AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
'"Love will make the lesson light.
... Teach me how to learn it right,"
Through her tears smiled Daisy.'--ANON.
For Mrs. Vane's troubles came thickly just then. Before night it was
evident that both Biddy and her father were not to escape all bad
results from the chill and wetting; and the Seacove doctor, who was sent
for at once, looked grave, shook his head as he murmured that it was no
doubt most unfortunate. He would say nothing decided beyond giving some
simple directions till he should see how the patients were the next day.
Biddy, after a violent fit of crying, which came on when she found her
father could not come 'to say good-night,' and begging, among her sobs,
to be forgiven, fell asleep, and slept heavily, to wake again in an hour
or two, feverish, restless, and slightly delirious. This, however, was
on the whole less alarming, for very little will make a child
light-headed, than Mr. Vane's condition. There was no sleep for him,
poor man; he was racked with pain and terribly awake--nervously anxious
to know the ins and outs of Biddy's escapade, and to soften it as much
as possible in her mother's eyes. Mrs. Vane kept her promise of being
very gentle with Biddy, and indeed, when in her room, and seeing the
poor little thing so ill, it was not difficult to be so. But once away
from her, and in sight of her husband's sufferings, the irritation
against Biddy grew almost too great to keep down. And Mrs. Vane was not
very good at keeping down or keeping in her feelings, and each time she
burst out it seemed to make Mr. Vane worse. There was no going to bed
for either her or Mrs. Fairchild that night; indeed, what she would have
done without Celestina's wise and gentle mother I do not know. It was
she who sensibly made the best of it all, soothing Mrs. Vane, who really
needed it almost as much as Biddy and her father; and the only snatches
of sleep Mr. Vane got were when her soft and pleasant voice had been
reading aloud to him.
'I don't know how to thank you,' said Biddy's mother tearfully the next
morning early, when she at last persuaded Mrs. Fairchild to lie down a
little. 'Can't you stay all day to rest?'
But Mrs. Fairchild shook her head, smiling.
'I must go home,' she said. 'At the latest I must go home by ten
o'clock. It will be all right till then. I can trust Celestina to see to
her father's breakfast and everything, and there's not much doing in the
shop before then. Celestina will have let Miss Neale know not to come.'
'How well you have brought your little girl up--how thoughtful and
womanly she is; and to think that she is only a year or two older than
Bridget!' said Mrs. Vane sadly.
'It has not been exactly my doing,' Celestina's mother replied. 'I often
think the very things I would have wished different for her have been
the best training. She has _had_ to be helpful and thoughtful; she has
had her own duties and share of responsibility almost all her life.'
'Biddy never feels responsible for anything--not even for learning her
lessons or being ready for meals,' said her mother.
'Well, that is just what wants awaking in her. This lesson may show her
that even a child is responsible, that a child may cause sad trouble.
One would rather she had learnt it the other way, but it may be what she
needed.'
Mrs. Vane sighed. She wanted to be patient, but she could hardly bring
herself to feel that a lesson which was to cost Biddy's father such
suffering, nay, even to risk his life perhaps, would not be too dearly
bought.
The doctor came, but he was not much more outspoken than the night
before. Biddy was to be kept very quiet, the more she could sleep the
better; as for Mr. Vane, he _hoped_ it would not be rheumatic fever, but
it was plain he feared it. And he advised Mrs. Vane to get a trained
nurse.
A trying time followed. For some days it seemed almost certain that Mr.
Vane was in for rheumatic fever; in the end he just managed to escape
it, but he was sadly weakened, and the cough, which had disappeared
since his coming to Seacove, began again. It would be weeks before he
could leave his room.
And Biddy, too, did not get well as had been expected. She lay there
white and silent as if she did not want to get better, only seeming
thoroughly to wake up when she asked, as she did at least every two
hours, how papa was, and sinking back again when the usual answer came
of 'No better,' or 'Very little better.' Her mother was very kind to
her, but she could not be much with Biddy, and perhaps it was as well,
for it would have been almost impossible for her to hide for long her
great unhappiness about Mr. Vane.
Mrs. Fairchild came to the Rectory as often as she could; sometimes she
sat with Biddy for an hour or more at a time, but Biddy scarcely spoke,
and Celestina's mother was both sorry for her and anxious about her.
'There seems no one able to pay much attention to her,' she said one
evening at home; 'poor Mrs. Vane is so taken up, and no wonder, with her
husband, and Rosalys is as busy as she can be, helping and seeing to
everything.'
There came a little voice from the other side of the table: the
Fairchilds were at tea.
'Mother, do you think I might go to see her?' it asked. 'I'd be very
quiet.'
'I'll ask,' Mrs. Fairchild answered. 'You might come with me to-morrow
and wait outside while I find out if it would do.'
Mrs. Vane had no objection--Biddy was really not ill now, she said. It
was just one of her queer ways to lie still and refuse to get up.
Perhaps Celestina would make her ashamed of herself. So Celestina was
brought upstairs, and tapped gently at the door.
'Come in,' said Bridget, though without looking up. But when the neat
little figure came forward, close to the bedside, and she glanced round
and saw who it was, a smile came over her face--the first for a long
time.
'Celestina!' she exclaimed joyfully. But then the smile died away again,
and a red flush covered her cheeks and forehead. 'No,' she said, turning
on the other side, 'I don't want to see you. Go away.'
Celestina felt very distressed. But she wanted to do Biddy good, so she
put back her own feelings.
'Please don't say that,' she said. 'I'll stay as quiet as anything, but
please don't send me away. I've been so wanting to see you.'
There was a slight turning towards her on this, and at last Biddy lifted
her head from the pillow a little.
'Did you truly want to see me?' she said.
'Of course I did. I've been very sorry about you being ill,' Celestina
replied.
Biddy did not speak. Then Celestina heard a faint sound, and going up a
little closer still, she saw that Biddy was crying.
'Dear Miss Biddy,' she whispered. Then a pair of hot little arms, not so
fat as they had been, were stretched out and thrown round her neck.
'Will you kiss me, Celestina?' whispered Bridget. 'Do you really love
me? If you do, you're the only one. I'm too naughty--I've been too
naughty. I've as good as killed papa--I know he's going to die. I heard
them saying the first night I'd as good as killed him, though I pretended
not to hear. And I've been trying to die myself; I thought p'raps if I
prayed a great, great lot to be forgiven, God would forgive me before I
died. But I want to die, because I'm so naughty I'm only a trouble. And
I _couldn't_ live without papa, knowing I'd as good as killed him. Oh,
Celestina,' and here the voice grew so low that Celestina could scarcely
hear it, 'are you quite sure that papa hasn't died already and they
won't tell me?' and Celestina felt her shiver.
'I heard him speaking as I came upstairs,' said Celestina, so quietly
that Biddy believed her perfectly; 'the door of his room was open.
I think he must be a little better to-day.'
'Oh,' said Biddy with a gasp, 'I do wonder if he is.'
'And----' Celestina began, then stopped again, 'I don't think you should
talk about trying to die like that,' she said. 'I--I think it would be
rather a lazy way of being sorry for what we'd done wrong just to try to
die.'
'I suppose it's because I'm lazy then. They all say I'm very lazy,'
Biddy replied. 'But I can't help it. I'm not going to try and be good
any more. I fixed that before--before that day. It's no use.'
Celestina considered a little.
'I should think,' she said at last--'I should think you would want to
get better to help to take care of your papa and make him better.'
Biddy started at this. It was a new idea.
'Do you think they'd let me?' she said in a half whisper. 'I thought I
was too little. Did you ever help to take care of your papa when he was
ill? But p'raps he's never been ill?'
'Oh yes, he has,' said Celestina, with a sigh. 'I think he's iller than
your papa very often. I do lots of things for him then: I make his tea
always, and tidy his room. And sometimes when he's getting better and
comes downstairs to the parlour I read aloud to him. For when he's ill,
mother has all the more to be in the shop, you know.'
Bridget listened intently. At last--
'Celestina,' she said, 'I do wish I could see papa. It would make me
_quite_ sure he's alive, you know, for it all seems so muddled in my
head since the day I was so naughty. And if he'd forgive me, and if he'd
get better, I think, _perhaps_, I'd ask God to make me better too, so
that I might make papa's tea and read aloud to him like you do.'
'Perhaps it wouldn't be exactly that,' said Celestina, a little afraid
of the responsibility of putting anything into Bridget's head, 'but I'm
sure you could do _something_. And why shouldn't you see him? Miss Alie
was in his room just now.'
Bridget would have hung her head if she had not been lying down. As it
was, she looked ashamed.
'He mustn't get up at all, you know,' she said. 'And one day when they
offered me to go to see him, I wouldn't.'
'You wouldn't?' exclaimed Celestina.
'No,' said Biddy; 'I didn't want to see him looking like he did that
day.'
'But you'd like to see him now, wouldn't you?'
'Yes,' said Biddy. 'If you were to get me my dressing-gown, Celestina,
don't you think I might just run down the passage and the little stair
and go to see him? He lies on the sofa in his room, Alie said one day.'
Celestina looked frightened.
'Don't you think you should ask your mamma first?' she said. 'Besides,
I thought you were too ill to walk.'
'Oh no,' said Bridget; 'I think I could walk if I tried. But you may go
and ask mamma if you like; I'm sure she'll say I may.'
Off flew Celestina. She too felt pretty sure that Mrs. Vane would be
pleased to hear of Biddy's wish. But when she got to the room where she
had left her mother with Mrs. Vane, they were not there, and Alie, who
came in a moment afterwards, said they were walking up and down the
garden; if Celestina would go out she would be sure to meet them. 'And
mamma will be very pleased to hear that Biddy wants to go to see papa.
He has asked for her several times, but he said she wasn't to be forced,
not till she felt inclined. Papa _is_ so good and patient, and he is
really a little bit better to-day,' said Rosalys brightly.
Upstairs Bridget was eagerly waiting for Celestina's return. She had got
out of bed and reached down her dressing-gown for herself, feeling
rather surprised at finding how well she could walk; she had found her
slippers too, and stood there leaning against the bed, quite ready for
her little expedition.
After a while she crept to the door and peeped out. Sounds, cheerful
sounds of the usual morning stir in a well-managed house came up the
stairs; she heard faint clatter from the kitchen, and now and then a
little laugh or a few words of the servants talking together. But no one
was about upstairs.
'Papa must be a little better,' thought Bridget, 'else they wouldn't
seem like that. I do wish Celestina would come back. I wonder if she's
forgotten?'
She edged herself a tiny bit into the passage. It did not seem far, only
along by the balusters and down the little stair to papa's room; and
just then came a sound which seemed to go straight to Biddy's heart. It
was papa's cough--not a very bad one, just his usual little cough. It
seemed to waken her up--till now she had felt almost as if in a sort of
dream; it was so queer to feel and hear all the house-life going on the
same as ever when she had been out of it so long, for ten or twelve days
is a long time to a child--but the sound of papa's cough seemed to make
everything real, to join the past and the present together again, still
more, to touch a spring in Biddy which I think she had scarcely known
was there. And without stopping to think any more, off she set, along
the passage and down the stair, till she found herself, breathless and
rather giddy, but full of eagerness, at her father's door.
It was open, as Celestina had said, and half shy now, Biddy peeped in.
He was lying on a couch between the fire and the window; it was a bright
spring-like morning--he had a book in his hand, but he did not seem to
be reading; he was quite still, his eyes were gazing out to the clear
blue sky, and the look in his face was very sweet. Then again came the
little cough. That was the signal. In rushed Biddy.
'Papa, dear papa,' she cried, as she half threw herself, half tumbled
upon him, for she felt giddy again with moving so fast. 'Dear papa, are
you getting better? Please don't die, dear papa, and I _will_ try to be
good. And oh, please forgive me, and don't say I as good as killed you.'
'My poor little Biddy,' said Mr. Vane, raising himself so as to see her,
and drawing her tenderly on to the couch beside him,--'my poor little
Biddy. So you've come to see me at last! And are you getting better,
dear?'
'Yes, yes, papa, but please tell me you're not going to die because of
me,' and Biddy began to cry, but gently, not in her old way.
Mr. Vane tried to speak, but his cough was troublesome.
'I think I'm a little better, dear,' he said, 'and, please God, I hope
to be better yet. And it will be a great help to me if I see you quite
well again, and trying to be of use to mamma, Biddy, and to Alie. You
can help to nurse me, you know.'
Biddy looked up. The very things Celestina had said!
'Papa!' she said, 'might I really? Would mamma let me? Will everybody
forgive me?'
Was it Biddy speaking? Even her father could scarcely believe it.
Just at that moment Mrs. Vane came hurriedly into the room: she had been
to Biddy's, on receiving Celestina's message, and finding the bird
flown, had naturally taken alarm.
'_Biddy!_' she exclaimed, as she caught sight of the child beside her
father, his arm round her, her eager flushed face looking up at him--and
her tone was rather anxious and annoyed. But Mr. Vane glanced at his
wife with a little sign which she understood. She came quickly towards
them.
'Biddy,' whispered her father, 'here is mamma.'
Bridget's face worked for a moment, then she flung her arms round her
mother's neck.
'Mamma, mamma,' she whispered, 'I'm going to try to be good--if only
you'll forgive me. I don't want to die if I can be good and help to
nurse papa. Mamma, there was something _very_ sorry came into my heart
when papa got me out of the water and I saw how white he was. But I
wouldn't listen to it, and it got hard and horrid. But now it's come
again--Celestina began it, and I _will_ be good--and _don't_ you think
God will make papa better?'
I don't think Mrs. Vane had ever kissed Biddy as she kissed her then.
* * * * *
Doctors say that _wishing_ to get better has a good deal to do with it.
It did seem so in Mr. Vane's case; he was not afraid to die, but he was
still young, and it seemed to him that if he were spared to live there
were many good and useful things he could do. And he was a happy and
cheerful man; he loved being alive, and he loved this beautiful world,
and longed to make other people as happy as he was himself. Most of all
he loved his wife and children, and his great wish to get well was for
their sake more than for any other reason. And never during the several
illnesses he had had did he wish _quite_ so much to get well as now. For
he had a feeling that if he did not recover a sad shadow would be cast
over Biddy's life--a shadow that would not grow lighter but darker, he
feared, as she came more fully to understand that her folly or childish
naughtiness had been the cause of his illness and death.
'It would leave a sore memory in her mother's heart too,' Mr. Vane said
to himself, 'however much she tried not to let it come between her and
the child.'
And I fear it would have done so.
So Biddy's father did his best to get well. Not by fidgeting and
worrying and thinking of nothing but his own symptoms, but by cheerful
patience. He obeyed the doctor's orders exactly, and forced himself to
believe that the work he would fain have been doing would get done, by
God's help, even though _he_ might not do it; he kept up his interest in
all going on about him, watching with the keenest interest the pretty,
shy approaches of the spring from his window; he read as much as he was
allowed, and helped Rough with his lessons in the evening, and had a
bright smile for everybody at all times.
'I almost feel as if he were too good to live,' said Mrs. Fairchild one
evening to Celestina and her father, when she had returned from a visit
to the rectory. But this time it was Mr. Fairchild's turn to speak
cheerily, for he too had been spending an hour or two with the invalid
that day.
'I saw a decided improvement to-day,' he said. 'I do think Mr. Vane's
patience is wonderful, but I have a strong feeling that he is really
beginning to gain ground.'
Celestina's eyes sparkled with pleasure, and so did her mother's. The
two families had grown very much attached to each other in these few
weeks.
'_Won't_ they all be happy when he gets well?' said the little girl.
'And oh, mother, isn't dear little Biddy different from what she was?
She is so gentle and thoughtful, and she's hardly _never_ cross. She
does so many little things to help.'
Mrs. Fairchild smiled. In her heart she thought that Celestina had
certainly had a hand in this pleasant change, but she would not say so.
Children got less praised '_then_-a-days,' as a little friend of mine
calls long ago, for their parents were exceedingly afraid of spoiling
them, and the thought of taking any credit to herself had never entered
the child's mind.
'I do hope,' she went on, 'that Biddy's papa will be nearly quite well
by her birthday. It'll come in a month, you know, mother, and the
doll-house is almost quite ready. Mrs. Vane has begun working at it
again the last few days, and Rosalys and I and Miss Neale have all been
helping. It _will_ be so lovely, mother,' and Celestina's face lighted
up with pleasure quite as great as if it was all for herself.
Truly, selfish people have _no_ idea what happiness they miss!