CHAPTER 17 The Withered Heart!
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Somewhat to the doctor's disappointment, Helen was silent and abstracted all the way. He wished to give her many directions, and to suggest many cautions. He expected her to refer to him, and ask instruction as to the best way of addressing her mother, and the best way of dealing with her; and he had thought out what seemed to him a judicious course of conduct. But while he waited for her to inquire of him — she was inquiring of a safer and wiser teacher, by lifting up her heart in silent prayer.
Up the long avenue of trees leading to the "Asylum," the doctor's carriage passed, and he was at the entrance-gate without having made any arrangement with Helen as to the manner in which they should approach her mother.
"I will visit her first," said the doctor, as he conducted Helen into one of the ante-rooms. "You remain here, while I see the matron and ascertain what is her present state of mind."
"Does she know you?" asked Helen.
"Yes, and talks to me very sanely sometimes."
"Then she will know me!" Helen's face brightened.
The doctor left her, but soon returned to bring word that her mother was sleeping. The matron said that she had been unusually restless all the morning, and had wept a great deal, mentioning, for the first time, the name of her daughter Helen, and complaining that she had deserted her like all the rest of her friends.
"I will go to her, and remain with her alone until she wakes," said Helen. The doctor looked doubtful, and appealed to the matron.
"Do not say, No!"
The matron gazed with something of wonder upon the slender girl.
"Do not say, No!" repeated Helen. "Take me to my mother, and leave me alone with her."
"It may be best," said the matron; and she conducted Helen to the room where the invalid lay in a deep sleep. One look at the changed, wan face, buried deep in the pillow, caused tears to blind Helen's eyes, and wet her cheeks. The impulse to throw herself upon her mother's bosom, and cover her lips with kisses was so strong, that she could with difficulty restrain herself. How full was her heart of yearning love — of tenderness — of pity! How all the affections of her soul went out to this dear mother! But self-control was maintained. Love made her strong. After gazing upon that beloved form for some time in silence, she turned aside; and, removing her bonnet and shawl, smoothed back her hair, and made preparations to remain with her mother.
After a few whispered words, the matron retired, and left her alone with the sleeper. How very rapidly had Helen grown old in the last few days! From a weak, suffering girl, yearning to fly back to her mother's side, that she might bury her face in her bosom, feel her protecting arms around her, and hear the tones of love fall once more on her ears — she had changed almost into a thoughtful woman. The clinging vine had suddenly gained strength, and was now offering, instead of claiming support. As she sat looking upon the face of her mother, she did not revolve in her thoughts, the words best to be spoken when the deep slumber now locking up the external senses should break, and the soul look forth again upon the outer world. She left it all for the time when words were needed. Her heart would be the wisest prompter.
For nearly half an hour, Helen kept her place by the sleeper, scarcely moving the whole time. At the end of this period, there were signs of restlessness. These subsided, and all was still again. Helen had turned from the bed, and stood gazing from the window, when a movement caused her to look round. The eyes of her mother were open. What a thrill went along every nerve! Neither spoke; but their eyes rested on each other with something of a mutual fascination. Helen felt, for a few moments, as if she had lost the power to breathe.
Slowly the mother rose up in bed, still keeping her eyes upon her daughter's face, with something of curious wonder in the expression of her own.
"Helen!" The name was uttered in a low whisper. "Helen!" she repeated, as her face came nearer to the face of her child.
It was almost superhuman self-control which enabled Helen to repress the impulse which would have led her to throw herself, with a wild exclamation, upon her mother's bosom.
"Dear mother!" She spoke in a whisper, and very, very calmly. Love gave her the wisdom to perceive what to do, and the power to act right.
What a gleam of joy was flung into the mother's face, as the tones of her child, even in a faint whisper, entered her ears, and were recognized by her heart.
"Helen! Helen! dear Helen! Oh, is it indeed my precious one?"
"Dear, dear mother!" — Helen still maintained her self-control, "I am with you again — and will always be with you."
"Not here! no, not here!" And shadows fell over the mother's face. "They won't let you stay here."
"Then I will take you away," said Helen, firmly; "for I am never going to leave you anymore."
"Oh, I'm so glad! — so glad!" And light returned to the mother's countenance.
Helen kissed her lips tenderly, but not with the wild impulse that was in her heart; and said —
"I am to be your nurse until you get well; the doctor says so."
"Did he? I'm so glad! — so glad!" repeating her words with a kind of childish delight.
"Yes; that is all arranged; and I'll make you such a good nurse. Oh! you shall be well in a little while."
With an instinct beyond her years, the daughter had understood her mother's true state, and with a wisdom and self-command equally beyond her years, had met that state in the right manner and with the right words.
"I've been very ill since I saw you, dear. I don't know what's been the matter with me — but I've been very ill. I'm getting better now, and the doctor says I shall soon be well again."
"Oh, yes, you are a great deal better," replied Helen, with smiling encouragement; "and, as I am to be your nurse, you will grow better very fast." A shower of kisses followed the words.
"I need no other medicine. Your kisses will make me well," said the mother, light playing again over her countenance.
"As I am now your nurse, I must enjoin freedom from all excitement," remarked Helen, gently pressing back the form of her mother, until her head rested upon the pillow from which she had arisen. "And you will be, I know, the best of patients."
Mrs. Hardy made no resistance. Indeed, the little authority assumed by her daughter, rather pleased than annoyed her. From the curious way in which she looked up into her face, it was plain that some thoughts of a puzzling character were flitting through her mind. "I don't know why you stayed away so long," she at length remarked.
"They wouldn't let me come. That was the reason," replied Helen.
"Who wouldn't let you come?" Now this was a question which Helen felt it difficult to meet; for the answer might do harm. So she remained silent.
"Oh, well, you needn't say who it was. I know all about it. It isn't right for children to speak against their father. He's your father, dear; and the Bible tells us to honour our parents. Yes, it was his work. I know all about it. He tried to kill me; but God wouldn't let him."
The blood seemed to grow cold in Helen's veins, as she listened. But she commanded herself, and replied in a soothing voice —
"We won't think any more about that, mother; it will only make us feel unhappy. The doctor is on our side; and he won't let anybody separate us again."
At this moment, Helen's glance fell upon a Bible; and, almost without thinking, she said —
"I used to read to you out of the Bible, when I was a little girl. Don't you remember?"
"Oh, yes, I remember." The shadows were instantly gone from Mrs. Hardy's face.
"Shall I read to you again?" Helen stepped across the room, and brought back the Bible in her hand.
"Yes, my love."
Helen opened the book; and, in a low, reverent voice, read one of the beautiful parables of our Lord. Mrs. Hardy listened with earnest attention, and when her daughter paused, looked up and said —
"Read on, dear."
For nearly twenty minutes, Helen sat and read from the Holy Book, her mother lying all the while as still as a sleeping infant. The doctor and the matron, anxious to know the effect of Helen's presence upon her mother, had several times come near the door, and gained some idea of what was passing without giving any sign of their presence. They returned again at this period, and both were much affected by what they saw and heard. Retiring noiselessly, they consulted as to what was now best to be done. The doctor's time was limited; and it was impossible to remain any longer without neglecting patients who needed his attention; but yet both deemed it unwise at present to intrude upon Helen and her mother. It was finally concluded, that the doctor should return to the city, and come out again late in the afternoon.
Half an hour afterwards, the matron went to see how Mrs. Hardy was getting on. She found her walking up and down the room, with Helen leaning upon her arm.
"Good morning!" said Mrs. Hardy, smiling cheerfully. "You see I have a visitor — my daughter!"
"Good morning, dear!" returned the matron, advancing, and taking the hand of the young girl. "I am happy to meet you; and hope you have come to spend some time with us."
"Oh, yes; she's going to stay," said Mrs. Hardy, quickly. "Helen is my eldest daughter," she added, fondly bending down and looking into her face. "She's been away from home, and has just returned. Isn't she a dear girl?"
"Indeed she is," replied the matron; "I don't wonder that you are proud of her. You must take her around and show her our beautiful place. There isn't a lovelier spot anywhere."
"Oh, yes, I'm going to show her everything," said Mrs. Hardy. "It will be so delightful!"
Pleased at the suggestion, Mrs. Hardy called for a coat, and in a few minutes was out in the garden, with Helen leaning on her arm. For nearly two hours they sat or walked amid the flowers, trees, and shrubberies, the mind of the invalid interested all the while in pointing out new beauties to her daughter. At the end of this time, some remark dropped by Helen made the mother's thoughts revert to her little children at home, and all the yearning love of her soul quickened into instant life. Tears began to rain down her cheeks, and sobs to convulse her bosom.
"We must go home, Helen," said she, with so firm a purpose in the tone of her voice, that Helen's heart began to tremble. "I have been away from the children a long time, and it is not right. I wonder where the doctor is? He brought me here this morning, and left me while he went to see some patients in the house. He is spending a long time with them. Come! let us go in, and see what detains him."
"He has, I believe, gone back to the city," Helen ventured to say; "but he will be out again before evening. He had some patients there who needed to be seen."
"Gone back to the city!" Mrs. Hardy looked confounded. "That is strange conduct! I don't understand it."
There was no vacancy in her countenance, but an earnest displeasure.
Greatly to Helen's relief, she saw the matron approaching them, and said with some presence of mind —
"Let us ask this lady about the doctor." The matron came up, and Helen managed to convey to her a look and gesture of warning.
"I don't exactly understand this, madam," said Mrs. Hardy. "My daughter tells me that Doctor Fairfax has returned to the city."
"He has; but will soon be back again," was replied in a polite, rather deferential manner, as if she were speaking to a stranger.
"It was very wrong in him, and I am seriously displeased. My children will be in trouble about my long absence. Is there not any way for me to get back to the city before he finds it convenient to return?"
"None, I believe, madam. Our carriage is away, and will not be back till evening."
"It is too bad! I don't see what the doctor means by taking this liberty with me."
"He thought you would enjoy a few hours in this delightful place," said Helen; "and as he had to go back to the city very soon, he did not wish to hurry you away. He will make it all plain enough when he returns, you may be certain."
"Doctor Fairfax is something of an oddity, you know," remarked the matron; "and often takes professional liberties with his patients. You have been on the invalid's list for some time, and have confined yourself too closely at home, with your children. Change, fresh air, country sights and sounds, the doctor thought indispensable; and so he has cheated you into their enjoyment for a few hours. It was something of a liberty, I must admit; and I would scold him well for it. But now that you are in this pleasant place, with so much light and beauty around you, it would be as well to act the part of wisdom, and draw from them health of mind and body."
"Just what I would say, dear mother!" joined in Helen. "The children will do well enough. Let us enjoy this beautiful country scenery, and these delicious fragrances. Are not the garden-walks delightful; the flowers pleasant to look upon; the cooling shadows of these great trees like blessings of peace from Heaven?"
Mrs. Hardy turned to her daughter with a look of wonder, and said —
"Why, Helen dear, you talk like a grown-up woman, instead of a girl!"
"Do I?" She smiled lovingly upon her mother. "It is the scene which has inspired me."
"I wish I could see everything in as beautiful a light as you do, my dear. But I see only the children at home, from whom it seems as if I had been parted for an age; and I only desire to return to them. How soon will the doctor be back?"
She turned with an anxious look to the matron.
"In about an hour."
"An hour! an hour!" she repeated the words. "Well, it was not right, and I am very much displeased with him."
"Won't you come in and take some refreshment?" said the matron; "you have been walking here for a long time, and must be fatigued."
"Yes, dear mother," urged Helen. "I feel tired and hungry, and I know that you must be over-wearied."
"Come," said the matron, turning towards the house.
Helen leaned with a slight onward impulse upon the arm of her mother, who made no objection, and they re-entered the building.
A table was set, under the direction of the matron, and dinner served to Mrs. Hardy and her daughter. Before the meal was ended, the doctor arrived. Being informed of the change in his patient's state of mind, he deemed it best, on consideration, to go in upon her unannounced, and decide, after an interview, whether it would be best to take her home, or leave her at the Asylum. A single glance at her changed countenance told him that the light of reason had dawned once more, though it burned yet only with a feeble flame. She scolded him severely, saying that she was seriously offended at his conduct, and insisted upon his taking her home immediately.
It was necessary, the doctor saw, to make his decision on the instant. He looked into Helen's face, and read her desire for his acquiescence. This turned the scale, and he said promptly —
"I must excuse myself, by saying, madam," — he spoke in a tone of apology, "that I thought a couple of hours in this pleasant place would do you more good than all my medicine. But come, my carriage is waiting, and I will drive you home in the quickest possible time."
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