Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles Part 52

"Yes," he replied; "I fear she is."

"Is there any hope?"

"Well, you know, Mrs. Halliburton, while there is life there is hope."

His tone was kindly; but she could not well mistake that, of human hope, there was none. Her lips were pale--her bosom was heaving. "I understand," she murmured. "Tell me one other thing: how near is the end?"

"That I really cannot tell you," he more readily replied. "These cases vary much in their progression. Do not be downcast, Mrs. Halliburton. We must every one of us go, sooner or later. Sometimes I wish I could see all mine gone before me, rather than leave them behind to the cares of this troublesome world."

He shook hands and departed. Jane crept softly upstairs to her own room, and was shut in for ten minutes. Poor thing! _she_ could not spare time for the indulgence of grief, as others might! she must hasten to her never-ceasing work. She had her task to do; and ten minutes lost from it in the day must be made up at night.

As she was going downstairs, with red eyes, Mrs. Reece heard her footstep and called to her from her bed. "Is that you, ma'am?"

So Jane had to go in. "Are you better?" she inquired.

"No, ma'am, I don't see much improvement," replied the old lady. "Mr.

Parry is going to change the lotion; but it's a thing that will have its course. How is Janey? Does he say?"

"She is much the same," said Jane. "She grows no better. I fear she never will."

"Ay! so Dobbs says; and it strikes me Parry has told her so. Now, ma'am, you spare nothing that can do her good. Whatever she fancies, tell Dobbs, and it shall be had. I would not for the world have a dying child stinted while I can help it. Don't spare wine; don't spare anything."

"A dying child!" The words, in spite of Jane's previous convictions; nay, her knowledge; caused her heart to sink with a chill. She proceeded, as she had done many times before, to express a t.i.the of her grat.i.tude to Mrs. Reece for the substantial kindness shown to Janey.

"Don't say anything about it, ma'am," returned the old lady in her simple, straightforward way. "I have neither chick nor child of my own, and both I and Dobbs have taken a liking for Janey. We can't think anything we can do too much for her. I have spoken to Parry--therefore don't spare his services; at any hour of the day or night send for him if you deem it necessary."

With another attempt at heartfelt thanks, Jane went down. Full as her cup was to the brim, she was yet overwhelmed with the sense of kindness shown. From that time she set herself to the task of preparing Janey for the great change by gradual degrees--a little now, a little then: to make her long for the translation to that better land.

One evening, about eight o'clock, Patience entered--partly to inquire after Janey, partly to ask William if he would go to bring Anna from Mrs. Ashley's, where she had been taking tea. Samuel Lynn was detained in the town on business, and Grace had been permitted to go out: therefore Patience had no one to send. William left his books, and went out with alacrity. Patience sat down by Janey's sofa.

"I get so tired, Patience. I wish I had some pretty books to read! I have read all Anna's over and over again."

"And she won't eat solids now, and she grows tired of mutton-broth, and sago, and egg-flip, and those things," put in Dobbs, in an injured tone, who was also sitting there.

"I would try her with a little beef-tea, made with plenty of carrots and thickened with arrowroot," said Patience.

"Beef-tea, made with carrots and thickened with arrowroot!" ungraciously responded Dobbs, who held in contempt every one's cooking except her own.

"I can tell thee that it is one of the nicest things taken," said Patience. "It might be a change for the child."

"How's it made?" asked Dobbs. "It might do for my missis: _she's_ tired of mutton broth."

"Slice a pound of lean beef, and let it soak for two hours in a quart of cold water," replied Patience. "Then put meat and water into a saucepan, with a couple of large carrots sc.r.a.ped and sliced. Let it warm gradually, and then simmer for about four hours, thee putting salt to taste. Strain it off; and, when cold, take off the fat. As the broth is wanted, stir it up, and take from it as much as may be required, boiling the portion, for a minute, with a little arrowroot."

Dobbs condescended to intimate that perhaps she might try it; though she'd be bound it was poor stuff.

William had hastened to Mr. Ashley's. He was shown into a room to wait for Anna, and his attention was immediately attracted by a shelf full of children's story-books. He knew they were just what Janey was longing for. He had taken some in his hand, when Anna came in, ready for him, accompanied by Mrs. Ashley, Mary, and Henry. Then William became aware of the liberty he had taken in touching the things, and, in his self-consciousness, the colour, as usual, rushed to his face. It was a frank, ingenuous face, with its fair, open forehead, and its earnest, dark grey eyes; and Mrs. Ashley thought it so.

"Were you looking at our books?" asked Henry, who was in a remarkably good humour.

"I am sorry to have touched them," replied William. "I was thinking of something else."

"I would be nearly sure thee were thinking of thy sister," cried Anna, who had an ever-ready tongue.

"Yes, I was," replied William candidly. "I was wis.h.i.+ng she could read them."

"I have told her about the books," said Anna, turning from William to the rest. "I related to her as much as I could remember of 'Anna Ross:'

that book which thee had in thy hand, William. She would so like to read them; she is always ill."

"Is she very ill?" inquired Mrs. Ashley.

"She is dying," replied Anna.

It was the first intimation William had received of the great fear. His countenance changed, his heart beat wildly. "Oh, Anna! who says it?" he cried out, in a low, wailing tone.

There was a dead silence. Anna's announcement sounded sufficiently startling, and Mrs. Ashley looked with sympathy at the evidently agitated boy.

"There! that's my tongue!" cried Anna repentantly. "Patience says she wonders some one does not cut it out for me."

Mary Ashley--a fair, gentle little girl, with large brown eyes, like Henry's--stepped forward, full of sympathy. "I have heard of your sister from Anna," she said. "She is welcome to read all my books; you can take some to her now, and change them as often as you like."

How pleased William was! Mary selected four, and gave them to him. "Anna Ross," "The Blind Farmer," "Theophilus and Sophia," and "Margaret White." Very old, some of the books, and childish; but admirably suited to what people were beginning to call Jane--a dying child.

"I say," cried out Henry, a little aristocratic patronage in his tone, as William was departing, "how do you get on with your Latin?"

"I get on very well. Not quite so fast as I should with a master. I have to puzzle out difficulties for myself, and I am not sure but that's one of the best ways to get on. I go on with my Greek, too; and Euclid, and----"

"How much time do you work?" burst forth Henry.

"From six o'clock till half-past nine. A little of the time I am helping my brothers."

"There's perseverance, Henry!" cried Mrs. Ashley; and Master Henry shrugged his shoulders.

"Anna," began William, as they walked along, "how do you know that Janey is so ill?"

"Now, William, thee must ask thy mother whether she is ill or not. She may get well--how do I know? She was ill last summer, and Hannah Dobbs would have it she was in a bad way then; but she recovered. Dost thee know what Patience says?"

"What?" asked William eagerly.

"Patience says I have ten ears where I ought to have two; and I think thee hast the same. Fare thee well," she added, as they reached her door. "Thank thee for coming for me."

William waited at the gate until Anna was admitted, and then hastened home. Jane was alone, working as usual.

"Mamma, is it true that Janey is dying?"

Jane's heart gave a leap; and poor William, as she saw, could scarcely speak for agitation. "Who told you that?" she asked in low tones.

"Anna Lynn. _Is_ it true?"