"What a long time!Then,when my little sister is as old as I am,Ishall be--that is,I should have been--a woman grown.Fancy me twenty years old,as tall as mother,wearing a gown like her,talking and ordering,and busy about the house.How funny!"and she laughed again."Oh!no,father,I couldn't do it.I had better remain always your little Muriel,weak and small,who liked to creep close to you,and go to sleep in this way."She ceased talking--very soon she was sound asleep.But--the father!
Muriel faded,though slowly.Sometimes she was so well for an hour or two that the Hand seemed drawn back into the clouds,till of a sudden again we discerned it there.
One Sunday--it was ten days or so after Maud's birth,and the weather had been so bitterly cold that the mother had herself forbidden our bringing Muriel to the other side of the house where she and the baby lay--Mrs.Tod was laying the dinner,and John stood at the window playing with his three boys.
He turned abruptly,and saw all the chairs placed round the table--all save one.
"Where is Muriel's chair,Mrs.Tod?"
"Sir,she says she feels so tired like,she'd rather not come down to-day,"answered Mrs.Tod,hesitatingly.
"Not come down?"
"Maybe better not,Mr.Halifax.Look out at the snow.It'll be warmer for the dear child to-morrow.""You are right.Yes,I had forgotten the snow.She shall come down to-morrow."I caught Mrs.Tod's eyes;they were running over.She was too wise to speak of it--but she knew the truth as well as we.
This Sunday--I remember it well--was the first day we sat down to dinner with the one place vacant.
For a few days longer,her father,every evening when he came in from the mills,persisted in carrying her down,as he had said,holding her on his knee during tea,then amusing her and letting the boys amuse her for half-an-hour or so before bed-time.But at the week's end even this ceased.
When Mrs.Halifax,quite convalescent,was brought triumphantly to her old place at our happy Sunday dinner-table,and all the boys came pressing about her,vying which should get most kisses from little sister Maud--she looked round,surprised amidst her smiling,and asked:
"Where is Muriel?"
"She seems to feel this bitter weather a good deal,"John said;"and I thought it better she should not come down to dinner.""No,"added Guy,wondering and dolefully,"sister has not been down to dinner with us for a great many days."The mother started;looked first at her husband,and then at me.
"Why did nobody tell me this?"
"Love--there was nothing new to be told."
"Has the child had any illness that I do not know of?""No."
"Has Dr.Jessop seen her?"
"Several times."
"Mother,"said Guy,eager to comfort--for naughty as he was sometimes,he was the most tender-hearted of all the boys,especially to Muriel and to his mother,--"sister isn't ill a bit,I know.She was laughing and talking with me just now--saying she knows she could carry baby a great deal better than I could.She is as merry as ever she can be."The mother kissed him in her quick,eager way--the sole indication of that maternal love which was in her almost a passion.She looked more satisfied.
Nevertheless,when Mrs.Tod came into the parlour,she rose and put little Maud into her arms.
"Take baby,please,while I go up to see Muriel.""Don't--now don't,please,Mrs.Halifax,"cried earnestly the good woman.
Ursula turned very pale."They ought to have told me,"she muttered;"John,YOU MUST let me go and see my child."
"Presently--presently--Guy,run up and play with Muriel.Phineas,take the others with you.You shall go up-stairs in one minute,my darling wife!"He turned us all out of the room,and shut the door.How he told her that which was necessary she should know--that which Dr.Jessop himself had told us this very morning--how the father and mother had borne this first open revelation of their unutterable grief--for ever remained unknown.
I was sitting by Muriel's bed,when they came up-stairs.The darling laid listening to her brother,who was squatted on her pillow,making all sorts of funny talk.There was a smile on her face;she looked quite rosy:I hoped Ursula might not notice,just for the time being,the great change the last few weeks had made.
But she did--who could ever blindfold a mother?For a moment I saw her recoil--then turn to her husband with a dumb,piteous,desperate look,as though to say,"Help me--my sorrow is more than I can bear!"But Muriel,hearing the step,cried with a joyful cry,"Mother!it's my mother!"The mother folded her to her breast.
Muriel shed a tear or two there--in a satisfied,peaceful way;the mother did not weep at all.Her self-command,so far as speech went,was miraculous.For her look--but then she knew the child was blind.
"Now,"she said,"my pet will be good and not cry?It would do her harm.We must be very happy to-day.""Oh,yes."Then,in a fond whisper,"Please,I do so want to see little Maud.""Who?"with an absent gaze.
"My little sister Maud--Maud that is to take my place,and be everybody's darling now.""Hush,Muriel,"said the father,hoarsely.
A strangely soft smile broke over her face--and she was silent.
The new baby was carried up-stairs proudly,by Mrs.Tod,all the boys following.Quite a levee was held round the bed,where,laid close beside her,her weak hands being guided over the tiny face and form,Muriel first "saw"her little sister.She was greatly pleased.With a grave elder-sisterly air she felt all over the baby-limbs,and when Maud set up an indignant cry,began hushing her with so quaint an imitation of motherliness,that we were all amused.
"You'll be a capital nurse in a month or two,my pretty!"said Mrs.
Tod.
Muriel only smiled."How fat she is!--and look,how fast her fingers take hold!And her head is so round,and her hair feels so soft--as soft as my dove's neck at Longfield.What colour is it?Like mine?"It was;nearly the same shade.Maud bore,the mother declared,the strongest likeness to Muriel.