And thus it came about that the great specialist had been sent for.
Already he had been up there in David’s room for more than an hour.
Now a door was opening, two pairs of feet were descending the stairs.
Before those in the sun-room realized it, the distinguished man had
passed to the waiting cab and was gone. Lavinia was on her feet,
aquiver with excitement.
“Where is he going? I want to ask him a hundred questions.”
“He has told me everything you need to know,” the old family
physician told her sternly. “He will send us another nurse from St.
Louis--a young man capable of handling a dead weight. My diagnosis,
unfortunately, was correct.”
“Will he get well?” Lavinia’s lips were blue and her eyes protruded.
“We must wait and see. He will be paralysed from the waist down.”
David to sit in a wheel-chair the rest of his life! Vine staggered
from the room. Her daughter-in-law followed, fearful for one or the
other of those two actors in life’s sorry drama. But the stricken
woman only paused an instant at her husband’s door, and passed on to
the performance of some commonplace duty. Judith returned to the lower
hall, to hear Dr. Schubert say:
“He begged me not to let them prolong his life. Said it was wrong
to hang on, when he had finished his task. He would have a fighting
chance, if he had the least recuperative desire. David doesn’t want to
get well. He said that death was nothing to be afraid of--after a man
had lived.”
“He sees an honourable way out of the hell he has had for thirty
years,” Syd muttered, his blue eyes wrathful, his slender hands
clenched. “I hope there is a heaven--that he’s so sure of. We know what
it would be for him here, chained down to a pair of helpless legs. All
his life he has walked away from it, when he had taken all he could
endure. It would break Eileen’s heart to see her father--”
Out in the kitchen Drusilla burst all at once into song:
“God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform.
He plants His footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm.”
The nurse hurried down to check the stridulous singing, and to say
that Mr. Trench wanted to see his two daughters, Judith and Eileen,
together. The specialist had said it would do him no harm to talk
quietly with his family.
V
At the threshold Eileen asked, her face white with grief: “Judith, did
I do this? Am I to blame for his fall? Last night he told Theo that
when he was up on that ledge, he saw something. And the pity and horror
of it made him lose his footing. The poor baby thought he meant the
burning of that ugly gable.”
“I know what he had in mind, dear. You can go to him without a pang of
regret.”
A moment later the girl was kneeling at her father’s side. There was no
blemish on the beautiful face, no wasting, as of disease, and the blue
eyes smiled tenderly, their smile changing to protest, as she cried:
“Oh, papa, this is the hardest part of my punishment--to know that I
made you suffer. If only I had known!”
“You brought me the only real happiness of my life. It was worth all
I paid. When I saw you--the day you came home from Europe--I almost
died of joy. And when I heard you give your vow to Sydney, I said: ‘My
cup runneth over.’ I know now why Sylvia had to treat him so cruelly.
I asked God to make her realize his worth. What foolish children we
are, when we pray. I knew the sorrow of his boyhood, and how pure his
heart was. Eileen, none of us knew that he had to minister to a gentle,
afflicted mother, all those years ... just to fit him to be your
husband.”
“Papa!” The girl’s tears wet her father’s face. “And only you could
have seen it. There isn’t another man in the world who could have taken
me--without ever humiliating me--and made me want to be the best woman
that ever lived.”
“And you won’t ever forget that men need love?”
“They need it more than we do. Perhaps I can make up some of what I
owe you--when I take care of Syd’s father ... make his home bright and
happy.”
David stroked her hand, his eyes wandering to the face of Judith who
stood, shaken with emotion, at the foot of the bed.
“Come to me, dear daughter. I have something to tell you, while I have
my wits about me. It may be our last chance.”
The woman pressed her hand to her quivering chin, as the sobs surged up
in her throat. Then she hid her face in the pillow, her cheek close to
the dear face, so that David could whisper in her ear:
“You took care of the paper? You won’t let her know I saw it? After I
am gone, she can go to him and be happy. I forgive them, as Christ has
forgiven me.”
“Father! Now I can believe there _was_ a Christ.”
“It wasn’t her fault, Judith. You were never harsh with Eileen. You
must not be harsh with her. She was too brilliant for me. I was never
anything but a drag. I was too stupid to understand, when she told me I
had won her away from him. If I had had any wit--but I did love her so!”
It was not a wail of regret. Just a simple statement of fact. He had
bought a priceless treasure and had paid for it with the sorrow of the
loveless years. He looked up, to see Eileen gazing in troubled wonder.
“I didn’t mean to say so much; but I believe it would be all right
for you to tell her--about her mother. If it was right for Eileen--it
couldn’t have been wrong for her mother. We can’t see the flowers when
we put the ugly bulbs into the ground. Perhaps her own child can help
you show her the path.”
“Father, I can’t endure it,” Judith cried. “It was I who blundered. I
tried to show her the way. I didn’t know what her ailment was. I opened
the wrong medicine.”
“You gave her your best. That’s all any of us can do. You and Eileen
and I have suffered; but for my poor Vine it is terrible. She had
so much love to give, and it was all sealed up in her heart until
it--putrified--poisoned her. Tell her that she was not to blame. Tell
her that ... Christ died ... to make others ... happy....”
The words trailed off in a half audible whisper, and David Trench
slept.