It was for the father"s kiss and blessing now.
"They look life-like," he said. "You will keep them. Now mind me.
Charge _her_ never to think of them as children of sorrow, but of joy. She will remember how nearly you were called Theodore, Felix.
Take him as G.o.d"s gift and mine--may he be a son of your right hand to you."
The boy did take the babe, and with a deep resolve in his heart, that his duty to these helpless ones should be his first thought on earth.
He did not speak it, but his father saw the steadfast wistful gaze, and it was enough.
Alda ventured to ask, "Is Eudora a gift too, Papa?"
"Yes. A happy gift. For so she is! Let her be a little Epiphany Star to you all! Tell Mother that I call them a double joy, a double comfort! Poor little maid!" and he kissed her again, "will no one welcome her, but the father who is leaving her?"
"O Papa! You know how we will love them," sobbed Wilmet.
"I think I do, my dear;" and he smoothed the glossy hair; but with love comes joy, you know."
"It is very hard now," broke from the poor girl.
"Very, he said tenderly; "but it will if you make the burthen a blessing--the cross a crutch--eh, my Cherry? Now, a kiss and go, I am tired."
He was tired, but not apparently worse.
Edgar and his three juniors started off directly after church in quest of ice where they might behold skating, and practise sliding; and Wilmet, with a view to quiet, actually ventured on the extravagance of providing them with a shilling, that they might forage for themselves, instead of coming home to dinner.
She regretted Edgar"s absence, however, for when Mr. Bevan came in to hold the Epiphany Feast in the sick chamber, her father asked for Edgar and Geraldine, and looked disappointed that the boy was gone.
But he murmured, "Maybe it is best!" and when the little girl came in, flushed and awe-struck, he took her hand, and said, "May not I have this little one--my last pupil--to share the feast with me?
Willing and desirous," he smiled as he held her, and she coloured intensely, with tears in her eyes.
There could be no denial, and his judgment at such a moment could only be accepted by the Rector; and the child herself durst not say one word of her alarm and awe. Papa knew. And never could she forget that he held her hand all the time that she leant--for she could not kneel--by his bed. Her elder brother and sisters were there too, and he kissed and blessed each tenderly afterwards, and Sister Constance too knelt and asked his blessing. Then he thanked Mr. Bevan warmly, and called it a most true day of brightness. They heard him whispering to himself, "Arise, shine, for thy Light is come;" and the peaceful enjoyment seemed so to soothe him, that he was not, as usual, eager to get up.
It was only towards the early dusk that a restlessness came on, and an increase of the distress and oppression of breath, which he thought might be more bearable in his chair; and Mr. Audley, who had just come in, began with Felix to dress him, and prepare to move him.
But just as they were helping him towards the chair, there was a sort of choke, a gasping struggle, his head fell on Felix"s shoulder, the boy in terror managed to stretch out a hand and rang the bell; but in that second felt that there was a strange convulsive shudder, and--
"Felix!" Mr. Audley"s low voice sounded strange and far, away. "I do believe--"
The figure was entirely p.r.o.ne as they lifted it back to the bed. They needed not the exclamation of Sibby to reveal the truth. It was only an exclamation, it would have been a shriek if Felix had not grasped her wrist with a peremptory grasp. But that bell had been enough; there had been a sound of dismay in the very tinkle, and Sister Constance was in the doorway.
"Felix," she said, understanding all, "you must go to her. She heard- --she is calling you. You cannot conceal it; be as quick and quiet as you can," she added, as the stunned boy went past her, only hearing, and that as through a tempest, the feeble voice calling his name. He stood by the bedside; his mother looked into his white face, and held out her hands; then as he bent down, clasped both round his neck. "He trusted you," she said.
He sank on his knees as she relaxed her grasp, and hid her head beneath the clothes. A few holy words of commendation of the soul departed sounded from the other room; then at Sister Constance"s touch of his hand, he quitted the room.
Presently after, Felix was sitting in the large arm-chair in the dining-room, with his sister Geraldine on his lap, his arms round her, her arms tightly clasped round his neck, her hair hanging loosely down over his shoulder, her head against him, his face over her, as he rocked himself backwards and forwards with her, each straining the other closer, as though the mechanical action and motion could allay the pain. The table was all over baby-things, which numerous neighbours had sent in on the first news of the twins that morning, and which the girls had been inspecting; but no one-- nothing else was to be seen when Mr. Thomas Underwood, on his way from the station, finding his knock unheard, and the door ajar, found his way to the room.
"What is this? How is your father?"
Felix raised his face, still deeply flushed, and rising, placed his sister in the chair.
"What, worse! You don"t say so," said Mr. Underwood, advancing.
"He is gone!" said Felix, steadily, but in an unnatural voice. "Quite suddenly. Not very long ago," he began, but he felt unable to guess for what s.p.a.ce of time he had been rocking Cherry there.
"Dead! Edward Underwood! Bless me!" said Mr. Underwood, taking off his hat, pa.s.sing his hand over his forehead, and standing horror- struck. "I had no idea! You never sent over to say he was worse."
"He was not; it came on just now," said Felix, holding by the mantelpiece.
He groaned. "Poor Edward! Well," and he was forced to put his handkerchief to his eyes. He spoke more gently after that. "Well, this is a sudden thing, but better than lingering on. Your poor mother, would she like to see me?"
"She was confined last night."
Bless me! bless me! What a state of things! Have you got any one to be with you?"
"Yes; a lady from Dearport," said Felix.
"Humph? Which are you? not my boy?"
"No, I am Felix. O poor Edgar!" he added, still bewildered.
It was at this moment that trampling steps were heard, making Felix spring forward with an instinct to silence them; but the threshold the sight of his face brought conviction to Edgar, and with a loud uncontrollable cry, tired and hungry as he was, he seemed to collapse into his brother"s arms, and fainted away.
"_My_ poor boy!" exclaimed his cousin, coming to Felix"s help, and himself lifting Edgar to the sofa. Of the other boys, Clement ran for water, Fulbert rushed out of sight, and Lancelot laid his head on a chair choking with tears.
Felix and Clement were, poor children! used enough to illness to attend to their brother with a collectedness that amazed their cousin; and without calling for help, Edgar came shuddering and trembling to himself, and then burst into silent but agonising sobs, very painful to witness. He was always--boy as he was--the most easily and entirely overthrown by anything that affected him strongly; and Mr. Thomas Underwood was so much struck and touched by his exceeding grief, especially now that he looked on him as his own property, that after putting in some disjointed sentences of "There-- there--You"ll always have a father in me--Don"t, my boy--I tell you, you are my son now,"--which to Felix"s mind made it more intolerable, he said, "I"ll take him home now--it will be all the better for him and for every one, poor lad! So many--"
"The three younger ones were sent to Dearport yesterday," said Felix; "but Edgar--"
"To Dearport! Eh! To whom?"
"The Sisters," said Felix.
A gruff sound followed. "Come, come, my dear lad, "tis bad enough, but I"ll do my best to make up to you. It will be much the best way for you to come out of this," he added, glancing round the dreary fireless room, which his entrance had reminded Felix to darken.
"Thank you," began Felix, not in the least supposing Edgar could go; "but now--"
"It is not like a stranger," added his relation. "Be a sensible lad.
One out of the way is something under the circ.u.mstances. Stay--whom can I see? I will give orders for you," he added.
"Mr. Audley and Sister Constance are seeing about things, thank you,"
said Felix. "I"ll fetch Mr. Audley," he added, as another trying grunt at the other name fell on his ear, and he put his arm round Geraldine, and helped her away.
Mr. Audley came, having just parted with the doctor, who had explained the sudden termination as what he had of late not thought improbable, and further shown that it had been most merciful, since there might otherwise have been weeks, if not months, of much severer suffering. He had just looked in at the wife, but she had hardly noticed him, and he saw no dangerous symptoms about her, except an almost torpid calmness.
Mr. Thomas Underwood saw Mr. Bevan, and made it clearly understood that he made himself responsible for all expenses, including mourning for the whole family. He even offered to have the funeral at Vale Leston, "if it were only to shame Fulbert Underwood;" but the wife was in no state to be asked, and the children shrank from the removal, so it was decided that Edward Underwood should sleep among those for whom he had spent his life, and where his children"s lot for the present would be cast.
The cousin carried Edgar back to Centry with him; the boy seemed too unhappy not to be restless, and as if he were ready to do anything to leave his misery behind him.
The others remained with their preparations, and with such consolation as the exceeding sympathy and kindness of the whole town could afford them. Their mother remained in the same state, except when roused by an effort; and then there was an attention and presence of mind about her that gave anxiety lest excitement should be bringing feverishness, but she always fell back into her usual state of silence, such that it could be hardly told whether it were torpid or not.
They looked out that half-finished comment on the Epistle to the Philippians. It stopped at the words--"Yea, and if I be offered upon the sacrifice and service of your faith, I joy, and rejoice with you all."