"TO THE BETTER WAY."
When Mrs Hallam came to herself, she was in bed, where she had lain,
talking incoherently at times, during the greater part of a week.
It was evening, and the sun was shining in at the open window, lighting
up Julia's dark hair as she sat with her face in the shadow, careworn
and evidently suffering deeply.
Mrs Hallam lay for some time feeling restful and calm. The fevered
dream was at an end, and she had slept long, to wake now with that
pleasurable sensation upon her that is given to the sick when an attack
is at an end, and nature is tenderly repairing the damages of the
assault. She was lying there; Julia, her beloved child, was by her
side. A veil was between her and the past, and there was nothing but
the peaceful sensation of rest.
Then, as her eyes wandered slowly about the room and rested at last upon
her child, her mind began to work; the mother's quick instinct awoke,
and she read trouble in Julia's face. The memories that were slumbering
came back, and she tried to rise in her bed but sank back.
"Mother!"
"My child! Tell me quickly: have I been ill?"
"Yes; very, very ill. But you are better now, dear mother. I am so
lonely! Ah! at last, at last!"
Worn out and weak with constant watching, Julia threw herself sobbing by
the bedside, but only to hurriedly dry her eyes and try to be calm.
She succeeded, and answered the questions that came fast; and as she
replied, Mrs Hallam trembled, for she could see that Julia was keeping
something back.
"Have I been delirious?" she said at last.
"Yes, dear; but last night you slept so peacefully, and all through
to-day. There, let me call Thisbe."
"No, not yet," said Mrs Hallam, clinging to her child's arm, as a great
anxiety was longing to be satisfied. "Tell me, Julia, did I talk--talk
of anything while I was like that?"
Julia nodded quickly, and the despairing look deepened in her eyes.
"Not--not of your father, my child?" panted the suffering woman.
"Yes, mother, dear mother," sobbed Julia, with a passionate cry that she
could not withhold, and she buried her face in the sick woman's breast.
The sun sank lower, and Julia's low sobs grew more rare, but she did not
rise from her knees--she did not lift her tear-stained face, while
clasped about her neck, and her fingers joined above the glossy head, as
if in prayer, Mrs Hallam's hands, thin and transparent from her
illness, seemed bathed in the orange glow of the sweet, calm eve.
All was still and restful on the hill-slope above the beautiful
Paramatta River, and from the window there was a scene of peace that
seemed to hinder the possibility of trouble existing on this earth.
"Julia," said Mrs Hallam at length; "have you thought of all this--
since--since I have been lying here?"
"Yes, dear, till I could think no more."
"It has come at last," said Mrs Hallam, as she lay with closed eyes.
"It has come, dear?" said Julia, starting up, and gazing at her mother
with dilating eyes.
"Yes, my child, our path. I could not see it before in the wild
confusion of my thoughts, but I know our duty now. You will help me,
dear?"
"Help you, mother? Oh, yes. What shall I do?"
Mrs Hallam did not answer for a few minutes, and then said softly:
"You know all, you say. It has come to you with as great a shock as to
me; but I can see our duty now. Julia, he must love us dearly; we are
his wife and child, and we must lead him back to the better way."