To me the thought of death is terrible,
Having such hold of life; to you it is not
More than the sudden lifting of a latch;
Nought but a step into the open air,
Out of a tent already luminous
With light that shines through its transparent fold.
Longfellow's Golden Legend.
"I've got a good piece of news for you, Master Daubeny," said the kind
old school-nurse.
"What is it? is my mother here?" he said eagerly. "O! let her come and
see me."
She was at the door, and the next moment his arms were round her neck in
a long embrace. "Darling, darling mother," he exclaimed, "now I shall
be happy, now that you have come. Nay, you mustn't cry, mother," he
said, as he felt one of her fast flowing tears upon his forehead;
"you've come to help me in bearing up."
"Dearest Johnny," she said, "I trust yet that God will spare the widow's
only son; He Who raised the son of the widow of Nain will pity us."
"His ways are not ours, mother dear; I do not think that I shall
recover. My past life hangs before me like a far-off picture already; I
lie and look at it almost as if it were not mine, and my mind is quite
at peace; only sometimes my head is all confused."
"God's will be done, Johnny," sobbed the poor lady. "But I do not think
I can live, if you be taken from me."
"Taken--but not for ever, mother," he said, looking up into her face.
"O Johnny, _why, why_ did you not spare yourself, and work less? It is
the work which has killed you."
"Only because it fell heavier on me than on other boys. They got
through it quickly, but I was not so clever, and it cost me more to do
my duty. I tried to do it, mother dear, and God helped me. All is well
as it is. O my head, my head!"
"You must rest, darling. My visit and talk has excited you. Try to go
to sleep."
"Then sit there, mother, opposite me, so that I may see you when I
wake."
She kissed his aching brow, and sat down, while he composed himself to
rest. She was a lady of about fifty, with bands of silver hair smoothed
over her calm forehead, and in appearance not unlike her son. But there
was something very sweet and matronly about her look, and it was
impossible to see her without feeling the respect and honour which was
her due.
And she sat there, by the bedside, looking upon her only son, the boy
who had been the light of her life; and she knew that he was dying--she
knew that he was fading away before her eyes. Yet there was a sweet and
noble resignation in her anguish; there was a deep and genuine spirit of
submission to the will of heaven, and a perfect faith in God's love,
whatever might be the issue, in every prayer she breathed, as with
clasped hands, and streaming eyes, and moving lips, she gazed upon his
face. He might appear dull and heavy to others, but to her he was dear
beyond all thought; and now she was to lose him. In her inmost heart
she knew that she _must_ suffer that great pang; that God was taking to
Himself the son who had been so good and true to her, so affectionate,
so sweet-tempered, so unselfish, that even from his gentle and quiet
infancy he had never by his conduct caused her a moment's pain. She had
long been looking forward to the strong and upright manhood which should
follow this pure boyhood; but that dear boy was not destined to be the
staff of her declining years; _her_ hands were to close his eyes in the
last long sleep, and she was to pass alone under the overshadowing rocks
that close around the valley of human life. God help the mother's heart
who must pass through scenes like this!
Poor Daubeny could not sleep. Brain fever is usually accompanied by
delirium, and as he turned restlessly upon his pillow, his mind began to
wander away to other days and scenes.
"Stupid, sir? yes, I know I am, but I can't help it; I've really done my
best. I was up at five o'clock this morning, trying, trying so hard to
learn this repetition. Indeed, indeed, I'm not idle, sir. I'll try to
do my duty if I can. O Power, I wish I were like you; you learn so
quickly, and you never get abused as I do after it all."
And then the poor boy fancied himself sitting under the gas-lamp in the
passage as he had so often done, and trying to master one of his
repetition lessons, repeating the lines fast to himself as he used to
do--
"`Hac arte Pollux et vagus Hercules,
Enisus--enisus arces--enisus arces attigit igneas,
Quos inter Augustus--'
"How _does_ it go on?
"`Hac arte Pollux et vagus Hercules,
Enisus arces attigit igneas, attigit igneas,
Quos inter Augustus recumbens--'"
"Oh, what _does_ come next?" and he stopped with an expression of pain
on his face, pressing his hands tight over his brow. "Don't go on with
the repetition, Johnny, dear," said the poor mother. "I'm sure you know
it enough now."
"O, no! not yet, mother; I shall be turned, I know I shall to-morrow,
and it makes him so angry; he'll call me idle and incorrigible, and all
kinds of things." And then he began again--
"`Sed quid Typhoeus aut validus Mimas,
Aut quid minaci Porphyrion statu,
Quid Rhoetus--Rhoetus--quid Rhoetus--'
"Oh, I shall break down here, I know I shall," and he burst into tears.
"It's no good trying to help me, Power, I _can't_ learn it."
"Leave off for to-night at least, Johnny," said his mother, in a tone of
anguish; "you can learn the rest to-morrow. Oh, what shall I do?" she
asked, turning to the nurse; "I cannot bear to hear him go on like
this."
"Be comforted, ma'am," said the nurse, wiping away her own tears. "He's
a dear good lamb, and he'll come to hisself soon afore he goes off."
"_Must_ he die, then?" she asked, trembling in every limb.
"Hush, good lady! we never know what God may please to do in His mercy.
We must bow to His gracious will, ma'am, as you knows well, I don't
doubt. He's fitter to die than many a grown man is, poor child, and
that's a blessing. I wish though he wasn't a repeating of that there
heathenish Latin."
But Daubeny's voice was still humming fragments of Horace lines,
sometimes with eager concentration, and then with pauses at parts where
his memory failed, at which he would grow distressed and anxious--
"`Quid Rhoetus... quid Rhoetus evulsisque truncis, Enceladus.'
"Oh, I _cannot_ learn this; I think I'm getting more stupid every day.
Enceladus--"
"If you love me, Johnny, give it up for to-night, that's a darling boy,"
said his mother.
"But, mother, it's my _duty_ to know it; you wouldn't have me fail in
duty, mother dear, would you? Why, it was you who told me to persevere,
and do all things with my might. Well, I will leave it for to-night."
Then, still unconscious of what he was doing, the boy got up and prayed,
as it was evident that he _had_ done many a time, that God would
strengthen his memory and quicken his powers, and enable him to do his
duty like a man. It was inexpressibly touching to see him as he knelt
there--thin, pale, emaciated, the shadow of his former self, kneeling in
his delirium to offer up his old accustomed prayer.
And when he got into bed again, although his mind still wandered, he was
much calmer, and a new direction seemed to have been given to his
thoughts. The prayer had fallen like dew on his aching soul. He
fancied himself in Power's study, where for many a Sunday the two boys
had been used to sit, and where they had often learnt or read to each
other their favourite hymns. Fragments of these hymns he was now
repeating, dwelling on the words with an evident sense of pleasure and
belief--
"`A noble army--men and boys,
The matron and the maid,
Around the Saviour's throne rejoice,
In robes of light arrayed.
_They_ climbed the steep ascent of heaven,
'Mid peril, toil, and pain;
O God, to _us_ may strength be given,
To follow in their train.'
"Isn't that beautiful, Power?
"`And when on upward wing.
Cleaving the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot,
Upwards I fly;
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.'"
And as he murmured to himself in a soothed tone of voice these verses,
and lines of "Jerusalem the Golden," and "O for a closer walk with God,"
and "Rock of Ages," the wearied brain at last found repose, and Daubeny
fell asleep.
He lingered on till the end of the week. On the Saturday he ceased to
be delirious, and the lucid interval began which precedes death. It was
then that he earnestly entreated to be allowed to see those school
friends whose names had been so often on his lips--Power, Walter, and
Henderson. The boys, who had daily and eagerly inquired for him,
entered with a feeling of trembling solemnity the room of sickness. The
near presence of death filled them with an indescribable awe, and they
felt desolate at the approaching loss of a friend whom they loved so
well.
"I sent to say good-bye," he said, smiling sweetly. "You must not cry
and grieve for me. I am happier than I ever felt before. Good-bye,
Walter. It's for a long, long, long time, but not for ever. Good-bye,
my dear old Flip--naughty fellow to cry so, when I am happy; and when I
am gone, Flip, think of me sometimes, and of talks we've had together,
and take your side manfully for God and Christ. Good-bye, Power, my
best friend; we meant to be confirmed together, you know, but God has
ordered it otherwise." And then he whispered low--
"`Lord shall we come? come yet again?
Thy children ask one blessing more;
To come not now alone, but then
When life, and death, and time are o'er;
Then, then, to come, O Lord, and be
_Confirmed in heaven--confirmed by Thee_.'
"O Power, that line fills me with hope and joy; think of it for me when
I am dead," and his voice trembled with emotion as he again murmured,
"`Confirmed in heaven--confirmed by Thee.' I'm afraid I'm too weak to
talk any more. O, what a long, long good-bye it will be--for years, and
years, and years; to think that when you have gone out of the room we
shall never meet in life again, and I shall never hear your pleasant
voices. O Flip, you make me cry against my will by crying so. It's
hard to say, but it must be said at last. Good-bye, God bless you, with
all my heart." He laid his hand on their heads as they bent over him,
and once mere whispering the last "Good-bye," turned away his face, and
made the pillow wet with his warm tears.
The sound of his mother's sobs attracted him. "Ah, mother, darling, we
are alone now; you will stay with me till I die. I am tired."
"I feared that their visit would excite you too much, my child."
"O no, mother; I couldn't bear to die without seeing them, I loved them
so much. Mother, will you sing to me a _little_--sing me my favourite
hymn."