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Chapter X.

A mother is a mother still,
The holiest thing alive.

—Coleridge.

The first great mental excitement through which Flora and her sister had gone affected each of them differently. Lizzie speedily overcame the hysterical outburst which she could not control on first seeing Harry safe, and was able to give her cousin some assistance in attending to Flora. With the elder sister, however, the case was much different. She was of a highly-strung, nervous temperament, and the reaction on her after Harry was rescued from the water had produced unconsciousness. For some minutes she gave no sign of revival, then she slowly opened her eyes and stared abstractedly at her companions. No sign of recognition was at first apparent. Gazing wildly around her, she seemed to be looking into nothingness with a mind all a blank.

Silently the others watched her—-watched anxiously for a return of some evidence of intelligence to her face. Neither spoke to her or the other, but patiently allowing Nature to work her own cure, sat mute, their hearts beating high with hope and excitement. Then they saw Flora start up. Clutching wildly at Harry's arm, with eyes fixed and starting, she pointed nervously at some object in the water conjured up in her over-heated brain, and cried—

“Oh! save him, save him! See! he is sinking fast! Will nobody save him?”

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Then Flora covered her face with her hands as if to hide from her vision some dreadful event, and uttered shriek after shriek, until her feeble strength gave way, and she again relapsed into seini-unconsciousness.

Harry and Lizzie made all haste to get her home, and half-carrying, half-leading her, they succeeded in getting round the beach to the township, Flora muttering incoherently all the time, her mind being excited by the scenes through which she had just gone.

Fortunately they found a cab disengaged, so that they were enabled to speedily get home, and at once had Flora put to bed.

She continued in a state of excitement until completely worn out and overtaken by sleep. In the necessity to give his attention to his cousin, Harry forgot all about his own adventure, nor was he questioned on the subject, for his aunt did not notice his drenched state in the excitement occasioned by the care of her daughter. No after ill effects visited either Harry or Lizzie, so that their adventures were completely overshadowed by Flora's illness.

In relating to his aunt and uncle what had occurred, Harry made light of his own part, and explained Flora's fright as due to over-nervousness rather than to what had actually happened.

The next morning saw little or no improvement in Flora's condition. Mr. Bruce, therefore, decided to call in the family doctor, and remained at home until after Dr. Bright's visit.

The doctor at once explained to Mr. and Mrs. Bruce that their daughter had gone through a severe mental strain, and that absolute quiet and careful nursing would be requisite for her restoration.

From Mrs. Bruce Flora certainly obtained all the doctor wished, and the anxious parents soon had the satisfaction of seeing their daughter undergo great improvement.

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To Lizzie, the period of her sister's convalescence was a time of much anxiety. Wild and wayward though she was, she recognised that the danger to which her cousin and sister had been exposed was due to her conduct—that she had been instrumental in subjecting her lover to a narrow escape from the sea and her sister to a lengthened illness. Her mind, therefore, was far from easy, and until she saw Flora once more out of bed she submitted herself to many bitter reproaches on the subject.

The evening of the first day on which Flora was able to leave her bed, Harry and Lizzie were seated before the fire in the dining room. Mr. Bruce was busy in his study, and his wife was engaged in making Flora comfortable for the night. For some time after being left alone the young people sat and gazed into the firelight.

There is about the expiring embers of a fireside a peculiar prompting to meditation and dreaminess, a strong invitation, as it were, to silently contemplate the action of the fire and recall past events, or dream in cosy security of the eventualities of the future, with a sober satisfaction that peaceful years will continue to cast an influence over our lives.

The full strength of this feeling was at work with Lizzie and her cousin as they sat gazing into the bright glow of the half-consumed coal. Their thoughts busy with the past, were equally busy with the future. The warmth and comfort of the room and the soft glowing heat of the fire gave them a feeling of contentment unmixed with concern.

Delightful as silence was, it could not last for ever, and at length Lizzie could no longer leave her mind unburdened.

“Oh! Harry, what a terrible time I have given you all by my folly at the beach last Saturday!”

Harry knew that his cousin's self-condemnatory frame of mind was the best possible state for her—that a lesson

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such as it might prove would not be thrown away on her if she showed sincere regret. He did not, therefore, wish to make too light of what had happened, and replied quietly—

“We must be thankful that it has ended so fortunately. How much worse it might have been!”

His companion received the remark in silence. She had discernment enough to see that Harry would not allow himself to be too sympathetic. She deserved that, however, and would not resent it.

“Harry,” she said, after a somewhat lengthened pause, “you do not bear me any ill will because I was so obstinate on Saturday? You forgive me, don't you?”

“Of course I do. It was not your fault that such terrible results followed. No one could foresee any of them.”

Lizzie was satisfied. Her mind had been considerably disturbed, more with a contemplation of what might have been, than what actually was. She felt now that Harry did not attach to her any blame for what had followed on her wilfulness.

The fact was that he felt for her the more deeply since she could reproach herself with her sister's illness, but he reluctantly constrained himself to disguise his true feeling so that she should receive the full benefit of the lesson.

Harry sat so long over the fire, so long under the influence of thoughtful moments, that he felt speech an effort. Lizzie, too, now that she had spoken to her cousin on the subject which expressed her mind, relapsed into silence.

Presently Mrs. Bruce returned to the room.

“Come, young people,” she said, kindly, “is it not time you had retired?”

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Harry at once took the hint. Wishing his aunt and cousin “Good night,” he went to his room.

As soon as the door closed on Harry, Lizzie turned to her mother, threw her arms around her neck, and burst into a fit of sobbing. All the pent-up feelings of her nature burst forth at the sight of her mother's quiet but anxious face. The consciousness of her own fault could have calmly withstood the blame or reproaches of others, but to see in silence the care and anxiety of her loved parent was beyond her strength.

“Oh! mother, mother, it was all my fault!”

“What was all your fault, Lizzi?”

Lizzie only continued her weeping. Her mother caressed her brow gently, and let her cry on without interruption for some moments. When she had become calmer Mrs. Bruce inquired—

“Tell me, Lizzie, what you mean? What is the matter?”

“Oh! mother, it was all my doing. It was I who nearly got Harry drowned and gave Flora this fright. I wouldn't do as the others wanted me, and Harry fell into the sea and was nearly drowned.”

“Come, Lizzie, tell me all about it.”

Then her daughter told her everything that had happened, not sparing herself in the recital. When this had ended, and Mrs. Bruce was in possession of all the facts, she gently embraced her daughter, kindly assuring her that she had done well to tell her all. Then Mrs. Bruce conducted Lizzie to her own room, and sat chatting cheerfully until she was snugly in bed.

On leaving Lizzie's room, the anxious mother quietly proceeded to the bedside of her other daughter. She found Flora sleeping peacefully, and at once left, closing the door gently as she went out. As Mrs. Bruce walked

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along the passage towards her husband's study she saw the glimmer of a light through the doorway of Harry's room. She stopped and tapped gently at the door. Receiving no answer, she knocked still louder, with the same result. Opening the door noiselessly, she entered the room.

Harry had been reading, and had fallen asleep without putting out his light. The book had dropped from his hand and lay upon the counterpane. The bedclothes were thrown back from the sleeper's chest, and the light of his candle fell softly on his face. Something in his appearance attracted the attention of Mrs. Bruce, and she stood for some time gazing at the fair young face before her—gazing and wondering what it was that seemed to keep her fixed to the spot. Then it was that she saw something in his face which reminded her of her own dead son. She had often stood thus watching her boy asleep, and now as she gazed on her nephew, thoughts of her bereavement came to her—sad thoughts, but not without a comforting accompaniment: her boy had been taken from her, but he had left her no thoughts of a wasted existence, no reproaches on his account ever visited her mind. He had been a worthy son, and left a cherished memory.

Silently the bereaved mother stood watching the sleeping form; long and wistfully she gazed upon the peaceful face. The great wave of her feelings brought to the shore of memory sublime and precious images she would fain nurse in her maternal bosom, joyous recallings that would never fade from her heart. Thoughts came and went, and as a great yearning filled her soul, she scarce could resist the impulse to stoop and embrace the form before her. Tears filled her eyes, but in her heart was the deep satisfaction that she could still give some of her pent-up maternal affection to the relative before her. A prayer,

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devout though unexpressed, formed within her mind that she might find in her nephew a worthy successor to the son she had loved and mourned so deeply. She could not tear herself away from her nephew's bedside, and longed even that he might awake, so that she could show him the wealth of affection that seemed welling up within her. His hand lay outstretched upon the coverlet. A desire to grasp it in hers took possession of her, and she stooped forward in obedience to the impulse. At that instant she became conscious of another presence in the room, and as she turned, her husband's arm stole gently around her waist. Without a word he drew her head kindly upon his shoulder, and kissed her brow. There was no need of words between those two smpathetic hearts. Each knew the feelings that animated the other, and for some time they stood thus by their nephew's bed, both filled with recollections of the past and aspirations for the future. Then, without breaking the holy and sympathetic silence, they extinguished Harry's candle, and passed quietly from the room. The wife and mother afterwards learned that her husband had for some nights past gone to the bedside of his sleeping nephew to indulge in holy memories of his own son in the presence of another's, who might some day help to soften, although he could never efface their deep feeling of bereavement.