Part 36 (1/2)
”You've proved that, Graham, if ever a man did. Well, well, well, your coming has brought a strange and most welcome state of affairs. Somehow you've given me a new lease of life and courage. Of late we've all felt like hauling down the flag, and letting grim death do his worst. I couldn't have survived Grace, and didn't want to. Only plucky Mrs.
Mayburn held on to your coming as a forlorn hope. You now make me feel like nailing the flag to the staff, and opening again with every gun.
Grace is like her mother, if I do say it. Grace Brentford never lacked for suitors, and she had the faculty of waking up _men_. Forgive an old man's vanity. Phil Harkness was a little wild as a young fellow, but he had grand mettle in him. He made more of a figure in the world than I--was sent to Congress, owned a big plantation, and all that--but sweet Grace Brentford always looked at me reproachfully when I rallied her on the mistake she had made, and was contentment itself in my rough soldier's quarters,” and the old man took off his spectacles to wipe his tear-dimmed eyes. ”Grace is just like her. She, too, has waked up men. Hilland was a grand fellow; and, Graham, you are a soldier every inch of you, and that's the highest praise I can bestow. You are in command in this battle, and G.o.d be with you. Your unbelief doesn't affect _Him_ any more than a mole's.”
Graham laughed--he could laugh in his present hopefulness--as he replied, ”I agree with you fully. If there is a personal Creator of the universe, I certainly am a small object in it.” ”That's not what I've been taught to believe either; nor is it according to my reason. An infinite G.o.d could give as much attention to you as to the solar system.”
”From the present aspect of the world, a great deal would appear neglected,” Graham replied, with a shrug.
”Come, Colonel Graham,” said the major, a little sharply, ”you and I have both heard the rank and file grumble over the tactics of their general. It often turned out that the general knew more than the men.
But it's nice business for me to be talking religion to you or any one else;” and the idea struck him as so comical that he laughed outright.
Mrs. Mayburn, who entered at that moment, said: ”That's a welcome sound. I can't remember, Major, when I've heard you laugh. Alford, you are a magician. Grace is sleeping quietly.”
”Little wonder! What have I had to laugh about?” said the major. ”But melancholy itself would laugh at my joke to-night. Would you believe it, I've been talking religion to the colonel,--if I haven't!”
”I think it's time religion was talked to all of us.”
”Oh, now, Mrs. Mayburn, don't you begin. You haven't any G.o.d any more than Graham has. You have a jumble of old-fas.h.i.+oned theological attributes, that are of no more practical use to you than the doctrines of Aristotle. Please ring for Jinny, and tell her to bring us a bottle of wine and some cake. I want to drink to Grace's health. If I could see her smile again I'd fire a _feu de joie_ if I could find any ordnance larger than a popgun. Don't laugh at me, friends,” he added, wiping the tears from his dim old eyes; ”but the bare thought that Grace will live to bless my last few days almost turns my head. Where is Dr. Markham?”
”He had other patients to see, and said he would return by and by,”
Mrs. Mayburn replied.
”It's time we had a little relief,” she continued, ”whatever the future may be. The slow, steady pressure of anxiety and fear was becoming unendurable. I could scarcely have suffered more if Grace had been my own child; and I feared for you, Alford, quite as much.”
”And with good reason,” he said, quietly.
She gave him a keen look, and then did as the major had requested.
”Come, friends,” cried he, ”let us give up this evening to hope and cheer. Let what will come on the morrow, we'll have at least one more gleam of wintry suns.h.i.+ne to-day.”
Filling the gla.s.ses of all with his trembling hand, he added, when they were alone: ”Here's to my darling's health. May the good G.o.d spare her, and spare us all, to see brighter days. Because I'm not good, is no reason why He isn't.”
”Amen!” cried the old lady, with Methodistic fervor.
”What are you saying amen to?--that I'm not good?”
”Oh, I imagine we all average about alike,” was her grim reply--”the more shame to us all!”
”Dear, conscience-stricken old aunty!” said Graham, smiling at her.
”Will nothing ever lay your theological ghosts?”
”No, Alford,” she said, gravely. ”Let us change the subject.”
”I've told Major St. John everything from the day I first came here,”
Graham explained; ”and now before we separate let it be understood that he joins us as a powerful ally. His influence over Grace, after all, is more potent than that of all the rest of us united. My words to-night have acted more like a shock than anything else. I have placed before her clearly and sharply the consequences of yielding pa.s.sively, and of drifting further toward darkness. We must possess ourselves with an almost infinite patience and vigilance. She, after all, must bear the brunt of this fight with death; but we must be ever on hand to give her support, and it must be given also un.o.btrusively, with all the tact we possess. We can let her see that we are more cheerful in our renewed hope, but we must be profoundly sympathetic and considerate.”
”Well, Graham, as I said before, you are captain. I learned to obey orders long ago as well as to give them;” and the major summoned his valet and bade them goodnight.
Graham, weary in the reaction from his intense feeling and excitement, threw himself on the sofa, and his aunt came and sat beside him.