CHAPTER IV.
"Remember the Sabbath-day to keep it holy." Exod. 10:6.
"We ought to obey God rather than men." Acts 5:29.
"Dear papa, are you sick?" It was Elsie's sweet voice that asked thequestion in a tone of alarm. She had just finished her morning lessons,and coming into her father's room, had found him lying on the sofa,looking flushed and feverish.
"Yes, daughter," he said, "I have a severe headache, and some fever, Ithink. But don't be alarmed, my pet, 'tis nothing at all serious," headded in a more cheerful tone, taking both her little hands in his, andgazing fondly into the beautiful dark eyes, now filled with tears.
"You will let me be your little nurse, my own dear papa, will you not?"she asked coaxingly. "May I bring some cool water and bathe your head?"
"Yes, darling, you may," he said, releasing her hands.
Elsie stole softly out of the room, but was back again almost in amoment, followed by Chloe, bearing a pitcher of ice-water.
"Now, mammy, please bring a basin and napkin from the dressing-room," shesaid, in a low tone, as the old nurse set down her burden. "And then youmay darken the room a little. And shall I not tell her to send Jim orJack for the doctor, papa?"
"It is hardly necessary, darling," he replied, with a faint smile.
"Oh! please, papa, my own dear, darling papa, do let me!" she entreated."You know it cannot do any harm, and may do a great deal of good."
"Ah! well, child, do as you like," he replied with a weary sigh; "but thedoctor will, no doubt, think me very foolish to be so easily frightened."
"Then, papa, I will tell him it was I, not you, who were frightened, andthat you sent for him to please your silly little daughter," Elsie said,fondly laying her cheek to his, while he passed his arm around her, andpressed her to his side.
"Here are de tings, darlin'," said Chloe, setting down the basin, andfilling it from the pitcher.
"That is right, you good old mammy. Now close the blinds, and thenyou may go and tell Jim to saddle a horse and ride after the doctorimmediately."
Chloe left the room, and Elsie brought another pillow for her father,smoothed his hair, bathed his forehead, and then, drawing a low chair tothe side of the sofa, sat down and fanned him gently and regularly.
"Why!" said he, in a gratified tone, "you are as nice a little nurse asanybody need ask for; you move about so gently, and seem to know just theright thing to do. How did you learn?"
"I have had bad headaches so often myself, papa, that I have found outwhat one wants at such times," replied the little girl, coloring withpleasure.
He closed his eyes and seemed to be sleeping, and Elsie almost held herbreath, lest she should disturb him. But presently the dinner-bell rang,and, opening them again, he said, "Go down, my daughter, and get yourdinner."
"I am not hungry, papa," she replied. "Please let me stay and wait onyou. Won't you have something to eat?"
"No, my dear, I have no desire for food; and you see, Chloe is comingto take care of me; so I wish you to go down at once," he said in hisdecided tone, and Elsie instantly rose to obey.
"You may come back if you choose when you have eaten your dinner," headded kindly. "I love to have you here."
"Thank you, papa, I will," she answered, with a brightened countenance,as she left the room. She was soon in her place again by his side. Hewas sleeping--and taking the fan from Chloe's hand without speaking,she motioned her away, and resuming her seat, sat for an hour or more,fanning him in perfect silence.
The physician had come while the family were at dinner, and leavingsome medicine, had gone again, saying he was in haste to visit anotherpatient; and assuring Elsie, whom he met in the hall as he was going out,that he did not think her papa was going to be very ill. This assurancehad comforted her very much, and she felt quite happy while sitting therewatching her father's slumbers.
At length he opened his eyes, and smiling fondly on her, asked: "Doesnot my little girl want some play this afternoon? Your little hand mustsurely be very tired wielding that fan;" and taking it from her, he drewher head down to his breast and stroked her hair caressingly.
"No, my own papa, I would much rather stay with you, if you will let me,"she answered eagerly.
"I am afraid I _ought_ to be very determined, and send you out to takesome exercise," he replied, playfully running his fingers through hercurls; "but it is too pleasant to have you here, so you may stay if youlike."
"Oh, thank you, dear papa! and will you let me wait on you? What can I dofor you now?"
"You may bring that book that lies on the table there, and read to me.You need not learn any lessons for to-morrow, for I intend to keep youwith me."
The next day, and the next, and for many succeeding ones, Mr. Dinsmorewas quite too ill to leave his bed, and during all this time Elsie washis constant companion by day--except for an hour every afternoon, whenhe compelled her to go out and take some exercise in the open air--andshe would have sat by his side at night, also, but he would by no meanspermit it.
"No, Elsie," he replied to her repeated entreaties, "you must go to bedevery night at your usual hour, and stay there until your accustomed hourfor rising. I will not have you deprived of your rest unless I amactually dying."
This was said in the determined tone that always silenced Elsie at once,and she submitted to his decision without another word, feeling verythankful that he kept her so constantly at his side through the day.She proved herself the best and most attentive of nurses, seeming tounderstand his wishes intuitively, and moving about so gently andquietly--never hurried, never impatient, never weary of attending tohis wants. His eyes followed with fond delight her little figure asit flitted noiselessly about the room, now here, now there, arrangingeverything for his comfort; and often, as she returned to her stationat his side, he would draw her down to him, and stroke her hair, or pather cheek, or kiss the rosy lips, calling her by every fond, endearingname--rose-bud--his pet--his bird--his darling.
It was she who bathed his head with her cool, soft hands, in hisparoxysms of fever, smoothed his hair, shook up his pillows, gave him hismedicines, fanned him, and read or sang to him, in her clear sweet tones.
He was scarcely considered in danger, but his sickness was tedious, andwould have seemed far more so without the companionship of his littledaughter. Every day seemed to draw the ties of affection more closelybetween them; yet, fond as he was of her, he ever made her feel that hiswill was always to be law to her; and while he required nothing contraryto her conscience, she submitted without a murmur, both because she lovedhim so well that it was a pleasure to obey him, and also because she knewit was her duty to do so.
But, alas! duty was not always to be so easy and pleasant.
It was Sabbath morning. All the family had gone to church, exceptingElsie, who, as usual, sat by her papa's bedside. She had her Bible inher hand, and was reading aloud.
"There, Elsie, that will do now," he said, as she finished her chapter."Go and get the book you were reading to me yesterday. I wish to hear therest of it this morning."
Poor little Elsie! she rose to her feet, but stood irresolute. Her heartbeat fast, her color came and went by turns, and her eyes filled withtears.
The book her father bade her read to him was simply a fictitiousmoral tale, without a particle of religious truth in it, and, Elsie'sconscience told her, entirely unfit for Sabbath reading.
"Elsie!" exclaimed her father, in a tone of mingled reproof and surprise,"did you hear me?"
"Yes, papa," she murmured, in a low tone.
"Then go at once and get the book, as I bid you; it lies yonder on thedressing-table."
Elsie moved slowly across the room, her father looking after her somewhatimpatiently.
"Come, Elsie, make haste," he said, as she laid her hand upon the book."I think I never saw you move so slowly,"
Without replying she took it up and returned to the bedside. Then, as hecaught sight of her face, and saw that her cheeks were pale a
nd wet withtears, he exclaimed, "What, _crying_, Elsie! what ails you, my daughter?Are you ill, darling?"
His tone was one of tender solicitude, and accompanied with a caress, ashe took her hand and drew her towards him.
"Oh, papa!" she sobbed, laying her head on the pillow beside him, "pleasedo not ask me to read that book to-day."
He did not reply for a moment, and when he did, Elsie was startled by thechange in his tone; it was so exceedingly stern and severe.
"Elsie," he said, "I do not _ask_ you to read that book, I _command_ youto do it, and what is more, _I intend to be obeyed_. Sit down at once andbegin, and let me have no more of this perverseness."
"Dear papa," she answered in low, pleading, trembling tones, "I do not,_indeed_, I do not want to be perverse and disobedient, but I cannotbreak the Sabbath-day. _Please_, papa, let me finish it to-morrow."
"Elsie!" said he, in a tone a little less severe, but quite asdetermined, "I see that you think that because you gained your point inrelation to that song that you will always be allowed to do as you likein such matters; but you are mistaken; I am _determined_ to be obeyedthis time. I would not by any means bid you do anything I consideredwrong, but I can see no harm whatever in reading that book to-day;and certainly I, who have lived so much longer, am far more capableof judging in these matters than a little girl of your age. Why, mydaughter, I have seen ministers reading worse books than that on theSabbath."
"But, papa," she replied timidly, "you know the Bible says: 'Theymeasuring themselves by themselves, and comparing themselves amongthemselves, are not wise;' and are we not just to do whatever Godcommands, without stopping to ask what other people do or say? fordon't even the best people very often do wrong?"
"Very well; find me a text that says you are not to read such a book asthis on the Sabbath, and I will let you wait until to-morrow."
Elsie hesitated. "I cannot find one that says just _that_, papa," shesaid, "but there is one that says we are not to think our own thoughts,nor speak our own words on the Sabbath; and does not that mean worldlythoughts and words? and is not that book full of such things, and onlyof such?"
"Nonsense!" he exclaimed, impatiently, "let me hear no more of suchstuff! you are entirely too young and childish to attempt to reason onsuch subjects. Your place is simply to obey; are you going to do it?"
"Oh, papa!" she murmured, almost under her breath, "I cannot."
"Elsie," said he, in a tone of great anger, "I should certainly begreatly tempted to whip you into submission, had I the strength to doit."
Elsie answered only by her tears and sobs.
There was silence for a moment, and then her father said: "Elsie, Iexpect from my daughter entire, unquestioning obedience, and until youare ready to render it, I shall cease to treat you as my child. I shallbanish you from my presence, and my affections. This is the alternative Iset before you. I will give you ten minutes to consider it. At the end ofthat time, if you are ready to obey me, well and good--if not, you willleave this room, not to enter it again until you are ready to acknowledgeyour fault, ask forgiveness, and promise implicit obedience in thefuture."
A low cry of utter despair broke from Elsie's lips, as she thus heard hersentence pronounced in tones of calm, stern determination; and, hidingher face on the bed, she sobbed convulsively.
Her father lifted his watch from a little stand by the bedside, and heldit in his hand until the ten minutes expired.
"The time is up, Elsie," he said; "are you ready to obey me?"
"Oh, papa!" she sobbed, "I cannot do it."
"Very well, then," he said, coldly; "if neither your sense of duty, noryour affection for your sick father is strong enough to overcome yourself-will, you know what you have to do. Leave the room at once, andsend one of the servants to attend me. I will not have such a perverse,disobedient child in my presence."
She raised her head, and he was touched by the look of anguish on herface.
"My daughter," he said, drawing her to him, and pushing back the curlsfrom her face, "this separation will be as painful to me as to you; yet Icannot yield my authority. I _must_ have obedience from you. I ask again,will you obey me?"
He waited a moment for an answer; but Elsie's heart was too full forspeech.
Pushing her from him, he said: "Go! remember, whenever you are ready tocomply with the conditions, you may return; but _not till then_!"
Elsie seized his hand in both of hers, and covered it with kisses andtears; then, without a word, turned and left the room.
He looked after her with a sigh, muttering to himself, "She has a spiceof my own obstinacy in her nature; but I think a few days' banishmentfrom me will bring her round. I am punishing myself quite as much,however, for it will be terribly hard to do without her."
Elsie hastened to her own room, almost distracted with grief; the blowhad been so sudden, so unexpected, so terrible; for she could see no endto her banishment; unless, indeed, a change should take place in herfather's feelings, and of that she had very little hope.
Flinging herself upon a couch, she wept long and bitterly. Her grief wasdeep and despairing, but there was no anger in it; on the contrary, herheart was filled with intense love to her father, who, she doubted not,was acting from a mistaken sense of duty; and she could scarcely bear thethought that now she should no longer be permitted to wait upon him, andattend to his comfort. She had sent a servant to him, but a servant couldill supply a daughter's place, and her heart ached to think how he wouldmiss her sympathy and love.
An hour passed slowly away; the family returned from church, and the bellrang for dinner. But Elsie heeded it not; she had no desire for food, andstill lay sobbing on her couch, till Chloe came to ask why she did not godown.
The faithful creature was much surprised and distressed at the state inwhich she found her child, and raising her in her arms tenderly, inquiredinto the cause of her grief.
Elsie told her in a few words, and Chloe, without finding any fault withMr. Dinsmore, strove to comfort the sorrowing child, assuring her of herown unalterable affection, and talking to her of the love of Jesus, whowould help her to hear every trial, and in his own good time remove it.
Elsie grew calmer as she listened to her nurse's words; her sobs andtears gradually ceased, and at length she allowed Chloe to bathe herface, and smooth her disordered hair and dress; but she refused to eat,and lay on her couch all the afternoon, with a very sad little face, asob now and then bursting from her bosom, and a tear trickling down hercheek. When the tea-bell rang, she reluctantly yielded to Chloe'spersuasions, and went down. But it was a sad, uncomfortable meal to her,for she soon perceived, from the cold and averted looks of the wholefamily, that the cause of her banishment from her papa's room was known.Even her Aunt Adelaide, who was usually so kind, now seemed determinedto take no notice of her, and before the meal was half over, Enna,frowning at her across the table, exclaimed in a loud, angry tone,"Naughty, bad girl! Brother Horace ought to whip you!"
"That he ought," added her grandfather, severely, "if he had the strengthto do it; but he is not likely to gain it, while worried with such aperverse, disobedient child."
Elsie could not swallow another mouthful, for the choking sensation inher throat; and it cost her a hard struggle to keep back the tears thatseemed determined to force their way down her cheek at Enna's unkindspeech; but the concluding sentence of her grandfather's remark causedher to start and tremble with fear on her father's account; yet shecould not command her voice sufficiently to speak and ask if he wereworse.
There was, indeed, a very unfavorable change in Mr. Dinsmore, and he wasreally more alarmingly ill than he had been at all. Elsie's resistanceto his authority had excited him so much as to bring on a return of hisfever; her absence fretted him, too, for no one else seemed to understandquite as well how to wait upon him; and besides, he was not altogethersatisfied with himself; not entirely sure that the course he had adoptedwas the right one. Could he only have got rid of all doubts of therighteousnes
s and justice of the sentence he had pronounced upon her, itwould have been a great relief. He was very proud, a man of indomitablewill, and very jealous of his authority; and between these on the onehand, and his love for his child and desire for her presence, on theother, a fierce struggle had been raging in his breast all the afternoon.
As soon as she dared leave the table Elsie stole out into the garden,there to indulge her grief, unseen by any but the eye of God.
She paced up and down her favorite walk, weeping and sobbing bitterly.Presently her attention was attracted by the galloping of a horse downthe avenue, and raising her head, she saw that it was the physician,returning from a visit to her father. It was not his usual hour forcalling, and she at once conjectured that her father was worse. Her firstimpulse was to hasten to him, but instantly came the recollection that hehad banished her from his presence, and sinking down upon a bank, sheburst into a fresh paroxysm of grief. It was so hard--so _very_ hard--toknow that he was ill and suffering, and not to be permitted to go to him.
At length she could bear it no longer, and springing up she hurried intothe house, and gliding softly up the stairs, stationed herself at herpapa's door, determined to intercept some one passing in or out, andinquire how he was.
She had not been long there when her Aunt Adelaide came out, lookingtroubled and anxious.
"Oh, Aunt Adelaide," cried the child in a hoarse whisper, catching her bythe dress, "dear Aunt Adelaide, _do_ tell me, is papa worse?"
"Yes, Elsie," she replied coldly, attempting to pass on; "he is muchworse."
The little girl burst into an agony of tears.
"You may well cry, Elsie," remarked her aunt severely, "for it is allyour fault, and if you are left an orphan, you may thank your ownperverseness and obstinacy for it."
Putting both hands over her face, with a low cry of anguish, Elsie fellforward in a deep swoon.
Adelaide caught her ere she had quite reached the floor, and hastilyloosening her dress, looked anxiously around for help; but none was athand, and she dared not call aloud lest she should alarm her brother. Solaying her gently down on the carpet, she went in search of Chloe, whomshe found, as she had expected, in Elsie's room. In a few hurried wordsAdelaide made her understand what had occurred, and that Elsie must beremoved without the slightest noise or disturbance.
Another moment and Chloe was at her darling's side, and raising hergently in her strong arms, she bore her quickly to her room, and layingher on a couch, proceeded to apply restoratives, murmuring the while,in low, pitiful tones, "De dear, precious lamb! it mos' breaks your olemammy's heart to see you dis way."
It was long ere consciousness returned; so long that Adelaide, who stoodby, gazing sorrowfully at the little wan face, and reproaching herselffor her cruelty, trembled and grew pale with apprehension.
But at last, with a weary sigh, Elsie opened her eyes, and looked up,with a sad, bewildered expression, into the dusky face bent so anxiouslyover her, and then, with a feeling of intense relief, Adelaide slippedaway to her own room, leaving them alone together.
"What is it, mammy? Oh, I know! I remember! Oh, mammy, mammy! will mydear, precious papa die?" sobbed the poor little girl, throwing her armsaround her nurse's neck.
"I hope not, darling" replied Chloe, soothingly. "Massa Horace am prettysick, I know; but I tinks de good Lord spare him, if we pray."
"Oh, yes, yes, mammy, let us pray for him. Let us both pray veryearnestly, and I am sure God will spare him, because he has _promised_to grant whatever two shall agree to ask."
They knelt down, and Chloe prayed in her broken way; and when she hadfinished, Elsie poured out such a prayer as comes only from a heart readyto break with its load of sorrow and care.
None but he who has tried it can tell what a blessed relief comes tothose who thus "cast their care on Jesus." Elsie's burden was not less,but she no longer bore it alone; she had rolled it upon the Lord and hesustained her. She shed a few quiet tears after she had laid her headupon her pillow, but soon forgot all her sorrows in a deep, sweet sleep,that lasted until morning.
It was still early when she awoke and sprang up, with the intention ofhastening, as usual, to her father's side; but alas! in another momentmemory had recalled all the distressing events of the previous day, and,sinking back upon her pillow, she wept long and bitterly.
But at length she dried her tears, and, kneeling at the bedside, pouredout her sorrows and supplications into the ear of her Saviour, and thusagain grew calm and strong to endure.
As soon as she was dressed she went to her papa's door, hoping to seesome one who could tell her how he was; but no one came, and she darednot venture in, and her intense anxiety had yet found no relief when thebell summoned the family to breakfast.
The same cold looks awaited her there as on the night before, and thepoor child could scarcely eat, and was glad when the comfortless meal wasover.
She followed Adelaide to Mr. Dinsmore's door, and begged her with tearsand sobs to ask her papa to allow her to come to him, if it was only forone moment, just to look at him, and then go away again.
Adelaide was touched by her evident anxiety and distress, and said,almost kindly, as she laid her hand on the handle of the door, "Well,Elsie, I will ask him; but I have no idea that it will be of any use,unless you will give up your foolish obstinacy."
Elsie stood outside waiting with a beating heart, and though her aunt wasreally gone but a moment, it seemed a long time to her ere the door againopened.
She looked up eagerly, and read the answer in Adelaide's face, ere sheheard the coldly spoken, stern message--
"Your papa says you very well know the conditions on which you will beadmitted to his presence, and that they are as unalterable as the laws ofthe Medes and Persians."
The tears gushed from Elsie's eyes, and she turned away with a gesture ofdespair.
"Elsie," said her aunt, "let me advise you to give up at once; for I amperfectly certain you never can conquer your father."
"Oh, Aunt Adelaide! that is not what I want," murmured the child, in low,broken accents.
But Adelaide went on without noticing the interruption--
"He is worse, and growing worse all the time, Elsie; his fever has beenvery high ever since yesterday afternoon--and we all know that it isnothing but your misconduct that has caused this relapse."
Elsie could bear no more, but rushing away to her own room, and lockingherself in, she gave way without restraint to her feelings of distressand anguish.
Knowing that she was not expected in the school-room--as she had paid noattention to study since the beginning of her father's illness--she didnot leave her room again until dinner-time.
She was on her way to the dining-room, when her Aunt Adelaide, passingher in the hall, caught hold of her, saying, "Elsie, your papa is so illthat the doctor trembles for his life; he says he is certain that he hassomething on his mind that is distressing him and causing this alarmingchange, and unless it is removed he fears he will never be any better.Elsie, _you know what that something is_."
Elsie stood as if turned to stone, while Adelaide, letting go her arm,moved quickly away, leaving her alone, stunned, bewildered, terrified bythe suddenness of the dreadful announcement.
She could not think or reason; she could only press her hands to hertemples, in the vain endeavor to still their wild throbbing; then,turning back to her own room again, she threw herself upon her knees,and, resting her head against the bed, gave vent to her over-wroughtfeelings in such groans of anguish as seldom come from the heart of oneso young. At first she could neither weep nor pray; but at length tearscame to her relief, and she poured out agonizing supplications "that herdear, _dear_ papa might be spared, at least, until he had learnedto love Jesus, and was fit to go to heaven."
She felt as though her heart would break at the very thought of beingseparated from him forever in this world, but even that was as nothingcompared to the more terrible fear of not meeting him in another.
That
was a long, sad afternoon to the poor child; the longest and saddestshe had ever known. Chloe now and then brought her word how her fatherwas, but no one else came near her to speak a word of comfort or hope.Towards evening they had given up almost all hope; he had ceased torecognize any one, and one after another, parents, brother, sisters, andservants, had been permitted to take a last look--all but little Elsie,his own and only child--the one nearest and dearest to him, and to whomhe was all the world--she alone was forbidden to come. She had begged andplead, in tones that might have melted a heart of stone, to be permittedto see his face once more in life; but Mrs. Dinsmore, who had taken thedirection of everything, said, "No, her father has forbidden it, and sheshall not come unless she expresses her willingness to comply with hisconditions."
Adelaide had then ventured a plea in her behalf, but the reply was: "Idon't pity her at all; it is all her own doing."
"So much the harder is it for her to bear, I presume," urged Adelaide.
"There, Adelaide, that will do now! Let me hear no more about it,"replied her lady mother, and there the matter dropped.
Poor little Elsie tried to be submissive and forgiving, but she could nothelp feeling it terribly hard and cruel, and almost more than she couldbear, thus to be kept away from her sick and dying father.
It was long ere sleep visited her weary eyes that night; hour after hourshe lay on her pillow, pouring out prayers and tears on his behalf, untilat length, completely worn out with sorrow, she fell into a deep andheavy slumber, from which she waked to find the morning sun streaming inat the windows, and Chloe standing gazing down upon her with a very happyface.
She started up from her pillow, asking eagerly, "What is it, mammy? Oh!what is it? is my papa better?"
"Yes, darling Massa Horace much better dis mornin'; de doctor say 'hegwine git well now for sartin, if he don't git worse again.'"
"Oh, mammy! It seems too good to be true! Oh, how very, very good God hasbeen to me!" cried the little girl, weeping for very joy.
For a moment, in the intensity of her happiness, she forgot that she wasstill in disgrace and banishment--forgot everything but the joyful factthat her father was spared to her. But, oh! she could not forget it long.The bitter recollection soon returned, to damp her joy and fill her withsad forebodings.
Holidays at Roselands Page 4
