Aunt Mary

by Sophie May

  CHAPTER XVII.

  A SERIOUS ILLNESS.

  As we have before stated, Mabel had only changed her upper garments.Stockings and shoes, though soaked through in coming along the wetgrass, she had not thought of, and her wet petticoat steamed and smokedas she stood drying it by the kitchen fire.

  'Dear me! dear me!' exclaimed Aunt Mary; 'why did you not immediatelytake off all your wet clothes? Clara dear, go with Mabel upstairs, helpher to undress and get into bed, and I will bring some warm tea up assoon as possible. I am quite distressed to see the state you are in, mydear,' she added.

  Mabel, though of course obliged to obey, went off very reluctantly,declaring all the time that she should be no worse for the wetting, andfeeling far more concerned about the spoiling of her dress and her hat,than fearful of any consequence that might ensue from keeping on her wetclothes.

  The room in which the cousins slept opened into one that was occupied bytheir aunt, so that she could easily communicate with them if anythingwas the matter. Strict in requiring obedience to her commands, and innot permitting any of her rules to be disregarded, Miss Livesay wasstill a most loving and unselfish relative and friend, untiring in thekind attentions to the sick, ever glad and ready to relieve the needy,or to give a word of advice or sympathy when it was likely to be wellreceived. All the household had retired to rest but herself; she hadseen her dear children, as she often called Clara and Mabel, fast asleepin their separate little white beds, but she still felt anxiety onMabel's account.

  'Poor, foolish girl,' said the kind aunt to herself, 'I wonder whether Ishall ever be able to convince her of her folly. I cannot change herheart, but I will pray that it may be changed; and I will do everythingin my power, both by example and precept, to show her that "Wisdom'sways are ways of pleasantness, and her paths peace."' As Miss Livesaysaid this, she once more went to look at the sleepers in the adjoiningroom. Clara lay pale, peaceful, and soundly asleep; but Mabel, thoughalso asleep, looked flushed, and appeared restless.

  This, Aunt Mary thought, might arise from the hurry and agitation ofrunning home so quickly; she did not wish to meet evils half-way, yet,on retiring from the room, she made up her mind to take another look atthe sleeping girl during the night. This she accordingly did, butobserving no fresh symptoms for alarm, she lay down again, and onlywaked when Clara came to tell her that Mabel complained of great painsin her limbs. This sad news completely awed the kind aunt, for shedreaded an attack of rheumatic fever, as Mabel's mamma had been adreadful sufferer two years before from that very serious malady. Assoon as possible, the doctor was sent for. Aunt Mary was no alarmist,and could herself have dealt with any ordinary complaint; but she wishedto have the doctor's opinion, and, if possible, his decision, on thereal nature of the illness from which her niece was suffering, in orderthat she might act with befitting caution, if there were any likelihoodof infection.

  Clara sat disconsolate by the side of the pretty white bed, where herpoor cousin lay with feverish head and aching limbs. The stricken girlwas very quiet, except when she made an attempt to move, and then thepain caused her to utter a faint cry, which thrilled through Clara'skind heart; for she had never before been called upon to watch by asick-bed.

  'Oh, dear Mabel, I am so sorry for you,' said the affectionatechild-nurse; 'I wish I could do anything to give you relief from yourpains.'

  'Thank you, dear Clara,' said the poor girl, in a quiet, subdued tone,very unlike that of the preceding day; even in this short timereflection had been at work, conscience had not been inactive, forretribution seemed to have come so suddenly as a necessary consequenceof wrongdoing.

  But the doctor is here now; we must not keep him waiting. A kind,fatherly, benevolent-looking man stands beside the bed of pain, on oneside, and the loving, anxious aunt and cousin on the other.

  'You are quite right in your idea as to the nature of the complaint,dear madam,' said Dr. Madox. 'Your niece is suffering from an attack ofrheumatic fever; a very sharp attack it appears to be, but it need noton that account be a long one, though, just now, it is impossible topredict. However, we will do all we can for her,' added the doctor,cheerfully; 'in the meantime, you know, of course, that there is nodanger of infection, though I should advise the patient to be keptperfectly quiet.'

  This was indeed a very painful trial for all parties; but Aunt Mary feltthat the hand that afflicts can also sustain. She knew, also, that painand suffering and sorrow are often antidotes to the much more seriousevils of pride and vanity and sinful tempers, and that, when they aresubmitted to patiently, they bring forth excellent fruits.

  'Let me nurse dear Mabel myself, aunt,' said Clara; 'I will doeverything I can do for her night and day. Oh, I do hope she will soonbe well again!'

  'And I _hope_ so too, my dear Clara,' replied her aunt; 'but you mustnot think that you can attend to your cousin without help. You may ofcourse remain with her for company; and this need not perhaps hinderyour lessons, unless she should become very impatient, as is often thecase with sufferers in this severe malady. But health, your health, mychild, must be attended to; you must have air and exercise. And I fearthat we shall all be required to lend a helping hand to the poor invalidshould the fever greatly increase. I am just going to write to mysister, Mabel's mamma. I must be careful not to alarm her, in her weakstate, as she is very nervous. You can return now to your cousin,'continued Aunt Mary, 'and be sure you do not leave her alone until Icome to you. Ring for anything that is wanted.'

  And now for weeks and weeks, this same selfish, self-willed girl, MabelEllis, lay on the bed of pain and languishing, and I may add, I amrejoiced to say, on the bed of sincere repentance. Yes, the salutarylessons of adversity had not been taught in vain, for they were nottransitory ones, they had taken deep root; while the Divine precepts andheavenly counsels, which she had heard daily from her most loving andtender nurses, sank deep into a heart out of which had been weeded, tomake room for them, the rank and bitter weeds of pride and passion.

  Mabel Ellis was indeed an altered character, when able once more to situp in the arm-chair; though so weak that she could scarcely speak aboveher breath, her looks of love and thankfulness, and the soft eyes oftenfilled with glad tears, spoke most expressively to the hearts of heraunt and cousin, for they felt that their labour of love had not been invain; and though all Aunt Mary's usual routine had been put aside, andfor a time a new phase of life had been set before her, in this trialshe could feel thankful.

  'The seeds of affliction and pain, When the soil has been moistened with rain That flow'd from a penitent heart, Into beauty, and fragrance will start.

  'Oh flowers of celestial birth! Though springing from clods of the earth, How rich are the odours ye shed O'er the couch where the languishing head

  'Is pillow'd in gentle repose, Forgetting awhile its past woes; Then waking, the incense of praise, With your odorous breathings, to raise.'

  None but those who are recovering from a serious illness can conceivethe feelings of gratitude and love which take possession of the heartwhen it is rightly disposed, what time the rod of affliction is removed.Mabel seemed to feel herself a new creature, and as she threw her armsround her cousin's neck, she gave expression to feelings of thankfulnessand love for the kind attention she had received from her and from heraunt. She did not fail to lament bitterly the pride and sinful temper,which now appeared to her to have been the principal cause of all hertrouble.

  It was while she was thus bitterly lamenting the past, and weeping onClara's shoulder, that Aunt Mary came rather suddenly into the room andsurprised them.

  'Come, my children,' said the kind lady, 'this will never do! Nurse andconvalescent both in tears,' she added, for Clara was also weeping; 'Iam afraid, dear Mabel, I shall have to dismiss your young attendant, andengage one with more judgment and with less sympathy.'

  'Oh no, no, dear aunt,' was the ready response. '_I_ will behave better,I assure you,' said Clara. 'Poor Mabel is weak, and a little thing makesher cry. S
he is only sorrowing now for the past; you will teach her, Iknow, to hope for the future.'

  'Yes, even while we sorrow, we must hope; hope is the great lightener ofall trouble. Come, cheer up, my child,' said Aunt Mary; 'I have somepleasant news for you to-day. I have just had a letter from CamdenTerrace, to say that your papa and mamma and Freddy are coming to seeyou this afternoon, and to drink tea with me. Ah, I see you can smile,and be glad. We must have no more tears to-day; entertain only thoughtsof love and thankfulness.'