The Lamplighter Part 20

"I know it, Emily, but I don't want any supper."

They walked slowly and in perfect silence. At last Emily said, "Well, Gertrude, have you nothing to tell me?"

"O yes, a great deal, but----"

"But you know it will be sad news to me, and so you don't like to speak it; is it not so?"

"I ought not to have the vanity, dear Emily, to think it would trouble you very much; but ever since last evening, when I told you what Mr. W.

said, and what I had in my mind, and you seemed to feel so badly at the thought of our being separated, I have felt almost doubtful what it was right for me to do."

"And I, on the other hand, Gertrude, have been reproaching myself for allowing you to have any knowledge of my feeling in the matter, lest I should be influencing you against your duty. I feel that you are right, Gertrude, and that, instead of opposing, I ought to do everything I can to forward your plans."

"Dear Emily!" said Gertrude, "if you thought so from what I told you yesterday, you would be convinced had you observed all that I have to-day."

"Why! Are matters any worse than they were at Mrs. Sullivan's?"

"Much worse than I described to you. I did not then know all that she had to contend with; but I have been at their house since I left home this morning (for Mr. W. did not detain me five minutes), and it does not seem safe for such a delicate woman as Mrs. Sullivan to be alone with Mr. Cooper, now that his mind is in such a state."

"But do you think you can do any good?"

"I know I can, dear Emily; I can manage him much better than she can, and do more for his comfort. He is like a child now, and full of whims.

When he can be indulged, Mrs. Sullivan will please him at any amount of inconvenience, and even danger to herself, not only because he is her father, and she feels it her duty, but she is afraid of him, he is so irritable and violent. She tells me he often takes it into his head to do the strangest things, such as going out late at night, when it is unsafe, and sleeping with his window wide open."

"Poor woman!" exclaimed Emily; "what does she do in such cases?"

"I can tell you, Emily, for I saw an instance of it to-day. When I went in this morning, he was preparing to make a coal-fire in the grate, notwithstanding the heat, which was becoming intense in the city."

"And Mrs. Sullivan?" said Emily.

"Was sitting on the lower stair, in the front entry, crying."

"Poor thing!" murmured Emily.

"She could do nothing with him," continued Gertrude, "and had given up in despair."

"She ought to have a strong woman or a man to take care of him."

"That is what she dreads worse than anything. She says it would kill her to see him unkindly treated, as he would be sure to be by a stranger; and, besides, she shrinks from the idea of having anyone in the house to whom she is unaccustomed. She is very neat and particular in all her arrangements, has always done her work herself; and declares she would sooner admit a wild beast into her family than an Irish girl."

"Her new house has not been a source of much pleasure to her yet, has it?"

"Oh, no. She was saying to-day how strange it seemed when she had been looking forward so long to the comfort of a new tenement, that, just as she had moved in and got everything furnished to her mind, she should have this great trial."

"It seems strange to me," said Emily, "that she did not sooner perceive its approach. I noticed when I went with you the failure in the old man's intellect."

"I had observed it for a long time," remarked Gertrude, "but never spoke of it to her; and I do not think she was in the least aware of it, until about their removal, when the breaking-up of old a.s.sociations affected his mind."

"Sad thing!" said Emily. "How old is he?"

"I believe he is very old; I remember Mrs. Sullivan's telling me some time ago that he was near eighty."

"Is he so old as that? Then I am not surprised that these changes have made him childish."

"Oh, no. Melancholy, as it is, we may come to the same if we live to his age; and as he seems generally contented, I do not lament it so much on his own account as Mrs. Sullivan's."

"Does it seem hard for her to bear up under it?"

"I think it would not be if she were well; but there is something the matter with her, and I fear it is more serious than she allows, for she looks very pale, and has had several alarming ill turns lately."

"Has she consulted a physician?"

"No; she doesn't wish for one, and says she shall soon be better; but I do not feel sure that she will, especially as she takes no care of herself; and that is one reason I wish to be in town as soon as possible. I am anxious to have Dr. Jeremy see her, and I can bring it about without her knowing that he comes on her account."

"You speak confidently of being in town, Gertrude; so I suppose it is all arranged."

"Oh, I have not told you, have I, about my visit to Mr. W.? Dear, good man, how grateful I ought to be to him! He has promised me the situation."

"I had no doubt he would, from what you told me he said to you at Mrs.

Bruce's."

"You hadn't, really! Why, Emily, I was almost afraid to mention it to him. I couldn't believe he would have sufficient confidence in me; but he was so kind! I hardly dare tell you what he said about my capacity to teach, you will think me so vain."

"You need not tell me, my darling; I know from his own lips how highly he appreciates your ability."

"Dear Uncle True always wanted me to be a teacher; it was the height of his ambition. He would be pleased, wouldn't he, dear Emily?"

"Yes, proud to see you a.s.sistant in a school like Mr. W.'s. But he would think as I do, that you are undertaking too much. You expect to be occupied in the school the greater part of every morning, and yet you propose to be nurse to Mrs. Sullivan, and guardian to her poor old father. My dear child, you are not used to so much care, and I shall be constantly troubled for you, lest your own health and strength give way."

"Oh, dear Emily, there is no cause for any anxiety on my account. I am well and strong, and capable of all that I have planned for myself. My only trouble is in leaving you; and I fear you will miss me, and perhaps feel as if----"

"I know what you would say, Gertrude. You need not fear that; I am sure of your affection. I am sure you love me next to your duty, and I would not that you should give me the preference. So dismiss that thought from your mind, and do not believe that I would be selfish enough to desire to retain you. I only wish, my dear, that for the present you had not thought of entering the school. You might then have gone to Mrs.

Sullivan's, stayed as long as needed, and perhaps found, by the time we are ready to start on our southern tour, that your services could be dispensed with; in which case you could accompany us on a journey which I am sure your health will by that time require."

"But, dear Emily, how could I do that? I could not propose myself as a visitor to Mrs. Sullivan, however useful I might intend to be to her; nor could I speak of nursing to a woman who will not confess that she is ill. It seemed to me impossible, with all the delicacy and tact in the world, to bring it about; for I have been with you so long that Mrs.

Sullivan thinks me entirely unfitted for her primitive way of life. It was only when Mr. W. spoke of his wanting an a.s.sistant, and hinted that he should like to employ me in that capacity, that the present plan occurred to me. I knew if I told Mrs. Sullivan that I was engaged to teach there, and that you were not coming to town, and represented to her that I wanted a boarding-place for the winter, she would insist that I should go nowhere else."

"And it proved as you expected?"

"Exactly; and she showed so much pleasure at the thought of my being with her, that I realised still more how much she needed some one."

"She will have a treasure in you, Gertrude."

"No, indeed! The feeling I have is, that however little I may be able to accomplish, it will be more than anyone else could do for Mrs. Sullivan.

She has lived so retired that she has not an intimate friend in the city, and I do not know of anyone, except myself, whom she would willingly admit under her roof. She is used to me, and loves me; I am no restraint upon her, and she allows me to a.s.sist in whatever she is doing, although she often says I live a lady's life now, and am not used to work. She knows, too, that I have an influence over her father; and I _have_--strange as it may seem to you--I _have_ more than I know how to account for myself. I think it is partly because I am not afraid of him, and am firm in opposing his unreasonable fancies, and partly because I am more of a stranger than Mrs. Sullivan. But there is another cause; he a.s.sociates me in his mind with Willie; for we were for some years constantly together, both left the house at the same time, and he knows that it is through me that the correspondence with him is carried on.

Since his mind has been so weak, he thinks continually of Willie, and I can at any moment, however irritable he may be, make him calm and quiet, by proposing to tell him the latest news from his grandson. It does not matter how often I repeat the contents of the last letter, it is always new to him; and you have no idea, Emily, what power this gives me. Mrs. Sullivan sees how easily I can guide his thoughts, and I noticed what a load of care was taken from her mind by having me there to-day. She looked so happy when I came away to-night, and spoke so hopefully of the comfort it would be during the winter to have me with her, that I felt repaid for any sacrifice it has been to me. But when I came home, and saw you, and thought of your going so far away, and of the length of time it might be before I should live with you again, I felt as if----" Gerty could say no more. She laid her head on Emily's shoulder, and wept.

Emily soothed her with the greatest tenderness. "We have been very happy together, Gerty," said she, "and I shall miss you sadly; half the enjoyment of my life has of late years been borrowed from you. But I never loved you half so well as I do now, at the time we must part; for I see in the sacrifice you are making of yourself one of the n.o.blest and most important traits of character a woman can possess. I know how much you love the Sullivans, and you have certainly every reason for being attached to them; but your leaving us at this time, and renouncing without a murmur the southern tour from which you expected so much pleasure, proves that my Gerty is the brave, good girl I always hoped and prayed she might become. You are in the path of duty, Gertrude, and will be rewarded by the approbation of your own conscience, if in no other way."