Chapter XXXVIII: Elfie’s Vision

Say from whence
You owe this strange intelligence
Speak, I charge ye!—SHAKSPEARE.

“Elfie! why, Elfie, wake up.”

It was the voice of Britomarte, speaking in a low but eager tone as she gently shook the girl to rouse her.

Elfie yawned, stretched her arms, and gazed around in perplexity.

“Elfie! what, Elfie! asleep on your post! In the army we—I mean they—shoot sentinels for such dereliction from duty,” said Miss Conyers.

“Ow—ow—ow!” gaped Elfie, “is he gone?”

“Gone! Who gone?”

“General Eastworth, or his fetch!”

“General Eastworth! You are dreaming, Elfie. Wake up! I wonder that you should have allowed yourself to go to sleep.”

“I have not been asleep for one minute—not for one minute during my whole six hours’ watch, though I have been near dropping off several times; but I managed to keep wide awake,” said Elfie, with the usual self-delusion of such drowsy delinquents.

“Why, Elfie, I found you sleeping so soundly that I could scarcely wake you.”

“Ow—ow—ow!” yawned the culprit. “I tell you I have not been asleep one instant. I have been chlo—ro—formed by General Eastworth. That’s what’s the matter.”

“‘Chloroformed by General Eastworth!’ Why, Elfie, you are not even yet awake. You are still dreaming and talking in your sleep. Rouse yourself, girl!”

“Rouse myself, indeed. I never was so broad awake in the whole course of my life as I have been within the last hour. My eyes have been stretched so wide open with astonishment that I don’t believe I shall ever be able to close them again. General Eastworth, or his fetch, has been here, and Erminie has spoken with him. There—what do you think of that?”

“I think you are talking at random. I think you are still under the influence of your dream. You must have been very far gone in the ‘land of Nod’ to be so long in getting back again. It is well that your patient has lain so quietly all this while as not to need your attentions,” said Miss Conyers, in a rebuking manner. “I wonder how long you slept. Can you remember what hour the clock struck last?” she inquired.

“I should think I could,” replied Elfie, crossly, for she was irritated at the incredulity of her friend—“I should just think I could! I was broad awake, repeating a passage of Shakspeare to myself, suitable to the time and circumstances, when I heard the clock strike ‘one,’ and at the same time I saw standing by me—a man.”

“Nonsense, Elfie!”

“No, it was a man. First I thought it was Justin come in to ask after his sister. And I looked up to speak to him, and then I recognized——General Eastworth. The sight of him here, and at this hour, took away my breath, and before I could recover it he chloroformed me—not at first to insensibility, but to powerlessness. I could neither move nor speak, but I saw and heard all that went on. The Rebel General Eastworth has been here in this room within the last hour. And Erminie has spoken with him.”

“Elfie, this is moonstruck madness.”

“No, it isn’t; it is truth and soberness. He bent over her, wept over her, knelt by her bed and apostrophized her as one does the dead. And she rose up and laid her hands upon his head, and blessed him and forgave him. And then the whole scene passed from my senses to the ringing of silvery bells and the flashing of Drummond lights. I suppose the chloroform he had pinned under my nose produced its full effect, and threw me into unconsciousness. But I have a very clear recollection of what happened before. And I am willing to make an affidavit that General Eastworth has been here, and that Erminie has spoken to him.”

“Good Heavens, Elfie, how can you be so utterly irrational? General Eastworth is in the besieged city of Charleston, helping to defend it, if he is not in his grave, as is reported. So it is clearly impossible he could be here. And, Erminie, see for yourself. She is prostrate, as she has been for many hours, without sense or motion.”

“So I hear you say. But I must believe the evidence of my own eyes and ears for all that,” pouted Elfie.

“I think I can explain this, my dear. You say you heard the clock strike ‘one,’ and immediately saw the man at your side, and the strange play began. Now I will tell you what probably happened. As the clock struck ‘one,’ you fell asleep. In the meantime, our doctor, returning from some late professional visit, and knowing that old Bob was sleeping at the hall door, called to see our patient. He was admitted, and came up into the room, and you, half awakened by his entrance, and oppressed with indigestion and nightmare—you would eat new cheese for supper, Elfie, though I warned you not to do it—you imagined the harmless medical attendant to be the Rebel General, and you dreamed the rest.”

“Well, if I did——! But what is the use of talking to you matter-of-fact folks? You believe nothing that isn’t evident to your own senses. I wonder you believe in the Christian Revelation!” angrily exclaimed Elfie.

“Go to bed, my dear, and when you have had a good wholesome sleep, you will rise in a better and more reasonable mood. And to-morrow we can easily find out from old Bob if the doctor or any one else called during the night. Come, Elfie, take my advice and retire,” recommended Miss Conyers.

“‘Retire’ indeed! Do you think, after the supernatural horrors of this night, I can retire and compose myself to sleep? No indeed!”

“Then if you remain here you must compose yourself to silence, my love. I think I see a change coming over our patient and our talk may disturb her.”

“Pray Heaven she may not be rising into another paroxysm of fever and delirium. She could not outlive another attack,” said Elfie, quick to take alarm.

“Be quiet, please,” whispered Miss Conyers.

And Elfie sat down on a low stool at the foot of the bed and said not another word.

Miss Conyers took her place in the large easy chair beside the head of the bed, from which position she could easily watch the countenance of Erminie.

The clock struck three and the morning was coming on apace.

All was cool and quiet in the room; and another hour passed slowly by; and in the sweet light of the early dawn the night taper on the hearth burned dimly.

Miss Conyers arose and put it out. And then she went to the windows and opened them all to let in the light and air of the lovely summer morning.

Then she went to the bedside to examine the condition of her charge. And she saw a change that caused her heart to leap for joy! a change for the better, slight, but so decided that she knew the crisis had passed favorably—that physicians and friends had all really been mistaken—that youth and constitution had conquered, and that she, whom they had all called the “dying girl,” was about to recover.

True, Erminie lay as still as she had lain for twenty-four hours; but not as cold or death-like. Her face was calm; her flesh was soft, warm and moist; and her breathing was low, gentle and regular.

“Thank God, thank God!” breathed Britomarte, sinking on her knees to offer up this ovation of gratitude.

“What is it?” murmured Elfie.

“SHE WILL LIVE!” joyfully exclaimed Britomarte, rising from her knees.

“Oh, thank Heaven! Oh, what a happiness for Justin and for us all!” exclaimed Elfie, in full sympathy.

“But now, my dear,” said Miss Conyers, “I must retire a little from the bedside. Her coma has passed into healthful sleep, from which she will presently awake. And when she does awake, she must not, just at first, see me, whom she is not prepared to see by her bedside. The surprise might hurt her.”

“Certainly, I will take your place here,” answered Elfie.

And they were about to effect the change, when a sweet, low voice stole on their ears:

“Britomarte, dear Britomarte, is that you, love? When did you arrive?”

And calmly, sweetly, naturally, Erminie turned her gentle eyes and held out her thin hand to welcome her friend.

“My own best loved, my darling, my angel, I am so happy to see you better,” murmured Miss Conyers, with tremulous tones and tearful eyes.

“And I—I am so very glad to see you, too. Have the servants attended to your wants and made you comfortable? Is your room arranged to your liking?” affectionately inquired Erminie, whose first thoughts on recovering her consciousness were for the welfare of others. Her voice was faint, but clear and calm and well sustained as she spoke.

“They have made me very comfortable, dear girl. Don’t disquiet yourself,” replied Miss Conyers, tenderly stroking Erminie’s hair.

“I know the best regulated households will get out of order when the mistress is ill. And I have been very ill; but, thank Heaven, I am better now.”

“Yes, thank Heaven, you are better now, sweet friend.”

“And you are sure you have not been neglected?”

“Quite sure, dear. You know that Elfie has been ‘acting’ mistress during your illness.”

“Yes, but I know that dear Elfie has been with me all the time in this room. Whenever I have had a glimpse of consciousness I have seen her by my bed. Dear Elfie!” continued Erminie, turning to her nurse—“dear, dear Elfie, how shall I ever be grateful enough to you?”

“There shall be no such word as ‘grateful’ between you and me, Erminie. Or, if there must be, it is I who must be grateful—first to the Lord for giving me so dear a friend and continuing her to me; and next to you for your love since childhood, and your protection since the war.”

“Don’t say that, Elfie,” said Erminie.

“Oh, my darling, I am so rejoiced that you are better!” exclaimed Elfie.

“So am I,” said Erminie, frankly. “I have something to live for now. And I had rather live, if it please the Lord. _My father is living._”

As Erminie spoke these last four inexplicable words, Elfie started violently, and even Britomarte changed countenance. They were both alarmed. They both thought that Erminie had been talking too much and had become dangerously excited, and that another paroxysm of fever and delirium was imminent.

But this was not so. With Erminie convalescence had set in strongly and decidedly, supported by her young and vigorous constitution. And when the two girls looked again at Erminie they were reassured by her perfect ease and quietness.

“Did you hear me say, girls, that my dear father is living?” she calmly inquired.

“Yes,” said Miss Conyers, speaking with an apparent composure that was very far from her real condition—“yes; but why do you think so?—I mean, how do you know it?”

“I will tell you, dear, some other time. Now I do not feel equal to the theme. And besides—Elfie, dear,” she said, turning to her nurse, “I am so hungry.”

It was a “word and a blow,” for before Erminie had finished speaking Elfie had whisked from the room.

And in ten minutes she returned with a little tray covered with a white napkin, and a cup of weak green tea, and a round of delicate brown toast.

Erminie drank the tea with a great enjoyment, and even ate a morsel of the toast.

“I could drink another, only I do not think it would be prudent, and so I will refrain,” she said, as she gently pushed away the tray.

“No, it would not be prudent, dear. When the doctor comes, we will ask what you may take, and how much of it. And I only hope he may say you may eat and drink as much as ever you like of whatever you fancy,” said Elfie, as she removed the little service.

“Elfie, darling, did I dream I saw, or did I really see my dear brother Justin by my bed?” inquired Erminie, with an effort at recollection.

“You really saw him, love. He is in the house,” replied Elfie, very much relieved to find the way opened so easily for introducing Justin, without too greatly surprising Erminie in her weak condition.

“I thought so. I had glimpses of consciousness when I saw you by my bed, and that did not perplex me, because I knew, of course, that you were always here. But sometimes, in those same glimpses, I seemed to see Justin, and before I could confirm the impression, I was snatched away again from all knowledge of surrounding things. When did he come?”

“Yesterday, a few hours before Britomarte’s arrival,” said Elfie.

“It is very early in the morning now?” inquired Erminie.

“The sun is just rising.”

“And Justin is not up yet. When he rises, let him know that I want to see him. And now I must rest, please,” said Erminie.

Britomarte and Elfie between them raised her up. Britomarte supported her, while Elfie turned and beat up the pillows, and straightened the sheet. And then they laid her comfortably down, and made all tidy around her while she fell asleep.

Then Catherine was called to watch the sleeper, while Britomarte and Elfie went to make their morning toilets, and to take the early breakfast of which they stood so much in need.

Meanwhile the news of Erminie’s convalescence spread through the house, filling every heart with surprise and joy, for every member of the household dearly loved the amiable young mistress.

Old Bob, taking up “Mr. Justin’s” hot water, gladdened the brother’s heart with the intelligence of his sister’s rescue from the grave.

And Colonel Rosenthal hastened through his morning exercises, and hurried down into the library, where he found Britomarte and Elfie at breakfast.

“Is it true?” he eagerly inquired, as he joined them, and before even tendering the conventional “Good morning.”

“Thank Heaven, yes. All danger is past,” replied Britomarte.

“Has the doctor said so?”

“The doctor has not been here this morning. But it needs no doctor to tell that Erminie is raised from death,” said Elfie.

“Can I see her now?” inquired Justin.

“She knows you are here. She has asked to see you as soon as you should be up and dressed. But she is sleeping now, and so you must wait until she wakes. Meanwhile, you had better draw up your chair and take breakfast with us.”

Justin followed this advice and seated himself at the table.

Domestic affairs were administered in a very easy, not to say loose manner, since the illness of Erminie.

The members of the family and the guests came down to breakfast when they were ready, and ate it when it was prepared, without waiting for others.

Thus it happened that our family party were half through with the morning meal before Major Fielding and Captain Ethel made their appearance.

Hot coffee and hot chops were ordered for the new comers, who, after the morning greetings, took their places at the table, and the meal progressed.

Major Fielding and Captain Ethel were then made happy with the news of Erminie’s convalescence.

“And the doctor is sure that all danger is past?” inquired Major Fielding.

“We are sure that all danger is past, but the doctor has not seen her this morning,” said Miss Conyers.

“I humbly beg your pardon, Miss,” said old Bob, who was waiting on the table. “I humbly beg your pardon, Miss, but the doctor _have_ seen her this morning. He have been here airly, very airly indeed, Miss—in fact, before day.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Miss Conyers, whose memory immediately reverted to Elfie’s dream, or vision, and her own—Britomarte’s—version of it.

“Yes, indeed, Miss. He rousened me up outen my sleep to let him in.”

Miss Conyers here looked archly at Elfie, whose face exhibited a curiously blended expression of mirth, relief and mortification; for she was struck with the ludicrous aspect the affair now assumed, and she was glad to have a supernatural mystery cleared up; but she was also ashamed of the part she had played in the farce.

“Do you know at what precise hour the doctor came?” inquired Miss Conyers.

“Yes, Miss. It must abeen ’bout ’tween one and two o’clock. Way I know it is this: Just arter he came down stairs, and I let him out ag’in, I heerd the hall clock strike two.”

“How long do you suppose he was up stairs?” inquired Miss Conyers.

“Well, nigh upon an hour I should say, Miss. You see I kept awake to let him out.”

Britomarte looked at Elfie and burst into an irrepressible fit of laughter.

Elfie pouted, sulked, and finally caught the infection and laughed heartily for company.

“There seems to be some joke here that we of the masculine persuasion are shut out from enjoying. Pray, may I, without indiscretion, inquire into its nature?” asked Major Fielding.

And Justin and Ethel, by their looks at least, seconded the motion.

“It is Elfie’s secret,” laughed Miss Conyers.

“Well, you may tell it, Britomarte,” laughed also Elfie.

“It seems, then,” said Miss Conyers, “that this young lady had the watch; that, wearied out with many days of lost rest, she fell asleep at her post; and, having indulged in new cheese for supper, she had the nightmare; and so, when the doctor paid his nocturnal visit, she took him for the Rebel General Eastworth, and because she couldn’t wake, imagined that he had chloroformed her to prevent her giving the alarm.”

And here Major Fielding burst into a laugh, in which he was joined by Justin, Ethel, Britomarte and even Elfie.

But then their hearts were lightened of so great a load that it was easy to rouse them to laughter.

After breakfast, Major Fielding and Captain Ethel, knowing that they, in any case, would not be permitted to see Miss Rosenthal that day, and feeling relieved of all anxiety on her account, went out to take a walk, and transact some business that had been neglected during Erminie’s illness.

As soon as Erminie was awake, and had been refreshed by ablutions and a change of dress, Justin was summoned to her room.

He found her lying on her bed, with her head raised by many pillows, looking wan, fair and transparent, and yet so much better than she had seemed the day before.

Repressing his strong feelings he advanced to her bedside, stooped over her and kissed her gently, saying softly:

“My dear Erminie! my dear, dear sister! how thankful to Heaven I am to find you so much improved.”

She put her arms around his neck, and drew him closer to her heart, and returned his fond kiss; but all in silence.

Very quiet was the interview between this devoted brother and sister.

“I am so happy having you here, sitting by me and holding my hand,” whispered Erminie, with her fingers clasped in his.

“And I am so happy to be here, and to see you so much better,” murmured Justin.

“When you left us you wore a captain’s straps; now you wear the colonel’s eagle,” said Erminie, proudly.

“Yes, dear sister; and my greatest pride in wearing them is that they give you pleasure.”

“You will have a general’s star before long.”

“I will try to earn them for your sake, sweet sister.”

“Have you seen much of Britomarte?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Do you know where she lives, what she does?”

“She has told me nothing, dear, of her residence or occupation. She keeps her secret,” answered Justin, rather evasively.

But Erminie was not extreme to mark the flaws in his reply. She started another subject.

“Justin,” she said, “I am sure our dear father lives.”

“Heaven grant that he may, my dear,” said Justin, humoring what he supposed to be the fancy of a weak invalid, but recollecting with a pang the body removed from its humble grave on the battle-field of Bull Run, and interred in the family burial lot in the cemetery at Washington.

“I am not strong enough now to tell you how I know this; but I will explain it in a day or two.”

“You shall take your own time, love,” said Justin.

So quietly they conversed together until the entrance of the doctor.

He had been received by poor, old, stupid Frederica, who had omitted to tell him the good news about his patient, probably under the impression that he was fully aware of Erminie’s condition. And he had not made the usual inquiry of “How is Miss Rosenthal this morning?” because he shrunk from asking the question until he should reach the sick room. He had not seen the other members of the family, and so he came into Erminie’s presence all unenlightened as to the favorable change in her condition.

And the first thing he saw was Erminie, propped up on pillows, conversing cheerfully with her brother.

“Bless us! here is a change!” he exclaimed, with a smile, as he walked up to the bedside. “How are we this morning?” he asked, taking the chair vacated for him by Justin, and feeling the pulse of his patient.

“Getting well as fast as possible, Doctor,” smiled Erminie.

“Yes, yes, we are getting well fast! We can relish a little chicken broth this morning, can we not?”

“I think we can,” she answered.

“And a half a glass of port wine. And to-morrow it may be a whole glass.”

Erminie nodded.

“She will require no more medicine, only careful nursing and dieting,” said the doctor, turning to Justin.

“I am very glad to hear you say so, Doctor Burney. Did you see indications of this favorable change when you visited her early this morning?”

“Early this morning? I have not been here before this morning,” said the doctor, in some surprise.

“Well, then, in the night, perhaps, I should rather say; as it was but a little past one o’clock when you called,” said Justin, correcting himself.

“I called!” repeated the doctor.

“Between one and two in the night,” explained Justin.

“My dear sir, you are mistaken! I have not been here since six last evening,” said the doctor.

“Indeed! Then who——” began Justin; but he immediately caught up his words. Here was a mystery; but it would never do to worry Erminie’s mind with it. So he paused.

“Whatever could have made you think I was here in the night?” inquired the doctor.

“It was a mistake, either of mine or somebody else’s,” evasively replied Justin.

“But who said I was here?” persisted the doctor.

“One of the servants, I believe, fancied that you had called.”

“Which one?”

“Old Bob.”

“Oh, ah, he dreamed it! I was six miles from here between one and two o’clock. I was out at a diabolical old place called Witch Elms, attending the death-bed of an antediluvian old woman, named Miss Pole.”

While Colonel Rosenthal and Doctor Burney conversed together, Erminie listened attentively, turning towards each as he spoke. Occasionally an arch smile played over her expressive features, as though she thought she could, if she pleased, explain the mystery that so puzzled her physician and her brother. But when she heard the name of the old lady at Witch Elms, she said:

“I knew Miss Pole slightly. She was the great grand-aunt of my dear friend, Miss Conyers. I called at Witch Elms once. The reminiscence is not a pleasant one. Still I hope the old lady was well prepared for the last great change.”

“I doubt it,” said the doctor. “She died very much as I imagine she had lived. And she left me two very strange commissions. The first was to deliver into the hands of Britomarte Conyers a certain packet not to be opened until after her funeral. The second was to forbid Miss Conyers from attending that funeral. I shall discharge both, before leaving the house this morning.”

“Strange commissions, indeed. But then Miss Pole was a very strange woman.”

“Yes. And now, my dear Miss Rosenthal, I think you have talked long enough. A new convalescent, like a newborn babe, has but two great duties to perform—to eat and sleep alternately. Here comes our good Catherine with your chicken broth. So we will now leave you to discuss _that_, the most wholesome subject that can occupy your thoughts just now.

And so saying, the doctor smiled and bowed and walked out of the room, accompanied by Justin.