Mildred and Elsie

"Yes: I suppose it's no more than fair to let you do that much; but you needn't expect me to think it's any great goodness," Ada answered, putting the finishing touches to her work, and stepping aside to let Mildred take possession of the tray.

"Certainly nothing is farther from my thoughts than claiming credit for any service done to mother," Mildred answered good-humoredly as she took up the tray and walked away with it.

With quick light step she passed up the stairs, and entering her mother's room with almost noiseless tread, was greeted with a smile.

"I am not asleep, dear; and the pain is nearly gone," Mrs. Keith said, speaking from the bed in low, quiet tones.

"I am so glad, mother, and I hope a cup of tea will complete the cure," Mildred answered softly, setting down her burden on a little stand by the bedside and gently assisting her mother to a sitting posture.

"A dainty little meal! My dear child, you are the greatest possible comfort to me!" Mrs. Keith remarked presently, as she handed back the empty cup.

"But it was Zillah and Ada who prepared it to-day, mother," Mildred returned, ever careful to give others their just due, though her eyes shone.

"Yes, they are dear girls too," the mother said; "I am greatly blessed in my children: but I was thinking more of the freedom from care given me by having you here to take the head of affairs. The others, though doubtless equally willing, are still too young for that. So I could never give myself up to the full enjoyment of a headache while you were away," she added in her own peculiarly pleasant, sportive tone and manner.

"I cannot half fill your place, mother dear; I have not half your wisdom or patience," Mildred said with a blush and sigh.

"You exaggerate my virtues, Milly; I can imagine from past experience how your patience may have been tried to-day. Well, dear, if there has been a partial failure, do not let that rob you of your peace. 'Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him;' and though he cannot look upon sin with any degree of allowance, yet when we turn from it with true repentance and desire after holiness, pleading the merits of his dear Son as our only ground of acceptance, we find him ever ready to forgive. What a blessing, what a glorious privilege it is that we have, in that we may turn in heart to him for pardon and cleansing the moment we are conscious of sin in thought, word, or deed!"

"Yes, mother; I do feel it so. And how strangely kind he often is in sending joys and comforts when we feel that we deserve punishments rather," Mildred said with tears springing to her eyes, as she drew out her letter and held it up.

"From Charlie!" Mrs. Keith exclaimed, with a pleased smile. "My darling, I am very glad for you. I hope it brings good news."

Mildred turned it in a way to show that the seal was not yet broken, answering in low, tremulous tones, and between a smile and a sigh, "I have not found out yet. It must wait for a quiet after-dinner half-hour."

"My brave, patient girl!" Mrs. Keith said tenderly, passing a hand caressingly over Mildred's hair and cheek. "Let mother share the joy or sorrow, whichever it brings."

Mildred brought but scant appetite to the meal, which seemed to her an unusually long and tedious one; but she was able to control her impatience and give due attention to the comfort of father, brothers and sisters, until at length she found herself at liberty to retire for a season to the privacy of her own room.

Her hand trembled and her heart beat fast between hope and fear as she drew the letter from her pocket and broke the seal. What if it brought ill news – that Charlie was in trouble, or that his love had grown cold! Had she strength to bear it?

Oh, not of herself! But there was One who had said, "In me is thine help." "Fear thou not, for I am with thee; be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee."

One moment's silent pleading of His gracious promises, and she had grown calm and strong to endure whatever His providence had sent. Tears dropped upon the paper as she read, for Charlie was indeed in sore trouble. The first few sentences read as though the writer were half frenzied with distress.

"He had lost everything," so he wrote; "both his own and his uncle's property had been suddenly and completely swept away, and the shock had killed the old gentleman – his only near relative – leaving him friendless and alone in the world; utterly alone, utterly friendless; for he could not hope that she who had refused him in prosperity would be willing to share his poverty. Nor could he ask it. But never, never could he forget her, never love another."

Then under a later date, and in apparently calmer mood, he continued:

"I am about to leave the home of my childhood and youth; it passes to-day into the hands of strangers, and I go out into the wide world to seek some way of retrieving my broken fortunes. With youth, health and strength, and a liberal education, surely I need not despair of finally attaining that end, though it will doubtless take years of toil and struggle; but when it is accomplished you shall hear from me again: nay, you shall find me at your feet, suing for the priceless boon I have hitherto sought in vain. I will not despair, for my heart tells me you will be true to me even through many long years of separation – if such fate has decreed us – and that in answer to your prayers the barrier between us will one day be swept away."

"Share his poverty! Ah, would I not if I might!" Mildred cried half aloud and with a burst of tears. "What greater boon could I ask than the privilege of comforting him in his sorrows! O Charlie, Charlie, you have given no address, and so put it out of my power to offer even the poor consolation of written words of sympathy, of hope and cheer!"

No one came to disturb Mildred in her solitude; she had time for thought and for the casting of her care upon Him who was her strong refuge, whereunto she might continually resort.

Mrs. Keith had not left her own room, and downstairs the two elder girls were busied with their needles, while Rupert kept the younger children quiet with kite-making and a story, moved thereto partly by a good-natured desire for their amusement, but principally through affectionate concern for mother and elder sister.

Mrs. Keith lay on her couch, thinking, a little anxiously, of Mildred, when the door opened and the young girl stole softly to her side.

"Is it ill news, my darling?" the mother asked in tender, pitying accents, glancing up compassionately at the dewy eyes and tear stained cheeks.

"I will read you his letter, mother. You know I have no secrets from you, my loved and only confidante," Mildred answered a little tremulously, and stooping to press a kiss on her mother's lips.

Then seating herself, she unfolded the sheet and read in low tones, which she vainly tried to make calm and even.

"Ah, mother, if only he were a Christian!" she exclaimed with a burst of uncontrollable weeping.

"Do not despair of seeing him such one day," her mother returned, laying a gentle, quieting hand on that of the weeper. "God is the hearer and answerer of prayer; the answer may be long delayed, for the trial of your faith, but it will come at last."

"What is Charlie waiting for?" sighed Mildred. "How strange that he cannot see that God's time for the sinner to come and be reconciled to him is always now! Ah, I do so want him to know the comfort of casting all his care on the Lord – the blessedness of the man who trusts in him!"

"Yes, it is a strange delusion! It is one of Satan's devices to persuade men to put off this most important of all transactions to a more convenient season, which he knows will never come. But, dear child, we will unite our prayers on Charlie's behalf to Him who has all power in heaven and in earth, and who has graciously promised, 'If two of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in heaven.'"

CHAPTER XI

 
"Ah! what is human life?
How, like the dial's tardy moving shade,
Day after day slides from us unperceiv'd!
The cunning fugitive is swift by stealth;
Too subtle is the movement to be seen;
Yet soon the hour is up – and we are gone."
 

Young.

"Mother, he seems to imply that I am not likely to hear from him again for years," Mildred remarked, half in assertion, half as asking her mother's understanding of the drift of young Landreth's communication.

"Yes, I think so," Mrs. Keith responded in gentle, pitying tones. Then more brightly and cheerily, "But perhaps, dear, that certainty is better – will be less trying – than a constantly disappointed looking for of letters."

Mildred gave a silent assent, while a tear rolled quickly down her cheek. She dashed it hastily aside. "Mother, dearest mother, you must help me to be brave and cheerful, not letting this disappointment and anxiety spoil my life and make me a burden to myself and others," she whispered tremulously, laying her head on her mother's pillow and gazing lovingly, but through gathering tears, into those dear eyes.

"I will, my poor darling," returned Mrs. Keith in moved tones, putting an arm about her daughter's neck and drawing her closer till cheek rested against cheek; "and there is One who, with all power at his command, and loving you even more tenderly than your mother does, will give you such help and consolation in this sore trial as she cannot give."

"I know it; I am sure of it," murmured Mildred. "I can trust him for myself – though the way looks dark and dreary – but – O mother, it is not so easy to trust for Charlie!"

"Perhaps, dear, that is one reason why this trial is sent you: trust for our dear ones as well as for ourselves is a lesson we all need to learn."

"And to teach me patience, which is another lesson I greatly need and am very slow to learn," sighed Mildred. "'The trying of your faith worketh patience. But let patience have her perfect work.' Oh, shall I ever be able to do that!"

"Yes, at last; I am assured of it: 'being confident of this very thing, that he who hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.' 'In all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us.' And trusting in him, living near to him, in the light of his countenance, we may have, we shall have great joy and peace in spite of tribulations."

"And those I know all must have in one way or another," said Mildred a little sadly, "because we are told in Acts, 'we must through much tribulation enter into the kingdom of God;' and Jesus told his disciples, 'In the world ye shall have tribulation.'"

"But, he added, 'Be of good cheer: I have overcome the world,'" Mrs. Keith said with emotion, a joyous light shining in her eyes.

"Mother," said Mildred, "I once heard the assertion that God's people were peculiarly marked out for trouble and trial in this world; that they must expect to have more than was allotted to worldlings. Do you think that is true?"

"No, I find no such teaching in Scripture, nor has experience of life taught it to me. 'Many sorrows shall be to the wicked, but he that trusteth in the Lord, mercy shall compass him about.' 'Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivereth him out of them all.' 'O fear the Lord, ye his saints, for there is no want to them that fear him!' 'Godliness is profitable unto all things, having promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come.' The Bible is full of the blessedness of those who fear and trust the Lord."

"'Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth,'" quoted Mildred doubtfully.

"Ah, yes; the afflictions of the righteous are the loving discipline of a tender Father, while upon the incorrigibly wicked he pours out his fury in judgments that bring no healing to their souls – only retribution for the sins unrepented of and unforgiven. 'Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone, and an horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup.'"

The door opened softly and Ada looked cautiously in.

"That is right, dear," Mrs. Keith said, greeting the child with a loving smile; "come in and give mother a kiss. The pain is quite gone, and I am going to get up now and dress for tea."

"Don't, mother, unless you feel quite, quite strong and well," the little girl entreated, receiving and returning a tender caress. "I'm so glad you are better (oh, it isn't nice to have to do without mother! though I'm sure Milly has tried her very best to fill your place). I wouldn't have come here – because I was afraid of disturbing you – but there's a boy down stairs asking if Milly will go and watch to-night with a sick woman – Mrs. Martin. Claudina Chetwood's to watch, but there ought to be two, he says, and they don't know of anybody else for to-night. She's been sick so long that 'most everybody is worn out."

Professional nurses were unknown in the town, and in time of sickness the only dependence for needed attention, outside of the sufferer's own family, was upon the kindness of neighbors, and as a rule they were exceeding kind.

Mrs. Martin's health had been declining for many months; for weeks she had been confined to bed and in a condition to need constant watching and waiting upon.

The Keiths had scarcely a speaking acquaintance with her, but that made no difference when help was needed.

"Do you feel equal to the task, Mildred?" asked her mother. "I shall be sorry to have you lose your night's rest; but you can make it up to-morrow. I am not likely to have a return of the headache, and when I am 'to the fore' you can be spared, you know," she added sportively, and with a world of motherly pride and affection in the look she bent upon her first-born.

"Yes, mother; it will not hurt me, and I can't hesitate when duty seems so plain," Mildred answered cheerfully. "How soon do they want me, Ada?"

"He says about nine o'clock. Mrs. Prior's going to stay till then. I'll go down and tell him they may expect you;" and with the last word Ada left the room.

Mrs. Keith had left the bed for a low seat before her toilet table, and Mildred was softly brushing out and arranging her still beautiful and abundant hair, very tenderly careful lest too rude a touch should cause a return of the torturing pain.

"Poor, poor woman!" sighed Mrs. Keith, thinking of Mrs. Martin.

"Is she considered very dangerously ill, mother?" asked Mildred.

"Mrs. Prior was telling me about her yesterday," Mrs. Keith answered. "Dr. Grange says she has not long to live; but worst of all, Milly, she is dying without hope."

"O mother, how terrible! And has no one tried to lead her to Jesus? has no one told her of his great love and his power and willingness to save?'"

"Yes, months ago, while she was still up and about her house, Mrs. Prior and others tried to talk to her about her soul's salvation, but she refused to listen, angrily telling them she was too weak to trouble herself with trying to think on that subject now, and must wait until she grew stronger; and all the time growing weaker and weaker. My child, I'm glad you are to be with her to-night, for who knows but you may find a fitting moment in which you may speak a word that God may bless to the saving of her soul."

"How glad I should be to do it," Mildred answered with emotion, "but I am so young and foolish and ignorant! Mother, how can I hope to succeed where older and wiser people have failed?"

"'Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord of hosts.' He often works by the feeblest instrumentalities, and may see fit to use even you, my dear girl. Ask his help and his blessing upon your effort, remembering his promise, 'If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.'"

"I will watch for an opportunity, and you will help me with your prayers, mother?"

"You may be sure of that, dear child."

"But, O mother! how very much better you could speak to her than I."

"I doubt it, Milly; for the work must be of God, or it will come to naught; and he can as readily make use of your mind and tongue as of mine. Don't rely on yourself; don't forget that you are only an instrument."

In spite of a very honest and earnest determination to be cheerful under this new trial of her faith and patience, and to bear her own burden according to the scriptural command, Mildred seemed to her father a little sad-eyed and paler than her wont, as he looked at her across the tea table.

"My child," he said, "I hear you are expecting to watch with the sick to-night, but really I'm afraid you are not able to do so; you do not look well."

"Appearances are sometimes deceitful, you know, father," she returned, with an effort to be bright and lively. "I am quite well, and if fatigued to-night can rest and sleep to-morrow."

"Well," he said, only half convinced, "lie down until it is time for you to go."

"Yes, Mildred, if you can get an hour or two of sleep before your watch begins, it will be a great help," said her mother. "We will call you at nine."

"Half-past eight, if you please, mother. I want to be there in time to ask directions of Mrs. Prior before she leaves."

Mildred was not sorry to seek the quiet and solitude of her own room, but she scarcely slept. She seemed to have but just fallen into a doze when Rupert knocked at her door to say that it wanted but ten minutes of the time she had set for starting, and he was ready to see her to her destination.

"I'm glad you came early," was Mrs. Prior's greeting, "for indeed I ought to be at home seeing to things there. They're pretty sure to go at sixes and sevens when I'm away; and even if my boarders don't growl about it, 'tain't treatin' 'em exactly fair. But I'll not leave you alone with her. Claudina'll be here directly, and I'll stay till she comes."

"Oh, thank you!" Mildred said. "I shouldn't like to be left alone with any one who is so ill, and I shall need to be told just what I'm to do. How is she now?"

"Can't last much longer, poor thing," Mrs. Prior returned with a sad shake of the head; "she's dreadful weak and short o' breath, and awful afraid to go. Dear, dear, to think of anybody putting off preparation to the last minute when they know they've got to die, and after that the judgment! And she won't allow a minister to come into the house, or let anybody say a word to her about her soul. Several has tried; I have myself, but it's no use. Perhaps if she'd been approached in the right way at first, it might have been different. Damaris Drybread was the first, I believe, to say anything to her; and between you and me, though Damaris means well, she's not always over wise in her way of doing what she considers her duty. But there! I must run back to her. She oughtn't to be left alone a minute. Come into the sitting-room and take off your things."

The door into the next room, where the invalid lay, was open, and Mildred could hear her moaning and complaining in hollow, despairing tones, Mrs. Prior answering in cheerful, soothing accents.

Presently Mrs. Prior stepped back to the door and beckoned Mildred in.

"This is Miss Keith, Mrs. Martin," she said. "She and Miss Chetwood will watch with you to-night and do all they can to make you comfortable."

"Yes, you're all very kind. I know you'd help me if you could; but nobody can give me a minute's ease, and nobody knows what I have to suffer," moaned the sick woman, gazing piteously into the fresh young face bending over her.

Mildred's eyes filled with tears, and she opened her lips to speak, but was stopped by a hasty exclamation: "Hush! don't say a word! don't talk to me! don't ask me any questions! I won't hear it! I can't bear it! I'm too weak."

"I can only pray for her," was Mildred's thought as she turned sorrowfully away and hastened to the outer door, where some one had rapped lightly.

It was Claudina, and after giving them the necessary instructions Mrs. Prior left them to their melancholy duty.

As there was not more to be done than one could easily attend to, she had advised them to take turns in watching and sleeping. There was a lounge in the sitting-room, where one might rest very comfortably; Claudina stretched herself on it and almost immediately fell asleep, Mildred having chosen the first watch.

The latter established herself in the sickroom in an arm-chair by the bedside. She had brought a book, but the night lamp did not give sufficient light for reading.

The invalid slept fitfully, tossing, moaning, and sighing in her sleep, and still more during her moments of wakefulness.

Mildred had never felt wider awake, so strangely, fearfully solemn it seemed to sit there alone, waiting the coming of the angel of death to one who shuddered and shrank at his approach. Again and again while the dying woman slept her watcher knelt by the bedside and poured out fervent though silent petitions on her behalf. And for Charlie too; for her thoughts were full of him as well, and oh! at that moment it seemed a small matter that they might never meet on earth, could she only have the blessed assurance that eternity would unite them in another and better world.

"What's that you're doing?" asked the patient, waking suddenly. "Oh, I'm in awful distress! Rub me with some of that liniment, won't you?"

Mildred complied, doing her best to give relief to the physical suffering, and crying mightily in her heart to the Great Physician for the healing of the sin-sick soul.

Oh, the distress and anguish in those hollow, sunken eyes, and expressed in every lineament of the wasted features!

The bony hand clutched wildly at Mildred's dress and drew her down close, while the pale lips gasped, "I'm dying, and I'm not prepared! But I can't think – I'm too weak. I must wait till I get stronger."

"Oh no, no! come now to Jesus! He waits with open arms to receive you," cried Mildred, the tears coursing fast down her cheeks. "He died to save you, and he is able and willing to save to the uttermost all who come to him. Come now."

"Too late, too late! I'm too weak! I can't think! Don't talk to me any more."

Mildred's ear barely caught the faintly breathed words, and with the last the hollow eyes closed, whether in sleep she could not tell.

She found herself growing very weary, and the hands of the clock pointed to a half hour past the set time for her vigil. She stole softly into the next room, roused Claudina, and took her place.

Her last thought as she fell into a dreamless slumber was a prayer for the two for whom she had been so importunately pleading.

She had not slept more than a moment when a hand was laid on her shoulder, and Claudina's voice, trembling with fright, said, "Mildred, Mildred, O Mildred, she's gone!"

"Who?" she asked, starting up only half awake.

"Mrs. Martin. I was rubbing her, and she moaned out, 'I'm too weak. I can't think. I must wait till I'm stronger,' and with the last word turned her head, gasped once, and was gone."

Claudina shuddered and hid her face. "O Mildred," she whispered, "those words of our Saviour are ringing in my ears, 'What shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?' As a girl her head was full of dress and beaux and having a good time; as a married woman – keeping the best table, the neatest house, and helping her husband to get on in the world. She had no time to think about her soul until sickness came, and then she said she was too weak, she must wait to grow stronger."

They clasped each other's hands and wept silently.

Presently there was a sound of some one moving about the kitchen. "The girl's up," said Claudina, rising from her kneeling posture beside the lounge. "I'll go and tell her, and she'll let Mr. Martin know. O, the poor, motherless baby!"

She left the room, and Mildred, starting up, saw through the crack at the side of the window-blind that the sun had risen and Mrs. Prior was at the door, come to inquire how the sick woman was.

Through the sweet morning air, pure and bracing after yesterday's showers, Mildred walked home, full of solemn, anxious thoughts: Charlie was a wanderer, she knew not whither, his absorbing desire and anxiety to retrieve his broken fortunes. "Oh that he would seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness!" Henceforward that should be the burden of her prayer for him, for herself, for all her dear ones.

Then her heart was filled with a great thankfulness for the spared lives of all these. Some of them had already made preparation for that last, long journey which, sooner or later, every son and daughter of Adam must take, and to the others time was still given.