Part 12 (1/2)

”I am thankful to see you,” he said, as the doctor sprung from the dog-cart; ”you have heard the circ.u.mstances?”

”I have,” answered Dr. Wilson, following my father quickly up-stairs.

”Is he still unconscious?”

The answer was lost to me; but all at once, as I thought of Dr. Wilson, and how much depended upon his visit, the recollection of my mother's words came back to me, ”We must pray G.o.d, Willie, if it be His will Aleck may get better;” and with a sudden impulse I jumped up, shut the door, and kneeling down, with my head pressed upon my hands, I prayed with a sort of intensity I had never known before: ”O Lord, make Aleck well, do make Aleck well, don't let him die,”--repeating the words over and over again, and getting up with some dim sense of comfort in my mind, as I thought that G.o.d had the power as much now as when in our human nature He walked upon this world, to heal all that were ill; and had He not said, ”Ask, and you shall receive?”

Why was it that the verse which I had repeated that morning to my mother, after breakfast, came back so often to my mind? ”_If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me._” Generally my mother explained my daily text, but this morning, owing to the anxiety about Aleck's disappearance, there had not been the usual time, and she had simply heard the verse, and sent me off, as before-mentioned, to the school-room. Now I took to explaining it for myself. What business had I to pray with that iniquity hidden in my heart, of which no one knew but G.o.d? How could I get forgiven? what was I to do?

Conscience took courage and put in the suggestion, ”Confess boldly to your parents the sin that is lying so heavily upon you.” But then the thought that, if Aleck never got better, they would think me his murderer, took possession of me, and I took pains to convince myself, against my own reason, that after all, I had not actually been guilty of falsehood, since the real manner in which the s.h.i.+p had been lost was actually guessed by my father; that it would do no good if I were to give them the pain of knowing that I had allowed it to happen, having it in my power to prevent it; that, after all, it would be enough to confess to G.o.d and get forgiven.

But the reasoning, though for a time it silenced the promptings of conscience, did not give me peace of mind; and a sense that I could not pray--that, at least, my prayers would do no good--took from me the only comfort that was worth thinking of.

I was so taken up with these reflections, that I never heard steps upon the stairs, and started with an exclamation almost of fright when the door opened rather quickly, and my father and Dr. Wilson came in.

”Why, Willie, there's nothing to be frightened at,” exclaimed my father.

”Here's Dr. Wilson come to cheer us up about Aleck, who is to get quite well by-and-by, we hope.”

”Yes, yes, little man,” said Dr. Wilson, kindly chucking me under the chin, after a fas.h.i.+on which I have noticed prevails amongst grown-up tall people who are amiably disposed towards children; ”we shall soon hope to bring him round again. With all your monkey-like ways of climbing about the rocks, my only wonder is I've not had you for a patient long ago!”

Something seemed to strike him in the face he was holding up by the chin, and releasing me from a quick glance of inspection, he asked presently whether I had seen Aleck, and listened to the account I had to give of how Ralph had first noticed him lying at the foot of the rock.

Then he and my father stepped out by the window, and walked up and down on the lawn; and I heard Dr. Wilson say to my father, ”Any one can see the boy has had a shock; take care he does not get frightened.”

From the fragments of conversation which reached me,--sitting as I did in the open window, whilst they pa.s.sed by, walking up and down on the lawn outside,--I gathered that they were discussing the possibility of communication with Uncle and Aunt Gordon; and as they came in again through the school-room, my father said, ”You are sure that the crisis will be over by that time?”

”Quite sure. There is nothing for it now but perfect quiet, the administration of the medicines and cordials I have prescribed, when possible, and close watch of all the symptoms. I can a.s.sure you I am not without hope. You may look for me again by ten o'clock.”

And so saying, Dr. Wilson drove rapidly off, and my father went back again to Aleck's room. I think it must have been his planning, that nurse soon afterwards came down to the school-room and bestowed her company upon me for quite a long time, entertaining me at first, or meaning to entertain me, by a wearisome narration about a little boy who lived nowhere in particular a long time ago; but she wakened up all my interest when at last, unable to keep off the subject as she had intended, she gave me a detailed account of my cousin having been put into the bed in the spare room; and how he had lain so still, she could scarcely believe her senses he was not dead; and how, when Dr. Wilson set his arm, the pain of the operation seemed to waken him up for a moment from the stupor, but he had gone back again almost immediately.

”The doctor said,” she added, ”that it was the injury to the head that was of the greatest consequence--the arm was nothing to signify, a mere simple fracture; as if a broken arm were a mere nothing. I should like to know whether, _if his own_ were broken, he would call it a simple fracture, and say it didn't signify!” And nurse looked righteously indignant, and as if she would be rather glad than otherwise for Dr.

Wilson to meet with an accident, and learn, by personal experience, the true measure of insignificance or importance attaching to a broken limb.

Remembering, however, at this point, the inconvenience which might result to ourselves from such a catastrophe, she retreated from the position, and took to speculating what the doctor's views were likely to be with reference to his night accommodation; whether he would go ”between sheets,” or merely lie down on the sofa, and what motives might be likely to influence him towards either decision; reasoning it all out to me as if I had been grown-up.

In fact, one of the peculiar sensations which are stamped upon every recollection of that long sad day, was that of being treated as though I were a ”person,” and not a child, by almost every member of the community; a sensation bringing with it a dim sense of glory--that might have been--but which my guilty position kept me back from enjoying.

Both my parents came down to a sort of dinner-tea, which we had together at about seven o'clock, and my mother stayed a little while with me afterwards, and then sent me off, rather earlier than usual, to bed, upon the plea of my being weary with the long, anxious day.

CHAPTER IX.

SORROWFUL DAYS.

To bed; but not to my usual peaceful sleep; for all the night through one terrible dream seemed to succeed the other, until, in the act of landing at the White-Rock Cove, and calling for help, I woke at last to find myself standing somewhere in the dark, I could not at first make out where, though it turned out to be in Aleck's room, to which I had made my way in my sleep.

I began to cry with fright, and my father came running up to see what was the matter. He was quite dressed, and brought a candle with him, and looked so natural and real that he chased away all spectral frights.

After he had put me back to bed, and sat with me a little, I fell into a quieter sleep than I had had before; and slept on, indeed, quite late, for n.o.body called me the next morning, and I did not come down until prayers were over, and breakfast just about to commence.

Only my father and Dr. Wilson were in the room. My father looked very anxious; but Dr. Wilson spoke to me cheerily enough.