CHAPTER III

IN THE SHADOWS

JUSTIN came in from a ride one afternoon to find Anstice waiting for him in the hall with an anxious expression in her eyes.

"Anything the matter?" he asked lightly.

"I hope not. Josie is not very well. I am wondering whether I shall send for the doctor."

"She was running about in the garden before breakfast."

"Yes, but she has had a sore throat since yesterday morning, and this afternoon was so heavy-eyed and flushed that I have put her to bed."

"Oh, she'll be all right to-morrow, I expect. Children often have ailments."

Justin seemed perfectly unconcerned; but Anstice knew that if it had been Ruffie, he would have been anxious at once.

"I have just heard," Anstice said slowly, "that there is an outbreak of scarlet fever in the village, and I am sorry to say that Hal Cross is down with it. Stephen has just been up to tell me so."

"Hal? But, good heavens, he was drawing Ruffie round the garden in his chair two days ago!"

Justin was startled and alarmed now. He had just had the telephone installed, and made his way towards it. "We'll have the doctor round. You're afraid that Josie has got it?"

"I may be mistaken."

"We mustn't risk anything. Keep her apart from the others. I think Georgie had not better be with Ruffie. She and Josie are always together."

Justin rang the doctor up.

"I always feel," he said, turning to Anstice with concern in his tone, "that if Ruffie caught any bad illness, he would never weather through it. If anything happened to him, I should go mad!"

The doctor 'phoned that he would come round, and in two hours' time did so. But he confirmed their fears, and told them that Josie was undoubtedly sickening for it. Anstice immediately made all preparations. She moved Ruffie down on to the next landing, and told Brenda that she was not to come near Josie.

"I shall nurse her myself, and we must have this landing to ourselves."

Poor Georgie was, as it were, between two fires. She was not allowed by her father to go near Ruffie, neither was she allowed to go near her sister. For two miserable days she wandered about the house alone, and then came almost triumphantly up to her father.

"I'm going to get the fever. I've got a sore throat."

He looked suspiciously at her. "Are you inventing it?"

"No, on my word and honour, it's true. May I go upstairs to Steppie and Josie?"

"Go into your room and stay there till the doctor comes," said her father sharply.

Georgie went upstairs slowly and miserably. She did not feel well, was half frightened and half excited at the thought of being ill herself, and wanted Anstice to pet and comfort her.

Her father went to Ruffie's room, fear knocking at his heart. He missed Anstice, who had wholly given up herself as sick nurse to Josie.

The very thought of his idolized boy being struck down by this infectious disease filled his mind with terror and dismay. He was relieved to find Ruffie his usual bright little self, and taking him up in his arms carried him out into the garden and deposited him in a small hammock under the tree which had been rigged up for his use and comfort.

Before another day had passed, Georgie had been put in the same room as her sister. Anstice was nursing them both. Neither of the little girls had the disease severely, but it was bad enough to make them very querulous and uncomfortable. The doctor insisted upon a nurse being sent in to help Anstice. Justin was vexed with her for devoting herself to the little girls, but nothing would induce her to act otherwise.

As the days went on, Justin began to congratulate himself upon Ruffie being proof against infection. He was with him a great deal, and took him up amongst the Fells on his pony, feeling that the open-air life would be the best thing for him at present. Ruffie missed Anstice and his sisters, and was always talking about them.

"Shall you and I catch it next, Dad? What fun, when we're all in bed together!"

But Justin did not feel inclined to joke about it. He was still watching his boy with breathless suspense, noting any feverishness or heightened colour with anxious eyes. Brenda tried to comfort him.

"He need not have it, sir. The little girls had measles once and he never took it. They say that delicate children often escape illnesses."

Hope allayed his fears for the time. And then one evening Ruffie grew fretful over a game of chess with his father. He grew careless over his moves, and when he was not winning, he threw out his little hand and overturned the pieces.

"I'm tired, my head aches."

His father took him in his arms, and tried to soothe him. Ruffie put up hot little fingers and stroked his cheek. "I love you, Dad, but I miss Steppie dreffully. I want to feel her velvet dress against my cheek."

"She can't come to you, sonny; she's nursing your sisters."

"But they ought to be well by now. They've been ill such a long time. I want Steppie!" He was half crying.

"You mustn't be a baby," his father said. "Cheer up! If your head aches, what does Steppie do?"

"She puts eau-de-C'logne on her hanky and dabs my forehead."

"Oh, I can do that," said his father with alacrity.

He found the eau-de-Cologne, and tried his hand at cooling Ruffie's hot head. But either his hands and movements were awkward, or the child was impatient, for he suddenly pushed him from him, and burst into tears.

"I want Steppie! I want Steppie. I feel mis'able!"

Brenda came to the rescue.

"I'll put him to bed, sir. He is tired and hot; he will be all right to-morrow."

Justin hardly slept that night. Ruffie, and Ruffie only, was in his thoughts. He stole into his room in the early morning, and found Brenda bending over the child's bed with an anxious face. Looking up, she made an effort to speak lightly:

"He's been very restless and feverish all night, sir. I hope he may be better now. He's had a nice sleep since six o'clock."

"He's no better at all," said a plaintive little voice from the pillow. "He's very ill indeed, very!"

Justin came and put his hand on the little forehead; the curls were moist with heat, and the anxious father looked at Brenda with scared eyes.

"I must get hold of Mrs. Holme. We'll let the doctor see him when he comes."

He sped along to the upper corridor and to the nursery wing which was set apart for the girls. He dared not go near his wife, because of carrying infection to Ruffie, but spoke to her from a distance. She spoke to him with pale face and tired eyes, but she spoke encouragingly.

"Ruffie often has feverish nights, but let the doctor see him by all means. Is his throat sore?"

"I have not heard him complain of it."

"Brenda will nurse him. She is accustomed to these feverish attacks of his. We'll hope it is nothing more."

Justin went back to his boy. He felt that he could not leave him.

Two hours later, the doctor arrived. Justin paced up and down in the passage outside Ruffie's room till the doctor had finished his examination. His face was haggard when the door opened and Dr. Forsyth joined him.

"Is he all right? Is it anything serious?"

"I am afraid," said the doctor gently, "that he will be our next patient."

"He has taken it, then?"

"I think so. The symptoms are that way."

Justin said nothing. Now the blow had fallen, he seemed stunned for a time. Dr. Forsyth went on upstairs to see the little girls. When he came down he found Justin waiting for him on the terrace.

"You'll pull him through, Forsyth? I can't tell you what he is to me." His voice choked. He turned abruptly away.

"Oh, yes," the doctor said in his cheerful professional manner; "there's no reason why he should have it more severely than the little girls. They have done splendidly. I'll call to-morrow early."

He was gone.

And the following day left no room for doubt. The rash appeared, and Ruffie was too ill to take any notice of his father. Anstice, of course, at once came to him. She was thankful that Josie and Georgie no longer needed her. She and Brenda devoted themselves to Ruffie, whose temperature was up to an alarming height and kept them intensely anxious. Justin would not be shut out of the sick-room, but he could do little there. And as the days went on, Ruffie seemed to slip farther and farther into the Valley of the Shadow of Death. He was so frail that Anstice felt it would be impossible for him to pull through.

She faced the doctor at last with a white face.

"Dr. Forsyth, he is sinking. I feel he is. You don't think he will pull through?"

"You know the old saying, 'While there is life, there is hope.' If he does not rally within an hour or two, the end will come."

He was an old man and experienced with children. Anstice knew that he had given up hope. She said nothing, but her heart rose in passionate prayer to God to preserve the little life, if only for his father's sake. And then when the doctor had left, she went to Justin. He had seen Dr. Forsyth as he left the house and had heard his opinion. Anstice found him sitting before his writing-table in the smoking-room, his head bowed in his hands. She put her hand very gently upon his shoulder. He did not speak, but a low groan escaped him. Then suddenly he faced her with hard, despairing eyes.

"If he is taken from us, my faith in God will go. It is tyrannical cruelty to spare the girls, and take him!"

"Hush! Hush! My dearest!" And with tears in her eyes, Anstice leant her cheek against his. "I'm praying still. All things are possible with God. He loves him, and He loves us. We won't doubt His love."

A short time after they were both in Ruffie's room. The fever had raged in his tiny body, and now his temperature had dropped. He lay like a little waxen image, his beautiful eyes closed, and only the very slightest rise and fall of his chest told them that he was still breathing. The nurse was sitting by his side. She had been giving him from time to time a little drop of stimulant in a teaspoon. For days he had been unconscious. Justin sank on his knees beside the bed, and Anstice signed to the nurse to leave them.

"I will take your place," she said, and the nurse, who had been on duty for some hours, went.

To Anstice, it seemed as if angels were already hovering over Ruffie ready to waft his soul to the Home for little children. She almost felt as if she could wrestle in prayer no longer; and yet, as she looked at her husband kneeling there, and knew his agony of soul, she again pleaded that the precious life might be spared. Justin had taken one of the little wasted hands in his and pressed it to his lips. There was a quiver of eyelashes, and then the brown eyes gazed at him, and a slight quivering smile crossed the face.

"Daddy dear!"

The words were but a whisper; yet both Anstice and Justin caught them.

"It's his good-bye," said Justin with a choke in his voice, for the eyes had closed again, and Anstice put her hand gently over the little heart to see if it was still beating. Five minutes of breathless silence. They waited, both feeling they were in the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and then the nurse stole in again. She stood at the foot of the bed, then softly opened the window as wide as possible.

"Don't bend over him. Give him as much air as possible."

Anstice at once took the hint, but Justin remained on his knees. Anstice saw his lips were moving, and she knew that he was praying. And then the nurse drew nearer.

"He is sleeping," she said. "Leave him to me; if he sleeps, he may wake the better for it."

Husband and wife reluctantly left the room, Anstice to go to the little girls, Justin to pace up and down the terrace outside beneath his boy's bedroom. All that night they watched and waited, and then towards morning, the child's pulse seemed stronger and his temperature rose. When the doctor came, he heard the good news with a smile.

"If he has improved at all, there is hope."

And before he went, he laid his hand on Anstice's shoulder. "He has turned the corner. With careful nursing, I believe we shall pull him through."

It was indeed true. Ruffie's little feet had been very near the margin of the river, but no farther. He had been given back for a few more years to rejoice his father's heart. A few days later, when his recovery was a joyful fact, Anstice wandered out into the garden to get a little fresh air. She was too tired to walk much, for the strain of Ruffie's illness, on the top of the nursing of his sisters, had almost proved too much for her. She sat down on the lawn under one of the old trees. The beeches were turning colour, and the elms and oaks were already carpeting the green turf with their fallen leaves. It was a calm autumnal day. Anstice's heart was full of thanksgiving; she could think of nothing but the mercy and loving-kindness of God.

And then presently Justin joined her. He had come straight from the boy's room. But though his head was erect and steps light, there was a great gravity on his face. He sat down on the garden seat by the side of his wife. Then he bent his head and kissed her.

"You are worn out, sweetheart!" His tender, sympathetic tone sent the tears with a rush to Anstice's eyes.

"I am only so thankful, so thankful!" she said.

He was silent for a moment, then spoke:

"These past weeks have been hard on both of us. For myself I own, I've never been in such trouble before. I think I'd like you to know that when Ruffie was given back to us, I gave God my heart and life."

He stopped. Anstice slipped her hand into his and gave it a little squeeze.

For a moment she could say nothing. Her heart was too full for words.

Then she said softly: "It has been worth the strain and stress of these past weeks to hear you say that."

They sat looking out upon the blue, still lake in the distance. Anstice was thinking of her short and strange married life, and how through Ruffie's illness, she had obtained her heart's desire.

Then she turned again to Justin. She knew that to such a proud reserved man as himself, his confession had cost him something.

"We are both beginners," she said, "but we can help each other. I always hoped that you and I would eventually have the same aims, the same goal! Don't you like these lines? I read them this morning in a little book I have:"

"'The race Thou hast appointed us, with patience we can run; Thou wilt perform unto the end, the work Thou hast begun.'"

FINIS