GOD'S WILL
When Star reached home that evening she found the whole place in a sort
of hush. Christian was asleep, and on that sleep all her future hung.
If she awakened with her fever gone she would be extremely weak, but
with great care she might be pulled through. The doctor himself sat by
her bedside, his hand on her feeble, fluttering pulse. Miss Peacock
also was in the room, and the professional nurse and Jessie occupied
another of the white rooms just beyond. There was intense emotion all
over the house. No one thought at that moment of anyone but the girl
who lay, as it were, in the shadow of death. She was loved then as
she had not been loved during her days of health. Each girl, as she
sat with her companion, had something to say with regard to Christian
Mitford. One girl noticed how expressive were her eyes, and another
said that she looked a perfect lady. Her class-mates were unanimous,
too, in remarks with regard to her talents: she was so forward in all
her studies; she was so imaginative; she wrote such brilliant little
papers. Then her voice had such a magical quality in it; it stirred the
heart; particularly when she read.
Some of the teachers who were resident in the house also stood and
talked of the sick girl. "She would have done us credit," said Miss
Forest. Professor French said he never heard a girl of her age read
Paradise Lost as she did. He was very much impressed with her; he said
she had the dramatic quality to a remarkable degree. "Well, well, it
does seem sad!"
The teachers were evidently under the impression that Christian would
not get well; but the girls--at least the greater number of them--could
not bring themselves to believe this possible. Most of the girls had
never seen death; consequently it seemed to them that to die one must
be ill much longer, must suffer much more acute pain. They spoke in
their ignorance, but all the same they acknowledged to a frightened
fluttering at their hearts; and when one by one they stole upstairs to
bed, they crept past Christian's room as though they might meet her
ghost on the landing.
By and by Susan herself went up to bed. Star had not said a word to
Susan since her return. Susan had not dared to question as to what
had befallen Star when she went out. The act of disobedience was of
no moment just then to the girls. Star was glad of this. She was so
troubled and terrified about Christian that she forgot that she had
been disobedient; she only regretted the time she had been absent from
the house.
Susan as she went upstairs touched Maud on the shoulder.
"I can't sleep alone to-night," she said; "I should be frightened. Come
and sleep with me, Maud."
Maud got up quietly. "As you like," she said.
"Oh, dear girls!" said Jessie as they were passing the refectory, "I
know you are feeling it very much, all of you, but you mustn't break
down; that would be the worst thing in all the world. I have got a lot
of beautiful hot cocoa in jugs waiting for you. Come in and have a cup
each."
"We may as well," said Susan, who seldom or never lost her appetite.
She and Maud drank off a cup apiece of the nourishing, delicious
drink, and Susan took up a thick piece of bread and butter. A few other
girls followed her example, but the greater number shook their heads
sorrowfully.
Jessie stood by the fire; her eyes were red and sunken, and her eyelids
much swollen.
"Is she very, very bad?" said Susan at last.
Jessie gave her head a dismal shake.
"The doctor says she gets weaker and weaker."
"Is there no hope, then?" asked Maud, with terror in her voice.
"Oh, Maud! I don't know; I can't tell. All I know is that she can
scarcely be worse and live; but the doctor does say that while there is
life there is hope. That's about all."
"Oh, dear!" said Maud. She clutched Susan's hand.
They were just leaving the room when Jessie called them back.
"We are all going to pray that God may spare her," said Jessie. "There
are to be prayers at midnight in the chapel. Any girl who likes to come
will be welcome. Miss Peacock will be there, and she has asked Mr.
Dalzell to come and pray with us."
"I don't think I'd care to go," said Susan; "that sort of thing
frightens me very much."
Jessie said no more, and as Susan and Maud stole upstairs they saw
other girls standing about in knots.
"Did you hear about the prayers in the chapel?" asked one.
"Yes," said Maud.
"Are you going?" asked a girl of Susan.
"No; not for all the world," said Susan. "It would terrify me into my
grave."
She went upstairs, and Maud followed her. When they reached Susan's
room Susan turned the key in the lock.
"Now then, thank goodness we're safe!" she said. "We'll get into bed
and cover our heads up with the bedclothes, and pray that we may sleep
all night. I'm horribly frightened. Aren't you, Maudie?"
"I think I'm more sorry than frightened," said Maud. "I wish we hadn't
been so dreadful to her."
"Maud," said Susan, raising her voice to a pitch of agony, "you dare
talk of that to-night? Why, it will drive me mad."
"But why did we do it, Susan? But for that she wouldn't be so ill."
"I don't believe you. Her illness has nothing to do with us. Oh, do let
us get into bed! It is so dreadful to be up when _that_ may be coming
into the house."
"Death, you mean?" said Maud. "I never saw death."
"I did," said Susan, "when my mother died. But that was a long time
ago; I can scarcely remember it."
"I don't want to see anyone who is dead," said Maud.
"Of course, you needn't see her--I mean if she does die. I wish
father would send for us both. I have a good mind to write to him
to-morrow. This is horrible; it makes me forget even that dreadful
Wednesday. Thank goodness, Florence did get that note! But we won't
worry about that now. Isn't it a comfort that the precious immaculate
Star should have put her foot in it? She did, didn't she, when she
went deliberately and broke Miss Peacock's command--and just when Miss
Peacock was in such trouble?"
"Oh, yes," said Maud; "but I don't like thinking of people getting into
trouble to-night. I feel sort of repentant. Don't you Susan?"
"Not I."
"You are hard, Susan. Do you mean to say you are not sorry that we have
been so cruel to Christian?"
"I'm determined not to think of it," said Susan. "There now, I'm in
bed," she continued, springing under the bedclothes as she spoke.
"Let's be quick and put out the lights, and let's be quite still and go
to sleep."
Meanwhile the rest of the girls, whose whole hearts were full of
Christian and her serious illness, congregated in the chapel at the
hour of midnight. The service was short, but very impressive. It
consisted of nothing more than an earnest--most earnest--prayer from
Mr. Dalzell that God would spare the young life now hovering on the
brink of eternity; that He would do this for the sake of her parents,
for the sake of her mistresses, and for the sake of her schoolfellows;
also for her own sake.
"But perhaps," said Mr. Dalzell as he rose from his knees--"perhaps,
my dear girls, it may be the will of God not to spare the life of
Christian Mitford. It may be possible that her death may be just the
most beautiful thing for her. I understand that the crisis will come
to-night. The doctor says that she cannot continue in her present
condition many hours longer. We shall know, therefore, the best or
the worst in the morning; and even if it should be God's will to take
that bright young spirit to Himself, you will remember, my dear girls,
that there is goodness in His severity, and a Father's heart; and,
beneath the terrible sorrow, a Hand of Love. Girls, it is your first
experience--your very first--that so loving a Hand may have to deal the
blow; but nevertheless I hope you will trust in the Heavenly Father."
Star was sobbing bitterly, as were also several of the other girls.
"Go to your rooms now," said Miss Peacock. "Your attitude to-night
will be one long prayer that God's will may be done, and also that His
judgment may be tempered with mercy."