CHAPTER LXXXVII.
Some three weeks after the events recorded in the last chapter, Zynaand Lurlee were sitting near the foot of the bed on which Tara waslying, and two Brahmun women--widows, as appeared from their shavenheads and coarse serge garments--sat on each side of it. One wasfanning her gently. The bed was very low, hardly a foot from theground, so that the women were seated on the floor, leaning againstits frame. They had watched all night in pairs by turns, and the dawnwas just about to break; but a small lamp, in a niche of the wall,threw a faint light over the room and the verandah beyond, and fellupon a figure lying there, covered in a sheet, which appeared, from itsmeasured breathing, to be asleep. All four women were weeping silently,and their faces had that worn, haggard expression which is consequentupon long and continuous watching.
"When did he say he would come again?" asked Lurlee of one of the womenin a whisper.
"They will both be here at dawn," said the woman addressed; "but theysaid they could do nothing now, unless she rallies of herself: medicinecannot help her; and still she sleeps."
"Look," said Zyna, with a tone of awe in her low voice, "if you can seeher breathe. I have been watching for some time, and I cannot see thesheet over her move as it used to do. Mother! mother! she is not gonefrom us!"
"No, daughter," returned Lurlee, "she lives still, but she is near todeath, fearfully near, and is in the hands of Alla. If she wake uprestless, as she was before, we must put her on the floor, that thespirit may pass easily; but, as it is, we may yet hope, for there isrest now after her weariness, and she hath not asked for water allnight. You have given her none, have you?" she asked of the women.
"No, lady," replied the elder of the two; "none since she went tosleep. It is near dawn, and if the soul had to pass it would berestless to go; yet she sleeps. We cannot move her, nor is there need;she breathes as gently as a child. Look!"
The woman took the lamp from the niche in the wall, and, shading itwith her hand, yet so as to suffer a little light to fall on Tara'sface, looked at it earnestly. "She smiles," she said in a whisper;"behold, lady, but do not rise, else it might wake her."
Lurlee and Zyna leaned forward and regarded her anxiously. Yes, thelips, though blistered with the parching heat of fever, seemed fullerand redder, and, as the sweet mouth was partly open, the light fellupon moisture on the white pearly teeth which glistened brightly. Thecheeks were not so wan and sunken, and the eyes, instead of beingpartly open, with a dull glassy stare which, except when they flashedin delirium, had been their only expression for several days past, werenow closed entirely, and the long eyelashes rested peacefully, as itwere, on the cheek. One hand had been placed under her head, and theother lay across her bosom. Her breathing could scarcely be seen, andyet, if they looked intently, the arm across the bosom heaved slightlynow and then, and as it were without excitement.
"It may be the flush of life which precedes death," said the woman;"yet then they do not often smile, nor dream. See, she is smilingagain."
"Ah, there is no death in that smile, daughter! Look! O blessed saints,pray for her! O Prophet of God, she will be thy child soon; intercedefor her, and have her spared! O holy Syud Geesoo Duraz! I vow a goldencoverlet for thy tomb, and Fatehas to a thousand poor mendicants, ifshe be saved!" cried Lurlee, with clasped hands and streaming eyes. "O,give her to me! All have children but me, and this one strange child Itook into my heart when ye sent her, and she abode there. O, take hernot--take her not from me! What use would she be to ye now in her younglife? Wilt thou not pray too, Zyna, for her?"
"Mother, I have prayed," replied Zyna earnestly. "Fazil hath prayed. Wehave vowed Fatehas to all the shrines, and to the holy Saint at Allund.Mother! I will send my gold anklets and her zone to the shrine there,if she but live, and will give her others."
So they watched and prayed, and saw the smile playing gently andsweetly over Tara's mouth and eyes. Was it to hear the whisper of theAngel of Death? It might be so, and then the last dread change wouldfollow; the eyes would glaze and sink, the breathing become shorterand more difficult, and they must take her up and lay her down on theground to die. Would it be so?
For many days Tara had lain between life and death. The greatexcitement she had passed through--during which her mind, strung bydespair and superstitious belief, had sustained her--had passed awaysuddenly, and left its never-failing result in the utter prostrationboth of mental and physical power; and the exposure she had beensubjected to in that wild night-ride from Wye, with the succeeding daysof heat and fatigue, in the midst of constant alarm, had combined toproduce severe fever. As she was lifted from the litter the eveningshe arrived by the women, she was entirely unconscious; but in Lurleeshe had at once a skilful and loving nurse, and after a while she hadrecovered sufficiently to distinguish with whom she was, and to feelthat the hideous insecurity of her life--nay, the imminent peril of ahorrible and violent death--had passed away.
But after that short period of blissful recognition, and with the soundof Lurlee and Zyna's passionately endearing welcomes in her ears,unconsciousness had returned, and she knew no more for many days.The burning fever, accompanied by low delirium, continued withoutintermission. Happily her mind retained its last pleasant impressionsmost vividly: and from time to time, Lurlee and Zyna heard her murmurto herself more of her deep love for Fazil than she would ever havedared to tell them, and they listened wonderingly to the strangemingling of his name with those of gods and demigods of her own faith,and to the impassioned expressions which broke from her in that wild,perhaps poetic, language, with which, from her own studies and herfather's recitals, she had become familiar.
The doctors of the town were early summoned; and there was an oldGosai, known to the merchant's wife, who lived in a village near, whoserepute for curing cases of fever was very great, and who was sent for,when the doctors' period of nine days' illness had elapsed without anyrelief. He declared the fever would last three weeks: and that, on thetwenty-first day, or thereabouts, Tara would either live or die, forthe disease was dangerous and difficult to subdue, but--he would do hisbest. So they sat and watched her day and night; life now seeminglytrembling on her lips, and yet again rallying within her, and givinghope when otherwise there was none.
Now, too, under the long sleep, her features had relaxed; the skin hadlost its unnatural tension and dryness, and a soft smile was therewhich looked like life; and still they prayed and made vows.
"No," said the woman, holding the lamp and watching Tara, "it is notdeath, lady--not yet. There is no change; and see, the smile, faintas it is, does not pass away. Surely there are sweet thoughts belowit--thoughts, perhaps, of life. Let us wait and pray."
And still they sat, and, after their own fashion, humbly prayed too;and the morning broke, and Fazil, who, wearied by watching, layoutside, arose, performed his ablutions, and, with Zyna, spread theircarpets, and performed the morning service. Then he watched in turn;and the doctors came, looked at the sleeping girl, and one of themgently put his hand on her pulse and felt it, and smiled, and noddedhis head approvingly. "There is life in it," he said gently, "but itis very feeble. Wait till she wakes--that is the crisis of life or ofdeath; but, perhaps--God knows--it may be life."
It may be life! Ah, yes! Many who read these pages will remember likescenes; watching the fluttering spirit of one most beloved--parent, orwife, or child--with an intense and wondering earnestness of misery orof hope, mingled with prayer: incoherent perhaps--no matter--yet goingstraight from the heart, up to Him in whose hands are the issues oflife and of death, to be dealt with as He pleased. Is there none ofthis among the people we write of? Why not as much as among ourselves?The same motives exist there as here, the same deep ties of affection,the same interests, and the same hopes and fears--often, indeed, morepowerful as belonging to minds more impetuous, and less regulated byconventional forms. Then the hope is greater, the agony of bereavementmore bitter, and the suspense between the final issue, perhaps, moreunendurable.
So they s
at around her. The kind, hospitable merchant's wife, withwhom they still resided, came forth from her own court of the house,and, smiling as she saw Tara, bid them be of good cheer. No one spokeafterwards, but they watched the tranquil face; and the expressionsstill varying upon it, under the thoughts passing within, gaveincreasing hope of life.
It had been a sore struggle; but life at last was suffered to triumphover death. From the time when the weary tossing to and fro ceased, andthe parched lips refused to speak even incoherently, and the deathlikesleep began, the exhausted frame had been gathering strength. More thana night, and nearly a day, had passed in hope and fear alternately tothem, but in rest to Tara; and as the shadows were falling long towardsthe east, the sweet eyes opened to the full, and looked around.
They could see but dimly at first; but they read in the faces which atonce turned towards her, now the most precious on earth, the assuranceof that love, of which, as her spirit hovered on the threshold ofthe unknown eternal land, she had been permitted to dream. There wasno fever now in those soft eyes--no glare, no glassy brightness: butdewy, and their deep brown and violet shaded by the long lashes, intoan expression of dreamy languor--they seemed more beautiful by farthan they had ever appeared before, and Fazil thought, as his creedsuggested, that those of a Houri of the blessed Paradise, or a Periangel of the air, could not be more lovely. None of them could speakthen; but the tears were falling fast from their eyes in great andirrepressible emotion, as they stretched forth their arms to welcomeTara to life.
"My child! my life!" cried Lurlee, sobbing, who was the first to findutterance. "Now, God hath given thee to me again, and I will neverleave thee--never. O, do not speak; it is enough that we see thee comeback to us, more precious, and more beloved than ever!"
Tara attempted to reply, but was too feeble. They saw her lips moving,but no, words could be heard. She tried to stretch forth her hand toZyna, but she could not lift it. Zyna saw the attempt, and threw herarm round her. "Not now, beloved," she said--"not now. Lie still andrest; we are all near thee, and will not go away."
So more days passed, and Tara grew stronger, though slowly. The shockto mind and body had been very heavy, and needed long rest and muchcare; but she was in tender hands, and gradually, but surely, theysaw progression to convalescence, and were thankful. Lurlee could notrestrain her pious gratitude; and Friday after Friday, the poor of thetown, Hindus as well as Mahomedans, received a munificent dole of foodand money, and rejoiced at the widow's profuse charity.
Dear reader, if you have ever recovered from such an illness as befellTara, you will remember, vividly and gratefully, the pleasant languor,the perfect rest, and the sensation of growing strength of life,--amidits weakness, such as you cannot estimate till you attempt to act foryourself. You long to speak, but your tongue refuses words; you long torise and help yourself, but your members as yet decline office. If youcan turn yourself about as you lie, it is all that is possible. Then,if you are ministered to by loving hands, and you hear sweet familiarvoices around you, how often has your heart swelled, and run overat your eyes, silently, and in very weakness, as you have abandonedyourself to their sweet influences! How powerfully the new life whichGod has given you, grows under their ever-present care! Sometimes youcan hardly bear the excess of joy, and tremble lest it should suddenlycease; and again, you find periods of rest possessing you--dreamyunrealities--incomplete perceptions--even vacuity, which is not sleep,nor yet waking--and still with all, a consciousness of increasingstrength which will not be denied.
It was so with Tara. No one spoke much to her, she could not bearit, nor could she reply; but if Zyna sat by her, or Lurlee, and heldher hand, it was enough for reality; and morning and evening Fazilwas admitted to see her, and to satisfy himself that she was gainingground. The past was never alluded to by any of them. At first she hadonly a dim and broken remembrance of it, as of some great ill-usageor suffering. As she grew stronger, the detail became more distinct:and they often saw her shudder, and draw the end of her garment orthe coverlet over her face, as if to hide it from observation, or toshut out some terrible sight from her view. Yet to herself there wasan unreality about the whole, which she could neither comprehend, noraccount for. Most of all about her parents: were they indeed alive,or was their sudden appearance on the day of the Sutee, a reality, ora trick of imagination--was all she retained in her mind one of thehideous dreams of her illness rather than a fact? Who was to tell herthe truth?
All that Fazil had heard from the hunchback, he had told to Tara asthey rested here and there in their escape; but her own mind wasthen in that state of terror and confusion that she could tell himnothing, nor, indeed, could she find courage to speak to him at all.Long before, when they had been together in camp, she had never daredto answer him. It was enough for her that he spoke, and that shelistened. Her mind, as he rode with her that night before him--for hewould trust her to no one--was sorely unhinged. That she had escapeddeath she knew; that she was with him she knew also: that she fearedpursuit, and might be taken and burned alive, was an absorbing terror,which shut out the shame of her flight; and it was perhaps a happycircumstance that the fever, which had so long affected her brain, shutout all realities till she was stronger, and calmer to bear them.
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