CHAPTER II.
When Mrs. Humphrey rejoined her husband in the sitting-room, their conversation very naturally turned to the stranger who was resting beneath their roof. They evidently felt deeply interested by her delicate and lady-like appearance.
"I am sure of one thing," said Mrs. Humphrey, "that this woman has seen better days, notwithstanding the poverty which her present appearance indicates."
"And I am convinced of another thing," replied Mr. Humphrey, "that no fault of her's has reduced her to her present circumstances, for her countenance shews her to be a worthy and true-souled woman; and she shall freely remain beneath my roof until it shall be her wish to leave it."
Little did Mr. Humphrey think, when he made this remark, how soon the poor woman would exchange the shelter of his roof for that of the grave.
Next morning on visiting the room of the stranger, Mrs. Humphrey found her too ill to rise from the bed. She complained of no pain, but seemed very weak and
languid. Mrs. Humphrey did all that lay in her power for the comfort of the sick woman. Taking little Ernest down stairs she beguiled him with amusing stories, as she attended to her domestic duties, so that his mother might be left in quiet; and when the child grew weary of the confinement of the house Mr. Humphrey took him to walk with him while he attended to some business in the village. Before returning home Mr. Humphrey called upon Dr. Merton, with whom he was intimately acquainted, and spoke to him concerning the sick woman at his house. He requested the physician to call to see her in the course of the day, saying, that if the woman was not able to pay him he would himself see him paid for his services.
"It makes no difference," replied the humane physician, "whether she is rich or poor, if she requires the attention of a physician she must not be neglected; I will certainly call in the afternoon."
The physician accordingly called in the afternoon, and, after some conversation with Mrs. Harwood, prescribed for her some medicines, and left her, promising to call again in a short time. Before leaving the house, however, he informed Mrs. Humphrey that he thought the woman alarmingly ill. "As near," said he, "as I can judge from her appearance, I think that consumption has been for a long time preying upon her constitution, and over-fatigue has thus suddenly prostrated her. The powers of life," continued Dr. Merton, "are fast failing,
and in my opinion a few weeks will terminate her earthly existence. I have prescribed for her some simple medicines, but I fear her case is already beyond the aid of medicine. All we can do," said the physician in conclusion, "is to render her as comfortable as may be, for she will soon require nothing which this world affords."
The lonely situation of the stranger had deeply touched the kind heart of Dr. Merton.
As the Doctor had predicted, Mrs. Harwood failed rapidly. She suffered but little bodily pain, but her strength failed her daily, and it soon became evident to all who saw her, that the day of her death could not be far distant.
She gave to Mrs. Humphrey a brief sketch of her past life, which will be made the subject of another chapter.
Mr. and Mrs. Humphrey had reared a family of five children; three of them now slept in the village church-yard; the remaining two had married, and removed to a long distance from their paternal home, consequently the worthy couple had for some years dwelt alone in the home where once had echoed the glad voices of their children.
They soon decided that, should Mrs. Harwood not recover, they would gladly adopt her little boy as their own, if she felt willing to leave him to their care. So great was the anxiety of Mrs. Harwood regarding her child, that it was long ere she gave up hopes of recovery,
but when she at length became aware that she must die, she at first found it very difficult to resign herself to the will of Heaven.
"Were it not for my child," she would often say, "the prospect of death would not be unpleasant to me, for I have a comforting hope of a life beyond the grave; but who will care for my orphan boy when I am no more? I must not distrust the goodness of the orphans' God."
Mr. Humphrey, in reply to these remarks one day, said to her—
"I hope you will make your mind perfectly easy in regard to your child; for, should it please God to remove you by death, I have already decided to adopt little Ernest as my own son, if you feel willing to consign him to my care; and you may rest assured that while my life is spared he shall be tenderly cared for, as though he were my own son."
"Now," replied Mrs. Harwood, "can I die willingly. Since my illness it has been my daily and nightly prayer, that should it be the will of Heaven that I should not recover, God would raise up friends to care for my orphan boy, and that prayer is now answered."
Just six weeks from the evening on which Mrs. Harwood entered the dwelling of Mr. Humphrey, her eyes were closed in death. The last day of her life was passed mostly in a kind of lethargy, from which it was almost impossible to arouse her. Toward evening she rallied, and her mind seemed clear and calm. She was aware
that the hour of her death had arrived; but she felt no fears in the prospect of her approaching dissolution. She thanked Mr. and Mrs. Humphrey for their kindness to her, and again tenderly committed to their care her boy, who would soon become an orphan.
"I am powerless to reward you," said the dying woman, "but God will certainly reward you for your kindness to the widow and orphan."
She requested that her child might be brought and placed by her side. Placing her thin wasted hands upon his head she said, in a voice scarcely audible,—
"May the God who never forsakes the orphan preserve my precious boy amid the perils and dangers of the sinful world!"
She drew the face of the child close to her own, and imprinted a mother's last kiss upon his brow, and sank back exhausted upon her pillow. A few more fluttering quick drawn breaths and her spirit had winged its way from earth, and no one who witnessed her death felt a doubt that its flight was heavenward.