CHAPTER XXXVIII
THE GATES OPEN
At Dennis's request, Dr. Arten called and carefully inquired into Mrs.Fleet's symptoms. Her son stood anxiously by awaiting the result ofthe examination. At last the physician said, cheerily: "There is noimmediate occasion for alarm here. I am sorry to say that your mother'slungs are far from strong, but they may carry her through manycomfortable years yet. I will prescribe tonics, and you may hope forthe best. But mark this well, she must avoid exposure. A severe coldmight be most serious in its consequences."
How easy to say, "Do not take cold!" How many whose lives were at stakehave sought to obey the warning, but all in vain! Under Dr. Arten'stonics, Mrs. Fleet grew stronger, and Dennis rejoiced over theimprovement. But, in one of the sudden changes attendant on the breakingup of winter, the dreaded cold was taken, and it soon developed intoacute pneumonia.
For a few days she was very ill, and Dennis never left her side. Inthe intervals of pain and fever she would smile at him and whisper:"The harbor is near. This rough weather cannot last much longer."
"Mother, do not leave us; we cannot spare you," ever pleaded her son.
Contrary to her expectations, however, she rallied, but continued ina very feeble state. Dennis was able to resume his duties in the store,and he hoped and tried to believe that the warm spring and summer dayssoon to come would renew his mother's strength. But every day she grewfeebler, and Dr. Arten shook his head.
The Bruders were very kind, and it was astonishing how much Mrs. Bruder,though burdened with her large family, found time to do. If Mrs. Fleethad been her own mother she could not have bestowed upon her moreloving solicitude. Mr. Bruder was devotion itself. He removed his easelto an attic-room in Mrs. Fleet's house; and every hour of Dennis'sabsence heard him say: "Vat I do for you now? I feel no goot unlessI do someding."
Some little time after Mrs. Fleet was taken sick a mystery arose. Themost exquisite flowers and fruits were left at the house from time totime, marked in a bold, manly hand, "For Mrs. Fleet." But all effortsto discover their source failed.
The reader will guess that Christine was the donor, and Dennis hopedit--though, he admitted to himself, with little reason.
Mrs. Fleet had not much pain. She seemed gently wafted as by an ebbingtide away from time and earth, Kindly but firmly she sought to prepareDennis's mind for the change soon to take place. At first he could notendure its mention, but she said, earnestly: "My son, I am not dying.I am just entering on the true, real, eternal life--a life which isas much beyond this poor feeble existence as the sun is brighter thana glow-worm. I shall soon clasp my dear husband to my heart again,and, oh, ecstasy! I shall soon in reality see the Saviour whom I nowsee almost continually in vision."
Then again she would turn toward her earthly treasures with unutterableyearning and tenderness.
"Oh, that I could gather you up in my arms and take you all with me!"she would often exclaim. Many times during the day she would call thelittle girls from their play and kiss their wondering faces.
One evening Dennis came home and found a vase of flowers with a greenbackground of mint at his mother's bedside. Their delicate fragrancegreeted him as soon as he entered. As he sat by her side holding herhand, he said, softly: "Mother, are not these sprays of mint ratherunusual in a bouquet? Has the plant any special meaning? I have noticedit before mingled with these mysterious flowers."
She smiled and answered, "When I was a girl its language was, 'Let usbe friends again.'"
"Do you think--can it be possible that _she_ sends them?" said he, in alow, hesitating tone.
"Prayer is mighty, my son."
"And have you been praying for her all this time, mother?"
"Yes, and will continue to do so to the last."
"Oh, mother! I have lost hope. My heart has been full of bitternesstoward her, and I have felt that God was against it all."
"God is not against her learning to know Him, which is life. Jesus hasloved her all the time, and she has wronged Him more than she has you."
Dennis bowed his head on his mother's hand, and she felt hot tearsfall upon it. At last he murmured: "You are indeed going to heavensoon, dear mother, for your language is not of earth. When will sucha spirit dwell within me?"
"Again remember your mother's words," she answered, gently; "prayeris mighty."
"Mother," said he, with a sudden earnestness, "do you think you canpray for us in heaven?"
"I know of no reason to the contrary."
"Then I know you will, and the belief will ever be a source of hopeand strength."
Mrs. Fleet was now passing through the land of Beulah. To her strongspiritual vision, the glories of the other shore seemed present, andat times she thought that she really heard music; again it would seemas if her Saviour had entered the plain little room, as He did thehumble home at Bethany.
Her thoughts ran much on Christine. One day she wrote, feebly:
"Would Miss Ludolph be willing to come and see a dying woman? ETHEL FLEET."
Mr. Bruder carried it, but most unfortunately Christine was out, sothat her maid, ever on the alert to earn the price of her treachery,received it. It was slightly sealed. She opened it, and saw from itscontents that it must be given to Mr. Ludolph. He with a frown committedit to the flames.
"I have written to her," she whispered to her son in the evening, "andthink she will come to see me."
Dennis was sleepless that night, through his hope and eager expectation.The following day, and the next passed, and she came not.
"I was right," exclaimed he, bitterly. "She is utterly heartless. Itwas not she who sent the flowers. Who that is human would have refusedsuch a request! Waste no more thought upon her, for she is unworthy,and it is all in vain." "No!" said Mrs. Fleet in sudden energy. "Itis not in vain. Have I not prayed again and again? and shall I doubtGod?"
"Your faith is stronger than mine," he answered, in deep despondency.
"God's time is not always ours," she answered, gently.
But an angry fire lurked in Dennis's eyes, and he muttered to himselfas he went to his room: "She has snapped the last slender cord thatbound me to her. I could endure almost anything myself, but that sheshould refuse to visit my dying mother proves her a monster, with allher beauty."
As he was leaving the house in the morning, his mother whispered,gently, "Who was it that said, 'Father, forgive them, they know not whatthey do?'"
"Ah, but she does know," said he, bitterly. "I can forgive nearlyeverything against myself, but not slights to you."
"The time will come when you will forgive everything, my son."
"Not till there is acknowledgment and sorrow for the wrong," answeredhe, sternly. Then with a sudden burst of tenderness he added: "Good-by,darling mother. I will try to do anything you wish, even though it isimpossible;" but his love, through Janette's treachery, suffered thedeepest wound it had yet received.
Christine of her own accord had almost decided to call upon Mrs. Fleet,but before she could carry out her purpose while hastily comingdownstairs one day, she sprained her ankle, and was confined to herroom some little time.
She sent Janette with orders for the flowers, who, at once surmisingtheir destination, said to the florist that she was Miss Ludolph'sconfidential maid, and would carry them to those for whom they weredesigned. He, thinking it "all right," gave them to her, and she tookthem to a Frenchman in the same trade whom she knew, and sold them athalf-price, giving him a significant sign to ask no questions. To thesame market she brought the fruit; so from that time they ceased asmysteriously as they had appeared at Mrs. Fleet's bedside.
But Dennis was so anxious, and his mother was now failing so rapidly,that he scarcely noted this fact. The warm spring days seemed ratherto enervate than to strengthen her. He longed to stay with herconstantly, but his daily labor was necessary to secure the comfortsneedful to an invalid. Every morning he bade her a most tender adieu,and during the day often sent Ernst to in
quire how she was.
One evening Christine ventured to send Janette on the same errand andimpatiently awaited her return. At last she came, appearing as ifflushed and angry.
"Whom did you see?" asked Christine, eagerly.
"I saw Mr. Fleet himself."
"Well, what did he say?"
"He bite his lip, frown, and say, 'Zere is no answer,' and turn on hisheel into ze house."
It was now Christine's turn to be angry. "What!" she exclaimed, "doeshis Bible teach him to forget and forgive nothing? Can it be that he,like the rest of them, believes and acts on only such parts as are tohis mood?"
"I don't know nothing about him," said the maid, "only I don't wantto go zere again."
"You need not," was the brief reply.
After a long, bitter revery, she sighed: "Ah, well, thus we driftapart. But it is just as well, for apart we must ever be."
One morning early in May Mrs. Fleet was very weak, and Dennis left herwith painful misgivings. During the morning he sent Ernst to see howshe was, and he soon returned, with wild face, crying, "Come homequick!"
Breaking abruptly from his startled customer, Dennis soon reached hismother's side. Mr. and Mrs. Bruder were sobbing at the foot of thebed, and the girls were pleading piteously on either side--"Oh, mother!please don't go away!"
"Hush!" said Dennis, solemnly. Awed by his manner, all becamecomparatively silent. He bent over the bed, and said, "Mother, you areleaving us."
The voice of her beloved son rallied the dying woman's wandering mind.After a moment she recognized him, smiled faintly, and whispered: "Yes,I think I am--kiss me--good-by. Bring--the children. Jesus--takecare--my little--lambs. Good-by--true--honest friends--meet me--heaven.Dennis--these children--your charge--bring them home--to me. Pray for_her_. I don't know--why--she seems very--near to me. Farewell--mygood--true--son--mother's blessing--God's blessing--ever rest--on you."
Her eyes closed, and she fell into a gentle sleep.
"She vake no more in dis vorld," said Mrs. Bruder, in an awed tone.
Mr. Bruder, unable to control his feelings any longer, hurried fromthe room. His wife, with streaming eyes, silently dressed the littlegirls, and took them home with her, crying piteously all the way formamma.
Pale, tearless, motionless, Dennis sat, hour after hour holding hismother's hand. He noted that her pulse grew more and more feeble. Atlast the sun in setting broke through the clouds that had obscured itall day, and filled the room with a sudden glory.
To Dennis's great surprise, his mother's eyes opened wide, with thestrange, far-off look they ever had when she was picturing to herselfthe unknown world.
Her lips moved. He bent over her and caught the words: "Hark! hear!--Itnever was so sweet before. See the angels--thronging toward me--theynever came so near before."
Then a smile of joy and welcome lighted up her wan features, and shewhispered, "Oh, Dennis, husband--are we once more united?"
Suddenly there was a look of ecstasy such as her son had never seenon any human face, and she cried almost aloud, "Jesus--my Saviour!"and received, as it were, directly into His arms, she passed fromearth.
We touch briefly on the scenes that followed. Dennis took the body ofhis mother to her old home, and buried it under the wide-spreading elmin the village churchyard, where as a happy child and blooming maidenshe had often sat between the services. It was his purpose to removethe remains of his father and place them by her side as soon as hecould afford it.
His little sisters accompanied him east, and he found a home for themwith a sister of his mother, who was a good, kind, Christian lady.Dennis's salary was not large, but sufficient to insure that his sisterswould be no burden to his aunt, who was in rather straitenedcircumstances. He also arranged that the small annuity should be paidfor their benefit.
It was hard parting from his sisters, whose little hearts seemedbreaking at what appeared to them to be a new bereavement.
"How can I leave them!" he exclaimed, with tears falling fast from hiseyes.
"They are children," said his aunt, soothingly, "and will forget theirtroubles in a few days."
And so it proved; but Dennis, with a sore heart, and feeling verylonely, returned to Chicago.
When at last Christine got out again, she learned from Ernst at thestore that Dennis's mother had died, and that he had taken the remainsand his sisters east. In his sorrow he seemed doubly interesting toher.
"How I wish it were in my power to cheer and comfort him!" she sighed,"and yet I fear my ability to do this is less than that of any oneelse. In very truth he seems to despise and hate me now. The barriersbetween us grow stronger and higher every day. How different it allmight have been if--. But what is the use of these wretched 'ifs'?What is the use of resisting this blind, remorseless fate that bringshappiness to one and crushes another?"
Wearily and despondingly she rode back to the elegant home in whichshe found so little enjoyment.
Whom should she met there but Mrs. Von Brakhiem from New York, boundwestward with a gay party on a trip to the Rocky Mountains andCalifornia? They had stopped to spend a few days in Chicago, and weredetermined to take Christine on with them. Her father strongly secondedthe plan. Though Christine surmised his motive, she did not care toresist. Since she would soon be separated from Dennis forever, theless she saw of him the less would be the pain. Moreover, her sore andheavy heart welcomed any change that would cause forgetfulness; andso it was speedily arranged.
Mrs. Von Brakhiem and her party quite took possession of the Ludolphmansion, and often made it echo with gayety.
On the evening of the day that Dennis buried his mother, Ernst went overat Mr. Ludolph's request to carry a message. He found the housethe scene of a fashionable revel. There were music and dancing in theparlors, and from the dining-room the clink of glasses and loud pealsof laughter proved that this was not Christine's ideal of anentertainment as she had portrayed it to her father on a formeroccasion. In truth, she had little to do with the affair; it was quiteimpromptu, and Mr. Ludolph and Mrs. Von Brakhiem were responsible forit.
But Ernst could not know this, and to him it seemed shocking. Thesimple funeral service taking place on that day in the distant NewEngland village had never been absent from his thoughts a moment. Sinceearly morning he had gone about with his little face composed tofunereal gravity.
His simple, warm-hearted parents felt that they could only show properrespect for the occasion by the deepest gloom. Their rooms were arrangedin stiff and formal manner, with crape here and there. All unnecessarywork ceased, and the children, forbidden to play, were dressed inmourning as far as possible, and made to sit in solemn and dreadfulstate all day. It would not have surprised Ernst if the whole city hadgone into mourning. Therefore the revelry at the Ludolph mansion seemedto him heartless and awful beyond measure, and nearly the first thingshe told Dennis on the latter's return was that they had had "a greatdancing and drinking party, the night of the funeral, at Mr. Ludolph's."Then, trying to find some explanation for what seemed to him such astrange and wicked thing, he suggested, "Perhaps they meant it for awake."
Poor little Ernst's ideas of the world, outside of his home, had beengathered from a very low neighborhood.
He also handed Dennis a letter that Mr. Ludolph requested should begiven him on his return. It read as follows:
"CHICAGO, May 6, 1871.
"I have been compelled to supply your place in your absence: thereforeyour services will be no longer needed at this store. Inclosed youwill find a check for the small balance still due you, AUGUST LUDOLPH."
Dennis's brow grew very dark, and in bitter soliloquy he said, halfaloud, as he strode up and down his little room in great agitation:"And so it all ends! The girl at whose side my mother would have watchedin the most dangerous and loathsome of diseases; the woman of ice whomI sought to melt and render human by as warm, true love as ever manlavished on one who rewarded his affection--this beautifu
l monsterwill not even visit my mother when dying; she holds a revel on the dayof the funeral; and now, through her influence no doubt, I am robbedof the chance of winning honest bread. She cannot even endure the sightof the man who once told her the unvarnished truth. Poor as you deemme, Christine Ludolph, with God's help not many years shall pass beforeit will be condescension on my part to recognize you."
He would not even go to the store again. The Bruders, having heardwhat had occurred, took Ernst away also; but Dennis soon found him abetter situation elsewhere.
The day on which Dennis returned, Christine was speeding in a palace-cartoward the Rocky Mountains, outwardly gay, determined to enjoy herselfand carry out her reckless purpose to get the most possible out oflife, cost what it might.
If she had been a shallow girl, thoughtless and vain, with only mindenough to take in the events of the passing moment, she might havebought many fleeting pleasures with her abundant wealth. But this shewas not, with all her faults, and wherever she went, in the midst ofgayest scenes, and in the presence of the grandest and most inspiringscenery, thought and memory, like two spectres that no spell could lay,haunted her and robbed her of peace and any approach to happiness.Though possessing the means of gratifying every whim, though restrainedby no scruples from doing what she chose, she felt that all aroundwere getting more from life than she.
During her absence she experienced a sudden and severe attack ofillness. Her friends were much alarmed about her, and she far moreabout herself. All her old terror returned. In one respect she waslike her mother; she had no physical courage, but shrank withinexpressible dread from danger, pain, and death. Again the blacknessof darkness gathered round her, and not one in the gay pleasure partycould say a word to comfort her.
She recovered, and soon regained her usual health, but herself-confidence was more thoroughly shaken. She felt like one in alittle cockle-shell boat out upon a shoreless ocean. While thetreacherous sea remained calm, all might be well, but she knew thata storm would soon arise, and that she must go down, beyond remedy.Again she had been taught how suddenly, how unexpectedly, that stormmight rise.
Dennis resolved at once to enter on the career of an artist. He soldto Mr. French, at a moderate price, some paintings and sketches he hadmade. He rented a small room that became his studio,sleeping-apartment--in brief, his home, and then went to work with allthe ordinary incentives to success intensified by his purpose to reacha social height that would compel Christine to look upward if theiracquaintance were renewed.
Disappointment in love is one of the severest tests of character inman or woman. Some sink into weak sentimentality, and mope and languish;some become listless, apathetic, and float down the current of existencelike driftwood. Men are often harsh and cynical, and rail at the sexto which their mothers and sisters belong. Sometimes a man inflictsa wellnigh fatal wound and leaves his victim to cure it as best shemay. From that time forth she may be like the wronged Indian, who slaysas many white men as he can. Not a few, on finding they cannot enterthe beautiful paradise of happy love, plunge into imbruting vice, anddrown not only their disappointment but themselves in dissipation.Their course is like that of some who deem that the best way to curea wound or end a disease is to kill the patient as soon as possible.If women have true metal in them (and they usually have) they becomeunselfishly devoted to others, and by gentle, self-denying ways seekto impart to those about them the happiness denied to themselves.
But with all manly young men the instinct of Dennis is perhaps themost common. They will rise, shine, and dazzle the eyes that oncelooked scornfully or indifferently at them.
As he worked patiently at his noble calling this smaller ambition wasgradually lost in the nobler, broader one, to be a true artist and agood man.
During his illness some gentlemen of large wealth and liberality, whowished to stimulate and develop the native artistic talent of theircity, offered a prize of two thousand dollars for the finest picturepainted during the year, the artist also having the privilege of sellinghis work.
On his return after his illness Dennis heard of this, and determinedto be one of the competitors. He applied to Mr. Cornell, who had thematter in charge, for permission to enter the lists, which thatgentleman granted rather doubtfully. He had known Dennis only as acritic, not as an artist. But having gained his point, Dennis wentearnestly to work on the emblematic painting he had resolved upon, andwith what success the following chapters will show.
His mother's sickness and death, of course, put a complete shop to hisartistic labors for a time, but when entering on his new career, hegave himself wholly to this effort.
The time for exhibition and decision was fixed--Saturday morning October7, 1871.