CHAPTER IV
Twelve days later.
Mother and child were lingering in the grip of the hideous disease.Of hope for either there was little. The aged sisters looked whiteand worn, but they would not give up their posts. Their heartswere breaking, poor old things, but their grit was steadfast andindestructible. All the twelve days the mother had pined for the child,and the child for the mother, but both knew that the prayer of theselongings could not be granted. When the mother was told--on the firstday--that her disease was typhoid, she was frightened, and asked ifthere was danger that Helen could have contracted it the day before,when she was in the sick-chamber on that confession visit. Hester toldher the doctor had poo-pooed the idea. It troubled Hester to say it,although it was true, for she had not believed the doctor; but whenshe saw the mother's joy in the news, the pain in her consciencelost something of its force--a result which made her ashamed of theconstructive deception which she had practiced, though not ashamedenough to make her distinctly and definitely wish she had refrained fromit. From that moment the sick woman understood that her daughter mustremain away, and she said she would reconcile herself to the separationthe best she could, for she would rather suffer death than have herchild's health imperiled. That afternoon Helen had to take to her bed,ill. She grew worse during the night. In the morning her mother askedafter her:
"Is she well?"
Hester turned cold; she opened her lips, but the words refused to come.The mother lay languidly looking, musing, waiting; suddenly she turnedwhite and gasped out:
"Oh, my God! what is it? is she sick?"
Then the poor aunt's tortured heart rose in rebellion, and words came:
"No--be comforted; she is well."
The sick woman put all her happy heart in her gratitude:
"Thank God for those dear words! Kiss me. How I worship you for sayingthem!"
Hester told this incident to Hannah, who received it with a rebukinglook, and said, coldly:
"Sister, it was a lie."
Hester's lips trembled piteously; she choked down a sob, and said:
"Oh, Hannah, it was a sin, but I could not help it. I could not endurethe fright and the misery that were in her face."
"No matter. It was a lie. God will hold you to account for it."
"Oh, I know it, I know it," cried Hester, wringing her hands, "but evenif it were now, I could not help it. I know I should do it again."
"Then take my place with Helen in the morning. I will make the reportmyself."
Hester clung to her sister, begging and imploring.
"Don't, Hannah, oh, don't--you will kill her."
"I will at least speak the truth."
In the morning she had a cruel report to bear to the mother, and shebraced herself for the trial. When she returned from her mission, Hesterwas waiting, pale and trembling, in the hall. She whispered:
"Oh, how did she take it--that poor, desolate mother?"
Hannah's eyes were swimming in tears. She said:
"God forgive me, I told her the child was well!"
Hester gathered her to her heart, with a grateful "God bless you,Hannah!" and poured out her thankfulness in an inundation of worshipingpraises.
After that, the two knew the limit of their strength, and accepted theirfate. They surrendered humbly, and abandoned themselves to the hardrequirements of the situation. Daily they told the morning lie, andconfessed their sin in prayer; not asking forgiveness, as not beingworthy of it, but only wishing to make record that they realized theirwickedness and were not desiring to hide it or excuse it.
Daily, as the fair young idol of the house sank lower and lower, thesorrowful old aunts painted her glowing bloom and her fresh young beautyto the wan mother, and winced under the stabs her ecstasies of joy andgratitude gave them.
In the first days, while the child had strength to hold a pencil, shewrote fond little love-notes to her mother, in which she concealed herillness; and these the mother read and reread through happy eyes wetwith thankful tears, and kissed them over and over again, and treasuredthem as precious things under her pillow.
Then came a day when the strength was gone from the hand, and the mindwandered, and the tongue babbled pathetic incoherences. This was a soredilemma for the poor aunts. There were no love-notes for the mother.They did not know what to do. Hester began a carefully studied andplausible explanation, but lost the track of it and grew confused;suspicion began to show in the mother's face, then alarm. Hester saw it,recognized the imminence of the danger, and descended to the emergency,pulling herself resolutely together and plucking victory from the openjaws of defeat. In a placid and convincing voice she said:
"I thought it might distress you to know it, but Helen spent the nightat the Sloanes'. There was a little party there, and, although she didnot want to go, and you so sick, we persuaded her, she being youngand needing the innocent pastimes of youth, and we believing you wouldapprove. Be sure she will write the moment she comes."
"How good you are, and how dear and thoughtful for us both! Approve?Why, I thank you with all my heart. My poor little exile! Tell her Iwant her to have every pleasure she can--I would not rob her of one.Only let her keep her health, that is all I ask. Don't let thatsuffer; I could not bear it. How thankful I am that she escaped thisinfection--and what a narrow risk she ran, Aunt Hester! Think of thatlovely face all dulled and burned with fever. I can't bear the thoughtof it. Keep her health. Keep her bloom! I can see her now, the daintycreature--with the big, blue, earnest eyes; and sweet, oh, so sweet andgentle and winning! Is she as beautiful as ever, dear Aunt Hester?"
"Oh, more beautiful and bright and charming than ever she was before,if such a thing can be"--and Hester turned away and fumbled with themedicine-bottles, to hide her shame and grief.