English
Springflewswiftlyby,andsummercame.
Ifthevillagehadbeenbeautifulatfirstitwasnowinthefullglowandluxurianceofitsrichness.
Thegreattrees,whichhadlookedshrunkenandbareintheearliermonths,hadnowburstintostronglifeandhealth;andstretchingforththeirgreenarmsoverthethirstyground,convertedopenandnakedspotsintochoicenooks,wherewasadeepandpleasantshadefromwhichtolookuponthewideprospect,steepedinsunshine,whichlaystretchedbeyond.
Theearthhaddonnedhermantleofbrightestgreen;andshedherrichestperfumesabroad.
Itwastheprimeandvigouroftheyear;allthingsweregladandflourishing.
Still,thesamequietlifewentonatthelittlecottage,andthesamecheerfulserenityprevailedamongitsinmates.
Oliverhadlongsincegrownstoutandhealthy;buthealthorsicknessmadenodifferenceinhiswarmfeelingsofagreatmanypeople.
Hewasstillthesamegentle,attached,affectionatecreaturethathehadbeenwhenpainandsufferinghadwastedhisstrength,andwhenhewasdependentforeveryslightattention,andcomfortonthosewhotendedhim.
Onebeautifulnight,whentheyhadtakenalongerwalkthanwascustomarywiththem:forthedayhadbeenunusuallywarm,andtherewasabrilliantmoon,andalightwindhadsprungup,whichwasunusuallyrefreshing.
Rosehadbeeninhighspirits,too,andtheyhadwalkedon,inmerryconversation,untiltheyhadfarexceededtheirordinarybounds.
Mrs.Mayliebeingfatigued,theyreturnedmoreslowlyhome.
Theyoungladymerelythrowingoffhersimplebonnet,satdowntothepianoasusual.
Afterrunningabstractedlyoverthekeysforafewminutes,shefellintoalowandverysolemnair;andassheplayedit,theyheardasoundasifshewereweeping.
‘Rose,mydear!’saidtheelderlady.
Rosemadenoreply,butplayedalittlequicker,asthoughthewordshadrousedherfromsomepainfulthoughts.
‘Rose,mylove!’criedMrs.Maylie,risinghastily,andbendingoverher.‘Whatisthis?Intears!Mydearchild,whatdistressesyou?’
‘Nothing,aunt;nothing,’repliedtheyounglady.‘Idon’tknowwhatitis;Ican’tdescribeit;butIfeel—’
‘Notill,mylove?’interposedMrs.Maylie.
‘No,no!Oh,notill!’repliedRose:shudderingasthoughsomedeadlychillnesswerepassingoverher,whileshespoke;‘Ishallbebetterpresently.Closethewindow,pray!’
Oliverhastenedtocomplywithherrequest.
Theyounglady,makinganefforttorecoverhercheerfulness,strovetoplaysomeliveliertune;butherfingersdroppedpowerlessoverthekeys.
Coveringherfacewithherhands,shesankuponasofa,andgaveventtothetearswhichshewasnowunabletorepress.
‘Mychild!’saidtheelderlylady,foldingherarmsabouther,‘Ineversawyousobefore.’
‘IwouldnotalarmyouifIcouldavoidit,’rejoinedRose;‘butindeedIhavetriedveryhard,andcannothelpthis.IfearIamill,aunt.’
Shewas,indeed;for,whencandleswerebrought,theysawthatintheveryshorttimewhichhadelapsedsincetheirreturnhome,thehueofhercountenancehadchangedtoamarblewhiteness.
Itsexpressionhadlostnothingofitsbeauty;butitwaschanged;andtherewasananxioushaggardlookaboutthegentleface,whichithadneverwornbefore.
Anotherminute,anditwassuffusedwithacrimsonflush:andaheavywildnesscameoverthesoftblueeye.
Againthisdisappeared,liketheshadowthrownbyapassingcloud;andshewasoncemoredeadlypale.
Oliver,whowatchedtheoldladyanxiously,observedthatshewasalarmedbytheseappearances;andsointruth,washe;butseeingthatsheaffectedtomakelightofthem,heendeavouredtodothesame,andtheysofarsucceeded,thatwhenRosewaspersuadedbyheraunttoretireforthenight,shewasinbetterspirits;andappearedeveninbetterhealth:assuringthemthatshefeltcertainsheshouldriseinthemorning,quitewell.
‘Ihope,’saidOliver,whenMrs.Mayliereturned,‘thatnothingisthematter?Shedon’tlookwellto-night,but—’
Theoldladymotionedtohimnottospeak;andsittingherselfdowninadarkcorneroftheroom,remainedsilentforsometime.Atlength,shesaid,inatremblingvoice:
‘Ihopenot,Oliver.Ihavebeenveryhappywithherforsomeyears:toohappy,perhaps.ItmaybetimethatIshouldmeetwithsomemisfortune;butIhopeitisnotthis.’
‘What?’inquiredOliver.
‘Theheavyblow,’saidtheoldlady,‘oflosingthedeargirlwhohassolongbeenmycomfortandhappiness.’
‘Oh!Godforbid!’exclaimedOliver,hastily.
‘Amentothat,mychild!’saidtheoldlady,wringingherhands.
‘Surelythereisnodangerofanythingsodreadful?’saidOliver.‘Twohoursago,shewasquitewell.’
‘Sheisveryillnow,’rejoinedMrs.Maylies;‘andwillbeworse,Iamsure.Mydear,dearRose!Oh,whatshallIdowithouther!’
Shegavewaytosuchgreatgrief,thatOliver,suppressinghisownemotion,venturedtoremonstratewithher;andtobeg,earnestly,that,forthesakeofthedearyoungladyherself,shewouldbemorecalm.
‘Andconsider,ma’am,’saidOliver,asthetearsforcedthemselvesintohiseyes,despiteofhiseffortstothecontrary.‘Oh!
considerhowyoungandgoodsheis,andwhatpleasureandcomfortshegivestoallabouther.
Iamsure—certain—quitecertain—that,foryoursake,whoaresogoodyourself;andforherown;andforthesakeofallshemakessohappy;shewillnotdie.
Heavenwillneverletherdiesoyoung.’
‘Hush!’saidMrs.Maylie,layingherhandonOliver’shead.‘Youthinklikeachild,poorboy.
Butyouteachmemyduty,notwithstanding.
Ihadforgottenitforamoment,Oliver,butIhopeImaybepardoned,forIamold,andhaveseenenoughofillnessanddeathtoknowtheagonyofseparationfromtheobjectsofourlove.
Ihaveseenenough,too,toknowthatitisnotalwaystheyoungestandbestwhoaresparedtothosethatlovethem;butthisshouldgiveuscomfortinoursorrow;forHeavenisjust;andsuchthingsteachus,impressively,thatthereisabrighterworldthanthis;andthatthepassagetoitisspeedy.God’swillbedone!Iloveher;andHeknowshowwell!’
OliverwassurprisedtoseethatasMrs.Mayliesaidthesewords,shecheckedherlamentationsasthoughbyoneeffort;anddrawingherselfupasshespoke,becamecomposedandfirm.
Hewasstillmoreastonishedtofindthatthisfirmnesslasted;andthat,underallthecareandwatchingwhichensued,Mrs.Mayliewaseveryreadyandcollected:performingallthedutieswhichhaddevolveduponher,steadily,and,toallexternalappearances,evencheerfully.
Buthewasyoung,anddidnotknowwhatstrongmindsarecapableof,undertryingcircumstances.
Howshouldhe,whentheirpossessorssoseldomknowthemselves?
Ananxiousnightensued.Whenmorningcame,Mrs.Maylie’spredictionswerebuttoowellverified.Rosewasinthefirststageofahighanddangerousfever.
‘Wemustbeactive,Oliver,andnotgivewaytouselessgrief,’saidMrs.Maylie,layingherfingeronherlip,asshelookedsteadilyintohisface;‘thislettermustbesent,withallpossibleexpedition,toMr.Losberne.
Itmustbecarriedtothemarket-town:whichisnotmorethanfourmilesoff,bythefootpathacrossthefield:andthencedispatched,byanexpressonhorseback,straighttoChertsey.
Thepeopleattheinnwillundertaketodothis:andIcantrusttoyoutoseeitdone,Iknow.’
Olivercouldmakenoreply,butlookedhisanxietytobegoneatonce.
‘Hereisanotherletter,’saidMrs.Maylie,pausingtoreflect;‘butwhethertosenditnow,orwaituntilIseehowRosegoeson,Iscarcelyknow.Iwouldnotforwardit,unlessIfearedtheworst.’
‘IsitforChertsey,too,ma’am?’inquiredOliver;impatienttoexecutehiscommission,andholdingouthistremblinghandfortheletter.
‘No,’repliedtheoldlady,givingittohimmechanically.
Oliverglancedatit,andsawthatitwasdirectedtoHarryMaylie,Esquire,atsomegreatlord’shouseinthecountry;where,hecouldnotmakeout.
‘Shallitgo,ma’am?’askedOliver,lookingup,impatiently.
‘Ithinknot,’repliedMrs.Maylie,takingitback.‘Iwillwaituntilto-morrow.’
Withthesewords,shegaveOliverherpurse,andhestartedoff,withoutmoredelay,atthegreatestspeedhecouldmuster.
Swiftlyheranacrossthefields,anddownthelittlelaneswhichsometimesdividedthem:nowalmosthiddenbythehighcornoneitherside,andnowemergingonanopenfield,wherethemowersandhaymakerswerebusyattheirwork:nordidhestoponce,savenowandthen,forafewseconds,torecoverbreath,untilhecame,inagreatheat,andcoveredwithdust,onthelittlemarket-placeofthemarket-town.
Herehepaused,andlookedaboutfortheinn.
Therewereawhitebank,andaredbrewery,andayellowtown-hall;andinonecornertherewasalargehouse,withallthewoodaboutitpaintedgreen:beforewhichwasthesignof‘TheGeorge.’
Tothishehastened,assoonasitcaughthiseye.
Hespoketoapostboywhowasdozingunderthegateway;andwho,afterhearingwhathewanted,referredhimtotheostler;whoafterhearingallhehadtosayagain,referredhimtothelandlord;whowasatallgentlemaninablueneckcloth,awhitehat,drabbreeches,andbootswithtopstomatch,leaningagainstapumpbythestable-door,pickinghisteethwithasilvertoothpick.
Thisgentlemanwalkedwithmuchdeliberationintothebartomakeoutthebill:whichtookalongtimemakingout:andafteritwasready,andpaid,ahorsehadtobesaddled,andamantobedressed,whichtookuptengoodminutesmore.
MeanwhileOliverwasinsuchadesperatestateofimpatienceandanxiety,thathefeltasifhecouldhavejumpeduponthehorsehimself,andgallopedaway,fulltear,tothenextstage.
Atlength,allwasready;andthelittleparcelhavingbeenhandedup,withmanyinjunctionsandentreatiesforitsspeedydelivery,themansetspurstohishorse,andrattlingovertheunevenpavingofthemarket-place,wasoutofthetown,andgallopingalongtheturnpike-road,inacoupleofminutes.
Asitwassomethingtofeelcertainthatassistancewassentfor,andthatnotimehadbeenlost,Oliverhurrieduptheinn-yard,withasomewhatlighterheart.
Hewasturningoutofthegatewaywhenheaccidentlystumbledagainstatallmanwrappedinacloak,whowasatthatmomentcomingoutoftheinndoor.
‘Hah!’criedtheman,fixinghiseyesonOliver,andsuddenlyrecoiling.‘Whatthedevil’sthis?’
‘Ibegyourpardon,sir,’saidOliver;‘Iwasinagreathurrytogethome,anddidn’tseeyouwerecoming.’
‘Death!’mutteredthemantohimself,glaringattheboywithhislargedarkeyes.‘Whowouldhavethoughtit!Grindhimtoashes!He’dstartupfromastonecoffin,tocomeinmyway!’
‘Iamsorry,’stammeredOliver,confusedbythestrangeman’swildlook.‘IhopeIhavenothurtyou!’
‘Rotyou!’murmuredtheman,inahorriblepassion;betweenhisclenchedteeth;‘ifIhadonlyhadthecouragetosaytheword,Imighthavebeenfreeofyouinanight.
Cursesonyourhead,andblackdeathonyourheart,youimp!Whatareyoudoinghere?’
Themanshookhisfist,asheutteredthesewordsincoherently.
HeadvancedtowardsOliver,asifwiththeintentionofaimingablowathim,butfellviolentlyontheground:writhingandfoaming,inafit.
Olivergazed,foramoment,atthestrugglesofthemadman(forsuchhesupposedhimtobe);andthendartedintothehouseforhelp.
Havingseenhimsafelycarriedintothehotel,heturnedhisfacehomewards,runningasfastashecould,tomakeupforlosttime:andrecallingwithagreatdealofastonishmentandsomefear,theextraordinarybehaviourofthepersonfromwhomhehadjustparted.
Thecircumstancedidnotdwellinhisrecollectionlong,however:forwhenhereachedthecottage,therewasenoughtooccupyhismind,andtodriveallconsiderationsofselfcompletelyfromhismemory.
RoseMayliehadrapidlygrownworse;beforemid-nightshewasdelirious.
Amedicalpractitioner,whoresidedonthespot,wasinconstantattendanceuponher;andafterfirstseeingthepatient,hehadtakenMrs.Maylieaside,andpronouncedherdisordertobeoneofamostalarmingnature.
‘Infact,’hesaid,‘itwouldbelittleshortofamiracle,ifsherecovered.’
HowoftendidOliverstartfromhisbedthatnight,andstealingout,withnoiselessfootstep,tothestaircase,listenfortheslightestsoundfromthesickchamber!
Howoftendidatrembleshakehisframe,andcolddropsofterrorstartuponhisbrow,whenasuddentramplingoffeetcausedhimtofearthatsomethingtoodreadfultothinkof,hadeventhenoccurred!
Andwhathadbeenthefervencyofalltheprayershehadevermuttered,comparedwiththosehepouredforth,now,intheagonyandpassionofhissupplicationforthelifeandhealthofthegentlecreature,whowastotteringonthedeepgrave’sverge!
Oh!thesuspense,thefearful,acutesuspense,ofstandingidlybywhilethelifeofonewedearlylove,istremblinginthebalance!Oh!
therackingthoughtsthatcrowduponthemind,andmaketheheartbeatviolently,andthebreathcomethick,bytheforceoftheimagestheyconjureupbeforeit;thedesparateanxietytobedoingsomethingtorelievethepain,orlessenthedanger,whichwehavenopowertoalleviate;thesinkingofsoulandspirit,whichthesadremembranceofourhelplessnessproduces;whattorturescanequalthese;whatreflectionsorendeavourscan,inthefulltideandfeverofthetime,allaythem!
Morningcame;andthelittlecottagewaslonelyandstill.
Peoplespokeinwhispers;anxiousfacesappearedatthegate,fromtimetotime;womenandchildrenwentawayintears.
Allthelivelongday,andforhoursafterithadgrowndark,Oliverpacedsoftlyupanddownthegarden,raisinghiseyeseveryinstanttothesickchamber,andshudderingtoseethedarkenedwindow,lookingasifdeathlaystretchedinside.Latethatnight,Mr.Losbernearrived.
‘Itishard,’saidthegooddoctor,turningawayashespoke;‘soyoung;somuchbeloved;butthereisverylittlehope.’
Anothermorning.Thesunshonebrightly;asbrightlyasifitlookeduponnomiseryorcare;and,witheveryleafandflowerinfullbloomabouther;withlife,andhealth,andsoundsandsightsofjoy,surroundingheroneveryside:thefairyoungcreaturelay,wastingfast.
Olivercreptawaytotheoldchurchyard,andsittingdownononeofthegreenmounds,weptandprayedforher,insilence.
Therewassuchpeaceandbeautyinthescene;somuchofbrightnessandmirthinthesunnylandscape;suchblithesomemusicinthesongsofthesummerbirds;suchfreedomintherapidflightoftherook,careeringoverhead;somuchoflifeandjoyousnessinall;that,whentheboyraisedhisachingeyes,andlookedabout,thethoughtinstinctivelyoccurredtohim,thatthiswasnotatimefordeath;thatRosecouldsurelyneverdiewhenhumblerthingswereallsogladandgay;thatgraveswereforcoldandcheerlesswinter:notforsunlightandfragrance.
Healmostthoughtthatshroudswerefortheoldandshrunken;andthattheyneverwrappedtheyoungandgracefulformintheirghastlyfolds.
Aknellfromthechurchbellbrokeharshlyontheseyouthfulthoughts.Another!Again!Itwastollingforthefuneralservice.
Agroupofhumblemournersenteredthegate:wearingwhitefavours;forthecorpsewasyoung.
Theystooduncoveredbyagrave;andtherewasamother—amotheronce—amongtheweepingtrain.
Butthesunshonebrightly,andthebirdssangon.
Oliverturnedhomeward,thinkingonthemanykindnesseshehadreceivedfromtheyounglady,andwishingthatthetimecouldcomeagain,thathemightneverceaseshowingherhowgratefulandattachedhewas.
Hehadnocauseforself-reproachonthescoreofneglect,orwantofthought,forhehadbeendevotedtoherservice;andyetahundredlittleoccasionsroseupbeforehim,onwhichhefanciedhemighthavebeenmorezealous,andmoreearnest,andwishedhehadbeen.
Weneedbecarefulhowwedealwiththoseaboutus,wheneverydeathcarriestosomesmallcircleofsurvivors,thoughtsofsomuchomitted,andsolittledone—ofsomanythingsforgotten,andsomanymorewhichmighthavebeenrepaired!
Thereisnoremorsesodeepasthatwhichisunavailing;ifwewouldbespareditstortures,letusrememberthis,intime.
WhenhereachedhomeMrs.Mayliewassittinginthelittleparlour.
Oliver’sheartsankatsightofher;forshehadneverleftthebedsideofherniece;andhetrembledtothinkwhatchangecouldhavedrivenheraway.
Helearntthatshehadfallenintoadeepsleep,fromwhichshewouldwaken,eithertorecoveryandlife,ortobidthemfarewell,anddie.
Theysat,listening,andafraidtospeak,forhours.
Theuntastedmealwasremoved,withlookswhichshowedthattheirthoughtswereelsewhere,theywatchedthesunashesanklowerandlower,and,atlength,castoverskyandearththosebrillianthueswhichheraldhisdeparture.
Theirquickearscaughtthesoundofanapproachingfootstep.
Theybothinvoluntarilydartedtothedoor,asMr.Losberneentered.
‘WhatofRose?’criedtheoldlady.‘Tellmeatonce!Icanbearit;anythingbutsuspense!Oh,tellme!inthenameofHeaven!’
‘Youmustcomposeyourself,’saidthedoctorsupportingher.‘Becalm,mydearma’am,pray.’
‘Letmego,inGod’sname!Mydearchild!Sheisdead!Sheisdying!’
‘No!’criedthedoctor,passionately.‘AsHeisgoodandmerciful,shewilllivetoblessusall,foryearstocome.’
Theladyfelluponherknees,andtriedtofoldherhandstogether;buttheenergywhichhadsupportedhersolong,fleduptoHeavenwithherfirstthanksgiving;andshesankintothefriendlyarmswhichwereextendedtoreceiveher.
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