Chapter XII: A Problem for Auna

Jacob Bullstone now did a thing he had not yet and sought Dr. Briggs, the medical man who was attending his wife. The physician had been Margery's doctor of old and knew her well. He allowed himself great latitude of language at the time of the separation and he entertained violent dislike of Jacob. Bullstone waited on him and, without concealing his aversion, the thin, grey-whiskered practitioner snapped his evil tidings.

"There is no reason, I imagine, why you should be kept in ignorance. Your wife, so to call her, is exceedingly ill, and the natural weakness, which I was able to combat pretty effectually of old, has now gone much further."

"She's taking iron I hope?" inquired Jacob, and the other regarded him with aversion.

"Need you ask? The iron has entered into her soul--not the iron I gave, however. You'll say I'm not professional and so forth. Perhaps you don't want to know the reasons for this collapse--only the extent of it. Perhaps you do know the reasons? At any rate I can repeat to you, as I have a dozen times to her parents, that the old tendency to anæmia, owing to certain obscure defects of the nourishing system and so forth, have, under her fearful mental trials, become chronic and are now developing the gravest symptoms. A few weeks ago she suffered from a sharp chill during the recent harsh weather. It threatened immediate danger; but I got her through that. You cannot, however, minister to a mind diseased."

"Perhaps the one that gave the poison might best find the antidote," said Bullstone humbly, and the doctor looked at him with some bitterness.

"There's no antidote for this poison," he answered.

"And do you feel any reason to doubt that the spring will see a change for the better?"

"Seasons have nothing to do with it. She is little likely to see another spring. The constitution has broken and the will power has gone. She feels no desire to go on living, and I cannot create that desire in her. Nor can any of her family."

"Have they tried?"

"Naturally. You do not imagine they want her to die. With anæmia a patient gets ups and downs, which flatter hope, or increase fear. But we are far past these stages of the ailment. Her vitality ebbs with increasing quickness, and I cannot stem the tide."

"Do you not feel that a second opinion might be desirable?"

"I have taken a second opinion. Mr. Nettleship, of Plymouth, saw her several weeks ago."

"I was not told of that."

"Possibly not. He came one evening and took even a more serious view of the case than I did. The event has proved he was correct. He has devoted special study to the disease."

"Nothing can be done, then, Dr. Briggs?"

"Nothing that is not being done."

They parted and it was upon the same night--an occasion that found Jacob sleepless and in mental torment--that there broke upon him a great, unknown fact. Through Auna it came, three days after the wedding; but Auna herself had passed through a mighty ordeal and suffered much tribulation in her young mind, before she could bring herself finally to reveal the truth to her father. Long she fought, until at last, lying sleepless and worn out, she determined to tell Jacob what she knew. She rose, went to him then and there, found him awake and spoke.

It had happened thus. On the morning after the wedding of Avis, at Jacob's will, Auna set out immediately after breakfast for the post-office, to learn how her mother might be. On the way she was passed by Adam Winter, driving some pigs to the railway station, and he stopped and offered her a lift. Thus the duration of her journey was shortened and her heart was a little lifted by the man's cheerful words.

As others, who had known her mother of old, Adam saw Margery again in Auna--the slim, quick shape, the eager eyes, the steadfast cheerfulness. And Auna's devotion to her desolate father touched some hearts vaguely. The rest of the children had slipped away from him and loosened bonds never very tight; but she remained and still strove with youthful obstinacy to build up the broken walls of her home. Her life was largely spent in going backwards and forwards, and she seemed conscious of the significance of her task, for a sort of gravity now belonged to her. Her young face was moulded into a solemn expression and care clouded her eyes.

She told Adam that her mother was worse.

"Else I'm sure she'd have made a brave try to get to church yesterday, to see Avis married."

"I'm sure she would," he answered, "but no doubt her thoughts were there and you'll be able to tell her what a fine send-off they had--a good flash of sunshine and all."

"Father's taking it hard, and I'm going as quick as I may, in hopes to hear she's better."

"And I hope you will hear it. You'll be able to tell her what a good wedding it was--everything just perfect if she'd only been there. How does your father's leg go on?"

"Very clever he says. The pin bone was broke. And he's quite forgiven Sammy, because he knows that he never would have done it, if he'd been like other people, Mr. Winter."

"I'm very sure of that, Auna. Tell your father I'll come in and smoke a pipe along with him some night pretty soon. He didn't ought to be on his leg too much just yet I reckon--a heavy man like him."

At the station Auna alighted and arrived at the post-office an hour earlier than usual. The accident proved fruitful, for her grandmother, while expecting the girl, had no reason to suppose she would appear for some time. Judith was occupied in the post-office and Barlow had gone over to his son. Thus Auna slipped up to her mother's room quite unobserved. She was delighted; but Margery's appearance cast her down.

"Oh, dear, mother, you're as white as a dog's tooth!" she said.

Margery, however, flushed a little to see her.

"Come close, my pretty. I've slept ill; I'll be better presently. I've always got a headache now and I can't let down my food very clever."

"I've brought some of the goats' milk--fresh this morning."

"You're early to-day."

"Started early and got here ever so quick, because Mr. Winter was bringing in pigs and gave me a lift. Grandmother doesn't know I've come yet. Nobody does."

"Talk low then. She won't be up for half an hour, if she thinks I'm alone."

"Have you had a good breakfast?"

"Ever so good. How's father after the wedding?"

"Very sad indeed, because you're bad. Oh, mother, he'd have given all he's got in the world if he could have come this morning instead of me."

"He'd like to come?"

"You well know it. If you'd lift your little finger, he'd come."

Margery smiled.

"When I could lift my little finger, I didn't. Now I can't, perhaps----"

"But if he knew you even wanted to----"

"How's his leg, Auna?"

"Better and better. But Mr. Winter says he mustn't use it too much, because he's a heavy man. But he isn't as heavy as he was. He's thinner round the waist, mother."

"Is he? And is Adam Winter kindly to him?"

"Very kindly. He was cruel sorry for father's fearful fall. He'd have had Sammy put away, but father forgave him, and Sammy's forgot all about it now."

Margery reflected and stroked the girl's hand.

Their hands were very much alike, save that the elder's had grown thin and white.

"You must bear up at what I'm going to say, Auna; but I'm terrible afraid I'm going to die before so very long. Not afraid because I'm going to die. That's nothing to mind when you feel like I feel; but afraid because it will make you and father and the boys and Avis sorrowful."

"Going to die!" gasped Auna. "No, no, no, mother, don't 'e die yet a while! Think on father. If you died, he'd never be happy again, and he's been unhappy such a longful time now; and if you died, he'd die himself very likely."

"Perhaps I won't then. But I feel terrible bad. And you can tell father one thing. He wanted to see me, Auna, and he wanted me back at home?"

"Of course he did--cruel he wanted you back."

"But he didn't know I wanted to come back. You can tell him I wanted to come back. It may make him feel happier."

"But why didn't you come? Oh, mother, why didn't you?"

"I tried to come when I heard he wanted me. Yes, I tried. Only it was too late then. Things fell out and I couldn't do it. But tell him I tried and failed. It may comfort him to know I tried, Auna."

The door had opened an inch and somebody was listening behind it; but neither Margery nor her daughter knew that they were overheard.

"Mother, mother," cried Auna, "if he had known--if he'd only known! Why, he'd have come for you himself, and the whole world wouldn't have kept him from you!"

"There were reasons why he shouldn't know till I'd got to him. But that's all one now. Wrong or right, you can tell father I tried. In time that will be good to him to remember."

"So I will then. Oh, if you'd only come, you'd have got well so quick! You must come yet. You must be drove in a shut-up cab all the way. I'll tell father you tried, and then----"

Mrs. Huxam entered, without any indication that she had overheard this vital matter.

"Why, Auna!" she said. "Here already--popped in like a mouse. Don't you tire mother. She's had a bad night."

"Mother looks terrible ill," said Auna.

Margery had turned away to the wall, for a wave of excitement made her heart beat painfully and she felt faint. Judith ministered to her.

"I expect mother's talked enough," she said. "The doctor hasn't seen her yet. I wouldn't leave the goats' milk, because it isn't the right thing for her now. You can take it over to Aunt Jane for the baby. It will be just right for him."

"So I will then," said Auna. "And I'll wait till Dr. Briggs has seen mother, so as I can tell father what he says."

Mrs. Huxam agreed to this arrangement.

"You'd better go then, and come back in half an hour," she said quietly. "I'll tell you what doctor says presently."

Auna kissed her mother, who lay with closed eyes, and after the kiss, she whispered, "I'll tell him." Then she went downstairs, carrying her little milk can. And when she was gone, Judith spoke cheerfully to Margery, but made no mention of what she had overheard, though her mind was full of it. The old woman perceived a tremendous peril suddenly created by Margery's confession to Auna. A possibility existed of evading it; but the possibility was slight and the danger itself enormous. No instant disaster threatened, and yet the day could hardly end without bringing it. She saw a great battle lying immediately ahead and knew that for some temptations flight must be the only successful opposition. For the moment everything hinged upon Auna, and Auna was a broken reed in her grandmother's opinion. Auna had ceased to be single-hearted; she had never taken her stand, as her brothers and sister had taken it, on the side of religion and justice. Yet now into Auna's ears had been given a tremendous message--a message which might have been whispered by the devil himself rather than the poor victim of Bullstone's evil-doing. It was a message which, if it reached Margery's husband, would produce instant and violent response. Once let him know that Margery had so far condoned her wrongs as to attempt a return to Red House, and he might yet confound all, even in sight of salvation. For, from Judith's standpoint, salvation was now in sight. The message must not be delivered if she could prevent it, and she would have arrested Auna, locked her up, or taken any other direct action, had it been in her power to do so. But that was impossible; therefore she had asked the girl to return, in order to influence her and win a promise. At best, however, she doubted the value of a promise, even if she could win it. John Henry, Avis, or Peter she could have trusted to keep any promise given; Auna she did not trust, by virtue of the taint that made her put an erring father first in all things.

When presently her grandchild returned, Judith drew her into the little, front parlour, shut the door and set about her task. The doctor had offered scant shadow of hope and Mrs. Huxam perceived that he did not think Margery would live. To her that was already an accepted fact. But she knew many worse dangers than death.

"Auna," she said. "I hope no grandchild of mine would ever tell a lie."

Auna reflected, looking straight into the calm, white face. Her answer indeed demanded no thought; but her mind was already concerned with what might have inspired the question.

She was so long in answering that Judith expressed displeasure.

"Surely, surely, you're not godless enough to want to think about it, Auna?"

"Of course not, grandmother, I'm sure none of us ever told you a lie. Why for should we?"

"The devil's very clever at putting people in a position where there's temptations to lie. It's one of his favourite traps for boys and girls, and they have to be warned against it from their youth up. Now listen, Auna; and mind this: your dear mother's soul may be the matter. Because first I may tell you, she has gone very weak of late--weak in body and mind by the will of God."

"I know she's terrible weak in body, and she thinks she may die of it even; but her mind is all right, grandmother."

"Her mind is all wrong," answered Judith. "That's what too well I know, and you do not. And now her mind has gone wrong, then it is for all that love her to be doubly anxious and careful."

"Yes," said Auna. "For all that love her."

"It's God's will that the strong should fight for the weak, and never more than when the weak have run into danger unknowing. Human weakness is the devil's strength, and he knows it, and where the sick creature is there will that old vulture, the devil, be hopping round about. I'm speaking of your mother's everlasting soul, Auna, not her body. And it pleases God sometimes to let us worms do His work, even in such a high matter as a soul. Not long ago it was the Almighty's will that I should save your dear mother from a terrible danger. It was my blessing and pride and joy to come between my child and the devil, in all his fearful power and might; and a greater joy for a human parent God couldn't offer. That's done; the battle was won and your mother knows what I did for her. But while there's life in man, there's hope in the devil, and he's not done with mother yet."

Auna was indignant.

"The devil never had anything to do with dear mother," she said. "Nobody ever gave God less trouble than mother. She's good--good--and who don't know it?"

"Listen, and don't talk to me in that tone of voice. Just now, before you left her, it pleased the Lord that I should overhear what she was saying to you. I heard her tell you that she'd tried to go to Red House, didn't she?"

"Yes, grandmother."

"That was the devil, Auna--sleepless to catch your mother's soul; and the will to go was only less terrible than the deed. The deed was prevented; but now I've heard a very dreadful thing, because the will to do wrong may destroy the soul, just as well as the deed itself. And for that matter, Jesus Christ says one's as bad as the other."

She stopped to study the girl's face, but Auna only looked very sulky.

"And now," continued Mrs. Huxam, "you--you--her youngest child--have the blessed power to help your mother; and God's waiting and listening up in Heaven, to see if you will help her."

"I don't understand that."

"You will in a minute. You were told--not by your dear mother, Auna, but by the Evil One, who's often allowed to speak through our human lips, that she wanted to go back to Red House and couldn't; and she told you to tell your father that."

"So she did; and so I shall," answered Auna firmly.

"So you must not; that's why I was sent to overhear the fatal words and save you from repeating them to your father."

"I promised to, because mother thought it would make father happier; and so it will, granny; oh, it will do that when he knows."

"You promised, because you knew not why you promised, or who you promised. But you are not going to keep your promise, because to keep it would be threatening new danger to your mother's soul. A soul's never safe till it's out of the body, Auna. Always remember that. Many and many a soul has been lost on a death-bed, where the devil's grabbed them at the last moment."

"How would it hurt dear mother's soul to know that father was a little happier, granny?"

"It hurts your mother's soul to think on your father at all. I'm not your father's judge, and nothing that your mother, or anybody else, can do will alter the wages of such sins as his. And the way you act about your father is a very great sorrow to all of us; for you've been taught to know far better. But what matters now is that for your mother's sake--your dying mother's sake, Auna--he must not know what she said. Your mother's soul it may mean, for God wills that a soul shall hang on a thread above the bottomless pit sometimes; and such a little thing as a child's hand may push it down. Therefore the man must never know that your mother wanted to see him."

"Why not?" asked Auna. "How will it be bad for dear mother's soul that she's made poor father a little bit happier? Hasn't he had enough to bear?"

"You ask why. John Henry wouldn't ask why, nor yet Peter, nor Avis."

"I love my father a long sight better than they do; and I'm full of a great wanting to make him happier; and so's mother--full of a great wanting to do it too. And father's full of a cruel, fierce wanting to make her a bit happier if only he could get to her. And if he knew she was dying and longed to see him----"

Auna broke down and wept bitterly, while Mrs. Huxam considered. She pretended to assume a situation not as yet attained.

"Don't cry, but do your duty like a good girl, and leave the rest in Higher Hands, as we all must. There's a holy word that tells how a 'backbiting tongue hath cast out virtuous women, and deprived them of their labours; and whoso harkeneth to it shall never find rest.' That's what you are doing now, Auna, and neighbouring with one whose sentence is known and understood. But your Saviour may rescue you yet I hope. All you need to do now is to think on your poor, wronged mother, who has been deprived of her labours and is going to die. But she mustn't be robbed of her heavenly home as well--not by any word of yours. And so you promise, on your word of honour before God Almighty, not to tell your father, or any other living creature, what you heard from mother's lips this morning."

Auna began to see the object of this solemn command.

"You think that father, knowing that, would dash to dear mother willy-nilly?" she asked.

This, indeed, was the terror that now crowded close over Judith. She spoke and thought with absolute sincerity, believing that any contact with Jacob Bullstone now might largely endanger her daughter's hope of salvation. Indeed she felt the peril to be terrific--a direct encounter between herself and the Powers of Darkness. They were hard at work, as she expected them to be. Even did Auna finally give her word, such was the girl's apparent reaction to the influence of her father, that Mrs. Huxam already looked ahead and planned the next step. She was not going to trust her granddaughter in any case. Auna at least perceived the immediate peril and her grandmother answered her question.

"I fear it; for these awful threats are allowed by God," Judith replied. "I think if your lost father was to hear this, a great and terrible thing might happen, for he'd believe that it was your mother's real voice, because his eyes are darkened to truth, and he'd think this devil's message came from herself. The devil says that the next best thing to getting your mother back to Red House is to let your father know she wanted to come back. Therefore I'll beg you this instant moment, Auna, to promise me before the great, living God that you'll be dumb about it and not act the devil's messenger. Why do you hesitate? What are you made of? Is your mother's soul nothing to you?"

Judith went down on her knees and drew Auna beside her; but still the girl did not speak. She had not the bent of mind to echo the attitude of her grandmother, or respond to the awful convictions of the elder. But she was impressed. She knew that her grandmother had a deep knowledge of the next world, and she believed very firmly indeed that there were such places as heaven and hell. The idea that her mother might by the remotest possibility lose heaven, stung Auna sharply. From sorrow and terror, she began to grow dazed at this terrible glimpse into the snares that awaited even saintly souls. Was it possible that not her sad-eyed mother, but a crafty fiend lurking behind her pale lips, had said these things? For a moment she forgot her father, and then, under the stressful words of Judith, she promised not to tell him. But the very act of promising brought him back to her. Whether a devil had spoken them or not, it was very certain that the words she had heard from her mother would be of the utmost consolation and comfort to her father. That Auna knew exceedingly well; yet she had now promised; and she hated her grandmother as her young heart had never before hated any living thing.

Having sworn, she escaped without another word, and Judith perceiving the girl's suffering and hearing the panting indignation that followed her surrender, felt very far from certain that she would keep her oath. She believed that, as surely as Jacob Bullstone heard his wife had tried to come back to him, he would return to her and force his way into her presence, with the strength of a madman if need be; and she knew that between that inevitable sequel, with its possible consequences for Margery, there stood only the exceeding frail barrier of a wayward grandchild's promise. It was not enough for any margin of security and every mental energy must now be poured into the problem now confronting her--so Judith felt. She fell upon her knees again and remained for half an hour as motionless as the chair over which she bent. Then she rose, her mind affirmed and her decision taken. She perceived that an issue so tremendous could not be left to the doubtful honour of Auna, while she herself might take more certain steps to protect her child.

And meantime the girl went home in deepest tribulation. She had never lied, and for a long time her sorrow centred in the thought that she had given a promise not possible to break. Once she stopped and turned back, suddenly fired to see her grandmother again and take back her oath. But she knew that would be vain. She had promised and there could be no escape save through falsehood. Auna believed a lie to be among the deepest of crimes; yet in half an hour she was pursuing trains of thought that did not embrace her own soul's safety, but only her parents. Her mind ran wholly on her father first, and then upon her mother. A human instinct inclined her to doubt whether the outlook in the next world was as dangerous as her grandmother declared.

She hated going home at all now. She dawdled, wandered by the river, felt her heart full of a great pity for her father that this most precious information must be denied him.

"But of course it's no good telling dear father what the devil said," she reflected; and then, pursuing this melancholy thought, another arose out of it and Auna sat by the stream and stayed her progress, quite weighed down by an arrestive idea.

If the devil could talk through her dear mother's lips, then, surely, nothing that anybody said was quite safe, for it followed that other people might also be subjected to his dreadful cunning and innocently voice his purpose. And if so, why not her grandmother as well as anybody else? Evidently natural goodness could be no safeguard, for she knew her mother to be as good as an angel in heaven. Her father had said so a thousand times. Perhaps, indeed, thought Auna, the devil delighted to make the most saintly people his mouthpiece. It was such an added infamy as she could understand might well gratify him. But, in that case, her grandmother was the least likely to escape these awful attentions; and if the Evil One had been whispering to Auna through her mother's lips, was it not possible, nay probable, that he had also been speaking with the voice of Mrs. Huxam? Then the human mind of her, quickened by love to deal in sophistry, reflected on another argument. She had promised her grandmother one thing; but not before she had promised her mother an opposite thing. She could not, therefore, escape a lie. Only a choice of lies awaited her in any case.

Auna rose and proceeded home. She suddenly remembered how Jacob was waiting impatiently for news, and the question of the promise sank into a minor matter before the immediate necessity to tell him her mother was very ill. More than that Auna did not intend to say. She was not going to speak of death, because she had a suspicion that her grandmother had exaggerated the danger to frighten her and extort her promise.

She told her father of the grave condition reported and he was deeply perturbed. On the following day he visited the doctor with results already chronicled, and Peter it was who during this morning went to the post-office for news of Margery. He returned with the information that she was about the same; and upon Auna asking him if she was still so very white, Peter answered that she was. But later, when she was alone with her brother in the evening, there came the tremendous secret information that finally sent Auna in the small hours of the next day to her father's room.

For Peter was no hand at secrets and confessed to Auna that he had not seen their mother at all. His grandfather had bade him keep the information to himself for the present; but none the less Peter told Auna, commanding profound silence from her. Their mother had left Brent.

"Grandmother's took her away for a change," explained Peter. "And grandfather was awful down about it and in a proper fret. He says that mother's soul have got to be saved, and he said now was the appointed time. But where mother's been took to, to save her soul, I don't know, and grandfather wouldn't tell me. And I swore I wouldn't let it out; but it's so interesting I had to tell somebody. You don't matter so long as father doesn't know; and if he did it's no odds, I reckon, for he couldn't find her."

"You've told a lie, then," mused Auna, and her brother, somewhat uneasy, began to argue the point; but she was not blaming him.

"Nothing ever happens that didn't ought, anyway," said Peter. "Grandmother's told us that a million times, and it gets you round a good few corners--lies included--to remember it."

"So it does," admitted Auna.

She took this great information to bed with her, and after many sleepless hours could endure it no longer but crept to her father. Jacob lay awake, for he suffered deep misery over his wife's illness, while still far from any guess that extreme danger had developed. He had discounted the conversation with Dr. Briggs, perceiving that the medical man desired to hurt him, and he supposed that with time Margery would grow stronger again, as she had after previous periods of weakness. It was not yet a year since he had driven her away from him, and he could not believe that she had sunk beyond hope of rising again to health within so short a time. But troubled he was, for the ultimate reconciliation seemed no nearer. Christmas approached and he considered if at that date he might endeavour to break down the opposition. His thoughts again turned to Jane and Jeremy, then to Barlow Huxam himself. They had taken no notice of him at the wedding, but he had caught Mr. Huxam's eye and, though the postmaster looked away instantly, there had been no active enmity in his countenance. Jacob thus dawdled on the brink of sleep, unhappy enough, careworn enough, clinging to such shadowy hopes as rolled from time to time uppermost in the welter of thought.

Then came Auna and he lighted his candle, tucked her into bed and listened to her.

Once started the girl could not stop until she had told everything.

"Peter's lied and I'd sooner lie with Peter than keep my word with grandmother, and if the devil can make one person talk, why shouldn't he make another? And mother didn't sound in the least like the devil, and grandmother did," wept Auna pursuing her own reflections, but throwing no immediate light upon the reason for her nocturnal visit.

Jacob calmed her down and so learned, little by little, what his daughter desired him to know. It was impressed upon him that Margery was actually at the point of death, that she had endeavoured to come to him and failed, because Mrs. Huxam had prevented it; and that she had now been taken away by her mother--but whither Peter was not told.

Leaving this cruel load of knowledge with her parent, and surprised in her heart to find confession had so greatly calmed her spirit, Auna went back to bed and soon slept peacefully; while Jacob rose and dressed and prayed for the first glimmer of the day that would launch him upon his quest. Enormous joy and profoundest grief clashed within him. A great hope dawned with the morning: that he and Margery might yet come together and that her body's salvation lay with him.

No bird had broken silence and only the sleepless river purred under a clear, white heaven as he rode out. Above him the morning star shone, like a nail of gold on a field of ivory, and lifting his heart to the hills round about him, Jacob found his mood calm, patient, inexorably determined. He had never thought to wield such a weapon as Auna had now put into his hands; but no adverse power could stand against it, for it came direct from Margery herself. She had striven to reach him and failed. Now it was his turn.