by L. T. Meade
tofind a porter to convey it to the Customs. Mademoiselle evidently didnot appreciate England, and I felt that the air was more bitingly coldthan in Paris. We got into a cab and were driven as fast as possiblethrough the West End towards that dreary part of the town where the oldhouse stood.
Yes, the old house was there; I had almost expected to see that it toohad slipped away into the past with all the rest, that the shadowy houseas well as the shadowy times had vanished into illimitable space. Butit stood firm, and there on the steps was Charley. He had opened thedoor as soon as ever he heard the sound of wheels drawing up on thepavement, and now he rushed down to greet me. His face was red asthough he had been crying a great deal. He said:
"I thought you'd be coming about now. There's coffee in thedining-room. Come along at once."
"But how is the good gentleman?" said Mademoiselle.
Charley started and turned crimson at the sound of her voice. Iintroduced him as my brother, and Mademoiselle as Mademoiselle Wrex, aFrench teacher at our school. Charley mumbled something. I think helonged for Von Marlo's presence, for Von Marlo never lost his head onany occasion whatever.
The next instant I did see his rather uncouth figure and kindly, plainface advancing through the hall to meet me.
"Now, I said you'd come; I knew you'd come without delaying one minute.How do you do. Miss Rachel?"
Mademoiselle looked at him and uttered a little cry.
"Why, Max!" she cried. "Max!"
Then she held out both her hands, and they were both engrossed with oneanother; they were doubtless old friends. Charley dragged me into thedining-room.
"How is father?" I said.
"Oh, he is rather bad; but there are plenty of doctors, and we hope topull him through."
"And my step-mother?"
"Rachel, she is a brick! She is about the best and dearest woman in allthe world. I never knew her like. She has been up with him all theweek, and never thinks of herself at all."
"But, oh, here comes Alex--dear Alex!"
Alex came up to me. In this moment of universal anxiety he wasdelighted to see me again; he kissed me several times.
"Why, you have grown," he said, "and you look so--"
"She looks awfully nice," said Von Marlo.
He had come in dragging Mademoiselle with him.
"Mademoiselle Wrex is my mother's cousin," he said. "I am delighted tosee her."
Mademoiselle was also all enthusiasm.
"Why, the dear, dear boy," she said, "it is indeed a pleasure to see himin this so desolate country. It is a joy of the inconceivable."
Her broken English made both Charley and Alex laugh; but then Alexpulled the bell, and our neat parlour-maid brought in our breakfast. Isat down to eat. I felt still as though in a dream. Was I in Paris, orin the old house, or in altogether new surroundings? I rubbed my eyes.
"You're dead-tired," said Von Marlo.
"I am bewildered," I said.
"But I must catch the next train back," said Mademoiselle.
This roused the boys from any present thought of me. They were allbustle and activity, seeing to Mademoiselle's wants. She had verylittle time to spare. She would take the ten o'clock express fromVictoria, and be back in Paris in less than twenty-four hours after shehad left it.
As I bade her good-bye it seemed to me that I was slipping more and morefrom the old landmarks.
"Give my love to Hermione and Augusta," I said.
"And to, perhaps, poor Riki?" said Mademoiselle.
"Yes, if she will have it," I answered.
"Things will go well with you now, and when you return there will berejoicing," said Mademoiselle.
But I did not think, somehow, that I should ever return; andMademoiselle got into the cab and was whirled away.
It was not until I saw my step-mother that I fully realised what thereal threshold of the place where I was standing really meant; for inthat house, with its comforts, its proprieties, its almost luxuries--that house so well furnished, with such good servants, with everycomfort that life could give--there was, we knew, a visitor hourly andmomentarily expected: that grim and solemn visitor who goes by the nameof Death. Kindly Death he is to some, terrible to others; a gentle andbeloved friend to those who are worn-out with misery--a rest for theweary. But there are times when Death is not longed for, and this wasone of those times. We children felt as we sat huddled together in theparlour, now such a comfortable room, that we had never wanted theProfessor as we did then. He was a man in the prime of life, and greatwere his attainments.
"It is wonderful what he is thought of," Alex kept repeating, and hekept on telling me and telling me all about father and what people saidof him.
But, indeed, I was learning that myself for the first time that day, forthe carriages that drew softly up over the straw in the street to lookat the bulletin on the door might have told me what the great worldthought of him; and the boys who came up each moment to glance at thesolemn message might have told me what his scholars thought of him; andmany poor people whom he had helped were seen crossing the street toglance at the writing. I stood fascinated behind the window-curtain,where I could see without being seen, and it seemed to me that all thesepeople were repeating in a marvellous fashion the true meaning of myfather's life. To me he had hardly ever been a true father in anysense; but these people had regarded him as a great light, as a teacher,as one whom they must ever respect.
"He will be a loss to the world," said Alex--"a great, great loss to theworld!"
"There will be his life in all the papers," said Charley; and then thetwo poor boys put their arms round each other and burst into sobs. Isobbed with them, and wished for old Hannah. And hardly had the wishcome to me before she entered the room very quietly and stood beside us;and when she saw us all crying she said, "Oh, you poor dears--you poordears!" and she sobbed and cried herself. Really it was quite dreadful.I hardly knew how to bear my pain.
But when Mrs Grant came down just in the dusk of the evening, andentered the room very quietly and sat down near us, I went up to her.
"May I see father?" I asked.
She looked at me, and then said:
"Dumps, if he gets worse, if the doctor on his next visit says there isno hope, then you shall see him. The doctor is coming here at eighto'clock with Dr Robinson, the very greatest authority in London. If hegives no hope you must all see him to say good-bye; but not otherwise,for any excitement is bad for him now."
"I don't think I should excite father," I said.
Perhaps there was reproach in my tones, but I did not mean it.
Then my step-mother went away.
"She will feel it awfully; she is just devoted to him," said Alex.
PART TWO, CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
WAITING TO BE CALLED.
We sat on and on in the dusk. After a time Hannah went away. Wescarcely noticed her when she got up. She stooped and kissed us, andsaid, "Poor children!" and it seemed to me as she left the room asthough she were our old nurse back again, caring for us as she used todo when we were motherless and too young to see after ourselves. Butshe went, and she had scarcely disappeared through the door before weforgot her, we were so absorbed waiting for the message which might cometo us any moment from upstairs.
Hannah had not been gone ten minutes before we heard a carriage with apair of horses dash up to the door. It stopped. We heard the muffledthud of the wheels on the thick straw outside, and we heard the door ofthe carriage being opened, and two men got out. They were not keptwaiting an instant at the door. Muriel, our parlour-maid, must havebeen expecting them. We heard them enter, and they went upstairs quitesoftly, making little sound on the thick carpets.
Then there was silence. Alex clasped my hand and squeezed it very hard;and as to Charley, he rumpled up his hair and finally buried his head inmy lap and began to sob afresh. I was glad to be with them both; I feltvery close to them. All else was forgotten except the two boys whobelonged to me, w
ho were my very, very own, and the father who might bedying upstairs.
By-and-by the doctors went away; the carriage disappeared, and there wassilence again in the house, only the muffled sound of carts andcarriages going over the street outside; but nobody came near us.
"It looks bad," said Alex.
He raised his face. The room was quite dark. Muriel had not come in toturn on the gas or to build up the fire. We were glad she had not doneso. We thought it kind of her. A piece of coal fell into a great chasmof red now, and broke into a flame, and I saw Alex's face; it wasghastly white.
"It is quite awful, isn't it?" he said.
"She certainly said she would come down if there was no hope," I said.
"But oughtn't she to let us know, Dumps?"
"She would certainly come if she could," I answered.
After a time my cramped limbs compelled me to rise. I stood up, and thetwo boys looked at me reflectively.
"Where are you going, Rachel? Where are you going?"
"I can't stand it any longer," I said. "I am his daughter, and you arehis sons, and I think we ought to be there. I do--I do."
"No," said Alex firmly; "I am not going against _her_. She has managedhim all along. It would be frightfully unkind to do anything to riskgiving him a start or anything of that sort. She said she'd bring us tohim if it were necessary. I am not going to stir."
"Will you come, Charley?" I said.
"No; I'll stick to Alex," he responded.
He went closer to his brother as he spoke, and flung his arm round himwith all the abandon of one who was altogether carried out of himself.
I did not speak. I felt alone again, outside my brothers and theirlove; but just because I was so alone I thought more than ever of myfather. I had rushed away from Paris to be in time; I would see himagain. I left the room and crept softly upstairs. All day long I hadbeen wearing my travelling-boots; it did not seem worth while to takethem off; nobody had given me a thought. For the first time since mystep-mother came I had been neglected in our now comfortable home.
When I reached the landing where the great, desolate room which had beenmade so comfortable by my step-mother was situated, I took off my shoesand stood very quiet. I saw that the door of my father's room wasslightly ajar. Inside there was the flickering light of a fire--not avery big fire; there was a screen round the bed. I felt more and more akeen and passionate desire to enter the room. I could bear it nolonger. I crept inside the door and round by the screen. Then I sawthat the room had been changed since I had noticed it last. The greatfour-poster was removed, and a man was lying on a little iron bedsteaddrawn out almost into the middle of the room. There was a woman seatedclose to him. She sat very still; she did not seem to move. The manalso, who was lying on his back, was motionless. A wild terror seizedme. Was he dead? Oh! I feared death at that moment, but still thatimpulse, uncontrollable, growing stronger each moment, compelled meforward, and still more forward, and at last I came very near the woman.She roused herself when she saw me. There was no reproach of any sorton her face. It was very white, but her eyes had never looked sweeter.
Just for an instant I wondered if she would rise and take me by the handand lead me from the room; but, instead of that, she held out her handto me and drew me close, and motioned to me to kneel by the bed. I didkneel. I heard the quick breathing, and noticed the cadaverous, wornface, the dark lashes lying on the cheeks, the hair tossed back from thelofty and magnificent brow. Something seemed to clutch at my heart;then my step-mother's voice sounded in my ears:
"You and I will watch by him together."
After that I felt that nothing really mattered; and I knew also that thebarrier between my step-mother's heart and mine had vanished. I lookedat her; my eyes were full; I took her hand and, stooping, kissed itseveral times. Then she too dropped on her knees, and we remainedmotionless together.
All night long we knelt by the Professor's side, and all night long heslept. It was about five in the morning when he opened his eyes. DrRobinson was standing by the other side of the bed; he was holding hishand and feeling his pulse.
"Come," said the doctor in a cheerful tone, "you have had a famoussleep. You are better; and now you must take this;" and he put a strongrestorative between my father's white lips.
"Take me away--_mother_!" I said.
I could not contain myself. She led me as far as the door. I do notthink she said a word; but she herself returned to the room. I rushedup to my own room, and there I flung myself on my bed and cried asthough my very heart would break.
Oh, shadow, shadow of my own mother, were you really angry with me then?Or did you, in the light of God's Presence, understand too well whatlove really meant ever to be angry any more? For everything that wasnot love, that was not gratitude towards the new mother who had comeinto my life, had vanished for ever and ever while I knelt that night bymy father's bedside.
By-and-by, in the course of that day, I kissed her and told hersomething of what I felt. She understood, as I think she always didunderstand even my thoughts before they were uttered.
And so I turned over a new page in life, and my father was spared to usafter all.
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The End.