CHAPTER VII. The angel of the threshold.

Otago Witness, Issue 2130, 20 December 1894, Page 5

CHAPTER VII. The angel of the threshold.

" Dr Bsrtroncl, please oome; your father is worae." " I'll be with you In a moment." Ho rose and followed me.

It was a week alter hifl return from Wellington. As soon as he then caw Dr Ingram he pronounced it a oawof diphtheria, and the other raedioal men who were subsequently called in confirmed this opinion. At first they did not think it likely to be a serious oase; bat the age of the patient and the faot that hiß system was rauoh weakened by his reoenfc sevara illness were agahist him. From the first I feared that it would go hardly with him, and I knew that ho thought so himwlf, although on this point we exobanged no confidences— a certain grave refclconce oonoealing as with a thin veil this near glimpse of the great unknown. Daring that week 1 scarcely left him day or night, I oauued my bed to ba brought into tho anta-room, and I lay thore occasionally for an hour or two without undressing and rested, though I think that I nover actually lost consciousness, for ray ncrvos s«omea strung up to the highest tension ; and I neither slept nor wished to oleep> Now and again Bartraad remonstrated with me, and told me that I must take proper rest or I should Infallibly break down. But I assured him that when I felt the need of rest I would take it, and he should fill my place. But that time had not yet pamo j I was in perfect health and vigour, and felt no fatigue. Batween Bertrand and mjself no further confidences had been exchanged eince the day of his return. Wa avoided them as by mntual consent. They were not needed. Since we bad once spoken together face to fr.ee, without the conventional shams, hypocrisy, and ljlng which form so largo a part of our oommon Intercourse, epeeevi had become ssarooly necessary. Through tho open window of his bqul I read tbat the etrcg&le of his life was still going oa—the one-elded, apparently b.op*lew» struggle between the nature that prompfcsd to ill and the new-born will that was determined to ovoroorae. How I pitlod him) How my whol? soul aohedover th« conflict in which 1 could bear no part. No, I am wroßg ; my love »nd faith did help him, though onjy to a small exteat — for of all our human heritage of woe this surely l» the worafc, •• That no man can redeem his brother, or offer unto God an atonement for him "—that, living or dying, in our worat straggles w« are alone. Yet my aonl agonised for nlm, and day after day when I waited on the sick man I tried to keep my hold on Bcrtraud, and I prayed that no wilful sin might part us in the long haraaf ter } aad day after day when I met his eyes I knew tb.at my prayer wa3 answered, and that the foe was etill at bay.

The old doctor and I grew vary near together at that time. His patience and gratitude were wonderfully touching aad very sweet to ma.

"D. j ar Rhoda— dear little nurse!" hs whispered. " How good you ire to me I If only Bertrand"' then he would stop. I knew what was in his heart.. He wished tbat Bertrand and J shonld find BOine mutual attraction. Ha know cot how Etroog was the feeling that united us. More than once I wa3 tempted to t&ll him. Then I remembered the terms oi our contract, and felt that, good and kind aa he wae, he would not understand our soruples, and I refrained.

Onoe he said >

" Ah, Rhoda ! if Bartrand oould be Joyed as you love rae It woaid be good for him. Sometimes I think that my Experlrcwab was all a mistake— thai I began at the wrong end 5 that if I oould have taken the boy to my heart and loved him it would have been better for him and for me. But there — be haa turned out a clover man and a good dootor. What could ono deslie more 1 He will be a credit to the profofifiion, a ekilful operator, an acute reasoner."

I foroed myself to aoqulesce. " How coldly you speak I " he continued. " One cannot force those things, yet it would have pleased me well. You would make a good wlfo, Rhoda; not like most of the girls of the present day, full of fads ana f Mioies, morbidly introspective, and so full of theories oonoeraing women's rights and wrongs that they loae sight of the small immediate duties which He In fcheir pfvthe, You are not like that. You would make a man's home happy and home-like."

" Let me make your borne oomforfcableand home-like, for 1 shall never msurry." 11 It Is a woraanV duty."

"It is not mine. Dear dootor, please say no more about it. When yon are tired of me you can send me away. In the meantime let me give you your njedicine, and then I will try and read you to sleep." 80 the days of tbat last week crept on — in simple duties, iv anxious wafcoh and ward, in gentle patienoe and unwearying cheerfulness. Sometimes I have asked myaelf, "If I had known they were to be the last, should I have spent them differently 2 But I think not. One can but fulfil the immediate present duties and leave tb.9 issue In other hands. To my eyes he grew worse, daily, The doctors thought othof wise, and of course it waß not for me to contraSict them, They thought that they were getting the batter of the disease, and that the fatal membrane was gradually dispersing, and that no operation would be necessary. I felt that they were wrong, that he had little strength to fight the disease, that in the end it would oonquer. My anxiety was so great that I watched him incessantly, and could not rest night or day. At last my worst fears were realised. It was long past midnight, and I sat in an easy chair resting. Mv eyes were olosed, but I was not asleep. A ehafled lamp was on ths table ; it shed a dim light on the sick man's face. All the rest of the room was in shadow, Suddenly a hoaree, terrible, inarticulate cry burst from hie lips. He was gasping for breath, tn a moment I was on my feet and bending over him, "What is lts What ie it 2 Did you call?" , a Hia month was goon, i %& straggled and Jougjj* to mhvtL..sh9&M membrane had

formed over his throat. I gave one look into his agonised faoe, and I ran for Bertmnd. " Oome at once j your father is worW' In two minutes he was In the eiok room A uingle glance told him what had hajjpaned.

" There is not a moment to ba lott," he said, "and there is only one chance. I could have wished to have had eomoone else with me, but there ia no time."

He went into the ante-room for his case of instruments.

I kcew that there wa3 but one chance io 6uch a case, and that was bhe delicate and difilcult operation of traohaotomy, by which an incision ia made into the windpipe below the obstructing membrane, through which the patient is able to breathe until the fatal obstruction is removed.

He got the case, He bent over the sufferer, whose breath came in whiatliDg gaepg horrible to hear, whose strength was rapidly failing, a blue tint spreading over his face.

" Father," he said distinctly, " there is only one chance. Yon know it. There is no time to send for anyone else. Will yon trust me ? "

The dying man could not speak ; he made a plight affirmative movement of the hand.

Btrtrund understood and accepted ifc. He gAva me Eome short., sharp, decisive orders. 1 obeyed tbein meobanioally, my long experience in the hospital standing me in good stead ; for I knew what to do, and did it, and took my place by his side, ready to hand him infctrnmenta and dressing — all that be might need.

i'or an Instant oar eyes met. What awful uaeftiory wsa that which leapt up aad fhshed out of his 2 The memory of a past confession: " The devil inside prompts me to murder."

I remembered tco, and I cast tho thought from me.

11 Can you trust mo ? " asked tha voice of his soul. And J answered boldly aloud :

11 Yeo, I trust you."

After that he looked at me, and thought of me, no more. His whole attention was fixed and oentred on his patient.

His face was set, bis hand was firm and unwavering as some wonderful piece of fine and delioate mechanism. Hia expression and movements fascinated mo, Was thia tho man who had Btruggled bo long and hopelessly with heredity evil 1 He looked like a god, free alike from human passion and weakness, Ifc was the one great moment of hi* life in which ht roso above and beyond himself to the utmost possibilities of a grand but eatthbonnd nature.

1 am glad — glad that such a moment ORzae to him, and that I was permitted to see it. The operation was quiokly over the doable tube Inserted, and the outer one firmly fixed round the patient's neck. A moment of agonised suspense followed.

It did not act.

A quiver of the dying 1 , struggling face, and hope died out of the patient, sufiiorlng eyes.

Then Bertrand put his lips to the tube and drew out the impacting matter.

At the came momont the dying man, conecloua in tho midst of his agony, put out a hand to stop him, and I sprang forward wiLh the same intent.

Too well we both knew what that action meant.

We were too late.

Bertrand flashed upsn us a triumphant, coslatio look, aa of one whose soul had for a moment burst ita bonds and risen free and unfettered from the chains of earth to a higher and nobler plane, where Self is annihilated and Good alone remains.

" The opsration is euccessf ul," he paid.

There was no hope, as men oount hope. We knew it from the flist. Yet tho look of triumph rarely left Bartraml'a faoo ; and for myfieW, the time of grieving was not then. It came afterwards, when for a little while everything that makes life beautiful aud desirable eesmed taken from me, and I asked for myself that I might die. Bat just then, for thosa few days, I resolutely put all thoughts of future separation on one side.

The doctors did what they could for him, but we all knew that their efforts would be useless, for the poison had penetrated the 6yßtem. " Let me die in peace," ho said. " I have had enough of experiments."

Wo were much together. The old dootor, weak a* a child, but convalescent, knew our secret. What need to hide it from bim or from anyone ? To him it came as a terrible ebock that Bertrand should have so devoted his life, and that, I should approve.

" Oh, Rhoda 1 " he moaned, " why did you not prevent bim 7 lam only an old, wornout man. My life is of no use, and his — 30 valuable, bo precious I That it should be thus sacrificed I "

I kissed his hand.

"Dear father," I said, "his life is not sacrificed; it la crowned. Self-conquest ia the greatest of all triumphs ; and he haa conquered. Who shall dare to pity him 1 Not I."

He suffered. It was terrible to see him suffer. Sometimes my courage gave way; his never did. The medical men wished to give him morphia, but he would not take it. "I am fctrorig," he said; "I oan endure pain, but I wish to be conejalous to the last. Itnoda will hold my band, and I shall see her dear face alwaye before me. " Then when they had gone; "Sweetheart! kiss me of your own free will and say that you are content."

" I am content," I answered, and the tears fell like rain. 11 Would you have had me do otherwise 1 " " No, no j a thousand times— uo I" "That la well. Do you know that since that moment the devil in my heart is still. 'To the third and fourth generation ' hurts me no more. It is all over now. The evil heritage endß with me. I thauk God that I havo no child to cures its father."

11 Or bless him," I murmured aoffcly; "for, Bertrand, now curely the curse is at an end." " Nature is a hard stepmother. I vronld not trust her. It Is better as it ti. Ehoda, Jtou will not leave tho old man ! •/

•' No, no j 1 will remain with iiim always.* <• He loves yon."

«' Not more than I love him.*

41 Onoe I could not understand. Notf x$ seems quite dear. You have taught me tb love, and I see now that the greater love includes the leßser. Do you think that God's love is like that I— that because He Himself U so great it includes all, oven the worst of fiiuweis?"

"Yes. I believe it," «' Hs has the power and tha will. What more is needed 7 Rhcda, I feel that He is drawing me to HJmsqlf. Do you jemember sayiog that • only wilful Bin oould part thosi who truly love ? " v I remember."

11 Put your hand in mme — keep It so, I shall net ba able to fpeak nnoh more— l 6 hurts me. Are you afraid to see me die I n "No." "You are a brave woman, and death la nothing but a ohange of state. Why should we fear it 2"

"It is the Gate of Life," I said; "when that Is passed we shall be trnly free." « But we know bo little." "We know enough. Our faith must do tbe rest." " I am golDg into tbo darkness." " You are going into the light. It ia I who am in darkness."

" Btretcb out your hand ; take mine, but do not leau over ma— ift is dacgerons. There ia much for you to do here."

Tho days of 2uflering had In them moments of joy, awful In their completeness ; a foretaste of bliss hitherto only dreamed of.

We spoke of many things too sacred to bo repeated. There was no longer any fear that we should lose eaoh other In the great Hereafter. No longer the hldcoua expectation that evil would ultimately trinmph ovor good. if I had doubted it before, I knew then beyond all question that God is (stronger than the devil, and that in the end He will prevail ; and knowing this, ray heart w&tf at rest.

And so in tho flush of his trinmph my love passed before me Into the Great Unknown', And I held his hand and bid him "God speed."

And for myself, I wait. But since all l» well with Bertrand I oan be patltnt. There is 00 rrmoh to do — so many sick to nurse-} 10 many sad to comfort ; so many forms of sifj and failure to fight against — that the time does not teem lo&g. And always I comfort my soul with the assurance that he is waiting for me with the Angel Qf the Threshold, and that together we shall rl&e to ft higher and a nobler life 1 , where parting is unknown.

*,* Nellie: "That was a mean trick Jack plnyed me, all the same 1 "

Willy? "Wbat was it?"

Nellie: "He proposed on Christmas Eve bo tbat the engagement ring would do for a Christmas gift. Aud I oouldn't say • No/ you know, because in that case lie wouldn't have given me anything."

%* Some Chbistmas Fallacies. — That email gl£t» are rb welcome as large ones.

That people ever get the gifts they mo3t yearn for.

That it is easy to coax a pretty girl under the mistletoe.

That a Christmas pudding contains tha elements of beatific dreams.

That there's a more pitiful sight than a man shopping for holiday purposes.,

That we givo as costly presents to our ulsters as to other people's sinters.

Tbat the tramp or the defeated politician fsel« the softening Influences of the holiday Beajoo,

Tbat there is BJny force powerful enough to stifle the email boy'a exuberance of joy ou Christmas Day.

V A Jewish View op Chbistmas.— » The celebration of Christmas is beoomlnp year by year less roligloua and more sooial in character.

It ia a national holiday rather than a holy day of the Church. In past centuries ;Jewa havo frequently found themselves drawn into participation •with their fellow-oltizan« of other creed*, with celebrations originally religions, but in oourse of time, national.

It is always difficult to define the limits to which Jews may go in thl3 regard. Some OhrUtians now send New Year's oards to Jews on the first of Tishri, a Jewiflh religious festival.

In a recent leoture Mr Israel Abrahams quoted a passage from a Rabbinical respon* sum from which it appeared that some Ohrigtians in the Middle Ages were wont to send presents of leavened bread to their Jewish friends on the last night of Passover, co that the Jews might partake of the ordinary bread immediately on the conclusion of tho Passover. Attentions like this oement the 00?diality of the relations between Jew and Christian, and we can conceive no valid objection to a Jow sending a greeting of a " Happy Christmas " to a non- Jewifah friend. It is rather indecorous of a Jew to send such a greeting to another Jew, just as it is a trifle wanting In delicaoy for Jewd to go out of their way to " keep " Christmas.

On the other hand, it would be somewhat churlish to go out of one'e way to refuge to share in the national foßtivitioß prevalent at this time of the year, festivities which, nB we pointed out above, are only secondarily religious, Many theatres now start their

pantomimes on Ohrl3tmaßKvo, and altogether the anniversary is less saored than social. The line to be pursued by Individual Jews i* after all a setter of sentiment, and eentU ment canocti bs redjoea to iawWowisfc Chronicle..