Mrs. Arlington never for a moment suspected the way in which Dr.
Heathfield would induce Isabel to accede to his plans. In justice to her
it must be said, that had she known it, she would if possible have
prevented it. But in the end perhaps it was better for Isabel that she
did not, though the reflections to which his remarks gave rise, were
extremely painful. It needed not these cruel hints to remind her of that
which had scarcely ever been absent from her thoughts since her father's
death, and she shed very bitter tears, even after she retired to rest
she could but weep over her unhappy lot far into the night, until at
length the bright moonlight streaming in at the window, reminded her of
one above, who doeth all things well, and she resolved to try and do her
duty according to His appointment, however trying she might find it,
trusting that as her need was, so would strength be given.
She saw now why she had not been allowed to die according to her wish,
even because her work was not yet accomplished. How willingly and with
what pleasure had the children received what she had taught them
regarding religion; how eagerly had they listened when she had explained
the scriptures; with what different feelings did they now regard the
sabbath as a day of holy rest, and prayer, and praise, instead of a day
of weariness, dreaded and hated. Did she not remember how shocked she
had been, when Amy said, that she liked all the days except sundays, and
the others had expressed the same. And oh, how glad and thankful she
felt when Amy not long since, one sunday afternoon had clasped her arms
round her neck, and exclaimed that she liked Miss Leicester's sundays
very much. All this she had been able to do through divine blessing upon
her endeavors to benefit the children, and would she leave them when her
work had only just begun? No, no, how wrong and selfish had she been, if
all joy and happiness had fled, she still had her work before her--her
duty to perform. With such thoughts as these, her tears became less
bitter. Soft tear of quiet resignation followed the bitter rebellious
ones she had shed so abundantly, and she resolved by steady abnegation
of self, to forget the past (as much as might be) in the business and
duties of the present. Then with a prayer for strength to keep this
resolution, and patience to wait, and work until such time as rest
should be vouchsafed her, she fell asleep.
With a severe headache, and extremely weak from the trying night she had
past, Isabel waited for the doctor next day, though she had determined
to give him a favorable answer, she wondered much how she could go, when
she felt almost unable to raise her hand to her head. She was feverish
and restless, very anxious for his arrival, yet dreading it, for it
seemed as though she were about by her own act, to put an end to these
quiet days of rest, and dreamy reverie, which she fain would prolong.
However, when Dr. Heathfield came, she managed to return his greeting
with some degree of cheerfulness.
"I trust you feel better to-day," he said.
"No, rather worse, the dose you administered was anti-narcotic I assure
you, but I have decided to accede to Mrs. Arlington's wishes. I will do
my utmost for the children, but I fear that will be very little," and
she smiled faintly from her pillow.
"Pooh, nonsense, you are not to teach at present, we all know you can't
do that," returned the doctor cheerfully, "what good would the poor
children get if they were cooped up in a school-room all day, time
enough for that when they come home again." Dr. Heathfield began to fear
that the dose had been too strong, when he felt the feverish pulse. "You
must be very quiet to-day, promise me that you will not worry yourself,"
he said, "I shall tell Mrs. Arlington not to let the girls tease you."
"They never tease me." replied Isabel hastily.
"Oh they don't, well that is fortunate," he answered, preparing some
mysterious compound that he had taken from his pocket, "now if you take
this" he continued, presenting the mixture, "and then take a nice little
sleep, you will feel much better by the afternoon, and then if Miss
Emily would read to you, it would be better than talking."
"I'm afraid your patient is not so well to-day doctor," said Mrs.
Arlington coming in, "she seems feverish this morning."
"Oh, she has been tormenting herself, thinking that she had to teach
while at D----, but I think if you keep her quiet, this feverishness
will soon subside, and she is going with the children to D---- like a
good sensible girl," replied the doctor.
"I am very glad that you have come to that decision Isabel, as I should
not think of sending the children without you," (no more she would) said
Mrs. Arlington, keeping up the farce that she was the obliged party.
"Emily and Norris go with you, so that you have no cause for anxiety,
dear," she added, laying her cool hand upon Isabel's hot forehead.
"Is your head very bad," inquired the doctor, pulling down the blind.
Then as Isabel assented, he went on, "if you were to send the quiet one,
(Alice I think you call her) to bathe her temples with a little lotion
it would be as well."
"I think it should be Norris, I don't like to trust the children," Mrs.
Arlington began.
"You may trust Alice," interrupted Isabel.
"Very well," returned Mrs. Arlington smiling, "then Alice it shall be."
Within a week, everything was arranged for their departure, Everard was
to escort them to D---- and see them comfortably settled, and then
proceed to H---- College. The morning they were to start, Isabel joined
them at the early school-room breakfast. This was the first time that
Everard had seen her since her illness, and he was inexpressibly shocked
at her appearance, and remonstrated with his mother, saying, that Miss
Leicester was not in a fit state to travel.
"My dear Everard, I am acting entirely under the the doctor's orders."
"Nevertheless it is cruel," he replied gravely.
"My dear son what can I do, Dr. Heathfield says that it is absolutely
necessary."
"It will kill her, that is my opinion of the matter." he answered "why
she can scarcely stand, I had no idea she was so awfully weak."
"But what can I do," persisted Mrs. Arlington.
"Wait until she gets a little stronger," urged Everard.
"But the doctor assures me, that she will inevitable sink, if allowed to
remain in the same low spirited state."
"Why did you not have her among the rest, and then probably she might
not have got so low. It is dreadful to see any one so fearfully weak,"
he added in a tone of grave commiseration.
"I don't wonder at your being shocked at her altered appearance, but
you should not blame those who have had the care of her, without due
consideration. I assure you that she has had every attention," said Mrs.
Arlington reproachfully.
"I don't wish to blame any one," returned Everard coloring, "surely not
you dear mother."
"I am glad to hear it," she answered, in a somewhat injured tone. "I was
sure that it only required a moment's thought to convince you, that
however painful a state Miss Leicester may be in, it has been brought
about by circumstances over which we have no control."
Everard looked perseveringly out of the window. And his mother continued
"it was at her own request that she remained so secluded. But it must
not be, we have listened to her entreaties too long already, now others
must act for her in the way they think best."
"Then it is not her wish to go," observed Everard.
"Certainly not, but the doctor almost insists upon it."
"Kill or cure as I take it," he returned.
"I fear that is too near the truth, unfortunately," replied his mother."
"Everard remained silent, and Mrs. Arlington saying that the carriage
would be round shortly, quitted the room. Then he returned to the
school-room, to find Isabel fainting upon the sofa and Emily bending
over her in helpless despair, Amy crying, and Alice emptying the
contents of a scent bottle over Isabel, and Rose spilling the smelling
salts almost into her mouth, in her anxiety to cram it to her nose. This
quaint mode of treatment had the desired effect, for Isabel with a great
sigh opened her eyes, and asked what was the matter. Dr. Heathfield
arrived soon after this, and ordered Miss Leicester back to her room for
a few hours rest, so that they were forced to wait for the next train.
"She ought not to have come down to breakfast," he said, "let her have
lunch in her own room, and remain there until everything is quite ready,
then let her go straight to the carriage after the rest are seated, it
must be managed quietly or it cannot be done." Then he called Everard
aside, and cautioned him, "it is a hazardous thing to move her at all,
and requires very nice management," he said.
"It should not be attempted," returned Everard coldly, "she is only fit
to be in bed."
"The doctor smiled incredulously, keep her there and you would soon
finish her, and she would be only too content to do it."
"You are severe Dr. Heathfield," said Everard stiffly.
"Come, Come, Everard don't get angry, you think me a brute no doubt. But
if she remains here she will die, if she goes away she may recover. Now
you have my honest opinion."
"It seems to me little short of murder, to start her off in this state,"
returned Everard."
"Upon my word, who is severe now Mr. Everard," retorted the doctor.
I don't attempt to deny that moving her may be fatal, if not judiciously
managed But if carefully and properly done, I am very sanguine as to the
result.
"That is a nice way of getting out of a scrape, I must say," "Oh a very
nice way indeed," said Dr. Heathfield laughing. "I will come in again
about one," he added addressing Mrs. Arlington, "and if I have time,
I will go down to the station and see them off."
"Oh, if you could doctor, it would be such a satisfaction to know that
you were with them," Mrs. Arlington answered.
Everard could not bring himself to see it in the same light as the
doctor, but as her going seemed inevitable, he was glad that he was to
have the charge of her. A little before one the doctor returned, but
only to see that all was right. "He was so very busy," he said, "but had
no doubt that Mr. Everard would manage very well. He could not possibly
go down to the station, he had to set a man's leg two miles off in quite
another direction. Everard's face was a picture, as the doctor so kindly
expressed the belief that he would manage very well. Emily was so
convulsed with laughter at the sight, that she was forced to stuff her
handkerchief into her mouth to conceal her mirth. Everard managed
everything so nicely during the journey, that Isabel never knew that he
made special alteration on her account, and he assisted her on all
occasions in a nice kindly matter of course manner, quite like an elder
brother, that prevented any embarrassment on her part. He was also very
successful in concealing the anxiety he felt on her behalf. Isabel
appeared quite worn out the night they arrived at D----, Norris insisted
upon perfect rest and quiet next day, saying that she should join them
at tea if she seemed sufficiently rested, but Everard rebelled, and made
Emily amuse her during the morning. Norris submitted without much fuss,
as he was a great favorite.
"I know as well as you Master Everard, that she needs to be kept more
cheerful than she has been, but after all the worry and fatigue of the
journey, a little quietness is good for her," said Norris, endeavoring
to justify herself.
"I don't deny that Norris, I only object to her being quite alone."
"And you know sir, that you always get your own way," replied Norris
laughing.
"Usually," returned Everard, "but Norris, understand that I wish her
kept quiet."
"As if anyone could be quiet where Miss Emily is," said Norris
reproachfully.
"I'll trust Emmy," he answered laughing.
"That is more nor I would Mr. Everard," she returned with the
familiarity that old domestics who have been a long time in a family
often acquire. For Norris had been with Mrs. Arlington ever since she
was married, now some twenty-six years.
After dinner, Everard, Emily and the children, went out for a ramble.
On their return, Everard left them near the town, as he had to make some
inquiries as to the time the train left, as he was to leave next
morning, for they had been so much longer on the way than had been
anticipated, consequently his stay at D---- had to be curtailed.
When he returned to the cottage, he found Isabel in the old arm chair in
the sitting-room, the others had not yet arrived. Isabel was looking
wretchedly ill, but pronounced herself much rested. Everard gave her an
animated account of their ramble, and an excellent description of the
place, but she appeared to take little interest in either.
"Perhaps you would rather I didn't talk, he said, as she leaned her head
wearily upon her hand.
"O, I don't mind," she replied in a tone of such utter indifference that
Everard took a book. He did not read however, but sat shading his face
with his hand, so as to enable him to contemplate the poor worn face and
fragile form of her whom he loved better than life. He pictured her, as
she appeared when waiting the arrival of the guests on Grace's birthday,
and the contrast was painful in the extreme, neither could he account
for the utter hopelessness depicted on her countenance.
"Are you aware that I leave in the morning," he said, after some time
had elapsed.
"So soon," she inquired in surprise.
"Yes, by the early train," he replied.
Then I must not miss this opportunity of thanking you, for all the
trouble you have taken, and for all the kindness you have shown me.
Indeed I am very much obliged to you."
"I am only too glad to have been of any service to you," he returned
with something of the old manner. "Will you not write when you are able,
if only a line, just a line, I shall be so anxious to hear."
"Emily will write," she answered quietly.
Everard bit his lip, he was silenced but not satisfied,--an awkward
pause ensued, then the others came in full of glee to find Isabel down.
The tea was a very cheerful one, and Isabel strove to appear interested,
and to join in the general conversation, but the effort was too much for
her, for when she rose to retire for the night, she all but fainted and
alarmed them very much.
When Everard came into the sitting-room next morning, he found a
cheerful fire burning (for the morning was raw and misty) and breakfast
on the table, although it was only half-past five o'clock, and shortly
after Emily came in.
"Why Emmy, this is better luck than I expected," exclaimed Everard in
surprise.
"You didn't think that I would let you breakfast alone did you,"
returned Emily proceeding to pour out the tea, "but oh, Everard, I'm so
sorry that you are going away so soon, I really am quite afraid to be
left alone with Isabel so weak, whatever shall I do if she gets worse."
"As to being alone, why Norris is a host in herself. Besides, you must
take it for granted that she will soon get all right. If there really
should be cause you must not hesitate to call in the doctor, but
remember Dr. Heathfield said you were not to do so, if it could be
avoided, and Emmy, if there should be anything serious, mind you
telegraph mamma, and if you get very much alarmed, you know that I could
get here in a few hours, and I shall not mind the trouble, so make
yourself easy. But at all events, I intend to run down in two or three
weeks, just to see how you all get on--mind you write often Emmy." This
Emmy promised to do, and bid him good bye with a bright face.
D---- was a pretty little town on the sea-coast, which was much
frequented in summer, but during the winter it was almost deserted. It
was very quiet just now as it was so very early in the season. The house
in which our party had taken up their abode, was beautifully situated
upon some rising ground, about half a mile from the beach. On the right,
as far as eye could reach, stretched the broad expanse of deep blue sea,
with its ever varying succession of white sails and gay steamers. To the
left lay verdant meadows, picturesque villas, and sloping hills,
stretching far into the distance until bounded by a belt of forest,
beyond which the ground rose again, capped by a rugged crag. Belonging
to the house, were pretty grounds tastefully laid out, and a nice
shrubbery, also a maze in which the children delighted to lose
themselves.
After the first few days, Isabel mended rapidly, and before long was
able to join the children and Emily in their rambles, and even got down
to the beach after the second week, so that Emily sent charming accounts
of Isabel's progress to her mother and Everard.