XXIV. WITH THE DYING.
"Oh, sad and solemn is the trembling watch Of those who sit and count the heavy hours Beside the fevered sleep of one they love! Oh, awful is it in the hushed midnight, While gazing on the pallid moveless form, To start and ask, 'Is it now sleep or death?'" --ANONYMOUS.
Mary could not be patient in her loneliness; so much painful thoughtweighed on her mind; the very house was haunted with memories andforeshadowings.
Having performed all duties to Jem, as far as her weak powers, yetloving heart could act; and a black veil being drawn over herfather's past, present, and future life, beyond which she could notpenetrate to judge of any filial service she ought to render: hermind unconsciously sought after some course of action in which shemight engage. Anything, anything, rather than leisure forreflection.
And then came up the old feeling which first bound Ruth to Naomi;the love they both held towards one object; and Mary felt that hercares would be most lightened by being of use, or of comfort to hismother. So she once more locked up the house, and set off towardsAncoats; rushing along with downcast head, for fear lest anyoneshould recognise her and arrest her progress.
Jane Wilson sat quietly in her chair as Mary entered; so quietly, asto strike one by the contrast it presented to her usual bustling andnervous manner.
She looked very pale and wan: but the quietness was the thing thatstruck Mary most. She did not rise as Mary came in, but sat stilland said something in so gentle, so feeble a voice, that Mary didnot catch it.
Mrs. Davenport, who was there, plucked Mary by the gown, andwhispered, "Never heed her; she's worn out, and best let alone.I'll tell you all about it, upstairs."
But Mary, touched by the anxious look with which Mrs. Wilson gazedat her, as if waiting the answer to some question, went forward tolisten to the speech she was again repeating.
"What is this? Will you tell me?"
Then Mary looked and saw another ominous slip of parchment in themother's hand, which she was rolling up and down in a tremulousmanner between her fingers.
Mary's heart sickened within her, and she could not speak.
"What is it?" she repeated. "Will you tell me?" She still lookedat Mary, with the same child-like gaze of wonder and patiententreaty.
What could she answer?
"I telled ye not to heed her," said Mrs. Davenport, a littleangrily. "She knows well enough what it is--too well, belike. Iwas not in when they sarved it; but Mrs. Heming (her as lives nextdoor) was, and she spelled out the meaning, and made it all clear toMrs. Wilson. It's a summons to be a witness on Jem's trial--Mrs.Heming thinks to swear to the gun; for yo see, there's nobbut* heras can testify to its being his, and she let on so easily to thepoliceman that it was his, that there's no getting off her word now.Poor body; she takes it very hard, I dare say!"
*Nobbut; none-but. "No man sigh evere God NO BUT the oon bigetun sone."--Wickliffe's Version.
Mrs. Wilson had waited patiently while this whispered speech wasbeing uttered, imagining, perhaps, that it would end in someexplanation addressed to her. But when both were silent, thoughtheir eyes, without speech or language, told their hearts' pity, shespoke again in the same unaltered gentle voice (so different fromthe irritable impatience she had been ever apt to show to everyoneexcept her husband--he who had wedded her, broken-down andinjured),--in a voice so different, I say, from the old, hastymanner, she spoke now the same anxious words--
"What is this? Will you tell me?"
"Yo'd better give it me at once, Mrs. Wilson, and let me put it outof your sight. Speak to her, Mary, wench, and ask for a sight onit; I've tried and better-tried to get it from her, and she takes noheed of words, and I'm loth to pull it by force out of her hands."
Mary drew the little "cricket"* out from under the dresser, and satdown at Mrs. Wilson's knee, and, coaxing one of her tremulousever-moving hands into hers, began to rub it soothingly; there was alittle resistance--a very little, but that was all; and presently,in the nervous movement of the imprisoned hand, the parchment fellto the ground.
*Cricket; a stool.
Mary calmly and openly picked it up, without any attempt atconcealment, and quietly placing it in sight of the anxious eyesthat followed it with a kind of spell-bound dread, went on with hersoothing caresses.
"She has had no sleep for many nights," said the girl to Mrs.Davenport, "and all this woe and sorrow,--it's no wonder."
"No, indeed!" Mrs. Davenport answered.
"We must get her fairly to bed; we must get her undressed, and all;and trust to God in His mercy to send her to sleep, or else"--
For, you see, they spoke before her as if she were not there; herheart was so far away.
Accordingly they almost lifted her from the chair, in which she satmotionless, and taking her up as gently as a mother carries hersleeping baby, they undressed her poor, worn form, and laid her inthe little bed upstairs. They had once thought of placing her inJem's bed, to be out of sight or sound of any disturbance ofAlice's; but then again they remembered the shock she might receivein awakening in so unusual a place, and also that Mary, who intendedto keep vigil that night in the house of mourning, would find itdifficult to divide her attention in the possible cases that mightensue.
So they laid her, as I said before, on that little pallet bed; and,as they were slowly withdrawing from the bedside, hoping and prayingthat she might sleep, and forget for a time her heavy burden, shelooked wistfully after Mary, and whispered--
"You haven't told me what it is. What is it?"
And gazing in her face for the expected answer, her eyelids slowlyclosed, and she fell into a deep, heavy sleep, almost as profound arest as death.
Mrs. Davenport went her way, and Mary was alone,--for I cannot callthose who sleep allies against the agony of thought which solitudesometimes brings up.
She dreaded the night before her. Alice might die; the doctor hadthat day declared her case hopeless, and not far from death; and attimes, the terror so natural to the young, not of death, but of theremains of the dead, came over Mary; and she bent and listenedanxiously for the long-drawn, pausing breath of the sleeping Alice.
Or Mrs. Wilson might awake in a state which Mary dreaded toanticipate, and anticipated while she dreaded;--in a state ofcomplete delirium. Already her senses had been severely stunned bythe full explanation of what was required of her--of what she had toprove against her son, her Jem, her only child--which Mary could notdoubt the officious Mrs. Heming had given; and what if in dreams(that land into which no sympathy or love can penetrate withanother, either to share its bliss or its agony--that land whosescenes are unspeakable terrors, are hidden mysteries, are pricelesstreasures to one alone--that land where alone I may see, while yet Itarry here, the sweet looks of my dear child)--what if, in thehorrors of her dreams, her brain should go still more astray, andshe should waken crazy with her visions, and the terrible realitythat begot them?
How much worse is anticipation sometimes than reality! How Marydreaded that night, and how calmly it passed by! Even more so thanif Mary had not had such claims upon her care!
Anxiety about them deadened her own peculiar anxieties. She thoughtof the sleepers whom she was watching, till, overpowered herself bythe want of rest, she fell off into short slumbers in which thenight wore imperceptibly away. To be sure, Alice spoke, and sangduring her waking moments, like the child she deemed herself; but sohappily with the dearly-loved ones around her, with the scent of theheather, and the song of the wild bird hovering about her inimagination--with old scraps of ballads, or old snatches ofprimitive versions of the Psalms (such as are sung in countrychurches half draperied over with ivy, and where the running brook,or the murmuring wind among the trees makes fit accompaniment to thechorus of human voices uttering praise and thanksgiving to theirGod)--that the speech and the song gave comfort and good cheer tothe listener's heart, and the grey dawn began to dim the light
ofthe rush-candle, before Mary thought it possible that day wasalready trembling in the horizon.
Then she got up from the chair where she had been dozing, and went,half-asleep, to the window to assure herself that morning was athand. The streets were unusually quiet with a Sabbath stillness.No factory bells that morning; no early workmen going to theirlabours; no slip-shod girls cleaning the windows of the little shopswhich broke the monotony of the street; instead, you might see hereand there some operative sallying forth for a breath of country air,or some father leading out his wee toddling bairns for the unwontedpleasure of a walk with "Daddy," in the clear frosty morning. Menwith more leisure on week-days would perhaps have walked quickerthan they did through the fresh sharp air of this Sunday morning;but to them there was a pleasure, an absolute refreshment in thedawdling gait they, one and all of them, had.
There were, indeed, one or two passengers on that morning whoseobjects were less innocent and less praiseworthy than those of thepeople I have already mentioned, and whose animal state of mind andbody clashed jarringly on the peacefulness of the day, but upon themI will not dwell; as you and I, and almost every one, I think, maysend up our individual cry of self-reproach that we have not doneall that we could for the stray and wandering ones of our brethren.
When Mary turned from the window, she went to the bed of eachsleeper, to look and listen. Alice looked perfectly quiet and happyin her slumber, and her face seemed to have become much moreyouthful during the painless approach to death.
Mrs. Wilson's countenance was stamped with the anxiety of the lastfew days, although she, too, appeared sleeping soundly; but as Marygazed on her, trying to trace a likeness to her son in her face, sheawoke and looked up into Mary's eyes, while the expression ofconsciousness came back into her own.
Both were silent for a minute or two. Mary's eyes had fallenbeneath that penetrating gaze, in which the agony of memory seemedevery minute to find fuller vent.
"Is it a dream?" the mother asked at last in a low voice.
"No!" replied Mary, in the same tone.
Mrs. Wilson hid her face in the pillow.
She was fully conscious of everything this morning; it was evidentthat the stunning effect of the sub-poena, which had affected her somuch last night in her weak, worn-out state, had passed away. Maryoffered no opposition when she indicated by languid gesture andaction that she wished to rise. A sleepless bed is a haunted place.
When she was dressed with Mary's aid, she stood by Alice for aminute or two looking at the slumberer.
"How happy she is!" said she, quietly and sadly.
All the time that Mary was getting breakfast ready, and performingevery other little domestic office she could think of, to add to thecomfort of Jem's mother, Mrs. Wilson sat still in the arm-chair,watching her silently. Her old irritation of temper and mannerseemed to have suddenly disappeared, or perhaps she was toodepressed in body and mind to show it.
Mary told her all that had been done with regard to Mr. Bridgnorth;all her own plans for seeking out Will; all her hopes; and concealedas well as she could all the doubts and fears that would ariseunbidden.
To this Mrs. Wilson listened without much remark, but with deepinterest and perfect comprehension. When Mary ceased, she sighed,and said, "O wench! I am his mother, and yet I do so little, I cando so little! That's what frets me! I seem like a child as seesits mammy ill, and moans and cries its little heart out, yet doesnought to help. I think my sense has left me all at once, and Ican't even find strength to cry like the little child."
Hereupon she broke into a feeble wail of self-reproach, that heroutward show of misery was not greater; as if any cries, or tears,or loud-spoken words could have told of such pangs at the heart asthat look, and that thin, piping, altered voice!
But think of Mary and what she was enduring. Picture to yourself(for I cannot tell you) the armies of thoughts that met and clashedin her brain; and then imagine the effort it cost her to be calm,and quiet, and even in a faint way, cheerful and smiling at times.
After a while she began to stir about in her own mind for some meansof sparing the poor mother the trial of appearing as a witness inthe matter of the gun. She had made no allusion to her summons thismorning, and Mary almost thought she must have forgotten it; andsurely some means might be found to prevent that additional sorrow.She must see Job about it; nay, if necessary, she must see Mr.Bridgnorth, with all his truth-compelling powers; for, indeed, shehad so struggled and triumphed (though a sadly-bleeding victor atheart) over herself these two last days, had so concealed agony, andhidden her inward woe and bewilderment, that she began to takeconfidence, and to have faith in her own powers of meeting any onewith a passably fair show, whatever might be rending her lifebeneath the cloak of her deception.
Accordingly, as soon as Mrs. Davenport came in after morning church,to ask after the two lone women, and she had heard the report Maryhad to give (so much better as regarded Mrs. Wilson than what theyhad feared the night before it would have been)--as soon as thiskind-hearted, grateful woman came in, Mary, telling her purpose,went off to fetch the doctor who attended Alice.
He was shaking himself after his morning's round, and happy in theanticipation of his Sunday's dinner; but he was a good-tempered man,who found it difficult to keep down his jovial easiness even by thebed of sickness or death. He had mischosen his profession for itwas his delight to see every one around him in full enjoyment oflife.
However, he subdued his face to the proper expression of sympathy,befitting a doctor listening to a patient, or a patient's friend(and Mary's sad, pale, anxious face might be taken for either theone or the other).
"Well my girl! and what brings you here?" said he, as he entered hissurgery. "Not on your own account, I hope."
"I wanted you to come and see Alice Wilson,--and then I thought youwould maybe take a look at Mrs. Wilson."
He bustled on his hat and coat, and followed Mary instantly.
After shaking his head over Alice (as if it was a mournful thing forone so pure and good, so true, although so humble a Christian, to benearing her desired haven), and muttering the accustomed wordsintended to destroy hope, and prepare anticipation, he went, incompliance with Mary's look, to ask the usual questions of Mrs.Wilson, who sat passively in her arm-chair.
She answered his questions, and submitted to his examination.
"How do you think her?" asked Mary eagerly.
"Why--a," began he, perceiving that he was desired to take one sidein his answer, and unable to find out whether his listener wasanxious for a favourable verdict or otherwise; but thinking it mostprobable that she would desire the former, he continued--
"She is weak, certainly; the natural result of such a shock as thearrest of her son would be,--for I understand this James Wilson, whomurdered Mr. Carson, was her son. Sad thing to have such areprobate in the family."
"You say 'WHO MURDERED,' sir!" said Mary indignantly. "He is onlytaken up on suspicion, and many have no doubt of his innocence--those who know him, sir."
"Ah! well, well! doctors have seldom time to read newspapers, and Idare say I'm not very correct in my story. I dare say he'sinnocent; I'm sure I had no right to say otherwise,--only words slipout.--No! indeed, young woman, I see no cause for apprehension aboutthis poor creature in the next room;--weak--certainly; but a day ortwo's good nursing will set her up, and I'm sure you're a goodnurse, my dear, from your pretty kind-hearted face,--I'll send acouple of pills and a draught, but don't alarm yourself--there's nooccasion, I assure you."
"But you don't think her fit to go to Liverpool?" asked Mary, stillin the anxious tone of one who wishes earnestly for some particulardecision.
"To Liverpool--yes," replied he. "A short journey like thatcouldn't fatigue, and might distract her thoughts. Let her go byall means,--it would be the very thing for her."
"O sir!" burst out Mary, almost sobbing; "I did so hope you wouldsay she was too ill to go."
"Whew!"--said he, with a prolonged
whistle, trying to understand thecase; but being, as he said, no reader of newspapers, utterlyunaware of the peculiar reasons there might be for so apparentlyunfeeling a wish--"Why did you not tell me so sooner? It mightcertainly do her harm in her weak state! there is always some riskattending journeys--draughts, and what not. To her, they mightprove very injurious,--very. I disapprove of journeys, orexcitement, in all cases where the patient is in the low, flutteredstate in which Mrs. Wilson is. If you take MY advice, you willcertainly put a stop to all thoughts of going to Liverpool." Hereally had completely changed his opinion, though quiteunconsciously; so desirous was he to comply with the wishes ofothers.
"O sir, thank you! And will you give me a certificate of her beingunable to go, if the lawyer says he must have one? The lawyer, youknow," continued she, seeing him look puzzled, "who is to defendJem,--it was as a witness against him"--
"My dear girl!" said he almost angrily, "why did you not state thecase fully at first? one minute would have done it,--and my dinnerwaiting all this time. To be sure she can't go,--it would bemadness to think of it; if her evidence could have done good, itwould have been a different thing. Come to me for the certificateany time; that is to say, if the lawyer advises you. I second thelawyer; take counsel with both the learned professions--ha, ha, ha."
And laughing at his own joke, he departed, leaving Mary accusingherself of stupidity in having imagined that every one was as wellacquainted with the facts concerning the trial as she was herself;for indeed she had never doubted that the doctor would have beenaware of the purpose of poor Mrs. Wilson's journey to Liverpool.
Presently she went to Job (the ever ready Mrs. Davenport keepingwatch over the two old women), and told him her fears, her plans,and her proceedings.
To her surprise he shook his head doubtfully.
"It may have an awkward look, if we keep her back. Lawyers is up totricks."
"But it is no trick," said Mary. "She is so poorly, she was lastnight so, at least; and to-day she's so faded and weak."
"Poor soul! I dare say. I only mean for Jem's sake; and so much isknown, it won't do now to hang back. But I'll ask Mr. Bridgnorth.I'll e'en take your doctor's advice. Yo tarry at home, and I'llcome to yo in an hour's time. Go thy ways, wench."