Some days later word came to Mrs. Trent that Mildred was very ill. "Call
on them after school," she said to Dorian, "to see just how she is, and
ask Mrs. Brown if I can do anything for her."
Dorian did as he was directed. He went around to the back door for fear
he might disturb the sick girl. Mrs. Brown herself, seeing him coming,
met him and let him in.
Yes, Mildred was very ill. Mrs. Brown was plainly worried. Could he
or his mother do anything to help? No; only to lend their faith and
prayers. Would he come into the sick room to see her for a few minutes?
Yes, if she desired it.
Dorian followed the mother into the sick room. Mildred lay well propped
up by pillows in a bed white as snow. She was thinner and paler than
ever, eyes bigger, hair heavier and more golden. When she saw Dorian,
she smiled and reached out her hand, letting it lie in the big strong
one.
"How are you?" she said, very low.
"Well and fine, and how are you?"
She simply shook her head gently and closed her eyes, seeming content to
touch the strong young manhood beside her. The mother went quietly from
the room, and all became quite still. Speech was difficult for the sick
girl, and equally hard for the young man. But he looked freely at the
angel-like face on the pillow without rebuke from the closed eyes. He
glanced about the room, beautifully clean and airy. All her books and
her working material had been carried away as if she were through with
them for good. In a corner on an easel stood an unfinished copy of
"Sunset in Marshland." Dorian's eyes rested for a moment on the picture,
and as he again looked at the girl, he saw a smile pass over the
marble-like face.
That was all. Presently, he left the room, and without many words, the
house.
Each day after that Dorian managed to learn of the girl's condition,
though he did not go into the sick chamber. On the sixth day word came
to Dorian at school that Mildred was dying. He looked about for Carlia
to tell her, but she was nowhere to be found. Dorian could not go home.
Mildred was dying! The one girl--yes, the only one in all the world who
had looked at him with her heart in the look, was leaving the world, and
him. Why could she not live, if only for his sake? He sat in the school
room until all had gone, and he was alone with the janitor. His open
book was still before him, but he saw not the printed page. Then the
short winter day closed. Dusk came on. The janitor had finished sweeping
the room and was ready to leave. Dorian gathered up his books, put on
his overcoat, and went out. Mildred was dying! Perhaps she was about to
begin that great journey into the unknown. Would she be afraid? Would
she not need a strong hand to help her? "Mildred," he whispered.
He walked on slowly up the street toward the Brown's. Darkness came
on. The light gleamed softly through the closed blinds of the house.
Everything was very still. He did not try to be admitted, but paced back
and forth on the other side of the street. Back and forth he went for a
long time, it seemed. Then the front door opened, and the doctor passed
out. Mildred must either be better or beyond all help. He wanted to ask
the doctor, but he could not bring himself to intercept him. The house
remained quiet. Some of the lights were extinguished. Dorian crossed the
street. He must find out something. He stood by the gate, not knowing
what to do. The door opened again, and a woman, evidently a neighbor,
came out. She saw the young man and stopped.
"Pardon me," said Dorian, "but tell me how Mildred--Miss Brown is?"
"She just died."
"Thank you."
The woman went into a nearby house. Dorian moved away, benumbed with the
despair which sank into his heart at the final setting of his sun. Dead!
Mildred was dead! He felt the night wind blow cold down the street, and
he saw the storm clouds scudding along the distant sky. In the deep blue
directly above him a star shone brightly, but it only reminded him of
what Uncle Zed had said about hitching to a star; yes, but what if the
star had suddenly been taken from the sky!
A form of a girl darted across the street toward him. He stopped and saw
that it was Carlia.
"Dorian" she cried, "how is she?"
"She has just died."
"Dead! O, dear," she wailed.
They stood there under the street light, the girl looking with great
pity into the face of the young man. She was only a girl, and not a very
wise girl, but she saw how he suffered, and her heart went out to his
heart. She took his hand and held it firmly within her warmer grasp; and
by that simple thing the young man seemed again to get within the reach
of human sympathy. Then they walked on without speaking, and she led him
along the streets and on to the road which led to Greenstreet.
"Come on, Dorian, let's go home," she said.
"Yes; let's go home, Carlia."