Dennis, too, soon noticed that she came often, and the fact awakened a faint hope within him. He learned that his love was not dead, but only chilled and chained by circ.u.mstances and his own strong will.
True, apart from the fact of her coming, she gave him no encouragement.
She was as distant and seemingly oblivious of his existence as he of hers, but love can gather hope from a marvellously little thing.
But one day Christine detected her father watching her movements with the keenest scrutiny, and after that she came more and more rarely.
The hope that for a moment had tinged the darkness surrounding Dennis died away like the meteor"s transient light.
He went into society very little after his illness, and shunned large companies. He preferred to spend his evenings with his mother and in study. The Winthrops were gone, having removed to their old home in Boston, and he had not formed very intimate acquaintances elsewhere.
Moreover, his limited circle, though of the best and most refined, was not one in which Christine often appeared.
But one evening his cheek paled and his heart fluttered as he saw her entering the parlors of a lady by whom he had been invited to meet a few friends. For some little time he studiously avoided her, but at last his hostess, with well-meant zeal, formally presented him.
They bowed very politely and very coldly. The lady surmised that Christine did not care about the acquaintance of her father"s clerk, and so brought them no more together. But Christine was pained by Dennis"s icy manner, and saw that she was thoroughly misunderstood.
When asked to sing, she chose a rather significant ditty:
"Ripple, sparkle, rapid stream, Let your dancing wavelets gleam Quiveringly and bright; Children think the surface glow Reaches to the depth below, Hidden from the light.
"Human faces often seem Like the sparkle of the stream, In the social glare; Some a.s.sert, in wisdom"s guise, (Look they not with children"s eyes?) All is surface there."
As she rose from the piano her glance met his with something like meaning in it, he imagined. He started, flushed, and his face became full of eager questioning. But her father was on the watch also, and, placing his daughter"s hand within his arm, he led her into the front parlor, and soon after they pleaded another engagement and vanished altogether.
No chance for explanation came, and soon a new and all-absorbing anxiety filled Dennis"s heart, and the shadow of the greatest sorrow that he had yet experienced daily drew nearer.
CHAPTER x.x.xVIII
THE GATES OPEN
At Dennis"s request, Dr. Arten called and carefully inquired into Mrs.
Fleet"s symptoms. Her son stood anxiously by awaiting the result of the examination. At last the physician said, cheerily: "There is no immediate occasion for alarm here. I am sorry to say that your mother"s lungs are far from strong, but they may carry her through many comfortable years yet. I will prescribe tonics, and you may hope for the best. But mark this well, she must avoid exposure. A severe cold might be most serious in its consequences."
How easy to say, "Do not take cold!" How many whose lives were at stake have sought to obey the warning, but all in vain! Under Dr. Arten"s tonics, Mrs. Fleet grew stronger, and Dennis rejoiced over the improvement. But, in one of the sudden changes attendant on the breaking up of winter, the dreaded cold was taken, and it soon developed into acute pneumonia.
For a few days she was very ill, and Dennis never left her side. In the intervals of pain and fever she would smile at him and whisper: "The harbor is near. This rough weather cannot last much longer."
"Mother, do not leave us; we cannot spare you," ever pleaded her son.
Contrary to her expectations, however, she rallied, but continued in a very feeble state. Dennis was able to resume his duties in the store, and he hoped and tried to believe that the warm spring and summer days soon to come would renew his mother"s strength. But every day she grew feebler, and Dr. Arten shook his head.
The Bruders were very kind, and it was astonishing how much Mrs. Bruder, though burdened with her large family, found time to do. If Mrs. Fleet had been her own mother she could not have bestowed upon her more loving solicitude. Mr. Bruder was devotion itself. He removed his easel to an attic-room in Mrs. Fleet"s house; and every hour of Dennis"s absence heard him say: "Vat I do for you now? I feel no goot unless I do someding."
Some little time after Mrs. Fleet was taken sick a mystery arose. The most exquisite flowers and fruits were left at the house from time to time, marked in a bold, manly hand, "For Mrs. Fleet." But all efforts to discover their source failed.
The reader will guess that Christine was the donor, and Dennis hoped it--though, he admitted to himself, with little reason.
Mrs. Fleet had not much pain. She seemed gently wafted as by an ebbing tide away from time and earth, Kindly but firmly she sought to prepare Dennis"s mind for the change soon to take place. At first he could not endure its mention, but she said, earnestly: "My son, I am not dying.
I am just entering on the true, real, eternal life--a life which is as much beyond this poor feeble existence as the sun is brighter than a glow-worm. I shall soon clasp my dear husband to my heart again, and, oh, ecstasy! I shall soon in reality see the Saviour whom I now see almost continually in vision."
Then again she would turn toward her earthly treasures with unutterable yearning and tenderness.
"Oh, that I could gather you up in my arms and take you all with me!"
she would often exclaim. Many times during the day she would call the little girls from their play and kiss their wondering faces.
One evening Dennis came home and found a vase of flowers with a green background of mint at his mother"s bedside. Their delicate fragrance greeted him as soon as he entered. As he sat by her side holding her hand, he said, softly: "Mother, are not these sprays of mint rather unusual in a bouquet? Has the plant any special meaning? I have noticed it before mingled with these mysterious flowers."
She smiled and answered, "When I was a girl its language was, "Let us be friends again.""
"Do you think--can it be possible that _she_ sends them?" said he, in a low, hesitating tone.
"Prayer is mighty, my son."
"And have you been praying for her all this time, mother?"
"Yes, and will continue to do so to the last."
"Oh, mother! I have lost hope. My heart has been full of bitterness toward her, and I have felt that G.o.d was against it all."
"G.o.d is not against her learning to know Him, which is life. Jesus has loved her all the time, and she has wronged Him more than she has you."
Dennis bowed his head on his mother"s hand, and she felt hot tears fall upon it. At last he murmured: "You are indeed going to heaven soon, dear mother, for your language is not of earth. When will such a spirit dwell within me?"
"Again remember your mother"s words," she answered, gently; "prayer is mighty."
"Mother," said he, with a sudden earnestness, "do you think you can pray for us in heaven?"
"I know of no reason to the contrary."
"Then I know you will, and the belief will ever be a source of hope and strength."
Mrs. Fleet was now pa.s.sing through the land of Beulah. To her strong spiritual vision, the glories of the other sh.o.r.e seemed present, and at times she thought that she really heard music; again it would seem as if her Saviour had entered the plain little room, as He did the humble home at Bethany.
Her thoughts ran much on Christine. One day she wrote, feebly:
"Would Miss Ludolph be willing to come and see a dying woman?
ETHEL FLEET."
Mr. Bruder carried it, but most unfortunately Christine was out, so that her maid, ever on the alert to earn the price of her treachery, received it. It was slightly sealed. She opened it, and saw from its contents that it must be given to Mr. Ludolph. He with a frown committed it to the flames.
"I have written to her," she whispered to her son in the evening, "and think she will come to see me."
Dennis was sleepless that night, through his hope and eager expectation.
The following day, and the next pa.s.sed, and she came not.
"I was right," exclaimed he, bitterly. "She is utterly heartless. It was not she who sent the flowers. Who that is human would have refused such a request! Waste no more thought upon her, for she is unworthy, and it is all in vain." "No!" said Mrs. Fleet in sudden energy. "It is not in vain. Have I not prayed again and again? and shall I doubt G.o.d?"
"Your faith is stronger than mine," he answered, in deep despondency.