Chapter XXVI: Cousin Robert's Illness

IT was dull November weather. For days Haughton had been enveloped in a thick fog, so that when one afternoon, on returning from school, Mousey nearly ran against Maria, who was issuing from the house apparently in a great hurry, she caught hold of the woman by the arm before she was recognised in the gloom.

"Why, Maria," the little girl cried gaily, "don't you see who it is? Where are you going?"

"Oh, is it you, my dear?" Maria responded, with an accent of decided relief in her voice. "I want you to run and ask Dr. James, who lives in High Street, to come and see master as soon as he possibly can."

"Cousin Robert? Is he ill?" Mousey exclaimed in concerned tones. "He was quite well at dinnertime."

"No, I don't think he was quite well, though I dare say he said nothing to let you guess the contrary. I've noticed he had a cold, and seemed depressed, and half an hour ago he was taken very poorly. He's a bit better now, and has gone to bed, but I feel he ought to have advice; so do you go and ask Dr. James to call, there's a good child!"

"I'll run as fast as I can," Mousey replied, thoroughly alarmed.

"You need not do that, for I don't apprehend master's seriously ill, but I shall be more satisfied if he has a doctor."

Mousey gave her lesson books to Maria, and went to do her bidding. An hour later Dr. James called, and pronounced Mr. Harding to be ill with pneumonia.

"He will want careful nursing," he told Maria; "you had better have a hospital nurse at once."

"I don't know if master will agree to that," she returned doubtfully.

"Oh, nonsense!" was the reply, for the doctor knew his patient's position. "I will speak to Mr. Harding myself," he said; "perhaps that will be best."

Accordingly, he returned to the old man's room, and presently came downstairs and informed Maria that he had promised her master to send him a good nurse, and that she might expect her within an hour.

"He must be very ill!" Maria exclaimed, after Dr. James had' taken his departure.

Mousey nodded. She stole upstairs to her cousin's room, and paused on the threshold to listen to his painful breathing; then softly spoke his name.

"Come in, child," he said, glancing towards the doorway with a slight smile on his face.

"Do you feel very ill, Cousin Robert?" she inquired, as she went to his side and kissed him gently.

"The doctor says I'm in for a bad illness," he answered; "he's going to send someone to nurse me. Remember, if I'm very ill, likely to die— tell Maria this—that I won't have any of my relations sent for except Cousin Eliza. Do you understand? Send for Cousin Eliza!"

"Yes, Cousin Robert," the little girl replied; "but I hope you will soon be better. Oh, you must be well by the time Christmas comes!"

"I may not live till then, my dear. I've been thinking lately that I've made a great mistake in my life; I've been so taken up with money-making that I've forgotten all about God Almighty; and now, when I'm an old man, sick unto death perhaps, it's too late to undo the past."

Mousey did not know what answer to make, but she pressed her quivering lips to his, and sobbed out that she would ask God to make him well. Then Maria came in, and fearing the little girl's emotion would trouble her master, led her gently out of the room.

The days which followed were full of anxiety and suspense, for Mr. Harding was dangerously ill. Mindful of her promise, Mousey wrote to Mrs. Dawson and told her how the old man had expressed a wish for her presence; and the next afternoon, when she was sitting in the parlour, forlorn and heart-sick, the door opened, and a well-known voice called her by name. In another moment she was in Aunt Eliza's arms, and weeping all her pent-up sorrow upon Aunt Eliza's breast.

"There, there, my dear," Mrs. Dawson said at length, "don't cry any more—now don't!"

"I thought you wouldn't be able to come."

"It was a little inconvenient," the good woman acknowledged, "but I happened to know a reliable person capable of managing the house, so I am at liberty to stay as long as I'm wanted."

Later, when she saw how ill Mr. Harding was, Mrs. Dawson felt glad she had come, more especially as he appeared grateful and pleased that she was there. He was quite conscious, and able to speak to her; and the first time he saw her alone, told her he had provided for Mousey in case of his death, and had not forgotten her or her children. Then he directed her where to find a sealed letter he had written at the commencement of his illness, and asked her if she would herself deliver it to the person to whom it was addressed at once. Glancing at the superscription Mrs. Dawson read the name—"Mrs. Downing."

"Is the letter for Mousey's school-mistress?" she inquired.

The old man replied in the affirmative, explaining in a few words the terms on which Mousey had been admitted as a pupil to Mrs. Downing's school. Mrs. Dawson listened in pained surprise, for her generous soul revolted from the thought of her cousin's meanness. How far from knowing the truth she and her husband had been when they had told each other that Mr. Harding was acting generously in giving the little girl such a good education!

"And this letter?" she questioned, when he had ceased speaking.

"It is a receipt for her husband's debt—for the full amount," he answered in his weak, gasping voice, which scarcely rose above a whisper.

Her face cleared, and she pressed his hand in token of her pleasure.

"Ah, Eliza," he said, "I have laid up a treasure upon earth, and it has brought me no happiness. I fear it is too late in the day to seek the kingdom of God and His righteousness."

"No, no!" she returned, deeply touched by his tone of wistful sadness; "it is never too late, Robert. If you have forgotten God He has never forgotten you."

There was a brief pause, which Mrs. Dawson was the first to break.

"I will deliver your letter to Mrs. Downing myself this very day," she said earnestly. "But tell me one thing—does Mousey know of this debt?"

"No, no!" he answered, with visible excitement; "I would not have her hear of it for anything!"

"She shall not through me. Is there nothing else I can do for you, Cousin Robert?"

"No, thank you. Please tell Maria if Mr. Bradley calls again I should like to see him."

When Mr. Bradley called next day he found Mr. Harding hovering between life and death. He knelt by the sick man's bedside and prayed for him. A look of peace came to the wan face of the sufferer as he listened; and after the clergyman had left, Mrs. Dawson and the nurse noticed that his lips moved as though he was praying too.

All that night there was no alteration in the patient's condition; but when the doctor paid his morning visit he found Mr. Harding had rallied a little.

Mousey alternately sickened with a sense of despair, and allowed herself to hope as time wore on. She had not been to school for days, so she was not surprised when Maria ushered Mrs. Downing into the parlour.

"I have come to inquire for Mr. Harding," the visitor explained, her tone full of real concern as she kissed Mousey tenderly. "How is he now, my dear?"

"He is still very ill," the little girl replied mournfully.

"God grant he may recover," Mrs. Downing said earnestly. "Your cousin has been very good and generous to me," she added, with a tremulous note in her usually serene voice.

Mousey saw her eyes were full of unshed tears, and though she did not understand the cause of her emotion, she felt comforted by her evident sympathy.

The following morning the doctor pronounced Mr. Harding slightly stronger. Before many days had passed, after the first change for the better, the old man's life was out of danger, and though weak and helpless as a baby, he was slowly but surely progressing towards recovery.

"I thank God that He has spared me a little longer," he said to Mrs. Dawson. "With His help I hope to spend my future very differently from the way in which I have lived in the past. Ah, Cousin Eliza, it is a terrible thing to have no share in the kingdom of heaven—no treasure beyond the grave!"