A Thunderbolt
We scarce breathed anything but grief,
We almost held our breath:
We were inwardly unmanned and numbed
With the looking out for death.
FABER.
"Now, girls, what are you doing? I am to take you for a constitutional
in the Park—act nursemaid, in fact—your mother says so! What! Betty
deep with ink and paper! Heaven forbid that you should follow in your
sister's steps!"
"It is only a letter," said Betty, looking up with flushed face and
tearful eyes. "I am writing to Mrs. Fairfax. I heard such dreadful news
from Mrs. St. Clair this morning. And Molly and I have decided not to
tell mother. It is one of her bad days."
"I see it is; but I heard from St. Clair last mail, and they were all
first-rate."
"He is dead," said Betty softly; "haven't you heard?"
"Good heavens! No! You don't mean it?"
Major Stuart sat down heavily on a chair. Colonel St. Clair was an old
friend of his, and they corresponded as frequently as two men do who
have perfect confidence in each other.
"His horse bolted with him on parade, and threw him on a heap of
stones. He only lived four hours. He had concussion of the brain, and
never recovered."
"And his wife?"
"She is coming home at once. She has been very ill, and is still quite
an invalid."
"I wish he hadn't gone out to India," said Major Stuart slowly. "I
always told him it was a mistake—seconding from his battalion. It has
ruined his wife's health, and now killed him."
"But the accident might have happened anywhere," said Molly.
Major Stuart was silent. Then he asked,—
"May I see Mrs. St. Clair's letter, Betty? We were like brothers—he and
I. What steamer does she return in?"
"The 'Arethusa,' I think. She will be here in another week. Do advise
us, Uncle Harry. You know, Mrs. Fairfax is still in the south of
France. She has been there since Miss Grace's death. Mrs. St. Clair
wants to go to their old home. It was let to some friends of theirs,
but they left at the same time we left the vicarage. Some one ought to
go down and make it ready for her. Do you think Molly or I could?"
"That is a question your mother must settle. She ought to know—"
"I am writing to Mrs. Fairfax," said Betty, "to ask her if she is
coming over. But she was ill when we last heard from her. It seems
nothing but trouble."
"Your mother will ask Mrs. St. Clair here, perhaps?"
"I don't think so," Molly said decidedly. "Mother refused to have Aunt
Dora, who wanted to come last week. She seems to get so worried if
people are staying in the house."
"But she lets me come in and out."
"Yes, but you are at your club. That is different."
"Well, I shall be in town for some time longer, so I can easily offer
my services to Mrs. St. Clair on arrival. She can put up at an hotel
for the time being. Now get your hats, and come along. If we have had
bad news, we can bear it in the open air as well as in a stuffy house."
"I'm sure Betty inherits her love of being out of doors from you, Uncle
Harry," said Molly, as she left the room in obedience to her uncle's
wish. "You and she ought to have been born tramps."
Neither Major Stuart nor Betty replied; they were both absorbed in
their thoughts.
Betty had not seen Nesta St. Clair for seven years. She had as a child
worshipped her with a loving adoration, and though as she grew up she
had only seen her at rare intervals, her love had not lessened with
time. Nesta had never forgotten her little friend, and had corresponded
with her regularly from the time she went out to India. She had not
been without her own troubles, for she had lost three of her children
out there, and now had only her youngest boy left, who was about eight
years old.
Mrs. Stuart was told the news the following day; but she negatived the
idea of either of her girls going down to Holly Grange.
So when Nesta arrived in town, about a week later, she went with her
boy to a quiet private hotel, and there it was that Major Stuart took
Betty to see her one foggy afternoon.
Betty had been beside herself with excitement all the morning. When
Molly remonstrated with her, and begged her not to greet Nesta with
such abundant cheerfulness, Betty turned upon her,—
"Be quiet, Molly. How should you know my feelings? I am not going to
pretend I am sorry to see her, when in reality I am wild with joy. Of
course, I am sorry about her husband, but she is the only real woman
friend that I have got, and I love her!"
When Betty found herself face to face with Mrs. St. Clair she was
tongue-tied. Was this gentle fragile-looking woman in her widow weeds,
with her white, worn face and large sad eyes, the same as the bonny
young wife and mother that Betty had seen seven years previously? She
could hardly believe it, but when Nesta spoke, her low mellow voice
awoke a thousand memories in Betty's mind.
"Is this tall, fashionable young lady indeed my little Betty?"
Betty rushed at her impulsively.
"Oh, I hope I shall be your Betty still. I have wanted you so
sometimes, and now this is such a sad home-coming."
Tears were in her eyes as she kissed her friend, but Nesta was
strangely calm and collected. The time of tears for her was past; only
the dull constant ache of loneliness and bereavement remained.
"Dear child, I am so pleased to see you. Now let me introduce my boy to
you. He is your godson, remember."
She drew her boy forward. He was a white-faced, delicate-looking child,
but upright as a dart, and with a vigour and a briskness in his tone
that was a great contrast to his mother's sweet languor.
"How do you do, godmother? I want mother to come out of doors with me
and show me England, but it is full of dirty smoke this morning. Would
you like to see my parrot? Her name is Tittle-tattle. The captain on
the ship gave her that name, and when I grow up I'm going to have a
ship of my own, and a coat with 'very' big pockets, and I'm going to
walk up and down the bridge with my spyglass, and always keep my hands
in my pockets."
"What is your name?" asked Betty, smiling down upon the eager little
face. "Jocelyn, isn't it?"
"Jossy, I'm called. Will you come and see Tittle-tattle?"
"Not just now, dear," said his mother. "I want to talk to her first."
"Here, young shaver, we'll go off together, and give your mother a
little quiet."
Major Stuart took him off, and Betty sat with her friend. Nesta, with
her usual unselfishness, did not touch much upon her own sorrow. She
was full of interest in Betty and her surroundings.
"I did so enjoy your letters about Tiverstoke, Betty; it brought up so
many happy memories! I hope my mother may like to come back to Holly
Grange, and live with me there. I am sure Jossy will brighten her up. I
have found a letter from her waiting for me here. Her doctor will not
let her return to England just yet. Do you think your mother would let
you come and stay with me till she can join me?"
A rush of colour swept into Betty's face. Mrs. St. Clair wondered a
little at the brilliant light in her eyes. She thought that she was
growing into a beautiful woman.
"It would be heavenly!" was Betty's earnest ejaculation.
Nesta smiled.
"You are the same earnest little soul, Betty. What have you been doing
with your life since you left school?"
"Not much," said Betty, shaking her head and a shadow creeping across
her eyes. "I have been wasting a good part of it in discontent and
restlessness."
"Have you passed that stage now?" asked Nesta sympathetically.
"I am trying hard to," said Betty gravely. "I have longed to go out in
the world and work, Mrs. St. Clair. I felt I 'must' a little time ago,
but mother would not let me, and so I'm trying to do my best at home.
Mr. Russell helped me so when we were at Tiverstoke."
"You were very happy there?"
Betty did not answer. She looked dreamily into the blazing fire in
front of her; then she turned her speaking eyes upon her friend, and
there were truth and candour in her glance.
"I was very happy, and very miserable, and now, I think, I am content."
Nesta leant forward and kissed her.
"You have been learning in a great school, dear, if you have learnt
that lesson."
"I haven't learnt it yet—not perfectly," said Betty wistfully. "I get
such sudden overpowering longings, that they almost run away with me.
But I do want to do what is right. Mr. Russell gave me such a beautiful
text to practise. Three things to think of every day, when worries
come,—'Patience, long-suffering, with joyfulness!'"
As Nesta looked into the sweet girlish face by her side, she could
almost see the impress of those three virtues stamped upon it. But she
wondered dimly what trouble had crept into Betty's life at Tiverstoke,
and being a woman she nearly understood.
When Betty left her that morning, she said enthusiastically to her
uncle,—
"Isn't she perfectly charming? Do you think mother would let me go
to Holly Grange? I think I should be doing some good if I went. Do
persuade her, Uncle Harry."
"I think," said Major Stuart gravely, "that you and Molly should stay
with your mother this winter. Do not urge her to send you away from
her."
Betty's face fell. She could not understand her uncle's wish to keep
them both in attendance on their mother; and when he insisted upon
taking them out in turn, and in persuading Mrs. Stuart to let them each
spend an equal time in her sick-room, Betty thought he was very lacking
in discernment.
"Every one can see how much rather mother would have Molly than me. She
looks quite plaintive when the door opens, and it is only I."
Nesta came the next day, and had a long interview with Mrs. Stuart.
Betty was summoned to her mother's room before she went away.
"Come here, Betty. Mrs. St. Clair has been telling me that she would
like to take you to Holly Grange with her. Do you wish to go?"
Betty looked at her mother, then at Nesta. She felt tongue-tied. Her
uncle's words rang in her ears.
"Can you spare me, mother?" she asked.
"Your mother is willing to spare you," said Nesta, a little hastily;
"but I have told her that I would not have asked you, had I known—had I
known she was such an invalid!"
"Am I of any use to you, mother?" Betty asked appealingly. She longed
for some assurance that her mother would miss her.
Mrs. Stuart did not reply for a moment. She shaded her eyes with her
hand; then she said quietly,—
"If you are away, Molly will be tied a great deal to the house. Of
course, she never complains, but—"
"I will not go, mother. I will stay with you."
Her decision made, she left the room; but there was a little bitter
feeling in her heart.
"Mother only thinks of Molly. It is only to ease her that she wants me.
Oh, it is a disappointment!"
She crept to her room, then took herself to task for such feelings.
"And it is quite right I should not go to Holly Grange. It would be
much better not. It would only bring up a lot of things that I ought
not to think about. I should be too near. Oh, but I did want just to
see if he was looking happy! I would not wish to meet him or speak to
him, but if I could have seen him going by without being seen, I think
it would have made me happy for a twelvemonth!"
Nesta did not stay very long in town. The time flew by too swiftly for
Betty. When she went to Paddington Station to see her off, she had much
difficulty in keeping the tears out of her eyes.
"I have only just met you to lose you," she said mournfully. "Do write
to me often. I wish mother would take the vicarage again next spring."
"We are nearer each other now," Nesta said brightly. "We have no ocean
between us, remember. And, Betty dear, I think you will be happy in
London this winter. Be good to your mother. She wants all the love of
her daughters just now."
"Sometimes," said Betty, looking at Mrs. St. Clair strangely, "you
speak as if mother is very ill. I suppose we have got accustomed to her
being an invalid. But you know it is nothing serious. The doctor told
us ages ago she only needed care and nursing."
Nesta did not answer for a minute; then she said,—
"You must give it to her, Betty—care, nursing—and love."
Betty sighed. She looked after the departing train with earnest
longing, then brought down her little foot with a resolute stamp on
the platform, and arrived home with a bright and smiling face. Molly
wondered at her, but wisely said nothing.
A few days after, when Betty came to summon her sister to their mother,
Molly looked up from her manuscript with a flushed and eager face.
"Oh, Betty, I have been weaving his history into my story, and I have
quite changed my plans for him. You know that Uncle Harry said the
other day that Mrs. St. Clair was very well off?"
"What of that?" asked Betty shortly.
She had not much patience with many of Molly's dreams and fancies.
"Why, of course, she will meet Mr. Arundel down there, and she will
be sorry for him and be kind to him, and ask him to her house. She
is so sweet, and sad and lonely, that he will try to comfort her,
and she will try to comfort him. And then General Dormer's bank will
fail, or his dividends, or whatever his money is in, and then Mrs. St.
Clair will buy the Red Manor from him, and they will marry, and live
happy ever after. I am sure they are just suited to each other, and
it will be trouble that will bring them together and bind them in the
unbreakable bond."
Betty turned upon her sister, with hot cheeks and angry eyes.
"I do wish you wouldn't talk such utter nonsense, Molly! Make up what
you like about your imaginary men and women, but not about real people
in real life. Mrs. St. Clair has only just lost her husband, whom she
idolised. She will never think of marrying again, and it is wicked of
you to think she will. I am sick of all your talk about people marrying
each other. Things like that don't happen in real life, and the world
would go on just as well without any love-making or marriages!"
With which very startling and sweeping assertion Betty sent her sister
off to the sick-room, and took her place by the fire.
The winter passed very quietly, and then one day came into Betty's life
that stood out sharply and darkly, as a black cloud against a sunset
sky. Major Stuart's battalion was now stationed in London, so that he
was in and out a good deal. He had come in to visit his sister-in-law
one morning, and now, with a very grave, set face, entered the girls'
sitting-room and called them to him.
"Your mother has asked me to tell you something," he said. "She does
not feel strong enough to tell you herself, and she would rather you
made no allusion to it when you see her next. I suppose you have both
seen that she is not gaining strength?"
Molly looked up with frightened eyes. "It is the winter, Uncle Harry,"
she gasped. "Mother will be better when the spring comes."
"She was much better in the country," said Betty breathlessly; "it was
coming back to London made her worse. But we will take her away in the
spring."
"Some One Else is going to take her away first," Major Stuart said very
quietly, staring hard out of the window as he spoke.
There was dead silence. The girls looked into each other's eyes for
hope that they did not find there. Then Betty stepped forward and
seized her uncle's arm.
"Uncle Harry, don't hint! Tell us straight out what you mean. Mother is
not dangerously ill? She is not—oh, you don't mean that she is going to
die?"
"Your mother is very, very ill, Betty—I wonder you have not seen it—and
the end is very near."
Molly burst into a passion of tears. Betty surprised him by her
calmness.
"Who says so? The doctors? They are often mistaken."
"Not in this case. Your mother has known all the winter that she would
never see another spring."
Then, after a pause, he said,—
"You and Molly will have to exercise all your fortitude and
cheerfulness now. A scene would be most dangerous to your mother. Be
her careful and cheerful little nurses, as you have been. But your
labours will be shared by another. That is why I have spoken to you
to-day. The doctor is sending a trained nurse into the house to-night."
Neither of the girls spoke. Molly sobbed as if her heart would break;
Betty looked into the fire with a white, stunned face.
Their uncle left them. He felt powerless to comfort, and was relieved
that his sad business of opening their eyes was over.
Molly looked up at last.
"Oh, Betty, what shall we do? How cruel it seems to be!"
Betty did not answer. In her heart she was saying,—
"O God! Come close to us now, for no one can help us but Thee!"