Mrs. Grey went home with the sorrowing family, taking Margaret with
her, but leaving Gabrielle and the two boys at Greylock. They were too
inexperienced to understand that a sublime joy is perfectly consistent
with deep grief, and shrank from witnessing pain they believed to be
without alleviation. The thought of a funeral was very repugnant to
them, as was everything connected with the subject of death. They had
yet to learn how Christ has conquered that last enemy, and how the soul
may be cast down, yet always rejoicing.
It is hard to lay away in the grave a form we have loved, on a smiling,
sunny day, under the green grass; but to put it under the snows of
winter is harder still. It needs faith and patience of no common sort
to tear the nursling from the breast, and leave it out in the cold.
But neither Mrs. Grey's nor Belle's was of the common sort, and in the
midst of their tears they could look away from the grave and see the
"folded lamb" in green pastures and beside still waters, never so full
of life as now.
Loving letters came to Belle from every member of the family, which
were a great comfort to her; many precious and comforting books were
sent her which she was willing to let do their mission to her soul. But
the constant, sympathizing presence of Christ was her chief solace.
It has been truly said that the best cure for sorrow is an increased,
personal love for Him; Mrs. Grey learned this secret long ago, but
Belle first learned it now.
Margaret had not their consolations. Every thought of Mabel lacerated
her, and her health began to suffer.
"Poor child, it is her nature to take life hard," said Mrs. Grey to
Belle, "and her love for Mabel was a passion."
"_Everything_ is a passion with her," Belle replied. "If you had not
adopted her and toned her down, and she had been left uneducated and
unrestrained, she would have rushed headlong to destruction."
"I do not feel sure how she will come out in the end," said Mrs. Grey.
"If anything happens to me I shall want you to look after her."
"Anything happen to you, mamma?" cried Belle; "do you think anything
_is_ going to happen? Why, it isn't living not to have a mother."
"In the nature of things you ought to outlive me, my child. And it is
well to familiarize yourself to the thought."
Belle's eyes filled with tears.
"You know what Mabel's death has cost me," she said, "but it is nothing
to what yours would."
"Well, my dear," said Mrs. Grey, trying to smile away this almost
reproachful tone, "I do not expect to die at present, and may live to
be a trial to you all. I hope not, though. I should like to live as
long as I can work for Christ; not longer, nevertheless not my will."
"Nor mine!" said Belle. "I spoke in a cowardly moment, dreading any
more suffering. It was most ungrateful after all God's goodness to me."
Margaret now came in with a photograph of Mabel she had been coloring.
"Oh, this is a great improvement!" cried Belle. "Thank you, ever so
much."
"What a mercy that you had it taken so recently!" said Mrs. Grey.
"Yes; there has been nothing but goodness and mercy from beginning to
end."
Poor Margaret could not see it, and her face showed that she could not.
"Things that look like unmitigated evils now will appear differently as
you advance into life. You are only on the outskirts now," said Mrs.
Grey, kindly. "Belle, my dear, let Margaret read your Mabel-journal."
Belle rose and brought the book. It had been kept from the day of the
child's birth till that of her death.
Margaret took it to her room and read it eagerly, and amid a rain of
tears. Even she had not realized what a lovely character the little one
possessed, and every little detail interested her.
"This book ought to be published!" she said, as she returned it.
"It would not touch the public as it does you," replied Belle.
"It would touch anybody who had a heart," said Mrs. Grey.
Belle caught it nervously, and locked it up. Mrs. Grey smiled, and said
she never meant to urge its publication.
At the end of a fortnight she and Margaret returned to Greylock, sent
the boys back to Mr. Heath, and everything went on as usual till
spring; Mrs. Grey going hither and thither on all sorts of Christian
work; Margaret eagerly engaged in painting a portrait of Mabel, partly
from a photograph, partly from memory, and busy with her studies also.
And now a long-promised visit to Laura was to be made as soon as
Gabrielle's vacation should begin, when she was to go home for a visit.
Laura lived on the beautiful banks of the Hudson, and so near to the
city that her husband could attend to his business there, and go home
every afternoon. Since Mrs. Grey had been there, they had built a new
house, and Laura was full of delight in the prospect of exhibiting
it to her mother and Margaret. She charged the latter to bring her
painting-materials, so as to make sketches of some of the fine views in
the neighborhood.
"I don't know about that," said Margaret. "I doubt if I ought to do
anything of that sort till Mabel's portrait is done. That will be such
a delightful surprise to Belle."
"On the other hand, it would be running some risk to take it with you,"
Mrs. Grey replied.
"Do you mean from the children?"
"Not exactly. I don't know what I do mean. I only know that I have an
impression that it is best to leave it at home. You have put a great
deal of work in it, and it would take months to replace it."
"I don't think I could forgive Pug and Trot if they bedaubed this as
they did the only other large picture I ever took. I'll leave it."
On a beautiful afternoon in. June they met Harry on the steamboat,
on their way to his home. He was in splendid health and spirits, and
seemed delighted at the prospect of their visit. They sat upon deck,
read a little, looked at the blue sky and green banks, and talked when
they felt like it.
"We shall soon be there," Harry said, at last. "You'll get a glimpse
of the house as we skirt this island. Hollo! what's that?" he cried,
starting to his feet and running forward.
"It's fire!" said Margaret, putting out her hand for Mrs. Grey's.
"We are near the shore; there is no danger," said Mrs. Grey.
"Why doesn't Harry come back?" asked Margaret. "He ought not to expose
himself for Laura's sake. Oh, aunty, see how the flames are rushing
between us and him!"
There was great rushing to and fro, the flames spread rapidly; orders
were given in a loud voice, above which could be heard the cries of the
terrified passengers.
An attempt was made to make for the shore, but the steamer ran aground.
Harry made his way through the flames and came to them now, hardly
looking like a human being. His hair was singed, his face black and
grimy, and at first they did not recognize him or his voice, as he
said, hoarsely:
"There isn't a moment to lose! Jump overboard, both of you! I'm a good
swimmer; I can save you!"
"I have a son on board!" replied Mrs. Grey. "I cannot seek my own
safety till I am sure of his! But if you will kindly take charge of
this young lady--"
"Don't you know me, mother?" cried Harry, impatiently. "I tell you
there's not a moment to lose!"
The two women kissed each other.
"Good-bye, darling, darling aunty, if he doesn't save us!"
"Good-bye, my precious child! Good-bye, Harry! Tell Laura--"
He almost pushed them into the water, jumped in himself, bade them
hold him fast, and began to strike out for the shore. The distance was
greater than he supposed, and his strength began to fail; what should
he do? which life should he sacrifice? Margaret's, of course, not that
of Laura's mother. But Margaret was so young, it was dreadful to die
young; and Mrs. Grey at best could not live many years. The conflict
was painful, and so was every stroke of his arms. Neither should die,
if it killed him! One more heroic stroke and we are there! No, a wave
has beaten us back!
With a groan of anguish he cried, "I cannot save you both! One of you
must loose your hold! Which shall it be?"
"_Not aunty!_" said Margaret, instantly loosing her grasp.
"_Not Margaret!_" said Mrs. Grey, as instantly relinquishing hers.
Harry uttered a cry of horror, and watched to see them rise; but his
over-taxed frame had made its last frantic effort; he felt himself
going down, down; there was a faint thought of Laura, waiting for him
in her white dress, a faint sense of God waiting for him too, and then
he knew no more, till he awoke, and found it was all a dream; Laura was
there, very pale, but smiling; the doctor was there, and many others.
"He's all right now," said the doctor, "and as soon as I've set this
arm you may take him home."
For reply, Laura, waking also as from a dream, cried, "Where is mamma?
Where is Margaret?"
"I did my best," Harry said, faintly. "This arm was broken before we
took to the water."
"You don't mean to tell me that you let my mother _drown_?" Laura
hissed in his ear.
"Indeed, madam, my patient is in no state to be excited," said the
doctor. "Rejoice that Providence has given you back your husband, and
only taken your mother."
"_Only_ taken!" repeated Laura, almost beside herself. "Only taken my
mother! Why, she was one of ten thousand! She was _every_ body's mother!
And Margaret! That noble girl! And I am to rejoice, am I!"
"There will be little to rejoice over if you go on in this way, madam,"
said the doctor, pointing to Harry, who had again become insensible.
This silenced her, and she spoke no more, but almost the coldness
of death steeled her heart to her husband. She did not realize the
self-possession he had displayed, the difficulties in his way; she
did not know that if the women she lamented had been less heroic one
of them might have been saved; all she knew was, they lay dead in the
embrace of the river she had once thought beautiful.
"What news for poor Belle! What a shock to Frank! What consternation
among mother's friends!" she thought, and tried to cry, but not a tear
would come.
Slowly, when Harry came to himself, and his arm had been set, they
drove home. There was the table, set for tea; there was mother's chair;
there was the plate of strawberries, and the vase of flowers she had
gathered with such delight. She went to the window and threw them out;
who cared for fruit and flowers now?
Meanwhile, Harry had been taken up-stairs, and laid upon a couch,
falling asleep the moment his head touched the pillow. She went and
looked at him, and saw how the fire had singed his hair, how death-like
he looked; how blistered were his hands. "But he let my mother drown,"
she thought.
All night she sat by him, and when he woke and needed attention, she
gave it; but that was all. She gave no kiss, no caress, no loving word,
but steeled herself with the thought, "He let my mother drown."
Harry was so exhausted that he did not notice this at first; when
he did, he was disappointed and grieved, but not surprised. His
conscience was clear, and he knew that as soon as he had strength to
tell his story, Laura would see her injustice. Then he fell asleep
again, and again woke and saw her sitting there, pale, and silent, and
stony. He thought she had sat there a week; wondered if she would speak
to him again; if she ever ate, or drank, or moved; and then, feeble as
a child, he slept again.