"Mrs. Bagley," I said, "take her other arm."
Mrs. Bagley, who had apparently been too confused to understand what
was going on, and had stood with her mouth wide open in blear-eyed
astonishment, did as I commanded, and we led Mrs. Webbe out of the room.
I motioned Mrs. Bagley back into the bedroom to look after Julia, and
shut the door behind her. Then I took Mrs. Webbe by the shoulders and
looked her in the face.
"I had rather have that girl's sins on my head than yours," I said. "You
came here with murder in your heart, and you would be glad to kill her
outright, if you dared. If you have not murdered her as it is, you may
be thankful."
I felt as if I was as much of a shrew as she, but something had to be
done. She looked as if she were as much astonished as impressed, but she
went. Only at the door she turned back to say,--
"I'll come again to see my grandchild."
After that I hardly dared to leave the house, but I got Hannah to stand
guard while I was at home. She has a deep-seated dislike for Mrs. Webbe,
and I fear would greatly have enjoyed an encounter with her; but Mrs.
Webbe did not return.
Now that I go over it all, I seem to have been engaged in a disreputable
squabble, but I do not see what else there was for me to do. Julia was
so terrified and excited that I had to send for Dr. Wentworth as soon as
I could find anybody to go. I set Mrs. Bagley to watch for a passer, and
she took her pipe and went placidly to sleep before the door. I had to
be with Julia, yet keep running out to spy for a messenger, and it was
an hour before I caught one. By the time the doctor got to us the girl
was in hysterics, declaring she did not want to die, she did not dare to
die, could not, would not die. All that day she was constantly starting
out of her sleep with a cry; and by the time night had come, I began to
feel that Mrs. Webbe would have her wish.
April 8. That night was a dreadful one to me. The nurse from Boston had
not come, and I could not leave the girl alone with Mrs. Bagley. Indeed
Marm Bagley seemed more and more inefficient. I think she took advantage
of the fact that she no longer felt any responsibility. The smell of
spirits and tobacco about her grew continually stronger, and I was kept
from sending her away altogether only by the fact that it did not seem
right for me to be alone with Julia. No house is near, and if anything
happened in the night I should have been without help. Julia was
evidently worse. The excitement of Mrs. Webbe's visit had told on her,
and whenever she went to sleep she began to cry out in a way that was
most painful.
About the middle of the night, that dreadfully forlorn time when the day
that is past has utterly died out and nothing shows the hope of another
to come, Julia woke moaning and crying. She started up in bed, her eyes
really terrible to see, her cheeks crimson with fever, and her black
hair tangled all about her face.
"Oh, I am dying!" she shrieked.
For the instant I thought that she was right, and it was dreadful to
hear her.
"I shall die and go to hell!" she cried. "Oh, pray! Pray!"
I caught at my scattered wits and tried to soothe her. She clung to me
as if she were in the greatest physical terror.
"I am dying!" she kept repeating. "Oh, can't you do something for me?
Can't you save me? Oh, I can't die! I can't die!"
She was so wild that her screams awakened Mrs. Bagley, who came running
in half dressed, as she had lain down for the night.
"Lawk-a-marcy, child," she said, coming up to the bed, "if you was dying
do you think you'd have strength to holler like that?"
The rough question had more effect than my efforts to calm the girl. She
sank back on the pillow, sobbing, and staring at Mrs. Bagley.
"I ain't got no strength," she insisted. "I know I'm goin' to die right
away."
"Nonsense, Jule," was Mrs. Bagley's response. "I know when folks is
dyin', I guess. I've seen enough of 'um. You're all right if you'll stop
actin' like a blame fool."
I see now that this was exactly the way in which the girl needed to be
talked to. It was her own language, and she understood it. At the time
it seemed to me brutal, and I interposed.
"There, Mrs. Bagley," I said as soothingly as I could, "you are rather
hard on Julia. She is too sick to be talked to so."
Marm Bagley sniffed contemptuously, and after looking at us a moment,
apparently decided that the emergency was not of enough importance to
keep her from her rest, so she returned to her interrupted slumbers. I
comforted my patient as well as I could, and fortunately she was not
again violent. Still she moaned and cried, and kept urging me to pray
for her.
"Pray for me! Pray for me!" she kept repeating. "Oh, can't you pray and
keep me from hell, Miss Ruth?"
There was but one thing to be done. If prayer was the thing which would
comfort her, evidently I ought to pray with her.
"I will pray if you will be quiet," I said. "I cannot if you go on like
this."
"I'll be still, I'll be still," she cried eagerly. "Only pray quick!"
I kneeled down by the bed and repeated the Lord's Prayer as slowly and
as impressively as I could. The girl, who seemed to regard it as a sort
of spell against invisible terrors, clutched my hand with a desperate
grasp, but as I went on the pressure of her hot fingers relaxed. Before
I had finished she had fallen asleep as abruptly as she had awakened.
I sat watching her, thinking what a strange thing is this belief in
prayer. The words I had said are beautiful, but I do not suppose this
made an impression on Julia. To her the prayer was a fetich, a spell to
ward her soul from the dark terrors of Satan, a charm against the powers
of the air. I wondered if I should be happier if I could share this
belief in the power of men to move the unseen by supplication, but I
reflected that this would imply the continual discomfort of believing in
invisible beings who would do me harm unless properly placated, and I
was glad to be as I am. The faith of some Christians is so noble, so
sweet, so tender, that it is not always easy to realize how narrowing
are the conditions of mind which make it possible. When one sees the
crude superstition of a creature like Julia, it is not difficult to be
glad to be above a feeling so ignorant and degrading; when I see the
beautiful tenderness of religion in its best aspect I am glad it can be
so fine and so comforting, but I am glad I am not limited in that way.
My prayer with Julia had one unexpected result. While I was at home in
the morning Mr. Thurston came to see her. The visit was most kind, and I
think it did her good.
"He did some real praying," Mrs. Bagley explained to me afterward.
"Course Jule'd rather have that."
My efforts in the devotional line had more effect, so far as I could
judge, upon Mr. Thurston than upon Julia. I met him when I was going
back to the house, and he stopped me with an expression of gladness and
triumph in his face.
"My dear Miss Privet," he said, "I am so glad that at last you have come
to realize the efficacy of prayer."
I was so astonished at the remark that for the moment I did not realize
what he meant.
"I don't understand," I said, stupidly enough.
My look perhaps confused him a little, and his face lost something of
its brightness.
"That poor girl told me of your praying with her last night, when she
thought she was dying."
"Yes," I repeated, before I realized what I was saying, "she thought she
was dying."
Then I reflected that it was useless to hurt his feelings, and I did not
explain. I could not wound him by saying that if Julia had wanted me to
repeat a gypsy charm and I had known one I should have done it in the
same spirit. I wanted to make the poor demented thing comfortable, and
if a prayer could soothe her there was no reason why I should not say
one. People think because I do not believe in it I have a prejudice
against prayer; but really I think there is something touching and noble
in the attitude of a mind that can in sincerity and in faith give itself
up to an ideal, as one must in praying. It seems to me a pathetic
mistake, but I can appreciate the good side of it; only to suppose that
I believe because I said a prayer to please a frightened sick girl is
absurd.
It is well that we are not read by others, for our thoughts would often
be too disconcerting. Poor Mr. Thurston would have been dreadfully
horrified if he had realized I was thinking as we stood there how like
my saying this prayer for Julia was to my ministering to Rosa's
chilblains. She believes that crosses cut out of a leaf of the Bible and
stuck on her feet take away the soreness, but she regards it as wicked
to cut up a Bible. I have an old one that I keep for the purpose, and
she comes to me every winter for a supply. We began at the end, and are
going backwards. Revelation is about used up now. She evidently thinks
that as I am a heretic anyway, the extra condemnation which must come
from my act will make no especial difference, and I am entirely willing
to run the risk. Still, it is better Mr. Thurston did not read my
thought.
"I wish you might be brought into the fold," the clergyman said after a
moment of silence.