"Think--a life like his,that might be made a blessing to all he loves--to all the world--is it to be sacrificed thus?It may be--Ido not say it will--but it may be.While in health he could fight against this--this which I must not speak of;but now his health is gone.He cannot rally.Without some change,I see clearly,even I,who love him better than any one can love him--"She stirred a little here.
"Far better,"I repeated;"for while John does NOT love me best,he to me is more than any one else in the world.Yet even I have given up hope,unless--But I have no right to say more."There was no need.She began to understand.A deep,soft red,sun-rise colour,dawned all over her face and neck,nay,tinged her very arms--her delicate,bare arms.She looked at me once--just once--with a mute but keen inquiry.
"It is the truth,Miss March--ay,ever since last year.You will respect it?You will,you shall respect it?"She bent her head in acquiescence--that was all.She had not uttered a single syllable.Her silence almost drove me wild.
"What!not one word?not one ordinary message from a friend to a friend?--one who is lying ill,too!"Still silence.
"Better so!"I cried,made desperate at last."Better,if it must be,that he should die and go to the God who made him--ay,made him,as you shall yet see,too noble a man to die for any woman's love."I left her--left her where she sat,and went my way.
Of the hours that followed the less I say the better.My mind was in a tumult of pain,in which right and wrong were strangely confused.
I could not decide--I can scarcely decide now--whether what I had done ought to have been done;I only know that I did it--did it under an impulse so sudden and impetuous that it seemed to me like the guidance of Providence.All I could do afterwards was to trust the result where we say we trust all things,and yet are for ever disquieting ourselves in vain--we of little faith!
I have said,and I say again,that I believe every true marriage--of which there is probably one in every five thousand of conjugal unions--is brought about by heaven,and heaven only;and that all human influence is powerless either to make or to mar that happy end.
Therefore,to heaven I left this marriage,if such it was destined to be.And so,after a season,I calmed myself enough to dare entering that quiet sick-chamber,where no one ever entered but Jael and me.
The old woman met me at the door.
"Come in gently,Phineas;I do think there is a change."A change!--that awful word!I staggered rather than walked to John's bed-side.
Ay,there was a change,but not THAT one--which made my blood run cold in my veins even to think of.Thank God for evermore for His great mercies--not THAT change!
John was sitting up in bed.New life shone in his eyes,in his whole aspect.Life and--no,not hope,but something far better,diviner.
"Phineas,how tired you look;it is time you were in bed."The old way of speaking--the old,natural voice,as I had not heard it for weeks.I flung myself by the bed-side--perhaps I wept outright--God knows!It is thought a shame for a man to weep;yet One Man wept,and that too was over His friend--His brother.
"You must not grieve over me any more,dear lad;to-morrow,please God!I mean to be quite well again."Amidst all my joy I marvelled over what could be the cause of so miraculous a change.
"You would smile if I told you--only a dream."No,I did not smile;for I believed in the Ruler of all our spirits,sleeping or waking.
"A dream so curious,that I have scarcely lost the impression of it yet.Do you know,Phineas,she has been sitting by me,just where you sit now.""She?"
"Ursula."
If I could express the tone in which he uttered the word,which had never fallen from his lips before--it was always either "Miss March,"or the impersonal form used by all lovers to disguise the beloved name--"URSULA,"spoken as no man speaks any woman's name save the one which is the music of his heart,which he foresees shall be the one fireside tune of his life,ever familiar,yet ever sweet.
"Yes,she sat there,talking.She told me she knew I loved her--loved her so much that I was dying for her;that it was very wrong;that I must rise up and do my work in the world--do it for heaven's sake,not for hers;that a true man should live,and live nobly for the woman he loves--it is only a coward who dies for her."I listened,wonder-struck--for these were the very words that Ursula March might have uttered;the very spirit that seemed to shine in her eyes that night--the last night she and John spoke to one another.Iasked him if there was any more of the dream?
"Nothing clear.I thought we were on the Flat at Enderley,and I was following her;whether I reached her or not I cannot tell.And whether I ever shall reach her I cannot tell.But this I know,Phineas,I will do as she bade me;I will arise and walk."And so he did.He slept quietly as an infant all that night.Next morning I found him up and dressed.Looking like a spectre,indeed;but with health,courage,and hope in his eyes.Even my father noticed it,when at dinner-time,with Jael's help--poor old Jael!how proud she was--John crawled downstairs.
"Why,thee art picking up,lad!Thee'lt be a man again in no time.""I hope so.And a better man than ever I was before.""Thee might be better,and thee might be worse.Anyhow,we couldn't do without thee,John.Hey,Phineas!who's been meddling with my spectacles?"The old man turned his back upon us,and busily read his newspaper upside down.
We never had a happier meal in our house than that dinner.
In the afternoon my father stayed at home--a rare thing for him to do;nay,more,he went and smoked his peaceful pipe in the garden.
John lay on an extempore sofa,made of three of our high-backed chairs and the window-sill.I read to him--trying to keep his attention,and mine too,solely to the Great Plague of London and Daniel Defoe.When,just as I was stealthily glancing at his face,fancying it looked whiter and more sunken,that his smile was fading,and his thoughts were wandering--Jael burst in.