SUNDAY EVENING.
Where I was, why I was where I was, and what time of the day or night it might happen to be—were questions which presented themselves to my mind in hazy succession, as, roused from my slumbers by the hum of voices, I woke slowly to the consciousness that, though I had been asleep, I was not in bed. It was only by a very gradual process of recollection that the past came back upon me almost like a fresh story, and I was at least a minute rubbing my eyes, and collecting my thoughts, before I took in all the familiar objects in the room, from the sofa on which I found myself reposing, to the fire-place at which, with their backs turned to me, my father and Dr. Wilson were in close conversation. My father's voice was low and serious, and at the moment when, having finished the process of awakening, I was going to speak, his words came slowly and distinctly to my ears, and sank down into my heart:—
"The thought of his parents' grief on hearing of the death—such a death, too!—of their only child, has been almost more than I could bear."
Aleck was dead!—there was no hope left! I thought; and with a piteous exclamation of grief, I turned round and hid my face in my hands, leaning up against the sofa.
In another moment my father was at my side. I felt his arm encircling me as he drew me towards him, and bending down, whispered softly,—
"It is no time for grief now, Willie; I was speaking of what might have been; let us give God thanks, for the danger is over—Aleck is spared to us."
I slowly drew back my hands from my face. The relief was so great I could scarcely believe in it; and I must have appeared—as I certainly felt—utterly bewildered, whilst I tried to find words, and only at last succeeded in repeating my father's mechanically:
"The danger is over—Aleck is spared to us."
"To be sure he is," said Dr. Wilson, in his cheeriest tones. He had got up from his chair, and was standing with his back to the fire looking at us. "Yes, he'll be quite well again by-and-by; and all the more prudent, we'll hope, for the trouble he's been putting us in during these last few days. He's had a lesson that ought to last for some time to come; but boys never learn their lessons, do what one will to make them."
There was a moment's pause after this discouraging general statement with reference to boys; and then the doctor added, as if thinking to himself, in quite a different tone:
"Poor boy! poor boy! it's been a very near thing. By the help of God, we've brought him through. May it be a life worth the saving—a life given back to God!"
"Amen!" ejaculated my father, earnestly; and then, at his suggestion, we knelt together, and, in a few heartfelt words, he offered thanks to the heavenly Father for his goodness to us, and turned kind Dr. Wilson's aspiration into a prayer, that the life given back to my cousin might be by him given back to God.
I knew, as I knelt there by my father's side, for the first time in my life, the feeling of a deep and speechless thankfulness, for which all words would be too poor.
It was very late—past ten o'clock—but I was not allowed to go up to bed at once. Supper was ready, my father said, and I should come into the dining-room, and have it with him and Dr. Wilson. Accordingly, in spite of all remonstrances of nurse, who put in her appearance, and thought fit to reflect upon the utter impropriety of such late hours, I went to supper; and felt, moreover, greatly refreshed and strengthened by it, sitting there close by my father's side, and rejoicing every moment of the time in the feeling as of a great deliverance.
So it came to pass that my second night did not begin until eleven o'clock.