Reconciled.
JANET could hardly believe her own eyes when, on her return from
visiting the chemist, she found Paul's little bed empty, and the child
nowhere to be seen. She searched for him through the hotel, thinking
that he must have wandered from his bed in delirium. Then, with a new
sense of horror, she discovered that his clothes had vanished likewise.
Even his little overcoat and cap were missing, so he must have gone out
of doors. Surely someone had come during her brief absence and carried
him away. Like one distracted, she ran to inform the manager of the
hotel.
He was startled by her statement that the child had been stolen, but
assured her that it was impossible for anyone to enter the hotel and
carry off the child unseen.
"He cannot be far off; he must be found directly," he said. And sent
his servants hither and thither in search of the wanderer.
Janet herself went to and fro, searching in every likely and unlikely
place without result till she was almost beside herself. No light had
been thrown on the mystery when Paul's mother drove up to the hotel
accompanied by her friends.
How Janet told her mistress she never could remember. The faithful
servant was too miserable already to suffer much more, when Mrs.
Bernard turned on her with bitter reproaches.
"You had no right to leave him for an instant!" cried the
anguish-stricken mother. "I thought I could trust you. My child is lost
to me now. I will never forgive you, never."
"Don't say that he is lost," said Mrs. Dunton, "that is impossible. He
cannot be far off; he must be found immediately."
Mrs. Bernard shook her head. Her face had grown white and set.
"This is my husband's doing," she said in Mrs. Dunton's ear. "He has
taken my boy from me; I knew he would."
"That cannot be," replied her friend. "Why should he do such a thing?
It was agreed that you should keep Paul till he was seven years old."
Mrs. Bernard made no reply. The idea that had taken possession of her
mind was not to be lightly dislodged. Just then the manager hurried
towards her with a note in his hand.
"This has been brought this moment for madame," he said; "perhaps it
contains news of the child."
Her hands trembled visibly as she tore open the envelope. It contained
but a few words, yet it took her some moments to grasp their meaning,
so great was her agitation.
"MY WIFE,—I have found our child lying senseless in a street corner. I
have brought him here. He seems very ill. Will you come?
"Your husband,
"JOHN BERNARD.
"96, Via Nazionale."
In a few minutes, Mrs. Bernard was in a carriage on her way to the Via
Nazionale. Mrs. Dunton had offered to accompany her; but she preferred
to take Janet, in spite of her indignation with that honest servant.
Mrs. Bernard said scarce a word as they drove along. She was astounded
by the facts presented by that brief note. Her husband in Rome! That he
should find his child senseless in the street!
"A pretty mother he will think me!" she said to herself with anguish.
"He will surely judge me unfit to be longer the guardian of his child."
Yet there was sweetness as well as bitterness in the thoughts suggested
by the note. As she held it tight within her hand, she was glad to
remember that it began with "my wife" and ended with "your husband."
Husband and wife! "What God has joined together." The hot tears sprang
to her eyes; then her thoughts turned back to her child in deep anxiety.
She felt like one in a dream when her husband, who was on the look-out
for her, helped her to alight from the carriage and led her into the
house. She had a dim sense that he looked older and thinner than she
remembered him. His voice was so gentle that it made her afraid.
"How is he?" she asked with faltering voice. "Tell me the worst at
once, please. He is not—he is not—"
"No, no," said her husband; "he is unconscious and in a high fever, but
I have good hope that he will recover! The doctor is with him now; you
shall see him in a few minutes, but pray calm yourself first."
"You must think me a most careless mother," she said; "but I left him
in good hands, as I thought. Janet was responsible for him; she can
perhaps explain how he came into the street."
"That I cannot indeed," said Janet. "I left him fast asleep in bed, and
I just ran round to the chemist's to get him some medicine. I was not
away more than half an hour; but when I got back, he was gone!"
John Bernard looked keenly at the nurse as she spoke. He recognised her
as the woman he had seen with Paul in the cemetery. He felt, too, that
she spoke truly, and was worthy of trust.
"It was a pity you left him; but it cannot be helped now," he said
kindly; "no doubt he was delirious when he got up and ran out. When
I undressed him, I found that his clothes were huddled on in the
strangest fashion."
A few minutes later, they were all standing beside the bed on
which Paul lay. His stupor had passed. He was talking rapidly and
incoherently; but he knew no one who looked on him. Now Janet's name
was on his lips, and now his mother's. Now he talked of the Coliseum,
and now he was amid the graves in the cemetery, puzzling over their
connection with the heaven above. Then he began to speak of his father:
"If only my father would come!" he sighed. "I want him to carry me; I'm
so tired. No, that's not my father; that's the Pope. The Pope is only
the Pope; but I want my father. Why does he not come?"
"Your father is here, little Paul," said Mr. Bernard, kneeling beside
the bed, "here, by your side, holding you."
But the child was conscious of neither voice nor touch. John Bernard
glanced at his wife. She had covered her face with her hands.
The medical man found himself at present unable to determine the
nature of the fever which had attacked the child. His exposure to the
night air and sleep on the hard stones had rendered his condition more
serious than it would have been if taken in hand at first. The doctor
was anxious but hopeful, since his patient was a sturdy little fellow,
who might battle successfully with disease. He spoke encouragingly;
but Paul's mother could take no comfort from his words. She looked the
image of despair as she sat beside her child. Janet went back to the
hotel to fetch various things that were needed; but Mrs. Bernard would
not quit the little sufferer for a moment.
Paul grew quieter about midnight. The husband and wife were alone
beside him.
John Bernard turned from his child to his wife.
"Clarice," he said gently, "take comfort. He will live. Something
within me tells me that he will live."
She sighed heavily.
"The voice within me says otherwise," she said after a moment; "I have
been a wicked woman, John, unworthy to be the mother of such a little
child, and he will be taken from me. It is my punishment."
"God's punishments are blessings, my dear wife," he replied. "Already
there is mercy in this trial, since it has brought us together. The
poet tells how husband and wife who had fallen out were reconciled as
they stood beside a little grave. Thank God, dearest, you and I may
clasp hands over a living child, and join our prayers for his recovery.
Shall we do so?"
His wife broke into sobs. He threw his arms about her, drew her to his
heart, and they kissed again with tears.