Mother Meg Part 24

When they presented themselves at the hospital again that evening, and asked to be allowed to see Tom Seymour, the answer came like a knell to them both:

"He died at three o'clock."

"Dead?" asked Cherry; and no one knew the depths of that crippled orphan's heart at that moment. No one but G.o.d; but He knew, and pitied.

Dead! and no messages of G.o.d's love, no a.s.surances of forgiveness, no pardoning grace could reach him now. He had sunk into the grave, in spite of all her efforts, all her prayers, unsaved!

A hand touched her arm. It was the nurse's who had stood by them that morning.

"Come in here," she said, leading the way to a little comfortless room where people waited. It was empty now, and the nurse closed the door.

She held out to Jem the piece of paper he had left with her that morning, containing his address in case of his being wanted.

Under his name was written, in the doctor's hand, "I, Tom Seymour, leave my children to his care," and then there was a weak straggling cross, and the doctor's signature as witness.

"When you were gone," explained the nurse, "he never spoke for an hour or so, and we didn't disturb him, because we knew he couldn't recover.

You see the accident went hard with him, because he drank so. Well, after an hour or two he woke up, and he called as before, 'd.i.c.kie!'

"I went to him to quiet him, and he asked 'if the carpenter (meaning you, I suppose, Mr. Seymour) was there, and Cherry?'

"I told him that you were coming again, and asked if he wanted you to be fetched.

"'I don't know where he lives,' he said; 'but it don't matter. Ask the doctor to write it down.'

"The doctor was going his rounds, and when he had done with his patient I asked him to come, and he wrote at the poor fellow's request those words on that paper, to which he managed to put his cross. After that he was terribly bad for ever so long; it had hurt him so to move. I knew he wouldn't last long, and I offered to send for the little girl, but he only shook his head.

"'She wouldn't be here in time,' he said; 'but when she comes, tell her as the last word as her poor father said was, 'Wash me, and I shall be----'

"He couldn't finish it; so I said the end of it to him, 'whiter than snow.'

"'Yes, "whiter than snow," sins like crimson, "wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow."'

"He didn't speak again, but after a bit I looked at him, and he tried to reach my hand. Though I don't understand that sort of talk myself, thinking to please him, I took his in mine, and said again, 'Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow,' and he gave one look at me, and then one long look up, and so pa.s.sed away."

Cherry took the nurse's kind hand and covered it with kisses and tears; she tried to utter her thanks, but was choked.

And when she and Jem turned homewards once more, though her tears were pouring, they were far more grateful than sad, as the words seemed to ring in her ears:

"Not by might, but by My Spirit, saith the Lord of Hosts."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XV.

THE EMPTY CRADLE.

When Cherry and Jem had really set forth to the hospital, Meg, who had been lying very quiet for some time, opened her eyes and spoke to her mother-in-law.

"Are you very busy, dear mother?" she asked.

"No, my dear, I have nothing to do now but to wait on you. Do you want anything?"

Meg was silent for a moment, and Mrs. Seymour saw traces of tears on her face, which, however, Meg was evidently anxious should not be noticed.

"You feel a little low, my dear," observed Mrs. Seymour kindly; "but you will be better soon, I hope."

"No," said Meg; "I don't exactly feel low, mother; but should you think it very wrong in me to ask you to let me hold him once more?"

"Will it upset you, my child?"

"I think not--I will try not; but, mother, I had so looked forward to it, and I should like to hold him once more."

Mrs. Seymour made no further objection, but went into the other room, whither the little cradle had been carried, and lifted the tiny baby out carefully. She brought it to Meg's side, placed it in her arms, and then went back to clear away Jem's tea, leaving the young mother alone with her grief.

d.i.c.kie slept quietly, and Meg could cry over her babe unseen. She could lay her cheek against its little head, she could wrap her arms round it, she could press her lips upon its lifeless ones. But after all it was lifeless, and Meg shed some bitter tears over the thought that it could never know her love; but by-and-by these were wiped away. The remembrance stole over her that her little child was only parted from her for a short time, and was meanwhile in such safe keeping as she could never hope, at the best, to give it here. "The Lord gave, and the _Lord_ hath taken away," she murmured half aloud. "He has got him safe waiting for me."

Whether her soft words woke d.i.c.kie, or whether her slight movements had done so, she did not know; but at this moment he turned over and flung his arms about her neck.

"Are you awake, dear?" she asked, hoping he would not notice the little form lying at the other side of her.

"Yes, mo'ver-Meg. Are you cryin'?"

"I was crying, d.i.c.kie, but I'm better now."

"What for?" asked the child.

"Because I had a little baby-boy, and the Lord Jesus has taken him to His Home."

d.i.c.kie pondered.

"Did that make yer _cry_, mo'ver-Meg?"

"Yes, dear; but I shan't cry any more," at which words Meg burst into such weeping that d.i.c.kie was frightened, and Mrs. Seymour came in from the other room.

She was going to take the babe, but Meg put out her hand beseechingly.

"One moment, dear mother," she said.

Mrs. Seymour waited while Meg pressed one long kiss on the little face, and then she allowed her mother to bear her child away from her sight.

Meanwhile d.i.c.kie with clinging arms was trying to comfort her in his tender little way, and Meg turned round and yielded herself to his caresses.

"Is the home Jesus 'as taken him to better than this?" he asked in his gentlest tones.

"Oh, yes!" said Meg, drying her eyes, and trying to stop her tears.