"WHY DOES HE NOT COME AND SEE US?"
"'It is not hard to die,'
She said, with that fair smile, 'for God's sweet will
Makes bitter things most sweet. In my bright youth
He calls me to His side. It is not hard
To go to Him.'"--'_Ezekiel and other Poems._'
Friends came around Queenie in her trouble. In her letter to Cathy
she compared herself, somewhat quaintly, to Job when all his
acquaintance comforted him. For after the first few hours of
stupefied misery that followed her conversation with Dr. Stewart and
Dora, her natural courage had returned; the pain was crushed
resolutely into the background. Her every thought must be for Emmie;
her one care to retrieve the effects of her unintentional neglect.
The cottage all at once became the centre of interest to all the good
Hepshaw folks.
Captain Fawcett could scarcely bear the child out of his sight, and
his wife's sorrow at the impending parting was a grievous thing to
see; while Miss Cosie trotted in and out perpetually, on all manner
of self-invented errands.
And Langley came, saying little, but expressing a whole world of
silent tenderness in her face and manner; and Faith Stewart, with her
quiet, helpful ways, bringing an atmosphere of rest and peace to poor
harassed Queenie.
One day Mr. Chester came, but his visit was a sadly trying one. He
wrung Queenie's hand for some moments without speaking, and for a
long time he could not bring himself to mention the subject of her
departure.
"You were so good to me when my darling died. I wish I could do
something to help you," he said huskily; "but then my poor Gertie is
dying, and I cannot leave her for more than an hour or two," and the
sympathy of this open-hearted man almost broke Queenie down.
One afternoon she went to say good-bye to Miss Charity. Miss Charity
looked up at her with her bright sharp eyes very keenly.
"Ah, well, being a rich woman doesn't seem to suit you," she said,
not unkindly. "You are not half as blithe and bonny-looking as when
you first came to Hepshaw."
"I am so anxious about Emmie," replied Queenie, hastily, for any
comment on her changed looks made her uncomfortable. "You see, Emmie
is all I have, Miss Charity."
"Ah, well, the widow's mite was worth all the rich men's offerings,"
returned the invalid with a sigh. "Never hold what you have got with
both hands, because then it is harder to let go. I thought I should
have died of sheer grief when my back got bad, and poor George had to
give me up; but I thought better of it, and here I am, and here I
shall be, till my lessons are all done, and I am perfect through
patience," finished Miss Charity, with a tear twinkling on her
eyelashes.
But the one friend for whose coming she looked daily, for whose voice
and presence and sympathy she craved with a longing that surprised
herself, never crossed the threshold of the cottage.
For some reason only known to himself Garth Clayton held himself
aloof.
It was not until after morning service on Sunday that Queenie found
herself face to face with him in the plane-tree walk. He was with
Ted and Langley, but after a moment's hesitation he left them and
came up to her.
"You are leaving us, I hear," he said, rather abruptly, and Queenie
could see he was exceedingly nervous, "and I am much grieved at the
cause; but I have great faith in sea air. I hope--at least I
trust--that Emmie may benefit by it."
"Dr. Stewart says it is the only thing for her. Have you seen him?
Has he given you his opinion about her?" fixing her dark eyes rather
searchingly on his face. Dr. Stewart's ambiguity was causing her
some uneasiness. "I wish that he--that some one--would speak plainly
to me, and tell me what he really thinks about Emmie."
"Well, you see, doctors are rather difficult people to deal with,"
returned Garth evasively, but his tone was very gentle. "You must
not lose heart about it, you know, children are often very ill. This
cold wind is making you shiver, I must not keep you now; I will come
over to the cottage to bid you and Emmie 'good-bye,'" and then he
smiled at her and went back to his sister.
Queenie had arranged to go over to Carlisle the next day to pay a
parting visit to Caleb and Molly. All her affairs were now arranged;
Mr. Logan had found a temporary mistress in a young widow, a
_protégée_ of Faith Stewart's, who was lodging in Hepshaw with her
little girl, and was in search of some employment. And Emmie, who
had taken a fancy to Mrs. Henfrey's little girl, proposed that they
should live in the cottage, "at least take care of it until we come
back," to which Queenie, desirous of gratifying the child's most
trifling whim, willingly acceded. A bitter disappointment awaited
Queenie on her return from Carlisle.
"Oh, dear, you will be so sorry!" Emmie exclaimed, running to her as
she entered the parlor, feeling weary and dispirited. "Langley and
Mr. Garth have been here, and he has left you a message, because he
is going away and will not see you again; and he did seem so sorry
about it."
"Going away!" repeated Queenie in a low voice, and then she sat down.
She felt all at once so strangely tired.
"Yes; I heard him tell Langley that he must take the seven o'clock
train, so he has gone long ago now. Some uncle of theirs is ill, I
think they said he lived at Perth; but anyhow he sent for Mr. Garth
in a great hurry."
"And what was his message, Emmie?" putting up her hand to her head,
as though conscious of some numb pain.
"Well, he told me to say how sorry he was to miss you and not to say
good-bye, and that you were not to lose heart about things; and
oh--yes, he told me that twice over, that he hoped if you were in any
trouble or perplexity that you would write to him or Langley, for
they would do anything to help you. And he kissed me half-a-dozen
times I am sure!" with a triumphant air; "and then Langley said they
must go, and he got up very slowly and went away."
"Oh, it is too hard! it is more than I can bear!" broke from
Queenie's pale lips when she was alone with her thoughts that night.
"To leave for months, for ever, perhaps, and never to wish him
good-bye, not even a word or look to treasure up in my memory." And
for a long time she wept bitterly.
But by-and-bye she became more reasonable. "It is wrong of me, I
ought not to wish to see him if he belongs to Dora. Perhaps it is
better so, after all." But, nevertheless, the bitterness of that
disappointment abided with her for many a long day.
When Langley wrote to her brother she spoke very briefly of the
leave-taking. "Ted and I saw them off, and Mr. Logan was with us.
Emmie clung to us and cried a good deal, but Miss Marriott was very
quiet, and scarcely spoke. She begged me to thank you for your
message, and regretted that she had not seen you, that was all."
Garth sighed over this brief message, but he understood Queenie's
reticence perfectly. "So they are gone, and the happy Brierwood
Cottage days are over," he said to himself, as he sat in the dim,
sick room, revolving many things in his mind.
Queenie had a dreary journey. Emmie was so exhausted with excitement
and emotion that she slept the greater part of the way, and left her
sister in perfect freedom to indulge in all manner of sad thoughts.
Queenie never recalled that day without a shudder. A sadness,
indescribable but profound, weighed down her spirits--a feeling of
intolerable desolation and loneliness as hour after hour passed on,
and the distance lengthened between her and the friends whom she had
grown to love.
"Who knows if it may not be good-bye for ever to that dear place?"
she thought, "for if he marries Dora I will never willingly see his
face again."
She was thankful when Emmie at last woke up, to find herself at their
journey's end. Emmie, whose imagination had been vividly aroused by
the idea of the magnificence that awaited them, was rather
disappointed by the quiet, old-fashioned hotel to which Dr. Stewart
had recommended them. It was just the reverse of grand, she thought,
but the sight of the bright, cheerful-looking room into which the
weary travellers were ushered speedily reconciled her, and she was
soon comfortably ensconced on the great couch, contentedly watching
Queenie as she cut up her chicken.
"Now, Emmie, you must eat that and then go to bed," said her sister
decisively, as she carried the tempting tray to the sofa, and Emmie
was far too weary and docile to resist.
They were to spend two days in London, but the first few hours hung
rather heavily on Queenie's hands. Emmie was fit for nothing but
sleep, and could not rouse herself to take interest in anything, and
Queenie did not care to leave her or to encounter the crowded streets
alone. She spent the greater part of the day sitting idly at the
window with her hands on her lap, watching the passers-by with vague,
unseeing eyes, and living over every episode of their Hepshaw life.
The next day was better, for Cathy came to them, and the sight of her
bright face roused Queenie from her despondency.
"What do you mean by misbehaving like this, Emmie," she said, as she
knelt down by the sofa, and took the child in her arms. "Here you
are getting ill again and making every one unhappy."
"I couldn't help it, Cathy," returned the child earnestly. "Oh, how
good it is to see your dear face again, and how nice you look in that
black stuff gown; and do you always wear a funny little close bonnet
like that?"
"This is nurse Catherine's costume," replied Cathy, laughing and
blushing and looking very handsome. "What do you think Mr. Logan
would say to it? and oh, my dear Madam Dignity, how worn and pale you
are!"
"It is nothing, I am quite well. Tell me about yourself," returned
Queenie, looking fondly at her old chum. "Do you still like your
work? does it agree with you?"
"My work is making a woman of me. Did you ever see me look better,
Queen?" And indeed Queenie was driven to confess that she had never
seen Cathy look more restful and satisfied.
They had a long, quiet-toned conversation while Emmie dozed in the
afternoon. Cathy did not talk much about Emmie. "She was delicate
and needed the greatest care," that was all she would allow, but she
was voluble on the subject of the loan, and almost overwhelmed her
friend with her delighted gratitude.
"He will get on now, dear old fellow, and it is all owing to you,"
exclaimed the affectionate girl, and somehow Queenie's sore heart
felt a little lighter. But on her own affairs Cathy was still very
reticent. "I don't know what I am going to do, I have not made up my
mind. I shall stay on here and work for a time, I suppose," and
then, her color deepened, and she broke off rather suddenly.
But later on, as the three sat cosily round the fire and talked of
their old feasts in the garret, and Emmie clapped her hands and
laughed feebly over many a droll reminiscence, Queenie noticed that
now and then the keen grey eyes were full of tears, and that she
would look at her and the child rather strangely.
"Good-bye, God bless you both; and keep up a good heart, Queen," was
all she said when she left them that night. But when she re-entered
the hospital an hour later more than one patient noticed nurse
Catherine's eyes were red, as though she had been weeping.
It was somewhat late the following afternoon when they drove into St.
Leonards and took possession of their new abode. Emmie uttered an
exclamation of delight as she looked round the large luxurious room
prepared for their reception. A bright fire burnt cheerily, a trim
maid-servant was spreading a snowy cloth over the little round table;
the great crimson couch was drawn invitingly near the hearth, outside
the pier light twinkled, and a windy flicker flared from the
esplanade, while the deep wash and surge of the monotonous waves
broke softly on her ears.
"Oh, Queenie, how homelike and delicious it looks! and oh, what
beautiful flowers!"
"Mrs. Bennet must have sent these," returned Queenie gratefully, as
she carried the delicate spring bouquet of violets and snowdrops to
Emmie. "I am so glad you are pleased with our new home, darling.
Look, there is the bay-window you wanted, and behind those folding
doors is our bed-room. Mrs. Bennet thought it would be quiet and
snug, and there would be no tiresome stairs for you to climb."
"I am sure Mrs. Bennet must be very nice," was Emmie's answer, and
then, as she seemed exhausted and disposed to close her eyes, Queenie
prudently left her to repose.
Emmie's favorable opinion of their new acquaintance was soon
verified, for the Bennets called the next day, and quite won the
sisters' hearts by their geniality and unobtrusive kindness. Dr.
Bennet was a little bluff and hasty in manner at first, but as this
wore off he and Emmie became excellent friends. His wife was a
quiet, motherly-looking woman, and Emmie took a fancy to her on the
spot.
"Isn't she just like dear Miss Cosie, Queen, with those grey curls
and that comfortable soft voice; if she would only say 'There, there,
poor dear,' as Miss Cosie always does," finished the child with a
quaint smile.
It was a strange new life that began for Queenie. The links that
united her to the old had been suddenly snapped asunder, and she had
drifted away into a quiet changeless existence, which seemed almost
as unreal as a dream.
It was as though she had no separate individuality or life of her
own; her only existence was Emmie, her one thought from morning to
night how to gratify the child's capricious whims.
When Emmie opened her eyes on waking she always saw her sister by her
bedside; she would stoop over and touch her lips with the fresh, dewy
flowers she had in her hand--violets or primroses, or, later on,
lilies of the valley and fragrant tea-roses. Emmie loved the roses
best.
"I have been out for my morning walk, and look what I have brought
you!" Queenie would say. It was always so, always the same surprise,
the same sweet morning greeting, the same loving smile; and so it was
through the day.
Strangers began to comment on the tall, graceful girl who drove out
her little sister day after day in the pony-carriage, or, as Emmie's
strength failed, walked by the side of the Bath chair, where the
little frail figure seemed to be lost and hidden. How Emmie loved to
watch the ships and the little brown fishing-smacks! The shifting
groups on the esplanade pleased and amused her; the music on the pier
charmed her. As the daylight faded away, and the waves grew solemn
and grey in the twilight, she would lie on her couch contentedly for
hours, while Queenie read or sung to her and told her the simple
tales of her own production.
"I never dared to think; I just prayed, and so my little stock of
daily strength was recruited, like the widow's cruse," Queenie said
very simply long afterwards to one who questioned her of that sad
summer. "Life just then meant Emmie to me, and nothing else."
It was true; she never dared to think. Week by week and month by
month the brave-hearted girl crushed down the dull aching pain of
weary suspense and doubt; month by month she bore the loneliness of
that sad watching, with the end plainly before her, and yet no
complaint of her bitter load of trouble harassed the kind hearts of
the friends she had left.
Very brief and touching were her few letters to Langley; but they
told little save the record of their daily life--"Emmie was no
better, or a little weaker," and that was all.
One day, about two months after they had been settled at St.
Leonards, a letter came from Garth. The sight of the handwriting
made Queenie tremble with sudden emotion; but her face soon paled and
saddened as she read it.
It was brief, but kind, and had evidently been written with great
care. It spoke of the death of their uncle, who was almost a
stranger to his nephews and nieces, but who had taken a fancy to
Garth in his last illness and had left him his little all.
"It is not a great fortune," wrote Garth, "it is something less than
two or three thousand pounds; but it has quite replaced my
unfortunate Bank loss. We are all more thankful than we can say. It
makes me especially happy, because I can now repay you the loan you
have so generously advanced to me without any further delay. As I am
anxious to settle this matter at once, I shall be glad if you will
let me know into whose hands I am to pay the money." And then
followed a few kind enquiries after her and Emmie.
Poor Queenie, her answer was very stiff and cold. "How pleased he is
to be quit of his obligation to me. How the thought of this debt has
galled and harassed him," she thought, as she slowly and laboriously
penned those few words. Garth's face grew puzzled and pained as he
read them. It is not always easy to read between the lines.
But as the summer wore on Queenie grew graver and sadder, for even to
her loving eyes Emmie was slowly but surely fading away.
The change had come on imperceptibly: first the drives in the
pony-carriage were discontinued, then the Bath-chair was found too
fatiguing; by-and-bye Queenie lifted the child's light form and
carried it morning after morning to the couch in the bay-window.
There was no question of even walking from one room to another. At
the smallest exertion there were long fainting fits that drove
Queenie almost frantic with alarm.
"Oh, if only Langley or Cathy could be with me now!" was her one
wish. But, alas! there was no hope of this.
She knew there was a troubled household at Church-Stile House.
Langley was ill, and Cathy had been summoned home to tend her sister.
The long nursing at Karldale Grange had broken down her strength, and
as soon as Gertrude Chester had drawn her last breath there had been
a sudden collapse that had alarmed her brother.
"She was slightly better, but in a frightfully weak state," Cathy
wrote, "and likely to remain so for some time, Dr. Stewart said, and
so there was nothing for it but for her to relinquish her hospital
work and come home."
"Dr. Stewart calls us the model nurse and patient; and, indeed,
Langley is such a patient creature that it is a pleasure to fend for
her, as folk say," Cathy wrote. "Poor old Garth took her illness
sadly to heart, but after Dr. Stewart's last visit he has seemed more
cheerful; and so, you see, why you must do without your Church-Stile
House friend, my dear Queenie, though I am longing from morning to
night for a peep at you and Emmie."
Queenie kept the contents of this letter to herself; it would never
do to harass the child's mind with any fresh anxiety, so she answered
all her questions cheerfully, though with some necessary evasion.
"Cathy had gone home, and Langley was overtired and far from strong,"
that was all she told her.
For Emmie's spirits were drooping with her strength. All manner of
anxious thoughts seemed brooding in the childish brain.
"What ails you, darling? What are you thinking about?" Queenie would
ask her, anxiously, but for many days she would not answer.
But one evening as she was lying on her couch, watching the rosy
gleam on the water fade into grey silvery streaks, while the soft
musical wash of the waves seemed to lull her restlessness for a
little, she suddenly stretched out her thin arm and drew her sister's
head down to the pillow.
"Rest there a few minutes, Queen, you are so tired, and I want to
talk to you. Doesn't the moon look lovely shining through the
clouds? How many evenings do you think you and I will have together?"
"Hush, Emmie; only God knows, not you nor I."
"When He says 'Come' I must go, mustn't I, Queen."
"Oh yes, my darling!"
"I am so tired that I shall not mind going. I have almost forgotten
what it is to run about and play as other children do. I think it
will be nice to lie down and go sliding through the clouds like that
girl in the picture, and then when I wake up there will be Nan and
Alice, and Uncle Andrew and mamma. Oh, how nice to see mamma again!"
"Nice to leave me, darling?" trying to restrain a sob.
"Ah, that is the only sorrowful part," returned the child, pressing
Queenie's head between her weak arms. "Oh, my Queen! my Queen!
whatever will you do without me?" and for a short time the sisters'
clung to each other, unable to speak.
Queenie was the first to recover herself.
"Never mind, Emmie; you must not fret; God will take care of me."
"Yes, I know, but I cannot help fretting. You look so sad and
altered somehow, and all the light has gone out of your dear
beautiful eyes; you are so good to me, and you smile and try to be
cheerful, but I know--I know all about it, Queen."
"You know what, my precious?"
"Why, I know how lonely you are, and how you miss them all. When I
go away," rather timidly, "won't Mr. Garth come and take care of you?"
"Emmie, my darling, what has put such a notion into your head?"
"Isn't it true then?" half crying. "I thought you were fond of him,
and liked him better than any one else. Wasn't he the prince in your
stories? he was always dark-haired, and tall, and strong, and that
made me think of Mr. Garth."
In the dim light a hot flush passed over Queenie's wan face; Emmie
softly stroked it with her trembling fingers.
"Ah, you will not answer; but I know all about it. I am only a
child, but I love Mr. Garth dearly, dearly. Why doesn't he come and
see us, Queen? haven't you told him I am ill?"
"Yes; he knows it," almost inaudibly.
"Then why does he not come?" she persisted. "If I were not tired I
would write to him myself; do you think I could?"
"Not just now, by-and-bye," she replied, hardly thinking of what she
was saying, and trying only to quiet her; and Emmie, satisfied with
this vague permission, nestled against her sister contentedly, and
said no more.