Chapter 14

"WEEPING MAY ENDURE FOR A NIGHT."

GUY had lost his cheerfulness, his sisters thought. Certainly he had not his old gayety of manner, and they anxiously inquired if he were sick.

"I am sure you must be," urged Ruth; "won't you see a doctor, Guy? Then there is another thing, you read too much; indeed you will injure yourself if you continue to study so."

But he only laughed at their fears, and continued to spend his evenings at home over his books. Seeing that he did not seek other society, the girls gave little entertainments; not costing much to be sure, not more perhaps than some little things they needed, but now did without, so that he might be surrounded by pleasant company, and acquire a taste for the society of good people.

Now it never once occurred to Guy that his sisters were doing this for him. He thought they must be becoming more fond of society, and it pleased him very much, for he did not see why they should not shine in the very highest circles. Before long he meant that they should. And now when their friends came, he did his best to entertain them for their sake, and they were overjoyed at his returns of brilliancy and wit.

Now that the winter had really set in, and promised to be severe, Ruth recollected that Guy's overcoat had not been taken out of the cedar chest, where it had been laid in Spring.

"It is no wonder he has not asked for it," she thought, as she looked at the thread-bare sleeves, and noticed the rusty appearance of the whole coat. Spreading it out, she looked at it, then sitting down thought of what could be done. "Now there is hartshorn, that dissolved in water, cleans cloth beautifully; but even if I did scour it, Guy could never wear a thread-bare coat."

Then came the question: "How can he get another? I know if he could, he would have had it by this time. I must have been thinking of myself and my own clothes, or I should not have lost sight of this so long. I will see how much money there is; at any rate if it should take every cent in the house, Guy must have the coat."

For a long time Ruth sat in the cold room making plans; finally she decided to have a talk with Agnes about it, because it would never do, not to let her have a share in the pleasure of making Guy comfortable. That night the bed-post and rocking-chair were appropriated, and there was a long, earnest talk. Agnes was not so much surprised as her sister anticipated, when she found that Guy was a great way off from making a fortune. For ever since the time Ruth refused to purchase her dress, Agnes had been finding out things she never dreamed of before. It was Ruth who was surprised to find that Agnes knew so much of the real state of affairs. In one way it was a relief, now that she did know, and Ruth felt that a great part of her burden had gone; but it was gone from her to be laid on Agnes, and that thought was more painful than the burden had been.

"It is to be divided equally, remember," said Agnes. "O, I am so glad that I am earning money, Ruth."

Ruth urged that as she was older, she should bear the greater part of the expense; but Agnes would not consent to this; and finally it was settled that each should give half. Then they were perplexed as to the manner of doing it. Agnes thought it best to tell him, and let him order it himself; but Ruth was sure he would not take the money. Three months before, she would not have hesitated to offer it; but he had changed since then, and something told her he had resolved to be less dependent in the future.

"I don't like concealments," urged Agnes; "I felt meanly in acting so about your dress, Ruth."

Ruth smiled, and said: "You always had a tender conscience, child, but there is no other way of doing this, I am convinced."

Agnes yielded to Ruth's judgment, and Martha was sent with the old coat to the tailor, and told to say that Miss Ruth would call in the afternoon.

"When is it to be done?" asked Agnes, eagerly, when Ruth returned.

"On Christmas eve; and only think, Agnes, it will be four dollars less than we supposed. He will make it of the finest cloth too."

"Christmas is coming," said the children many, many times, during the ten days that followed. Ruth's visit to the tailor, and "Christmas is coming," said she and Agnes, as many times as the children. Yes, Christmas was coming, it was drawing near, bringing gladness as it always does; but something else was coming, and drawing still nearer.

The shadow of a great sorrow had fallen. Had they looked in Guy's face they would have seen it; but they were busy with their little presents for each other, and for Martha and Philip. Besides, they rather avoided Guy, for fear he should read their secret. So it grew and grew, until they could escape it no longer. Guy was ill of a fever.

All at once, without a word of complaint, he was taken down, and to all their entreaties that he would speak to them just once, there was no reply.

"O Guy, my brother, my darling, speak," moaned Ruth, as with an agonized voice and look she bent over him. "To think of your lying here alone, suffering through the long night, and no one near to give you even a drink of water."

So she went on talking and bathing his burning brow, while Agnes, giving one earnest look, in which her whole soul seemed to go out, hurried to send Martha for the doctor; then she went back, and putting her arm round Ruth, drew her away.

"Don't take me from him, Agnes; I have the best right here," she cried, fiercely, starting up from the seat into which Agnes had placed her. "I did not help to benefit him; I set him no good example. I must save him now, even if I should die for him."

"Sister Ruth," and her words were slow and measured, "our lives cannot save Guy; only one power can. Look to God, dear sister; he is our only help. And He _will_ help us," she added with strong emphasis.

"O, will He, Agnes; are you sure?" and Ruth looked into the face of her sister, waiting for her reply, as if into the face of God.

"He will help us," came again. Then they threw their arms round each other and cried.

"What is it?" asked Agnes, when the doctor shook his head.

"Brain fever, I fear," was the reply.

"Will he die?" almost shrieked Ruth. "You will save him, doctor. O, you won't let Guy die."

"Do you know, my child, you can kill your brother, and you will if you give way to this grief. I will leave no means untried. You are a Christian; you know how to pray; there is greater comfort in that than in any of my assurances; but I give them to you; your brother shall live if it is in the power of man to save him."

Agnes murmured, "O God, give him skill, and give us strength," while hope revived in Ruth's heart, and she listened eagerly to the doctor's directions.

"You will have many days of nursing, it is probable, and you must take it in turn," he said; "but at night it will be well to have a friend. There is a great deal of restlessness then, and one feels lonely. Be sure you give the medicine promptly, and keep up the ice applications, as I shall be back in a few hours."

"Whom can we get?" asked Agnes, when he had gone.

"Don't let us have any one, Agnes; no stranger could take care of Guy, as well as we," said Ruth, beseechingly.

"But, Ruth, if anything should happen, if Guy should grow worse, we would blame ourselves for not doing all the doctor told us."

"Very well, then. You know best, Agnes. I can't think to-day."

Without saying more, Agnes went down stairs, and told Martha to see if Miss Smithers was at home, and if so to tell her to come right away, but not to sew. "Then leave this note with one of the school children," she added.

She met Ruth's scholars as they came, and sent them away quietly, telling them when Miss Ruth was ready she would send them word, and then she tried to take her breakfast. "I must be strong," she said, and tried to eat, but she could not swallow. There was Guy's place, but he was not there. "Will he ever be again!" The question came, but she drove it away. He was in God's hands and so was she. She could take nothing back, but rest in the thought of His fatherly love and compassion.

Miss Smithers came, and Agnes was not mistaken in her. She was ready for every emergency, and never failed to give the right comfort, at the right time. Even Ruth grew to depend upon her, and to miss her kind face when she was compelled to leave them, and seek rest. Agnes had not thought of asking her to give up her work, only to have her stay with them at night. But Miss Smithers did not mean to leave either day or night, until Guy was out of danger, and Agnes gladly yielded the point.

When the sorrow through which the sisters was passing, became known, they had the fullest sympathy of friends. Miss Smithers received all who called, and thus saved them from many painful interviews. For at such times when there are many hearts to feel for us, and to offer the most delicate expressions of sympathy, there are always coarse natures who know no other manner of showing their sympathy than by opening up our wounds and making us bleed afresh.

"How many friends we have, Agnes. I did not know so many cared for us. If Guy recovers we shall be very happy," said Ruth, as Miss Smithers told them of the many who had called.

Guy lay still unconscious, while the fever leaped through his veins, and almost purpled his fair face. Now he was at his books, then again he was pleading; but all the time there was this thought: "I can't rob Ruth, I can't take her money."

"O, if he would not talk so; if he would say anything else but that, I could bear it," she moaned, and then she whispered that "Ruth, his own dear Ruth was there, that he must not talk any more," but still he went on in the same strain.

Poor Agnes was sorely tried. Here was Ruth breaking out in the wildest frenzy, at times, refusing to eat or to leave the bedside; and here the brother, far dearer to her than life, not able to look at her, nor to say that he understood her when she did not yield to his wishes. If he died, he could not know how great her love for him was. And then the subtle tempter came: "If God loved His children He would not cause them thus to suffer. _Your_ life has been harder than that of out-breaking sinners." But while Agnes could not reason, thank God she could trust, and reaching out her hand as a little child, she said: "Lead me in the way that is best for me, and do not let me be afraid or discouraged."

Christmas had come and gone, but they would not have known it, had not Guy's coat been sent home according to promise, the day before. They had meant to hide it from Ruth, but she happened to be down stairs at the time it came, and it was kissed and fondled as though it had been Guy himself. Then it was laid away, no one else knew where. She forgot that Agnes had a share in it, forgot everything but that it was Guy's, and he her own darling brother.

Agnes had never asked the doctor any more questions since the day Guy was taken ill. But she wrote down his directions for fear the least thing should be overlooked, and never administered medicine, or rendered him the slightest service, without breathing a prayer that it might lead to his recovery. So the days passed wearily on, and the crisis drew near.

"We must not tell them," said the doctor to Miss Smithers, on the morning of the day. "It will only more completely unsettle Miss Ruth, while the other poor child need have no more laid upon her. If the worst comes, there will be strength given, and anticipated trouble is always the hardest to bear. If you have any influence over Miss Ruth, keep her very quiet, everything depends on that."

Miss Smithers went up to her room, and was there for a long time. When she left it she carried with her something that made her heart strong and her face bright. If you have ever known it you will understand; if not, no words can give you the idea.

The day wore on and still Guy was restless. The doctor came, looked and went away, but there was no outward change. Night closed over them as they sat watching, the two to whom he was the dearest living thing, and another whose heart had been drawn toward him as if he had been her son.

If faith were dependent upon what is seen only, then Miss Smithers might have yielded to the entreaties of Ruth and the imploring looks of Agnes, to let them stay beside Guy, whose unrest was painful in the extreme, for there surely could be no hope here. But she kept them beside her, whispering: "Trust me this once, children;" and in some way they felt that she must be right.

It was near midnight on the last day of the year. What would the New Year bring?