_THE BORDERS OF THE FAR-OFF LAND._
MR. CLIFFORD again walked up and down his empty drawing-room where only
the evening before he had been weaving such a bright future for himself
in the companionship of his child; and now the doctors had just left him
with the terrible decision ringing in his ears--that she was dying! It
might be weeks, and even months; but the fragile frame could not long
resist the disease that had been stealthily doing its deadly work for
many weeks.
Blanche, the pride of his heart, the heir to his fortune, was passing
away from him! Covering his face with his hands, the poor father seated
himself on the couch where only a few hours before the bright face had
been gazing into his, and the merry laugh re-echoing through the now
silent, deserted room.
Blanche lay pale and feeble in her darkened chamber, while servants
flitted about, whispering and ministering, and Miss Prosser sat
tearfully by the bedside.
At length the closed drawing-room door opened, and the poor,
grief-stricken father stood beside his child. They might leave him--he
would stay and watch to-night, he said huskily, as he seated himself
beside the bed. Blanche had hardly spoken since she had been taken ill;
but the sound of her father's voice seemed to rouse her, and, opening
her eyes, she welcomed him with her old sunny smile.
"O papa, dear, is that you? It seems such an age since I saw you. I must
have been sleeping all day long. I was so tired. I think we did go too
far, to-day; but it was so nice, and I did not feel at all tired at the
time. But I shall be all right to-morrow, I'm sure."
"I hope so, my darling!" said her father, as he kissed the uplifted
face, and stroked the curls sadly.
"This is good-night, I suppose, papa? I have been sleeping so much that
I have actually no idea what o'clock it is," said Blanche, smiling.
Mr. Clifford told her it was quite bed-time now; and when she turned to
sleep again, he took his seat quietly beside the chintz-curtained little
bed, promising to relinquish it towards morning to Miss Prosser, who,
tearful and anxious, begged to have a share of the watching.
When all was silent in the room except the flickering fire, and Mr.
Clifford sat sad and anxious at his unwonted duty, Blanche seemed to get
wakeful again, and presently low tones reached his ear, meant only for
the unseen Friend whom his little girl had in these last days been
learning to know and love.
Feebly and tremulously she whispered, as she sat up in bed, reverently
covering her face with her hands--"O Lord Jesus Christ, I am so tired
to-night, I can't remember all I want to say. But, long ago, upon earth
you used to know what people needed before they ever asked, and I am
sure you do still. Do teach the poor sick fairy all about Thyself. I
didn't seem to be able to make her understand about you; and she needs a
Friend so very much. Bless my own dear papa. Make him so happy here in
London that he will never think of going away again. I am sure you must
love him, and he must love Thee; but, O Lord Jesus Christ, I would like
him to speak about Thee, sometimes, as Kirsty used to do.
"Help me to be good, to do everything that pleases Thee, so that Thou
may never turn away sorrowfully from me, as you used to do long ago
when people would not follow Thee;" and as she prayed, Blanche fell
asleep again, and all was silent.
Mr. Clifford had been listening to his child's words with bowed head and
shamed heart. He felt that he was one of those from whom the Saviour
must have turned away sorrowfully many a time. Through many lands and in
many ways he had sought rest and solace, forgetting that the heart which
God has made for Himself can only find rest in Him. And his little
daughter seemed to have sought and found this satisfying portion which
he had been seeking vainly. When her earthly father and mother had
forsaken her, then the Lord had taken her up; and now He was, perhaps,
going to take her to Himself, though she did not know it.
Kneeling beside her bed, Mr. Clifford prayed that God would pardon the
wasted, sinful past, and would give him back his child, so that,
together, they might tread the heavenward path!
When Miss Prosser appeared to claim her share of the vigil, Blanche was
sleeping so soundly that any watching seemed almost unnecessary. And in
the morning she looked so bright, though pale and fragile, that the
anxious faces round her caught the infectious brightness, and the
gloomy forebodings of the previous day seemed already to belong to the
past.
As the days went by, Blanche appeared really to gain strength; and
although there was still much cause for anxiety regarding her health,
there seemed some reason to hope that the fatal issue might yet be
warded off.
Mr. Clifford spent much of his time in his daughter's sick-room. And
during these December days, as he sat by his daughter's couch, he
listened with mingled feelings to many a childish tale of joy and grief
that had marked the years in which he had borne no part.
And so it happened that these days of illness became days of intense
enjoyment to Blanche. Ellis had returned to her post, and Blanche
confided to her that it was really quite worth while being ill, and
having to take all those nasty medicines, to have her papa all to
herself for so many days.
The poor fairy was now comfortably housed in the Hospital for Sick
Children, and Blanche looked forward to being able to pay her a visit
there, one day before long. The half-finished dress was again taken from
the drawer, where it had been sorrowfully laid by Grant on the day
Blanche was taken ill; and now the little fingers were busy at work
again, though they looked pale and feeble enough, Mr. Clifford thought,
as he watched them, all stained with blue dye, putting the finishing
stitches into the fairy's promised garment.
Blanche pleaded very hard that morning to be allowed to sew; and
notwithstanding Miss Prosser's remonstrances, and her papa's joke about
the ponderous piece of work which she had undertaken, she worked on,
till at last, with a wearied smile, she held out the finished dress for
her papa's inspection.
"Look now, papa--it is finished! I have really put in the last stitch. I
am so very glad I have been able. I felt as if I could do it to-day,
somehow, and that was what made me so anxious to try, though Miss
Prosser was so unwilling I should; but I don't think it has hurt me at
all."
"Why, Blanchie, it is the most wonderful work of art imaginable. I must
really put in my claim for a greatcoat next. The doctor says you may
have a drive to-morrow, if it is fine, and we will go to the Hospital;
and you shall introduce me to the fairy, and present the dress."
"I hope I shall be able to go, papa. But it will be sent whether I am
or not, won't it? I think the fairy will understand why I wanted so much
to send it. I am so glad it is finished," she added, with a wearied
sigh, as she laid the dress on a chair, and went to lie on the sofa,
which she rarely did of her own accord.
Mr. Clifford made no remark, but, as he glanced at her anxiously from
under his newspaper, he could not help noticing, as she lay quietly
there, that the little face looked worn and the outline of the cheek
sharper than hitherto. She lay with her eyes shut for some time, and
presently she said, in a low, firm tone, as she looked up--
"Papa, dear, come to me, I want to speak to you."
Mr. Clifford was not a nervous man, but his hand shook as he laid down
his newspaper and went to his daughter's side, for there was a
foreboding of trouble in his heart.
Her arm was round his neck, but she did not see his face as she said,
softly--
"Do you know, papa, it makes me very sad, as well as glad, to look at
that finished piece of work. Shall I tell you why? It seems to me it is
the very first useful thing I have ever done in my life; and papa, dear,
do you know it will be the last?" and the blue-stained fingers played
nervously with her father's hand as she spoke.