A GREAT FEAR.
Nothing could exceed the fuss which was made over Maggie and her adventure.
Mrs. Grenville turned quite pale when she heard of it--even Ralph, who was
tranquilly eating his breakfast, and who, as a rule, did not disturb
himself about anything, threw down his spoon, ceased to devour his
porridge, and gazed at Maggie in some astonishment mingled with a tiny
degree of envy and even a little shadow of respect. Mrs. Grenville took the
little girl in her arms, and while she kissed and petted her, she also
thought it necessary to chide her very gently. It was at this juncture that
Ralph did an astonishing thing; he upset his mug of milk, he tossed his
spoon with a great clatter on the floor, and dashing in the most headlong
style round the table, caught Maggie's two hands and said impulsively:
"She oughtn't to be scolded, really, mother. She didn't know anything about
its being wrong, and I call it a downright plucky thing of her to do. She
couldn't have done more even if she had been a boy--no, not even if she had
been a boy," continued Ralph, nodding his head with intense earnestness. "I
can say nothing better than that, can I, mother?"
"According to your code you certainly cannot, Ralph," answered his mother.
"Now go back to your seat, my boy, and pick up the spoon you have thrown on
the floor. See what a mess you have made on the breakfast-table. Maggie,
dear, you did not mean to do wrong, still you did wrong. But we will say
nothing more on that subject for the present. Now, my darling, you shall
have some breakfast, and then I have a surprise for you."
Maggie could not help owning to her own little heart that Ralph's words had
cheered her considerably; she thought a great deal more of Ralph's opinion
than of any one else's, and it was an immense consolation to be compared
to a boy, and to a plucky one. She accordingly ate her breakfast with
considerable appetite, and was ready to receive the surprise which her aunt
said awaited her at its close.
This was no less joyful a piece of news than the fact that Lady Ascot's
sister was much better, and that Sir John intended to come up to London for
a few days.
"After all, Maggie," said her aunt, "if you had shown a little patience,
you could have asked your father for the money, instead of trying to sell
your best hat. Now, dear, you can go up to the schoolroom with Ralph, and I
hope that no bad consequences will arise from this morning's adventure."
"I think, mother," here interrupted Ralph, "it would be a good plan for
Maggie and me to go round and see how Jo is. Susy didn't act right, and I
know Jo will be very unhappy, and Jo oughtn't to be blamed; ought she,
mother?"
"Certainly not, Ralph; Jo has done nothing wrong. Well, if Waters can spare
the time, I don't mind you two little people going to see Jo, but
remember, you must not stay long; for now I really must buy Maggie a new
hat for the garden party."
"Oh, auntie, but I brought my own hat back," exclaimed the little princess.
"Yes, my love, but it is much injured, and there are other reasons why I
should not care to see you wear it again. Now run away, children, and get
your visit over, for we have plenty to do this afternoon."
When Maggie, with her heart beating high, and one of her hands held tightly
in Ralph's, entered Mrs. Aylmer's room, she was startled to find herself in
a scene of much confusion. Mrs. Aylmer prided herself on keeping a very
neat and orderly home, but there was certainly nothing orderly about that
home to-day. Mrs. Aylmer herself was seated on a low, broken chair, her
hands thrown down at her sides, her cap on crooked, and her face bearing
signs of violent weeping. The two little boys stood one at each side of
their mother: Ben had his finger in his mouth, and Bob's red hair seemed
almost to stand on end. They kept gazing with solemn eyes at their mother,
for tears on her face were a rare occurrence. Susy was nowhere to be seen;
and most startling fact of all, Jo's little sofa was empty.
It was Jo's absence from the room which Ralph first remarked. He rushed up
to Mrs. Aylmer and clutched one of her hands.
"What is the matter? Where's Jo? Where's our darling little Jo?" he
exclaimed.
"Oh, Master Ralph Grenville," exclaimed the poor woman, "you had better not
come near me; you had better not, sir, it mightn't be safe. I'm just
distraught with misery and terror. My little Jo, my little treasure, is tuk
away from me; she's tuk bad with the fever, sir, and they've carried her
off to the hospital. She's there now; I 'as just come from seeing her
there."
By this time Waters, panting and puffing hard, had reached the room, and
had heard, with a sinking heart, the last of Mrs. Aylmer's words. She
eagerly questioned the poor woman, who said that Jo had not been well for
days, and yesterday the doctor had pronounced her case one of fever and
had ordered her, for the sake of the other children, to be moved at once to
the nearest fever hospital.
"She was werry willing to go herself," continued the mother; "she wouldn't
harm no one, not in life, nor in death, would my little Jo."
"And Susy knew of this!" exclaimed Waters. "Oh, was there ever such a bad
girl? Mrs. Aylmer, you'll forgive me if I hurries these dear children out
of this infected air! I'll come back later in the day, ma'am, and do what I
can for you; and if Susy comes home, you might do well to keep her in, for
I can't help saying she is no credit to you. It sounds hard at such a
moment, but I must out with my mind."
"Susy!" here exclaimed Mrs. Aylmer, "I ain't seen nothing of Susy to-day."
"No, ma'am, very like; but it's my duty to tell you she has been after no
good. Now come away, darlings. I'll look in again presently, Mrs. Aylmer."
Maggie could never make out why her aunt turned so pale and looked so
anxiously at her when the news of Jo's dangerous illness was told to her.
The pity which should have been expended on the sick and suffering little
girl seemed, in some inexplicable way, to be showered upon her. A doctor
even was sent for, who asked Maggie a lot of questions, and was
particularly anxious to know if she held Susy's hand when she walked with
her, and how long she and Ralph had been in the infected room. In
conclusion, he said some words which seemed to Maggie to have no sense at
all.
"There is nothing whatever for us to do, Mrs. Grenville. If the children
have imbibed the poison it is too late to stop matters. We must only hope
for the best, and watch them. Nothing, of course, can be certainly known
for several days."
Maggie could not understand the doctor, and both she and Ralph thought Mrs.
Grenville rather wanting in feeling not to let them go and inquire for Jo
at the hospital. Under these circumstances the garden-party was a rather
cheerless affair, and Maggie was glad to return home and to lay a very
tired little head on her pillow.
She was awakened from her first sleep by her father bending over her and
kissing her passionately. Never had she seen Sir John's face so red, and
his eyes quite looked--only of course that was impossible--as if he had
been crying.
"Oh, father, I am glad to see you," exclaimed Maggie, "only I wish you had
come last night, for then I wouldn't have tried to sell my hat, and you'd
have given me the money for the tambourine. I wish you had come last night,
father, dear."
"So do I, Mag-Mag," answered poor Sir John. "God knows it might have saved
me from a broken heart."
Maggie could not understand either her father or aunt.
She began, perhaps, to have a certain glimmering as to the meaning of it
all when, a few days later, she felt very hot, and languid, and heavy, when
her throat ached, and her head ached, and although it was a warm summer's
day, she was glad to lie with a shawl over her on the sofa. Then certain
words of the doctor's, as he bent over her, penetrated her dull ears, and
crept somehow down into her heart.
"There is no doubt whatever that she has taken the fever from Susy Aylmer.
Well, all we have to do now is to pull her through as quickly as possible,
and of course, Mrs. Grenville, as Ralph is still quite well, and as he was
not exposed to anything like the same amount of infection as Maggie, you
will send him away."
Mrs. Grenville responded in rather a choking voice, and she and the doctor
left the room together.
A few moments later Mrs. Grenville came back and bent over the sick child.
"Is that you, Auntie Violet?" asked Maggie.
"Yes, my darling," responded her aunt.
"What's fever, auntie?"
"An illness, dear."
"And am I going to be very, very ill?"
"I hope not very ill, Maggie. We are going to nurse you so well that we
trust that will not be the case; but I am afraid my poor little girl will
not feel comfortable for some time."
"And did I take the fever that's to make me so sick from Susy--only Susy
wasn't sick, auntie?"
"No, dearest; but she carried the infection on her clothes, and there is no
doubt you took it from her."
"Then I'm 'fraid," continued Maggie, "you're very angry with her still."
"I cannot say that I'm pleased with her, darling."
"Oh, but, auntie, I want you to forgive her, and I want father to forgive
her, 'cause she didn't know nothing about 'fection or fevers--and--and--do
forgive her, Auntie Violet."
Here poor sick little Maggie began to cry and Mrs. Grenville was glad to
comfort her with any assurances, even of promises of forgiveness for the
naughty Susy.
After this there came very dark and anxious days for the people who loved
the little princess. Ralph was sent back to Tower Hill, where he wandered
about and was miserable, and thought a great deal about Maggie, and found
out that after all he was very fond of her. He did not take the fever
himself, but he was full of anxieties about Jo and Maggie; for both the
little girls, one in the fever hospital and the other in his mother's
luxurious home, were having a hard fight for their little lives.
Lady Ascot and Sir John were always, day and night, one or another of them,
to be found by Maggie's sick-bed, and of course there were professional
nurses, and more than one doctor; but with all this care the sick child in
the home seemed to have as hard a time of it as the other sick child who
was away from those she loved and who was handed over to the tender mercies
of strangers. It was very curious how, through all her ravings and through
all the delirium of her fever, Maggie talked about Jo. She had only seen Jo
once in her life, but although she mentioned her mother and her father, and
her old nurse and Ralph, there was no one at all about whom she spoke so
frequently, or with so keen an interest, as the lame child of the poor
laundress. From the moment she heard that Susy was to be forgiven, that
very mischievous little person seemed to have passed from her thoughts; but
with Jo it was different, until at last Waters began to think that there
was some mysterious link between the two sick children.
This idea was confirmed, when one evening little Maggie awoke, cool and
quiet, but with a weakness over her which was beyond any weakness she could
ever have dreamed of undergoing. Her feeble voice could scarcely be heard,
but her thoughts still ran on Jo.
"Mother," she whispered, very, very low indeed in Lady Ascot's ear, "I
thought Jo had got her day-dream."
"Try not to talk, my precious one," whispered the mother back in reply.
"But why not?" asked Maggie. "Jo often had day-dreams, Susy told me, and so
did Ralph. She wanted to be in a cool place, where beautiful things are, in
the country, or in--in heaven. And I want to be with Jo in the country--or
in--heaven."
Maggie looked very sweet as she spoke, and when the last words passed her
pale little lips, she closed her eyes with their pretty curly lashes. The
father and mother both felt, as they looked at her, that a very, very
little more would take their darling away.
"I wonder how the sick child in the hospital is," said Sir John Ascot to
his wife. "I must own I have had no time to think about her, and she and
hers have done mischief enough to us; but the little one's heart seems set
on her--has been all through. It might be a good thing for our little
Maggie if I could bring her word that the other child is better."
"It would be the best thing in all the world for Maggie," answered Lady
Ascot.
"Then I will go round to the fever hospital now, and make inquiries," said
Sir John.
On his way downstairs he met Mrs. Grenville, and told her what he was
doing. She said:
"Wait one moment, John, and I will put on my bonnet and go with you."
It was a lovely evening toward the end of July. The day had been intensely
hot, but now a soft breeze began to stir the heated atmosphere, a breeze
with a little touch of health and healing about it.
"This night will be cooler than the last," said Mrs. Grenville, "and that
will be another chance in our little one's favor."
At this moment the lady's dress was plucked rather sharply from behind, and
looking round Mrs. Grenville saw, for the first time since all their
trouble, the excited and rough little figure of Susy Aylmer. Her first
impulse was to shake herself free from the touch of so naughty a child, but
then she remembered her promise to Maggie, and looked again at the little
intruder.
A great change had come over poor Susy; the confidence and assurance had
all left her round face. It was round still, and was to a certain extent
red still, but the eyes were so swollen with crying, and the poor face
itself so disfigured by tear-channels, that only one who had seen her
several times would have recognized her.
"Oh, ma'am," she exclaimed, "I has been waiting here for hours and hours,
and nobody will speak to me nor tell me nothing. Mrs. Cook won't speak,
nor the housemaid, nor Mrs. Waters, nor nobody, and I feel as if my heart
would burst, ma'am. Oh, Mrs. Grenville, how is Miss Maggie, and is she
going away same as our little Jo is going away?"
"Who is that child, Violet?" inquired Sir John. "Does she, too, know some
one of the name of Jo, and what is she keeping you for? Do let us hurry
on."
"She is little Jo Aylmer's sister," whispered back Mrs. Grenville. "Susy,
it is very hard to forgive you, for through your deceit we have all got
into this terrible trouble; but I promised Maggie I would try, and I can
not go back from my word to the dear little one. Maggie is a shade, just a
shade better to-night, Susy, but she is still very, very ill. Pray for her,
child, pray for that most precious little life. And now, what about Jo? It
is not really true what you said about Jo, Susy?"
"Yes, but it is, ma'am; they has just sent round a message to mother, and
they say that our little Jo won't live through the night. It's quite true
as she's going away to God, ma'am."