CHAPTER XI.
The next morning found Mrs. Travilla calm and peaceful, even cheerful,ready for either life or death. She was up at her usual early hour, andRosie and Walter, coming in for their accustomed half hour of Biblereading with mamma, found her at her writing-desk just finishing a noteto Violet.
"Dear mamma," exclaimed Walter, in a tone of delight, "you are lookingso much better and brighter this morning. I was really troubled aboutyou last night lest you were going to be ill; you were so pale, andgrandpa looked so worried."
"Grandpa is always easily frightened about mamma if she shows theslightest indication of illness," said Rosie; "as indeed we all are,because she is so dear and precious; our very greatest earthly treasure.
"Mamma dearest, I am so rejoiced that you are not really sick!" sheadded, dropping on her knees beside her mother's chair, clasping herarms about her, and kissing her again and again with ardent affection.
"I, too," Walter said, taking his station on her other side, putting anarm round her neck, and pressing his lips to her cheek.
She returned their caresses with words of mother love, tears shining inher eyes at the thought that this might prove almost her lastopportunity.
"What do you think, Rosie?" laughed Walter. "Mamma called me her babyboy last night; me--a great fellow of eleven. I think you must be herbaby girl."
But Rosie made no reply. She was gazing earnestly into her mother'sface. "Mamma dear," she said anxiously, "you are not well! you aresuffering! Oh, what is it ails you?"
"I am in some pain, daughter," Elsie answered, in a cheerful tone; "butCousin Arthur hopes to be able to relieve it in a day or two."
"Oh, I am glad to hear that!" Rosie exclaimed, with a sigh of relief."Dearest mamma, I do not know how I could ever bear to have you veryill."
"Should that trial ever come to you, daughter dear, look to God forstrength to endure it," her mother said in sweetly solemn accents, asshe gently smoothed Rosie's hair with her soft white hand and gazedlovingly into her eyes. "Do not be troubled about the future, but trusthis gracious promise: 'As thy days, so shall thy strength be!' Many andmany a time has it been fulfilled to me and to all who have put theirtrust in him?"
"Yes, mamma, I know you have had some hard trials, and yet you alwaysseem so happy."
"You look happy now, mamma; are you?" asked Walter, a little anxiously.
"Yes, my son, I am," she said, smiling affectionately upon him. "Now letus have our reading," turning over the leaves of her Bible as she spoke."We will take the twenty-third psalm. It is short, and so very sweet andcomforting."
They did so, Elsie making a few brief remarks, especially on the fourthverse, which neither Rosie nor Walter ever forgot.
She followed them with a short prayer, and just at its close her fathercame in, and, sending the children away, spent alone with his daughterthe few minutes that remained before the ringing of the breakfast bell.
He obeyed the summons, but she remained in her own apartments, a servantcarrying her meal to her.
It was something very unusual for her, and, joined to an unusual silenceon the part of their grandfather, accompanied by a sad countenance andoccasional heavy sigh, and similar symptoms shown by both Grandma Roseand Edward, excited surprise and apprehension on the part of the youngermembers of the household.
Family worship, as was the rule followed immediately upon the conclusionof the meal, and Mr. Dinsmore's feeling petition on behalf of the sickone increased the alarm of Rosie and Zoe.
Both followed Edward out upon the veranda, asking anxiously what ailedmamma.
At first he tried to parry their questions, but his own ill-concealeddistress only increased their alarm and rendered them the morepersistent.
"There is something serious ailing mamma," he said at length, "butCousin Arthur hopes soon to be able to relieve her. The cure is somewhatdoubtful, however, and that is what so distresses grandpa, grandma, andme. Oh, let us all pray for her, pleading the Master's precious promise,'If two of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shallask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in heaven.'
"Mamma has sent for my sisters Elsie and Violet. She wants as many ofher children and grandchildren near her as possible; but Harold andHerbert have to be left out because, being so far away, there is nottime to summon them."
"O Ned," cried Rosie, in an agony of terror, "is--is mamma in immediatedanger? What--what is it Cousin Arthur is going to do?"
"A--surgical operation is, he says, the only--only thing that canpossibly save her life, and--he hopes it will."
"But he isn't certain? O mamma, mamma!" cried Rosie, bursting into anuncontrollable fit of weeping.
Zoe was sobbing too, Edward holding her in his arms and scarce able torefrain from joining with her, and at that moment the Fairview carriagedrove up, and Elsie Leland, alighting therefrom, quickly came in amongthem, asking in alarm, as she saw their tear-stained, agitated faces,"What is the matter? Oh, is mamma ill?"
Then Edward's story had to be repeated to her, and shortly after toViolet, who, with her children, arrived a little later.
They too seemed almost overwhelmed with distress.
"Can we go to her?" Violet asked, and Mrs. Dinsmore, who had just joinedthem, replied, "Not yet; your grandpa is with her, and wishes to haveher to himself for a while."
"Ob, I hope he will not keep us long away from her; our own, own dearmother!" exclaimed Rosie, with a fresh burst of tears and sobs.
"I think not long, Rosie, dear," Mrs. Dinsmore replied soothingly,putting an arm round the weeping girl as she spoke, and smoothing herhair with gently caressing hand. "Your mamma will be asking for you allpresently. She has said that until the danger is past, she wants you allnear enough to be summoned to her side in a moment."
"And I--we all--know she is ready for any event," Elsie Leland said, intrembling, tearful tones.
"Yes; and I believe God will spare her to us for years to come, inanswer to our prayers," remarked Mrs. Dinsmore in cheerful, hopefulaccents.
Walter had gone out into the grounds at the time the older ones repairedto the veranda, and Grace, with Violet's little ones, had joined himthere on alighting from the carriage which had brought them fromWoodburn.
The four now came running in and Walter, noticing the looks of grief andanxiety on the faces of the older people asked anxiously, "What's thematter, folks?" then added quickly. "Oh, I hope mamma is not worse! Isthat it, grandma?" His query was not answered, for at that moment Dr.Conly's carriage came driving up the avenue. All crowded about him as healighted and came up the steps into the veranda. That, however, wasnothing new for he was a great favorite, being not only their relative,but their trusted and valued physician.
"You have come to see mamma?" Mrs. Leland said, half inquiringly. "Oh,Cousin Arthur, do be frank with us! do tell us plainly what you think ofher case."
"It is a serious one, Cousin Elsie, I will not deny that," the doctorreplied, a very grave and concerned look on his face as he spoke, "andyet I have strong hope of complete recovery; so do not any of you giveway to despair, but unite together in prayer for God's blessing on themeans used."
"Can I see her now, Aunt Rose?" he asked, turning to Mrs. Dinsmore. "Ithink so," she replied, leading the way, the doctor following, while theothers remained where they were, waiting in almost silent suspense.
To them all it seemed a long, sad day. One at a time they were admittedto a short interview with their mother, in which she spoke with each oneas though it might be her last opportunity, the burden of her talk beingalways an earnest exhortation to a life hid with God in Christ; a lifeof earnest, loving service to him who had died to redeem them from sinand eternal death.
She was very cheerful and spoke hopefully of the result of theoperation, yet added that, as it might prove fatal, and in a way toleave her neither time nor strength for these last words, she must speakthem now; but they need not despair of seeing her restored to health andgiven many more years of s
weet companionship with her loved ones.
Walter, as the youngest, took his turn last.
For many minutes he could do nothing but sob on his mother's breast."O mamma, mamma," he cried, "I cannot, cannot do without you!"
"Mother knows it will be hard for her baby boy at first," she said, lowand tenderly, holding him close to her heart; "but some day you willcome to mamma in that happy land where there is no parting, no death,and where sorrow and sighing shall flee away; the land where 'theinhabitant shall not say I am sick'; the land where there is no sin, nosuffering of any kind, and God shall wipe away all tears from our eyes.
"My darling, my little son, there is nothing else mother so desires foryou as that you may be a lamb of Christ's fold, and I have strong hopesthat you already are. You know that Jesus died to save sinners; that heis able to save to the uttermost all that come unto God by him; that youcan do nothing to earn salvation, but must take it as God's freeunmerited gift: that Jesus says, 'Him that cometh to me I will in nowise cast out.' All this you know, my son?"
"Yes, mamma dearest," he sobbed. "Oh, how good it was in him to die thatcruel death that we might live! Yes, I do love him, and he won't beangry with me because I'm almost heartbroken at the thought of having todo without my dear, dear mother, for many years. O mamma, mamma, how canI live without you?"
"It may please the dear Lord Jesus to spare you that trial, my darlingboy," she said. "I know that he will, if in his infinite wisdom he seesit to be for the best.
"And we must just trust him, remembering those sweet Bible words, 'Weknow that all things work together for good to them that love God.'Leave it all with him, my darling, feeling perfectly sure that whateverhe orders will be for the best; that though we may not be able to see itso now, we shall at the last."
"But, mamma, I must pray that you may be cured and live with us formany, many years. It will not be wrong to ask him for that?"
"No, not if you ask in submission to his will, remembering that no oneof us knows what is really for our highest good. Remember his own prayerin his agony there in the garden of Gethsemane, 'Father, if thou bewilling, remove this cup from me: nevertheless, not my will, but thine,be done.'
"He is our example and we must strive to be equally submissive to theFather's will. Remember what the dear Master said to Peter, 'What I dothou knowest not now; but thou shalt know hereafter.'"
"Mamma, I will try to be perfectly submissive to his will, even if it isto take you away from me; but oh, I must pray, pray, _pray_ as hard as Ican that it may please him to spare your dear life and let me keep mymother at least till I am grown to be a man. It won't be wrong, mamma?"
"No, my darling boy, I think not--if with it all you can truly, fromyour heart, say, 'thy will, not mine, be done.'"
When Captain Raymond followed his wife and little ones to Ion, he foundthere a distressed household, anxious and sorely troubled over thesuffering and danger of the dearly beloved mother and mistress. Violetmet him on the veranda, her cheeks pale and showing traces of tears, hereyes full of them.
"My darling!" he exclaimed in surprise and alarm, "what is the matter?"
He clasped her in his arms as he spoke, and dropping her head upon hisshoulder, she sobbed out the story of her mother's suffering and thetrial that awaited her on the morrow.
His grief and concern were scarcely less than her own, but he tried tospeak words of comfort to both her and the others to whom the lovedinvalid was so inexpressibly dear. To the beloved invalid also when,like the rest, he was accorded a short interview.
Yet he found to his admiring surprise that she seemed in small need ofsuch service--so calm, so peaceful, so entirely ready for any event wasshe.
Finding his presence apparently a source of strength and consolation,not only to his young wife, but to all the members of the strickenhousehold, he remained till after tea, but then returned home for thenight, principally for Lulu's sake; not being willing to leave the childalone, or nearly so, in that great house.