My Mothers Rival | Page 6

sofa in her boudoir
all day; her luncheon and dinner had been carried to her, and, as a great
privilege, I had been permitted to share them with her. She looked very
pale and beautiful, and she was most loving to me. When I bade her
good-night she held me in her arms as though she would never let me
go. What words she whispered to me--so loving that I have never
forgotten them, and never shall while my memory lives. Twice she
called me back when I had reached the door to say good-night
again--twice I went back and kissed the pale, sweet face. It was very
pale the last time, and I was frightened.
"Mamma, darling," I asked, "are you very ill?"
"Why, Laura?" she questioned.
"Because you look so pale, and you are always lying here. You never
move about or dance and play as you used to do."
"But I will, Laura. You will see, the very first game we play at hare and
hounds I shall beat you. God bless my darling child!"
That night seemed to me very strange. There was no rest and no silence.
What could every one be doing? I heard the opening and closing of the
doors, the sound of many footsteps in the dead of the night. I heard the
galloping of horses and a carriage stop at the hall door. I thank Heaven
even now that I did not connect these things with the illness of my
mother. Such a strange night! and when morning light came there was
no nurse to dress me. I lay wondering until, at last, Emma came, her
face pale, her eyes swollen with tears.
"What has been the matter?" I cried. "Oh, Emma, what a strange night
it has been! I have heard all kinds of noises. Has anything been
wrong?"

"No, my dear," she replied.
But I felt quite sure she was keeping something from me.
"Emma, you should not tell stories!" I cried, so vehemently that she
was startled. "You know how Heaven punished Ananias and Saphira
for their wickedness."
"Hush, missie!" said my good nurse; "I have told no stories--I speak the
truth; there is nothing wrong. See, I want you to have your breakfast
here in your room this morning, and then Sir Roland wants you."
"How is mamma?" I asked.
"You shall go to her afterward," was the evasive reply.
"But how is she?" I persisted. "You do not say how she is."
"I am not my lady's maid, missie," she replied.
And then my heart sank. She would not tell a story, and she could not
say my mother was better.
My breakfast was brought, but I could not eat it; my heart was heavy,
and then Emma said it was time I went to papa.
When the door of my room was opened the silence that reigned over
the house struck me with a deadly chill. What was it? There was no
sound--no bells ringing, no footsteps, no cheery voices; even the birds
that mamma loved were all quiet--the very silence and quiet of death
seemed to hang over the place. I could feel the blood grow cold in my
veins, my heart grow heavy as lead, my face grew pale as death, but I
would say no more of my fears to Emma.
She opened the library door, where she said Sir Roland was waiting for
me, and left me there.
I went in and sprang to my father's arms--my own clasped together
round his neck--looking eagerly in his face.

Ah, me! how changed it was from the handsome, laughing face of
yesterday--so haggard, so worn, so white, and I could see that he had
shed many tears.
"My little Laura--my darling," he said, "I have something to tell
you--something which has happened since you bade dear mamma
good-night."
"Oh, not to her!" I cried, in an agony of tears; "not to her!"
"Mamma is living," he said, and I broke from his arms. I flung myself
in an agony of grief on the ground. Those words, "Mamma is living,"
seemed to me only little less terrible than those I had dreaded to hear--
"Mamma is dead."
Ah, my darling, it would have been better had you died then.
"Laura," said my father, gravely, "you must try and control yourself.
You are only a child, I know, but it is just possible"--and here his voice
quivered--"it is just possible that you might be useful to your mother."
That was enough. I stood erect to show him how brave I could be.
Then he took me in his arms.
"My dearest little Laura," he said, "two angels have been with us during
the night--the angel of life and the angel of death. You have had a little