CHAPTER XXIX

THE DAWN OF A NEW LIFE

THE stillness of night had fallen on Egloshayle House. All the household had retired to rest save two, who were sitting up for Beryl's sake. Hettie Burton sat beside the bed in the dimly-lighted room. Beryl had not recognised her since her coming. The child was muttering to herself whilst her head tossed restlessly on the pillow. Her nurse bent over her and bathed her head, uttering gentle, soothing words, which Beryl seemed not to hear. Yet gradually, as she continued her loving services, the child grew quieter. She moved less often, her talking ceased, her breathing became more regular, and at last, with deep thankfulness, Miss Burton saw that she slept.

She dared not leave her place, lest the least movement should disturb the sleeper. Sleep was so good for the child.

Beryl slept for nearly an hour. Then she opened her eyes and looked calmly at her governess. Short as had been her slumber, its beneficent influence was plain. Delirium had ceased; there was recognition in the glance of content which rested on Miss Burton's face.

"Miss Burton," she whispered in a faint, weak voice, "you won't leave me, will you? You won't go away?"

"No, no, darling; I will not leave you," said Miss Burton, bending to give her some jelly. "Now take this and then close your eyes, and try to sleep again, whilst I watch beside you."

"But you won't go away," repeated the child; "because if you do, they will put me in the water; they mean to, I know."

"No, my darling, I will not leave you," Miss Burton assured her; "no one shall put you into the water; I will take care of you."

Beryl looked satisfied. Her nurse arranged her pillows more comfortably, and in a few moments Beryl's eyes again closed, and her quiet, regular breathing showed that she was sound asleep. Miss Burton stepped lightly to the door and opened it. Slight as was the sound, Mr. Hollys heard it, and came from the next room.

"How is she?" he asked fearfully.

"Better, really better, I believe," replied Miss Burton in a low voice. "She is fast asleep; come and look at her."

Mr. Hollys followed her into the room, and tears rushed to his eyes at the sight of Beryl peacefully sleeping. He sat down at one side of the bed and Miss Burton at the other, and together they thus watched the child for several hours, till Beryl woke, weak and helpless as a baby, but without fever and free from delusions.

Yet the days which followed were anxious ones. There was fear lest the child should slip away from life through sheer exhaustion. She needed the utmost care; and now it was that Miss Burton's capacity as a nurse was fully tested. But for her constant watching and unwearying devotion, Beryl's illness might have ended otherwise than it did. But her governess was ever at hand to administer medicine or nourishment just when they were needed, ready, too, with wise and loving words to soothe the nervous depression which troubled the child, to whom weakness and weariness were such strange experiences.

"Do you think I am really getting better, Miss Burton?" Beryl asked one day. "I feel just as weak as ever. You don't think I shall die, do you? I hope it's not wicked of me, but I don't want to die. I would so much rather get well and live with papa."

Mr. Hollys, who was sitting at the further side of the bed, half-hidden by the curtain, leaned forward and looked anxiously at his child as she said this, but Miss Burton replied cheerfully, "It is not wicked, dear; but only right that you should wish to get well. You are stronger, although you may not feel it yet. You have a better pulse, and there is a tinge of colour stealing back into your cheeks. Yes, you are getting on."

"I am so glad," said Beryl with a smile. "I have been trying to think about the kingdom; but my head is so stupid that I cannot remember anything properly. I can't even say that text, 'Suffer little children to come unto Me.'"

"'Suffer little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of God,'" said Hattie Burton. "Don't be surprised that you forget things, dear; it is always so after such an illness as yours, and you will soon get the better of it, and find everything coming back to you."

"'Of such is the kingdom of God,'" repeated Beryl. "That does not mean that the kingdom is for children only, does it, Miss Burton?"

"No, dear; that would be a sad thing for most of us," she replied with a smile; "it means that it is a kingdom of childlike, true, and loving spirits, and it is only by becoming like a little child that any one can enter therein."

"Miss Burton," said Beryl softly, forgetful of her father's presence, "I wish papa were in the kingdom. Do you think he ever will be?"

There was a sudden uneasy movement behind the curtain.

Miss Burton coloured, and felt herself painfully embarrassed by the child's question; but Beryl was looking at her wonderingly, so she replied in a low voice, "I hope so, dear."

Mr. Hollys rose hastily, and quitted the room without a word.

Beryl turned in astonishment to Miss Burton.

"Papa here! I did not know it. I wish I had not spoken so. Will he be angry with me, do you think?"

"I do not think so, dear; no, I am sure he cannot be angry with you," replied her governess.

There was indeed no anger in Mr. Holly's mind as he went away. Beryl's words had pricked himself sharply; but he could not feel cross with the sweet young daughter whose life was so precious to him.

He went downstairs to the library, and began to pace to and fro the room in painful thought. Yes, the child was right—he had no place in the kingdom; his life lay outside it, and till lately he had preferred that it should be thus. And yet he was not an unbeliever; he had not fallen under the blight of scepticism; he professed to believe the truths of Christianity, and his intellect did hold them true. He could admire the influence of religious faith in the lives of others. The memory of his young wife's beautiful life of faith and love was still fragrant in his mind. He had taken pains to secure for Beryl religious training; for her sake, he had rejoiced in the grace and consistency of Miss Burton's character, and he had heartily approved of the good works in which she had interested the children.

Yet all the while he had had no heart religion; he had been satisfied to worship God coldly and formally, and had felt no desire to draw near to Him as His Father, and claim the divine sonship which was his inheritance in Christ.

But now, it was different. Of late, the depths of his spirit had been stirred by sorrow and disappointment, followed swiftly by the sudden, appalling dread of losing the child of his love. When in the anguish of suspense, he had tried to ask God to spare Beryl's life, he had found it impossible to pray. What right had he to expect that he would be heard, when he had never cared to pray before, but had fancied himself sufficient to meet unaided all that life might bring forth?

As he walked up and down the library, Guy Hollys owned to himself that he would gladly share his child's simple faith, and gain an entrance into that kingdom of which his child loved to think. But could he enter there? Was it for such as he, this kingdom of God?

As he thought thus, his eyes fell on a book high up on one of the bookshelves. It was his wife's Bible, which he kept sacredly for her sake, but which he seldom opened. Now, however, he lifted it down, wiped the dust from its gilt edges, and began to turn over the leaves.

As he did so, he looked eagerly for words concerning the kingdom of God. Verses on this subject were easily found when he began to search for them.

"The kingdom of God is not in word, but in power."

"Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God?"

"The kingdom of God is not meat and drink; but righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Ghost."

"The kingdom of God cometh not with observation; neither shall they say, 'Lo here!' or, 'Lo there!' for behold! the kingdom of God is within you.'"

"Jesus answered, 'My kingdom is not of this world: if My kingdom were of this world, then would My servants fight, that I should not be delivered to the Jews: but now is My kingdom not from hence.' Pilate therefore said unto Him, 'Art Thou a king then?' Jesus answered, 'Thou sayest that I am a king. To this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness to the truth. Every one that is of the truth heareth My voice.'"

"'Verily I say unto you, except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.'"

The meaning of these passages was dark to Guy Hollys as he read them, yet he caught some glimpses of the grandeur and beauty of the spiritual life they set forth. The last verse he pondered long. How could he, Guy Hollys, become as a little child? That would indeed be a conversion. He knew that he was in spirit far from the kingdom of God. All his past life rose before him, visible now in its true light, his love of ease and pleasure, his pride and worldly ambition, his utter selfishness of heart and barrenness of life. Oh, to begin a higher, nobler life! But how, how?

A flash of light came from the Word. The leaves had opened at the first chapter of Matthew, and there were the words: "'Thou shalt call His name Jesus, for He shall save His people from their sins.'"

Here was his need met, here was a Saviour who could deliver him from the power of his sins. And as Guy Hollys bowed his head on his hands in unwonted humility, and breathed the most earnest prayer he had ever offered, he was conscious of the presence of One mighty to save, and felt that a Hand was stretched out to him, the hand of the strong Son of God, ready to uphold him in the new life he desired to begin. With the faith of a little child, he yielded himself utterly to the Saviour, and the angels of God rejoiced because another son was born into the kingdom.