"Some one seemed to go in quest of her. Perhaps it was Susan. Paul thought he heard her telling him, when he closed his eyes again, that she would soon be back; but he did not open them to see. She kept her word, perhaps she had never been away; but the next thing that happened was a noise of footsteps on the stairs, and then Paul woke, woke mind and body, and sat upright in his bed. him. He saw them now about There was no gray mist before them, as there had been sometimes in the night. He knew them every one, and called them by their names. "And who is this? Is this my old nurse?' said the child, regarding with a radiant smile a figure coming in. "Yes, yes. No other stranger would have shed those tears at the sight of him, and called him her boy, her pretty boy, her own poor slighted child. No other woman would have stooped down by his bed, and taken up his wasted hand, and put it to her lips and breast as one who had some right to fondle it. No other woman would have so forgotten everybody else but him and Floy, and been so full of tenderness and pity. "Floy, this is a kind, good face,' said Paul. glad to see it again. Don't go away, old nurse; stay here.' 'I am "His senses were all quickened; and he heard a name he knew. "Who was that who said, "Walter "?' he asked, and looked around. Some one said, "Walter." Is he here? I should like to see him very much.' 66 Nobody replied directly; but his father soon said to Susan, Call him back, then; let him come up.' After a short pause of expectation, during which he looked with smiling interest and wonder on his nurse, and saw that she had not forgotten Floy, Walter was brought into the room. His open face and manner, and his cheerful eyes, had always made him a favorite with Paul; and, when Paul saw him, he stretched out his hand, and said, 'Good-by!' 666 Good-by, my child!' cried Mrs. Pipchin, hurrying to his bed's head. Not good-by?' 6 6 "For an instant, Paul looked at her with the wistful face with which he had so often gazed upon her in his corner by the fire. Ah, yes!' he said placidly, goodby! Walter, dear, good-by!' turning his head to where he stood, and putting out his hand again. Where is papa?' "He felt his father's breath upon his cheek before the words had parted from his lips. 6 "Remember Walter, dear papa,' he whispered, looking in his face. Remember Walter. I was fond of Walter.' The feeble hand in the air, as if it cried Good-by!' to Walter once again. "Now lay me down again,' he said; and, Floy, come close to me, and let me see you.' "Sister and brother wound their arms around each other; and the golden light came streaming in, and fell upon them locked together. 666 How fast the river runs between its green banks and the rushes, Floy! But it's very near the sea. I hear the waves. They always said so.' 66 Presently he told her that the motion of the boat upon the stream was lulling him to rest. How green the banks were now! how bright the flowers growing on them! and how tall the rushes! Now the boat was out at sea, but gliding smoothly on; and now there was a shore before him. Who stood on the bank? "He put his hands together as he had been used to do at his prayers. He did not remove his arms to do it; but they saw him fold them so behind her neck. “Mamma is like you, Floy. I know her by the face. But tell them that the print upon the stairs of school is not divine enough. The light about the head is shining as I go.' "The golden ripple of the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred in the room. The old, old fashion,— the fashion that came in with our first garments, and will last unchanged until our race has run its course, and the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll; the old, old fashion,- death! "Oh! thank God, all who see it, for that older fashion yet, immortality. And look upon us, angels of young children, with regard not quite estranged, when the swift river bears us to the ocean." The chapter containing the foregoing is headed in the novel, "What are the wild waves saying?" A beautiful song has been written by some one with that title, which is twined with the memory of Dickens and little Paul. It will fitly close this chapter. 'What are the wild waves saying, Sister, the whole day long, That ever, amid our playing, I hear but their low, lone song? Not by the seaside only (There it sounds wild and free); But at night, when 'tis dark and lonely, 'Brother, I hear no singing. 'Tis but the rolling wave, Ever its lone course winging Dashing against the shore; A wind from some bleaker quarter "No: it is something greater, That speaks to the heart alone. "Yes: but the waves seem ever Singing the same sad thing; And vain is my weak endeavor What is that voice repeating Or a warning that calls away? "Brother, the inland mountain, Hath it not voice and sound? Speaks not the dripping fountain As it bedews the ground? E'en by the household ingle, Curtained and closed and warm, Do not our voices mingle With those of the distant storm? "Yes; but there's something greater That speaks to the heart alone: 'Tis the voice of the great Creator That dwells in that mighty tone." |