by F. W. Farrar
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
THE SCHOOL-BELL.
To me the thought of death is terrible, Having such hold of life; to you it is not More than the sudden lifting of a latch; Nought but a step into the open air, Out of a tent already luminous With light that shines through its transparent fold.
Longfellow's Golden Legend.
"I've got a good piece of news for you, Master Daubeny," said the kindold school-nurse.
"What is it? is my mother here?" he said eagerly. "O! let her come andsee me."
She was at the door, and the next moment his arms were round her neck ina long embrace. "Darling, darling mother," he exclaimed, "now I shallbe happy, now that you have come. Nay, you mustn't cry, mother," hesaid, as he felt one of her fast flowing tears upon his forehead;"you've come to help me in bearing up."
"Dearest Johnny," she said, "I trust yet that God will spare the widow'sonly son; He Who raised the son of the widow of Nain will pity us."
"His ways are not ours, mother dear; I do not think that I shallrecover. My past life hangs before me like a far-off picture already; Ilie and look at it almost as if it were not mine, and my mind is quiteat peace; only sometimes my head is all confused."
"God's will be done, Johnny," sobbed the poor lady. "But I do not thinkI can live, if you be taken from me."
"Taken--but not for ever, mother," he said, looking up into her face.
"O Johnny, _why, why_ did you not spare yourself, and work less? It isthe work which has killed you."
"Only because it fell heavier on me than on other boys. They gotthrough it quickly, but I was not so clever, and it cost me more to domy duty. I tried to do it, mother dear, and God helped me. All is wellas it is. O my head, my head!"
"You must rest, darling. My visit and talk has excited you. Try to goto sleep."
"Then sit there, mother, opposite me, so that I may see you when Iwake."
She kissed his aching brow, and sat down, while he composed himself torest. She was a lady of about fifty, with bands of silver hair smoothedover her calm forehead, and in appearance not unlike her son. But therewas something very sweet and matronly about her look, and it wasimpossible to see her without feeling the respect and honour which washer due.
And she sat there, by the bedside, looking upon her only son, the boywho had been the light of her life; and she knew that he was dying--sheknew that he was fading away before her eyes. Yet there was a sweet andnoble resignation in her anguish; there was a deep and genuine spirit ofsubmission to the will of heaven, and a perfect faith in God's love,whatever might be the issue, in every prayer she breathed, as withclasped hands, and streaming eyes, and moving lips, she gazed upon hisface. He might appear dull and heavy to others, but to her he was dearbeyond all thought; and now she was to lose him. In her inmost heartshe knew that she _must_ suffer that great pang; that God was taking toHimself the son who had been so good and true to her, so affectionate,so sweet-tempered, so unselfish, that even from his gentle and quietinfancy he had never by his conduct caused her a moment's pain. She hadlong been looking forward to the strong and upright manhood which shouldfollow this pure boyhood; but that dear boy was not destined to be thestaff of her declining years; _her_ hands were to close his eyes in thelast long sleep, and she was to pass alone under the overshadowing rocksthat close around the valley of human life. God help the mother's heartwho must pass through scenes like this!
Poor Daubeny could not sleep. Brain fever is usually accompanied bydelirium, and as he turned restlessly upon his pillow, his mind began towander away to other days and scenes.
"Stupid, sir? yes, I know I am, but I can't help it; I've really done mybest. I was up at five o'clock this morning, trying, trying so hard tolearn this repetition. Indeed, indeed, I'm not idle, sir. I'll try todo my duty if I can. O Power, I wish I were like you; you learn soquickly, and you never get abused as I do after it all."
And then the poor boy fancied himself sitting under the gas-lamp in thepassage as he had so often done, and trying to master one of hisrepetition lessons, repeating the lines fast to himself as he used todo--
"`Hac arte Pollux et vagus Hercules, Enisus--enisus arces--enisus arces attigit igneas, Quos inter Augustus--'
"How _does_ it go on?
"`Hac arte Pollux et vagus Hercules, Enisus arces attigit igneas, attigit igneas, Quos inter Augustus recumbens--'"
"Oh, what _does_ come next?" and he stopped with an expression of painon his face, pressing his hands tight over his brow. "Don't go on withthe repetition, Johnny, dear," said the poor mother. "I'm sure you knowit enough now."
"O, no! not yet, mother; I shall be turned, I know I shall to-morrow,and it makes him so angry; he'll call me idle and incorrigible, and allkinds of things." And then he began again--
"`Sed quid Typhoeus aut validus Mimas, Aut quid minaci Porphyrion statu, Quid Rhoetus--Rhoetus--quid Rhoetus--'
"Oh, I shall break down here, I know I shall," and he burst into tears."It's no good trying to help me, Power, I _can't_ learn it."
"Leave off for to-night at least, Johnny," said his mother, in a tone ofanguish; "you can learn the rest to-morrow. Oh, what shall I do?" sheasked, turning to the nurse; "I cannot bear to hear him go on likethis."
"Be comforted, ma'am," said the nurse, wiping away her own tears. "He'sa dear good lamb, and he'll come to hisself soon afore he goes off."
"_Must_ he die, then?" she asked, trembling in every limb.
"Hush, good lady! we never know what God may please to do in His mercy.We must bow to His gracious will, ma'am, as you knows well, I don'tdoubt. He's fitter to die than many a grown man is, poor child, andthat's a blessing. I wish though he wasn't a repeating of that thereheathenish Latin."
But Daubeny's voice was still humming fragments of Horace lines,sometimes with eager concentration, and then with pauses at parts wherehis memory failed, at which he would grow distressed and anxious--
"`Quid Rhoetus... quid Rhoetus evulsisque truncis, Enceladus.'
"Oh, I _cannot_ learn this; I think I'm getting more stupid every day.Enceladus--"
"If you love me, Johnny, give it up for to-night, that's a darling boy,"said his mother.
"But, mother, it's my _duty_ to know it; you wouldn't have me fail induty, mother dear, would you? Why, it was you who told me to persevere,and do all things with my might. Well, I will leave it for to-night."Then, still unconscious of what he was doing, the boy got up and prayed,as it was evident that he _had_ done many a time, that God wouldstrengthen his memory and quicken his powers, and enable him to do hisduty like a man. It was inexpressibly touching to see him as he kneltthere--thin, pale, emaciated, the shadow of his former self, kneeling inhis delirium to offer up his old accustomed prayer.
And when he got into bed again, although his mind still wandered, he wasmuch calmer, and a new direction seemed to have been given to histhoughts. The prayer had fallen like dew on his aching soul. Hefancied himself in Power's study, where for many a Sunday the two boyshad been used to sit, and where they had often learnt or read to eachother their favourite hymns. Fragments of these hymns he was nowrepeating, dwelling on the words with an evident sense of pleasure andbelief--
"`A noble army--men and boys, The matron and the maid, Around the Saviour's throne rejoice, In robes of light arrayed. _They_ climbed the steep ascent of heaven, 'Mid peril, toil, and pain; O God, to _us_ may strength be given, To follow in their train.'
"Isn't that beautiful, Power?
"`And when on upward wing. Cleaving the sky, Sun, moon, and stars forgot, Upwards I fly; Still all my song shall be, Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee.'"
And as he murmured to himself in a soothed tone of voice these verses,and lines of "Jerusalem the Golden," and "O for a closer walk with God,"and "Rock of Ages," the wearied brain at last found repose, and Daubenyfell asleep.
He lingered on till the end of the week. On the Saturday he ceased tobe delirious, and th
e lucid interval began which precedes death. It wasthen that he earnestly entreated to be allowed to see those schoolfriends whose names had been so often on his lips--Power, Walter, andHenderson. The boys, who had daily and eagerly inquired for him,entered with a feeling of trembling solemnity the room of sickness. Thenear presence of death filled them with an indescribable awe, and theyfelt desolate at the approaching loss of a friend whom they loved sowell.
"I sent to say good-bye," he said, smiling sweetly. "You must not cryand grieve for me. I am happier than I ever felt before. Good-bye,Walter. It's for a long, long, long time, but not for ever. Good-bye,my dear old Flip--naughty fellow to cry so, when I am happy; and when Iam gone, Flip, think of me sometimes, and of talks we've had together,and take your side manfully for God and Christ. Good-bye, Power, mybest friend; we meant to be confirmed together, you know, but God hasordered it otherwise." And then he whispered low--
"`Lord shall we come? come yet again? Thy children ask one blessing more; To come not now alone, but then When life, and death, and time are o'er; Then, then, to come, O Lord, and be _Confirmed in heaven--confirmed by Thee_.'
"O Power, that line fills me with hope and joy; think of it for me whenI am dead," and his voice trembled with emotion as he again murmured,"`Confirmed in heaven--confirmed by Thee.' I'm afraid I'm too weak totalk any more. O, what a long, long good-bye it will be--for years, andyears, and years; to think that when you have gone out of the room weshall never meet in life again, and I shall never hear your pleasantvoices. O Flip, you make me cry against my will by crying so. It'shard to say, but it must be said at last. Good-bye, God bless you, withall my heart." He laid his hand on their heads as they bent over him,and once mere whispering the last "Good-bye," turned away his face, andmade the pillow wet with his warm tears.
The sound of his mother's sobs attracted him. "Ah, mother, darling, weare alone now; you will stay with me till I die. I am tired."
"I feared that their visit would excite you too much, my child."
"O no, mother; I couldn't bear to die without seeing them, I loved themso much. Mother, will you sing to me a _little_--sing me my favouritehymn."
She began in a low, sweet voice,--
"My God, my Father, while I stray, Far from my home in life's rough way, O teach me from my heart to say, Thy will be done, Thy will be--"
She stopped, for sobs choked her voice. "I am sorry I cannot, Johnny.But I cannot bear to think how soon we must part."
"Only for a short time, mother, a short time. I said a long time justnow, but _now_ it looks to me quite short, and I shall be with God. Isee it all now so clearly. Do you remember those lines--
"`The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, Lets in new light through chinks that time has made.'
"How true they are! Oh, darling mother, how very, very good you havealways been to me, and I pay you with all my heart's whole love." Hepressed upon her lips a long, long kiss, and said, "Good-night, darlingmother. I am falling asleep, I think."
His arms relaxed their loving embrace, and glided down from hershoulder; his head fell back; the light faded from his soft and gentleeyes, and he was asleep.
Rightly he said "asleep"--the long sleep that is the sweetest andhappiest in that it knows no waking here; the long sweet sleep that noevil dreams disturb; the sleep after which the eyes open upon the lightof immortality, and the weary heart rests upon the bosom of its God.Yes, Daubeny had fallen asleep.
God help thee, widowed mother; the daily endearments, the looks ofliving affection, the light of the boy's presence, are for thee and forthy home no more. There lies the human body of thy son; his soul iswith the white-robed, redeemed, innumerable multitude in the Paradise ofGod.
For hours, till the light faded into darkness, as this young life hadfaded into death, she sat fixed in that deep grief which finds noutterance, and knows of no alleviation, with little consciousness saveof the dead presence, and of the pang that benumbed her aching heart.And outside rang the sound of games and health, and the murmur ofboy-voices came to her forlorn ear. There the stream of life wasflashing joyously and gloriously in the sunshine, while here, in thisdarkened room, it had sunk into the sands, and lost itself under theshadow of the dark boughs. But she was a Christian; and as the sweetvoices of memory, and conscience, and hope, and promise whispered to herin her loneliness their angel messages, her heart melted and the tearscame, and she knelt down and took the dead hand of her son in hers, andsaid, between her sobs, while her tear-stained eyes were turned toheaven, "O God, teach me to understand Thy will."
And through the night the great bell of the church of Saint Winifred'stolled the sound of death; and, mingled with it stroke for stroke, inlong, tremulous, thrilling notes that echoed through the silentbuildings, rang out the thin clear bell of Saint Winifred's School. Thetones of that school-bell were usually only heard as they summoned theboys to lessons with quick and hurried beatings. How different now werethe slow occasional notes--each note trembling itself out withundisturbed vibrations which quivered long upon the air--with which ittold that for one at least whom it had been wont to warn, hurry waspossible no longer, and there was boundless leisure now! There was astrange pulse of emotion in the hearts of the listening boys, when thesound of those two passing bells struck upon their ears as they sat atevening work, and told them that the soul of their schoolfellow hadpassed away, and that God's voice had summoned His young servant to Hisside.
"You hear it, Henderson?" said Walter, who sat next to him.
"Yes," answered Henderson in an awe-struck voice, "Daubeny is dead."
The rest of that evening the two boys sat silent and motionless, full ofthe solemn thoughts which can never be forgotten. And for the rest ofthat evening the deep church-bell tolled, and the shrill school-belltolling after it, shivered out into the wintry night air its tremulousmessage that the soul of Daubeny had passed away.