The strange house or, A moment's mistake
As they mounted the steps, a figure stood there holding a beautiful
bunch of flowers.
"Gertrude!" said a voice.
"Otto!" she responded.
"I got half-way home, and then I saw these flowers, and I felt as if I
must bring them to you. I did not intend to come in."
"This is Conway," said Gertrude, introducing him, "of whom you have
heard. I have come home to find great trouble. I must not ask you in,
but—"
"I will leave you to speak to your friend," said Conway as the door
opened. "Mr. Leigh, we are in sad trouble; my little brother has
scarlet fever, and we dare not ask you in. Miss Ashlyn has been a
brick, and has proposed—But she will tell you."
And so what Gertrude had dreaded above all things—the fear of
grieving Otto, and letting him go forth on that long voyage without a
farewell—never came to pass!
In the few minutes in which they stood on the doorstep, he gave
his entire sanction to her plan. And, while making light of his
disappointment at not seeing her again, so strengthened her in what
both felt was right that she saw him finally walk away with a brave
heart.
And as she carried her bunch of flowers to her own room, she could only
remember his brave, cheery words as he parted from her: "Gertrude, we
have every reason to trust our Father!"
CHAPTER XLVIII.
RANDALL'S REQUEST.
ON the first landing, Gertrude met Mr. Shaddock.
"I have seen Conway, and he has explained all about it," he said in a
low tone. "And now nurse says the greatest thing is to get him out of
the house as quickly as possible—because of the others."
"Yes," assented Gertrude; "I will collect a few of my things, and then
we will go. How shall we get him carried across to the other house?"
"I can do that," said his father. "How long shall you be? Miss Ashlyn,
I cannot express all I feel for your self-denying kindness. If it were
not for my wife, I would not permit it. But if she were to miss all the
children, or even nurse, I do not know what would be the consequence."
"I quite understand all that," said Gertrude, "and indeed I am glad to
be able to help you."
For an instant her voice trembled; she thought of herself banished from
all she loved, shut up with one who would rather have dispensed with
her help or company. But it was only for a moment.
Otto's words came back with a sense of strength. "It is quite right,"
he had said.
And, remembering this, she had looked up once more.
"I shall not be much more than five minutes. Will you tell nurse so,
and ask her to get Randall ready?"
In less than half an hour a heavy bundle, muffled in a blanket, was
carried down-stairs. And then the door of the Strange House opened,
and Mr. Shaddock deposited his little son on the horsehair sofa in the
kitchen, and turned to look into Mrs. Swift's face.
"I have not done as much as I could have wished," she said, addressing
Gertrude, "but the dear little boy's bed is ready, and I have lighted a
fire up there. Dear miss, I will make you as comfortable as I can."
Gertrude held out her hand to Mr. Shaddock.
"Perhaps you had better not stay," she said, "because of the others. I
will take all the care of him that I can, and be as kind to him as—as
you were to our little Lester."
"I am sure you will," said Mr. Shaddock huskily. "I will send the
doctor in, in the morning, and will speak to you, Miss Ashlyn, in the
garden every morning and evening."
With a farewell touch on the head to his little son, and a smothered
"God bless you," he turned away at last, and Gertrude was left in
charge.
She and Mrs. Swift lifted poor little Randall to his room, and
then they set about making him comfortable, unpacking nurse's
thoughtfully-prepared basket, and arranging all things so that he might
miss home comforts as little as possible.
He was very tired and miserable, and rolled himself up under the
bedclothes directly, and would not respond to their questions. But when
Mrs. Swift had gone out to get some necessary supplies, he opened his
eyes, and seeing Gertrude's lovely bunch of flowers upon the table,
said slowly—
"Where did those come from?"
"From a friend."
"Who?"
"Mr. Leigh."
"Oh!"
"Do you like them?"
She got up to put them near enough for him to smell them.
"Are they for me?" he asked.
"You and I can enjoy them together."
"I would rather they were mine. Can't I have them?"
"Can you not share them with me?"
He shook his head. "I hate sharing," he said irritably, closing his
eyes.
Gertrude's heart smote her. Did she hate sharing? Why did she mind
Randall having her flowers?
And then she thought of him as of one of the "little children" whom
her blessed Saviour would call to His arms and bless. Could she grudge
giving anything to one whom He would bless?
But Randall seemed to sleep, and she sat in silence by him, thinking
and praying, seeing herself in a light in which she had never seen
herself before—she saw herself selfish!
Would Randall never wake? How long would that heavy, restless sleep
last?
Then she heard a carriage drive up. And in a minute a bell rang, and
she remembered, with a start, that she had promised to answer the door
while Mrs. Swift was out.
"Mr. Shaddock directed me here to see his little boy," said a
gentleman, whom Gertrude rightly guessed was the doctor. She led
the way up-stairs, and was thankful to receive all the necessary
instructions, and to know exactly what to do.
"I am to look in twice a day," he said on leaving, "and you need not
feel that the anxiety rests on you, Miss Ashlyn. You are doing these
people a great service, and you will be happy, I trust, in feeling
that."
He went rapidly down-stairs, and Gertrude felt that a load had been
lifted from her shoulders.
"How kind my dear Lord is to me!" she thought. "I felt as if I could
hardly bear the anticipation of this long night, and now it seems quite
different."
Randall had been roused by the doctor's visit, and lay looking at
Gertrude in silence.
"I wish I were in my nursery," he said at length.
Gertrude rose, and brought the flowers and put them on a chair close to
his pillow. He looked at them without speaking.
"They are for you, dear!" she said very quietly.
"For my very own?"
"For your very own!" she answered.
And while he gave a little smile of pleasure, Gertrude felt that she
had given away Otto's last gift!
CHAPTER XLIX.
WEDNESDAY.
THEN followed weary oppressed days for the little invalid, in which
Gertrude watched and tended him with untiring patience.
Four very slow days, during which she knew that Otto was near, and must
be making his hasty preparations for his long journey.
He and she had decided that no communication whatever must pass from
her to him, because of the nature of the illness from which Randall was
suffering, as well as the nature of the case which Otto was taking up.
"If my boy took it, or any one had it on board, I should hardly be able
to forgive myself," he had said, "so we will run no risk whatever. I
can write to you every day; that will be my only comfort."
"And I shall not have that comfort," she had answered sadly, "because I
can send no letter to you!"
Each morning Mr. Shaddock brought messages and dainty food from the
next house, meeting Gertrude in the garden and hearing all particulars
of his little son.
"My wife keeps on asking for Randall, but I have told her that he has
an infectious complaint, but is under your care, and that the doctor
sees him twice every day."
"That is the greatest comfort," said Gertrude.
Wednesday came at last, and with the postman another bunch of flowers
and a good-bye letter from Otto.
"I felt last night as if I must come and look at you through the
window, but I am glad that I did not give way to it. I feel our duty is
plain, and though it costs us a great deal, we will try to be happy in
it."
Gertrude too was glad he had not come, though all that Tuesday she had
hoped and feared alternately that he would.
Now the last chance was over, and he was gone!
She laid her head down on Randall's bed and wept her good-bye till she
had no tears left.
The child had been very ill all night, and she and Mrs. Swift had
shared the watch, each taking half the night. To-day, however, she
fancied there was a change for the better, and she anxiously waited the
doctor's arrival to hear her hopes confirmed.
She was just wiping away her tears, and was going to raise her head,
when Randall's hot little hand was put out and touched her forehead.
"Miss Ashlyn."
"Yes, dear?"
"Where am I? Oh, I remember! Is it morning yet? May I get up?"
He tried to start up, but found himself too weak.
"My flowers are very fresh this morning," he said with a little smile,
as he saw the new bunch just where the faded ones had stood.
"Are they not sweet?" she answered.
"Were you sorry you gave them to me?" he asked wistfully. "I think
you've been crying."
"I was glad I gave them to you, dear. These are some fresh ones that
Otto sent to me to-day, because he is gone away."
There was a pause. Randall lay looking at the flowers meditatively, but
he did not ask for them.
"Where are the others?" he asked at last.
"I have thrown them away. I could not keep them after they were faded
you know, dear, because of the scarlet fever."
He assented, adding, however, "Did they fade in one night?"
"You have been ill four nights, dear."
"Have I? Well, I thought it was a long time! Sometimes I saw you
sitting there, and sometimes didn't know where I was. That was funny,
wasn't it?"
"Very funny, but people do feel like that when they are ill."
"I s'pose they do. Then sometimes I felt very cross, Miss Ashlyn, and
wished you would go away. But all the same, you seemed very kind to me,
and did not turn cross, as I am sure anybody might."
"You see, I knew you were ill, and did not know what you did," she
answered gently.
Again Randall was silent. He took his jelly, and bore her attentions
as if used to them. But his eyes, which before had hardly seemed to
recognize her, now were quietly looking in her face, with a look she
had never seen in them before.
"Am I getting better?" he asked presently.
"I think you are, dear."
"I'm glad of that. I did not want to die."
"When the Lord Jesus is our Saviour, it does not matter whether we live
or die," she responded. "If we live, it will be to try to please Him
and be His; if we die, we shall be glad to go to Him: as glad, Randall,
as a little tired child is to run to its mother's arms!"
"I'm very tired, I think," he answered, "and I wish I could run into my
mother's arms!"
"I wish you could, dear," she answered, her eyes watering with
sympathetic tears, "but though your dear mother cannot come to you
because she is ill, the Lord Jesus is always near, and loves you so
much, and will rest you so sweetly if you ask Him!"
"I have never asked Him anything. Hugh has, but I always thought Hugh
was a baby."
"We cannot do without Jesus," said Gertrude earnestly, "and I would
not—oh, for the world."
"I see that," answered Randal wearily, "and I'm sorry I called Hugh a
cry-baby—very sorry."
"Oh, are you, dear? I am so glad."
"Glad?"
"Glad that you are sorry for it. Now, dear, you have talked quite
enough. But just turn round on your pillow and rest your head on its
cool softness, and say to yourself, 'Jesus loves Randall! He will rest
me if I come to Him! Jesus loves me.'"
The child did not answer in words. He gave one glance at her, and then
turned as she had advised, nestling his head into his pillow, as if
weary and satisfied.
Whether he had taken the rest of her advice, she did not know. But from