THE STORM.
WE were sitting with our glasses in our hands, and Jack was making
all sorts of absurd speeches, and was proposing my health, and the
landlord's health, and the health of the rest of the company in the
room, when there came art unusually bright flash of lightning, which
made us all start, followed immediately by a peal of thunder, which
sounded as if the house were falling over our heads.
"Good gracious!" said Jack. "That was a whacker! I shall have to drink
Mr. Thunder's health next!"
But I could not join in the laugh with which he followed this silly
speech. That flash of lightning had made me think of the storm on the
night of Salome's fifth birthday; and with the thought of the storm
came the remembrance of Salome's text:
"One shall be taken, and the other left," and of Salome's sorrowful
words, as she clung to me that night:
"You mustn't be left, Peter; they must take you too!"
Then I thought of the first rule on my card: "Do nothing that you would
not like to be doing when Jesus comes." I certainly should not like to
be sitting drinking whiskey and neglecting my duty, as I was doing then.
I thought of the second rule on my card: "Go to no place where you
would not like to be found when Jesus comes." I certainly should not
like to be found in this public-house, and in the company of the idle
drinking fellows with whom the room was filled.
I thought of the third rule on my card: "Say nothing that you would not
like to be saying when Jesus comes." There were a great many silly and
foolish things I had said since I came into that place which I should
not like to have been saying if that flash of lightning had been the
flash of glory at the appearing of the Lord Jesus Christ. What if He
were really to come while I was there!
I felt very much afraid, and Jack told me I was as glum as an old sulky
owl. I was very glad when the rain was over, and I could get outside
again. Then I bid Jack good-day, and hurried home as fast as I could.
I took off my tidy clothes, and went at once into the stable to clean
and polish the harness. I kept an anxious eye on the road all the
afternoon, hoping to see the doctor's carriage on its way to the house.
But the hours went by, and tea-time came, and he had not arrived.
"Master Reggie has got a bad turn, he has," said Bagot to his wife;
"it's going to be croup, our lady thinks. I wish that doctor would look
sharp; I do indeed."
But time still went on, and no doctor appeared. Could Mike have
delivered my letter, or was it possible that he had forgotten it? I got
more and more anxious every moment.
At last I could bear it no longer, and I did what I ought to have done
long before—I told the whole story to Bagot. I did not omit to tell him
of the storm, and how it had reminded me of the three forgotten rules.
"Ay, Peter, my lad," he said, "it's a sad tale, that is; but I'm glad
you've made a clean breast of it, I am, and I'm very thankful the Lord
didn't come to-day and find you wandering out of His ways. I'll step
across and tell our lady, and see what she thinks had best be done."
"Wait a minute, Bagot," I said; "tell her I've gone off now to see if
the doctor has got the letter. I will start at once, and go as quick as
ever I can."
"Get a bit of supper first, my lad," said Bagot, kindly.
But I would not hear of waiting a moment, and I set off at a running
pace towards Calvington. Of course I could not keep this up long, and
it seemed a long way; but the air was cooler than in the morning, which
was a great help to me.
It must have been about ten o'clock when I reached the doctor's house.
His gig was standing at the door, and the doctor came out and jumped
into it as I came up. He was just setting off for Grassbourne. He had
only received my mistress's letter a few minutes before. The careless
Mike had dropped it on the road, and some one had picked it up and
brought it to the doctor's house.
I told him how ill Master Reggie was, and that my mistress thought that
he was going to have croup; and he ran back into his surgery to get
several things that might be wanted, and then drove off at a tremendous
pace towards Grassbourne.
I went home more slowly than I had come, and it was near midnight when
I reached the avenue gate. To my surprise, I found Bagot standing
there, leaning against the gate, as if he were waiting for me. He was
very kind to me—more kind than I deserved, I thought; but he seemed
very downcast.
"Is he worse, Bagot?" I asked.
"No, he's a wee bit better, he is," said Bagot. "The doctor is going to
stay till morning, though. I've been helping his man to take the horse
out, I have."
He took me in, and Mrs. Bagot was still up, and had a good supper ready
for me on the table. She, too, was more kind to me than ever; but
neither of them spoke much while I was eating my supper.
As soon as I had finished, Bagot said, taking an envelope from his
pocket—"Shall I give it him now, old wife?"
"Yes, Jem," she said, "now that he's had his supper, you had best let
him read it."
Bagot handed me a telegram, and I read as follows: "Salome is very ill
indeed, and cries for you. Can you be spared to come and see her?"
I sat looking at it for a long time without speaking.
Then Bagot said, "Poor lad, I'm awful sorry for you, I am; but cheer
up—maybe she'll be better soon."
"Can I go, do you think, Bagot?" I said.
"Yes, I'm sure you may," he said. "Run over with the letter to the
house, and ask to speak a word with our lady. They're all sitting up
with the child."
I went as he advised me, and the cook gave me a jug of hot water to
carry, which was wanted upstairs, and I took it as quietly as I could
into the sickroom.
[Illustration: I TOOK IT AS QUIETLY AS I COULD INTO THE SICK-ROOM.]
Master Reggie was in great pain, gasping for breath, and the doctor and
his mother and the nurse were standing round him, doing all they could
to help him. He saw me come in, and smiled, and tried to speak, but I
could not tell what he said.
My mistress followed me out of the room.
"Can you ever forgive me, ma'am?" I said.
"I do forgive you, Peter," she answered, "for I know how sorry you are.
And I think—I hope—it would not have made much difference if the doctor
had been here before, for he says that I had done all that could have
been done before he came."
Then I handed her the telegram, and tears came in her eyes as she read
it, for I had told her about Salome, and she knew how much I loved her.
"Trouble everywhere, Peter," she said. "Yes, you may go, and you may
stay a few days if you can be of any use."
I thanked her very much, and she crept into the room again.
We did not go to bed for a long time after that. We sat round the
kitchen fire, and Bagot stepped over to the house every half-hour to
ask in the kitchen how the child was; and it was not until he brought
us word that Master Reggie was asleep, and that the doctor said all
danger was over for the present, and that he was preparing to go home,
that we could make up our minds to go upstairs.
I had a very short night, for the train started at eight o'clock, and I
had to walk to the station.
When I arrived at home, I went at once upstairs to Salome's room, and
I found my mother, looking very worn and tired, watching beside her.
Salome seemed to be quite unconscious; she did not know me when I went
in, though my mother said she had called for me many times in the
night. She was talking wildly and strangely, and I thought she looked
very ill indeed. My mother said she did not know what was the matter
with her; she had been ill now for some days, and every day she grew
worse.
The doctor came soon after I arrived, and my mother went downstairs
with him, and left me with Salome. When she came back, she said—
"Peter, it's a bad job; we oughtn't ever to have sent for you; the
doctor says he is pretty certain now that it's scarlet fever, which
hasn't come out properly. Whatever shall we do?"
And my poor mother burst into tears.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]