ANN'S PROMISE
THE summer term was drawing to a close, and the girls at Helmsford
College were full of plans for the coming holidays. Most of those
who had believed Agnes Hosking's story against Violet Wyndham, and had
snubbed her in consequence, had changed their behaviour during the
last few weeks and made kindly overtures to her; but there were still
a few who stood by Agnes, though, after the apology she had made,
they could not openly say that they did so.
"Never mind," Ann said consolingly, on one occasion, when Violet had
remarked despondently that she feared her character would never be
fully cleared from suspicion; "you must have patience, it will all
come right some day."
"I wish I could think so," Violet responded, with a sigh, "but I fear
that is not likely. I wonder if you would be patient in the
circumstances?" Her tone was sceptical, and she told herself that it
was easier to preach than to practise.
"I hope I should try to be," answered Ann, guessing the thought in the
other's mind; "I know it is very hard for you, Violet."
"Speaking of patience makes one think of poor Malvina Medland,"
said Violet; "I am sure it is marvellous how she bears pain as she
does."
"She is obliged to bear it," sighed Ann, "and she is too unselfish
not to do so as bravely as possible; Dr. Elizabeth says she has the
spirit of a martyr, full of endurance and faith."
Malvina was at present in the Barford hospital, whither she had been
removed a few days subsequent to the one on which Dr. Reed had seen
her. She had become so much worse that she had required constant
attendance, and nursing which she could not possibly have received in
her own home. Ann had been to visit her once with Mrs. Reed since she
had been in the hospital, and had found her uncomplaining as ever
though in much pain. Everyone was most kind and good to her, she had
declared gratefully, and she hoped soon to be ever so much better;
certainly it was a great disappointment that she should have had a
relapse. Dr. Reed had shaken his head gravely when his daughter had
repeated to him what Malvina had said, and she had immediately
realised that he took a very serious view of the poor girl's
condition.
Malvina's bed in the hospital was one of many in a bright, airy ward;
and yet she was home-sick there, and would have given anything to be
back in her small, bare room at home. But she was not unreasonable.
She knew that her mother could not leave her work to nurse her, and
the doctors considered her too ill to be left alone or to the
occasional ministrations of the little charwoman, and therefore the
hospital was the right place for her to be. She missed her mother and
Lottie greatly, though they seized every possible opportunity of
coming to see her on the days visitors were allowed in the wards; and
her heart was very sore on her sister's account, whilst she was
haunted day and night by harrowing thoughts in connection with her.
Mrs. Reed had been to see Malvina several times, and, on the occasion
when Ann had accompanied her, the sick girl had inquired for Violet,
whom she had spoken of as "the pretty young lady with the beautiful
brown eyes." Ann had promised to bring Violet to see her, and
Violet—truth to tell, flattered by Malvina's description of her—
had quite willingly agreed to go.
Thus one hot afternoon in the last week of July found Ann and Violet
visiting Malvina in the hospital. Malvina was in less pain than usual
to-day and able to talk—of late she had been frequently too weak even
for that much exertion. Violet thought she must certainly be better,
for there was a pink flush on her cheeks, and her blue eyes were very
bright. Her visitors were accommodated with chairs one on either side
of her bed, and she looked from one to the other of them and smiled
contentedly as she said:—
"It's so kind of you both to come! I do love having visitors, and I'm
feeling so much easier to-day that it's a pleasure to talk."
"Oh, you will soon be well again, now," Violet declared cheerfully,
"you are looking ever so much better than I expected to see you."
"I'm in much less pain, miss, and that's a great mercy," Malvina
replied, "but I doubt if I'm really better for all that. I asked the
house surgeon the other day if he thought I was improving at all, but
he put me off—wouldn't say, you know. So, yesterday, I asked
Dr. Elizabeth; I was certain she would tell me the truth."
"And what did she say?" asked Ann gently, with a sinking sensation
in her heart and anxiety in her face and voice.
"That I was not better yet, and that mine is one of those puzzling
cases which baffle doctors, and I must have patience a little longer."
"A little longer?" echoed Violet. "Oh, that sounds hopeful, doesn't
it? Are you happy here, Malvina?"
"Happier than I was at first, miss; I felt so lonely for the first
few days. Oh, I don't mean lonely in that way," she continued, as her
companions glanced along the rows of beds with their sick occupants,
"but I felt so strange, and—I daresay it seems absurd—I missed my
sparrows, especially of a morning. Lottie tells me she feeds them with
crumbs every day on the sill of my bedroom window, just as I used to
do. The sweet little creatures! They are so tame—almost as tame as
your canaries, Miss Ann!"
"I suppose you often see Lottie?" questioned Ann.
"Oh, yes, miss. You know she's really a good-hearted girl, and she's
very fond of me; but I'm so unhappy about her. She goes on betting,
and she's a great trouble to mother on account of her flighty ways.
She means no harm, I'm sure, but—" and Malvina broke off and shook her
head whilst an expression of deep sadness settled on her face.
"Poor Lottie," said Ann, softly, "poor girl!"
There was a brief silence after that. Many of the other patients had
visitors, too, and there was a low hum of conversation throughout the
ward.
"The summer holidays commence next week," Ann informed Malvina
by-and-by, "I am going to spend them with my grandmother at Teymouth."
"And I am going home to my own people," said Violet, her pretty face
glowing with happiness.
"We are to travel to London together," explained Ann, "and I am
to break my journey there in order to spend a few days with an
aunt—mother's sister. Mother and father hope to join me in Devonshire,
in September, if all's well. You will have to say good-bye to us
to-day, Malvina, for nearly two months."
"For nearly two months!" echoed Malvina. There was a wistful
expression in her blue eyes. "That is a long, long time to look
forward to," she went on gravely, "and I—perhaps I shall not be here
when you come back to Buford."
"I hope not," said Violet, with a smile, "I hope by then you will be
at home again."
"I did not mean that," Malvina answered in a low tone, "I think,
sometimes, that I shall not get about again; it will be as God wills,
and—and—yes, He knows best. You mustn't be grieved," she proceeded, as
Violet looked at her in consternation and then glanced quickly at Ann,
"I may be quite wrong, only I have felt of late, after suffering a
great deal, that perhaps I shall not get well."
She raised herself on the pillow as she spoke, and fixed her eyes on
Ann with an appealing look in their blue depths.
"Miss Ann," she said earnestly, "you've been a good friend to me ever
since I knew you, and that emboldens me to ask you a great, great
favour. I want you to promise me something. It's asking more than I
ought of you, I daresay, and perhaps you'll think it bold and
presumptuous of me—"
"No, I am sure I shall not think that," Ann interposed hastily.
"Tell me what it is you wish me to promise; anything I can do for you
I most certainly will."
"Thank you, miss. I want you to promise that, if anything happens
to me, you'll be a friend to Lottie if you can. You said 'poor Lottie,
poor girl,' just now in a way that made me think you didn't despise
her quite. Oh, Miss Ann, Lottie isn't a good girl, I know that! She's
made bad companions, and perhaps I'm wrong to ask you this, perhaps
your mother and father would be angry if you had anything to do with
her!"
Ann shook her head, for she knew better than that; but she had had
very little intercourse with Lottie, and she scarcely knew what answer
to make. She did not think it likely she would ever have an
opportunity of being a friend to her.
"Nobody cares for Lottie as I do," the sick girl continued mournfully,
"not even mother—but I'm forgetting, God cares for her. She's one of
His poor wandering sheep. Yes, He cares for her."
"Malvina, if I can be a friend to Lottie I will," Ann promised
earnestly, "you may take my word for that."
A look of radiant happiness lit up the invalid's face. "Thank you,
Miss Ann," she said gratefully, "oh, thank you! I shall be more easy
about Lottie now! She's selfish and flighty, but she's got a heart all
the same, and she loves me—that's why I've been worrying about her so
much, wondering how she will take it if—if I don't go home any more."
At that moment a nurse came up, whispered something to Ann, and moved
away again.
"She says we must not stay any longer," Ann said, in response
to Violet's inquiring glance; "we must go now, Malvina." She rose and
held out her hand, which the invalid took and held tightly.
"I'm afraid we must say good-bye," she added, with a slight break
in her voice.
"I am sorry you must not stay longer now, for I know we shall not meet
again for a long, long while," Malvina whispered, her voice sounding
very feeble and tired, "but we shall meet again, I am sure of that."
"Yes," assented Ann, "I, too, am sure of that."
She bent and kissed Malvina tenderly, as a sister might have done.
"Good-bye," she said, "God bless you."
"He is with me, Miss Ann," Malvina answered; "He will be with me all
the way."
"Good-bye," Ann said again; then she drew her hand gently away from
the sick girl's clinging fingers, and walked swiftly down the ward
towards the door.
It was Violet's turn to say good-bye now. She did so kindly, but
somewhat hurriedly, and joined Ann who was waiting for her at the
door. Glancing back the two girls saw that Malvina had raised herself
on her elbow, and was gazing after them. They smiled and nodded, and
so bright was her smile in return that Violet thought she could not be
so very ill. She made some remark to that effect as soon as she and
her companion had left the hospital and were out in the street, but
received no reply, and, glancing at Ann, she saw that she was
incapable of speech, and that her eyes were almost blinded with tears.
For a few minutes the girls walked on, side by side, in silence; but
Ann soon regained her composure, and then Violet asked in awed tones:—
"Do you think that she is going to die—that she won't get over this?"
"I have a feeling that she is not going to live very long, and I know
father considers her very ill," was the grave response.
"And yet you agreed with her when she said you would meet again!"
cried Violet, considerably surprised.
"Yes, but I did not mean that we should meet in this world, nor,
I think, did she," Ann replied, in a voice which was still tremulous
with emotion.
"How dreadful!" exclaimed Violet, with a faint shudder.
"Dreadful? Why? It would be dreadful if I thought we should not meet
again—if we looked forward no further than this life."
"You are such a strange girl," Violet said wonderingly, "so very
different to what I expected you would be."
"You have several times told me that," Ann said gravely, "you make me
curious to know what you had pictured I should be like."
Violet made no response to this. As their visit to the hospital had
not been of such long duration as they had anticipated it would be,
instead of going straight home the two girls lingered looking in the
shop windows. By-and-by their conversation turned to the approaching
holidays, to which both were naturally looking forward with the
keenest pleasure.
"It will be so nice travelling together," Ann said; "it seemed such
a long journey last year when I took it alone—mother did not join me
at Teymouth till the holidays were half over, seven weeks is too long
a time for her to be away from home."
"Did you stay in London last year?" asked Violet.
"Yes, for nearly a week, at Hampstead with Aunt Louisa."
"Is she nice?" inquired Violet.
"Aunt Louisa? Oh, yes! She's very like mother. Her husband — Uncle
John — is a barrister, you know. They haven't any children."
"I suppose they are fashionable people?"
"I suppose they are," Ann admitted, with an amused laugh; "they have
a beautiful home, and Aunt Louisa goes into society a good deal."
"Wouldn't you rather spend your holidays with them than with your
grandmother?" questioned Violet.
"No, indeed! I'd far rather be at Teymouth with Granny. I've been
thinking how nice it would be if you could persuade your people to go
to Teymouth; you know Ruth wrote and said that they talked of going
away for a change."
"Oh, what a splendid idea!" cried Violet, her face lighting up with
excitement. "But could we get lodgings at Teymouth, I wonder?"
"Yes, I believe so; I can easily find that out for you when I get
there, and I will let you know. It's not a fashionable place, though,
Violet."
"Oh no, I understand that. I think father would like it better on that
account, and mother, too. There's a nice beach, isn't there?"
"Oh, yes!"
"Madge and the boys would be delighted with that, and—oh, I do wish
it could be managed for us to meet you there! I want you to know Ruth,
and I'm sure you'd like mother. You can't think how I'm longing to see
them all, I never seemed to love them so dearly when I was at home."
Ann made no response, for her attention had been attracted by two
factory girls who had brushed by them, one of whom was Lottie Medland,
the girl she had promised to befriend; and, as Ann looked after her
and caught the sound of her light, careless laugh, she sighed, and her
face grew sorrowful again, whilst her thoughts returned to Malvina
grieving about her sister in the midst of her pain.