Part 99 (2/2)
”Raby,” said the doctor, ”this young woman has said enough to show me that she is more fit to conduct this delicate undertaking than either you or I. Let us profit by the discovery, put our vanity in our pocket, and give her the command. My dear, you see the importance, you see the difficulty; now will you undertake it?”
”I will, sir,” said Jael, firmly; ”and I look to succeed, G.o.d willing. I shall be in Wales this afternoon.”
”Well, but would you not be the better yourself for one day's rest?”
”No, sir. I've learned, with a sad heart, what one day may bring forth.
After that, I'm sworn never to throw away a day. And, as for sitting down and thinking, 'tis the worst thing I can do. I do thank G.o.d that in this, my own heavy trouble, I'm not tied to my sad thoughts, but can get about, and do a little of good for Raby House. Do what I will, 'tis but giving them back one pig out of their own farrow; for we owe all we have to them.”
With this she retired to prepare for her journey, leaving both the gentlemen lost in admiration of her simple virtues, and the clear intelligence she had shown them in few words.
She traveled into Wales that very day, and many a burst of bitter grief she had all by herself in the train.
At six P.M. she stood before Mrs. Little with a smiling countenance.
Mrs. Little welcomed her with some little pleasure and much surprise.
”Good news, madam,” said Jael. ”Squire Raby has sent me to bring you to Raby Hall. He wanted to come himself, but I would not let him.”
”That is good news,” said Mrs. Little languidly. ”Now I shall die at peace with my brother--at peace with all mankind, I hope.”
”You'll die when your time comes,” said Jael. ”But you have got a shorter journey before you at present, and that is to Raby Hall.”
”Raby Hall! I shall never see it again. I have no strength to move. I am worn out with the battle of life. Stay with me here, and close my eyes.”
”Of course I shall stay with you,” said Jael, and began to gossip with every appearance of carelessness.
Next morning, with infinite difficulty, she persuaded the poor jaundiced lady to show her Aberystwith. She took the tickets herself, and got her patient half-way to Hillsborough; next day, with less difficulty, to Raby Hall. All had been settled before. Edith little was shown into her old bedroom, adorned with pyramids of flowers in her honor; and there she found a loving line from Guy, begging her pardon for his past harshness, and telling her she was to send for him as soon as she felt strong enough to meet.
That evening brother and sister were clasped in each other's arms, and wept tears of affection and regret over each other.
Jael Dence slept on a camp-bed in Mrs. Little's room, which was very s.p.a.cious, and watched her, and was always about her. Under private advice from Dr. Amboyne, she superintended her patient's diet, and, by soft, indomitable perseverance, compelled her to walk every day, and fight against her fatal la.s.situde.
Heaven rewarded her by giving her a warm and tender affection for her poor patient that did something to fill her own yearning and desolate heart.
Here I must leave them both for the present, and show how these events affected the main characters of my story.
CHAPTER x.x.xVII.
Just outside the little sea-side town of Eastbank is a house which, being very old, contrasts agreeably with the pretentious villas fas.h.i.+on has raised. It is gloomy inside, yet outside it looks like a cottage: low, rambling, gabled, and picturesque. It stands on a slope just above the sea, and its front garden runs down almost to the sea-sh.o.r.e. The aspect is southerly. The placid sea looks like a beautiful lake; for, about two miles out, a great tongue of land runs across and keeps the tempests out.
The cottage itself was now closed deep with green creepers, and its veranda with jessamine; and the low white walls of the garden were beautiful with vine-leaves and huge fig-leaves, that ran up them and about them, and waved over them in tropical luxuriance. In short, the house was a very bower, and looked the abode of bliss; and this time last year a young couple had spent their honeymoon there, and left it with a sigh. But one place sees many minds; and now this sweet place was the bed on which dropped the broken lily of this tale, Grace Carden.
She lay in the warm air of the veranda, and turned her hollow eyes upon the sea; and every day life crept slowly back to her young body, but not to her desolate heart.
A brain fever either kills or blunts, and Grace's agony was blunted. Her mind was in a strange state. She was beginning to look two things in the face: that the man she loved was dead; that the man she loved, and had nearly died for, had loved another as well as herself: and this last grief, strange to say, was the saving of her. She forgave him with all her heart, for he was dead; she made excuses for him, for she loved him; but since his whole heart had not been hers, her pride and modesty rebelled against dying for him, and she resolved to live; she fought hard to live and get well. Finally, being a very woman, though a n.o.ble one, she hated Jael Dence.
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