CHAPTER XXIV. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH.

nhour,shewould—whetherworseorbetter—entreattobetakenupanddressed,andsufferedtositinherchairnearthewindow.Thisstationshewouldretaintillnoonwaspast.Whateverdegreeofexhaustionordebilityherwanaspectbetrayed,shestillsoftlyputoffallpersuasiontoseekreposeuntilthechurchclockhaddulytolledmidday.Thetwelvestrokessounded,shegrewdocile,andwouldmeeklyliedown.Returnedtothecouch,sheusuallyburiedherfacedeepinthepillow,anddrewthecoverletscloseroundher,asiftoshutouttheworldandsun,ofwhichshewastired.Morethanonce,asshethuslay,aslightconvulsionshookthesick-bed,andafaintsobbrokethesilenceroundit.ThesethingswerenotunnotedbyMrs.Pryor. OneTuesdaymorning,asusual,shehadaskedleavetorise,andnowshesatwrappedinherwhitedressing-gown,leaningforwardintheeasy-chair,gazingsteadilyandpatientlyfromthelattice.Mrs.Pryorwasseatedalittlebehind,knittingasitseemed,but,intruth,watchingher.Achangecrossedherpale,mournfulbrow,animatingitslanguoralightshotintoherfadedeyes,revivingtheirlustreshehalfroseandlookedearnestlyout.Mrs.Pryor,drawingsoftlynear,glancedoverhershoulder.Fromthiswindowwasvisiblethechurchyard,beyondittheroadandthere,ridingsharplyby,appearedahorseman.Thefigurewasnotyettooremoteforrecognition.Mrs.PryorhadlongsightsheknewMr.Moore.Justasaninterceptingrisinggroundconcealedhimfromview,theclockstrucktwelve. "MayIliedownagain?"askedCaroline. Hernurseassistedhertobed.Havinglaidherdownanddrawnthecurtain,shestoodlisteningnear.Thelittlecouchtrembled,thesuppressedsobstirredtheair.AcontractionasofanguishalteredMrs.Pryor'sfeaturesshewrungherhandshalfagroanescapedherlips.ShenowrememberedthatTuesdaywasWhinburymarketday.Mr.Mooremustalwayspasstherectoryonhiswaythither,justerenoonofthatday. Carolineworecontinuallyroundherneckaslenderbraidofsilk,attachedtowhichwassometrinket.Mrs.Pryorhadseenthebitofgoldglisten,buthadnotyetobtainedafairviewofit.Herpatientneverpartedwithit.Whendresseditwashiddeninherbosomasshelayinbedshealwayshelditinherhand.ThatTuesdayafternoonthetransientdoze—morelikelethargythansleep—whichsometimesabridgedthelongdays,hadstolenoverher.Theweatherwashot.Whileturninginfebrilerestlessness,shehadpushedthecoverletsalittleaside.Mrs.Pryorbenttoreplacethem.Thesmall,wastedhand,lyingnervelessonthesickgirl'sbreast,claspedasusualherjealously-guardedtreasure.Thosefingerswhoseattenuationitgavepaintoseewerenowrelaxedinsleep.Mrs.Pryorgentlydisengagedthebraid,drawingoutatinylocket—aslightthingitwas,suchasitsuitedhersmallpursetopurchase.Underitscrystalfaceappearedacurlofblackhair,tooshortandcrisptohavebeenseveredfromafemalehead. Someagitatedmovementoccasionedatwitchofthesilkenchain.Thesleeperstartedandwoke.Herthoughtswereusuallynowsomewhatscatteredonwaking,herlookgenerallywandering.Halfrising,asifinterror,sheexclaimed,"Don'ttakeitfromme,Robert!Don't!Itismylastcomfortletmekeepit.InevertellanyonewhosehairitisInevershowit." Mrs.Pryorhadalreadydisappearedbehindthecurtain.Recliningfarbackinadeeparm-chairbythebedside,shewaswithdrawnfromview.Carolinelookedabroadintothechambershethoughtitempty.Asherstrayideasreturnedslowly,eachfoldingitsweakwingsonthemind'ssadshore,likebirdsexhausted,beholdingvoid,andperceivingsilenceroundher,shebelievedherselfalone.Collectedshewasnotyetperhapshealthyself-possessionandself-controlweretobehersnomoreperhapsthatworldthestrongandprosperousliveinhadalreadyrolledfrombeneathherfeetforever.So,atleast,itoftenseemedtoherself.Inhealthshehadneverbeenaccustomedtothinkaloud,butnowwordsescapedherlipsunawares. "Oh,Ishouldseehimoncemorebeforeallisover!Heavenmightfavourmethusfar!"shecried."GodgrantmealittlecomfortbeforeIdie!"washerhumblepetition. "ButhewillnotknowIamilltillIamgone,andhewillcomewhentheyhavelaidmeout,andIamsenseless,cold,andstiff. "Whatcanmydepartedsoulfeelthen?Canitseeorknowwhathappenstotheclay?Canspirits,throughanymedium,communicatewithlivingflesh?Canthedeadatallrevisitthosetheyleave?Cantheycomeintheelements?Willwind,water,fire,lendmeapathtoMoore? "Isitfornothingthewindsoundsalmostarticulatelysometimes—singsasIhavelatelyhearditsingatnight—orpassesthecasementsobbing,asifforsorrowtocome?Doesnothing,then,hauntit,nothinginspireit? "Why,itsuggestedtomewordsonenightitpouredastrainwhichIcouldhavewrittendown,onlyIwasappalled,anddarednotrisetoseekpencilandpaperbythedimwatch-light. "Whatisthatelectricitytheyspeakof,whosechangesmakeuswellorill,whoselackorexcessblasts,whoseevenbalancerevives?Whatareallthoseinfluencesthatareaboutusintheatmosphere,thatkeepplayingoverournerveslikefingersonstringedinstruments,andcallforthnowasweetnote,andnowawail—nowanexultantswell,andanonthesaddestcadence? "Whereistheotherworld?Inwhatwillanotherlifeconsist?WhydoIask?HaveInotcausetothinkthatthehourishastingbuttoofastwhentheveilmustberentforme?DoInotknowtheGrandMysteryislikelytoburstprematurelyonme?GreatSpirit,inwhosegoodnessIconfide,whom,asmyFather,Ihavepetitionednightandmorningfromearlyinfancy,helptheweakcreationofThyhands!SustainmethroughtheordealIdreadandmustundergo!Givemestrength!Givemepatience!Giveme—oh,givemefaith!" Shefellbackonherpillow.Mrs.Pryorfoundmeanstostealquietlyfromtheroom.Shere-entereditsoonafter,apparentlyascomposedasifshehadreallynotoverheardthisstrangesoliloquy. Thenextdayseveralcallerscame.IthadbecomeknownthatMissHelstonewasworse.Mr.HallandhissisterMargaretarrived.Both,aftertheyhadbeeninthesickroom,quitteditintearstheyhadfoundthepatientmorealteredthantheyexpected.HortenseMoorecame.Carolineseemedstimulatedbyherpresence.Sheassuredher,smiling,shewasnotdangerouslyillshetalkedtoherinalowvoice,butcheerfully.Duringherstay,excitementkeptuptheflushofhercomplexionshelookedbetter. "HowisMr.Robert?"askedMrs.Pryor,asHortensewaspreparingtotakeleave. "Hewasverywellwhenheleft." "Left!Ishegonefromhome?" Itwasthenexplainedthatsomepoliceintelligenceabouttheriotersofwhomhewasinpursuithad,thatmorning,calledhimawaytoBirmingham,andprobablyafortnightmightelapseerehereturned. "HeisnotawarethatMissHelstoneisveryill?" "Ohno!Hethought,likeme,thatshehadonlyabadcold." Afterthisvisit,Mrs.PryortookcarenottoapproachCaroline'scouchforaboveanhour.Sheheardherweep,anddarednotlookonhertears. Aseveningclosedin,shebroughthersometea.Caroline,openinghereyesfromamoment'sslumber,viewedhernursewithanunrecognizingglance. "Ismeltthehoneysucklesintheglenthissummermorning,"shesaid,"asIstoodatthecounting-housewindow." Strangewordslikethesefrompallidlipspiercealovinglistener'sheartmorepoignantlythansteel.Theysoundromantic,perhaps,inbooksinreallifetheyareharrowing. "Mydarling,doyouknowme?"saidMrs.Pryor. "IwentintocallR