CHAPTER XLIV.
A SHORT DRIVE.
THEY walked down the hill together, Otto looking out for a cab, but saying very little.
"At last I can talk to you!" he exclaimed when they were seated. "Gertrude! I have accepted Dr. Blank's offer, and I am to go abroad for a year with his patient!"
"It will do you good, Otto—you have been overworking for a long time."
"I could not help that—it was so important for me to make the most of my time. But, Gertrude, he holds out a hope for my future which has made all the difference to me. But the greatest difficulty is, you said you did not care to live in London—?"
"But that makes no difference to your plans, Otto, unless you meant that you wanted mother to come—"
"I don't want mother! I want you. Of course it makes all the difference in the world. You know that well enough."
Gertrude was silent. How could she answer such words?
"What is the plan?" she asked, after a pause.
"Dr. Blank thinks he will have work for me to help him with, while I complete my medical studies. I told him—Gertrude, I told him that there was a certain dear girl whom I loved with all my heart, and that my great object was to make a home for her. He bid me work and hope."
"That is always best," said Gertrude, with a little smile.
"Do you bid me work and hope?"
"Certainly I do, Otto. Have I not always?"
"Then at the end of the year (for he pays me well, Gertrude), if I can find a house, can you bear to come right into the heart of London and make a very small beginning with me?"
"I never guessed you wanted that!" she said, turning her eyes towards his face. "Otto, do you really mean what you have said?"
"I have meant it for years! At first I thought I must not, and put it away. But lately I found that it was a great blessing and a great gift, one I could not dismiss unless I ought. There is no ought about it, is there? Gertrude, you knew all this long ago!"
Whether she had guessed it or not, it was very different to hear him saying it all. But the cab was nearing her sister's hotel, and there was one thing she did want to tell him, if she could say nothing else.
"You must not think—oh, Otto, never think for one moment that living in London would be any trial to me if—"
"Go on, Gertrude—if what?"
"If you wanted me to."
"Ah! Do I not? But you knew that, when you said what you did the other day."
Gertrude shook her head.
"It was what you said then that made me dare to accept Dr. Blank's offer."
The cab had almost reached the hotel. In a moment it drew up abruptly.
Otto sprang out; he handed her from their humble conveyance, and led her straight up to her sister's room.
Gertrude felt once more as if all were a dream, all but Otto's hand, which did not let hers go till he had brought her right into her sister's presence, announcing, in a voice that was full of joy—
"Rose! I've brought her. And though we have not had time to say a quarter of the things we would, yet she has promised to be my wife, and come and make me happy when I come home next year!"
Of course Rose looked very glad too. And for a few minutes, Gertrude could do nothing but bend over little Lester, hiding her hot cheeks against his curls, while Otto and Rose and Fritz exchanged congratulations.
Then Rose came over to where she sat, and knelt down by her and Lester.
"How does he look?" she asked yearningly, laying her hand on her child's.
Gertrude was gazing in his little face.
"I think he looks decidedly less frail than two days ago. Not so pinched and weary."
"That is what 'I' said!" exclaimed Rose joyfully. "Fritz was afraid it was my fancy."
The child lay on the sofa with a light shawl thrown over him, his eyes open and turning to watch them as they moved about, but without any recognition in them.
"When he knows me," said Rose softly, "I shall begin to hope—really."
"Ah! You hope now, little mother," said Fritz tenderly. "Hope? Why if I had as much faith in some things as you have in Lester's knowing you by and by, I should be on the high-road to being all you want me to be!"
He spoke lightly, covering an earnest thought beneath his jest.
"I have faith in both," said Rose, looking up, "or rather, I have faith in God about you both."
They all knew that she spoke truly. But what seemed such a very simple matter to some people was an insurmountable difficulty to Fritz.
"I can't make myself a Christian," he thought. And forgot that Rose had often responded,—
"No, dear Fritz, but He says, 'Him that cometh unto Me, I will in no wise cast out.' You have not tried to come yet."
CHAPTER XLV.
TILL WEDNESDAY.
"WE only wanted to see you before we went home," said Rose, when Gertrude, having taken off her hat, had settled herself into one of the luxurious arm-chairs, with Lester on her lap. "I am very anxious to get home, to say nothing of telling all to dear mother."
"I shall see them off to-morrow morning, and then go down to Dr. Blank's country house," said Otto. "He says I am to be introduced to the invalid boy, and am to spend Sunday with them."
"Them?" echoed Gertrude.
"I did not tell you that it is his brother and sister who are going for this long sailing voyage, for the sake of their only son, who is heir to their fortune."
"And what will you have to do with the boy?"
"He needs constant care and watching, and yet bright companionship. I don't know that I shall suit in that latter respect. Perhaps I shall now."
He smiled archly at Gertrude, but went on with his explanations, which were intensely interesting to her, as she had heard hardly anything that day at Kensington.
"Then, when I have spent a year in going round the world, he says I am to come back and finish my studies. He says I shall have a good deal of time on board ship, for the boy's parents take his education upon themselves, and take infinite pains with him."
"Is he mentally afflicted, then?" asked Gertrude.
"It is of that nature; he is improving, and they have hopes that he will be quite restored eventually."
"How sad it must be for them!" said Gertrude.
"Yes, very. They do little else than go about with him from place to place. But they have boundless confidence in Dr. Blank."
"No one who has been to him for advice could feel anything else," said Rose. "Gertrude, I should like you to have seen how he took to Otto from the first. His eyes seem to see everything."
"Did he give any reason for his fancy?" asked Gertrude.
"Only his treatment of little Lester. He said directly he saw his way with Lester, he knew that he was worth training in his special branch of the profession. Fritz says Otto's fortune is made."
"It was made to-day," said Otto, smiling; at which all the others could not help smiling too.
"When do they sail?" asked Gertrude, partly because she was very desirous of knowing, and partly to turn the subject.
"Ah," said Otto, "I have not told you that! The fact is, I can hardly bear to think of it. Yet it must be said."
"And it is—" said Gertrude, while her heart sank at the long parting. Her life had seemed nothing but partings lately.
"On Wednesday."
"We can bear it!" she said, looking up. "We have so much now."
Otto did not answer. He had turned to the window, but after a moment he came back.
"When must you go, dear Gertrude?"
"I ought to be at home by seven, I thought. They did not name a time, but as Mrs. Shaddock is ill, and little Randall very poorly too—"
"And shall I be able to see you again? Gertrude, do not shake your head—surely when they hear all they will spare you?"
"They have been so kind already," said Gertrude, "but, Otto—"
"No 'buts,'" said Otto. "I must call on Mr. Shaddock on Monday before I go down to Lanriffe to get some of my belongings. I shall ask him to allow you to come to Gravesend to see us off."
"I can ask—" said Gertrude, hesitating. Her wishes pulled her one way, her objection to be further troublesome another.
"That will be best," said Fritz, turning to Otto. "Nobody with any consideration would refuse such a request as that. A whole year!"
The afternoon passed all too quickly. Gertrude sat and caressed little Lester, feeling as if she could never part with him. Rose hovered over the two as if too full of joy and sympathy to say much. Fritz paced up and down the room watching them all, and joining in whatever was said. Otto sat near Gertrude, content to be in her company, and to hear her talk to her sister.
At six o'clock, Gertrude said she must go, and Otto prepared to accompany her to Hampstead.
Rose did not know how to part from her. She clung to her and whispered words of thanks and blessing, for had not Gertrude been the means of restoring her child?
"Look here, sister Gertrude," said Fritz, taking her hand, when at last she really was going. "You tell those people that Rose and I want you with Lester! Rose will have to have somebody to be out all day with him, why not you? She will slave herself to death else. You tell them so, and come home to us! I never thought of it before!"
"And you must not now, dear Fritz," she answered gratefully, "indeed you must not. I could not leave them with my work half done. It is bad enough to think of only a year."
"Well, that you will have to tell them," interposed Otto.
"Yes," she said, "but not the other. I must stay with them a year, at any rate, if they want me. I have Randall to win yet!"
An hour after, Gertrude walked into the house, having said good-bye to Otto; good-bye till the Wednesday which he assured her he should arrange for, and then a long good-bye such as they did not like to think of.
CHAPTER XLVI.
NURSE'S PLAN.
GERTRUDE stood within the threshold.
She heard Conway's voice speaking in a hushed tone on the stairs, she saw Mollie's skirts at the corner, and heard her reply In the same awed way, and then both turned and saw her, and came quickly down to her.
"Miss Ashlyn!" Mollie whispered. "Mother has been so dreadfully ill all the afternoon, and we have been obliged to send for the doctor. And now he has come it is worse still, because he has seen Randall, and he says he has the scarlet fever."
"What?" asked Gertrude in a startled tone, but she had heard well enough.
"Yes," added Conway; "is it not dreadful? Father is not yet home, and we are not to even tell mother, her heart is in such a weak state—and Dr. Forde says either Randall must be taken somewhere to be nursed, or we must all go away from home."
They had mechanically moved into the dining-room, and stood round the end of the table looking at each other.
"Nurse says," pursued Ned, who was sitting with his lessons in his hand, "that if she could leave mother, she would take him somewhere. But then she cannot, or mother might die, and besides, we don't know of any place. And it must be done in a hurry, that is the worst of it."
"Where is Randall?" asked Gertrude.
"He is in the nursery at the top. Nurse would not have him put to bed till you came, because she wanted to consult you about a plan she has thought of."
"I will go to her, then. Is she up there?"
"Yes—but do not go in, Miss Ashlyn; call nurse outside."
"Very well, but somebody must go in, you know."
She ran up-stairs, and tapped lightly at the closed door.
Nurse came out at once.
"Oh, Miss Ashlyn!" she said in a low voice. "We are in trouble, and no mistake. If his mother could be asked—but the doctor absolutely forbids that. I have thought of one way out of it, but I hardly dare ask such a thing. Have you ever had it, miss?"
"When a child, I believe I did."
That was not the thing that nurse hardly dared ask.
"Miss Ashlyn—if we could find a house—a cottage—or an empty house near where they would take him in, could you go with him there? I know his parents would not hear of a hospital, and I have heard of such things being done, if I only knew where—"
"You want me to find such a place and take him—to-night?"
"That is the only thing I could think of," apologized nurse. "I would go in a minute, but I should never forgive myself if my doing so caused his mother's death. The doctor says the slightest alarm might be fatal in her present state."
Gertrude felt stunned, while nurse could do nothing but gaze anxiously in her face. How little she knew all that was passing in her mind!
"May I have five minutes to consider it?" asked Gertrude, feeling as if all the world were turning round.
She went to her room and shut the door.
Slowly, with her hands pressing her forehead till it ached with the pressure, she knelt down by the side of her bed.
She could not pray; she could only think of the five minutes at her disposal for her decision, and the numberless things which she must decide.
Wednesday! Where would be her promise to Otto to come down to Gravesend to bid him farewell? If she were established as sole nurse to little Randall, she would not be able to leave him to go to Gravesend?
And even if she could leave him, how about carrying a chance of infection to that out-bound vessel, which would contain so many precious lives? How about carrying infection to that only boy whose life was so infinitely precious to his parents? That boy whom Otto had already undertaken to guard and cherish to the best of his ability?
And then, supposing she could undergo the sacrifice of not seeing Otto again, for whom was this sacrifice to be made? For Randall, whom in that moment of anguish she acknowledged as having almost regarded as her enemy!
"I cannot do it," she moaned. "I cannot—it is too hard, too much. Oh, how could nurse ask it?"
And then amidst her tears she bethought herself of praying.
"Lord, what wilt 'Thou' have me to do?" she whispered.
If she could have asked any one's advice! If Otto could be consulted! If he should bid her do it, would she not gladly, cheerfully?
"Lord, what wilt 'Thou' have me to do?"
Then she gave up all her questioning, all her disappointment, all her anxiety into His hands, and as she knelt, a wonderful peace stole over her.
"If thine enemy—" Gertrude started at the word. Surely, surely, it could not be that she was cherishing such a thought! "'If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink.'"
"O my Lord," she whispered, "I will do whatever Thou dost point out! Thou knowest best, only let me have Thee with me, whatever it is, and wherever I am!"
She rose from her knees, and with the tears still wet on her face, she went back to nurse.
At her soft knock nurse came back, looking intently in her face.
"If his father wishes it, I will do it. I believe I know a house to which I could take him at once."
CHAPTER XLVII.
THE STRANGE HOUSE AGAIN.
"WHAT does she say?" asked Conway, coming to the foot of the stairs as Gertrude came down.
"Will you come with me, Conway? I have a question to ask before I can propose nurse's plan to your father."
She moved to the front door.
"Now?" asked Conway.
"Yes; it will not take us long."
They went out into the darkness, and Gertrude turned towards the Strange House at once.
"Here?" asked Conway, utter astonishment in his tone.
"Yes; I believe Mrs. Swift will help us."
Mrs. Swift came at once to the door, and, without noticing Conway in the dark, she exclaimed the moment she saw Gertrude—
"Oh, miss! Such a wonderful thing! My husband has seen a doctor, miss, and he has told me what to do. It's bronchitis, miss; that's what it is!"
"I am very glad you were able to prevail upon him—"
"It was like this, miss. There was a doctor's carriage going up and down for ever so long this afternoon, and I watched it till I felt nearly frantic. Then I thought, dear miss, of what you had said about my Mighty Helper, and I did ask Him to make it all plain. Then I went straight to my husband, and told him there was a doctor outside, and might I call him in?"
"I am so glad—"
"He was awfully bad just then, and he said yes; so I told the coachman, and presently in he came."
"I am truly glad," said Gertrude again; "I hope he will soon be much better."
"I can never thank you, miss, for all you have done for me. As I have been helped so much in this, I shall go on to other things."
"Yes," said Gertrude, thinking of the words which often ran through her mind, "Because Thou hast been my help, therefore under the shadow of Thy wings will I rejoice." "Yes, indeed, you will find it so over and over."
"It is kind of you to come in, miss—"
"I did not come just now for kindness," said Gertrude, feeling that her words were binding her at once to the plan which involved her imprisonment for weeks, "but to ask a great favour."
"A favour of 'me,' miss?"
Then Gertrude briefly explained the case, and made her request, which was, supposing of course that Mr. Shaddock approved the plan when he heard it, that Mrs. Swift should lend them two rooms in which to nurse little Randall, and help her by cleaning and cooking for her, and by communicating with the outward world for her.
Mrs. Swift ran to ask her husband, and in a few minutes came back with her reply.
And when she was gone, Conway drew nearer Gertrude, and said in a low tone—
"Miss Ashlyn, I should like to shake hands. I do declare it is the kindest thing I ever heard. And considering my mother's state, and that all of us should have to turn out, nobody knows where, it is an admirable idea. But it is asking a great deal of you!" He held out his hand and shook hers warmly. "I feel I have not behaved to you as I should—not been right down jolly, you know."
Gertrude understood, but she only said, "Thank you, Conway," very softly. Her heart was very full; for what would Otto feel when he realized that they should not be able to say good-bye?
Mrs. Swift returned and brought an earnest consent with her. "My husband said, 'If we can do anything for the young lady that has been such a comfort to you, let us do it by all means.'"
So Gertrude and Conway went back.
"I wonder if your father will be at home yet?" she said as they entered their own garden.
As they mounted the steps, a figure stood there holding a beautiful bunch of flowers.
"Gertrude!" said a voice.
"Otto!" she responded.
"I got half-way home, and then I saw these flowers, and I felt as if I must bring them to you. I did not intend to come in."
"This is Conway," said Gertrude, introducing him, "of whom you have heard. I have come home to find great trouble. I must not ask you in, but—"
"I will leave you to speak to your friend," said Conway as the door opened. "Mr. Leigh, we are in sad trouble; my little brother has scarlet fever, and we dare not ask you in. Miss Ashlyn has been a brick, and has proposed—But she will tell you."
And so what Gertrude had dreaded above all things—the fear of grieving Otto, and letting him go forth on that long voyage without a farewell—never came to pass!
In the few minutes in which they stood on the doorstep, he gave his entire sanction to her plan. And, while making light of his disappointment at not seeing her again, so strengthened her in what both felt was right that she saw him finally walk away with a brave heart.
And as she carried her bunch of flowers to her own room, she could only remember his brave, cheery words as he parted from her: "Gertrude, we have every reason to trust our Father!"
CHAPTER XLVIII.
RANDALL'S REQUEST.
ON the first landing, Gertrude met Mr. Shaddock.
"I have seen Conway, and he has explained all about it," he said in a low tone. "And now nurse says the greatest thing is to get him out of the house as quickly as possible—because of the others."
"Yes," assented Gertrude; "I will collect a few of my things, and then we will go. How shall we get him carried across to the other house?"
"I can do that," said his father. "How long shall you be? Miss Ashlyn, I cannot express all I feel for your self-denying kindness. If it were not for my wife, I would not permit it. But if she were to miss all the children, or even nurse, I do not know what would be the consequence."
"I quite understand all that," said Gertrude, "and indeed I am glad to be able to help you."
For an instant her voice trembled; she thought of herself banished from all she loved, shut up with one who would rather have dispensed with her help or company. But it was only for a moment.
Otto's words came back with a sense of strength. "It is quite right," he had said.
And, remembering this, she had looked up once more.
"I shall not be much more than five minutes. Will you tell nurse so, and ask her to get Randall ready?"
In less than half an hour a heavy bundle, muffled in a blanket, was carried down-stairs. And then the door of the Strange House opened, and Mr. Shaddock deposited his little son on the horsehair sofa in the kitchen, and turned to look into Mrs. Swift's face.
"I have not done as much as I could have wished," she said, addressing Gertrude, "but the dear little boy's bed is ready, and I have lighted a fire up there. Dear miss, I will make you as comfortable as I can."
Gertrude held out her hand to Mr. Shaddock.
"Perhaps you had better not stay," she said, "because of the others. I will take all the care of him that I can, and be as kind to him as—as you were to our little Lester."
"I am sure you will," said Mr. Shaddock huskily. "I will send the doctor in, in the morning, and will speak to you, Miss Ashlyn, in the garden every morning and evening."
With a farewell touch on the head to his little son, and a smothered "God bless you," he turned away at last, and Gertrude was left in charge.
She and Mrs. Swift lifted poor little Randall to his room, and then they set about making him comfortable, unpacking nurse's thoughtfully-prepared basket, and arranging all things so that he might miss home comforts as little as possible.
He was very tired and miserable, and rolled himself up under the bedclothes directly, and would not respond to their questions. But when Mrs. Swift had gone out to get some necessary supplies, he opened his eyes, and seeing Gertrude's lovely bunch of flowers upon the table, said slowly—
"Where did those come from?"
"From a friend."
"Who?"
"Mr. Leigh."
"Oh!"
"Do you like them?"
She got up to put them near enough for him to smell them.
"Are they for me?" he asked.
"You and I can enjoy them together."
"I would rather they were mine. Can't I have them?"
"Can you not share them with me?"
He shook his head. "I hate sharing," he said irritably, closing his eyes.
Gertrude's heart smote her. Did she hate sharing? Why did she mind Randall having her flowers?
And then she thought of him as of one of the "little children" whom her blessed Saviour would call to His arms and bless. Could she grudge giving anything to one whom He would bless?
But Randall seemed to sleep, and she sat in silence by him, thinking and praying, seeing herself in a light in which she had never seen herself before—she saw herself selfish!
Would Randall never wake? How long would that heavy, restless sleep last?
Then she heard a carriage drive up. And in a minute a bell rang, and she remembered, with a start, that she had promised to answer the door while Mrs. Swift was out.
"Mr. Shaddock directed me here to see his little boy," said a gentleman, whom Gertrude rightly guessed was the doctor. She led the way up-stairs, and was thankful to receive all the necessary instructions, and to know exactly what to do.
"I am to look in twice a day," he said on leaving, "and you need not feel that the anxiety rests on you, Miss Ashlyn. You are doing these people a great service, and you will be happy, I trust, in feeling that."
He went rapidly down-stairs, and Gertrude felt that a load had been lifted from her shoulders.
"How kind my dear Lord is to me!" she thought. "I felt as if I could hardly bear the anticipation of this long night, and now it seems quite different."
Randall had been roused by the doctor's visit, and lay looking at Gertrude in silence.
"I wish I were in my nursery," he said at length.
Gertrude rose, and brought the flowers and put them on a chair close to his pillow. He looked at them without speaking.
"They are for you, dear!" she said very quietly.
"For my very own?"
"For your very own!" she answered.
And while he gave a little smile of pleasure, Gertrude felt that she had given away Otto's last gift!
CHAPTER XLIX.
WEDNESDAY.
THEN followed weary oppressed days for the little invalid, in which Gertrude watched and tended him with untiring patience.
Four very slow days, during which she knew that Otto was near, and must be making his hasty preparations for his long journey.
He and she had decided that no communication whatever must pass from her to him, because of the nature of the illness from which Randall was suffering, as well as the nature of the case which Otto was taking up.
"If my boy took it, or any one had it on board, I should hardly be able to forgive myself," he had said, "so we will run no risk whatever. I can write to you every day; that will be my only comfort."
"And I shall not have that comfort," she had answered sadly, "because I can send no letter to you!"
Each morning Mr. Shaddock brought messages and dainty food from the next house, meeting Gertrude in the garden and hearing all particulars of his little son.
"My wife keeps on asking for Randall, but I have told her that he has an infectious complaint, but is under your care, and that the doctor sees him twice every day."
"That is the greatest comfort," said Gertrude.
Wednesday came at last, and with the postman another bunch of flowers and a good-bye letter from Otto.
"I felt last night as if I must come and look at you through the window, but I am glad that I did not give way to it. I feel our duty is plain, and though it costs us a great deal, we will try to be happy in it."
Gertrude too was glad he had not come, though all that Tuesday she had hoped and feared alternately that he would.
Now the last chance was over, and he was gone!
She laid her head down on Randall's bed and wept her good-bye till she had no tears left.
The child had been very ill all night, and she and Mrs. Swift had shared the watch, each taking half the night. To-day, however, she fancied there was a change for the better, and she anxiously waited the doctor's arrival to hear her hopes confirmed.
She was just wiping away her tears, and was going to raise her head, when Randall's hot little hand was put out and touched her forehead.
"Miss Ashlyn."
"Yes, dear?"
"Where am I? Oh, I remember! Is it morning yet? May I get up?"
He tried to start up, but found himself too weak.
"My flowers are very fresh this morning," he said with a little smile, as he saw the new bunch just where the faded ones had stood.
"Are they not sweet?" she answered.
"Were you sorry you gave them to me?" he asked wistfully. "I think you've been crying."
"I was glad I gave them to you, dear. These are some fresh ones that Otto sent to me to-day, because he is gone away."
There was a pause. Randall lay looking at the flowers meditatively, but he did not ask for them.
"Where are the others?" he asked at last.
"I have thrown them away. I could not keep them after they were faded you know, dear, because of the scarlet fever."
He assented, adding, however, "Did they fade in one night?"
"You have been ill four nights, dear."
"Have I? Well, I thought it was a long time! Sometimes I saw you sitting there, and sometimes didn't know where I was. That was funny, wasn't it?"
"Very funny, but people do feel like that when they are ill."
"I s'pose they do. Then sometimes I felt very cross, Miss Ashlyn, and wished you would go away. But all the same, you seemed very kind to me, and did not turn cross, as I am sure anybody might."
"You see, I knew you were ill, and did not know what you did," she answered gently.
Again Randall was silent. He took his jelly, and bore her attentions as if used to them. But his eyes, which before had hardly seemed to recognize her, now were quietly looking in her face, with a look she had never seen in them before.
"Am I getting better?" he asked presently.
"I think you are, dear."
"I'm glad of that. I did not want to die."
"When the Lord Jesus is our Saviour, it does not matter whether we live or die," she responded. "If we live, it will be to try to please Him and be His; if we die, we shall be glad to go to Him: as glad, Randall, as a little tired child is to run to its mother's arms!"
"I'm very tired, I think," he answered, "and I wish I could run into my mother's arms!"
"I wish you could, dear," she answered, her eyes watering with sympathetic tears, "but though your dear mother cannot come to you because she is ill, the Lord Jesus is always near, and loves you so much, and will rest you so sweetly if you ask Him!"
"I have never asked Him anything. Hugh has, but I always thought Hugh was a baby."
"We cannot do without Jesus," said Gertrude earnestly, "and I would not—oh, for the world."
"I see that," answered Randal wearily, "and I'm sorry I called Hugh a cry-baby—very sorry."
"Oh, are you, dear? I am so glad."
"Glad?"
"Glad that you are sorry for it. Now, dear, you have talked quite enough. But just turn round on your pillow and rest your head on its cool softness, and say to yourself, 'Jesus loves Randall! He will rest me if I come to Him! Jesus loves me.'"
The child did not answer in words. He gave one glance at her, and then turned as she had advised, nestling his head into his pillow, as if weary and satisfied.
Whether he had taken the rest of her advice, she did not know. But from his deep peaceful sigh as he fell asleep, she thought he had.
After all, that was a happy Wednesday.
CHAPTER L.
IN THE CABINET.
MRS. SWIFT was sitting with Randall one morning while Gertrude went out for the constitutional which the doctor insisted on, and he had been chatting to her about all his affairs with great volubility, she listening, as she said to her husband afterwards, "with one ear," and meanwhile plying her needle and thinking her own thoughts as well.
"Where's Miss Ashlyn?" he asked at length.
"Out for a walk, or else she's gone in to see my husband."
"Is he better?" asked Randall, with interest.
"Yes!—a deal better. He's better every way since Miss Ashlyn came to see us."
"Then you are glad I've been ill here?"
"Very glad," answered Mrs. Swift heartily.
"So am I—"
Mrs. Swift looked up at him with surprise.
"Yes, I'm very glad," said Randall. "Do you know, all that time that my throat was so bad, she used to read to me out of her little Bible, or say a verse now and then, till it got right into my head. Wasn't that funny? Now I can't forget it, and I don't want to either."
"That is very nice, I'm sure, dear. What words was it that you can't forget?"
"I think she said them oftener than any others. Sometimes I'd sort of wake up, and there she would be feeding me with little bits of ice, and saying so softly, it didn't disturb me a bit, 'Him that cometh to Me, I will in no wise cast out.' I've never forgotten it, now I'm better."
"Those are beautiful words—she said them to me. Have you come to Jesus too, dear, and found He speaks true?"
Randall did not answer. His eyes shone, but the "yes" which he murmured was hardly audible.
"I made up my mind to tell her something yesterday," he said presently.
"Miss Ashlyn?"
"Yes,—I want to ask her something, and to tell her something too."
"She is coming up-stairs, now," said Mrs. Swift, rising to leave the room, "so I'll go down to my husband and repeat to him your text, dear! It's always best to pass on good things!"
Randall smiled, and as Gertrude entered, she caught the look.
"What is it?" she asked brightly.
"I want you to let me do something!"
"To get up to-day? You may if you like; the doctor has permitted it."
He shook his head. "It is not that," he said. "Only—I've got nobody but you here, and I want you to let me call you—Gertrude!"
She bent and kissed his forehead, answering softly, "If you love me enough to wish it, I will let you, gladly, Randall."
He put his two arms round her neck. "I do love you—now," he whispered.
She sat down by him, still holding his hand and stroking it softly.
"Do you love me—now?" he questioned with a comical little look which made her ready to laugh and cry both at once.
"Indeed, I do."
"You did not always? I don't wonder, because I was very nasty. But you didn't love me till lately, did you, Gertrude?"
How could she answer? How could she acknowledge that there was a time when this child had seemed almost an enemy? Still he was gazing in her face expecting a reply.
"I began loving you when I remembered how much Jesus loved you," she answered at length.
He pressed her hand in both his. "Ah, that was nice!" he murmured.
And Gertrude saw that the love of Jesus can bind together what else might never be bound, can make the crooked straight, and the rough places plain; so that each one of His loved ones may boast joyfully, "I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me."
Presently Randall started up with fresh energy.
"Gertrude! Oh, how kind you are to let me call you so! Gertrude, I'm going to tell you about the Museum that day."
"Are you, dear?"
A week ago the thought would have made her shiver. Now she rejoiced that she could think of it calmly, almost without pain.
"I didn't get lost—" began Randall.
"I knew that, dear."
"Did you? Why didn't you get me punished then? Well, I didn't get lost, I lost myself. When Mr. Leigh left me in the doorway to go to you, I waited till he was behind a big bit of furniture, and I just slipped into a corner, and when no one was looking, I got into one of the old cabinets! I could see you through the crack of the door searching about for me."
"Oh, Randall!"
Still he looked in her face with quiet eyes. "I did it on purpose to annoy you—I wasn't a bit sorry, I was very glad."
"But you are not now?" she said anxiously.
"Oh, no! Gertrude, you've been so very good to me that I ought to tell you what made me sorry. Shall I?"
Her eyes were answer enough.
"It was yesterday—at least I think I was rather sorry before—but when you told me to just say to myself, 'Jesus loves me,' all at once I thought, how could Jesus love such a naughty, wicked little boy? And then thought how kind He was not to cast out anybody, but to forgive them; and then I asked Him to forgive me; and after that I was so sorry—oh, so sorry for everything I have done wrong."
And as Gertrude kissed him again, she felt more glad than she could say. Her prayer had indeed been answered abundantly.