THE SICK MAN WRITES A LETTER.
William Jessup seemed to be getting better rapidly after those few
words with Ruth, that had lifted a mountain of pain from his heart,
pain deeper and keener than the biting anguish of his wound, or the
fever which preyed upon him continually, though he scarcely felt it,
now that the anguish of mind was gone.
"I shall be better, I shall be quite well, only let me get one word to
him. He is so rash. Ah, when that is done, I can rest a little," he
kept thinking to himself, for the subject seemed so distasteful to
Ruth that he shrunk from naming it to her. "If the old man Storms
would but come, I might trust him; but he always sends that lad, who
frightens Ruth. Poor child, poor child!"
Ruth was sitting by her father's bed when these thoughts possessed
him, and broke out in a tremulous exclamation, his eyes fastened
tenderly on her.
"What is it, father? What are you thinking of? Nothing ails me. I must
not be pitied at all while you are ill, or only because of that. What
are you thinking about?"
"Only this, Ruthy. Don't let it bother you, though. Only, if I could
get a word to the young master--"
Ruth shrunk visibly from the anxious eyes bent upon her, but forced
herself to answer, calmly, "If I could see him one minute, alone. Oh,
if I could," she said, clasping the hands in her lap till the blood
fled from them, "but it would be of no use trying."
All at once Jessup rose from his pillow, but leaned back again,
gasping for breath.
"Put another pillow under my head, and prop me up a bit. I will write
a line with my own hand. I wonder we never thought of it before. Bring
me a pen, and the ink-bottle. The big Bible, too, from yon table. It
will be all the better for that."
Ruth obeyed him at once. Why had she never thought of this? Surely a
letter could be got to that sick-chamber without danger. That, at
least, would relieve her father's anxiety, and remind Hurst of her.
Why had she never thought of it before? That was not strange; Jessup
was no letter writer, and, save a few figures, now and then, Ruth had
not seen him use a pen half a dozen times in her life. It seemed a
marvel to her even then that he should undertake so unusual a task.
The girl had a pretty desk of her own, otherwise a supply of ink and
paper might have been wanting. As it was, she brought both to her
father's bed, and arranged the great Bible before him, that he might
use them at once.
At any time it would have been a severe task that the gardener had
undertaken; but now his weak fingers shook so fearfully that he was
compelled to lay the pen down at every word, almost in despair. But
the great heart gave his hand both strength and skill. After many
pauses for rest, and struggles for breath, a few lines were written,
and this was what they said:
MY DEAR YOUNG MASTER :--Have no fear about me. I have sworn, in
soul, before Almighty God, to keep all that is within me a
secret forever. No law and no blame shall ever reach you
through me. Oh, that my eyes had been struck blind before they
saw your face that night, when you shot me down! I would have
groped in darkness to my grave, rather than have seen what I
did. Sometimes I think it must have been all a dream. But it
haunts me so--it haunts me so. Your father saved my life once.
Maybe I am saving his now. I hope so. Do not fear about me. I
shall not be more silent in death than I am in life.
WILLIAM JESSUP
Many a misspelt word did this short epistle contain. Many an uncouth
letter that linked sentences running riot with each other; but the
spirit of a high resolve was there, and the good man exhausted the
little strength left to him in writing it.
"You will seal this," he whispered, hoarsely, giving her the paper to
fold and direct. "Some one will take it to him."
"Yes, I will go. He shall get it. How, I do not know; but if he is
well enough to read it, the paper shall reach him."
"And no one else. Remember that."
"I will remember. Oh, father, what is this terrible thing?"
"Be silent, Ruth. I will not have you question me."
"Forgive me, father."
"Yes, yes."
The poor man spoke in painful gasps. The old Bible seemed to bear him
down; he struggled under the weight, but could not remove it.
Ruth lifted the book in her arms, settled the pillows under her
father's head, and would have stayed by him, but he motioned her away.
Oh, how precious, yet how perilous that paper seemed to the poor girl!
He would touch it. His eyes would follow the jagged lines. They would
bring assurance of safety to him. He might even guess that she had
been the messenger through whom it had reached him. She did not
understand the meaning of this important scrawl. With regard to that,
her mind was swayed by vague uncertainties, but she knew that it was
pacific, and intended for good.
Ruth tied on her bonnet, and set forth for "The Rest" at once, with
the precious letter in her bosom, over which she folded her scarlet
sacque with additional caution.
"Perhaps--perhaps I shall see him. It might have meant nothing, after
all. He could not be so false. Lady Rose is like a sister to him, that
is all! I am so foolish to care; so very, very foolish. But, then,
how can I help it?"
The day was so beautiful, that such hopeful thoughts came to Ruth with
the very atmosphere she breathed. The birds were singing all around
her, and a thousand summer insects filled the air with music. Coming,
as she did, from the close seclusion of a sick-room, all these things
thrilled her with fresh vigor. Her step was light as she walked. The
breath melted like wine on her red lips. Once or twice she paused to
snatch a handful of violets from the grass, and drank up their perfume
thirstily.
At last she came out into the luxurious beauty of the pleasure-grounds
close to "The Rest," and from thence, looked up to the window where
her young husband lay, all unconscious of her coming. Perhaps she had
hoped that he might be well enough to sit up. Certainly, when she saw
no one at the window, her heart sunk, and a deep sigh escaped her. It
would not do to be found there by any of the household. She felt that,
and bent her steps towards the servants' entrance, heavy-hearted and
irresolute.