More than a fortnight had passed away, and Leila’s general health was
greatly strengthened, though she had had many agitating scenes to go
through. The meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Herbert and Mina had at first
affected her much, but she had now great pleasure in their society, and
they came frequently, and spent the whole day, for Leila clung more to
Mrs. Herbert than ever. It was a great pleasure to her to lie on the
sofa with her knitting, and to listen to general conversation; and Mr.
Howard was most desirous in every way to promote her cheerfulness.
Charles’s visits had been almost daily; though he had been permitted to
see Leila only for a few minutes at a time. He was now, however,
frequently allowed to lead her on Selim for a short ride, and Leila
assured her papa that each time she felt her courage increase so much,
that she was sure before long she should be able to ride out with him as
usual.
“Yes, papa,” she said, “you must not be melancholy about me, for I am
not unhappy. Nurse sometimes thinks I am, but indeed I am not; she
fancies it, I believe, because I do not speak so much now; I like to
think and be still; you know, papa, my world is more within me now--I do
not see its beautiful sunsets, its woods, its flowers; its broad river
with its green banks, which I used to love so much; and so I picture
them in my own mind, and seem to dream of them, though I am awake. It is
that which makes me often still, papa; and I like those dreams, they
make me happy now.”
“Yes, my own Leila, I can understand all this; but those day-dreams must
not be too much indulged in; there might be danger then of your finding
your pleasures in life more in reverie, than in useful exertion and in
active duty; for you must not fancy, my dear child, that you have not
the same duties to perform now as you formerly had; as your health
strengthens, I should wish you to return as much as possible to your
former habits.”
“But, papa, I can do so little now.”
“Not so, my love; in a very short time you will be surprised to find how
much you can do, and how independent you have become. Do you remember,
at first you were afraid to move across the room, and now you seem to
walk fearlessly over almost every part of the house.”
“Yes, papa, I am not the least afraid now, and since I have been blind,
God seems to have opened my ears more and more; before, I always knew
your footstep, and it made me glad; but now, I know the step of every
one in the house, and yours though ever so far off; and when you are
quite still, I know your breathing, and I like to listen to it so much.
O, I have many pleasures--why do you sigh, papa?--you must not do that,
it makes me sorry; Selina often sighs when I talk to her, and even
Matilda; and sometimes when Matilda begins to laugh, she stops herself
quite suddenly--I wish she would not, I like to hear her laugh. Papa, I
have never heard you laugh since _that day_; my own papa, you must
try--you must be merry with me again;”--and she held out her hand.
Mr. Howard pressed it fondly. “My Leila, my precious one!” was all he
could say.
“Yes, your precious one; how I like you to call me that! Come, let me
sing to you; now don’t say, ‘Another day, Leila, not now,’--for it is
not to be another day, I am quite able for it now--so let your precious
one have her guitar again.”
She rose to search for it in its accustomed corner: Mr. Howard had had
it removed, but he placed it in her hands again, and she seated herself
by his side, and began to sing one of his most favourite airs. At first
her voice was weak and tremulous; but gradually it acquired more
firmness, though there was so much of unusual melancholy in its rich and
liquid tones, that filled Mr. Howard’s eyes with tears. She evidently
found it a great effort to continue, and her next choice was a more
lively air.
“Now, papa,” she said, as the second song was ended, “I hope I have
cheered you again; I should not have tried to sing that melancholy
song.”
Alas! dear child, she could not see that her second attempt had only
increased Mr. Howard’s agitation; but hastily brushing his hand across
his eyes, he said, in a steady and even cheerful voice, “No more at
present, my sweet child; but now every day you shall sing to your papa
as usual, and cheer him as you have ever done; but what does Amy
want?--this is the second time she has looked into the room.”
“Oh, I know,” Leila answered. “Yes, Amy, I am coming presently--I know,
papa, what she wants; at this hour she always takes me to visit my pets,
and they are getting quite fond of me again, which makes me so happy. At
first they did not like me so much, because I was blind; they fluttered
about, and seemed afraid of me--not Dash nor Selina, they were always
kind; Selina seems getting quite young again, for she frisks about me
always, jumps up when I am passing by, and purs so loud, that I am
afraid she will make herself quite hoarse; and as to Dash, you don’t
know what a dog he is--wherever I am now, he lies outside the door, and
the moment I go out he follows; he does not think it is enough that I
should be alone with Amy, and looks at her she says quite
suspiciously;--when you are there he does not follow me quite so close,
but when I am alone with her he is touching me the whole time. Yesterday
he pulled me aside by my dress; Amy said it was because there was a
stone in my path, and he was afraid I might strike my foot against it;
and another day he seized a large branch of a tree in his mouth, (which
had fallen down,) and threw it aside with such indignation, and looked
at her quite angrily, as if she were leading me into danger. Poor Dash,
he does not know how very kind Amy is to me, papa; I cannot persuade her
yet to return to her own room at night; she still lies on that little
hard mattress at the foot of my bed, and when I tell her not to do it,
it makes her sorry.”
“Yes, my child, I know she does; and I am sure she prefers doing so.”
“I think so too, papa, and for many days I am sure she never slept, for
always when I awoke I found her standing by my bed, ready to give me my
lemonade, or to rub my feet, or do whatever I wished, to make me sleep
again. Papa, if this trial had not come to me, I never should have known
the love that is in many hearts for me; I cannot speak about Selina, I
cannot tell you what she is to me; and Matilda, so gentle to me and so
kind; and Mrs. Roberts also; then Mrs. Herbert, Charles, and Mina; but
it would take me all the day to tell you of all the kindnesses to
me,--and I am forgetting that Amy is waiting, for I could chat away with
you, papa, for ever; but now I must go and chat a little to my parrots,
or they will be quite jealous. And then Amy has to give me my lesson of
flowers; she is teaching me to know them all by the touch, for you know
it is better to be prepared for what _may be_. I hope you are not
looking melancholy because I am saying this. Good-bye, dear papa.” She
was gone, or a long and deep-drawn sigh would have reached her ear.
Weeks and months passed on, and though Leila had no fixed complaint, her
health was not what it had been before, and the prospect of her
recovering her sight seemed gradually to be becoming more uncertain. It
was well for her, dear child, that she could not see the mournful looks
with which her papa often now regarded her, as she, with increased
anxiety to acquire habits of independence, performed her daily duties.
It was evident that Leila was preparing her mind to meet, not only with
resignation, but with cheerfulness, what but a few short months before
would have weighed her to the ground. How deeply had she felt poor
Susan’s state; how often had she looked at the sightless eyes of the
blind girl, and said to herself, “How can she bear it? O any trial but
this!” And this trial was now hers; it came upon her in a moment.
Suddenly was the whole face of nature shut out from her sight; yet,
after the first natural anguish was over, there came also to her young
heart that faith, that reliance, which shed peace and light on her
darkest moments.
Her little scholars now came to her as usual; they daily read the Bible
to her, and also other books suited to their age, and in this occupation
she took much interest. Susan also came frequently, and either Selina or
Matilda read to her while Leila listened.
“I wish Susan were nearer us,” she said one morning to Selina, as Susan
left the room; “how kind in you both to take such pains with her; she
says it is her happiest time when she is with us; and do you know what I
have been wishing for a long time, and making a little plan in my own
mind about? I have been wishing that we could find a house in our
village for Susan’s mother, and then poor Susan would come oftener, for
she would not have so far to walk; and yesterday I spoke to papa about
it; he said he did not quite see how it could be managed, but that he
would turn it in his mind. When papa says he will turn it in his mind,
he is sure to turn and twist it into the right thing.”
“But how,” Matilda inquired, “can Uncle Howard twist Susan’s mother and
all her five brothers and sisters into a house in the village, when
there is not one empty, and all the people quite healthy, not the least
likely to die? He must twist them out first, and that would not be
civil.”
“I don’t know, Matilda, but I am sure my papa will not do any thing
unkind, and yet I think he will manage it; I knew by the sound of his
voice that he thought it possible, and I have been thinking a great deal
of all I could do for Susan to make her happier; for she has not all my
comforts and pleasures, and she has not a Selina and a Matilda to be
eyes to her, and to make every thing cheerful to her, and even light;
for when I am with you, I scarcely feel that I am blind at all.”
Selina sighed deeply, but did not answer.
“Now, why do you sigh, Selina? that must not be. Do not pity me; you
must get reconciled as I am doing--you must, both of you, help me to be
cheerful; and you, Matilda, must try to laugh a great deal more than you
do now, for I like so much to hear you merry. And look, Selina, what a
pretty nosegay I am tying up for you; is it not very well arranged for a
little blind girl? Amy says I am improving every day now; you see I
arrange the green leaves and the different colours of the flowers, so as
to have a grand effect. At first they used to be all higgledy piggledy,
as Peggie Dobie would say. What excellent words Peggie Dobie has; don’t
you think _higgledy piggledy_ delightful? I am sure any one must know it
means confusion. And I shall teach Susan to make nosegays, for I hope
there will be a garden to the cottage.”
“And what would Susan do with so many nosegays?” Matilda inquired.
“Perhaps she might sell the nosegays at Richmond, and make a little more
money for her mother, which would make her so happy. She might sit under
the trees on the terrace early in the mornings before she came to us,
and she could knit all the time, and be as busy as if she were at home.
I daresay every one would like to buy nosegays from a blind girl, I am
sure I should; and I think Nurse would perhaps allow me to give her my
second best bonnet, to keep the hot sun off her eyelids; I am sure it
must be looking very old now, though I am afraid Nurse does not think
so, for she makes me stretch out the strings every day, and says it is
wonderful how long things will look respectable with proper management.”
“Yes,” Matilda said, “and you are so terribly conscientious, Leila, and
stretch away so every morning, that I am afraid your strings never will
look disrespectable; if I were you I would begin to crumple them a
little now. Do begin to-morrow.”
Selina looked up. “How you talk, Matilda; you know very well you would
not do so now.”
“Then you do think me a little improved, Selina?”
“Not a little, but a great deal improved.”
“O, I am so glad; and you, Cousin Leila, should be glad also, for it is
all owing to you. When I saw you so good and patient, and trying always
to bear your trial so well, I prayed a great deal to be made good and
patient too, for you know I have my little trials; always the holding up
my head, and the never putting my elbows on the table, or being the
least comfortable, all those hundred little botherations that used to
put me wild; I do think I bear them a little better now. But you will be
rewarded for bearing your great trials as you do, for I am sure God
must love you so much; that very soon now He will open your eyes, and
you will see as well as we do. O what joy then--what joy!”
“Hush! Matilda, hush! do not say it,” Leila hastily answered. “God does
love me, I feel He does, for He gives me sweet, peaceful feelings now,
and makes me happy; but His ways are different. He does what is best for
me, and I am making up my mind, for I feel as if I were to be always
blind. Selina knows it, for I have told her; and now that I have told
you, I shall be happier. I wish I could speak about it to papa too, but
I can’t just yet. Don’t cry, Matilda, don’t, my own dear Matilda.” She
threw her arms round her and kissed her fondly. “Now there is a dear
one; you will be good, you will be patient, and say it is all quite,
quite right. You know, Matilda it must be so.” Her soft soothing voice
was silent; she gently disengaged herself from Matilda, and left the
room.
And it was really so; Leila had struggled hard with herself, and had all
but conquered. She now strongly felt that entire dependence on her
heavenly Father’s love which she had so fervently prayed for; the idea
that she was to be for ever blind had taken strong possession of her,
and she was resigned. Yet one earthly wish was still unsubdued: it was
to gaze once more upon her father’s face. “Yes,” she said to herself,
“once, only once again, and then I feel I shall be able to say from my
very heart, ‘Thy will be done.’”
But how was this to be accomplished? She felt she could never tell her
father that she wished to see him for the last time; she could never
give him that bitter pang. And there were other difficulties. She could
see him only when looking down upon him; how was this to be managed? She
thought of it constantly; no way presented itself. Yet time pressed, for
she felt as if every day her eyelids were getting more stiff and
depressed; in fact, the struggle in her mind was affecting her general
health. Circumstances, however, favoured her unexpectedly. Mr. Howard
had spent a whole forenoon in London; Leila had for hours expected him,
and he returned fatigued and dispirited. He had been to arrange a
consultation for the following day with regard to Leila’s health, which
was now daily giving him much uneasiness. Leila immediately became aware
that he was out of spirits.
“Dear papa,” she said, “I am sure you are feeling unwell, you have
over-fatigued yourself. Do let me take care of you and make you better.
You shall lie down on the sofa, and I will sing you to sleep. Sleep is
the very thing you want. Now, there is a dear papa, stretch yourself
out; now then let me arrange the pillows comfortably.” She passed her
little hand below her papa’s head, and raised it gently, “There
now,--so; is not that comfortable? Now I shall take my guitar, and sing
you a sweet lullaby; but you must shut your dear eyes first. Are you
shutting them, papa?” She passed her hand across Mr. Howard’s eyes. “O
you naughty papa, they are wide open.”
They were indeed open, they were earnestly fixed upon the pale
countenance of his child. Softly drawing down his eyelids, she drew a
chair close to the sofa, and striking a few chords, she began to sing in
a sweet low voice, and after a little while Mr. Howard dropped asleep.
Leila was immediately aware of this; she continued singing for a few
minutes, as she watched his regular breathing; by degrees her voice sunk
to the lowest whisper, then altogether ceased. For a moment she bent
over him and listened. “Now is the time,” she said; and mounting upon
the chair on which she had been seated, she gently raised her eyelids,
and stood gazing down upon him.
Was she looking upon that much loved face for the last time? She felt as
if it were so. “O my Father in Heaven,” she said, “give me of thy
strength! I thought I had been resigned; O pardon a poor weak child, and
make me strong!”
A deep sigh awoke Mr. Howard; he opened his eyes. Was it a deep spirit
from a world unseen, who stood gazing upon him with a look of more than
earthly love, or was it indeed his child? He started up, and Leila threw
herself into his arms.
“Forgive me, dearest papa,” she said, “I could not help it; once more to
see your face, papa, only once more;” then gradually becoming more calm,
she entered fully on the subject, and poured out all that had been so
long struggling in her heart. “And now, papa, I feel that God will
strengthen me to be resigned. You know He says,--‘When thou passest
through the waters I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they
shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire thou shalt
not be burned, neither shall the fire kindle upon thee.’ And has it not
come true with me, papa? He saved me in the waters, and in the fire; and
shall I not trust in Him? I feel now as if He did not mean to open my
eyes, but it must be right.”
Mr. Howard did not attempt to conceal from Leila that of late he too had
felt less sanguine as to her recovering her eyesight, but still he said
that he felt it a duty to employ every human means; and he informed her
of the meeting he had appointed for next day. She struggled to conceal
her emotion from him; but it was evident that this intelligence made the
effort still more difficult.
The consultation took place as had been appointed, and the result was
more favourable than either Mr. Howard or Leila had dared to hope. The
physicians by no means despaired of Leila recovering the power of
raising her eyelids. They thought that the weakened state of her general
health, and the excitement of her too sensitive mind in the continual
effort she had made to conceal her feelings, had probably hitherto
retarded her recovery. They recommended her instantly being removed to
Brighton, with only her papa and Selina, and that sea-baths and
galvanism should be tried. Poor Matilda! what a trial was this
separation to her. How often did she resolve to bear it heroically, and
how often did her good resolutions give way to tears and lamentations!
In vain Selina reminded her that she had resolved to bear her trials
well. “My little trials,” she answered, “but a great trial like this!
No, no, Selina; how can you be so unreasonable? I said nothing about a
great one, and I am not like Leila, or you, I must cry, and I should.”
Yet even in her most sorrowful moments Matilda kept constantly saying
she felt sure Leila would get quite well. She had always thought so, and
now she saw those excellent wise physicians thought so too, and Leila
would return to them seeing as well as she ever had done.