LAST DAYS.
"Aunt Hannah will stay with me to-night," Nina said to Arthur the
next day, referring to an old negress who had taken cure of her
when a child; and Arthur yielded to her request the more
willingly, because of his own weariness.
Accordingly old Hannah was installed watcher in the sick room,
receiving orders that her patient should not on any account be
permitted to talk more than was absolutely necessary. Nina heard
this injunction of Arthur and a smile of cunning flitted across
her face as she thought how she would turn it to her own advantage
in case Hannah refused to comply with her request, which she made
as soon as they were left alone.
Hannah must first prop her up in bed, she said, and then give her
her port-folio, paper, pen and ink. As she expected, the negress
objected at once, bidding her be still, but Nina declared her
intention of talking as fast and as loudly as she could, until her
wish was gratified. Then Hannah threatened calling Arthur,
thereupon the willful little lady rejoined, "I'll scream like
murder, if you do, and burst every single blood-vessel I've got,
so bring me the paper, please, or shall I got it myself," and she
made a motion as if the would leap upon the floor, while poor old
Hannah, regretting the task she had undertaken, was compelled to
submit and bring the writing materials as desired.
"Now you go to sleep," Nina said coaxingly, and as old Hannah
found but little difficulty in obeying the command, Nina was left
to herself while she wrote that long, long message, a portion of
which we give below.
"DEAR MR. RICHARD:
"Poor blind man! Nina is so sorry for you to-night, because she
knows that what she has to tell you will crush the strong life all
out of your big heart, and leave it as cold and dead as she will
be when Victor reads this to you. There won't be any Nina then,
for Miggie and Arthur, and a heap more, will have gone with their
way out where both my mothers are lying, and Miggie'll cry, I
reckon when she hears the gravel stones ruttling down just over my
head, but I shall know they cannot hit me, for the coffin-lid will
be between, and Nina'll lie so still. No more pain; no more
buzzing; no more headache; no more darkness; won't it be grand,
the rest I'm going to. I shan't be crazy in Heaven. Arthur says
so; and he knows.
"Poor Arthur! It is of him and Miggie I am writing to you, if I
ever can get to them; and Richard; when you hear this read,
Nina'll be there with you; but you can't see her, because you're
blind, and you couldn't see if you wern't, but she'll be there
just the same. She'll sit upon your knee, and wind her arms around
your neck, so as to comfort you when the great cry comes in, the
crash like the breaking up of the winter ice on the northern
ponds, and when you feel yourself all crushed like they are in the
spring, listen and you'll hear her whispering, 'Poor Richard, Nina
pities you so much! She'll kiss your tears away, too, though maybe
you won't feel her. And, Richard, you'll do right, won't you.
You'll give Miggie up. You'll let Arthur have her, and so bring
back the sunshine to her face. She's so pale now and sorry, and
the darkness lies thickly around her.
"There are three kinds of darkness, Richard. One like mine, when
the brain has a buzz in the middle, and everything is topsy-turvy.
One, like yours, when the world is all shut out with its beauty
and its flowers; and then there's another, a blacker darkness when
the buzz is in the heart, making it wild with pain. Such, Richard
is the darkness, which lies like a pall around our beautiful
sister Miggie, and it will deepen and deepen unless you do what
Nina asks you to do, and what Miggie never will, because she
promised that she wouldn't-----"
Then followed the entire story of the marriage performed by
Richard, of the grief which followed, of Arthur's gradually
growing love of Edith, of the scene of the Deering Woods, of the
incidents connected with Edith's sickness, her anguish at parting
with Arthur, her love for him still, her struggles to do right,
and her determination to keep her engagement even though she died
in doing it.
All this was told in Nina's own peculiar style; and then came her
closing appeal that Richard himself should break the bonds and set
poor Miggie free.
"... It will be dreadful at first, I know, and may be all three of
the darknesses will close around you for a time,--darkness of the
heart, darkness of the brain, and darkness of the eyes, but it
will clear away and the daylight will break, in which you will be
happier than in calling Miggie your wife, and knowing how she
shrinks from you, suffering your caresses only because she knows
she must, but feeling so sick at her stomach all the time, and
wishing you wouldn't touch her. I know just how it feels, for when
Arthur kissed me, or took my hand, or even came in my sight,
before the buzz got into my head, it made me so cold and faint and
ugly, the way the Yankees mean, knowing he was my husband when I
wanted Charlie Hudson. Don't subject Miggie to this horrid fate.
Be generous and give her up to Arthur. He may not deserve her more
than you, but she loves him the best and that makes a heap of
difference.
"It's Nina who asks it, Richard; dead Nina not a living one. She
is sitting on your knee; her arms are round your neck; her face
against yours and you must not tell her no, or she'll cling to you
day and night, night and day; when you are in company and when you
are alone. When it is dark and lonely and all but you asleep,
she'll sit upon your pillow and whisper continually, 'Give Miggie
up; give Miggie up,' or if you don't, and Miggie's there beside
you, Nina'll stand between you; a mighty, though invisible shield,
and you'll feel it's but a mockery, the calling her your wife when
her love is given to another.
"Good bye, now, Richard, good bye. My brain begins to buzz, my
hand to tremble. The lines all run together, and I am most as
blind as you. God bless you, Mr. Richard; bless you any way, but a
heap more if you give Miggie up. May be He'll give you back your
sight to pay for Miggie. I should rather have it than a wife who
did not love me; and I'll tease Him till He'll let me bring it to
you some day.
"Good bye, again, good bye.
"NINA ARTHUR BERNARD."
The night was nearly worn away ere the letter was finished; and
Nina's eyes flashed with unwonted fire as laughing aloud at the
Arthur added to her name, she laid it away beneath her pillow and
then tried herself to sleep. But this last was impossible, and
when the morning broke she was so much worse that the old nurse
trembled lest her master should censure her severely for having
yielded to her young mistress's whim. Mild and gentle as he
seemed, Arthur could, if necessary, be very stern, and knowing
this, old Hannah concluded at last that if Nina did not betray
herself she would not, and when Arthur came, expressing his
surprise at the change, and asking for its cause, she told glibly
"how restless and onquiet Miss Nina done been flirtin' round till
the blood all got in her head and she was dreadful."
"You should have called me," Arthur said, sitting down by Nina,
whose feverish hands he clasped, while he asked, "Is my little
girl's head very bad this morning?"
Nina merely nodded, for she really was too weak to talk, and
Arthur watched her uneasily, wondering why it was that her eyes
were fixed so constantly upon the door, as if expecting some one.
When breakfast was announced she insisted that both he and Edith
should leave her, and, the moment they were gone, she asked for
Victor, who came at once, half guessing why he was sent for.
"Under my pillow," she whispered, as he bent over her, and in an
instant the letter, of whose existence neither Arthur nor Edith
suspected, was safe in Victor's pocket.
Nina had accomplished her object, and she became unusually quiet.
Richard would get the letter--Richard would do right, she knew,
and the conviction brought to her a deep peace, which nothing ever
after disturbed. She did not speak of him again, and her last days
were thus pleasanter to Edith, who, from the sweet companionship
held with her gentle sister, learned in part what Nina Bernard
was, ere the darkness of which she had written to Richard crept
into her brain. Fair and beautiful as the white pond lily, she
faded rapidly, until Arthur carried her no longer to the window,
holding her in his arms while she looked out upon the yard and
garden where she used to play--but she lay all day upon her bed
holding Edith's hands, and talking to her of that past still so
dim and vague to the latter. Marie, too, often joined them,
repeating to Edith many incidents of interest connected with both
her parents, but speaking most of the queenly Petrea, whom Edith
so strongly resembled. Nina, too, remembered her well, and Edith
was never weary of hearing her tell of the "beautiful new mamma,"
who kissed her so tenderly that night when she first came home,
calling her la petite enfant, and placing in her arms a darling
little sister, with eyes just like the stars!
Very precious to Edith was the memory of those days, when she
watched the dying Nina, who, as death drew near, clung closer and
closer to her sister, refusing to let her go.
"I want you with me," she said, one afternoon, when the late
autumn rain was beating against the window-pane, and the clouds
hung leaden and dull in the Southern sky. "I want you and Arthur,
both, to lead me down to the very edge of the river, and not let
go my hands until the big waves wash me away, for Nina's a wee bit
of a girl, and she'll be afraid to launch out alone upon the
rushing stream. I wish you'd go too, Miggie,--go over Jordan with
me. Why does God make me go alone?"
"You will not go alone, my darling!" and Edith's voice was choked
with tears as she told the listening Nina of one whose arm would
surely hold her up, so that the waters should not overflow.
"It's the Saviour you mean," and Nina spoke reverently. "I loved
Him years ago before the buzzing came, but I've been so bad since
then, that I'm afraid that He'll cast me off. Will He, think? When
I tell him I am little Nina Bernard come from Sunnybank, will He
say, 'Go 'way old crazy Nina, that tore poor Arthur boy's hair?'"
"No, no, oh, no," and Edith sobbed impetuously as she essayed to
comfort the bewildered girl, whose mind grasped but faintly the
realities of eternity.
"And you'll stand on the bank till I am clear across," she said,
when Edith had ceased speaking, "You and Arthur stand where I can
see you if I should look back. And, Miggie, I have a presentiment
that Nina'll go to-night, but I don't want any body here except
you and Arthur. I remember when grandma died the negroes howled so
dismally, and they didn't love her one bit either. They used to
make mouths at her, and hide her teeth. But they do love me, and
their screeches will get my head all in a twist. I'd rather they
wouldn't know till morning; then when they ask for me Arthur'll
tell them sorry like that Nina's dead; Nina's gone into the
daylight, and left a world of love to them who have been so kind
to her. Don't let them crowd up around me, or make too much ado.
It isn't worth the while, for I'm of no account, and you'll be
good to them Miggie--good to the poor ignorant blacks. They are
your's after me, and I love them a heap. Don't let them be sold,
will you?"
Here Nina paused, too much exhausted to talk longer, and when
about dark Arthur came in, he found her asleep with Edith at her
side, while upon her face and about her nose there was a sharp,
pitched look he had never seen before. Intuitively, however, he
knew that look was the harbinger of death, and when Edith told him
what Nina had said, he felt that ere the morning came his broken
lily would be gone.
Slowly the evening wore on, and one by one the family retired,
leaving Arthur and Edith alone with the pale sleeper whose
slumbers ended not until near the midnight hour; silently, sadly,
Arthur and Edith watched her, she on one side, he upon the other,
neither speaking for the sorrow which lay so heavy at their
hearts, She was very beautiful as she lay there so motionless, and
Arthur felt his heart clinging more and more to his fair, childish
wife, while his conscience smote him cruelly for any wrong he
might have done to her. She was going from him now so fast, and as
the clock struck twelve the soft blue eyes unclosed and smiled up
in his face with an expression which, better than words could do,
told that she bore no malice toward him, nothing but trusting
faith and confiding love. He had been kind to her, most kind, and
she told him so again, for she seemed to know how dear to him such
testimonial would be when she was gone.
"The clouds are weeping for Nina," she said, as she heard the rain
still beating against the window. "Will it make the river deeper,
think? I hear its roar in the distance. It's just beginning to
heave in sight, and I dread it so much. 'Twill be lonesome
crossing this dismal, rainy night. Oh, Arthur--boy, Arthur--boy,
let me stay with you. Can't you keep me? Can't you hide me
somewhere? you, Miggie? I won't be in the way. It's so icy, and
the river is so deep. Save me, do!" and she stretched out her
hands to Arthur as if imploring him to hold her back from the
rushing stream bearing down so fast upon her.
Forcing down his own great grief, Arthur took her in his arms and
hugging her fondly to him, sought to comfort her by whispering of
the blessed Saviour who would carry her in His bosom beyond the
swelling flood, and Nina, as she listened, grew calm and still,
while something like the glory of the better land shone upon her
face as she repeated after him, "There'll be no night, no darkness
there, no headache, no pain,--nor buzzing either?" she suddenly
asked. "Say, will there be any buzzing brains in Heaven?"
Arthur shook his head, and she continued, "That will be so nice,
and Dr. Griswold will be so glad when he knows Nina is not crazy.
He's gone before, I reckon, to take care of me,--gone where
there's nothing but daylight, glorious, grand; kiss me again,
Arthur boy. 'Tis sweet to die upon your bosom with Miggie standing
near, and when you both are happy in each other's love, don't
quite forget little Nina,--Nina out under the flowers, will you?
She's done a heap of naughtiness, I know; but she's sorry, Arthur,
she is so sorry that she ever bit your arm or tore your hair! Poor
hair! Pretty brown hair! Bad Nina made the white threads come,"
and her childish hands caressed the thick brown locks mingling
with her sunny curls, as Arthur bent over her, answering only with
his tears, which fell in torrents.
"Don't, darling, don't," he said, at last. "The bad has all been
on my side, and I would that you should once more say I am
forgiven."
Nina gazed wonderingly at him a moment, then made a motion that he
should lay her back upon the pillow.
"Now put your head down here, right on my neck--so."
He complied with her request, and placing both her bands upon the
bowed head of the young man, Nina whispered,
"May the Good Shepherd, whose lamb Nina hopes to be, keep my
Arthur boy, and bless him a hundred fold for all he's been to me,
and if he has wronged me, which I don't believe, but if he has,
will God please forgive him as fully, as freely as Nina does--the
best Arthur boy that ever lived. I'll tell God all about it, and
how I pestered you, and how good you were, my Arthur boy--Nina's
Arthur first and Miggie's after me. Now put your arms around me
again," she said, as she finished the blessing which brought such
peace to Arthur. "Put them around me tight, for the river is
almost here. Don't you hear its splashing? Miggie, Miggie," she
cried, shivering as with an ague chill, "hold my hand with all
your might, but don't let me pull you in. I'm going down the bank.
My feet are in the water, and it's so freezing cold. I'm sinking,
too, and the big waves roll over me. Oh, Arthur, you said it would
not hurt," and the dim eyes flashed upon the weeping man a most
reproachful glance, as if he had deceived her, while the feet were
drawn shudderingly up, as if they had, indeed, touched the chill
tide of death, and shrank affrighted from it. Edith could only sob
wildly, as she grasped the clammy hand stretched toward her, but
Arthur, more composed, whispered to the dying girl,
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I
will fear no evil, for thou, Lord, art with me; thy staff and thy
rod, they comfort me."
"Look away to the shore," he continued, as Nina ceased to
struggle, and lay still on his bosom. "Look away to the glorious
city--my darling is almost there."
"Yes, yes, I do, I am," came faintly up, and then with a glad cry
of joy, which rang in their ears for many a day and night, Nina
said,
"You may lay me down, my Arthur boy, and take your arm away.
There's a stronger one than yours around me now. The arm that
Miggie told me of, and it will not let me down. I'm going over so
easy, easy, in a cradle-like, and Dr. Griswold's there waiting for
clipped-winged birdie. He looks so glad, so happy. It is very nice
to die; but stand upon the bank, Arthur and Miggie. Wait till I'm
across."
They thought she had left them, when softly, sweetly, as if it
were a note of heavenly music sent back to them from the other
world, there floated on the air the words,
"Climb up the bank, I'm most across. I do not see you now. MOTHER-
-and Miggie's mother--and Dr. Griswold have waded out to meet me.
The darkness is passed, the daylight has dawned; Miggie precious,
and darling Arthur boy, good-bye, for Nina's gone, good-bye."
The white lips never moved again, the waxen hands lay lifelessly
in Arthur's, the damp, bright hair lay half-uncurled upon the
pillow, the blue eyes were closed, the aching head was still, the
"twisted brain" had ceased to "buzz," the Darkness for her was
over, and Nina had gone out into the Daylight.