Dr. Carrington had said that if he took care of himself, he might live and be well. The other doctors had said the same. And there was no reason to doubt their judgment10. But they had not bargained for an attack of rheumatic fever, or for the increased injury to the lungs which the same cause, that past soaking, had induced.
On Christmas Eve, he and Jane were sitting over the fire in the twilight11. He could come downstairs now; indeed, he did not appear to be so ill as he really was. The surgeon who attended him in the fever had been discharged long ago. "There's nothing the matter with me now but debility; and, only time will bring me out of that," Mr. Halliburton said, when he dismissed him. Jane was hopeful; more hopeful by fits and starts than continuously so; but she did really believe he might get well when winter had passed. They were sitting beside the fire, when a great bustle12 interrupted them. All the children trooped in at once, with the noise it is the delight of children not to stir without. Frank, who had been out, had entered the house with his arms full of holly13 and ivy14, his bright face glowing with excitement. The others were attending him to show off the prize.
"Look at all this Christmas, mamma!" cried he. "I have bought it."
"Bought it?" repeated Jane. "My dear Frank, did I not tell you we must do without Christmas this year?"
"But it cost nothing, mamma. Only a penny!"
Jane sighed. She did not say to the children that even a penny was no longer "nothing."
"You know that penny I have kept in my pocket a long while," went on Frank in excitement, addressing the assemblage. "Well, I thought if mamma would not buy some Christmas, I would."
"But you did not buy all that for a penny, Frank? We should pay sixpence for it in London."
"I did, though, mamma. I had it of that old man who lives in the cottage higher up the road, with the big garden to it. He was going to cut me more, but I told him this was plenty. You should have seen the heaps he gave a woman for twopence: she wanted a wheelbarrow to carry it away."
Janey clapped her hands, and began to dance. "I shall help you to dress the rooms! We must have a merry Christmas!"
Mr. Halliburton drew her to him. "Yes, we must have a merry Christmas, must we not, Janey? Jane"—turning to his wife—"can you manage to have a nice dinner for us? Christmas only comes once a year."
"I will see what I can do," said Jane in reply, smothering16 down another sigh. "I am going out presently to the butcher's. A joint17 of beef will be best; and though the pudding's a plain one, I hope it will be good. Yes, we must keep Christmas."
Christmas-day dawned, and in due time they assembled as usual. Jane intended to go to church that day. During her husband's illness she had been obliged to send the children alone. They had been trained to know what church meant, and did not require some one with them to keep them in order there. A good thing if the same could be said of all children!
It was a clear, bright morning, cold and frosty. Mr. Halliburton came down just as they were starting.
"I feel so much better to-day!" he exclaimed. "I could almost go with you myself. Jane"—smiling at her look of consternation—"you need not be startled: I do not intend to attempt it. William, you are not ready."
"Mamma said I was to stay with you, papa."
"Stay with me! There's not the least necessity for that. I tell you all I am feeling better to-day—quite well. You can go with the rest, William."
William looked at his mother, and for a moment Jane hesitated. Only for a moment. "I would rather he remained, Edgar," she said. "Betsy will be gone by twelve o'clock. Indeed, I should not feel comfortable at the thought of your being alone."
"Oh, very well," replied Mr. Halliburton, quite gaily18. "I suppose you must remain, William, or we shall have mamma leaving when the service is only half over to see whether I have not fallen into the fire."
Jane had all the household care upon her shoulders now, and a great portion of the household work. Though an active domestic manager, she had known nothing practically of the more menial work of a house; she knew it only too well now. The old saying is a very true one: "Necessity makes us acquainted with strange bedfellows." This young girl, Betsy, who came in part of each day to assist, was almost as much trouble as profit. She had said to Jane on Christmas Eve: "If you please, mother says I am to be at home to-morrow, if it's convenient." I am! However, Jane and the young lady came to a compromise. She was to go home at twelve and come back later to wash up the dishes. Of course it entailed19 upon Jane all the trouble of preparing dinner.
Have you ever known one of these cases yourself? Where a lady—a lady, mind you, as Jane was—has had to put aside her habits of refinement20, pin up her gown, and turn to and cook; roast the meat and boil potatoes, and all the ether essential items? Many a one is doing it now in real life. Jane Halliburton was not a solitary21 example. The pudding had been made the day before and partly boiled: it was now on the fire, boiling again, and the rest of the dinner she would do on her return from church.
It was something wonderful, the improvement in Mr. Halliburton's health that day. He took his part with William in reading the psalms22 and lessons while the rest were at church: it was what he had been unable to do for a long time in consequence of his cough and laboured breathing. The duty over, he lay back in his chair; in thought apparently23, not exhaustion24.
"Peace on earth, and good will towards men!" he repeated presently, in a fervent25, but somewhat absent tone. "William, my boy, I think peace must be coming to me at last. I do feel so well."
"What peace, papa?" asked William, puzzled.
"The peace of renewed health, of hope; freedom from worry. The Christmas season and the bright day have taken away all my despondency. Let me go on like this, and in another month I shall be out and at work."
They were to dine at three o'clock, and Jane did her best to prepare it. During the process, Patience appeared at the back door with a plate of oranges. "Will thee accept of these for thy children?" asked she.
"How kind you are!" exclaimed Jane, in a grateful impulse, as she thought of her children. Of such little treats they had latterly enjoyed a scanty28 share. "Patience, I hope you did not buy them purposely?"
"Had I had to buy them, thee would not have seen them," returned the candid29 Quakeress. "A friend of Samuel Lynn's, who lives at Bristol, sends us a small case every winter. When I was unpacking30 it this morning I said to him, 'The young ones at the next door would be pleased with a few of these'; but he did not answer. Thee must not think him selfish; he is not a selfish man; but he cannot bear to see anything go beside the child. Anna looked at him eagerly; she would have been pleased to send half the box: and he saw it. 'Take in a few, Patience,' he cried."
"I am much obliged to him, and to you also," repeated Jane. "Patience, Mr. Halliburton is so much better to-day! Go in, and see him."
Patience went into the parlour, carrying the oranges with her. When she came out again there was a grave expression on her serene31 face.
"Thee will do well not to count upon this apparent improvement in thy husband."
Jane's heart went down considerably32. "I do not exactly count upon it, Patience," she confessed; "but he does seem to have changed so much for the better that I feel in greater spirits than I have felt this many a day. His cough seems almost well."
"I do not wish to throw a damp upon thee; still, were I thee, I would not reckon upon it. These sudden improvements sometimes turn out to have been deceitful. Fare thee well!"
Jane went into the parlour. The children were gathered round the plate of oranges. "Mamma, do look!" cried Janey. "Are they not good? There are six: one apiece for us all. I wonder if papa could eat one? Gar, you are not to touch. Papa, could you eat an orange?"
Unseen by the children, Mr. Halliburton had been straining his eager gaze upon the oranges. His mouth parched33 with inward fever, his throat dry, they appeared, coming thus unexpectedly before him, what the long-wished-for spring of water is to the fainting traveller in the desert. Jane caught the look, and handed the plate to him. "You would like one, Edgar?"
"I am thirsty," he said, in tones savouring of apology, for the oranges seemed to belong to the children rather than to him. "I think I must eat mine before dinner. Cut it into four, will you?"
He took up one of the quarters. "It is delicious!" he exclaimed. "It is so refreshing34!"
The children stood around and watched him. They enjoyed oranges, but scarcely with a zest35 so intense as that.
When Jane returned to the kitchen, she found a helpmate. The maid from next door, Grace, a young Quakeress, fair and demure36, was standing37 there. She had been sent by Patience to do what she could for half an hour. "How considerate she is!" thought grateful Jane.
They dined in comfort, Grace waiting on them. Afterwards the oranges were placed upon the table. Master Gar caught up the plate, and presented it to his mother. "Papa has had his," quoth he.
"Not for me, Gar," said Jane. "I do not eat oranges. I will give mine to papa."
The three younger children speedily attacked theirs. William did not. He left his by the side of the one rejected by his mother, and set the plate by Mr. Halliburton.
"Do you intend these for me, William?"
"Yes, papa."
Frank looked surprised. "William, you don't mean to say you are not going to eat your orange? Why, you were as glad as any of us when they came."
"I eat oranges when I want them," observed William, with an affectation of carelessness, which betrayed a delicacy38 of feeling that might have done honour to one older than he. "I have had too good a dinner to care about oranges."
Mr. Halliburton drew William towards him, and looked steadfastly39 into his face with a meaning smile. "Thank you, my darling," he whispered: and William coloured excessively as he sat down.
Mr. Halliburton ate the oranges, and appeared as if he could have eaten as many more. Then he leaned his head back on the pillow which was placed over his chair, and presently fell asleep.
"Be very still, dear children," whispered Jane.
They looked round, saw why they were to be still, and hushed their busy voices. William pulled a stool to his mother's feet, and took his seat on it, holding her hand between his.
"Papa will soon be well again now," he softly said. "Don't you think so, mamma?"
"Indeed I hope he will," she answered.
"But don't you think it?" he persisted; and Jane detected an anxiety in his tone. Could there have been a shadow of fear upon the boy's own heart? "He said mamma, whilst you were at church, that in another month he should be strong again."
"Not quite so soon as that, I fear, William. He has been so much reduced, you know. Later: if he goes on as well as he appears to be going on now."
Jane set the children to that renowned40 game. "Cross questions and crooked41 answers." You may have had the pleasure of playing it: if so, you will remember that it consists chiefly of whispering. It is difficult to keep children quiet long together.
"Where am I?" cried a sudden voice, startling the children in the midst of their silent whispers.
It came from Mr. Halliburton. He had slept about half an hour, and was now looking round in bewilderment, his head starting away from the pillow. "Where am I?" he repeated.
"You have been asleep, papa," cried Frank.
"Asleep! Oh, yes! I remember. You are all here, and it is Christmas Day. I have been dreaming."
"What about, papa?"
Mr. Halliburton let his head fall back on the pillow again. He fixed42 his eyes on vacancy43, and there ensued a silence. The children looked at him.
"Singular things are dreams," he presently exclaimed. "I thought I was on a broad, wide road—an immense road, and it was crowded with people. We were all going one way, stumbling and tripping along——"
"What made you stumble, papa?" interrupted Janey, whose busy tongue was ever ready to talk.
"The road was full of impediments," continued Mr. Halliburton, in a dreamy tone, as if his mental vision were buried in the scene and he was relating what had actually occurred. "Stones, and hillocks, and brambles, and pools of shallow water, and long grass that got entangled44 round our feet: nothing but difficulties and hindrances45. At the end, in the horizon, as far as the eye could reach—very, very far away indeed—a hundred times as far away as the Malvern Hills appear to be from us—there shone a brilliant light. So brilliant! You have never seen anything like it in life, for the naked eye could not bear such light. And yet we seemed to look at it, and our sight was not dazzled!"
"We were all pressing on to get to the light, though the distant journey seemed as if it could never end. So long as we kept our eyes fixed on the light, we could see how we walked, and we passed over the rough places without fear. Not without difficulty. But still we did pass them, and advanced. But the moment we took our eyes from the light, then we were stopped; some fell; some wandered aside, and would not try to go forward; some were torn by the brambles; some fell into the water; some stuck in the mud; in short, they could not get on any way. And yet they knew—at least, it seemed that they knew—that if they would only lift their eyes to the light, and keep them steadfastly on it, they were certain to be helped, and to make progress. The few who did keep their eyes on it—very few they were!—steadily bore onwards. The same hindrances, the same difficulties were in their path, so that at times they also felt tempted47 to despair—to fear they could not get on. But their fears were groundless. So long as they did not take their eyes from the light, it guided them in certainty and safety over the rough places. It was a helper that could not fail; and it was ready to guide every one—all those millions and millions of travellers. To guide them throughout the whole of the way until they had gained it."
The children had become interested and were listening with hushed lips. "Why did they not all let it guide them?" breathlessly asked William. "Nothing can be more easy than to keep our eyes on a light that does not dazzle. What did you do, papa?"
"It seemed that the light would only shine on one step at a time," continued Mr. Halliburton, not in answer to William, but evidently absorbed in his own thoughts. "We could not see further than the one step, but that was sufficient; for the moment we had taken it, then the light shone upon another. And so we passed on, progressing to the end, the light seeming brighter and brighter as we drew near to it."
"Did you get to it, papa?"
Mr. Halliburton paused, still in thought: but he said no more. Presently he turned to his wife. "Is it nearly tea-time, Jane? I cannot think what makes me so thirsty."
"We can have tea now, if you like," she replied. "I will go and see about it."
She left the room, and Janey ran after her. In the kitchen, making a great show and parade of being at work amidst plates and dishes, was a damsel of fifteen, her hair curiously49 twisted about her head, and her round, green eyes wide open. It was Betsy.
"That was good pudding," cried she, turning her face to Mrs. Halliburton. "Better than mother's."
"Have it in directly, mum," was Miss Betsy's acquiescent51 response.
Scarcely were the words spoken, when a commotion53 was heard in the sitting-room54. The door was flung open, and the boys called out, the tone of their voices one of utter alarm. Jane, the child, and the maid, made but one step to the room. All Jane's fears had flown to "fire."
Fire had been almost less startling. Mr. Halliburton was lying back on the pillow with a ghastly face, his mouth, and shirt-front stained with blood. He could not speak, but he asked assistance with his imploring55 eyes. In coughing he had broken a blood-vessel.
Jane did not faint; did not scream. Her whole heart turned sick, and she felt that the end had come. Janey sank down on the floor with a faint cry, and hid her face on the sofa. One glimpse was sufficient for Betsy. The moment she had taken it, she subsided56 into a succession of shrieks57; flew out of the house and burst into that of Mr. Lynn. There she terrified the sober family by announcing that Mr. Halliburton was lying with his throat cut.
Mr. Lynn and Patience hurried in, ordering Anna to remain where she was. They saw what was the matter, and placed him in a better position: Patience helping58 Mrs. Halliburton to sponge his face.
"Shall I get the doctor for thee, friend?" asked the Quaker of Jane. "I shall bring him quicker, maybe, than one of thy lads would."
"Oh! yes, yes!"
"I warned thee not to be sanguine," whispered Patience, when Mr. Lynn had gone. "I feared it might be only the deceitfulness of the ending."
The ending! what a confirmation59 of Jane's own fears! She turned her eyes despairingly on Patience.
Mr. Halliburton opened his trembling lips, as though he would have spoken. Patience stopped him.
"Thee must not talk, friend. If thee hast need of anything, can thee not make a sign?"
He gave them to understand that he wanted water. This was given to him, and he appeared to be more composed.
"There is nothing else that I can do just now," observed Patience. "I will go back and take thy little girl with me. See her, hiding there!"
Patience did so. Betsy cowered60 over the fire in the kitchen, and the three boys and their mother stood round the dying man.
"Oh, Edgar! do not speak!" interrupted Jane.
He smiled as he looked at her, very much as though he knew that it did not matter whether he spoke52 or remained silent. "I am at the journey's end, Jane; close to the light. Children," he panted at slow intervals62, "when I told you my dream, I little thought it was only a type of the present reality. I think it was sent to me that I might tell it you, for I now see its meaning. You are travelling on to that light, as I thought I was—as I have been. You will have the same stumbling-blocks to walk over; none are exempt63 from them; trials, and temptations, and sorrows, and drawbacks. But the light is there, ever shining to guide you, for it is Heaven. Will you always look up to it?"
He gathered their hands together, and held them between his. The boys, awe-struck, bewildered with terror and grief, could only gaze in silence and listen.
"The light is God, my children. He is above you, and below you, and round about you everywhere. He is ready to help you at every step and turn. Make Him your guide; put your whole dependence64 upon Him, implicitly65 trust to Him to lighten your path, so that you may see to walk in it. He cannot fail. Look up to Him, and you will be unerringly guided, though it may be—though it probably will be—only step by step. Never lose your trust in God, and then rest assured He will conduct you to His own bright ending. Jane, let them take it to their hearts! May God bless you, my dear ones! and bring you to me hereafter!"
He ceased, and lay exhausted66; his eyes fondly seeking Jane's, her hand clasped in his. Jane's own eyes were dry and burning, and she appeared to be unnaturally67 calm. Gradually the fading eyes closed. In a very short time the knock of Samuel Lynn was heard at the door. He had brought the doctor. William, passing his handkerchief over his wet face, went to open it.
Mr. Parry stepped into the room, and Jane moved from beside her husband to give place to him. "He sighed heavily a minute or two ago," she whispered.
The surgeon looked at him. He bent68 his ear to the open mouth, and then gently unbuttoned the waistcoat, and listened for the beating of the heart. "His life passed away in that sigh," murmured the doctor to Jane.
It was even so. Edgar Halliburton had gone into the light.
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1
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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auspices
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| n.资助，赞助 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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dwindling
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| adj.逐渐减少的v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的现在分词 ) | |
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delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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craved
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| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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delusive
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| adj.欺骗的，妄想的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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smothering
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的现在分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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entailed
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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psalms
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| n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 )；圣诗；圣歌；(中的) | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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unpacking
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| n.取出货物，拆包[箱]v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的现在分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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steadfastly
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| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
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renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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43
vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hindrances
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| 阻碍者( hindrance的名词复数 )； 障碍物； 受到妨碍的状态 | |
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46
heeding
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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acquiescent
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| adj.默许的，默认的 | |
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52
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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57
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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exempt
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| adj.免除的；v.使免除；n.免税者，被免除义务者 | |
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dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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