Mrs. Mandeville remained with Carol throughout the day, suffering no one
to relieve her for one hour. As soon as he was told the telegram had
been sent to Miss Desmond, he rested quite satisfied. But as the day
wore on to evening, Mrs. Mandeville, standing over him, saw he was
suffering acutely.
"You are in pain, darling," she said.
"Auntie, please don't ask me. I am trying to deny it. Couldn't you
deny it for me, too?"
His lips were quivering; tears he strove bravely to keep back were
stealing down his cheeks. How could she deny it? She would have given
anything to be able to do so.
"Cousin Alicia must have had the telegram by this, Auntie, mustn't she?"
"Yes, dear; I think so. Being Sunday, it has taken longer to get
through. Uncle has heard from the postmaster at W--, the nearest town,
as the village telegraph office would be closed. The message has been
sent on by messenger on horseback. So I think Miss Desmond must have
received it by this time."
"She might have been out when it arrived, Auntie."
"Do you expect to feel less pain, dear, when Miss Desmond receives the
telegram?"
"Yes, Auntie, I know I shall."
Seven o'clock--eight o'clock--nine o'clock passed. No reply telegram
came. Mrs. Mandeville wrote a letter to go by the evening post, giving
more details, and describing Carol's great desire to have a message from
her. Dr. Burton came again at night. His instructions had been carried
out. The medicine sent had been given every hour. Still the patient's
temperature was higher, the pain he was suffering more acute, and the
symptoms which pointed to meningitis more pronounced. "If he could
sleep--a long natural sleep might save him," Dr. Burton said.
During the night Mrs. Mandeville was persuaded to take a little rest on
a couch in the room, whilst Nurse and Colonel Mandeville kept watch
beside the bed. Carol offered no opposition to anything that was done
for him, and drank the medicine without a murmur, when the spoon was put
to his lips.
In the morning, when Mrs. Mandeville was again alone with him, he said,
"Auntie, I wonder why it hurts me to try to think. I tried so hard to go
to sleep in the night and I could not. Then I began to think about
Jesus when he was a little boy. We are not told that he was ever ill,
and had to lie in bed, are we? But I felt quite sure, if he ever did,
he would do just what his mother wanted him to do, wouldn't he? I know
medicine and the bandages are not doing me any good, but it makes you
happy for me to have them, doesn't it, Auntie?"
"Yes, darling; it seems all that we can do for you."
"If you understood Science, you could help me now, Auntie."
"Indeed then, I wish that I did, Carol."
"Sometimes the room seems to go dark, Auntie. In the night, two or
three times, it was just as if the lamp went out, then lighted up
again." Mrs. Mandeville understood enough to know this was very grave.
"Darling, will you try to lie quite still, and close your eyes--try not
to think about anything?"
"Yes, Auntie, but I do hope a message will come from Cousin Alicia
to-day. You will tell me when it comes, won't you?"
"Instantly, dear."
"I wish I could go to sleep, Auntie."
"I wish so too, my poor, dear boy."
"Could you move me a tiny bit, Auntie? I ache so lying in the same
position. It seems so strange not to be able to move myself at all.
Error seems very real."
Gently and lovingly, she tried to ease his position, but the least touch
brought an expression of acute pain. She had to desist.
The long weary hours of that day passed, but no message, either a
telegram or letter, came from Miss Desmond. Another wire was sent,
asking for a reply. Still none came. Then, later on in the evening, a
message was sent addressed to the housekeeper at Willmar Court, which
quickly brought a reply: "Miss Desmond away. Impossible to forward
messages."
Mrs. Mandeville told Carol very gently. He did not speak for some time,
and, though he lay with closed eyes, she knew he was not sleeping.
Then he looked up at her:
"Auntie, when Jesus was in the boat, and the winds arose, and the waves
surged high around the little boat, Jesus didn't command them at once to
be still. The disciples had to awake him, and he rebuked them for their
little faith. Shouldn't they have waited patiently, knowing it was all
right? Sometimes it seems error has bound me with ropes, and I cannot
move; sometimes it seems like waves washing over me. But I know that
Love is saying to error's angry waves, 'Thus far, and no farther.' And
just at the right moment the command will come: '_Peace, be still_.'"
Mrs. Mandeville hid her face in the pillow beside him, that he might not
see the tears streaming from her eyes. She had lost again the faith
which for a time had uplifted her to a realization of God's power to
save the boy from death. In imagination she saw a new little grave in
the churchyard with that word "Peace" graven in the marble headstone.
She had been anxious for news from Miss Desmond because Carol wished it
so much. She had little hope or faith that injuries, such as his, could
in any way be alleviated by Miss Desmond's knowledge of Christian
Science. The night passed again, and not for one hour did sleep close
the suffering boy's eyes. He had been unconscious for a time, murmuring
incoherently; but it was not sleep.
Dr. Burton said very little when he came in the morning; he only looked
graver and sadder. By telegram he had been in constant communication
with Sir Wilfrid Wynne, and he knew that, humanly speaking, nothing more
could be done for the boy than was being done. Yet there was no
progress.
"How I wish there was something I could do for you, Carol!" Mrs.
Mandeville said, as she sat beside him.
"Auntie, there is something, if Uncle Raymond will let you have it. I
know I should fall asleep if you read _Science and Health_ to me. I
always used to when I was ill before, and Cousin Alicia read it to me,
even before I began to understand it."
"I will go to the rectory at once, dear, and ask Uncle for the book.
Promise me to lie with closed eyes; and try not even to think about
anything whilst I am away."
She would not write, nor send a message, fearing a refusal. As soon as
Nurse came to take her place she left the room, and the house. There was
a path through the park direct to the rectory. It was less than ten
minutes' walk.
The Rector looked up in astonishment as his sister, hatless and coatless
(it was a chilly September day), entered the room. "What is it,
Emmeline? Is Carol worse?" he asked. Her flushed, distressed face
suggested the question.
"I do not know if he is worse. He is just as ill as he can be, and is
suffering cruelly. I want you to let me have that book you took from
him, Raymond, _Science and Health_. He thinks if I read it to him he
will fall asleep. He has not slept yet, and this is the third day since
the accident." The Rector's face, which before had been grave and
kindly, now grew stern and resolute. "I am sorry, Emmeline, but I
cannot let you have it. That book will never pass from my hands to his
as long as I am his guardian. He knows too much already of its
pernicious doctrines. Better better--anything than that his faith in
its teachings should be strengthened."
"Do you mean better that he should die, Raymond?"
"Yes, Emmeline, better that--even that."
"Oh, Raymond, how can you hold such a thought? I do not know what the
book is nor what it teaches. But I do know what is the fruit of it; and
who was it said, 'A tree is known by its fruit; a corrupt tree cannot
bring forth good fruit'?"
"We need not discuss that, Emmeline. We both know whose words those are.
Still, I maintain that the teachings of that book, being pernicious,
cannot bring forth good fruit."
"But, Raymond, is not gentleness, faith and love--such as Carol's--good
fruit? Jesus to him did not live two thousand years ago. He is living
to-day. He is looking to him, as the disciples looked, when the storm
arose at sea. His love and his faith are beautiful to witness. I have
always tried to teach my children the love of God, but Carol possesses
something I have not been able to give them, because I do not possess it
myself. I think it is understanding. He seems to understand the Bible
much better than I do."
"I am sorry to hear you speak like this, Emmeline. In any difficulty
why do you not come to me? Surely there are books enough here to
explain, or to throw a light on anything that is not clear to you."
The Rector looked round at his well-filled book-shelves: old books and
new books; works of the early Fathers and the latest theological
treatise.
"I cannot explain what it is I want, Raymond. I only know I always seem
to be groping after something, and I cannot find it. But when I am
talking to Carol, I seem nearer to it. Raymond, won't you let me have
that book--just for to-day--I will return it to you to-morrow?"
"No, Emmeline. Not for one hour."
"You are cruel, Raymond, when the boy is suffering so, and it is all he
asks you. If there were a shop near where I could buy a copy, I would
straightway do so. I will know for myself what the book teaches. I
shall write to Miss Desmond, and ask her to get me a copy."
"Of course, Emmeline, if you choose to do that, I have no control over
your actions. I have over Carol's, and I shall exercise it."
Then Mrs. Mandeville broke down and burst into tears. "Perhaps you
won't have power long. Oh, Raymond! You do not realize how ill he is!
If meningitis sets in, Dr. Burton says it will be a matter of only a few
hours. If I were asking for a Buddhist or a Mohammedan book, it would
be right for you to let me have it."
"No, my dear sister. I am not a believer in the doctrine that the end
justifies the means. I will pray for Carol, and for you too. I am sorry
to see you so overwrought."
"Then you absolutely refuse, Raymond?"
"I do, Emmeline--absolutely."
Without a word Mrs. Mandeville turned and left the room.