Clive, and the boy sometimes with him, used to go daily to Grey
Friars, where the colonel still lay ill. After some days the fever
which had attacked him left him; but left him so weak and enfeebled
that he could only go from his bed to the chair by his fireside. The
season was exceedingly bitter; the chamber which he inhabited was warm
and spacious: it was considered unadvisable to move him until he had
attained greater strength and still warmer weather. The medical men of
the House hoped he might rally in spring. My friend Dr. Goodenough
came to him; he hoped too, but not with a hopeful face. A chamber,
luckily vacant, hard by the colonel's, was assigned to his friends,
where we sat when we were too many for him. Besides his customary
attendants, he had two dear and watchful nurses, who were almost
always with him--Ethel, and Madame de Florac, who had passed many a
faithful year by an old man's bedside; who would have come, as to a
work of religion, to any sick couch--much more to this one, where he
lay for whose life she would once gladly have given her own.
[Footnote 23: From "The Newcomes."]
But our colonel, we all were obliged to acknowledge, was no more our
friend of old days. He knew us again, and was good to every one round
him, as his wont was; especially when Boy came his old eyes lighted
up with simple happiness, and with eager trembling hands he would seek
under his bed-clothes, or the pockets of his dressing-gown for toys or
cakes, which he had caused to be purchased for his grandson. There was
a little laughing, red-cheeked, white-headed gown-boy of the school,
to whom the old man had taken a great fancy. One of the symptoms of
his returning consciousness and recovery, as we hoped, was his calling
for this child, who pleased our friend by his archness and merry ways;
and who, to the old gentleman's unfailing delight, used to call him
"Codd Colonel." "Tell little F---- that Codd Colonel wants to see
him"; and the little gown-boy was brought to him: and the colonel
would listen to him for hours, and hear all about his lessons and his
play; and prattle, almost as childishly, about Dr. Raine and his own
early school-days. The boys of the school, it must be said, had heard
the noble old gentleman's touching history, and had all got to know
and love him. They came every day to hear news of him; sent him in
books and papers to amuse him; and some benevolent young souls--God's
blessing on all honest boys, say I--painted theatrical characters and
sent them in to Codd Colonel's grandson. The little fellow was made
free of gown-boys, and once came thence to his grandfather in a little
gown, which delighted the old man hugely. Boy said he would like to be
a little gown-boy; and I make no doubt, when he is old enough, his
father will get him that post, and put him under the tuition of my
friend Dr. Senior.
So weeks passed away, during which our dear old friend still remained
with us. His mind was gone at intervals, but would rally feebly: and
with his consciousness returned his love, his simplicity, his
sweetness. He would talk French with Madame de Florac; at which time
his memory appeared to awaken with surprizing vividness, his cheek
flushed, and he was a youth again--a youth all love and hope--a
stricken old man, with a beard as white as snow covering the noble
careworn face. At such times he called her by her Christian name of
Léonore; he addrest courtly old words of regard and kindness to the
aged lady; anon he wandered in his talk, and spoke to her as if they
were still young. Now, as in those early days, his heart was pure; no
anger remained in it; no guile tainted it: only peace and good-will
dwelt in it.
Rosey's death had seemed to shock him for a while when the unconscious
little boy spoke of it. Before that circumstance, Clive had even
forborne to wear mourning, lest the news should agitate his father.
The colonel remained silent and was very much disturbed all that day,
but he never appeared to comprehend the fact quite; and once or twice
afterward asked why she did not come to see him? She was prevented, he
supposed--she was prevented, he said, with a look of terror; he never
once otherwise alluded to that unlucky tyrant of his household who had
made his last years so unhappy.
The circumstance of Clive's legacy he never understood; but more than
once spoke of Barnes to Ethel, and sent his compliments to him, and
said he should like to shake him by the hand. Barnes Newcome never
once offered to touch that honored hand, tho his sister bore her
uncle's message to him. They came often from Bryanstone Square; Mrs.
Hobson even offered to sit with the colonel, and read to him, and
brought him books for his improvement. But her presence disturbed him;
he cared not for her books: the two nurses whom he loved faithfully
watched him; and my wife and I were admitted to him sometimes, both of
whom he honored with regard and recognition. As for F. B., in order to
be near his colonel, did not that good fellow take up his lodgings in
Cistercian Lane, at the Red Cow? He is one whose errors, let us hope,
shall be pardoned, _quia multum amavit_. I am sure he felt ten times
more joy at hearing of Clive's legacy than if thousands had been
bequeathed to himself. May good health and good fortune speed him!
The days went on; and our hopes, raised sometimes, began to flicker
and fall. One evening the colonel left his chair for his bed in pretty
good spirits; but passed a disturbed night, and the next morning was
too weak to rise. Then he remained in his bed, and his friends visited
him there. One afternoon he asked for his little gown-boy, and the
child was brought to him, and sat by the bed with a very awe-stricken
face; and then gathered courage, and tried to amuse him by telling him
how it was a half-holiday, and they were having a cricket match with
the St. Peter's boys in the green, and Grey Friars was in and winning.
The colonel quite understood about it: he would like to see the game;
he had played many a game on that green when he was a boy. He grew
excited: Clive dismissed his father's little friend, and put a
sovereign into his hand; and away he ran to say that Codd Colonel had
come into a fortune, and to buy tarts, and to see the match out. _I_,
_curre_, little white-haired gown-boy! Heaven speed you, little
friend.
After the child had gone, Thomas Newcome began to wander more and
more. He talked louder; he gave the word of command, spoke Hindustanee
as if to his men. Then he spoke words in French rapidly, seizing a
hand that was near him, and crying, "Toujours, toujours!" But it was
Ethel's hand which he took. Ethel and Clive and the nurse were in the
room with him; the nurse came to us, who were sitting in the adjoining
apartment; Madame de Florac was there with my wife and Bayham.
At the look in the woman's countenance Madame de Florac started up.
"He is very bad; he wanders a great deal," the nurse whispered. The
French lady fell instantly on her knees, and remained rigid in prayer.
Some time afterward Ethel came in with a scared face to our pale
group. "He is calling for you again, dear lady," she said, going up to
Madame de Florac, who was still kneeling; "and just now he said he
wanted Pendennis to take care of his boy. He will not know you." She
hid her tears as she spoke.
She went into the room where Clive was at the bed's foot: the old man
within it talked on rapidly for a while; then again he would sigh and
be still; once more I heard him say hurriedly, "Take care of him when
I'm in India"; and then with a heartrending voice he called out,
"Léonore, Léonore!" She was kneeling by his side now. The patient
voice sank into faint murmurs; only a moan now and then announced that
he was not asleep.
At the usual evening hour the chapel bell began to toll, and Thomas
Newcome's hands outside the bed feebly beat time. And just as the last
bell struck, a peculiar sweet smile shone over his face, and he lifted
up his head a little, and quickly said, "Adsum!" and fell back. It was
the word we used at school when names were called; and lo, he, whose
heart was as that of a little child, had answered to his name, and
stood in the presence of The Master.