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Chapter XV.

Life and Death. Life is to be able to move, to act, to breathe. Death is the absence of all these attributes. To a certain extent such definitions are right; but there are exceptions to every rule; there are exercises for every exception. In this case the exception we wish to dwell on is the dead life and the live death. The general rule is, of course, the live life and the dead death: the apparent to all. No explanation is needed to the general rule. It is the axiom of our creation. The fundamental law, which neither requires, nor is capable of proof, and which serves as a foundation upon which to build further facts. From this general, we deduct the particular, and repeat it is apparent to a few; it is the exception; and it requires careful search. The diagram referred to is the wavy line of life which terminates both ends, one end by natural birth, the other by natural death. Mark the stipulation natural birth and natural death. Man may follow up that diagram, until he reaches his prime, before he lives. He may traverse the whole line awaking on the brink of the grave. He may journey on right to the end—sleep himself into eternity. In all these, until the time of the awaking birth, the person is dead. Quite as dead as the body from which the spirit has departed. How do we know this? Well, because we have passed through that dead life. We, in the flesh, and in connection with you, are experiencing what the dead is experiencing in the spirit, and in connection with us. We know you are asleep, because we have slept. page 162We know you shall awake, because we have awakened. They know we are alive, because they have lived. They know we shall be free, because they are free. In a nutshell, the proof is as a flight of stairs; the higher you mount, the more landscape you see. But the live death! Think you, because the soul has left the body, the person is dead? He is alive and among you. When you cast aside a worn and useless garment, do you look upon it as containing yourself now dead, which was once alive? And do you imagine that your breath, being freed from you dead self, hovers around the garment? No. It has done its appointed work; the purpose for which you bought it has been accomplished, and it is of no further use. Do you understand the metaphor? Is it not the case with this world's traveller? The body you saw and touched was the garment during its time of service, ere it became worn and useless. And the death, you imagined death, was in reality life. Life which is not interrupted by the casting off of a garment; but which is continued elsewhere, clothed in another garment of richer and rarer texture, a garment more closely resembling the pattern of the "Perfect one." Is it not reasonable enough to believe that the transition from one garment to another, of those who live a life of earnest thought, may be so slight as scarcely to be perceptible? The old garment is not cast upon a dung-hill, respect places it in a grave, and erects a stone to its memorial. And because we love the spirit that it once clothed, we like to plant flowers on the grave, One thing, it is a pity people would not leave off that habit of frightening children with threats of boogy-men. No wonder, when those children grow up, that they are afraid of passing through the cemetery; although the senses should be sufficient criterion for a safe passport. It is because the spirit is not there that we experience that lonely sensation. If it be felt anywhere, it is not in the cemetery, not by the grave, but where it is most loved and most useful. page 163It will be found beside the praying child, or toiling wife. We have said that there are exercises to every exception. One exercise is, that even when the human being has undergone the second birth (that is the birth of the soul, and the true birth), it may die; indeed the awakened intellect may die several times during the earthly course. It may die, become buried, and on the third morning rise again. Rise to resume the same life, clothed in a fresh garment of purpose. To this latter death and resurrection we allude, when we take up our story two weeks after Mr. Main's death.

"I will be very quiet Mrs. Rettos. I will not speak a word. O, do let me see her?"

Kind Mrs. Rettos' heart softened, and her stern resolution gave away, still she hesitated. The face before her looked so pleading, but then the face above was of far more importance.

"It is against the doctor's orders. And if anything happened I would never forgive myself."

"But she is past the crisis. Just a peep Mrs. Rettos. I promise not to go in."

"I dinna think it mon hurt the lassie," chimed in the voice of a third. This upset everything. To think that anyone should interfere with her wishes. Such impertinence. Mrs. Rettos drew up her little figure, and looked at the speaker with a bright angry flash in her blue eyes. "Will you take the responsibility, Mrs. Lubb? Remember I am the nurse for the present."

"Nae, nae, I dinna mean to offend thee. Ye mon do as ye please in course." And poor Mrs. Lubb sank back in her chair and shook her fist at the dignified retreating form; for Mrs. Rettos deigned not to listen to her apology. Bidding the girl follow, the indignant lady led the way up a broad-winding flight of stairs, and pausing before a half opened door, pointed to a tiny white bed occupied by a motionless figure. The girl peered into the cool shady room; her heart page 164thrilled with a mixture of love and compassion as she marked every detail. Among the soft pillows, with their lacy borders, lay a pale pinched face. Such a pathetic face it was, with its dark sad eyes gazing out of the open window, with its closely cropped hair, with its drooping month. One hand was hidden beneath the sunken cheek, the other lay across the white counterpane. Her old companions, her books and flowers were there as usual. They followed her about where ever she went, and were always so anxious to be of service.

"They will not leave me," she had said on one occasion when someone had made a slighting remark on her fellowship with "such dry rubbish." "They do not count me unworthy of notice, because I work. Nay they commend me for my courage, and they instil into my weak nature those drops of truth which enable me to rise and conquer. When I fail, and come short of doing right, they do not turn away with scornful looks, pointing to their own virtues the while: they come bursting with encouragement and consolation, and even before I yield to their embrace, I feel the purity and strength of their influence. Dry rubbish! That is to be guilty of defamation. Love, Friendship, Advice, Warning, Guidance, Sympathy, everything the heart desires; are these the characteristics of "Dry Rubbish!" I will show you where to find dry rubbish if you like: In the empty stagnant minds of men and women you see around you every day."

At present she did not care to speak, nor hear them speak. Sufficient to know they were there, and waiting to do her bidding. And the flowers smiled and nodded so pleasantly that it was hard not to smile and nod back. The movements at the door caught the quick ear; the face turned.

"Marion."

"Nellie."

Away went discretion; away went promises. Marion Enswav flew to the bed-side, and clasping "Iwand's Lyly" page 165in her arms, laid her cheek upon the dark head, and burst into tears. Poor Mrs. Rettos almost fainted with fright. "She'll kill herself. She'll kill herself," she cried, throwing up her hands and rushing forward. "Why ever did I let that girl in. What shall I do. O, what shall I do?" She entreated Marion to go away. She commanded Nellie to lie quiet and not excite herself. And finally she succeeded in dragging the visitor out of the room.

"I shall come back on Monday," said Marion, as she stooped to kiss her friend farewell. "You will be more able to see me then." She went away, and Mrs. Rettos returned to the sick girl, and stood, bottle in hand, anxiously waiting for the relapse that never came.

"Well, and is she dead?" asked Mrs. Lubb as she met Marion at the foot of the stairs, "My firm belief is that it mon do her good, Brain fever is gone, but strikes me, if they don't take care, low fever will come; not but that we do not all suffer from low fever at times. There she lies alooking out of that window, and not speaking a word. Were it not to please Mrs. Rettos, who is so kind, I dinna think she mon eat." "Poor Nellie," said Marion, the tears streaming down her cheeks. "Poor, dear Nellie. I do feel sorry for her."

"Indeed, and you may," continued Mrs. Lubb in her strange mixture of mispronounced Scotch dialect and Colonial slang. "Indeed, and you may, Miss Enswav. Although, as I say, she is a queer lassie, and ye dinna ken how to take her." Then the old lady launched into the story she had repeated dozens of times before, to dozens of different people. Many enquirers, seeing the ample form of Mrs. Lubb would, fearing the rehearsal of that oft repeated story, conceal themselves until the reciter was gone. But Marion was no regular enquirer. This was the first time she had been able to get away from town; consequently she encouraged Mrs. Lubb on with her story.

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"The night Miss Nellie was taken ill, I came doon to see her mother. My home is right at the back. Ye canna see it from here. Well, I came doon, and while Mrs. Main and me were atalking in the kitchen—for I dearly love the kitchen—well, while we were atalking in the kitchen, Miss Nellie came in from a walk around the paddocks. Ye would na hae believed how well she looked under the circumstances. And such good spirits as she were in. Laughing and joking and making us laugh at her queer antics. Now that I come to think of it, it did seem overdone. I said something about their trouble. Zounds! you should have heard what she made answer. "Trouble, Mrs. Lubb! Grieve, fie to the lot. We have no right with such extravagent indulgences. Sing, laugh, dance, do anything but feel, anything but cry. Tears are pity's tools, and sorrow does not want them, does not get them. True sorrow lies too deep in the heart to rise to the surface in tear ripples. It scorns the shallowness that weeps for the sake of gaining pity." Then she laughed at the petticoat lecture, and ran off to get the tea. I remarked to her mother what a surprise it was to me to see the lassie take things so lightly. "Oh, nothing ever troubles Nellie," said her mother. "She is one of the don't care sort" Gramercy! there's na one of us that kens muckle about t'other. The lassie was sa like a child, sa full of fun, ye non nae ha ken the heart was sare and broken." And so it happened that that very night Nellie succumbed to the blow. The weight she had tried so long to ward off, fell. The scorched brain took fire, and the whole thing was in a blaze. What was it that cut the string, and let down the weight? Who applied the match to the parched heap? By-and-by you will know. It is not meet that those questions be answered now. We are dealing with sentiment and morality. The last weight which broke the camel's back was a straw, not a diamond,

"I mon a feel satisfied noo," concluded Mrs. Lubb, looking suspiciously at the young girl. "She has na cried yet, and page 167that's na right. I ge ye a secret Miss Enswav, and, as yer her friend, maybe ye'll ken," and bending forward the old lady whispered into her listener's ear: "Mark my word, noo, there's something on that lassie's mind. She's na one to be broken over a death."

Marion started, and the colour rushed to her face. She thought of a letter lying in her desk. She thought of her fruitless endeavours to see Nellie alone, and to plead her brother's suit.

"I am sorry, but I don't know of anything that could be on Miss Main's mind," she answered stiffly. But as she drove home she was very quiet. "I wonder if Nellie ever got Iwand's letter," she mused. "Perhaps she has heard those horrid tales, and is fretting. I would just like to get hold of the one who circulated them. Someone jealous of Iwand, I'll be bound. The cur." And a little foot stamped on the floor of the carriage, and a little hand shook at the imaginary figure of the slanderer.

Nellie did not die from the shook. On the contrary, she felt a great deal better. She began to take a little interest in things around. Saw more sunshine, and less clouds. Her spirits began to revive, and she was not so often seated before the picture of death. Still it was a very wan and helpless Nellie that met her friend on the following Monday, and it was by no means a progressive recovery that followed that illness.

"Dear Mur, it is so good of you to come. You are the the only one I care to see, and seeing you has made me think of the old happy days when we were at school together." "It is so good of you to let me come. I thought you had forgotten me altogether."

"Forgotten a friend." The dark eyes were raised wistfully to the blue ones, so like somebody else's. "There are things we would like to forget, but friends are not one of them. O page 168Mur! to be able to tear these last few leaves out of our lives, and to go back to those baby exercises of long ago."

Marion Enswav drew her friend toward her, and kissed the pale sad face; and for a few minutes the dark head was content to rest upon the sympathetic bosom. But, even in the weakness of ill-health, there was a proud rejection of sympathy, which robbed the rest of its sweetness. Nellie drew herself away with a sigh, and suffered only her hands to remain locked in that of her friend. They did not speak much, those two dear ones. Why should they? Friends are like books; they have no need of speech to express their thoughts. Their language is the language of the soul; a gentle pressure, a grateful look. These are all that are needed.

Presently Mrs. Rettos bustled in. "It's time you were back to bed, my child," she said in her bright cheery way. "You have done enough talking for to-day. I am sorry to interfere Miss Enswav, but we must be careful of our patient."

Marion rose. "I am going Mrs. Rettos, so you are not interfering," she said, holding out her hand to the gentle little lady. "Nellie tells me, but for you, she would be with her father. I don't know whether she is grateful, but I am, and I know of someone else who will be." Then turning, she took Nellie once more in her arms, and kissed her many times. "You will not forget to ask the doctor, will you, dear? If he consents, I shall come for you myself."

"I will not forget." And Nellie put two hands upon the girl's shoulder, and looked into the truthful eyes. "I am so glad you are a girl, Mur," she said with a strange pathetic little smile. "You have not changed. There, dear, I will not keep you longer. Good bye."

Again that uneasy suspicion disturbed Marion's thoughts as she was returning home. "I believe I am right. She has heard about I wand. How can men be so cruel?"

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Mrs. Rettos scolded, and petted and lectured all the time she was helping Nellie to undress. "Didn't I tell you not to talk, you wilful puss. I have a good mind to keep you in bed all day to-morrow as punishment. You will have to steep your feet in a basin of gruel, and diet on mustard and water, until this feverishness has left you Such a naughty, pretty little pet, as it is." And she tucked the bed-clothes round the tired form. O, how glad Nellie was to get back to bed to rest. Rest, if only she could rest thus for ever. It was too deliciously sweet to leave room for a retort, and a thing must be very sweet indeed to arrest a retort on Nellie's lips, for she was one who never failed to retaliate, even in fun. When Mrs. Rettos was bidding her young patient good night, Nellie put her soft white arms around her neck, and for the first time returned the kiss. "I am grateful," she whispered. "And someone else is also. I do not mean Marion's someone else." And, as the limp arms fell back, the dark eyes sought once more the shadowy faces beyond that window. The next day the doctor was met with a very important question. "Would Miss Nellie be strong enough next week to go on a visit?" The doctor scratched his head, and looked very grave; but that tantalizing smile would pucker the corners of his mouth, and that mischievous light would dance about in the kind grey eyes. "Would Miss Nellie be strong enough next week to go on a visit? And where is the visit to be made, pray?"

"Mrs. Enswav kindly asked the invalid to spend a week at her pretty little house in town."

"Any young men there?" was the next question.

The pale cheeks flushed, and the eyes turned away from the questioner, Mrs. Rettos answered this time: "None."

"Ah!" with a sigh of pretended relief, "I am glad of that. I am not at all anxious that my place should be page 170usurped by a "Handsomer man." Any girls?" Just as if he didn't know, the veritable hypocrite.

"Yes. Very nice girls too."

"Favourable! Pretty?"

"Yes! especially Marion."

"Then you will be quite strong enough to go Miss Main? But hurry up and coax a little colour into those cheeks 'gainst the day I see you under Mrs. Enswav's roof." And laughing his bright cheerful laugh, Dr. Douglas took his departure. He was a tall middle aged man, upright as a dart. His face was pale, too pale for good health; but the bright eyes and gentle expression made up for the lack of colour. A drooping moustache hid the corners of a sensitive, almost effeminate mouth; and a mass of nut-brown hair fell back from the broad open brow. Too reserved to become a public favourite, he had, nevertheless, that, in his manner, which made him almost worshipped by those who understood him. His vocation had been of his own free choice, and he loved it dearly, so dearly that for thirty odd years he had thought of little else. Even maids and marriages were neglected. As Nellie watched him walking down the avenue with those great swinging strides of his, twirling his cane, and whistling a few bars of "Maritana," she could not help admiring him, and wondering why he was not married. She could hardly be blamed for such thoughts, for by some strange instinct they two had drawn together during that time of trial. Dr. Douglas had never been reserved with Nellie, and Nellie had never been reserved with Dr. Douglas. And yet by nature they were both reserved with strangers. One reason of this intimacy was that Dr. Douglas had known Nellie by repute, long before he became acquainted with her personally. Another was that being an observer of character he could see what many others passed by unnoticed. Perhaps he saw those phantom faces in the dark shadowy eyes. And page 171Nellie being too much occupied with her own sad musings had not had time to pull the Doctor to pieces, as she would, at another time, have done. Consequently they drifted into one another's ways; Nellie forgetting to be sarcastic, and Dr. Douglas laying aside his dignity.

The next Monday, true to her promise, Marion came and ran off with her friend; and among new scenes and different people, Nellie passed the two weeks of her convalescence. Kind and loving words were poured into the sad heart, and kind and loving thoughts soothed the troubled brow. O kindness teach us to be kind.

"It was too bad of Nellie to go and add to that family's trouble, instead of helping to bear that which it already suffered," so whispers a friend.

My dear reader! Do you know why troubles never come singly? Listen, and I will explain. Inspired by love, the Great and Wise Ordainer sends a second trial to counterbalance the over tilted heart. By taking from the first, and adding the part taken to the second, he divides the weight equally. The intellect, which at first seemed almost swamped, rises to the practical necessity of supplying the wants of the second; and during that time of service much of the sharpness of that first and heaviest blow wears off, or becomes smooth. A third trial is often sent to confirm the other two, and to keep the mind more steady in its course through the narrow groove of future events.

If you take the trouble to think over this explanation you will find its truth beneficial to you when your turn comes to undergo trials. Instead of a thing to be dreaded, the second and the third, or "the troubles that never come singly," are things to be thankful for. Never doubt the wisdom and love of the Creator who orders all things, whether of joy or sorrow, for the benefit of his creatures.

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The excitement of moving, and the motion of the carriage, had been a little too much for Nellie's weak nerves, and for several days after her arrival in town she was troubled with violent headaches. One afternoon, as the sun was beginning to feel tired, and was casting wistful glances on its couch behind those distant hills, Nellie lay on a soft invalid chair in the deep bay window of Mrs. Enswav's picturesque drawing-room. It was the first time since she left home that she had been free of pain; and for a few minutes she closed her eyes to enjoy the rest of ease. How white and ill she looked. How pinched those babyish features. Beneath the closed eyes, what deep purple rims; around the pathetic mouth, what sad sad lines. The very drooping of the figure had a long story of utter weariness to tell. Marion Enswav stood and looked at the unconscious face. For fully half-an-hour she had been bathing the blue-veined temples; and at last the sufferer had found relief. She had gone away for a few minutes, and when she returned this was the sight that met her gaze. But the dark lashes raised as if tired of rest, and the dark eyes looked back and smiled.

"It is so kind, so good of you, dear, to take so much trouble about me." And Nellie look and caressed the slender fingers. "Why, Mur, what is the meaning of this?" she asked abruptly, pointing to a beautiful gold ring studded with precious stones.

Marion laughed, and drew away her hand. "You will know to-night, Miss Inquisitive," said she, the tell-tale colour dying her cheeks and throat, and a happy light dancing in her eyes.

"You did not tell me," said Nellie, half reproachfully.

"Dearest, you do not know how ill you have been." Marion turned to busy herself with some trifle on the carved side-board; and Nellie's eyes wandered once more up to the sunset sky. Presently the gate clicked. A quick step was page 173heard on the gravel path. The tall form of a man was seen coming up the stone steps.

Nellie did not know how it happened, for some how there was a strange dizziness in her forehead, and a strange mist before her eyes; but when she next betook herself to the land of the visible, she saw the haughty Marion Enswav in the arms of the Doctor, and as she looked at the usually proud face, lo, it was changed. It was almost divine in its sweetness and tendernes. And the doctor usually so prim and proper was—well, never mind what he was doing. His silky moustache was certainly very near two rosy laughing lips. Then they suddenly remembered they were not the only people in the world, and that this was a queer way to perform a professional visit. The golden head lifted from the tall shoulder, and one delinquent laughingly told the other that it was "Dreadful, really shameful, conduct."

"So it is," answered Dr. Douglas, as he bent over the astonished girl in the shadow of the window. "But I did not know I had an auditor. You will forgive the breach of etiquette, will you not Miss Main?" He looked so handsome, and so absurdly penitent, that Nellie could not help laughing. And Marion, who had never heard her laugh since her illness, declared they should offend again, "If it be only for the pleasure of making Nellie look bright."

Nellie would not let Dr. Douglas examine the state of her health, for, as she said, "It was only humbug. And she was not going to lend herself to a fraud. The idea of pretending to be a doctor to one, when all the while he was a lover to another." In reality Nellie did not require his attention, for she was slowly recovering. Besides she wanted to lie and think of her friend's great happiness. There was no mistaking the affection of those two dear ones, for already Nellie thought of the kind Doctor as her friend. There was no ostentation. No false mirth. Indeed, after that one page 174exhibition they seemed to be strangely grave; but you had only to see the look in the eyes as they met, or the reverence with which they waited on one another, to know that their's was true undying love. Their very silence was eloquence. A tender little smile rippled about Nellie's mouth during the whole of that evening. Sometimes a wistfulness would creep into her eyes, but she would chase it away. "No wonder love is the crown of life," she mused, "When that is the effect. Oh, Marion, I never thought that proud face of yours would ever be expressive of such tenderness." Then she glanced at her own pinched face with its starry eyes, and a hard bitter look settled for a moment on the drooping mouth.

"As for me. I am set aside. Am an Ishmael. But Ishmael was blessed," and with that comforting thought would turn back to watch the happiness of others. Thus the night passed calm and peaceful and full of comfort, and thus many nights passed. Nellie growing more and more cheerful in the company of those she loved.