Grandma Markham was dying, but she knew Maddy, and the palsied lips
worked painfully as they attempted to utter the loved name; while her
wasted face lighted up with eager joy as Maddy's arms were twined
about her neck, and she felt Maddy's kisses on her cheek and brow.
Could she not speak? Would she never speak again, Maddy asked
despairingly, and her grandfather replied: "Never, most likely. The
only thing she's said since the shock was to call your name; She's
missed you despatly this winter back, more than ever before, I think.
So have we all, but we would not send for you--Mr. Guy said you was
learning so fast." "Oh, grandpa, why didn't you? I would have come so
willingly," and for an instant Maddy's eyes flashed reproachfully upon
the recreant Guy, standing aloof from the little group gathered about
the bed, his arms folded together, and a moody look upon his face.
He was thinking of what had not yet entered Maddy's mind, thinking of
the future--Maddy's future, when the aged form upon the bed should be
gone, and the two comparatively helpless men be left alone.
"But it shall not be. The sacrifice is far too great. I can prevent
it, and I will," he muttered to himself, as he turned to watch the
gray dawn breaking in the east. Guy was a puzzle to himself. He would
not admit that during the past year his liking for Maddy Clyde had
grown to be something stronger than mere friendship, nor yet that his
feelings toward Lucy had undergone a change, prompting him not to go
to her when she was sick, and not to be as sorry as he ought that the
marriage was again deferred. Lucy had no suspicion of the change and
her childlike trust in him was the anchor which held him still true to
her in intentions at least, if not in reality. He knew from her
letters how much she had learned to like Maddy Clyde, and so, he
argued, there was no harm in his liking her too. She was a splendid
girl, and it seemed a pity that her lot should have been so humbly
cast. This was usually the drift of his thoughts in connection with
her; and now, as he stood there its that cottage, Maddy's home, they
recurred to him with tenfold intensity, for well he foresaw that a
struggle was before him if he rescued Maddy as he meant to do from her
approaching fate.
No such thoughts, however, intruded themselves on Maddy's mind. She
did not look away from the present, except it were at the past, in
which she feared she had erred by leaving her grandmother too much
alone. But to her passionate appeals for forgiveness, if she ever had
neglected the dying one, there came back only loving looks and mute
caresses, the aged hand smoothing lovingly the bowed head, or pressing
fondly the girlish cheeks where Guy's hand had been. With the coming
of daylight, however, there was a change; and Maddy, listening
intently, heard what sounded like her name. The tied tongue was loosed
for a little, and in tones scarcely articulate, the disciple who for
long years had served her Heavenly Father faithfully, bore testimony
to the blessed truth that God's promises to those who love Him are not
mere promises--that He will go with them through the river of death,
disarming the fainting soul of every fear, and making the dying bed
the very gate of heaven. This tribute to the Savior was her first
thought, while the second was a blessing for her darling, a charge to
seek the narrow way now in life's early morning. Disjointed sentences
they were, but Maddy understood them all, treasuring up every word
even to the last, the words the farther apart and most painfully
uttered, "You--will--care--and--comfort----" She did not say whom, but
Maddy knew whom she meant; and without then realizing the magnitude of
the act, virtually accepted the burden from which Guy was so anxious
to save her.