CHAPTER X.

THE STORM.

WE were sitting with our glasses in our hands, and Jack was making all sorts of absurd speeches, and was proposing my health, and the landlord's health, and the health of the rest of the company in the room, when there came art unusually bright flash of lightning, which made us all start, followed immediately by a peal of thunder, which sounded as if the house were falling over our heads.

"Good gracious!" said Jack. "That was a whacker! I shall have to drink Mr. Thunder's health next!"

But I could not join in the laugh with which he followed this silly speech. That flash of lightning had made me think of the storm on the night of Salome's fifth birthday; and with the thought of the storm came the remembrance of Salome's text:

"One shall be taken, and the other left," and of Salome's sorrowful words, as she clung to me that night:

"You mustn't be left, Peter; they must take you too!"

Then I thought of the first rule on my card: "Do nothing that you would not like to be doing when Jesus comes." I certainly should not like to be sitting drinking whiskey and neglecting my duty, as I was doing then.

I thought of the second rule on my card: "Go to no place where you would not like to be found when Jesus comes." I certainly should not like to be found in this public-house, and in the company of the idle drinking fellows with whom the room was filled.

I thought of the third rule on my card: "Say nothing that you would not like to be saying when Jesus comes." There were a great many silly and foolish things I had said since I came into that place which I should not like to have been saying if that flash of lightning had been the flash of glory at the appearing of the Lord Jesus Christ. What if He were really to come while I was there!

I felt very much afraid, and Jack told me I was as glum as an old sulky owl. I was very glad when the rain was over, and I could get outside again. Then I bid Jack good-day, and hurried home as fast as I could.

I took off my tidy clothes, and went at once into the stable to clean and polish the harness. I kept an anxious eye on the road all the afternoon, hoping to see the doctor's carriage on its way to the house. But the hours went by, and tea-time came, and he had not arrived.

"Master Reggie has got a bad turn, he has," said Bagot to his wife; "it's going to be croup, our lady thinks. I wish that doctor would look sharp; I do indeed."

But time still went on, and no doctor appeared. Could Mike have delivered my letter, or was it possible that he had forgotten it? I got more and more anxious every moment.

At last I could bear it no longer, and I did what I ought to have done long before—I told the whole story to Bagot. I did not omit to tell him of the storm, and how it had reminded me of the three forgotten rules.

"Ay, Peter, my lad," he said, "it's a sad tale, that is; but I'm glad you've made a clean breast of it, I am, and I'm very thankful the Lord didn't come to-day and find you wandering out of His ways. I'll step across and tell our lady, and see what she thinks had best be done."

"Wait a minute, Bagot," I said; "tell her I've gone off now to see if the doctor has got the letter. I will start at once, and go as quick as ever I can."

"Get a bit of supper first, my lad," said Bagot, kindly.

But I would not hear of waiting a moment, and I set off at a running pace towards Calvington. Of course I could not keep this up long, and it seemed a long way; but the air was cooler than in the morning, which was a great help to me.

It must have been about ten o'clock when I reached the doctor's house. His gig was standing at the door, and the doctor came out and jumped into it as I came up. He was just setting off for Grassbourne. He had only received my mistress's letter a few minutes before. The careless Mike had dropped it on the road, and some one had picked it up and brought it to the doctor's house.

I told him how ill Master Reggie was, and that my mistress thought that he was going to have croup; and he ran back into his surgery to get several things that might be wanted, and then drove off at a tremendous pace towards Grassbourne.

I went home more slowly than I had come, and it was near midnight when I reached the avenue gate. To my surprise, I found Bagot standing there, leaning against the gate, as if he were waiting for me. He was very kind to me—more kind than I deserved, I thought; but he seemed very downcast.

"Is he worse, Bagot?" I asked.

"No, he's a wee bit better, he is," said Bagot. "The doctor is going to stay till morning, though. I've been helping his man to take the horse out, I have."

He took me in, and Mrs. Bagot was still up, and had a good supper ready for me on the table. She, too, was more kind to me than ever; but neither of them spoke much while I was eating my supper.

As soon as I had finished, Bagot said, taking an envelope from his pocket—"Shall I give it him now, old wife?"

"Yes, Jem," she said, "now that he's had his supper, you had best let him read it."

Bagot handed me a telegram, and I read as follows: "Salome is very ill indeed, and cries for you. Can you be spared to come and see her?"

I sat looking at it for a long time without speaking.

Then Bagot said, "Poor lad, I'm awful sorry for you, I am; but cheer up—maybe she'll be better soon."

"Can I go, do you think, Bagot?" I said.

"Yes, I'm sure you may," he said. "Run over with the letter to the house, and ask to speak a word with our lady. They're all sitting up with the child."

I went as he advised me, and the cook gave me a jug of hot water to carry, which was wanted upstairs, and I took it as quietly as I could into the sickroom.

[Illustration: I TOOK IT AS QUIETLY AS I COULD INTO THE SICK-ROOM.]

Master Reggie was in great pain, gasping for breath, and the doctor and his mother and the nurse were standing round him, doing all they could to help him. He saw me come in, and smiled, and tried to speak, but I could not tell what he said.

My mistress followed me out of the room.

"Can you ever forgive me, ma'am?" I said.

"I do forgive you, Peter," she answered, "for I know how sorry you are. And I think—I hope—it would not have made much difference if the doctor had been here before, for he says that I had done all that could have been done before he came."

Then I handed her the telegram, and tears came in her eyes as she read it, for I had told her about Salome, and she knew how much I loved her.

"Trouble everywhere, Peter," she said. "Yes, you may go, and you may stay a few days if you can be of any use."

I thanked her very much, and she crept into the room again.

We did not go to bed for a long time after that. We sat round the kitchen fire, and Bagot stepped over to the house every half-hour to ask in the kitchen how the child was; and it was not until he brought us word that Master Reggie was asleep, and that the doctor said all danger was over for the present, and that he was preparing to go home, that we could make up our minds to go upstairs.

I had a very short night, for the train started at eight o'clock, and I had to walk to the station.

When I arrived at home, I went at once upstairs to Salome's room, and I found my mother, looking very worn and tired, watching beside her. Salome seemed to be quite unconscious; she did not know me when I went in, though my mother said she had called for me many times in the night. She was talking wildly and strangely, and I thought she looked very ill indeed. My mother said she did not know what was the matter with her; she had been ill now for some days, and every day she grew worse.

The doctor came soon after I arrived, and my mother went downstairs with him, and left me with Salome. When she came back, she said—

"Peter, it's a bad job; we oughtn't ever to have sent for you; the doctor says he is pretty certain now that it's scarlet fever, which hasn't come out properly. Whatever shall we do?"

And my poor mother burst into tears.

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