Tales and Novels Volume II Part 39

One morning Patty came into her room with a face full of sorrow; a face so unlike her usual countenance, that even her mistress, unaccustomed as she was to attend to the feelings of others, could not help noticing the change.

"Well! What's the matter, child?" said she.

"Oh! sad news, madam!" said Patty, turning aside to hide her tears.

"But what's the matter, child, I say? Can't you speak, whatever it is, hey? What, have you burnt my best cap in the ironing, hey? Is that it?"

"Oh! worse, worse, ma'am!"

"Worse! What can be worse?"

"My brother, ma'am, my brother George, is ill, very ill of a fever; and they don't think he'll live! Here is my father's letter, ma'am!"

"Lord! how can I read it without spectacles? and why should I read it, when you've told me all that's in it? How the child cries!" continued Mrs. Crumpe, raising herself a little on her pillow, and looking at Patty with a sort of astonished curiosity. "Heigho! But I can't stay in bed this way till dinnertime. Get me my cap, child, and dry your eyes; for crying won't do your brother any good."

Patty dried her eyes. "No, crying will not do him any good," said she, "but------"

"But where is my cap? I don't see it on the dressing-table."

"No, ma'am: Martha will bring it in a minute or two: she is plaiting it."

"I will not have it plaited by Martha. Go and do it yourself."

"But, ma'am," said Patty, who, to her mistress's surprise, stood still, notwithstanding she heard this order, "I hope you will be so good as to give me leave to go to my poor brother to-day. All the rest of my brothers and sisters are with him, and he wants to see me; and they have sent a horse for me."

"No matter what they have sent, you sha'n't go; I can't spare you. If you choose to serve me, serve me. If you choose to serve your brother, serve your brother, and leave me."

"Then, madam," said Patty, "I must leave you; for I cannot but choose to serve my brother at such a time as this, if I can serve him; which G.o.d grant I mayn't be too late to do!"

"What! You will leave me! Leave me contrary to my orders! Take notice, then: these doors you shall never enter again, if you leave me now,"

cried Mrs. Crumpe, who, by this unexpected opposition to her orders, was actually worked up to a state unlike her usual peevishness. She started up in her bed, and growing quite red in the face, cried, "Leave me now, and you leave me for ever. Remember that! Remember that!"

"Then, madam, I must leave you for ever," said Patty, moving towards the door. "I wish you your health and happiness, and am sorry to break so short."

"The girl's an idiot!" cried Mrs. Crumpe. "After this you cannot expect that I should remember you in my will."

"No, indeed, madam; I expect no such thing," said Patty. (Her hand was on the lock of the door as she spoke.)

"Then," said Mrs. Crumpe, "perhaps you will think it worth your while to stay with me, when I tell you I have not forgot you in my will? Consider that, child, before you turn the handle of the door. Consider that; and don't disoblige me for ever."

"Oh, madam, consider my poor brother. I am sorry to disoblige you for ever; but I can consider nothing but my poor brother," said Patty. The lock of the door turned quickly in her hand.

"Why! Is your brother rich? What upon earth do you expect from this brother, that can make it worth your while to behave to me in this strange way?" said Mrs. Crumpe.

Patty was silent with astonishment for a few moments, and then answered, "I expect nothing from him, madam; he is as poor as myself; but that does not make me love him the less."

Before Mrs. Crumpe could understand this last speech, Patty had left the room. Her mistress sat up in her bed, in the same att.i.tude, for some minutes after she was gone, looking fixedly at the place where Patty had stood: she could scarcely recover from her surprise; and a mult.i.tude of painful thoughts crowded upon her mind.

"If I were dying, and poor, who would come to me? Not a relation I have in the world would come near me! Not a creature on earth loves me as this poor girl loves her brother, who is as poor as herself."

Here her reflections were interrupted by hearing the galloping of Patty's horse, as it pa.s.sed by the windows. Mrs. Crumpe tried to compose herself again to sleep, but she could not; and in half an hour's time she rang the bell violently, took her purse out of her pocket, counted out twenty bright guineas, and desired that a horse should be saddled immediately, and that her steward should gallop after Patty, and offer her that _whole sum in hand_, if she would return. "Begin with one guinea, and bid on till you come up to her price," said Mrs. Crumpe.

"Have her back again I will, if it were only to convince myself that she is to be had for money as well as other people."

The steward, as he counted the gold in his hand, thought it was a great sum to throw away for such a whim: he had never seen his lady take the whim of giving away ready money before; but it was in vain to remonstrate; she was peremptory, and he obeyed.

In two hours' time he returned, and Mrs. Crumpe saw her gold again with extreme astonishment. The steward said he could not prevail upon Patty even to look at the guineas. Mrs. Crumpe now flew into a violent pa.s.sion, in which none of our readers will probably sympathize: we shall therefore forbear to describe it.

CHAPTER III.

When Patty came within half a mile of the cottage in which her father lived, she met Hannah, the faithful servant, who had never deserted the family in their misfortunes; she had been watching all the morning on the road for the first sight of Patty, but when she saw her, and came quite close up to her, she had no power to speak; and Patty was so much terrified that she could not ask her a single question. She walked her horse a slow pace, and kept silence.

"Won't you go on, ma'am?" said Hannah at last, forcing herself to speak.

"Won't you go on a bit faster? He's almost wild to see you."

"He is alive then!" cried Patty. The horse was in full gallop directly, and she was soon at her father's door. James and Frank were there watching for her: they lifted her from the horse; and feeling that she trembled so much as to be scarcely able to stand, they would have detained her a little while in the air; but she pa.s.sed or rather rushed into the room where her brother lay. He took no notice of her when she came in, for he was insensible. f.a.n.n.y was supporting his head; she held out her hand to Patty, who went on tiptoe to the side of the bed. "Is he asleep?" whispered she.

"Not asleep, but--He'll come to himself presently," continued f.a.n.n.y, "and he will be very, very glad you are come; and so will my father."

"Where is my father?" said Patty; "I don't see him."

f.a.n.n.y pointed to the farthest end of the room, where he was kneeling at his devotion. The shutters being half closed, she could but just see the faint beam which shone upon his grey hairs. He rose, came to his daughter Patty, with an air of resigned grief, and taking her hand between both of his, said, "My love--we must lose him--G.o.d's will be done!"

"Oh! there is hope, there is hope still!" said Patty. "See! the colour is coming back to his lips again; his eyes open! Oh! George, dear George, dear brother! It is your own sister Patty: don't you know Patty?"

"Patty!--Yes. Why does she not come to me? I would go to her if I could," said the sufferer, without knowing what he talked of. "Is not she come yet? Send another horse, Frank. Why, it is only six miles. Six miles in three hours, that is--how many miles an hour? ten miles, is it?

Don't hurry her--don't tell her I'm so bad; nor my father--don't let him see me, nor James, nor Frank, nor pretty f.a.n.n.y, nor any body--they are all too good to me: I only wished to see poor Patty once before I die; but don't frighten her--I shall be very well, tell her--quite well, by the time she comes."

After running on in this manner for some time, his eyes closed again, and he lay in a state of stupor. He continued in this condition for some time: at last his sisters, who were watching beside the bed, heard a knocking at the door. It was Frank and James: they had gone for a clergyman, whom George, before he became delirious, had desired to see. The clergyman was come, and with him a benevolent physician, who happened to be at his house, and who insisted upon accompanying him.

As soon as the physician saw the poor young man, and felt his pulse, he perceived that the ignorant apothecary, who had been first employed, had entirely mistaken George's disease, and had treated him improperly. His disease was a putrid fever, and the apothecary had bled him repeatedly.

The physician thought he could certainly have saved his life, if he had seen him two days sooner; but now it was a hopeless case. All that could be done for him he tried.

Towards evening, the disease seemed to take a favourable turn. George came to his senses, knew his father, his brothers, and f.a.n.n.y, and spoke to each with his customary kindness, as they stood round his bed: he then asked whether poor Patty was come? When he saw her, he thanked her tenderly for coming to him, but could not recollect he had any thing particular to say to her.

"I only wished to see you all together, to thank you for your good-nature to me ever since I was born, and to take leave of you before I die; for I feel that I am dying. Nay, do not cry so! My father! Oh! my father is most to be pitied; but he will have James and Frank left."

Seeing his father's affliction, which the good old man struggled in vain to subdue, George broke off here: he put his hand to his head, as if fearing it was again growing confused.

"Let me see our good clergyman, now that I am well enough to see him,"

said he. He then took a hand of each of his brothers and sisters, joined them together, and pressed them to his lips, looking from them to his father, whose back was now turned. "You understand me," whispered George: "he can never come to want, while you are left to work and comfort him. If I should not see you again in this world, farewell! Ask my father to give me his blessing!"

"G.o.d bless you, my son! G.o.d bless you, my dear good son! G.o.d will surely bless so good a son!" said the agonized father, laying his hand upon his son's forehead, which even now was cold with the damp of death.

"What a comfort it is to have a father's blessing!" said George. "May you all have it when you are as I am now!"