Joyce Morrell's Harvest Part 29

"Yea, He told him to come and stick't in, if he could not believe without: but he mun have been a dizard [foolish man], that he couldn't-- that's what I think," quoth old _Isaac_.

"Was he daft?" saith _Madge_.

"Well, nay, I reckon not," saith he.

"I'll tell ye how it were," saith she. "His soul was daft--that's it-- right th' inside of him, ye ken."

"Ay, I reckon thou'rt about right," quoth _Isaac_.

"Well, I wouldn't have wanted that," saith she. "I'd have wist by His face and the way He said 'Good morrow, _Thomas_!' I'd never have wanted to hurt Him more to see whether it were Him. So He'd rather be hurt than leave _Thomas_ a-wondering! Well--it were just like Him."

"He's better than men be, _Madge_," saith Aunt _Joyce_, tenderly.

"That's none so much to say, Mistress _Joyce_," saith _Madge_. "Men's bad uns. And some's rare bad uns. So's women, belike. I'd liever ha'

th' door betwixt."

_Madge_ hath alway had a strange fantasy to shut the half-door betwixt her and them she loveth not. There be very few she will let come withinside. I reckon them that may might be counted of her fingers.

"Well, _Madge_, there shall be no need to shut to the door in Heaven,"

saith Aunt _Joyce_. "The gates be never shut by day; and there is no night there."

"They've no night! Eh, that's best thing ever you told me yet!" quoth _Madge_. "I canna 'bide th' dark. It'll be right bonnie, it will!"

Softly Aunt _Joyce_ made answer. "'Thine eyes shall see the King in His beauty; they shall behold the Land that is very far off.'"

_Madge's_ head came up from the pillow. "Eh, that's grand! And that's Him?"

"Ay, my maid."

"Ay, that's like," saith she. "It couldn't be n.o.body else. And Him that could make th' roses and lilies mun be good to look at. 'Tisn't always so now: but I reckon they've things tidy up yon. They'll fit like, ye ken. But, Mistress _Joyce_, do ye tell me, will us be any wiser up yon?"

I saw the water in Aunt _Joyce's_ eyes, as she arose; and she bent down and kissed _Madge_ on the brow.

"Dear heart," quoth she, "thou shalt know Him then as well as He knows thee. Is that plenty, _Madge_?"

"I reckon 'tis a bit o' t'other side," saith _Madge_, with her eyes gleaming. But when I came to kiss her the next minute, quoth she--"Mistress _Milisent_, saw ye e'er Mistress _Joyce_ when she had doffed her?"

"Ay, _Madge_," said I, marvelling what notion was now in her poor brain.

"And," saith she, "be there any wings a-growing out of her shoulders?

Do tell me. I'd like to know how big they were by now."

"Nay, _Madge_; I never saw any."

"No did ye?" quoth she, in a disappointed tone. "I thought they'd have been middling grown by now. But may-be He keeps th' wings till we've got yon? Ay, I reckon that's it. She'll have 'em all right, some day."

And _Madge_ seemed satisfied.

SELWICK HALL, FEBRUARY YE XVI.

Yester-morn, Dr _Bell_ being at church, _Mother_ was avised to ask him, if it might stand with his conveniency, to look in on _Madge_ the next time he rideth that way, and see if aught might be done for her. He saith in answer that he should be a-riding to _Thirlmere_ early this morrow, and would so do: and this even, on his way home, he came in hither to tell _Mother_ his thought thereon. 'Tis even as we feared, for he saith there is no doubt that _Madge_ is dying, nor shall she overlive many days. But right sorry were we to hear him say that he did marvel if she or _Blanche Lewthwaite_ should go the first.

"Why, Doctor!" saith _Mother_, "I never reckoned _Blanche_ so far gone as that."

"May-be not when you saw her, Lady _Lettice_," saith he. "But--women be so perverse! Why, the poor wretch might have lived till this summer next following, or even (though I scarce think it) have tided o'er another winter, but she must needs take it into her foolish head to rush forth into the garden, to say a last word to somebody, a frosty bitter even some ten days back, with never so much as a kerchief tied o'er her head; and now is she laid of her bed, as was the only thing like, and may scarce breathe with the inflammation of her lungs. She _may_ win through, but verily I look not for it."

"Poor heart! I will go and see her," saith _Mother_.

"Ay, do so," saith he. "Poor foolish soul!--as foolish in regard of her health as of her happiness."

This even, I being the first in our chamber, was but making ready my gown with a clean partlet [ruff] for to-morrow, when _Mother_ come in.

"_Milly_," she saith, "I shall go (if the Lord will) to see _Blanche_ to-morrow, and I would have thee go withal."

I guess _Mother_ saw that I did somewhat shrink from the thought. In truth, though I have seen _Blanche_ in church, and know how she looketh, yet I have never yet spoke with her sithence she came home, and I feel fearful, as though I were going into a chamber where was somewhat might hurt me.

"My _Milisent_," saith _Mother_--and that is what she calls me at her tenderest--"I would not hurt thee but for thine own good. And I know, dear heart, that few matters do more good than for a sinner to be shown that whereto he might have come, if the Lord had not hedged up his way with thorns. 'Tis not alway--I might say 'tis not often--that we be permitted to see whither the way should have led that the Father would not have us to take. And, my dear heart, thou art of thy nature so like thy foolish mother, that I can judge well what should be good for thee."

"Nay, _Mother_, dear heart! I pray you, call not yourself names," said I, kissing her hand.

"I shall be of my nature foolish, _Milly_, whether I do so call myself or no," saith _Mother_, laughing.

"And truly, the older I grow, the more foolish I think myself in my young days."

"Shall I so do, _Mother_, when I am come to your years?" said I, also laughing.

"I hope so, _Milly_," saith she. "I am afeared, if no, thy wisdom shall then be small."

SELWICK HALL, FEBRUARY YE XVII.

I have seen _Blanche Lewthwaite_, and I do feel to-night as though I should never laugh again. Verily, O my G.o.d, the way of the transgressors is hard!

She lies of her bed, scarce able to speak, and that but of an hoa.r.s.e whisper. Dr _Bell_ hath given order that she shall not be suffered to talk but to make known her wants or to relieve her mind, though folk may talk to her so long as they weary her not. We came in, brought of _Alice_, and _Mother_ sat down by the bed, while I sat in the window with _Alice_.

_Blanche_ looked up at _Mother_ when she spake some kindly words unto her.

"I am going, Lady _Lettice_!" was the first thing she said.

"I do trust, dear heart, if the Lord will, Dr _Bell's_ skill may yet avail for thee," saith _Mother_. "But if not, _Blanche_--"

_Blanche_ interrupted her impatiently, with a question whereof the tone, yet more than the words, made my blood run cold.

"_Whither_ am I going?"

"Dear _Blanche_," said _Mother_, "the Lord _Jesus Christ_ is as good and as able to-day as ever He were."

There was a little impatient movement of her head.

"Too late!"