CHAPTER VIII.
THE RUSTLE OF ANGELS' WINGS.
When daylight came, they carried Mary down to her own pretty room anddid all that science and love could suggest to relieve her sufferings;but in spite of everything, the child grew steadily worse; and theDoctor was at last obliged to admit that double pneumonia had set in.
"You had better bring the babies to her for a few minutes," he said tohis sister. "She has a very high fever and is liable to becomedelirious. A peep at the twins will satisfy her and perhaps ease hermind later on."
"Sweet--darling--" Mary murmured as the babies were held up before her."Soon--again?"
"Yes, pet, Mother will bring them to see you very often. Try to sleepnow," urged her uncle.
Oh, the long, long days and nights of suffering and grief and anxiety.Though the twins were the delight of the household, they had not beenmembers of the family long enough to twine themselves about the heartsof all as had the dear little girl who was never happier than whenmaking others happy. The servants vied with one another to do her somelittle service. Old Susie surpassed herself with her delicious brothsand gelatines over which she spent more time than she did on the mealsfor the family; Liza hurried with her other duties so as to be able todevote more time to the babies and leave Aunt Mandy free to help SisterJulia; Tom sat by day and night on the top step of the stairs, ready torun errands,--a task which, by the way, he had always disliked. EvenDebby, who had known the little girl less than two months, almost sobbedaloud at sight of the wan little face framed in a mass of golden hair.Indeed, so blinded was she by her tears, that she stumbled about andupset so many things that Sister Julia gently took her dust cloth fromher and finished putting the room in order. As for the father, mother,and uncle, Mrs. Selwyn's words just after her brother had told them thedreaded truth, will best express the thoughts that filled their minds.
"Perhaps it is wrong to feel as I do, Rob,--that it would be far easierto lose both of our babies than our little Mary."
"You are merely speaking the thought that is in all our hearts,Elizabeth, and it is only natural that we should feel as we do. In onesense, the babies are just as dear to us as Mary is; but they have notyet entered into our very life as she has done by her own winning ways.So, if she is taken from us, we shall miss her far more than we shouldeither, or even both, of the twins. I doubt whether Berta or Beth couldever quite fill the void which her loss would cause in our lives. But weshall not think of that now. Let us hope for the best and pray that, ifit be God's will, our darling may be spared to us. We can trust Frank tosee that everything possible is done for her."
"Poor Frank! He could not love her better if she were his own child. Ihave telephoned to Sister Florian to ask the prayers of the Sisters andpupils, and, of course, I called Maryvale early this morning. Mary askedme to let her know Frank's decision."
"I shall go now to telephone to her. Try to get a little rest beforedinner."
Alone with Mary, Sister Julia seized the chance to have a little talkwith her.
"There is one very important thing, dear, in this kind of illness, andthat is the fight which the patient herself makes."
"Fight, Sister? You mean that I must punch something the way I saw boysdoing to each other out on the sidewalk one day?"
"No, dear, I mean that you must make up your mind that you are going toget well as soon as possible and----"
"And I am, Sister. I take my medicine even though it has a very badtaste. I try to remember what you told me about our Lord--that they gaveHim a bitter, bitter drink when He was hanging on the cross and said, 'Ithirst.' But--but I can't help screaming sometimes when the pain is sodreadful. I seem to forget everything then."
"Indeed, you have been very good and patient, dear; but in spite of thepain and the bad dreams, you must say to yourself, 'I am going to bewell and strong very soon.'"
Often in the days which followed, when Mary was delirious from fever andpain, the hearts of those at her bedside were wrung by her cry, "But Iam going to be well and strong soon, I am, I _am_!" Then she would begthem not to let her fall into the big, black hole where wicked men werewaiting to stick long knives into her. Sometimes, she knew those abouther for a few minutes, but the greater part of the time she was notconscious. Sister Madeline and Sister Austin came in from Maryvale tosee her; Sister Florian with a companion called several times; but thelittle girl had no memory of their visits when asked later about them.Father Lacey called one afternoon and read a Gospel over her; but shegave no sign that she knew he was there until after he had left theroom. Then she murmured, "Sister--was Father Lacey--here?"
"Yes, dear, he has just left the room."
"I--would like--to see him,--please."
The priest, who had stopped in the hall to speak to Mrs. Selwyn,returned and seated himself at the bedside, saying cheerily, "Do not tryto talk to me, dear child. I am glad you are awake so that I can tellyou how much all your little friends at the convent miss you. They arepraying very hard for you every day, and so are all the Sisters. Yes, Iknow you wish me to thank them for you."
"Did--the girls--go to--Confession--yet, Father?"
"Yes, Mary, they made their first Confession last week."
"Mine--now?--I know--how."
"Certainly, my dear child; but you must let me do most of the talking. Ishall ask you questions, and you will just answer them," and FatherLacey again slipped his stole about his neck as Sister Julia left theroom.
After he had said with her the _Hail Mary_ which he had given as apenance, Mary's mind again began to wander; and when Sister Juliareturned, she was babbling of those tell-tale, little white birds withblue heads and red tails and yellow ribbons about their necks.
"Truly an angelic little soul, Sister," said the priest. "I greatly fearthat she will not be with us long. What does Doctor Carlton say of hercondition?"
"He will not say anything, Father."
"And I suppose it is not quite the thing for you to express youropinion. When is the Doctor at home?"
"This is the first time in several days that he has left the house,Father. He spends the greater part of the day and night with the child.His devotion to her is touching. I have sometimes wondered at his greatgentleness with children, even though he has several times spoken of hissmall niece and repeated her quaint remarks to amuse his littlepatients; but I understand it all now. If she does not recover, morethan half of his life will go out with hers. And the poor father andmother! They have already lost two little boys, yet they are so patientand resigned. You will have to know Mary better than you do, Father, tounderstand just what her loss would mean to this home. The servantsfairly worship her. No little queen could have more faithful subjects.It is a marvel that she is not badly spoiled."
"Her mother is too wise a woman to permit that, Sister. I admit that Ido not know the child as you do, but I have seen enough of her to feelsure that she is all that you say of her, and that her loss would be agreat blow. I find her so well instructed that, if the Doctor thinks shewill not recover, I shall allow her to make her First Communion.[1] Ihave not mentioned the matter to her, however. Speak to the Doctor assoon as he comes in, and if he thinks that there is grave danger, let meknow when she again becomes conscious, and I shall come at once. At allevents, I shall call again to-morrow."
[Footnote 1: The decree of our late Holy Father, Pope Pius X.,concerning the First Communion of little children, had not at this timebeen issued.]
The next morning, three of the finest doctors of New York gathered withDoctor Carlton about the sick child, sadly shook their heads, andquietly went away. In the afternoon, the Doctor himself opened the doorfor the priest and drew him into the library.
"I would have telephoned to you last evening, Father, but it was uselessto do so, for my little niece has not been conscious since your visityesterday. I have little hope that she will become so before--the end. Ihave known from the first that she could not pull through except by amiracle. Humanly speaking, it is now merely a quest
ion of how long herheart can hold out."
"_Humanly_ speaking, yes, Doctor; but the days of miracles are notpassed, and He Who raised the dead to life is still the all-powerfulGod. Mary became conscious yesterday just after I had read a Gospel overher. I feel that our Divine Lord permitted it so that she might make herfirst Confession for which she was preparing when she became ill. He maypermit the same thing to happen to-day so that she may make her FirstCommunion. I am going now to the church for the Blessed Sacrament. AskSister Julia to have all in readiness when I return."
But though Father Lacey prayed long and earnestly over the little girl,and her mother and the nurse spoke close to her ear of the happinessawaiting her, Mary gave no sign that she understood. Then the priestanointed her and raised the Blessed Sacrament in benediction above her;and promising to come again the moment he should hear that she hadbecome conscious, he returned to the church.
The long night began. The house was very quiet, for Mary had ceased tomoan and cry out, and lay perfectly still, her breath coming in littlegasps. Close by her pillow sat the Doctor, his watch in his left hand,the fingers of his right on the child's fluttering pulse. Across fromhim knelt Sister Julia, her eyes never wavering from his haggard, grayface as she watched for the least sign from him that something wasneeded. Her lips moved in prayer as the beads slipped through herfingers. At the foot of the bed knelt Mr. Selwyn, his arm supporting hiswife, his head bowed on the railing where Mary had so often during thepast week seen the strange little birds hopping about. Tom was at hispost at the head of the stairs; and Aunt Mandy and Liza had taken thebabies down to the kitchen so that nothing would disturb the littlesufferer.
The hours dragged on. Midnight passed. The child's breathing grewfainter--then a great stillness fell upon the room. Mr. Selwyn looked upwith a start, and his wife clung closer to him. The Doctor had slippedto his knees, his eyes on the still, white face. Suddenly, the littleeyelids fluttered open, the big blue eyes looked straight into Mr.Selwyn's, then rested for an instant on the Doctor, while a wan littlesmile flitted across the child's face. A faint sigh issued from herparched lips, and her eyes closed. The Doctor raised his hand. No onestirred. Was it life or death? Did they hear the rustle of angels'wings, or was it the murmur of the night wind?
The father's eyes sought the Doctor's face, and soon a look of wonderand doubt crept over it. By degrees, the wonder increased, and the doubtdisappeared, and two great tears of relief rolled down the haggard facewhich turned toward Mr. Selwyn with a smile, while the warning handremained uplifted.
Close to the mother's ear, the father whispered just one little word;then carried her into the next room where, some minutes later, theDoctor joined them. Mr. Selwyn stepped out into the hall, and the nextinstant, Tom, shoes in hand, was making all possible speed toward thekitchen.
Slowly, oh, so slowly, the little girl crept back from the chill, darkshadow into the warm, bright love-light waiting to envelope her. Itwould be many and many a long day before she would be able to play withthe babies and romp with her little friends; but to those who loved her,it was happiness enough just to have her still among them.
Several remarks that were made caused Mary quite a little surprise.
"But I tried and tried to tell you ever so many times that I was goingto get well, Mother. Didn't you hear me?"
"Yes, darling; but, for once, we did not believe you. You can hardlyblame us for that, however, when Uncle Frank and three of the finestdoctors in the city had said that you could not recover."
"Hm! I think I shall ask Uncle to take me to see those doctors some dayjust to prove to them that God can make people well if He wants them toget well."