Part 25 (1/2)
”Much worse than when I saw him last. He had another hemorrhage to-day, and is evidently sinking. I should not so surprised if I were recalled before to-morrow, for his poor wife is almost frantic and wished me to remain all night; but I knew you were lonely here.”
The exertion of speaking wearied him, and he laid his head back, and closed his eyes.
”Won't you eat your supper? It will help you; and your milk is already iced.”
”I will try after a while, when I have rested a little. My child, you are very good to antic.i.p.ate my wants. I noticed all you have done for me, and the flowers are lovely; so deliciously sweet too.”
He opened his eyes, took the Grand Duke, smelled it, smiled and stroked her hand which rested on the arm of his chair.
Scarlet plumes and dashes of cirrus cloud that glowed like sacrificial fires upon the altar of the west, paled, flickered, died out in ashen grey; and a moon more gold than silver hung in s.h.i.+mmering splendour among the cloud s.h.i.+ps, lending a dazzling fringe to their edges, and making quaint arabesque patterns of gilt embroidery on the verandah floor, where the soft light fell through interlacing vines of woodbine and honeysuckle. With the night came silence, broken only by the subdued plaint of the pigeons in the neighbouring yard, and the cooing or a pair of pet ring-doves that slept in the honeysuckle, and were kept awake by the moons.h.i.+ne which invaded their nest, and tempted them to gossip. After awhile a whipporwill which haunted the churchyard elms drew gradually nearer, finally settling upon a deodar cedar in the flower garden, whence it poured forth its lonely _miserere_ wail.
Mr. Hargrove sat so still, that Regina hoped he had fallen asleep, but very soon he said:
”My dear, you need not fan me.”
”I hoped you were sleeping, and that a nap would refresh you.”
He took her hand, pressed it gently, and said with the grave tenderness peculiar to him:
”What a thoughtful good little nurse you are! Almost as watchful and patient as Elise. Have you had your supper?”
”All that I want, some bread and milk. Hero and I ate our supper before you came. Shall I bring your slippers?”
”Thank you, I believe not. Before long I will go to sleep. Regina, open the organ, and play something soft and holy, with the Tremulant.
Sing me that dear old 'Protect us through the coming eight,' which my Dougla.s.s loves so well.”
”I wish I could, but you know, sir, it is a quartette; and beside, I should never get through my part: it reminds me so painfully of the last time we all sang it.”
”Well then, my little girl, something else. 'Oh that I had wings like a dove!' To-night I am almost like a weary child, and only need a lullaby to hush me to sleep. Go, dear, and sing me to rest.”
Reluctantly she obeyed, brightened the library lamp, and sat down before the cabinet organ which had been brought over to the parsonage for safe keeping while the church was being repaired. As she pulled out the stops, Hannah touched her.
”Has he finished his supper? Can I move the dishes and table?”
”Not yet. He is too tired just now to eat.”
”Then I will wait here. To tell you the truth, I have a queer feeling that scares me, makes my flesh creep. While I was straining the milk just now, a screech-owl flew on the top of the dairy, and its awful death-warning almost froze the blood in my veins. How I do wish Miss Elise was here! I hope it is not a sign of a railroad accident to her, or that the vessel is lost that carried her boy!”
”Hush, you superst.i.tious old Hannah! I often hear that screech-owl, and it is only hunting for mice. Mrs. Lindsay will come to-morrow.”
Her fingers wandered over the keys, and in a sweet, pure, and remarkably clear voice she sang ”Oh that I had wings.” With great earnestness and pathos she rendered the final ”to be at rest,”
lingering long on the ”Amen.”
Then she began one of Mozart's symphonies, and from it glided away into favourite selections from Rossini's ”Mose.”
Once afloat upon the mighty tide of sacred music she drifted on and on, now into a requiem, now a ”Gloria,” and at last the grand triumphant strains of the pastor's favourite ”Jubilate” rolled through the silent house, out upon the calm l.u.s.trous summer night.
Of the flight of time she had taken no cognizance, and as she closed the organ and rose she heard the clock striking nine, and saw that Hannah was nodding in a corner of the sofa.
Surprised at the lateness of the hour, she stepped out on the verandah, and approached the arm chair.