My Mothers Rival | Page 8

and
was carried from the bedroom where she had spent so many weeks to
her boudoir, and I was allowed to be with her all day.
"She would be better soon and able to go out," my father said, and then
the happy old times would come back again. My mother would walk
with me through the picture gallery at sunset, and more, she would
dance with flying feet and run races with me in the wood. Oh, how I
longed for the time when she would regain the color in her face and
light in her eyes! They said I must be patient, it would come in time.
But, alas! it was weary waiting; the days seemed as weeks to me, and
yet my dear, beautiful mother was still confined to her room and to her
bed. So it went on.
The ash buds grew black in March, the pine thorns fell in April, and yet
she was still lying helpless on the sofa.
One day papa and I were both sitting with her. She looked better, and
was talking to us about the nightingales she had heard last May in the
woods.
"I feel better this morning," she said. "I am quite sure, Roland, that I
could walk now if those tiresome doctors would let me."
"It is better to be careful, my darling," said papa; "they must know
best."
"I am sure I could walk," said my mother, "and I feel such a restless
longing to put my foot to the ground once more."
There was a bright flush on her face, and suddenly, without another
word, she rose from her recumbent position on the sofa and stood quite
upright. My father sprang from his chair with a little anxious cry. She
tried to take one step forward, and fell with her face on the ground.

Ah, me! it was the old story over again, of silent gloom and anxious
care. The summer was in its full beauty when she came down amongst
us once more. Then the crushing blow came. Great doctors came from
England and France; they lingered long before they gave their decision,
but it came at length.
My mother might live for years, but she would never walk again; the
flying feet were stilled for the rest of her life. She was to be a hopeless,
helpless cripple. She might lie on the sofa, be wheeled in a chair,
perhaps even driven in a carriage, but nothing more--she would never
walk again.
My father's heart almost broke. I can see him now crying and sobbing
like a child. He would not believe it. He turned from one to the other,
crying out:
"It cannot be true! I will not believe it! She is so young and so
beautiful--it cannot be true!"
"It is most unfortunately true," said the head physician, sorrowfully.
"The poor lady will dance and walk no more."
"Who is to tell her?" cried my father. "I dare not."
"It will be far better that she should not know--a hundred times better.
Let her live as long as she can in ignorance of her fate; she will be more
cheerful and in reality far better than if she knew the truth; it would
hang over her like a funeral pall; the stronger her nerve and spirit the
better for her. She would regain neither, knowing this."
"But in time--with care--she is so young. Perhaps there may be a
chance."
"I tell you plainly," said the doctor, "that most unfortunately there is
none--there is not the faintest," and, he added, solemnly, "may Heaven
lighten your afflictions to you!"
They went away, and my father drew me to his arms.

"Laura," he said, "you must help me all your life to take care of
mamma."
"I will, indeed," I cried. "I ask nothing better from Heaven than to give
my life to her--my beautiful mother."
And then he told me that she would never walk again--that her flying
feet were to rest forever more--that in her presence I must always be
quite bright and cheerful, and never say one word of what I knew.
No more difficult task could have been laid on the heart of a child. I did
it. No matter what I suffered, I always went into her room with a smile
and bright, cheerful words.
So the long years passed; my beautiful mother grew better and happier
and stronger--little dreaming that she was never to walk out in the
meads and grounds again. She was always talking about them and
saying where she should go and what she should do when she grew
well.
Roses bloomed, lilies lived and died, the birds enjoyed their happy
summer, then flew over the sea to warmer climes; summer dew and
summer rain fell, the