IN THE HOSPITAL.
At last Mother Agnes stood by Kate's bed side. How pale the poor girl
looked and her dark eyes seemed to have grown larger and more pathetic
than they used to be. A real gleam of pleasure passed over her face as
her eyes rested on Mother Agnes.
"You are good to come to me," said Kate. "I did not think you would
have cared. How did you know I was here?"
"Because, dear child, I took every possible pains to find out what had
become of you; and heard of you at last."
"I was afraid you would send the police after me," said Kate, "and that
is why I did not take the straight road to London, but went a long way
round."
"Then what did you do for food and shelter all that time?"
"I had a shilling of my own," said Kate in a weary voice, "and that
lasted me in bread for some days. And at nights I slept in barns and
outhouses, and once under the open sky. But when I got near London, I
was so weak for want of food that I thought I should have died; and I
lay down by the roadside, and could not get any farther. And then some
poor men who were tramping the country for work passed that way, and
they took pity on me, and gave me some broken meat they had with them,
and something out of a bottle,--it may have been brandy for aught I
know,--but it set me on my feet again, and so I got to London.
"And I tried to think of any one I knew there. I did not dare to go
near our district lady who sent me to the Orphanage, for fear she
should send me back. And I thought of old Sally Blackburn, who used to
live next door to us in Westminster, and made a living with buying and
selling cast-off clothing and she was good to us,--and when father came
in very drunk, she would take us children into her little place to be
out of the way. So I hunted her up; and then, Mother Agnes, I did a
very wrong thing. She is old and stupid, and very poor, and I could
not take food and lodging with her for nothing,--so I gave her my
Orphanage dress. She was pleased with it, and said it was worth quite
ten shillings, and gave me a ragged old dress in exchange,--and
something to buy a bit of print with to run up a dress for going out in
the mornings to look for a place. And oh, ma'am, it was such a
wretched, dismal, dark place she lived in; I didn't know how to abide
it after the Orphanage; and yet I wouldn't have gone back for worlds."
She sighed deeply as she said this. Mother Agnes tried to turn her
thoughts away by talking cheerfully on other subjects for a time, and
made Kate tell all she knew of the little girl in the next bed.
"I shall come up again to town in a day or two, to see you," Mother
Agnes said.
"Will you?" said Kate. "Thank you. I did not think you would have
cared."
"I do care for you," said Mother Agnes, with her eyes full of tears;
"but Kate, there is someone who cares more."
"I don't believe He cares," said Kate sadly. "I don't see why He
should care for me. I know it's all in the Bible; but that was written
many hundred years ago. Please forgive me, ma'am, for speaking so. I
don't wish to be rude, but I really can't believe it."
Just at that moment the patients' tea was carried in, so that no
further talk was possible. Mother Agnes, with an aching heart, said
good-bye to Kate, and hurried off to catch her train.
Next day there was a consultation, for Kate was not doing well; and the
doctors broke to her the news that she would have to lose her leg. It
did not seem to distress her in the least. She took it quite quietly;
but a passion of sobs broke from the next little bed.
"O doctor! doctor!" said a child's voice; "don't go and hurt dear Kate
so."
"Don't be frightened about it," said Kate. "I shall be moved into
another room, and you will know nothing about it till it is all over."
"I am not frightened," said the child; "but oh, sirs, if somebody's leg
must be cut off, please, please let it be my leg instead of Kate's."
Frances in her eagerness had forgotten her own pain; and had raised
herself in bed, and stretched out her arm towards the doctors.
The elder of the two men came toward her, and bent over her. "My dear
child," he said, "you are doing very well; there is no need to cut off
your leg. And try not to distress yourself about your friend, for only
what is wisest and best is being done for her."
"I will try and be good, and not mind so much, please sir," said
Frances; and then she hid her face in the pillow, and tried to choke
down her sobs.
The doctors moved away at last, and Kate turned a pair of wondering
eyes upon Frances as she said:
"What made you wish to lose your leg instead?"
"Only Kate, because I love you more than I could tell any one. And if
you must lose your leg, please God, I will comfort you for it as much
as ever I can."
"Thank you, dear," said Kate, very much touched,--and after that she
relapsed into silence.
Easter fell very late that year. Good Friday was kept in the hospital
after Kate had lost her leg. There was a service in the ward, and
moreover, the nurse came and sat by Kate's side, and read to her the
fifty-third chapter of Isaiah.
"She doesn't seem to take much notice of reading," the nurse said later
to Mother Agnes, who had come up again to see Kate. They little knew
that it was the first "notice" that Kate had ever taken of anything in
the Bible.
Kate would not talk to-day to Mother Agnes. She answered gently, but
shortly, and could not be drawn into conversation. One of her old fits
of reserve seemed to have taken hold of her.
Mother Agnes was going away, deeply disappointed, when the nurse told
her the story of little Frances wishing to lose her leg for Kate's
sake. And also, how the children had grown to love each other; and
what a dear child Frances was, and how she talked to Kate of everything
that is good.
And then Mother Agnes was comforted, for she saw that all she had to do
was to stand aside, and let a little child do the work. And as she
walked along the Thames Embankment in the glory of the setting sun, it
came into her mind how Christ had taken all that was sweetest on earth,
the love and trust of little children, the love of the father for the
child, of the shepherd for the sheep, and made earthly love the
stepping-stone to raise us into the thought of the possibility of that
greater Love outside ourselves.
[Illustration: St. Thomas' Hospital.]
The next time she came to the hospital, Kate had much to ask her about
the Orphanage. They talked pleasantly for a short time; and then,
after a pause Kate said: "Mother Agnes, something is frightening me."
"What is it, Kate?"
Another pause--so long that it seemed as if Kate did not mean to speak
again--and then she said: "The love of God frightens me."
"But, Kate, _that_ was meant to be the greatest joy and comfort of our
lives."
"It is always there," said Kate, earnestly, "burning into me so that I
cannot forget it. It is much worse to bear than the pain. Indeed, I
cannot bear it, it is almost intolerable. Night and day, I can never,
never forget it. And oh, Mother Agnes, if I had killed my own little
Frances, it would not have given me the trouble it does to think of the
things I have done against Jesus Christ."
Kate's words, her face, and her whole manner awed Mother Agnes so much
that she could not speak for some moments. And then she talked to Kate
for long--gently and tenderly and more plainly than she had ever done
before. Kate said good-bye to her with eyes that were full of tears.
That night, before she went to sleep, Frances said:
"Kate, does what you spoke of still burn into you?"
Kate was startled, for she did not think that Frances had heard the
half-whispered conversation.
"Yes," she said, "it is there just the same. I can scarcely bear it!
What can I do?"
"I don't know what you can do," said Frances, "except that you are
bound to speak to Him about it."
Kate turned on her pillow with a half sob, and said no more.