"Ah! what is human life?
How, like the dial's tardy moving shade,
Day after day slides from us unperceiv'd!
The cunning fugitive is swift by stealth;
Too subtle is the movement to be seen;
Yet soon the hour is up--and we are gone."
Young.
"Mother, he seems to imply that I am not likely to hear from him again
for years," Mildred remarked, half in assertion, half as asking her
mother's understanding of the drift of young Landreth's communication.
"Yes, I think so," Mrs. Keith responded in gentle, pitying tones. Then
more brightly and cheerily, "But perhaps, dear, that certainty is
better--will be less trying--than a constantly disappointed looking for
of letters."
Mildred gave a silent assent, while a tear rolled quickly down her
cheek. She dashed it hastily aside. "Mother, dearest mother, you must
help me to be brave and cheerful, not letting this disappointment and
anxiety spoil my life and make me a burden to myself and others," she
whispered tremulously, laying her head on her mother's pillow and
gazing lovingly, but through gathering tears, into those dear eyes.
"I will, my poor darling," returned Mrs. Keith in moved tones, putting
an arm about her daughter's neck and drawing her closer till cheek
rested against cheek; "and there is One who, with all power at his
command, and loving you even more tenderly than your mother does, will
give you such help and consolation in this sore trial as she cannot
give."
"I know it; I am sure of it," murmured Mildred. "I can trust him for
myself--though the way looks dark and dreary--but--O mother, it is not
so easy to trust for Charlie!"
"Perhaps, dear, that is one reason why this trial is sent you: trust
for our dear ones as well as for ourselves is a lesson we all need to
learn."
"And to teach me patience, which is another lesson I greatly need and
am very slow to learn," sighed Mildred. "'The trying of your faith
worketh patience. But let patience have her perfect work.' Oh, shall I
ever be able to do that!"
"Yes, at last; I am assured of it: 'being confident of this very thing,
that he who hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the
day of Jesus Christ.' 'In all these things we are more than conquerors
through him that loved us.' And trusting in him, living near to him, in
the light of his countenance, we _may_ have, we _shall_ have great joy
and peace in spite of tribulations."
"And those I know all must have in one way or another," said Mildred
a little sadly, "because we are told in Acts, 'we must through much
tribulation enter into the kingdom of God;' and Jesus told his
disciples, 'In the world ye shall have tribulation.'"
"But, he added, 'Be of good cheer: I have overcome the world,'" Mrs.
Keith said with emotion, a joyous light shining in her eyes.
"Mother," said Mildred, "I once heard the assertion that God's people
were peculiarly marked out for trouble and trial in this world; that
they must expect to have more than was allotted to worldlings. Do you
think that is true?"
"No, I find no such teaching in Scripture, nor has experience of
life taught it to me. 'Many sorrows shall be to the wicked, but he
that trusteth in the Lord, mercy shall compass him about.' 'Many are
the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivereth him out of
them all.' 'O fear the Lord, ye his saints, for there is no want to
them that fear him!' 'Godliness is profitable unto all things, having
promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come.' The
Bible is full of the blessedness of those who fear and trust the Lord."
"'Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he
receiveth,'" quoted Mildred doubtfully.
"Ah, yes; the afflictions of the righteous are the loving discipline
of a tender Father, while upon the incorrigibly wicked he pours out
his fury in judgments that bring no healing to their souls--only
retribution for the sins unrepented of and unforgiven. 'Upon the wicked
he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone, and an horrible tempest: this
shall be the portion of their cup.'"
The door opened softly and Ada looked cautiously in.
"That is right, dear," Mrs. Keith said, greeting the child with a
loving smile; "come in and give mother a kiss. The pain is quite gone,
and I am going to get up now and dress for tea."
"Don't, mother, unless you feel quite, _quite_ strong and well," the
little girl entreated, receiving and returning a tender caress. "I'm so
glad you are better (oh, it isn't nice to have to do without mother!
though I'm sure Milly has tried her very best to fill your place). I
wouldn't have come here--because I was afraid of disturbing you--but
there's a boy down stairs asking if Milly will go and watch to-night
with a sick woman--Mrs. Martin. Claudina Chetwood's to watch, but there
ought to be two, he says, and they don't know of anybody else for
to-night. She's been sick so long that 'most everybody is worn out."
Professional nurses were unknown in the town, and in time of sickness
the only dependence for needed attention, outside of the sufferer's own
family, was upon the kindness of neighbors, and as a rule they were
exceeding kind.
Mrs. Martin's health had been declining for many months; for weeks she
had been confined to bed and in a condition to need constant watching
and waiting upon.
The Keiths had scarcely a speaking acquaintance with her, but that made
no difference when help was needed.
"Do you feel equal to the task, Mildred?" asked her mother. "I shall
be sorry to have you lose your night's rest; but you can make it up
to-morrow. I am not likely to have a return of the headache, and when I
am 'to the fore' you can be spared, you know," she added sportively,
and with a world of motherly pride and affection in the look she bent
upon her first-born.
"Yes, mother; it will not hurt me, and I can't hesitate when duty seems
so plain," Mildred answered cheerfully. "How soon do they want me, Ada?"
"He says about nine o'clock. Mrs. Prior's going to stay till then. I'll
go down and tell him they may expect you;" and with the last word Ada
left the room.
Mrs. Keith had left the bed for a low seat before her toilet table, and
Mildred was softly brushing out and arranging her still beautiful and
abundant hair, very tenderly careful lest too rude a touch should cause
a return of the torturing pain.
"Poor, poor woman!" sighed Mrs. Keith, thinking of Mrs. Martin.
"Is she considered very dangerously ill, mother?" asked Mildred.
"Mrs. Prior was telling me about her yesterday," Mrs. Keith answered.
"Dr. Grange says she has not long to live; but worst of all, Milly, she
is dying without hope."
"O mother, how terrible! And has no one tried to lead her to Jesus? has
no one told her of his great love and his power and willingness to
save?'"
"Yes, months ago, while she was still up and about her house, Mrs.
Prior and others tried to talk to her about her soul's salvation, but
she refused to listen, angrily telling them she was too weak to trouble
herself with trying to think on that subject now, and must wait until
she grew stronger; and all the time growing weaker and weaker. My
child, I'm glad you are to be with her to-night, for who knows but you
may find a fitting moment in which you may speak a word that God may
bless to the saving of her soul."
"How glad I should be to do it," Mildred answered with emotion, "but I
am so young and foolish and ignorant! Mother, how can I hope to succeed
where older and wiser people have failed?"
"'Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord of
hosts.' He often works by the feeblest instrumentalities, and may see
fit to use even you, my dear girl. Ask his help and his blessing upon
your effort, remembering his promise, 'If any of you lack wisdom, let
him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally and upbraideth not;
and it shall be given him.'"
"I will watch for an opportunity, and you will help me with your
prayers, mother?"
"You may be sure of that, dear child."
"But, O mother! how very much better you could speak to her than I."
"I doubt it, Milly; for the work must be of God, or it will come to
naught; and he can as readily make use of your mind and tongue as
of mine. Don't rely on yourself; don't forget that you are only an
instrument."
In spite of a very honest and earnest determination to be cheerful
under this new trial of her faith and patience, and to bear her own
burden according to the scriptural command, Mildred seemed to her
father a little sad-eyed and paler than her wont, as he looked at her
across the tea table.
"My child," he said, "I hear you are expecting to watch with the sick
to-night, but really I'm afraid you are not able to do so; you do not
look well."
"Appearances are sometimes deceitful, you know, father," she returned,
with an effort to be bright and lively. "I am quite well, and if
fatigued to-night can rest and sleep to-morrow."
"Well," he said, only half convinced, "lie down until it is time for
you to go."
"Yes, Mildred, if you can get an hour or two of sleep before your watch
begins, it will be a great help," said her mother. "We will call you at
nine."
"Half-past eight, if you please, mother. I want to be there in time to
ask directions of Mrs. Prior before she leaves."
Mildred was not sorry to seek the quiet and solitude of her own room,
but she scarcely slept. She seemed to have but just fallen into a doze
when Rupert knocked at her door to say that it wanted but ten minutes
of the time she had set for starting, and he was ready to see her to
her destination.
"I'm glad you came early," was Mrs. Prior's greeting, "for indeed I
ought to be at home seeing to things there. They're pretty sure to go
at sixes and sevens when I'm away; and even if my boarders don't growl
about it, 'tain't treatin' 'em exactly fair. But I'll not leave you
alone with her. Claudina'll be here directly, and I'll stay till she
comes."
"Oh, thank you!" Mildred said. "I shouldn't like to be left alone with
any one who is so ill, and I shall need to be told just what I'm to do.
How is she now?"
"Can't last much longer, poor thing," Mrs. Prior returned with a sad
shake of the head; "she's dreadful weak and short o' breath, and awful
afraid to go. Dear, dear, to think of anybody putting off preparation
to the last minute when they _know_ they've got to die, and after that
the judgment! And she won't allow a minister to come into the house,
or let anybody say a word to her about her soul. Several has tried; I
have myself, but it's no use. Perhaps if she'd been approached in the
right way at first, it might have been different. Damaris Drybread was
the first, I believe, to say anything to her; and between you and me,
though Damaris means well, she's not always over wise in her way of
doing what she considers her duty. But there! I must run back to her.
She oughtn't to be left alone a minute. Come into the sitting-room and
take off your things."
The door into the next room, where the invalid lay, was open, and
Mildred could hear her moaning and complaining in hollow, despairing
tones, Mrs. Prior answering in cheerful, soothing accents.
Presently Mrs. Prior stepped back to the door and beckoned Mildred in.
"This is Miss Keith, Mrs. Martin," she said. "She and Miss Chetwood
will watch with you to-night and do all they can to make you
comfortable."
"Yes, you're all very kind. I know you'd help me if you could; but
nobody can give me a minute's ease, and nobody knows what I have to
suffer," moaned the sick woman, gazing piteously into the fresh young
face bending over her.
Mildred's eyes filled with tears, and she opened her lips to speak, but
was stopped by a hasty exclamation: "Hush! don't say a word! don't talk
to me! don't ask me any questions! I won't hear it! I can't bear it!
I'm too weak."
"I can only pray for her," was Mildred's thought as she turned
sorrowfully away and hastened to the outer door, where some one had
rapped lightly.
It was Claudina, and after giving them the necessary instructions Mrs.
Prior left them to their melancholy duty.
As there was not more to be done than one could easily attend to, she
had advised them to take turns in watching and sleeping. There was a
lounge in the sitting-room, where one might rest very comfortably;
Claudina stretched herself on it and almost immediately fell asleep,
Mildred having chosen the first watch.
The latter established herself in the sickroom in an arm-chair by
the bedside. She had brought a book, but the night lamp did not give
sufficient light for reading.
The invalid slept fitfully, tossing, moaning, and sighing in her sleep,
and still more during her moments of wakefulness.
Mildred had never felt wider awake, so strangely, fearfully solemn it
seemed to sit there alone, waiting the coming of the angel of death to
one who shuddered and shrank at his approach. Again and again while
the dying woman slept her watcher knelt by the bedside and poured out
fervent though silent petitions on her behalf. And for Charlie too; for
her thoughts were full of him as well, and oh! at that moment it seemed
a small matter that they might never meet on earth, could she only have
the blessed assurance that eternity would unite them in another and
better world.
"What's that you're doing?" asked the patient, waking suddenly. "Oh,
I'm in awful distress! Rub me with some of that liniment, won't you?"
Mildred complied, doing her best to give relief to the physical
suffering, and crying mightily in her heart to the Great Physician for
the healing of the sin-sick soul.
Oh, the distress and anguish in those hollow, sunken eyes, and
expressed in every lineament of the wasted features!
The bony hand clutched wildly at Mildred's dress and drew her down
close, while the pale lips gasped, "I'm dying, and I'm not prepared!
But I can't think--I'm too weak. I must wait till I get stronger."
"Oh no, no! come now to Jesus! He waits with open arms to receive you,"
cried Mildred, the tears coursing fast down her cheeks. "He died to
save you, and he is able and willing to save to the uttermost all who
come to him. Come now."
"Too late, too late! I'm too weak! I can't think! Don't talk to me any
more."
Mildred's ear barely caught the faintly breathed words, and with the
last the hollow eyes closed, whether in sleep she could not tell.
She found herself growing very weary, and the hands of the clock
pointed to a half hour past the set time for her vigil. She stole
softly into the next room, roused Claudina, and took her place.
Her last thought as she fell into a dreamless slumber was a prayer for
the two for whom she had been so importunately pleading.
She had not slept more than a moment when a hand was laid on her
shoulder, and Claudina's voice, trembling with fright, said, "Mildred,
Mildred, O Mildred, she's gone!"
"Who?" she asked, starting up only half awake.
"Mrs. Martin. I was rubbing her, and she moaned out, 'I'm too weak. I
can't think. I must wait till I'm stronger,' and with the last word
turned her head, gasped once, and was gone."
Claudina shuddered and hid her face. "O Mildred," she whispered, "those
words of our Saviour are ringing in my ears, 'What shall it profit
a man if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?' As a
girl her head was full of dress and beaux and having a good time; as a
married woman--keeping the best table, the neatest house, and helping
her husband to get on in the world. She had no time to think about her
soul until sickness came, and then she said she was too weak, she must
wait to grow stronger."
They clasped each other's hands and wept silently.
Presently there was a sound of some one moving about the kitchen. "The
girl's up," said Claudina, rising from her kneeling posture beside the
lounge. "I'll go and tell her, and she'll let Mr. Martin know. O, the
poor, motherless baby!"
She left the room, and Mildred, starting up, saw through the crack at
the side of the window-blind that the sun had risen and Mrs. Prior was
at the door, come to inquire how the sick woman was.
Through the sweet morning air, pure and bracing after yesterday's
showers, Mildred walked home, full of solemn, anxious thoughts: Charlie
was a wanderer, she knew not whither, his absorbing desire and anxiety
to retrieve his broken fortunes. "Oh that he would seek first the
kingdom of God and his righteousness!" Henceforward that should be the
burden of her prayer for him, for herself, for all her dear ones.
Then her heart was filled with a great thankfulness for the spared
lives of all these. Some of them had already made preparation for that
last, long journey which, sooner or later, every son and daughter of
Adam must take, and to the others time was still given.