Claribel or, Rest at last

"I suppose you can't possibly understand that I am in earnest," said Priscilla. "Perhaps it isn't so very strange, either. But it is true, for all that. I am in earnest, and I mean Mr. Hausen shall see that I am. You will never see these things again as long as you live, Rebecca. You may make up your mind as to that." So saying, Priscilla picked up her bundle of books and departed. She carried them straight to Mr. Hausen, telling him that they were some which Fanny did not know about, but she said nothing of Rebecca. Claribel was very sick. Her hands were badly burned, and the shock and alarm had brought on one of her fits of palpitation and difficulty of breathing. The girls were not allowed to see her, but Priscilla waylaid the doctor on the stairs and begged to know what he thought of her cousin. "My dear, your cousin is very sick," said Dr. Benedict, kindly and seriously. "There is no telling how the attack may terminate. She may get better again; and she may pass away very suddenly." Priscilla turned very pale, but she showed no other sign of agitation. "Dr. Benedict," said she, "would you ask them to let me sit up with her? Indeed I can do it. I have watched with sick people a great many times. I am sure I can help take care of her, and I think Claribel would like it." The doctor looked keenly at her. "Yes, you shall," said he. "I don't think it will hurt either of you." Priscilla shared Mrs. Herman's watch that night, and showed herself such an excellent nurse that she was allowed to take her full share of the care demanded by the invalid, though Mr. Hanson insisted that her lessons should be discontinued. "You need not mind letting them go," said he. "You are learning quite as much in another way." Claribel continued very ill for many days, but she grew better at last, and was able to take some rest. "You will soon be well now," Priscilla remarked one day when her cousin was sitting up by the window, for the doctor had recommended the fresh air. "Yes, I shall soon be well," answered Claribel, with a little sigh. "Don't you want to get well?" asked Priscilla, struck by something in Claribel's tone and manner. Claribel hesitated. "I am willing to get well," said she. "Can't you get any farther than that?" asked Priscilla. "To tell you the truth, Priscilla, I am afraid I can't. You know what Dr. Benedict says about my hands?" "No. What does he say? I thought they were almost well. Do they hurt you so much?" "They don't pain me very much now," said Claribel, "but Dr. Benedict says I shall never have any use of them again. That isn't a very pleasant prospect, especially to anybody as lame as I am." "Perhaps he doesn't know," said Priscilla. "I believe he does. The surgeon that Mr. Steele brought from the city says the same thing." "Claribel," said Priscilla, in a low voice, "don't you hate me?" "No," answered Claribel, smiling. "I don't hate anybody, and I am sure I should be very ungrateful to hate you, who have been so good to me and waited on me since I was sick." "You used to say you hated me when you lived at home, and I am sure you have more reason now." "I was a very ill-tempered girl when I lived at home," said Claribel. "And besides, Priscilla, if you don't mind my saying so, I think I had more reason then. You did not mean I should burn my hands or be sick, but you did use to mean to torment me then. There is a fine sentence for you. And you did hurt me cruelly too, especially when you said my father did not love me and was ashamed of me. I did not get over it for a long time—not till Mr. Hausen showed me some letters father wrote to him and to Mr. Steele about me." "I only said it to be hateful," said Priscilla; "I knew it wasn't so. But, after all, Claribel, I was the means of your being burned. It never would have happened if I had not put Fanny up to reading those horrible papers. Somehow, I don't think Fanny minds it as much as I do." "Fanny is very light-hearted," said Claribel, with a little sigh. "Things don't stick to her as they do to you and me, and I am glad they don't. But she feels badly enough, I am sure, and I don't believe she will ever do such a thing again, or you either." "I would give my own right hand to make yours well again," said Priscilla. "How long have you feared you could never use them?" "Ever since Mr. Steele was here; I made the doctor tell me what he thought about them. I was determined to know the worst." "A whole week, and you have been so cheerful all the time!" said Priscilla. "Claribel, how can you?" "I don't know—I have had help; and besides," said Claribel, with a radiant smile, "I don't think they will trouble me long. I am better, but I am not well, and I heard the doctor say that another attack would carry me off." "And you are glad, are you, really?" asked Priscilla, wonderingly. "Yes, I am; I have so little to live for. I did want to do a great many things for people, but I suppose somebody else can do them just as well. Please don't cry, Priscilla, if you can help it. You will make me cry too, and that sets my heart to beating so I can't talk, and I have ever so many things I want to say." "I won't," said Priscilla, with a strong effort sending back her tears and composing herself. "But won't it hurt you to talk?" "Oh no; I asked the doctor, and he said I might. Priscilla, I am too young to make a will. I asked Mr. Steele, and he said so, but he said I could do some things now. So I wrote on a paper what I wanted to give to one and another—at least, I told him, and he wrote it down. And one thing I want to tell you, because it depends on you. I asked him if you and your mother were willing to keep you here at school till you finished the course; that will be about six years." "Oh, Claribel, I can't," said Priscilla, in a smothered voice. "How can I let you do that for me after all—" "I shall not be any poorer," said Claribel, smiling, "and I am sure you will consent when you know I wish it. And oh, Priscilla, if you would do something else! Ever since I began to think about such things—about doing for others instead of myself—I have thought how much I should like to be a missionary. But I knew it was out of the question, of course, and I always meant to educate and fit out somebody to go in my place—a substitute, you know, as people used to say in war-time. Oh, Priscilla, if you would only be my substitute! I know you don't care much for religion now—" "Yes, I do," said Priscilla; "I can't help it when I see how it has changed you, and since I have read so much in the Bible. Claribel, I will do what you wish. I will be your substitute. I promise you that if mother is willing, I will fit myself for a missionary and go in your place; and if I cannot do that, I will be a missionary at home. I suppose I am about the last person anybody would think of for such a place as that. I wonder what Mr. Hausen would say?" "He would say you are the very one," said Claribel. "He told me that you had the making of an energetic Christian woman in you if you would only take the right turn." "Claribel," said Priscilla, "I don't know, but I believe—I feel—as if I had taken the turn this very hour. But of one thing you may be sure: I shall keep my promise to you if it be possible." "There is just one thing more," said Claribel, after she and Priscilla had kissed each other—"yes, two things." She calmed herself by a strong effort. "If you will be a friend to Fanny, and try to keep her steady, and away from—you know who." "I will do my best," said Priscilla; "I owe her as much as that. But honestly, Claribel, I don't think there is very much in Fanny." Claribel sighed: "Well, perhaps not so very much. But she was the first friend I made, and she did me a great deal of good. I think she may turn out a good, useful woman if she can stay here, especially if the other goes away." "You might just as well say 'Rebecca,'" said Priscilla; "we both mean her. I think, Claribel, there was a black sheep in this flock before I ever came into it." "And so do I. I know how I felt when she came and asked me to write her composition for her." "Rebecca thinks nobody finds her out or knows about her, but I think she is mistaken," observed Priscilla. "But what is the other thing you want me to do?" "I want you to take my place with Madge. Poor little thing! She will be very forlorn when I am gone, and she is a dear, good child. I am sure Mrs. Richardson will consent." "I will ask her," said Priscilla. "But, Claribel, don't you want me to do something for you?" "No, I don't think so, any more than you are doing constantly." "I never saw any one so changed as you are about that," said Priscilla. "You used to think about yourself all the time, and that nobody could do enough for you." "It was Mr. Hausen who showed me the way out of that prison," said Claribel. "He made me promise to try never to miss a chance of helping anybody. I remember the very first time I ever did it, too: I put away the 'Tales of the Crusaders' to help Fanny about her shirts. Have you read that book? It is in the library, and I am sure you would like it." Priscilla smiled: "To tell you the truth, Claribel, I can't trust myself to read any story-book just now. I am like a reformed drunkard who does not dare to drink even a glass of sweet cider. I hope I shall have more sense some day, but till I do, I think total abstinence is my best way. But I will read to you if you like." "Oh no; I don't care about it. But don't you want to learn your Bible lesson? Get the book, and we will study it together." Claribel lingered for two or three months, sometimes worse and sometimes better: even able to leave her room and come down to the library or school-room. Priscilla devoted herself to her cousin, even refusing to go home for the holidays lest Claribel should miss her. Claribel enjoyed her Christmas, and helped fit up the tree prepared for the girls who did not go home. She was very bright and animated all the evening, and did not seem very tired when she went to bed. But when Priscilla went to wake her in the morning, she was no longer there. Only the poor house which had so long held Claribel lay quietly resting as if in sleep, for a greater than an angel had been there in the night and opened the doors, and Claribel was indeed out of prison. Rebecca did not come back after holidays. To some of the girls who saw her afterward, she said the school was so disagreeable that she did not wish to go back; and she wanted to make her father send her to a large school where she could have some fun. But "deception is the essence of lying;" and they were not deceived, for all knew that she could not have returned if she had desired it. Priscilla's mother is dead, and her sister is married. She herself is now one of the oldest, as she is one of the best, girls in the school. She has steadily pursued her great object—that of fitting herself for a missionary by the acquisition of every sort of useful knowledge—and in another year will probably take her place among those who are witnessing for the light amid the darkness of heathenism. THE END.