THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW.
A day or two after the rescue Bert began to show signs of what he took
to be simply a slight cold in the chest. At first there was only a
little pain, and a rather troublesome feeling of oppression, which did
not give him much concern, and having applied to his mother, and had her
prescribe for him, he assumed that it was the natural consequence of his
sudden plunge into the cold water, and would soon pass away. But instead
of doing so the pain and oppression increased, and the family doctor had
to be called in for his opinion. Having examined the young patient
carefully, Dr. Brown decided that he was threatened with an attack of
inflammation of the lungs, and that the best thing for him to do was to
go right to bed, and stay there until the danger was over.
Here was a new experience for Bert. He had never spent a day in bed
before, his only previous sickness having been a siege of the mumps, and
they merely made him a prisoner in the house until his face regained
its usual size. But now he was to really go upon the sick list, and
submit to be treated accordingly until the doctor should pronounce him
well again. He did not like the idea at all. To what boy, indeed, would
it have been welcome in that glorious summer weather when there was
bliss in merely being alive and well. But he had too much sense to
rebel. He knew that Dr. Brown was no alarmist, and that the best thing
to do was to obey his injunctions unquestioningly. Moreover, he now
began to feel some slight anxiety himself. The trouble in his chest
increased. So much so, indeed, that he found difficulty in speaking for
any length of time. Symptoms of fever, too, appeared; and by the close
of another day no doubt remained that the attack was of a serious
nature, and that the utmost care would be necessary in order to insure
his recovery.
When Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd learned this, they were sorely distressed. Such
perfect health had their sturdy boy enjoyed all through his life
hitherto, that they could hardly realise his being laid upon a bed of
sickness, and it seemed especially trying just after he had passed
safely through so great a peril. But they did not murmur. They committed
Bert to the Divine care, and with countenances full of cheer for his
sake, and hearts strengthened from above, awaited the revealing of the
Lord's will.
Day by day Bert grew worse, until each breath became an effort; and the
fever burned all through his veins, as though it would consume him.
Fortunately, no cloud came over his consciousness; and although he could
not speak without a painful effort, and therefore said little, his
grateful looks showed how fully he appreciated the unremitting care with
which his father and mother and Mary watched over him. His bedside was
never without one of them; and there was yet another who vied with them
in their devotion--and that was Frank. Had Bert been his twin brother he
could not have felt more concern. He was moved to the very depths of his
heart, and with tears in his eyes begged of Mr. Lloyd permission to take
turns with them in watching by the bedside through the long hours of the
night. He was so affectionate, so thoughtful, so gentle, so trustworthy,
and Bert seemed so glad to have him, that Mr. Lloyd willingly consented;
and thus the four whom Bert loved best shared the burden of care and
anxiety between them.
Bert had never made much parade of his religion. It was the controlling
force in his life, yet it had not been in any way obtrusive. It had
grown with his growth, and strengthened with his expanding strength; and
although there had of course been many slips and falls--for what was he
but an impulsive boy?--there had been no decline, but steadfast progress
as the years of his boyhood glided past. It stood him in good stead when
death waited for him in the depths of Halifax harbour, and it was with
him now, as hour by hour he drew nearer the dark valley of the shadow.
It seemed strange for the Lloyd's home, which Bert and Mary had
brightened with laughter and song, to be so silent now, and for big Dr.
Brown, whose visits previously had been mainly of a social nature, to be
calling every day, with a serious countenance that betokened his
concern. Never were mother and sister more devoted and untiring than
Bert's. Their loving care anticipated his simplest wants; and but for
the dreadful feeling in his chest, and the fever that gave him no
relief, the novelty of being thus assiduously tended was so great, that
he would hardly have minded being their patient for a little while, at
least.
It was an unspeakable comfort to them all that his reason continued
perfectly clear, no matter how high the fever raged; and not only his
reason, but his faith was clear also. He did not despair of his
recovery, yet he shrank not from looking the darker alternative fairly
in the face, and preparing to meet it. His father's strong, serene faith
was a wonderful help to him. In the quiet evening, as the dusk drew on,
Mr. Lloyd would sit beside him, and, taking his hot hand in his, talk
with him tenderly, repeating Scripture passages of hope and comfort, or
verses from the sacred songs they both loved.
One afternoon, Frank was alone with him, Mrs. Lloyd and Mary having gone
off to take much needed rest, and Bert for the first time spoke to his
friend of the possibility of his never getting well again.
"I am very ill, Frank, dear," said he, reaching over to lay his burning
hand upon Frank's knee, as the latter sat close beside his bed. "I may
never be any better."
"Oh, yes, you will!" returned Frank, cheerfully. "You'll come round all
right."
"I hope so, Frank, but sometimes as I lie here in the middle of the
night, it seems as though it would soon be all over with me."
"Never fear, Bert, you'll live to be an old man yet, see if you don't."
Bert was silent for a while as if thinking just how he would say
something that was on his mind. Then turning to Frank, and, looking
earnestly into his face, he asked:
"Frank, do you love Jesus?"
Frank started at the question, the blood mounted to his forehead, and
his head dropped. He seemed reluctant to reply, and it was some time
before he answered, almost in a whisper:
"I'm afraid I don't, Bert."
A look of sorrow came over Bert's countenance, but was quickly
dissipated by one of hope, and despite the pain the utterance of every
word gave him he took Frank's hand between both of his, and pressing it
affectionately, said:
"Dear, dear Frank, you will love Him, won't you?"
Frank's sturdy frame trembled with the emotion he strove hard to
suppress; his lips quivered so that he could not have spoken if he
would, and at length, unable to control himself any longer, he fell on
his knees at the bedside, and burying his face in his hands burst into
tears.
The ineffable glory of the sun setting into the golden haze of the west
filled the room, and enfolded the figures of the two boys, the one
kneeling at the bedside, and the other with eyes lifted heavenward, and
lips moving in earnest prayer, touching softly the brown curls half
buried in the bed beside him. For some minutes there was a solemn
silence. Then Bert spoke:
"Frank, Frank," he called, gently.
Frank lifted his tear-stained face.
"Won't you begin to love Him now?" Bert asked. "If God should take me
away, I could not be happy unless I felt sure that you would meet me
above. We've been such friends, Frank, and you've been so good to me
always."
[Illustration: "'Frank, Frank,' he called gently. Frank lifted his
tear-stained face."--_Page_ 320.]
Frank's tears flowed afresh. It was not the first time that the question
of surrender to Christ had presented itself to him. He had debated it
with himself over and over again, and always with the same result,
concluding to remain undecided a little longer. But now the time for
indecision seemed altogether passed. The Christ Himself seemed present
in that room awaiting an answer to the question he had inspired Bert
to put. Never in all his life before had the issue between God and
himself appeared so inevitable. He had evaded it more than once, but a
decision could no longer be delayed. No sooner did he see this clearly
than the powers of the strong, deep nature asserted itself. Brushing
aside his tears, and looking right into Bert's expectant eyes, he seized
both his hands, and, with a countenance almost glorified by the
expression of lofty purpose the rays of the setting sun revealed upon
it, said, in clear, firm tones:
"Yes, Bert, I will love Jesus, and I will begin right away."
"Oh, Frank, I'm so happy!" murmured Bert, as he fell back on his pillow,
for the stress of emotion had told hard upon him in his weak state, and
he felt exhausted. He lay there quietly with his eyes closed for a
while, and then sank into a gentle slumber, and before he awoke again
Mrs. Lloyd had come into the room so that their conversation could not
be resumed before Frank went away.
The next day Bert was decidedly worse. The suffering in his chest
increased until he could hardly speak. With great difficulty he could
get out a word at a time, and that was all. The fever showed no signs of
abating, and he tossed upon his bed hour after hour, while with ice and
fan and cooling applications Mrs. Lloyd and Mary strove hard to give him
ease.
Dr. Brown made no attempt to conceal his anxiety.
"The crisis is near at hand," he said. "There is nothing more that I can
do for him. He has reached a point where your prayers can do more for
him than my poor medicines."
Although her heart was torn with anguish unspeakable, Mrs. Lloyd's
fortitude never for a moment faltered. So serene was her bearing in the
sick chamber that Mary, from whom the gravity of her brother's case had
been so far as possible concealed, had yet no thought but that he would
infallibly win his way back to health.
As he grew weaker and his sufferings more intense, Bert evidently felt
easiest when all three of his own household were with him at once, and
when Frank was there also, his satisfaction seemed complete. He spoke
but little, and then only a word or two at a time. Dr. Chrystal came to
see him frequently, and was always greeted with a glad smile of welcome.
Taking the Bible, he would, in his rich mellow voice, read some
comforting passage, and then pray with deep trustful earnestness,
inspiring and strengthening the anxious watchers, and leaving behind him
an atmosphere of peace.
On Friday night the crisis came. After tossing and tumbling about
feverishly all day, as the evening shadows fell, Bert sank into a deep
stupor, and Dr. Brown, with a lump in his throat that almost choked his
utterance, said plainly that unless he rallied before morning there
would be no further hope. In an agony of prayer Mrs. Lloyd knelt by her
darling's bedside, while in an adjoining room Mr. Lloyd, and Mary, and
Dr. Chrystal, and Frank sat together, praying and waiting, and striving
to comfort one another. The long hours of agonising uncertainty dragged
slowly by. Every few minutes some one would steal on tiptoe to the sick
chamber, and on their return met fond faces full of eager questioning
awaiting them, only to answer with a sad shake of the head that meant no
ray of hope yet.
At length the dawn began to flush the east, and with crimson radiance
light up the great unmeasured dome, putting out the stars that had shone
as watch fires throughout the night. Mrs. Lloyd had risen from her
knees, and was sitting close beside the bed, watching every breath that
Bert drew; for who could say which one would be the last? The daylight
stole swiftly into the room, making the night-light no longer necessary,
and she moved softly to put it out. As she returned to her post, and
stood for a moment gazing with an unutterable tenderness at the beloved
face lying so still upon the pillow, a thrill of joy shot through her,
for a change seemed to have taken place; the flushed features had
assumed a more natural hue, and the breath came more easily. Scarcely
daring to hope, she stood as if entranced. Presently a tremor ran
through Bert's frame, he stirred uneasily, sighed heavily, and then, as
naturally as a babe awaking, opened wide his big, brown eyes.
Seeing his mother just before him, he gave a glad smile, lifted up his
hands as though to embrace her, and said, without any apparent
difficulty:
"You dear, darling mother."
Completely overcome with joy, Mrs. Lloyd threw herself down beside her
boy and kissed him passionately, exclaiming: "Thank God! Thank God! He's
saved;" and then, springing up, hastened out to tell the others the good
news.
Dr. Brown, who had been resting in the study, was instantly summoned,
and the moment he saw Bert his face became radiant. Turning to Mrs.
Lloyd, he shook her hand warmly, saying:
"The worst is over. He'll come round all right now, and you may thank
your prayers, madam, and not my medicines."
Great was the rejoicing in the Lloyd household. No words would express
their gladness; and when school-time came Frank, utterly unable to
contain himself, rushed off to Dr. Johnston's, and astonished the
assembled pupils by shouting at the top of his voice:
"Hurrah, boys! Bert's not going to die. He'll soon be well again."