Henrietta's Wish; Or, Domineering Part 33

Strangely came the sound of the Church bell to their ears through the window, half open to admit the breezy breath of spring; the cawing of the rooks and the song of the blackbird came with it; the sky was clear and blue, the buds were bursting into life.

"How very lovely it is!" added she.

Fred made a brief reply, but without turning his head to the window. His eyes, his thoughts, his whole soul, were full of the contemplation of what was to him a thousand times more lovely,--that frail wasted form, namely, whose hand he held. The delicate pink colour which Henrietta had described was on her cheek, contrasting with the ivory whiteness of the rest of her face; the blue eyes shone with a sweet subdued brightness under their long black lashes; the lips smiled, though languidly yet as sunnily as ever; the dark hair lay in wavy lines along the sides of her face; and but for the helplessness with which the figure rested in the chair, there was less outward token of suffering than he had often seen about her,--more appearance almost of youth and beauty. But it was not an earthly beauty; there was something about it which filled him with a kind of indescribable undefined awe, together with dread of a sorrow towards which he shrank from looking. She thought him fatigued with the exertion he had made, and allowed him to rest, while she contemplated with pleasure even the slight advances which he had already made in shaking off the traces of illness.

The silence was not broken till Aunt Geoffrey came in, just as the last stroke of the Church-bell died away, bringing in her hand a fragrant spray of the budding sweet-briar.

"The bees are coming out with you, Freddy," said she. "I have just been round the garden watching them revelling in the crocuses."

"How delicious!" said Mrs. Frederick Langford, to whom she had offered the sweet-briar. "Give it to him, poor fellow; he is quite knocked up with his journey."

"O no, not in the least, mamma, thank you," said Fred, sitting up vigorously; "you do not know how strong I am growing." And then turning to the window, he made an effort, and began observing on her rook's nest, as she called it, and her lilac buds. Then came a few more cheerful questions and comments on the late notes, and then Mrs.

Frederick Langford proposed that the reading of the service should begin.

Aunt Geoffrey, kneeling at the table, read the prayers, and Fred took the alternate verses of the Psalms. It was the last day of the month, and as he now and then raised his eyes to his mother's face, he saw her lips follow the glorious responses in those psalms of praise, and a glistening in her lifted eyes such as he could never forget.

"He healeth those that are broken in heart, and giveth medicine to heal their sickness."

"He telleth the number of the stars, and calleth them all by their names."

He read this verse as he had done many a time before, without thinking of the exceeding beauty of the manner in which it is connected with the former one; but in after years he never read it again without that whole room rising before his eyes, and above all his mother's face. It was a sweet soft light, and not a gloom, that rested round that scene in his memory; springtide sights and sounds; the beams of the declining sun, with its quiet spring radiance; the fresh mild air; even the bright fire, and the general look of calm cheerfulness which pervaded all around, all conduced to that impression which never left him.

The service ended, Aunt Geoffrey read the hymn for the day in the "Christian Year," and then left them for a few minutes; but strange as it may seem, those likewise were spent in silence, and though there was some conversation when she returned, Fred took little share in it.

Silent as he was, he could hardly believe that he had been there more than ten minutes, when sounds were heard of the rest of the family returning from Church, and Mrs. Geoffrey Langford went down to meet them.

In another instant Henrietta came up, very bright and joyous, with many kind messages from Aunt Roger. Next came Uncle Geoffrey, who, after a few cheerful observations on the beauty of the day, to which his sister responded with pleasure, said, "Now, Freddy, I must be hard-hearted; I am coming back almost directly to carry you off."

"So soon!" exclaimed Henrietta. "Am I to be cheated of all the pleasure of seeing you together?"

No one seemed to attend to her; but as soon as the door had closed behind his uncle, Fred moved as if to speak, paused, hesitated, then bent forward, and, shading his face with his hand, said in a low voice, "Mamma, say you forgive me."

She held out her arm, and again he sank on his knee, resting his head against her.

"My own dear boy," said she, "I will not say I have nothing to forgive, for that I know is not what you want; but well do you know how freely forgiven and forgotten is all that you may ever feel to have been against my wish. G.o.d bless you, my own dear Frederick!" she added, pressing her hand upon his head. "His choicest blessings be with you forever."

Uncle Geoffrey's knock was heard; Frederick hastily rose to his feet, was folded in one more long embrace, then, without another word, suffered his uncle to lead him out of the room, and support him back to his own. He stretched himself on the sofa, turned his face inwards, and gave two or three long gasping sighs, as if completely overpowered, though his uncle could scarcely determine whether by grief or by physical exhaustion.

Henrietta looked frightened, but her uncle made her a sign to say nothing: and after watching him anxiously for some minutes, during which he remained perfectly still, her uncle left the room, and she sat down to watch for him, taking up a book, for she dreaded the reveries in which she had once been so p.r.o.ne to indulge. Fred remained for a long time tranquil, if not asleep; and when at length he was disturbed, complained that his head ached, and seemed chiefly anxious to be left in quiet. It might be that, in addition to his great weariness, he felt a charm upon him which he could not bear to break. At any rate, he scarcely looked up or spoke all the rest of the evening, excepting that, when he went to bed, he sent a message that he hoped Uncle Geoffrey would come to his room the next morning before setting off, as he was obliged to do at a very early hour.

He came, and found Fred awake, looking white and heavy-eyed, as if he had slept little, and allowing that his head still ached.

"Uncle Geoffrey," said he, raising himself on his elbow, and looking at him earnestly, "would it be of no use to have further advice?"

His uncle understood him, and answered, "I hope that Dr. ---- will come this evening or to-morrow morning. But," added he, slowly and kindly, "you must not build your hopes upon that, Fred. It is more from the feeling that nothing should be untried, than from the expectation that he can be of use."

"Then there is no hope?" said Fred, with a strange quietness.

"Man can do nothing," answered his uncle. "You know how the case stands; the complaint cannot be reached, and there is scarcely a probability of its becoming inactive. It may be an affair of days or weeks, or she may yet rally, and be spared to us for some time longer."

"If I could but think so!" said Fred. "But I cannot. Her face will not let me hope."

"If ever a ray from heaven shone out upon a departing saint," said Uncle Geoffrey,--but he could not finish the sentence, and turning away, walked to the window.

"And you must go?" said Fred, when he came back to his side again.

"I must," said Uncle Geoffrey. "Nothing but the most absolute necessity could make me leave you now. I scarcely could feel myself an honest man if I was not in my place to-morrow. I shall be here again on Thursday, at latest, and bring Beatrice. Your mother thinks she may be a comfort to Henrietta."

"Henrietta knows all this?" asked Fred.

"As far as she will bear to believe it," said his uncle. "We cannot grudge her her unconsciousness, but I am afraid it will be worse for her in the end. You must nerve yourself, Fred, to support her. Now, good-bye, and may G.o.d bless and strengthen you in your trial!"

Fred was left alone again to the agony of the bitterest thoughts he had ever known. All his designs of devoting himself to her at an end! Her whom he loved with such an intensity of enthusiastic admiration and reverence,--the gentlest, the most affectionate, the most beautiful being he knew! Who would ever care for him as she did? To whom would it matter now whether he was in danger or in safety? whether he distinguished himself or not? And how thoughtlessly had he trifled with her comfort, for the mere pleasure of a moment, and even fancied himself justified in doing so! Even her present illness, had it not probably been brought on by her anxiety and attendance on him? and it was his own wilful disobedience to which all might be traced. It was no wonder that, pa.s.sing from one such miserable thought to another, his bodily weakness was considerably increased, and he remained very languid and unwell; so much so that had Philip Carey ever presumed to question anything Mr. Geoffrey Langford thought fit to do, he would have p.r.o.nounced yesterday's visit a most imprudent measure. In the afternoon, as Fred was lying on his sofa, he heard a foot on the stairs, and going along the pa.s.sage.

"Who is that?" said he; "the new doctor already? It is a strange step."

"O! Fred, don't be the fairy Fine Ear, as you used to be when you were at the worst," said Henrietta.

"But do you know who it is?" said Fred.

"It is Mr. Franklin," said Henrietta. "You know mamma has only been once at Church since your accident, and then there was no Holy Communion. So you must not fancy she is worse, Fred."

"I wish we were confirmed," said Fred, sighing, and presently adding, "My Prayer-Book, if you please, Henrietta."

"You will only make your head worse, with trying to read the small print," said she; "I will read anything you want to you."

He chose nevertheless to have it himself, and when he next spoke, it was to say, "I wish, when Mr. Franklin leaves her, you would ask him to come to me."

Henrietta did not like the proposal at all, and said all she could against it; but Fred persisted, and made her at last undertake to ask Aunt Geoffrey's consent. Even then she would have done her best to miss the opportunity; but Fred heard the first sounds, and she was obliged to fetch Mr. Franklin. The conference was not long, and she found no reason to regret that it had taken place; for Fred did not seem so much oppressed and weighted down when she again returned to him.

The physician who had been sent for arrived. He had seen Mrs. Frederick Langford some years before, and well understood her case, and his opinion was now exactly what Fred had been prepared by his uncle to expect. It was impossible to conjecture how long she might yet survive: another attack might come at any moment, and be the last. It might be deferred for weeks or months, or even now it was possible that she might rally, and return to her usual state of health.

It was on this possibility, or as she chose to hear the word, probability, that Henrietta fixed her whole mind. The rest was to her as if unsaid; she would not hear nor believe it, and shunned anything that brought the least impression of the kind. The only occasion when she would avow her fears even to herself, was when she knelt in prayer; and then how wild and unsubmissive were her pet.i.tions! How embittered and wretched she would feel at her own powerlessness! Then the next minute she would drive off her fears as by force; call up a vision of a brightly smiling future; think, speak, and act as if hiding her eyes would prevent the approach of the enemy she dreaded.

Her grandmamma was as determined as herself to hope; and her grandpapa, though fully alive to the real state of the case, could not bear to sadden her before the time, and let her talk on and build schemes for the future, till he himself almost caught a glance of her hopes, and his deep sigh was the only warning she received from him. Fred, too weak for much argument, and not unwilling to rejoice now and then in an illusion, was easily silenced, and Aunt Geoffrey had no time for anyone but the patient. Her whole thought, almost her whole being, was devoted to "Mary," the friend, the sister of her childhood, whom she now attended upon with something of the reverent devotedness with which an angel might be watched and served, were it to make a brief sojourn upon earth; feeling it a privilege each day that she was still permitted to attend her, and watching for each pa.s.sing word and expression as a treasure to be dwelt on in many a subsequent year.

It could not be thus with Henrietta, bent on seeing no illness, on marking no traces of danger; shutting her eyes to all the tokens that her mother was not to be bound down to earth for ever. She found her always cheerful, ready to take interest in all that pleased her, and still with the playfulness which never failed to light up all that approached her. A flower,--what pleasure it gave her! and how sweet her smile would be!

It was on the evening of the day after the physician's visit, that Henrietta came in talking, with the purpose of, as she fancied, cheering her mother's spirits, of some double lilac primroses which Mrs. Langford had promised her for the garden at the Pleasance. Her mamma smelt the flowers, admired them, and smiled as she said, "Your papa planted a root of those in my little garden the first summer I was here."

"Then I am sure you will like to have them at the Pleasance, mamma."

"My dear child,"--she paused, while Henrietta started, and gazed upon her, frightened at the manner--"you must not build upon our favourite old plan; you must prepare--"

"O but, mamma, you are better! You are so much better than two days ago; and these clear days do you so much good; and it is all so bright."

"Thanks to Him Who has made it bright!" said her mother, taking her hand. "But I fear, my own dearest, that it will seem far otherwise to you. I want you to make up your mind--"

Henrietta broke vehemently upon the feeble accents. "Mamma! mamma!