sed, and the summer wore on, till August came with burning days and sultry nights, which told on the strength of Eunice, already failing, so slowly that the eyes that watched her so lovingly did not see it for a time. Even Dr Everett saw no cause for alarm, nor Mrs Stone, who watched her more closely than he did.

But Eunice knew that the end was drawing near. Afterwards they all wondered that they had not seen more clearly, remembering looks and words which they might have taken for a sign that the joy of heaven was not far away. But so quietly pa.s.sed the days, with so little to disturb or tire her, that she herself did not know how rapidly her strength was pa.s.sing from her.

The close days of early August oppressed her, and made the change for the worse suddenly visible to them all. The end did not come without a warning, as Dr Everett had thought it might come. There were days and nights of waiting before her still, when even Fidelia saw the tokens of the last change. There was no great suffering, only weariness and exhaustion, borne sweetly and patiently, and a joyful waiting for ”the rest which remains.”

There was a word spoken now and then to console or to encourage her sister, who waited quietly beside her.

”You know all I wish for you, dear; I am not afraid for you. You are in a Father's loving hand, and by-and-by, when your work is done, you will come to me there,” she said to her, murmuring the sentences at intervals, as she had the strength to speak; and Fidelia could answer firmly and smile brightly. For so deep was the peace and so sure the trust of the dying, and so near the glory awaiting her, that no thought of herself or her loss, or the lonely days that were before her, could move her from the calm which had fallen upon her. All was peace with her also.

Once, at the beginning of these last days, a word was spoken by Mrs Stone.

”About Fidelia, Eunice? The time may come when she will long to know what your wish would have been--have you ever said a word to her about-- Justin Everett?”

”No; I think there is nothing to be said. Yes, I know--afterwards she would give heed to any word of mine. But it might not be the right word. No; I can leave this, with all else that concerns her, in the hands of a loving Father. He will guide her in this as in all things.”

And so no care nor shadow of care came to darken these last days. Truly her eyes said to them, when her lips could not utter the words: ”I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me.” And, waiting and watching beside her, Fidelia was for the time lifted above all fear or care or sorrow for herself, and rejoiced in her sister's joy.

Thus quietly one summer morning she pa.s.sed away. So quietly, they--

”Thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died.”

They buried her beside her kinsfolk in the little graveyard of Halsey; and her memory still lives in the hearts of her friends and neighbours who knew and loved her so well.

Then, for a time, life and all its interests seemed to stand still for Fidelia. She was weary and spent, and they left her alone to rest and grow strong again. By-and-by, with no word of appeal or entreaty from any one, she came back to her old ways, and tried to take up her work again. It was not easy for her to do this, but it was easier than it would have been had her loss come a year sooner.

”It is G.o.d's will that I should go first; and, dear, though you cannot see it now, G.o.d's will in this, as in all things, is best,” Eunice had said to her many times; and she knew in her heart that it was true.

”And, oh, how much the best for my Eunice!” she said with many tears, yet with submission also.

But her occupation was gone; and, though friends and neighbours did what kind friends and neighbours may do at such a time, to cheer her, the days pa.s.sed slowly and heavily, till one night Jabez came up ”to have a little talk” with her. She had not seen much of him since her sister's death. He had kept away, he told her, ”because it hurt him dreadfully to see her in trouble that he could not help.” It cannot be said that she had missed him much, but she was glad to see him when he came.

Jabez's ”little talk” was about himself, and nothing could have been farther from his thoughts than a desire to give a lesson to his teacher.

But she got her lesson all the same. They sat for awhile in the front porch, which was bright with the glory of the sunset. Mrs Stone was there as well as Fidelia, and they spoke about various matters at first; and a few words were said about Eunice. When Mrs Stone rose to go about some household duty, the others rose also, and went through the house into the garden, and down the walk between the tall hollyhocks, to the fence, where there was an opening between the apple-trees--a spot where Fidelia always stood a minute or two whenever she came there.

They lingered for awhile in silence, looking down over the river flowing softly between wide irregular meadows, and over to the broken hill country beyond, beautiful now in the glow that fell on it from the west.

Something--perhaps it was the familiar voice of White Star coming suddenly to her ear--brought back to Fidelia the remembrance of the time when she stood there petting the pretty creature, the day after her first return from the seminary--the day when Jabez came up to speak about the garden. It came back so vividly that when Jabez began to speak his first words were lost in the surprise which seized her when she turned towards him.

What had happened to the lad since then? He was a boy no longer, for one thing. As he stood there regarding her with grave eyes, speaking quietly and earnestly, he was very different from the lad who had come whistling up the field, with his hoe over his shoulder, to greet her that day. A man? Well, hardly that yet; but with the promise of manhood on his good and pleasant face, to which, though she was tall herself, she had to look up now! A shadow pa.s.sed over his face, and he ceased speaking and looked away, as a smile, of which she was quite unconscious, parted Fidelia's lips.

”I thought maybe you would like to hear about it,” said he in a little, without turning round.

”Of course I shall like to hear about it. Excuse me; I was thinking about something else. You must begin again. Do you know, Jabez, that you are changed lately. You are not a boy any longer; you are a man, and I have only just found it out.”

”A man! No, not quite; but I mean to be a man one of these days,” said Jabez gravely. ”And I think now I can see my way.”

”Well! Tell me all about it.”