STEPPING BETWEEN.
They lingered together for a few minutes in the sitting-room, Abbie,
Ester, Ralph and Mr. Foster. They had been having a half sad, half
merry talk. It was the evening before the wedding. Ere this time
to-morrow Abbie would have left them, and in just a little while the
ocean would roll between them. Ester drew a heavy sigh as she thought
of it all. This magic three weeks, which had glowed in beauty for her,
such, as she told herself, her life would never see again, were just
on the eve of departure; only two days now before she would carry that
same restless, unhappy heart back among the clattering dishes in
that pantry and dining-room at home. Ralph broke the little moment of
silence which had fallen between them. "Foster, listen to the sweet
tones of that distant clock. It is the last time that you, being a
free man, will hear it strike five."
"Unless I prove to be an early riser on the morrow, which necessity
will compel me to become if I tarry longer here at present. Abbie,
I must be busy this entire evening. That funeral obliged me to
defer some important business matters that I meant should have been
dispatched early in the day."
"It isn't possible that you have been to a funeral to-day! How you do
mix things." Ralph uttered this sentence in real or pretended horror.
"Why not?" Mr. Foster answered gently, and added: "It is true
though; life and death are very strangely mixed. It was our little
Sabbath-school girl, Sallie, whom we laid to rest to-day. It didn't
jar as some funerals would have done; one had simply to remember that
she had reached home. Miss Ester, if you will get that package for me
I will execute your commission with pleasure."
Ester went away to do his bidding, and Ralph, promising to meet him at
the store in an hour, sauntered away, and for a few moments Abbie and
Mr. Foster talked together alone.
"Good-by all of you," he said smiling, as he glanced back at the two
girls a few moments later. "Take care of her, Ester, until I relieve
you. It will not be long now."
"Take care," Ester answered gaily; "you have forgotten the 'slip' that
there may be 'between the cup and the lip.'"
But he answered her with an almost solemn gravity: "I never forget
that more worthy expression of the same idea, we know not what a day
may bring forth; but I always remember with exceeding joy that God
knows, and will lead us."
"He is graver than ten ministers," Ester said, as they turned from the
window. "Come, Abbie, let us go up stairs."
It was two hours later when Abbie entered the sitting-room where Ester
awaited her, and curled herself into a small heap of white muslin at
Ester's feet.
"There!" said she, with a musical little laugh, "mother has sent me
away. The measure of her disgust is complete now. Dr. Downing is
in the sitting-room, and I have been guilty of going in to see him.
Imagine such a fearful breach of etiquette taking place in the house
of Ried! Do you know, I don't quite know what to do with myself. There
is really nothing more to busy myself about, unless I eat the wedding
cake."
"You don't act in the least like a young lady who is to be married
to-morrow," was Ester's answer, as she regarded her cousin with a half
amused, half puzzled air.
"Don't I?" said Abbie, trying to look alarmed. "What _have_ I done
now? I'm forever treading on bits of propriety, and crushing them. It
will be a real relief to me when I am safely married, and can relapse
into a common mortal again. Why, Ester, what have I been guilty of
just now?"
"You are not a bit sentimental; are you, Abbie?" And at this gravely
put question Abbie's laugh rang out again.
"Now don't, please, add that item to the list," she said merrily.
"Ester, is it very important that one should be sentimental on such
an occasion? I wish you were married, I really do, so that I might
be told just how to conduct my self. How can you and mother be so
unreasonable as to expect perfection when it is all new, and I really
never practiced in my life?" Then a change, as sudden as it was sweet,
flushed over Abbie's face. The merry look died out, and in its place a
gentle, tender softness rested in the bright blue eyes, and her voice
was low and quiet. "You think my mood a strange one, I fancy, dear
Ester; almost unbecoming in its gayety. Perhaps it is, and yet I feel
it bright and glad and happy. The change is a solemn one, but it seems
to me that I have considered it long and well. I remember that my
new home is to be very near my old one; that my brother will have a
patient, faithful, life-long friend in Mr. Foster, and this makes me
feel more hopeful for him--and, indeed, it seems to me that I feel
like repeating, 'The lines have fallen unto me in pleasant places.'
I do not, therefore, affect a gravity that I do not feel. I am
gloriously happy to-night, and the strongest feeling in my heart is
thankfulness. My Heavenly Father has brimmed my earthly cup, so that
it seems to me there is not room in my heart for another throb of joy;
and so you see--Ester, what on earth can be going on down stairs?
Have you noticed the banging of doors, and the general confusion that
reigns through the house? Positively if I wasn't afraid of shocking
mother into a fainting fit I would start on a voyage of discovery."
"Suppose I go," Ester answered, laughing. "Inasmuch as I am not going
to be married, there can be no harm in seeing what new developments
there are below stairs. I mean to go. I'll send you word if it is any
thing very amazing."
And with a laughing adieu Ester closed the door on the young
bride-elect, and ran swiftly down stairs. There did seem to be a good
deal of confusion in the orderly household, and the very air of the
hall seemed to be pervaded with a singular subdued excitement; voices
of suppressed loudness issued from the front parlor and as Ester
knocked she heard a half scream from Mrs. Ried, mingled with cries
of "Don't let her in." Growing thoroughly alarmed, Ester now abruptly
pushed open the door and entered.
"Oh, for mercy's sake, don't let her come," almost screamed Mrs. Ried,
starting wildly forward.
"Mother, _hush_!" said Ralph's voice in solemn sternness. "It is only
Ester. Where is Abbie?"
"In her room. What is the matter? Why do you all act so strangely? I
came to see what caused so much noise."
And then her eyes and voice were arrested by a group around the sofa;
Mr. Ried and Dr. Downing, and stooping over some object which was
hidden from her was the man who had been pointed out to her as the
great Dr. Archer. As she looked in terrified amazement, he raised his
head and spoke.
"It is as I feared, Mr. Ried. The pulse has ceased."
"It is not possible!" And the hollow, awestruck tone in which Mr. Ried
spoke can not be described.
And then Ester saw stretched on that sofa a perfectly motionless form,
a perfectly pale and quiet face, rapidly settling into the strange
solemn calm of death, and that face and form were Mr. Foster's! And
she stood as if riveted to the spot; stood in speechless, moveless
horror and amaze--and then the swift-coming thoughts shaped themselves
into two woe-charged words: "Oh Abbie!"
What a household was this into which death had so swiftly and silently
entered! The very rooms in which the quiet form lay sleeping, all
decked in festive beauty in honor of the bridal morning; but oh! there
was to come no bridal.
Ester shrank back in awful terror from the petition that she would go
to Abbie.
"I can not--I _can not_!" she repeated again and again. "It will kill
her; and oh! it would kill me to tell her."
Mrs. Ried was even more hopeless a dependence than Ester; and Mr. Ried
cried out in the very agony of despair: "What _shall_ we do? Is there
_nobody_ to help us?"
Then Ralph came forward, grave almost to sternness, but very calm.
"Dr. Downing," he said, addressing the gentleman who had withdrawn a
little from the family group. "It seems to me that you are our only
hope in this time of trial. My sister and you are sustained, I
verily believe, by the same power. The rest of us seem to _have_ no
sustaining power. Would you go to my sister, sir?"
Dr. Downing turned his eyes slowly away from the calm, moveless face
which seemed to have fascinated him, and said simply: "I will do what
I can for Abbie. It is blessed to think what a Helper she has. One who
never faileth. God pity those who have no such friend."
So they showed him up to the brightly-lighted library, and sent a
message to the unconscious Abbie.
"Dr. Downing," she said, turning briskly from the window in answer to
Maggie's summons. "Whatever does he want of me do you suppose, Maggie?
I'm half afraid of him tonight. However, I'll endeavor to brave the
ordeal. Tell Miss Ester to come up to me as soon as she can, and be
ready to defend me if I am to receive a lecture."
This, as she flitted by toward the door; and a pitying cloud just then
hid the face of the August moon, and vailed from the glance of the
poor young creature the white, frightened face of Maggie.
With what unutterable agony of fear did the family below wait and long
for and dread the return of Dr. Downing, or some message from that
dreadful room. The moments that seemed hours to them dragged on, and
no sound came to them.
"She has not fainted then," muttered Ralph at last, "or he would have
rung. Ester, you know what Maggie said. Could you not go to her?"
Ester cowered and shrunk. "Oh, Ralph, don't ask me. I _can not_."
Then they waited again in silence; and at last shivered with fear as
Dr. Downing softly opened the door. There were traces of deep emotion
on his face, but just now it was wonderful for its calmness.
"She knows all," he said, addressing Mr. Ried. "And the widow's God is
hers. Mrs. Ried, she makes special request that she need see no living
soul to-night; and, indeed, I think it will be best. And now, my
friends, may I pray with you in this hour of trial."
So while quick, skillful fingers prepared the sleeper in that front
parlor for his long, long rest, a group such as had never bowed the
knee together before, knelt in the room just across the hall, and amid
tears and moans they were commended to the care of Him who waits to
help us all.
By and by a solemn quiet settled down upon that strangely stricken
household. In the front parlor the folding doors were closed, and
the angel of death kept guard over his quiet victim. From the chamber
overhead came forth no sound, and none knew save God how fared the
struggle between despair and submission in that young heart. In
the sitting-room Ester waited breathlessly while Ralph gave the
particulars, which she had not until now been able to hear.
"We were crossing just above the store; had nearly got across; he was
just saying that his preparations were entirely perfected for a long
absence. 'It is a long journey,' he added, 'and if I never come back
I have the satisfaction of thinking that I have left everything ready
even for that. It is well to be ready even for death, Ralph,' he said,
with one of his glorious smiles; 'it makes life pleasanter.' I don't
know how I can tell you the rest." And Ralph's lips grew white and
tremulous. "Indeed, I hardly know how it was. There was an old bent
woman crossing just behind us, and there was a carriage, and a wretch
of a drunken driver pushing his way through. I don't know how Foster
came to look around, but he did, and said, 'There is my dear old lady
behind us, Ralph; she ought not to be out with a mere child for a
companion.' And then he uttered an exclamation of terror, and sprang
forward--and I know nothing clearly that followed. I saw him drag
that old woman fairly from under the horses' feet. I heard the driver
curse, and saw him strike his frightened horses, and they reared and
plunged, and I saw him fall; but it all seemed to happen in one second
of time--and how I got him home, and got Dr. Archer, and kept it from
Abbie, I don't seem to know. Oh God help my poor little fair darling."
And Ralph choked and stopped, and wiped from his eyes great burning
tears.
"Oh Ralph!" said Ester, as soon as she could speak. "Then all this
misery comes because that driver was intoxicated."
"Yes," said Ralph, with compressed lips and flashing eyes.
* * * * *
"And that, knowing the time, that now it is high time to awake out of
sleep; for now is our salvation nearer than when we believed."
Rom. 13: 11.
* * * * *