Chapter 5
Night was fast closing around Westford, and the cold was intense, yet no
column or smoke had been seen all day from the old cottage on the hill; and now when every
house sent forth a friendly ray of light, not the faintest glimmer was visible from all
its windows."They’ve flitted, sure enough," said a man to his neighbor,
as both were hastening to their comfortable homes. "And old Garrit may whistle for
his rent, I’m thinkin’."
"Why, la, don’t you know their rent has been paid the whole year in
advance," responded the other. "You don’t think Garrit would have been fool
enough to let ‘em stay all this time if it hadn’t."
"Sure!" ejaculated the first speaker, in a tone of surprise. "Why who in
airth paid it?"
"Don’t know. Garrit says he’s bound not to tell, and he don’t keer,
either, now he’s got it."
"Well, I’m glad of it," rejoined the other. "It did seem hard to
turn the poor gals out in this weather."
"It’s like to be a backward spring," said his companion. "I’m
afeard there won’t be much chance for grain this year."
"Seems to me," said the other, "that our springs ain’t what they
used to be when I was young. I guess we’ll have to turn the world t’other way a
while, it’s kinder goin’ wrong lately," and with a hearty laugh at his wit,
the two separated.
Night had fairly set in, and yet there was no sign of life around the miserable home of
the three sisters. Everything was dark and silent without, and within all was as dark and
almost as silent. Crouching together on the bed were the three girls: two of them creeping
there for warmth, and one, the eldest, forced there by sickness. They were speaking so low
that no one outside the house could have heard even the murmur of their voices.
"He will come," Faith was saying, in her firm, decided way. "It
is a month almost since he was here. Don’t speak in that whining tone, Charity. I
hate it."
"But it is so long to wait," responded the younger sister. "So long
without food or fire. Hark, how the wind roars and howls! It seems as if the very elements
were in league against us."
"Be quiet, will you?" said Faith, impatiently. "It makes me angry to
hear you. As if nature took cognizance of three miserable girls, and lashed the elements
into fury on purpose to punish them. Such words are unbecoming in you Charity; you should
know better."
"I am not so strong as you, Faith. I wish I was," said the poor child,
shivering. "It seems hard to me to lie here in cold and darkness and hunger, when
light and warmth and food might be had."
"By begging?" demanded her sister sternly.
"No, Faith, by working," responded the other. "To me it seems sinful to
do as we are doing. I don’t speak of you; of course we would never think of your
working; but I could teach or sew, and Hope, so much wiser and more learned than I, could
do even better, if you would but let us try."
"What did I bring you here for?" said Faith. "That we might hide from
the world for a time, until this dark cloud passed over. It is passing—it will soon
be over; only have patience."
"I think Charity is right," said Hope. "It seems worse than useless to
perish here by inches, when we should be up and doing."
"Who speaks of perishing?" angrily demanded the elder. "It has not been
so long since your animal wants were gratified; does one day’s cold and hunger make
you forget yourself? Tomorrow I shall be better, and if he is not here, I can go over to
him. Rouse yourselves, and prove yourselves faithful, by patiently bearing what is sent.
There, be quiet, both of you. My head aches again; let me sleep."
Before daybreak the doctor’s bell was violently rung, and before he could put his
head out of the window to ascertain who had disturbed him, a second and louder peal rang
through the house.
"What in the fiend’s name is the matter?" he exclaimed. "Who are
you?"
"Oh! Come. Come quickly, doctor," replied a female voice. "She is
dying."
"She, I thought it was a woman," he muttered, as he descended and
opened the door. "Come in, don’t freeze me. Who is sick?"
"My sister Faith, Mrs. Berkly," replied the shivering intruder. "Oh!
Hurry, doctor, she is very ill."
"Yes, and so will you be. Why couldn’t she get sick at a decent time, and not
drag people out of their beds at this hour?"
"She has been sick for some time, but she would not let us come for you, and last
night she woke us with her raving. She does not recognize either of us. Oh! Hurry, I am
afraid to leave Hope so long along with her."
"I am hurrying as much as I can. You don’t want me to freeze, do you?"
he retorted. "And you, like all your sex, had not sense enough to wrap yourself up
before coming out. There, drink that wine, and then wrap this cloak around you, or I shall
be obliged to carry you home."
Common civility compelled him to offer his arm when they started, but he was not sorry
that she declines it. For a while she kept beside him, but was soon obliged to slacken her
pace, and after stumbling several times finally fell forward on the ground.
"Why, what a baby you are," he said, assisting her. The words were rough, but
the tone was more gentle than usual. "Are you hurt?"
"Only weak," she gasped. Her fictitious strength had left her, and she could
not help giving way to her feelings.
"Don’t cry," he exclaimed. "If there is anything on earth I
abominate it is a woman’s tears—especially if she cries because of a hurt."
"I am not crying for that," she said, trying to rally.
"No! For what then? Your sister has too much energy to die yet. She’ll never
die until she wants to. I never met a woman with such a nature. I honor her for it."
"We cannot change our nature," she replied. "She and Hope were always
strong; I never was."
"Why? You are young and vigorous, and could be if you wanted to. But you are the
youngest, and I suppose have been pampered and petted by your mother," he returned.
"I get out of all patience when I see the injudicious fondness of mothers. How many
milksops and poppets are turned loose upon the world, who might have been men and women
with proper training."
"I never had a mother to pet me," she replied in a low tone. "She died
when I was a babe. And Faith is not one to pet or spoil anyone."
"No, I’ll be sworn she is not," he said, as they came near the house.
"Why, you are in darkness, here," he continued, as he entered. "Get a
light, how can I find my way?"
Charity put her mouth close to his ear. "Hush," she whispered.
"Don’t let Hope hear you. We have no light."
"Come, quick!" Hope called as she heard the outer door close. "I
can’t hold her any longer."
It was a matter of wonder to the physician, as he took the strong form in his arms, how
the girl had held her at all; it required all his strength to restrain her. He was glad
when he saw daylight creeping through the window, although it lighted up a miserable
looking group. Its cheerful rays fell upon Faith, her long black hair streaming over her
shoulders, her face flushed and distorted, and her tall form writhing with madness; upon
Hope, white as a corpse, as she stood with compressed lips and stern brow beside the
sufferer, and upon Charity overcome by excitement, cold, and hunger, crouching at the foot
of the bed. And lastly it fell upon the wretched looking room, with its scant furniture
and fireless hearth. All looked even more bleak and desolate to the doctor than when he
first entered it, to minister to the comfort of the dying old man.
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