England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
I say, I think I was necessary in the house. Every person (1 had almost
said every creature, for all the dumb beasts seemed to know and love
Phillis) about the place went grieving and sad, as though a cloud was
over the sun. They did their work, each striving to steer clear of the
temptation to eye-service, in fulfilment of the trust reposed in them
by the minister. For the day after Phillis had been taken ill, he had
called all the men employed on the farm into the empty barn; and there
he had entreated their prayers for his only child; and then and there
he had told them of his present incapacity for thought about any other
thing in this world but his little daughter, lying nigh unto death, and
he had asked them to go on with their daily labours as best they could,
without his direction. So, as I say, these honest men did their work to
the best of their ability, but they slouched along with sad and careful
faces, coming one by one in the dim mornings to ask news of the sorrow
that overshadowed the house; and receiving Betty’s intelligence, always
rather darkened by passing through her mind, with slow shakes of the
head, and a dull wistfulness of sympathy. But, poor fellows, they were
hardly fit to be trusted with hasty messages, and here my poor services
came in. One time I was to ride hard to Sir William Bentinck’s, and
petition for ice out of his ice-house, to put on Phillis’s head.
Another it was to Eltham I must go, by train, horse, anyhow, and bid
the doctor there come for a consultation, for fresh symptoms had
appeared, which Mr Brown, of Hornby, considered unfavourable. Many an
hour have I sate on the window-seat, half-way up the stairs, close by
the old clock, listening in the hot stillness of the house for the
sounds in the sick-room. The minister and I met often, but spoke
together seldom. He looked so old—so old! He shared the nursing with
his wife; the strength that was needed seemed to be given to them both
in that day. They required no one else about their child. Every office
about her was sacred to them; even Betty only went into the room for
the most necessary purposes. Once I saw Phillis through the open door;
her pretty golden hair had been cut off long before; her head was
covered with wet cloths, and she was moving it backwards and forwards
on the pillow, with weary, never-ending motion, her poor eyes shut,
trying in the old accustomed way to croon out a hymn tune, but
perpetually breaking it up into moans of pain. Her mother sate by her,
tearless, changing the cloths upon her head with patient solicitude. I
did not see the minister at first, but there he was in a dark corner,
down upon his knees, his hands clasped together in passionate prayer.
Then the door shut, and I saw no more. One day he was wanted; and I had
to summon him. Brother Robinson and another minister, hearing of his
“trial”, had come to see him. I told him this upon the stair-landing in
a whisper. He was strangely troubled.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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