"EMMIE'S LETTER."
"I cannot take that anguish'd look to wear
On my calm heart in heaven, as my last,
Last memory of thee until we meet.
Nay, thou must smile on me; one little smile
Cast like a wild-flower on my misty way
Will make it brighter, and I cannot go
In peace until thou bless me."
'_Ezekiel and other Poems._'
Emmie's closing remarks that night had left no distinct impression on
her sister's mind; but Queenie had little idea of the tenacity with
which the child brooded over the matter, or how the weary young brain
confused itself with endless plans and plotting. That some one must
take care of Queenie, that was her one thought.
And so one morning, when Queenie had softly crept out of her room,
thinking Emmie's closed eyelids betokened sleep, and had started for
her fresh morning walk, the child painfully and slowly dragged
herself from her bed, and with failing breath, and hands that
trembled over their task, penned the pitiful little letter that wrung
Garth's heart as he read it.
Queenie found her on her return lying wan and exhausted on her
pillow, and bent over her with undisguised anxiety.
"Where is Harriet, darling? She ought not to have neglected you in
this way," she exclaimed in distress, putting back the curls from the
child's damp forehead.
Emmie only closed her eyes in answer, but an odd little smile hovered
round her lips. She knew that Harriet was that moment walking down
the Esplanade, towards the red pillar-box on the green.
And this was the letter that Garth read and handed to Langley with
undisguised emotion, and over which Langley cried until her feeble
strength was nearly exhausted.
"Dear Mr. Garth," it began, "you are such a long way off--you and
Langley and Cathy, and we never hear from you now; and Queenie has
left off talking about you, and has taken to sighing instead; and I
want so badly to see you, and have a long, long talk. If you knew
how badly, I am sure you would come.
"I don't think people ever die without saying good-bye to their
friends, and I want to bid you good-bye, and ask you to take care of
Queenie. Some one must take care of her, you know; and I like you so
much, dear Mr. Garth; and I think no one will be so good and kind to
her as you would be.
"Queenie does not know that I am writing this; she has gone out to
buy me some roses. She is doing something for me from morning to
night, but I am sure it would make you sad to see her. She never
smiles now, and her eyes are always full of tears. She is thinking
of the time when she will be missing me. It will be soon now, for I
get more tired every day.
"Do come, my dear, dear Mr. Garth. I think I like you next best to
any one in the world but Queenie, except perhaps Langley and Cathy.
Do come, please, to
"Your loving and tired little Emmie."
Queenie was sadly disturbed by the child's restlessness during that
day and the next; all her sweet placidity seemed gone. She was
feverish and eager; it was difficult to soothe her. She started at
every sound; an opening door, even the stoppage of vehicles in the
street, would bring the flush to her white face, and she would sit up
among her pillows, palpitating and expectant.
"What is it, Emmie darling? What is the matter?" Queenie would say
to her over and over again.
"Oh, it is nothing; I am only very silly," the child would answer,
sinking back with a disappointed face. Of course her letter had not
reached him, it was such a long, long way off. How was it possible
for him to come yet? And then a new fear tormented her. If he
delayed at all, if he took a long time to think about it, would he be
in time?
It was on the evening of the second day when this fresh thought began
to harass her. The day had been hot and thundery, and she had
suffered much from the oppression of the atmosphere.
When Dr. Bennet saw her that night he let fall a word or two that
stirred Queenie's numb pain to sharp, positive agony.
"You think she is worse, Dr. Bennet? I can read it in your face,"
she asked, her poor hands working with the effort to keep calm.
"I think there is a change of some sort; you must be prepared for
anything now, my dear Miss Marriott. Poor little soul, one cannot
wish her to suffer," continued the warm-hearted doctor, who had
daughters of his own.
"No; I do not wish her to suffer, God forbid that I should be so
selfish; but oh, Emmie!" and then she turned away, lest the bitter
flood of her sorrow should overwhelm her. There would be time enough
to weep when her work was finished, she needed all her strength for
Emmie now.
But that night there was no sleep for her eyes. Hour after hour she
sat beside the failing child; fanning her softly, watching her
through her short intervals of sleep, and listening to the dull
lapping of the waves on the sand.
Once she dozed off and lost herself. The shaded sick-room had
disappeared, the monotonous wash of the surge had lulled to sleep her
drowsy ear. She was at Church-Stile House again. There was the
plane-tree walk, and the church. The little gate swung lightly on
its hinges; a dark, handsome face looked in at the window and smiled
at her; and she woke with a start to find raindrops pattering against
the window, and the night-lamp paling beside the grey dawn.
"I don't think that I shall get up to-day, so I shall not tire your
poor arms," was Emmie's plaintive remark that morning.
"Do you feel weaker, my darling? would you rather be spared the
trouble of dressing?"
"Yes; I would rather lie still and be quiet. If you open the folding
doors I can see a little bit of the sea, and it does not sound so
loud here. I think it is coming, Queen; and oh, I did want to be a
little longer with you!"
"What is coming, my pet?" for the child's voice was very sad, and the
tears were rolling down her cheeks. "Oh, don't cry, Emmie! I would
rather endure a lifetime of sorrow than see you shed a single tear,"
and Queenie trembled all over.
"But it is so hard," sobbed the child. "I only wanted this, and then
I could have gone so happily; just to say good-bye, and to know that
he was taking care of you. I have so prayed for it; and now he will
come too late. Hush! what is that, Queen? There are footsteps in
the next room, did you hear them?"
"It is only Dr. Bennet, my darling," returned her sister, marvelling
at her exceeding agitation. Whom did she expect? What impossible
arrival was she conjuring up in her sick brain? "Hush! it is only
Dr. Bennet, he promised to come early, and we have no other visitor,
you know. Lie down again, Emmie, and I will bring him to you."
The sunshine streamed through the bay window as she closed the
folding doors behind her softly.
"I am so thankful you have come, Dr. Bennet," she began breathlessly,
and then she stopped, and her heart seemed to cease beating for a
moment.
"I am not Dr. Bennet, but I trust you are not sorry to see me," said
a familiar voice in her ear, the voice that had vibrated through her
waking and sleeping dreams; and there was Garth looking at her, and
holding out his hand, with his old kind smile.
"You here? you, of all people in the world!" she gasped, for she was
dazed with want of sleep, and the sudden appearance of this dearest
friend seemed to her more dream-like than real; even the pressure of
his hand scarcely reassured her. "I am so stupid, I don't seem to
believe it somehow," she said, wrinkling her brows, and looking at
him with such grave, unsmiling eyes that Garth grew almost as grave
as she.
"Emmie sent for me; she wrote such a sweet little childish letter
that I could not keep away. Why did you not send for me if things
were as bad as this?" looking down at her pale face with mingled
feelings of pity and love. Worn and jaded and weary as she looked,
with all her brightness quenched, he felt it was the dearest face in
the world to him.
"Emmie sent for you, and I never knew it! then it is you she has been
expecting these two days. Oh, Mr. Clayton, do you know that she is
dying; that I shall soon be without her, the only thing that belongs
to me in the whole world?" and moved by the sympathy of his face,
Queenie sank down on the couch, and covered her face with her hands.
"Yes, I know all about it, and Langley and I are more sorry for you
than I can say. Cathy wanted to come with me, but she could not
leave Langley."
"But you came. Oh, it is so good of you; and this is such a poor
welcome," trying to smile at him through her tears.
"I could not expect otherwise," he returned, in an odd, constrained
voice, for he was just then restraining with difficulty the longing
to take her in his arms and comfort her like a child. Did she
understand his feelings? he wondered, for there was a little flush in
her face as she moved away, saying that she would tell Emmie.
"May I come with you?" he asked; but he followed her without
permission, and so caught the child's first look of ecstasy.
"Oh, Mr. Garth, Mr. Garth!" was all she said, and then she nestled
down contentedly in his strong arms, and laid her head on his
shoulder, and the weak hands went up and stroked his face.
"You see I have come, dear Emmie," he said at last, very gently. "I
have answered your letter in person. You were sure of me, were you
not?"
"Yes, I was sure," she answered, doubtfully. "But last night I got
unhappy, for I feared it would be too late. And now you are going to
promise me to take care of Queenie?"
"Emmie, my dear one, hush!" exclaimed poor Queenie, for her cheeks
were flaming at this.
"Let the child speak," he returned very quietly, but firmly; "we must
not let her have anything on her mind. And she wrote to me, you
know. Emmie has always had faith in me," with an intonation that
made Queenie droop her head and be ashamed of her doubts.
"Yes; do let me speak, Queen; I have been so dreadfully unhappy, and
I have not much breath for this odd catching in my throat. Mr.
Garth, I am not wrong; you do love Queenie, do you not?"
"Yes, dearly," was the unexpected response, very gravely made.
"Oh, I am so glad!" trying to clap her hands in her old way; but they
dropped heavily, and he caught them. "And you will promise me to
take care of her, and try and make her happy all her life?"
"Yes, by God's help, and if she will have it so," in a low but very
distinct tone. And now his hand sought hers, and kept it.
"Let him go now, my darling," exclaimed Queenie, wildly, and hardly
knowing what she would say, and only conscious of the strong pressure
of the hand that held hers. "All this is making you worse." And oh,
what would he think of them both?
"No; it makes me happy," returned the child, faintly. "Now I am
quite ready to go to sleep as Nan did. You have not kissed her, Mr.
Garth. And is there not something else that people always do?" a
little restlessly. "I thought they wore a ring, or something?"
He half smiled at that, and drew off the heavy seal ring from his
little finger. "Let us humor her," his eyes seemed to say to
Queenie; and weak and confused, she hardly knew how to resist. The
ring was on her finger before she knew it, and he had lightly touched
her cheek with his lips. "What does it matter, dear? we understood
each other before this," she heard him say; "at least you must have
understood me." And then he rose from his seat and placed the child
in her arms.
The rest of the day was a dream to Queenie; she never stirred from
Emmie's side. Garth came in and out in a quiet, business-like way,
but he never stayed long. Once or twice he brought some refreshment
to her, and remained beside her until she had taken it. "You must
eat it, or you will be ill," he said, very gravely, when she would
have refused it. After the first, Emmie seemed hardly conscious of
his presence; a fainting fit had followed the excitement of the
morning, and there had been only a partial rally. She lay through
the remainder of the day motionless and speechless, with her hand in
her sister's, and a faint flicker of her old innocent smile round her
lips. Once only she brightened visibly when Garth stooped and kissed
her. "Now I am happy," Queenie heard her say. "Dear Mr. Garth, I
know he will take care of her!"
It was late in the evening when she roused to full consciousness.
The day had been sultry, and the folding doors had been flung open,
and now a pleasant breeze swept from the sea and blew refreshingly
through the room. Garth was pacing up and down on the balcony. The
moon had already risen, and a broken pathway of light seemed to
stretch over the dark water. By-and-bye a star trembled on the edge
of a long fleecy cloud. Through the open window he could catch a
glimpse of the little fair form propped up with pillows, with the
patient figure beside it; now and then a low tone reached his ears.
"Are we alone, Queen? Where is Mr. Garth?"
"He is out there, looking at the sea; it is so beautiful to-night.
Shall I call him, dear?"
"No; I like to feel that we are alone together once more, just you
and I. We have always been so happy together, have we not, Queen?"
"Yes, yes, my darling."
"There will be so many waiting for me there--mamma and papa, and
Uncle Andrew, and Nan, and Captain Fawcett's little girl; but
sometimes I am afraid that I shall miss you very badly, dear. I hope
it is not wicked to feel that."
"No, of course not, my pet; but God will take care of that; He will
not let you miss me too much."
"Never to be tired again, how strange that will be!" continued the
dying child.
Queenie softly repeated the words, "Come unto Me, all ye that are
weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest."
"Ah, that sounds nice. You always say such comforting things. I
know I have tired you dreadfully, Queen, and made you very unhappy,
but you will soon be better, will you not?"
"I will try," in a faint voice, striving to repress her agitation,
for a strange, indefinable expression seemed stealing over the
child's face.
"When you are sad you must say to yourself, 'Emmie likes me to be
happy,' and then you will feel better, you know; but I can't talk any
more, the sea sounds so close. Kiss me and say good night, Queen."
A little while afterwards, when Garth stole softly to the door of the
sick room, the sisters were still clinging together; but going still
closer, he saw that Queenie was unconsciously rocking a dead face
upon her bosom.
He had taken the child from her arms, and then led her gently from
the room, and she had not resisted him; she only laid her face down
on the arm of the chair where he had placed her, and wept as though
the very flood-gates of her being were unloosed.
"Yes, cry, dear, it will do you good," was all he said to her, but
for a long time he stood beside her; just smoothing her soft hair
with his hand, but tenderly, as though she were a child, until the
first bitterness of her anguish was past, and then she said quietly
that she must go back to Emmie.
"But not to-night, dear, surely not to-night!" looking down with
infinite pity at her poor drowned face and half-extinguished eyes.
"Yes; to-night. No one must do anything for her but me; it is only
putting her to bed for the last time, you know," in so pitiful a
voice that it broke his resolution.
"Ah, well, I must not hinder you, I suppose, but I only wish I knew
what was right in such a case. If only Langley or Cathy were here!"
"I will not stay long, I will promise you that."
"Then I will trust you. Remember you belong to me now, Emmie gave
you to me," and then he took her in his arms and kissed her forehead,
and let her go.
But he did not see her again for three whole days. Her work was
finished, and the brave, bright spirit had given way at last. The
next day she was too ill to rise, and lay looking at the flowers he
sent her, and some locks of fair hair that she had cut from Emmie's
head. It was not until the evening of the second day that she crept
for an hour to Emmie's room. Garth was out, but on his return they
showed him the results of her handiwork.
The child looked fair as a sculptured angel, laid under a perfect
quilt of flowers--roses white and creamy, and delicate
cape-jessamine. A cross of frail white blossoms lay on her breast;
some half-opened rose-buds had been pushed into her dead hand, but on
the sweet lips lay Emmie's own smile.
"Never to be tired more!" could one look at that perfect rest, that
marble calm, and wish the worn-out child back to suffer again?
Queenie could not, though she wept, and wept as though her heart were
broken, though at night she stretched out her empty arms in the
darkness, and no light form nestled into them. "It is well with my
darling now," she would sob.
It was in the evening of the third day when Garth saw her again; he
had sent her a little note, telling her of some necessary
arrangements that he had made, and she had come down to him in her
black dress, and with the palest face he had ever seen.
"How ill--how dreadfully ill you look," he said in a shocked voice,
as he sprang to meet her. "My dear Queenie, this is not right; they
ought not to have permitted you to rise."
"Mrs. Bennet thought the change down-stairs might do me good," she
returned, in a weak, hollow voice that scarcely seemed to belong to
her; "and I--I wanted to see you, and thank you for what you have
done."
"And my arrangements have satisfied you?"
"Perfectly and entirely."
"That is well," smiling at her; "then I have not worked in vain. And
you"--hesitating a little, "you will be guided by my advice about the
day after to-morrow."
"Oh no, I cannot," clasping her hands with a little sob. "Dr. Bennet
says it will not really hurt me, if I have set my heart on going, and
I am stronger--much stronger now."
"But you will faint--something will surely happen to you; you are
unfit to move," he remonstrated.
"No, I will be very good, if you will only take me," she implored.
"If you refuse, I shall lose heart altogether, and then indeed I
shall be worse; please give way to me in this;" and he reluctantly
consented.
But he need not have feared for her. Queenie went through the
painful ordeal with a calmness that surprised him. True she trembled
a good deal, and the brown eyes looked cloudy with unshed tears, and
once she quitted his arm, and knelt down and kissed the sods that
covered her darling; but there was no undue manifestation of grief,
and he left her quiet and outwardly calm when he walked back to his
hotel.
But the next evening he found her looking worn and ill; she was
sitting by the window with a little old Bible of Emmie's in her lap.
She laid it aside as she greeted him.
"Do you know that I must be going back to Hepshaw, and that you and I
must have some conversation together?" he said in a meaning voice, as
he took the chair beside her. She changed color at that, and then he
saw her nervously pulling off the seal ring from her finger.
"I must not forget that this is your property," she said, not looking
at him, but straight out of the window; and he saw that her face and
even her throat were suffused with crimson. "I know how kindly you
meant it, and I ought to have given it back before."
"It is certainly a shabby old ring, but you might have kept it until
I had replaced it by another," taking possession of the hand and the
ring too.
"But--but it all meant nothing," she stammered. "It was good of you
to quiet my darling, and give in to her fancy, but of course I
understood that it all meant nothing."
"Did it mean nothing when I took you in my arms and kissed you the
other night?"
"Oh, Mr. Clayton, how can you?" turning away and covering her face
with her hand; he had still possession of the other.
"Did it mean nothing that I told Emmie that I loved you dearly, and
would care for you, God helping me, all my life? did you say a
dissenting word then?"
"No; I was too stunned, too overwhelmed. I could say or do nothing
at all."
"Do you mean to tell me now that you will have nothing to do with my
love? that it is valueless to you, Queenie? Surely you can care for
me a little!" with such a loving glance that she could not meet it.
"It is not that--that I cannot care, I mean; you know that there are
other things in the way."
"Do you mean your money? I have been thinking over that all these
months, and I have come to the conclusion that I have been a sorry
coward in the matter. Things somehow look to me quite different. If
we love each other--if you can care for me as your words seem to
imply--why should this trumpery money part us? I would rather have
you without it," after a pause, during which she had not spoken. "I
would prefer your being our schoolmistress still; but it can't be
helped. Besides, I am in a better position myself, and business is
flourishing; and, whatever people say, I shall never need to live on
my wife's money. You see I am speaking openly to you, dear, and as
though things were already settled between us."
"Yes; but Dora! how about Dora?" and now he felt the trembling of the
hand he held.
He became grave at that, all the more that he read the unspoken
anxiety in her eyes.
"I will tell you all about that if you are sure you can listen." And
as she signified her assent, he told her briefly of his old
connection with Dora, and his intentions concerning her; and how she
had repulsed him and kept him at bay until he had risen against her
tyranny, and had at last freed himself. "It was not love that I felt
for her at all; I found that out in time to save us from a life-time
of misery. I never knew what love was till I came that night in the
gloaming and saw you kneeling on the hearth, my darling, with the
plate of cakes in your hand."
"Did you love me then?" very shyly.
"Then and ever afterwards. Do not let Dora be mentioned again
between us, she is only my old playmate and friend. She never has
been, she never can be, the one woman in the world to me; you only
can be that."
And Queenie believed him. And so Garth replaced the old seal ring on
her finger. "Only until I can find one more worthy of your
acceptance," as he said to her.
"But I never mean to part with this," she returned tearfully. "You
put it on to please dear Emmie, and it made her happy to see it. Oh,
Garth, was it not good of my darling to bring us together?" And
Queenie hid her face on his arm and wept with mingled sorrow and joy.