It was only one night and part of a day after all, and if Laura neither
slept or ate during that time, it was because she had too much else
to think of and to do. Vigorous measures must be taken to recover the
bodies; that was the first thing. Then to get into communication with
her brothers. They would see the news in the daily papers, but that
would not be like authentic intelligence from herself. Frank would come
to her immediately; she was sure of that; later, if--she could not
trust herself even to think there could be an if--they would all be
together at Greylock. Dear old Greylock! With mamma and Margaret gone
what a mockery it would be!
Messages kept coming in from those who were at work at the scene of the
disaster, but they all told of defeat. And so, too, did the constant
booming of cannon. In this agony of suspense, she was thankful to
have neighboring friends gather around her. She clung to them as the
drowning cling to the arm that is trying to rescue them. This was due
to her youth. In later years she bore her sorrows unaided by human
support. Many of Mrs. Grey's friends came up from the city, full of
grief and full of sympathy, and uttering words of hope they hardly
felt. Frank was the first of the family to arrive, though he lived
farthest off; Mr. Heath and Belle came next, and the group waiting
in suspense, grew larger every hour. Belle was a marvel to herself;
her treble sorrow, far from crushing her, lifted her up to a calm and
dignified height where she had such glimpses of the glory of God that
she was almost fain to shut her eyes. They all leaned upon her as upon
a rock.
"Why do you stand at the window all the time?" asked Laura.
"To catch the first sight of them when they come," she said, simply.
"Are you still hoping? I have given them up."
"I think God has heard our prayers and that He will grant us the favor
of knowing that their precious dust is spared to us. Still, heaven is
as easy to reach from the river as from the dry land; we must remember
that. Oh, Laura, look!"
A little procession was coming in sight; they bore one body on their
shoulders; as they drew near, the sound of heavy boots fell like
footsteps on their hearts.
"It is our mother," said Frank, who had been all day by the side of the
river. "Look!"
He removed the covering from her face, and there she lay, the last
heroic purpose written there, the eyes closed, the attitude one of
perfect rest.
"Let us give thanks!" said Cyril Heath.
They knelt around her, but he could not master his voice, and it failed
him; Frank tried, and broke down. Then a woman's gentle, calm tones
were heard; gentle and calm, but strong and victorious; they almost saw
the gates of heaven opened, and the triumphant entrance of a glad and
glorified spirit into the presence of Christ.
Laura's tears came now in floods; as they rose from their knees she
threw her arms around Belle, and said:
"You are on the wing; we shall lose you next!"
"You are mistaken," Belle said, quietly.
"Poor Margaret!" sighed Laura. "What a short, eventful career!"
"I do not feel sure that Margaret is not living," said Belle. "Mamma
was so ripe for heaven that it seemed natural to think of her as
being called home without a moment's preparation. She desired to die
suddenly; I have heard her say so, repeatedly. But dear Margaret was
full of vitality and very human, and while I think she was nobly
'planned,' I also think the plan was not fully carried out."
"She was one to suffer intensely."
"Yes, and to enjoy intensely."
"But if she is alive, where is she? Why don't we hear from her?"
"I do not know, but God does. I pray for her; and I never knew Him to
let me pray for the dead. Again and again I have been restrained from
praying for those for whom I was in the habit of praying daily. It was
so in the case of Maud. Just before the telegram came, announcing her
death, I prayed for all the rest of you, but when it came to her turn I
was speechless."
"Dear little Maud! Now she and mamma are together again."
This conversation took place amid many interruptions, while the two
sisters prepared their mother's form for the grave with their own
hands. She had often alluded to the event of her death, and expressed
herself as very weak on the point of being handled by strangers. They
nerved themselves, therefore, to render all the last services unaided.
Some one tapped at the door. Laura opened it, and a weeping figure
tottered in.
It was old Mary, bent with grief. No one had thought to send her a
dispatch, and she was not in the habit of reading the papers. She
had heard the disaster spoken of at market, and come away in her
working-dress, just as she was, her basket of provisions in her hand.
When her first wild burst of grief was over, Mary said:
"Sure she's got her wish, and died sudden. She was always ready to go,
and now she's gone. Often's the time I've heard her talk about dying,
and I mind a time when she thought she was going, and there was a light
in her eye, and 'What d'ye think of that?' says she. I declare, it was
just as she looked when she says to me, 'Mary, I'm going to be married,
and what d'ye think of that?' says she. Well, I bursted right out, and
says I, 'We won't be long separated,' says I, 'for I've got the brown
creeturs, awful,' says I, 'and all I'll ask is to live to nurse you,
and lay ye out, and then there won't be no more need o' me in this
world, and the Lord'll say, 'Old Mary, ye'r a poor, ignorant creetur,
and you ain't to be trusted without your mistress, and I may as well
let you in when I open the gate for her.'"
Indeed, the shattered figure looked as if this blow would be too much
for it, as it soon proved to be.
"God has taken her away without pain," said Belle, "and in great mercy.
It was quite right in you to come as soon as you heard the news."
"Ye'll let me do her hair with me own hands, Miss Belle," said old
Mary. "She always liked me to do her hair. There, now, ain't she a
picture?"
She did, indeed, look very beautiful, like one sweetly asleep, not
dead. Belle went out to call Frank to see her. He was startled. "Is it
not possible that she is living?" he asked.
"Why, Frank! After two days in the water?"
"But she is so like herself, Laura. Harry is very restless; he has
asked for you several times."
"I had forgotten there was any Harry!" she said, and moved slowly away.
Harry had slept most of the time during the two days, but was now
awake and able to tell his wife all about the fire, and with what
difficulty he made his way back to her mother and Margaret. How his arm
was broken he did not know, but it was in the struggle to reach them.
When he described the moment when they both dropped away from him, she
apprehended the whole situation at once, and was down on her knees at
his side in a moment.
"And I reproached you!" she cried. "Harry, can you ever forgive me?"
"I knew you would come out all right, at last," he said.
"I did not know you tried to save them, with one arm disabled," she
said, very humbly. "Forgive me, Harry."
"There is nothing to forgive, dearie. But there is a great deal I wish
I could forget. It was an awful moment when I found I must let one go;
but, oh, Laura! when both went! I wonder I did not drop dead."
"You did, nearly, poor boy. But tell me how it was they both dropped?"
"Oh, I was such a fool! Knowing what characters they were, I ought
to have known that when I said one must loose her hold, each would
resolve to be that one. Margaret was grasping my disabled arm with all
her strength, when I spoke; she actually threw it from her, then, as
one _disdaining_ to purchase her life by another's; your mother's last
movement was different: she clasped my hand, kissed me, then dropped
it gently, or to express it more truly, _laid_ it down, as she would
something forever done with; the action symbolized final quiet parting
with life. You can't wonder that that awful moment deprived me of my
senses."
Some one knocked; it proved to be Frank.
"There is a possibility, a bare possibility, that Margaret is living.
There is a rumor that a young woman floated down the river clinging to
a board, and was picked up by a fisherman."
"But if it were Margaret she would have sent us some message."
"So it would seem. Still, Cyril is going to see. Belle is very hopeful
about it."
"In religion Belle is an enthusiast," was the reply. "Frank, mamma
sacrificed her life to Margaret, and Margaret sacrificed hers to mamma.
They both had high notions on such points, and I can easily imagine
mamma as dying for almost any one she dearly loved; but I did not
believe Margaret had such heroism. They died _sublimely_! Better such
death than a thousand narrow, selfish lives!"
"Yes, yes, indeed. Shall you be able to leave Harry to go with us
to-morrow?"
"Yes; I must. George Van Zandt will stay with him. Poor Harry! I have
been so unjust to him! Think of his trying to save mamma and Margaret,
with one arm broken!"
"Harry is a noble fellow. There goes Cyril. And Belle with him, I
declare! I must see to that."
He ran down and overtook them.
"I looked for you everywhere," she said, "and finally left a message
for you. If this proves to be Margaret she is in a disabled condition,
or she would have sent a message. She knows how careful we are never to
leave each other in needless suspense. So I am going to see."
"Do you think she ought to go, Cyril?"
"Certainly. Let her put on her mother's mantle as soon as she likes. I
agree with her that we shall find Margaret, and find her disabled."
Very early the next morning Frank received this dispatch:
"Margaret is living, but insensible."
"Ah, what different news this would be if mamma were alive to hear it!"
said Laura. "What a tantalizing telegram! They do not say whether her
case is alarming or not."
A little later in the day came another dispatch:
"Cyril will join you at Greylock. I cannot leave Margaret.
BELLA HEATH."
"Belle not at mamma's funeral!" cried Laura, in dismay. "How dreadful!
Poor Belle! But she is right; and yet, why could not I go to Margaret
and release her? Oh, it would not do to leave Harry. We need another
sister."
"Let me go," said Fred's wife. "Belle ought to be at the funeral, and
she must."
"Do, Hatty. If Margaret is insensible it cannot matter who takes care
of her, if it is only one of the family."
There was no time to lose, and Fred and Hatty hurried off. Fred had
only time to land, find the fisherman's cottage where Margaret lay, and
almost force Belle away, leaving his wife in her place.
"It was very, very kind in Hatty," Belle said, as the steamer pushed
off. "I will relieve her as soon as possible. How often it happens that
the tide of grief is partially stayed by a rush of care. I have been so
absorbed in Margaret that I have hardly had time to think of myself."
"Can she be made comfortable in that little cottage?"
"They are very kind people who live there; and then as to comfort, she
would not know if she was in a palace. The physician who attends her
says the brain has received a severe shock and is very doubtful as to
what the result will be. But she has a strong constitution, and I think
she will live."
"And where?"
Belle turned upon him a look full of astonishment.
"I had not thought of that," she said. "Why, she would come to me, I
suppose."
"It would be a great change for her, and interrupt her studies, and put
miles between her and any studio," said Fred.
"Yes. It will be time enough to think of that when she recovers."