Chapter VII: An Accident

"We cannot well forget the hand that holds
And pierces us and will not let us go,
However much we strive from under it.
The heavy pressure of a constant pain ...
Is it not God's own very finger-tips
Laid on thee in a tender steadfastness?"
Hamilton King.

"MY dear Mrs. Burke, you are never going out this afternoon?"

Rowena looked up from a newspaper which she was reading. She was toasting her feet over a roaring wood fire in Mrs. Burke's pleasant morning-room at Minley Court. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. Outside the house, a storm of wind and rain was raging. For three days the weather had been so bad that they had been confined to the house. The rain was not quite so violent now, but after luncheon Mrs. Burke had told Rowena she was going to lie down in her room, with a novel, till tea-time.

"There is nothing else to do," she had mournfully complained.

Now she burst open the door attired in an old tweed hat and in her fur coat.

"Yes; I'm going out," she said. "I couldn't stand my book, and I couldn't sleep; so I thought I'd go over to Vi and Di. I haven't seen them yet; and I've ordered out the car. And I may go on and look up the Sheringhams. I want the Colonel for my theatricals, on Boxing night."

"I don't expect Vale likes the prospect of driving in this storm," said Rowena, looking at her friend with some dismay in her eyes. "Are you wise in going? You have a slight cold."

"I shall be under cover, so will Vale."

"It will soon be dark, remember."

"What of that? We have lamps."

"I wish I was better at amusing you," said Rowena, with a twinkle of humour. "You are the sort that would appreciate a house fool, like the royalties used to have. He would keep you in the house an afternoon like this, by sitting at your feet and by amusing you with stories and songs and clever wit. I am too dull for you, and that's the fact. If I had only known you were bored with your book, I would have rummaged through Mudie's box and brought you another."

"Oh, you're all right," said Mrs. Burke, patting her shoulder affectionately. "When I come in, I want to look through my gowns for a suitable one for me in the character of Lady Teazle. Your taste is so good that you will help me in that. Don't wait tea for me. I may be late."

Rowena came to the front door to see her off. The wind made a determined onslaught upon them directly the door was opened. The butler helped Mrs. Burke down the steps, holding an umbrella over her to keep off the driving rain. She waved her hand airily to Rowena when she was in the car, and Rowena went back to her comfortable seat by the fire. Her idle time was over; she had an hour's work before her, finishing Mrs. Burke's correspondence for the day. But she was writing letters now of great interest to her. One was to Mrs. Panton, Mrs. Burke's sister, to enclose a Christmas cheque, and to ask her to let her grandchildren come to Minley Court for part of their holidays. Also to suggest to her to come down to the South of England, where schools were cheap, and where she could sometimes be seen by her sister. They were selling their furniture at the Vicarage, and Marion was going to Scotland the last week in January.

When Rowena had finished her work for Mrs. Burke, she began writing letters for herself.

She had seen her sister-in-law before leaving town, and she was, of course, delighted with her engagement. Now she wrote to her telling her she hoped to come to her for a week after the New Year to talk over her coming marriage; and lastly she wrote her letter to General Macdonald. They kept up a brisk correspondence with each other, and his letters revealed more of his real self than did any of his conversation. He possessed the Scotch reserve, in talking, which disappeared in his letters.

Rowena wrote to him with gladness in her eyes and smile.

"MY DEAREST,—"

"Your letter is before me. It arrived in a howling, blustering storm, when outside all was cheerless and grey; and it warmed my heart, as your letters always do, and made me feel as if the sun was shining out upon a gloriously happy world. Dear Hugh! May I prove worthy of such love as yours. Only don't, I beseech you, place me on a high pedestal. I assuredly shall have a tumble if you do; and I want to keep my feet, for Mysie's sake as well as your own. As you are greedy for all details in my daily life I will proceed to describe my day—"

She had only got this far when Dodge, the butler, appeared, ostensibly to close up for the night, as it was getting dark, and to bring in tea; but he moved about so uneasily that at last Rowena looked up.

"The storm seems getting worse again," she remarked.

"It does, ma'am; and I wish the mistress were back. The postman says the bridge across Minley Weir is getting shaky. He thinks it unsafe. The river is terribly high."

"They'll have to go round by Tanbury if they can't pass it," said Rowena.

He said no more; but when her tea was brought in, and she heard the howling wind and the torrents of rain which were falling, she grew anxious. It was a pitch-dark night. Supposing that Vale, the chauffeur, was not told about the unsafe condition of the bridge? She knew he was a fast driver, and Mrs. Burke had more than once remarked that he was not cautious enough. If they dashed over the bridge and it gave way, there would be an awful accident, and the weir was only ten minutes' walk from there.

Rowena shuddered. She began to long that Mrs. Burke was home; then she wished that she had accompanied her. Time went on, an hour passed, then two; and then Rowena expressed her fears to Dodge.

"Couldn't some of the men in the stables go down to the bridge and see if it is all right? I wish we had thought of it before. They could at least have hung up a warning light."

"Webster did go off half an hour ago, ma'am; and he took the two stable lads with him."

"Oh, I am glad. Of course, Mrs. Burke may have stayed with the Miss Dunstans. They have sometimes kept her for the night; but she would have sent a message to us, and we ought to have had it by this time."

There was a slight bustle in the hall. Dodge hastened out, and Rowena followed him. There at the door was Mrs. Burke, streaming wet, the footman and Webster, her coachman, were supporting her in their arms. She was blue with cold, but looked up at Rowena with a glimmer of a smile, though her teeth chattered in her head as she spoke.

"I've had a ducking, and I'm frozen through. Get me to bed."

They did not take very long to do that. Rowena asked no questions, she rolled her up in hot blankets, gave her brandy-and-water, put hot bottles to her feet, and she and her maid rubbed her all over to restore her circulation. Then, when she was thoroughly comfortable, Rowena sat down by her, and Mrs. Burke began to talk.

"Don't stop me, I feel I must speak. People tell me luck is always with me. Why I am not lying drowned under the weir at this moment is the marvel. That fool of a man drove right into the river: part of the bridge had been washed away; and over we went, and the awful part was I couldn't get out. The car plunged its nose downwards, but stuck between some bits of timber, and there I was pinned. I clung to my seat, and the water came in right up to my shoulder, but not over my head. I yelled, but no one came to, my rescue, and it seemed to me I was there hours, and at last I heard footsteps and voices, and I think I must have done a little faint, for I remember nothing more till I was being carried up the steps here. Where is Vale?"

"He is safe," said Rowena. "They say he jumped off, but was lying unconscious on the bank when Webster found him. He struck his head against one of the posts of the bridge, they think."

"He'd better have the doctor."

"Webster will see to him. Lie still. You have had a marvellous escape. We must thank God for it."

But Mrs. Burke would not lie still. She seemed feverish and excited.

"My dear Rowena, I've been in purgatory. I really have. Now I know what it is to be left alone with your sins, and death staring you in the face. It was like a torture trick, to be bottled up in that car, slowly drowning in the dark, and not being able to get out of it. The water was rushing and whirling outside at such a rate that I dare say it was as well I could not get out—I should only have been carried over the weir. Well, you tell me I never give myself time to think; I've had the time to-day; and I was dumb, Rowena, and stupefied. An awful Bible verse came into my mind and stuck there. 'What wilt thou say when He shall punish thee?' What could I say? Nothing—I had cast away my confidence. And I knew I might be in the other world at any moment. I felt the car being gradually sucked down."

She shivered. Rowena looked a little anxiously at her bright eyes and flushed cheeks.

"Don't think any more about it now, but try to sleep," she said soothingly.

"I can't sleep. Why was I left to hang between life and death for so long?"

Rowena was silent, then she bent over her.

"I am sure you ought to sleep. Let me give you a verse for you to sleep on: I will heal their backsliding, I will love them freely.'"

Mrs. Burke gave a little impatient snort.

Rowena added—

"I am going to send Phillips to watch by you whilst I go and see how Vale is. Do try to sleep, dear. Are you warm now?"

"I have been badly scared and shaken," said Mrs. Burke, trying to speak indifferently; "but I shall be myself to-morrow."

Rowena bent down and kissed her, then slipped out of the room.

She found that Vale was recovering, but she wrote a note to the doctor, for she did not like the look of Mrs. Burke, and she asked him to come over early the next morning.

When the next day arrived, Mrs. Burke was tossing on her bed in agony, and before very long, she was in the throes of rheumatic fever. It was so severe that she had to be wrapped in cotton wool from head to foot, and two nurses were brought in by the doctor to attend to her.

Rowena spent most of her time in the sick-room. All the Christmas festivities had to be postponed. At one time the doctor thought his patient would not pull through. He told Rowena that her heart would not bear the strain of the attack. But she rallied wonderfully, and her constant cry through both her conscious and unconscious times was that Rowena should be close to her.

"Keep death away from me, if you can," she whispered once. "Pray. You will be heard. I sha'n't."

Rowena never left off praying that her life might be spared. On Christmas Day she lay very weak, but perfectly conscious.

"What a Christmas you are having, poor child!" she murmured, looking up into Rowena's face with a flicker of a smile. "Have my sister's young people arrived?"

"No," said Rowena; "I put them off. The doctor said I had better do so."

"That's a pity; but it would be dull for them. Does the doctor think I'm on the mend?"

"Oh, yes—decidedly."

"It's going to be a long business, eh?"

"I am afraid so."

"How is the General? I thought of him when I was in the river. I made sure my summons had come. 'Soul, this night—' You know how it goes on. But it didn't come."

"No," said Rowena softly; "God wanted you here."

"I shall be no good to anyone. I wonder why I was given a fresh lease of life?"

"To live to His glory," said Rowena quickly.

She said no more, for she knew that Mrs. Burke must be kept absolutely quiet and not excited in any way. The sick woman moved her head restlessly on her pillow.

"If He would only put me out of pain. I can't think, when red-hot wires are pulling me in every direction!"

It was long before she was able to leave her bed. Rowena was horrified to see how twisted and swollen her joints were, and she spoke to the doctor about it. He looked grave.

"My dear Miss Arbuthnot, I'm afraid she will never be the same woman again. For a long time she has overtaxed her strength, and lived too fast for health; and now this rheumatism has come to stay, and her heart is much affected by it."

"Yet you have told her she will recover."

"I think she may live many years yet; but she must be content with a quiet invalid's life. She will, I fear, always be crippled."

"Oh, how dreadful! She has been such an active woman. How will she bear it?"

"As many others have borne it. Pluck is not lacking in her composition."

"She is always asking when she will be well again. You must break it to her."

"I would rather leave it to you," said the doctor, with a little rueful smile. "You manage her better than we do."

And so it came to pass that, two or three weeks later, Rowena got her chance; and when Mrs. Burke said impatiently that, if the doctor could not cure her quicker she would go up to town for special treatment, she answered her.

"I wonder if you realize how very, very ill you have been?"

"I should think I do. They say I never do things by halves; and I've never been ill in my life before, so I have done the job pretty thoroughly now!"

"Rheumatic fever generally leaves its effects behind," Rowena went on. "I am afraid you will be no exception to the rule."

"What do you mean?"

Real fright showed itself in Mrs. Burke's eyes.

Rowena leant forward and took one of her poor swollen hands in hers.

"You have never shirked difficulties, or even danger, have you? Can you be brave if I tell you what every doctor would fear in your case?"

"Go on. For goodness' sake don't beat about the bush."

"The fear is that you may never wholly get the use of your limbs again. You are getting better, and you will be able to walk soon, I hope, with the help of a stick; but you must make up your mind to lead a quiet life and be more or less of an invalid."

"Rubbish! I won't make up my mind to it. I will resist with all the power that is in my body against such a verdict. I shall go to Harrogate. I have seen cripples cured there. I shall go abroad to the baths. I will travel all over the world before I'll lie down under such an infamous assertion."

"You see, you cannot do the cures because of the weakness of your heart."

Mrs. Burke laughed scornfully.

"So this old molly of a doctor says. Now make arrangements for the best specialist on rheumatism to come down and see me. I will make him tell me a different tale to that. Write at once, Rowena; don't lose a post."

"But," said Rowena, with a little helpless laugh, "whom can I write to? I must ask Dr. Hole to give me the name of one."

"Telephone to the little wretch at once, then."

Rowena went to the telephone in the hall. She came back presently with the name of a specialist, and as Mrs. Burke happened to know of him, he was summoned at once.

In two days' time he arrived. But he could not give her much hope.

"If you were ten years younger, madam, you would have a better chance. As it is, time may be kind to you, and you may to a great extent get the better of the disease. I should hope for it, if I were you; and you will find that you can still enjoy life quietly and peacefully."

"My good man, I hate quiet and peace! I loathe a quiet life! There, say no more, I never did think much of doctors; and if they can't manage to make a cure of a strong healthy woman like myself, well, they're not of any account at all."

She was so furiously angry that she brought on a heart attack, and lay like a frightened exhausted child an hour later. But when she recovered she said no more on the subject, and for several days was very quiet and subdued.

Then, one sunny afternoon towards the end of February, as she lay on her couch by her bedroom window looking down upon the spring bulbs in the beds below, she called Rowena to her.

"I want to have a real good talk with you. Come and sit down and give me your whole undivided attention. I'm thankful to have got rid of those nurses at last. They were always coming in and interrupting if I happened to get you to myself for a moment or two. And you're rather an elusive sort of creature sometimes, Rowena. You've had such splendid chances of preaching to me on the vanity of life, and the iniquities of my past, and the judgment that has descended upon me, and you've never taken them."

"I'm not good at preaching," said Rowena; "but I have prayed for you hard."

"I know you have. But now I want a thorough good sermon from you. I'm ready and waiting for it. Begin." Rowena smiled.

"What is it you want to be told? You know your Bible as well as I do."

"I want to be told," said Mrs. Burke very slowly and impressively, "how my present life can be made bearable. You tried to take away my zest for the life I loved when you first came to me. Now I want you to give me zest for this changed life of mine. Can you do it?"

"I don't think I can," said Rowena slowly and thoughtfully; "but I can tell you how to get it. Why should your life be emptier now than it has been? On the contrary, you can make it much fuller."

"My dear, when a woman of my age becomes a hopeless, helpless invalid she drops out of everything. Her friends will write letters of condolence. As you know, I have had a good many already, and some of them will come over and see me for a week or two, then they will go their way and forget all about me. Their lives are too much in a rush to remember me. I remember a very young woman. I was very fond of her—struck down by a kind of paralysis. I saw her once after the illness, but never again. It was too painful, and I was too busy. That is how I shall be treated now by my most intimate friends. You see I am looking the thing in the face. Now, what is going to sustain me through this lean time? How can I get through it cheerfully and happily, when everything that I live for has been swept away from me at one fell swoop?"

"You'll never do it. It is an impossibility," said Rowena soberly; "if you still persist in living your life apart from God."

"Ah! now here comes the sermon. Proceed. Do you think I am going to creep to the feet of the Almighty because I am in trouble?"

"It is your proper rightful place," said Rowena firmly. "You used to be happy in His service—you have acknowledged it. You have tried, like the Prodigal, to feed your soul on husks, and you have been brought very low. There is nothing for it but for you to come home with that cry on your lips, 'Father, I have sinned.'"

There was silence in the room, then Mrs. Burke said in a strangely gentle tone for her:

"I told you in town that I was getting old and tired, didn't I? That I envied you the comfort you get out of your religion. Now I lie on my couch here and I think and think and think until I nearly go mad. Do you honestly think, having cast away my confidence, that I can ever get it again? There's an awful verse—I looked it up on the sly this morning when I was alone—it's in Hebrews. It says it's impossible for those who've once had the real thing and have fallen away to come back again—to renew them again unto repentance. What do you say to that?"

"What do you make of the parable of the lost sheep?" Rowena said. "Our Saviour told that Himself, and He gave two other instances in the same chapter. There were the lost sheep, the lost bit of money, and the lost son. Dear Mrs. Burke, if you want to return to your rightful Owner, do you think He will refuse to take you? Don't you remember this verse spoken to the people who had forsaken God for idolatry: 'Return, thou backsliding Israel, saith the Lord, and I will not cause Mine anger to fall upon you: for I am merciful, saith the Lord, and I will not keep anger for ever. Only acknowledge thine iniquity, that thou hast transgressed against the Lord thy God.'"

"How can you remember so much of the Bible?"

"I love it," said Rowena simply. "I am always reading it. If you started to read it, you would find it would tell you all you want to know."

"I suppose I may as well tell you that when I was seeing death so close to me out of the car windows, when we stuck in the river, that I was in such a funk that I vowed a vow—I really did. I promised to alter my life, if it was spared. I suppose I shall have to do it."

"Then if you have made up your mind to do that, you'll end by being a very happy woman," said Rowena. "And you don't want any more sermons from me, for you know what will bring peace to your soul."

They sat very silent then for some time. This was only one of the many serious talks they had together. Rowena marvelled at the gentle childishness which Mrs. Burke showed in these conversations, and then one day she told Rowena that she had begun to pray again.

"I find it much more difficult than I used to do, so many doubts come into my head. But I just go on, and I feel better, after a bit. I want to make my peace with God. If He'll be willing to take just these last failing years of my life, I'm willing to hand myself over to His care."

Rowena at times could hardly believe that this was Mrs. Burke who was speaking. She had never thought the change in her life could come so quietly and gently.

But it was the fact, and before very long Mrs. Burke was able to say, with a happy shining face, that she believed she was forgiven and received back within the fold.

Rowena loved this quiet time of convalescence. She devoted herself to the invalid, and though her thoughts were often in the Highlands, she was content and happy to be where she was.

She knew that the purpose of her stay with Mrs. Burke had now been most wonderfully fulfilled.