THE PROMISE IN THE CATHEDRAL.
THERE was consternation at St. Dorothy's: Kate O'Connor was ill; on
her arrival home, she was almost unconscious. The doctor was hastily
summoned; she was ordered to bed. Miss Leicester had a room made up in
the quietest part of the house; she was moved there, and Molly begged
hard to be allowed to nurse her. At first everyone hoped that a night's
rest would put her right, but the next day the doctor said something
about concussion of the brain. He said absolute quiet was necessary; he
would not even allow her to be moved to the sanatorium. A trained nurse
was sent for, and the girls began to walk about the house with hushed
steps and pale, anxious faces.
"The worst of it all is," said Molly to Hester, "that if she thinks at
all, poor Kate still believes that I have been unfaithful to her."
"Oh, she does not think of anything specially now," said Hester. "When
she is well enough, you must tell her; you must not fret, Molly."
"I can't help it," answered Molly. "I loved Kate very, very dearly, and
now she is ill, very ill; and her last thought of all must have been
that I was unworthy of her friendship."
"Well, it is a good thing that Cecil and I know the truth now," said
Hester, in a cheerful tone. "What Kate wants is rest; she will be
herself in a few days, I make not the slightest doubt; then we'll
manage to tell what a stanch, little thing you are, Molly. By the way,
I do think Cecil a splendid girl. How cleverly she got that horrid
Matilda to own up to her sneaking, detestable, sly ways! Certainly
Cecil has done Matilda a lot of good; she has taken all the conceit out
of her. I only do wish something would induce her to leave the school.
Fancy a girl like that coming to St. Dorothy's! If Miss Leicester
really knew what sort of girl she is, I think she would ask Miss
Forester not to admit her."
At that moment Miss Leicester came into the room where the two girls
were talking.
"How is Kate now?" said Hester, going up at once to the principal.
Miss Leicester's face was pale and grave.
"She is very ill," she answered.
"What do you mean by that?" asked Molly, who felt her heart beating
with a quick, nameless sort of dread. "Do you mean that--that Kate is
in danger?"
"She is very ill," repeated Miss Leicester. "Yes, I suppose there is
danger; I fear there is no doubt about it. The doctor has just left;
she is unconscious. She must have had a very bad fall. Molly, my dear,
she spoke to you about it: did she give you any idea of the height
from which she fell? None of the other girls are able to give us any
information."
"She only said that she had fallen," answered Molly, "and that the fall
stunned her. She hoped that she would be all right after a little, and
did not wish the others to know."
"I am not surprised at that," replied Miss Leicester; "she disobeyed a
very strict rule. That is the last sort of thing I should have expected
from Kate."
"Oh, don't be angry with her now!" said Molly, tears filling her brown
eyes.
"No, poor dear child!" said Miss Leicester. "The whole thing is very
miserable, and to complicate matters, Nurse Wilkins has been taken ill
herself, and has been obliged to leave suddenly. We hope to get another
nurse by this evening, for the doctor has telegraphed to London, but in
the meantime----"
"Oh, let me go to her!" cried Molly.
"Perhaps you may help a little presently, Molly," said Miss Leicester,
looking at her earnestly. "I have noticed that you have a very gentle
way, dear; but at present Cecil is with her."
"Cecil!" exclaimed both girls.
"Yes; it seems that Cecil knows a good deal about illness; she nursed
her mother through a very long illness. She came to the door to
inquire for Kate just when poor Nurse Wilkins had to leave. She came
in as if there were nothing unusual the matter, and took her place
by Kate's side. Kate was moving her hands restlessly and plucking at
the bed-clothes, which is such a bad sign in illness, and Cecil took
both her hands and held them, and then she grew quiet. Perhaps you may
help after a little, Molly; but I should be sorry to disturb such an
excellent nurse as Cecil at present."
Miss Leicester left the room, and Molly, sinking down on the nearest
chair, burst into tears.
"If Kate dies I shall never feel happy again," she said, with a sob.
"But she won't die," said Hester; "she's a great deal too strong and
young. Why,"--Hester wore a troubled look,--"she's only just seventeen.
Girls of seventeen don't die merely from a fall. She's bad, but she'll
soon be better. Don't cry, Molly!"
"Girls often die," cried Molly. "Oh, Hester! can nothing be done to
save her? I wonder if Miss Forester knows how bad she really is."
Hester went up to one of the windows and began to drum her fingers on
the glass.
"It's all wretched," continued Molly. "I can't tell you what I feel,
Hetty. If only Miss Leicester would let me help in any way, I should
not feel so dreadful. I feel, somehow or other, as if _I_ were
responsible for Kate's illness."
"Oh, now you are getting horridly morbid!" said Hester. "What had you
to do with it?"
"Nothing in one way, of course; but if all this had not happened, Kate
would have gone out with me, and not with the other girls, and I would
not have let her climb up that awful rock just to get those miserable
ferns. Oh, dear! I thought I should be so happy at St. Dorothy's, and
now this seems to cast a blank over everything."
"The worst of it is," said Hester, after a pause, "that even if Kate
does get well--I don't doubt that for a minute--even if she does get
well, she won't be allowed to study for a good while, and then she'll
lose her scholarship. I know she has not a great deal of money. She was
quite certain of getting the scholarship, and after that, of course,
she could, by and by, take a good position as a teacher. After a brain
attack of this sort, she won't be allowed to study for some time. Of
course one ought not to think of that just now, but in Kate's position,
where there is not much money, it is, of course, important."
"Yes," said Molly. "I wish I were with her," she added. "One can
scarcely think of examinations at the present moment, can one, Hester?
Oh dear; oh, dear! I think I'll just creep upstairs and see if I can
help Cecil in any way."
Hester said nothing, and Molly left the room.
She went upstairs, turned down a long passage, and at last paused
before a door, over which a heavy curtain had been hung. She turned the
handle very softly, and entered the room. All the blinds were down; the
light was shaded. At first, Molly could hardly see; then she noticed
Cecil's familiar figure seated by the head of the bed. The figure on
the bed was lying straight and still; there was no movement or sound of
any sort. Kate looked at that moment as if she were dead.
Molly crept up close to the bed; she did not speak at all, nor did
Cecil. Presently Cecil stretched out her hand and touched Molly softly
on the arm. Molly knelt down close to Cecil. Cecil began to stroke her
hair, and, in some inexplicable way, the younger girl felt soothed and
comforted by the gentle, firm touch. Kate lay without movement; she
scarcely seemed to breathe.
"Is she dead?" asked Molly, in a tremulous whisper.
"No," answered Cecil; "no--not yet."
"Cecil, she can't recover! no one could look as dreadful as that--as
still--as--as like marble and recover."
"Don't talk," answered Cecil; "she may hear us."
At that moment the room door was opened, and Dr. Groves, the clever
doctor who had undertaken the case, came in; he was accompanied not
only by Miss Leicester, but Miss Forester. Miss Forester gave a glance
of surprise at Molly and Cecil, and then turned to Miss Leicester.
"I thought you had got a trained nurse," she said.
"Yes," replied Miss Leicester, "but Nurse Wilkins was suddenly taken
ill. Cecil offered to help me until I could get someone from town. I
did not know that you were here, Molly Lavender."
Molly looked up with eyes of entreaty.
"Let me stay," she said. "I promise to be perfectly quiet, and to do
exactly what I am told."
"Yes, let her stay," said the doctor. "There is scarcely any nursing
required at present; the patient only requires watching. You may make
a little noise, if you like, girls. I don't like this long-continued
insensibility. I shall be glad of anything to arouse my patient."
As he spoke he went to one of the windows and drew up the blind. It
was evening, and the western sun streamed into the room. Some of its
rays fell across the foot of the bed where Kate lay. Her long, black
eyelashes lay heavy on her cheeks, her rich profusion of brown hair was
flung back over the pillows, her face had a deathly pale, almost waxen,
hue; she breathed so faintly that she scarcely seemed to breathe at
all. The doctor bent over her and, lifting the eyelids, looked steadily
into the eyes. "Bring me a candle," he said suddenly.
Molly started up to fetch one. She returned in a moment or two with a
lighted candle in a candlestick, and gave it to Dr. Groves. He passed
the light backward and forward before Kate's eyes, she never seemed
to flinch. He dropped the lids again, and looked anxiously at Miss
Forester.
"I should like to speak to you alone," he said.
Miss Forester took him immediately into the next room. The two girls
sat where they were left, with beating hearts. What was the verdict?
The doctor's face was very grave.
Miss Leicester, after a moment's hesitation, followed Miss Forester
and the doctor into the next room. The girls, who were left behind,
heard earnest conversation, an ejaculation or two from Miss Leicester;
then footsteps going downstairs; then a great silence--the motionless,
indifferent figure on the bed--the awful calm which might mean the end
of all things.
Miss Leicester came back presently into the room, her eyes were red as
if she had been crying. She stood close to Kate, and looked down at
her; her eyes filled up with tears. Molly and Cecil felt their hearts
in their mouths.
"What is it?" said Molly at last; "don't--oh, don't keep us in suspense
any longer!"
"Come into the next room, Molly, and I will tell you," said Miss
Leicester. "Cecil, dear, you shall hear afterward; but if you will stay
now quite quiet with dear Kate, you will be helping us best."
Cecil nodded, her eyes were bright, she gave Molly's hand a little
squeeze, and Molly rose and followed her mistress into the other room.
The moment she got there, she began to speak with excitement.
"I know what you are going to tell me, and I can't bear it," she said.
"Don't tell me, don't! Tell the others, but not me. I--I _can't_ bear
it! There is the cathedral near--let me go there. I--I know what you
are going to say, but I can bear it best if I am just alone in the
cathedral."
"You are excited, Molly, and carried out of yourself," said Miss
Leicester. "That is not the best way to meet trouble."
"No, no!" answered poor Molly, "I know that. I am ashamed of myself.
If things were different, I should not mind quite so much, but as they
are--as they are--if Kate dies, I shall never be happy again."
"You and Kate have not been as perfect friends as you used to be," said
Miss Leicester suddenly.
"No," answered Molly, "that is true, that is the bitter part of it all.
Kate was angry with me; believing what she did, she had reason to be. I
can't tell you, because it is a secret."
"Had it anything to do with Kate's speech on her birthday?"
"Yes; but oh, please don't ask me any more! for I've promised not to
tell. If Kate were well now, all would be explained, and all would be
happy. I had just got at the truth on Saturday I had gone out to tell
Kate, but Kate was suffering then from the effects of her fall, and she
could not listen. She believes me to be guilty now of what I never did.
Oh, I shall never be happy again if she dies!"
[Illustration: MOLLY CREPT UP TO THE BED, AND KNELT DOWN CLOSE TO
CECIL.]
Miss Leicester laid her firm hand kindly on the young girl's shoulder.
"It is a great trial for you, Molly, dear," she answered. "No one can
help you in a time of trouble like this but God himself. Sometimes
God sends trouble of this kind, just to force us to go direct to him.
Perhaps that is the reason why you are going through such a dark cloud,
dear Molly."
"But oh, tell me about Kate!" interrupted Molly. "How selfish I am to
think only of myself! What does the doctor say of Kate?"
Miss Leicester paused for a minute.
"I cannot conceal the truth from you," she said then. "At the present
moment Kate's life is in the greatest danger. Dr. Groves is anxious to
consult Sir John Williamson, a great London specialist, about her case.
He is going to telegraph to him to come down to Redgarth, and we hope
he may arrive to-night. If Sir John Williamson approves, Dr. Groves
is inclined to try a certain operation, which may remove the pressure
which is now injuring poor Kate's brain. If the operation succeeds, she
will get quickly better; if not----"
"Oh, is there any fear?" said Molly.
"There is," replied Miss Leicester; "it is a very serious operation,
but Dr. Groves recommends it, because he thinks it is the only chance
of restoring Kate to health."
"And when will it be performed?" asked Molly.
"In all probability Sir John Williamson will perform it to-night. We
have just heard that an excellent nurse will be here between nine and
ten o'clock. The doctor can arrive by the midnight train, and all may
be satisfactorily over before to-morrow morning. That is all I know
myself, dear Molly. Cecil and I will stay with Kate until the nurse
arrives. Perhaps you will tell the others, dear. I trust to you to be
brave and calm, and to do what is right in every way. We must have
courage. Things look very dark for Kate at present, but all hope is not
yet withdrawn."
"Thank you for telling me," said Molly. "Yes, I will try to be brave."
She went slowly out of the room.
In the passage she paused, and gave a longing glance at the door over
which the heavy curtain was hung.
"Oh, Kate, Kate, you _must_ live!" she said aloud. "I will pray ever so
hard for you. You must not die, dear, darling Kate; I have asked God to
spare you, oh, I think he will, I think he will!"
Molly went hastily to her room, and put on her hat. She had a craving,
which she could scarcely account for, to be alone in the cathedral.
The doors were always open, anyone could go in at any moment. Inside
there was perfect calm, a great peace, a great stillness. Molly craved
for this stillness now inexpressibly. She managed to slip out of
the house without anyone noticing her, and running down the broad
carriage-drive, soon reached the beautiful old porch. She went in,
heard the swinging doors close softly behind her, and going as far as
some of the free seats, entered one and threw herself on her knees.
Up to the present Molly Lavender had had what might be considered, in
every sense of the word, a happy life. Her mother had died before she
was old enough to understand her loss. Her grandmother had treated
her with uniform affection and kindness. Judge Lavender, although a
peculiar, and in some ways a selfish, man, had been good to his only
child. Molly had been happy at school. Hers was an affectionate as well
as an enthusiastic nature. She had been liked by all her schoolfellows.
In particular she had been loved by Cecil Ross. Molly had given quite a
passion of girlish affection to this friend of her childhood. Cecil and
Molly had been chums for many years now.
When Molly came to St. Dorothy's, she was just in the humor to take up
a fresh friendship. She had never met anyone like Kate before; Kate had
fascinated her. Still, in her heart of hearts she loved Cecil best, but
there was something about Kate's gay ways, her brightness, her wit,
her fun, which appealed to a fresh side of Molly. Molly had been very
proud of Kate's confidence. She had held her little head high when
Kate confided in her and made much of her. Then came the dreadful
time of reaction--the time when Kate snubbed Molly unmercifully. Molly
Lavender was too well born, too rich, too endowed with that sort of
things which girls esteem, to have had much experience hitherto of
snubbing. Schoolgirls quickly find out whether their companions are
encased in the triple armor which good birth joined to money confers.
Molly was fifteen, but she had never been really snubbed before. She
was astonished and puzzled. The fact that a girl who was of no birth
in particular had done this, did not affect her. Molly was too true a
lady, in the best sense of the term, not to recognize a real lady when
she met her.
She loved Kate deeply, and her conduct hurt her; it hurt her to the
point of intense pain. Kate's speech on her birthday had caused Molly's
ears to tingle and her heart to swell. She had admired the proud girl,
as she stood before her schoolfellows and spoke of the old poetry, the
old charm, the old idyllic life, which had passed away forever. Molly
had longed to stand by the side of this girl and show every other girl
in the school how noble and splendid she was, but the girl herself had
repulsed her. The girl, with her own hands, had cast Molly aside. Then
had come the explanation; the mystery was cleared. Molly was innocent
of the crime imputed to her. She had been given the means to amply
exonerate herself; then she had met Kate, and Kate was too ill to
listen to her; and now, now Kate O'Connor, beautiful, good, talented,
was about to die.
Molly found herself face to face with her first trouble. Many girls
of her age had known worse, but to Molly it was full of intense
bitterness; a pain which almost reached agony's point. She was hopeless
and frightened. It was awful to meet death like this. Death, the
invincible, the inexorable! What right had death to come and claim one
so young, so full of life, so eminently fitted to do good in the world?
Above all, what right had death to come and snatch away Molly's friend?
"She mustn't die," sobbed the girl. "Oh, please, God, don't let Kate
die, make her better! let the operation succeed. Give the doctors great
wisdom, give them skill, help them to save her life. Oh, God, I am a
miserable, weak girl, but I do beg very hard for this--this _great_
boon! oh, do spare Kate's life! Oh, God, do listen to me! if you will
spare her life, I'll try very hard to please you; I'll try to be _so_
good; I will give up my life to you. Oh, God, hear me! let it be a
bargain between us; spare Kate, and then I'll give up my life to you."
Molly's prayer scarcely comforted her. Still it excited her a good
deal; she felt hopeful; she wondered as she left the church if the
great God up in heaven, the Maker of all things in heaven above and
earth beneath, had heard her little, childish prayer; if he was
inclined to consider her poor little bargain. She wondered, she hoped;
then she went slowly back to St. Dorothy's.
Miss Leicester was not present at supper. Molly found herself forced
to take the head of Kate's table. As she had heard the latest news of
Kate, she was immediately made the heroine of the hour. All the other
girls flocked round her, asking eager questions in awe-struck voices.
"Is she really in danger, Molly?" asked Hester.
"Yes," said Molly, "yes; but I can't talk of it now."
"Oh, we must know everything!" said Amy. "It is perfectly awful. Why,
of course, we all loved Kate better than anyone else in the house! It
did not matter a bit about her running about barefooted long ago, nor
her grandfather being a sort of peasant king. Kate was just Kate, and
we all loved her; oh, she mustn't die!"
"Do sit down, Amy, and eat your supper," said poor Molly. "What is the
good of our saying that sort of thing? If God wishes it, she will die;
it all rests with God."
"Yes, that is true enough," said Hester. "After all, none of us can do
anything; let us get over this horrid meal, and go into the drawing
room. For my part, I have no heart for study to-night. I don't know if
anyone else has."
"Not I," answered Molly; "my notes and everything must go to the
wall. I simply can't think of such stupid things as psychology and
physiology, and all those awful inductions and deductions, while my
mind is in a whirl."
"Nor I, nor I!" said several other girls.
Supper proceeded in a mournful fashion, and the girls trooped into the
drawing room. The pretty room looked cheerful enough, the electric
light burned brightly; the piano stood invitingly open. Hester
shuddered as she passed it.
"To think that Kate was rattling out waltzes on that piano not a week
ago!" she said. "Molly, come here; you have not half told us what you
know. Now, you must out with it all, whether it pains you or not. What
did the doctor say?"
Molly made a struggle to swallow a great lump in her throat.
"He said that Kate's life was in danger," she answered. "A doctor is
coming from London to-night."
"Oh, mercy! then it must be serious," said Alice Rae, a rosy-faced girl
of nearly twenty. "When my father died, a doctor came from London. We
all gave up hope when he was sent for."
"Are you sure of your facts, Molly?" asked Hester. "A London doctor
costs a great deal, and everyone knows that Kate is not well off."
"Well, a doctor has been sent for," said Molly, "for Miss Leicester
told me so. His name is Sir John Williamson; he is a great specialist
on brain affections. Kate must have hurt her brain very badly when
she fell. Miss Leicester says there is something pressing on the brain
which causes Kate to be quite insensible. Dr. Groves wants to perform
an operation."
"Oh, horrors!" cried Mary Wilson, a room fellow of Kate's. "Are you
certain--positively certain, Molly Lavender?
"Yes," answered Molly, who felt important in spite of all her misery,
while she was imparting these ghastly details to her hearers. "Sir John
Williamson will be here to-night, and if he agrees with Dr. Groves,
they will perform the operation."
"To-night!" cried Hester.
"Yes," said Molly, nodding. "Miss Leicester says it will be all over
in the morning, and we shall know--we shall _know_ whether----" Her
lips quivered, her eyes sought the ground; she found that she could not
proceed with her speech.
"Think of it, girls!" said Hester "Think of its happening while we're
all asleep!"
"No, I shan't sleep," said Molly.
"Nor I," echoed Amy.
"I am sure, if I do sleep, I shall have the most terrific nightmares,"
cried another girl. "Oh, dear Kate, what fun she was! Do you remember
the name she gave us all in the dormitory--the Dwellers in Cubicles?
Why, she made quite a storm in the house with her proposal that
selfishness should be evicted. Oh, dear; oh, dear! but, somehow or
other, I don't feel that she is going to die."
"Nor I," said Hester, trying to speak cheerfully. "Dr. Groves can't
have at all given up the case, or he wouldn't propose an operation. You
may be quite certain the London doctor will soon set her right; let us
try and be cheerful, let us hope for the best."
"We might all of us remember Kate to-night when we are praying," said
Amy, turning scarlet as she spoke.
"Oh, yes, yes, of course!" said the others, in the shy way in which
schoolgirls allude to their deepest feelings.
"I wonder if Miss Leicester will come down to prayers," said Amy, after
a pause.
"I don't know; perhaps there won't be any," said Hester. "How I wish,"
she added, with a sudden, vindictive smile, "that _horrid_ Matilda were
here!"
"Little wretch!" cried Amy. "Why should we be inflicted with her at
this moment? Surely we have trouble enough."
"But for her it would never have happened," said Hester.
"Now, what in the world do you mean, Hetty?" cried half a dozen voices.
Hester looked mysterious. Molly's face became very white.
"I am bound in honor not to tell, girls," said Hester. "You must take
the hint for what it is worth, and draw your own conclusions. You have
observed a cloud between Kate and Molly."
"Yes, yes, of course we have!" cried half a dozen voices.
"Well, Matilda was at the bottom of it; I can't tell you particulars.
But for Matilda, Kate mightn't have gone on that botany expedition. But
for Matilda, Molly, at least, would have accompanied her. There might
not have been an accident; Kate might be well and happy, and working
hard for her scholarship at the present moment."
"You make me burn with curiosity, Hester," cried Amy.
"I dare say, well, I can tell no more."
"You've told too much," said Molly.
"Have I? Well, I'll be mum. Only listen to me, girls. Matilda is coming
to St. Dorothy's."
"Yes; worse luck!" groaned one or two.
"When she comes, let's boycott her," said Amy suddenly.
"What fun!" cried the others, clapping their hands. Molly covered her
face with hers.
She thought of her bargain in the cathedral; of her prayer to God,
of her vow to give herself up to him absolutely, if only he would
spare Kate. Did this kind of talk please him? Were uncharitableness,
vindictiveness, revenge, the sort of things he delighted in?
"Oh," she said, rising to her feet, and speaking with an effort, "it
frightens me to hear you talking like that, girls. If Matilda is
bad, we have no right to try and make her worse. Oh, I did hate her
myself, but I mustn't! I must get over it. Think of Kate--think of that
beautiful picture she drew for us."
"Yes, poor darling," said Amy, with a sob. "I shall never forget how
she looked when she talked of her grandfather, the peasant king, and
the little cottage, and the flowers, and the sweet life she used to
lead."
"Well, do let us forget about Matilda," said Molly. "If we can't think
kindly of her,--and I find it very hard to think kindly,--let us try
not to think of her at all; at least not to-night."
Hester stared very hard at Molly. When, by and by, the other girls had
dispersed, Hester came up to Molly, and said in a low voice: "I don't
understand you; I thought you hated Matilda."
Molly looked at her with frightened eyes.
"Oh, I do!" she said; "but I want to _un_hate her."
"Molly, you've no right to coin words."
"It expresses what I mean," said Molly.
"But you have not told me your true thought," said Hester; "what is it?"
"I am afraid of doing anything the least bit wrong to-night," said
Molly again. "I think it may make a difference about Kate."
"I don't understand you," said Hester.
But Molly did not explain.
Miss Leicester came down at ten o'clock for prayers. The girls all
stood up while she read the evening hymn; as a rule they sang it, but
there could be no singing at St. Dorothy's to-night. At the end of her
short prayer, she said a word or two about Kate.
"Spare her, if possible, O Father," said the principal, in her solemn
voice; "but, oh, in any case help us to say, Thy will be done."
"I can't say it; I can't!" whispered poor Molly, to her own struggling
heart. "Oh, God! please remember what I promised to you in the
cathedral."
Then she went upstairs with the others.