CHAPTER XXIV. WHITE FLOWERS AND FORGIVENESS FOREVERMORE.
Maureen lay down in the Chamber of Peace and slept for long hours. It was very nearly noon on the following day when she awoke. She was quite refreshed, quite calm and very happy.
"Dear little Daisy," she murmured under her breath. Mrs. Faithful herself brought the girl a most carefully prepared breakfast.
"You ought to stay in bed, darling," she said. "You have gone through too much. Dominic and I both wish it."
"I stay in bed?" said Maureen, with one of her radiant smiles. "But I'm perfectly well, and I've got to attend to Henrietta now."
"Oh, my child, that poor, poor girl. Do you know, Maureen, that we have not dared to tell her."
"I am glad," said Maureen, after a pause. "I will tell her myself in my own way. Will you, dear Mrs. Faithful, ask Dom to collect heaps and heaps of white flowers—all the daisies and white wild flowers he can find and have them ready for me in a basket?"
"Yes, dearest, yes."
"I want to make her look beautiful before Henrietta sees her," continued Maureen. "Have you locked the door of that room?"
"Yes, dear; girls are not accustomed to the sight of death."
"Will you give me the key, please?"
Mrs. Faithful found herself obeying this extraordinary child without a word. She not only gave her the key, but took Maureen's message to Dominic.
When Maureen had finished her breakfast, she washed in the delicious hot bath which adjoined her bedroom and dressed herself in the purest white Indian muslin. It clung in soft folds to her slim young figure. Then, as she left the room, she encountered Dominic, who was waiting for her in the corridor outside. He had a basket under his arm filled with all sorts of white flowers.
Maureen hastily produced wire and a thimble, needle, scissors and thread, then she and Dominic went in the direction of the Infirmary.
"I've never seen anyone dead, you know," said Dominic, pausing for an instant before that shut door.
"You never loved her in life, Dom, but you will love her now," said Maureen. "She is far, far above us all now. In the moment of death that evil spirit which so tormented her passed away forever, and the Spirit of Love came instead, and God sent one of his most beautiful Angels and took her home, poor little Daisy!"
"Maureen, how queerly you speak."
"Come and see for yourself," said Maureen. "The last thing she said before she left us was, 'I love you, Maureen, better than anyone else in the whole world.'"
"Did she really?" said Dominic.
"Now, come and see," continued Maureen.
She unlocked the door, and the boy and girl entered the Infirmary. All the windows were wide open. There was a sweet gentle air blowing through the long room. A white sheet covered the head and slight figure of the girl.
Maureen gently removed the white sheet, and they both saw a tiny face, a face which had never once been beautiful in life, but now looked lovely. There was a faint smile on the lips. Daisy looked something like a lily flower, broken at the stem.
Maureen bent and kissed her.
"Good-morning, darling," she said. "Now, Dom, be quick, be quick. She is very cold, but I think somehow her spirit hears. Don't you know those words of Mrs. Barbauld's,
"Say not good-night,
But in a brighter sphere,
Wish me good-morning.
"Now, Dom, let us cover her with flowers. Flowers everywhere—flowers round her little head—flowers in her cold, wee hands—flowers scattered about her. We'll make wreaths presently, you and I, but that is enough for the present. Oh, she looks at last what she was meant to be. How, I must go to Henrietta."
Dom and his cousin left the Infirmary; Maureen put the key into her pocket. For one minute she knelt down in the Chamber of Peace and prayed very earnestly, then she went slowly with a shining light in her eyes to Dinah's room. She had forgotten about her scalded and burnt hand and arm; she forgot everything but the task which lay before her. She entered the room with a confident step and that beautiful light shining in her eyes; Dinah, who of course knew, but had not told Henrietta, was trying to occupy that young lady with some bead work.
Henrietta said the beads were dull in colour; she only liked bright things. The moment she saw Maureen she scowled and said, "Get away, brat!"
Henrietta, alas, was again placed in the punishment chair. Maureen looked at her with infinite sadness.
"Get away; why don't you go?" she continued. "Dinah, me honey, take care of thy money; oh, Dinah, do let's get on with these beads."
"No," said Dinah, "I will not."
"Why not?" said Henrietta in amazement; "what ails thee, sweet maid?"
"Naught ever ails me," replied Dinah. "The peace of God which passes all understanding dwells in my heart. I know no sorrow; I feel no fear."
"Thou art very goody-goody," said Henrietta. "Now that this scamp has come, can we not play Puss-in-the-corner? That will be jolly good sport."
"Thou wilt stay where thou art," said Dinah. "Maureen, sit here."
She placed a little chair not far from Henny. Maureen sat down, but only for a minute, then she rose and said in a voice which was arresting and compelling so that even the wild girl who was tied in the chair noticed it, "I have something to tell you."
"What a bother," said Henrietta; "is it about Daisy? Is she well enough to come and see me? I heard yesterday that she was fine. Catch anything doing Daisy much harm; but however did you get all your hand and arm bandaged up? Was she scratching you? It was like her, little witch."
"No," replied Maureen. "It was you who did that, Henrietta, when you twisted the tablecloth round my legs. I got both scalded and burnt by the little brass urn and the spirit lamp."
"I told thee so," interrupted Dinah.
"But it is nothing," said Maureen, "nothing at all! I do not feel it indeed, Henrietta."
"There now, I said it was nothing," said Henrietta.
"But I want to tell you about Daisy."
"Yes, how is the imp?"
"Quite well. I have come to take you to her."
"I thought she couldn't do without me long. I am the only one she ever loved, poor little bit, poor bitteen. If she's quite well, she might come to me, but it would be more fun going to her."
"Wilt thou go quietly and reverently," interrupted Dinah, "otherwise I will not undo thy cords."
"Why, what is the matter?" said Henrietta. "She, the brat, says she is quite well."
"Even so," replied Dinah; "but I must get thy answer."
"Oh, I'll be good," said Henrietta; "I'll have lashins and lavins to say to her. Poor little snippet; but what puzzles me is to know why I should go reverently, and you both look queer, very queer. Is my Dysy really well?"
"She is, most assuredly, quite well, Henrietta."
"I will be good, then, and go to her. I have lots and lots to say to her."
Dinah immediately slipped the cords, which fastened the rebellious girl into the chair. She looked with emphasis at Maureen, but Maureen would not meet her eyes.
As soon as ever Henrietta was free, Maureen took her hand. "Come," she said.
Dinah hesitated for a moment, and then resolved to follow them. They went out of Dinah's room, Henrietta talking rapidly and loudly, Maureen very still and calm.
At last they reached the door of the Infirmary. Maureen took the key out of her pocket.
"What's the matter with you, Maureen?" said Henrietta, a little puzzled at last. "You don't look somehow natural. Oh, and there is that old Dinah following us. I shall have no fun unless I'm alone with my Daisy. Is it true that she is really well?"
"Yes, darling."
"Darling! You call me darling?"
"There are two ways of getting well," said Maureen. "Little Daisy has chosen the better way. Come at once. See how beautiful she is."
"Daisy beautiful! You must be joking."
Dinah took up her position outside the door. The two girls entered.
"Henny," said Maureen suddenly, "I'm afraid you will get something of a shock, for you will see your poor little sister as God meant her to be. The Evil Spirit has left her, and the very last thing she said was, 'I love you, Maureen; I love you!' Now, look for yourself at her dear little face."
Quickly and deftly Maureen lifted the sheet and showed the dead girl covered with flowers.
Henrietta was indeed startled at last. She gave a great ringing, piercing cry, "Why, this is never my Daisy," she said.
"Yes, yours, and mine, and God's!"
"Is she—is she really dead?" said Henrietta. "I wouldn't know her. She's awfully pretty, little snippet; but why does she smile? Is she glad of her death? And her eyes are tight shut and her freckles are gone, and she looks very, very white, and her hair is as fuzzy-wuzzy as mine. Oh, it's all a joke you are playing on me! Daisy! I say, Daisy! Wake up, wake up! See, snippet, we've a lot to do. Wake up, flower, wake up! Here, I don't often kiss, but I'll kiss you."
Henrietta bent and kissed the cold brow. She had never seen Death; she had never felt the cold chill of Death. She gave one exceeding bitter cry.
"Oh, Maureen, Maureen," she said, "save me! Save me!"
She clung to Maureen in frantic terror. At that moment Dinah entered the room.
"Dinah, look at her! She's dead!"
"Yea, dear heart," replied Dinah, "the good Lord took her from the evil to come. She passed into His arms, breathing out her great and exceeding love for Maureen O'Brien."
"Then I—I will love Maureen, too," said Henrietta. "Maureen, may I? May I?"
"I want you to," said Maureen. "I love you. I will be your sister. I will be your friend. Dinah, dear Dinah, may I take Henrietta into the Chamber of Peace?"
"Yes, thee mayst, wonderful child. Thee mayst do it for one whole hour, and when she comes back to me, I will be exceeding gentle with her."
But just at that moment the strangest of all strange things happened; for little white Daisy—whom all supposed to be dead, to have passed from this earth forever and ever—opened wide her eyes, those eyes rendered wide and big from illness and suffering, and they saw a sight she was never, never to forget. No less a sight than her own Maureen—her own most blessed White Angel, supporting Henny in her arms; and—wonder of all wonders—Henny was kissing her and crying and saying, "As she loved you, poor snippet, why I do declare I just love you, too. Yes, Maureen. Yes, Maureen—I love—love you, too. But look, Maureen! Oh! look—oh! look—look! My Daisy is not dead at all!"
Then what a startling—what an amazing commotion took place—for Dinah would not be Dinah if she did not know what to do. She took the overwrought and excited Henrietta out of the room, and brought Nurse Annie on the scene; and then Dr. Halsted was summoned, and the nurses came back once more, and Daisy slept, but no longer the sleep of death, but the healing sleep of returning life, her thin, little hand clasped in that of the White, White Angel.
Yes, just when even Dr. Halsted thought she was dead, she recovered, slowly, but also surely; and afterwards, when her weak voice could utter the words, she whispered to Maureen, "I was in a deep, deep dream, and a heavy and yet most restful sleep; but through the dream and the sleep I heard poor Henny crying, and the White, White Angel comforting her, so I had to come back to her, and to my very own Maureen, my own Maureen."
Thus were great relief and infinite joy experienced at Felicity; and not only did Daisy recover, but Henny clung to Maureen, sleeping with her night after night in a little bed in the Chamber of Peace, and assuring her of the greatness of her own love. "Why, she means me to take care of you, poor snippet—and of course I will. You may be certain on that point."
Daisy got better, but Maureen really was ill for a time. Then Mr. O'Brien, who was terribly anxious about his darling, suggested that she should now leave the school and come with him and Dominic abroad. But Maureen said, "I'll go nowhere without Henny and Daisy, and I think they are best here for the present. If Daisy continues to improve, Dom can come and take us all out to you for the Christmas holidays. Dom will be able to leave Rugby for the purpose."
This suggestion was finally adopted, and strange as it may seem, Henrietta's and Daisy's characters were so much altered that even Dom did not know them. All their dislike to Maureen was now turned to passionate love. Daisy had grown very gentle, but Henny was still wild.
"Why, she means me to take care of you, you poor snippet," said Henrietta. "If she loves you, little dot, I am bound to do it. My word! I should think so, poor little lone thing that you are. But you'll have your Henny and Daisy in the future to comfort you."
Maureen in her heart of hearts found Henny's constant and violent embraces extremely trying, but she bore them with angelic patience, and she and Henrietta slept together in the Chamber of Peace.
Dinah was their constant attendant, and the school resumed its accustomed work. Miss Pinchin was, however, requested not to return. Mrs. Faithful, who was a rich woman, secured to her a pension for the rest of her days, and in future, under the influence of Maureen, she treated even the naughtiest of the new girls in a different fashion.
Thus passed the first few months after Maureen's arrival. Henny had got a great shock and was much improved; but she was a mass of ignorance and required ordinary teaching. For Maureen's sake she did struggle to work; but the only part of her work she enjoyed was the preparing of her lessons, which she did under Maureen's care.
"I'll always be Fuzzy-wuzzy," she said to Maureen, "although you are the darlingest old pet. I'll always be Fuzzy-wuzzy. Even that angel of a Daisy could never turn me good like you. Besides I am not a bit clever, and I hate lessons."
"Well," said Maureen, "I've been thinking a great deal about you."
"Have you, you precious duck? And where have the thoughts come from?"
"Well, of course, you can be good, if you like. We all can if we like."
"I'm one of those who don't like," said Henrietta.
"Well, even supposing you don't like it, you're having a grand, noble try, both for my sake and Daisy's," said Maureen.
"Do you really think I'm improved?" said Henrietta in amazement.
"Of course I do. I should not know you for the same girl. But now, look at me, Henny. Listen! I want to be downright desperately proud of you and Daisy. I want you to be the top girl of the school. Not in cleverness—for you are not clever, darling—but in the other really important things."
"What do you mean?" said Henrietta. "I thought school was a hot-house to force the brain."
"Some schools are, but not Felicity. I want you to be noted in this school, first for your gentleness."
"Hum!" said Henrietta, "a gentle Fuzzy-wuzzy!"
"Let me go on and say what is in my heart," continued Maureen. "Second, for your unselfishness."
"Turned into a goody-goody," muttered Henrietta.
"No, no, dear child. Forgive me; that is really a silly expression, but turned into one who goes forward and who takes others along with her. And now, think of the jolly time we have before us. We three girls are going to meet Uncle Pat in Rome, that glorious, delightful place, and when the Christmas holidays are over, and you have seen something of another side of life, I am going to ask Mrs. Faithful to put you into the sort of occupation which you can really do well, and which you have a gift for."
"And what on earth is that?" asked Henrietta. "Oh, Maureen, you are entertaining."
"Well, I've been watching you a good bit."
"I should think so. Those eyes of yours would see through—well, through space itself. I often think you can see God."
"Of course I do. I see Him when I am most happy and when my dreams are most beautiful; but whenever He comes to me, awake or asleep, He says the same words, 'Help Henrietta and Daisy to find their lives.'"
"I say, does He really?"
"Well, yes, that is what He does say; and I want you, Henrietta, to find your life. After Christmas is over, I want you to learn all those things which make a home happy. I will speak to Mrs. Faithful on the subject, and she will get you regular teachers, and if she cannot do it herself, you and Daisy can go to another school, where these things are specially taught."
"What things, what things?"
"I will tell you after we come back from Rome. Now, come out and let's have a chat with Margaret Devereux. I want her to be your real friend. It is very bad for you only to have your dear little sister and me."
Henrietta pouted and struggled, but in the end she yielded to the superior force.
Margaret proved herself to be a most fascinating girl, and as she had often been to Rome and knew Italy very well indeed, she soon enthralled both girls with her accounts of the Forum and of the Coliseum by moonlight, and Nero's Golden House, and the great Church of St. Peter's, and the pictures in the Vatican, and the Pope and the cardinals. Margaret had a great gift for description, and even Henny did not miss a word.
Then Maureen suggested that they should not go to Rome a set of ignoramuses, but should write down each day what Margaret had told them. It is true that Maureen did most of the writing, but Henrietta and Daisy were genuinely excited.
"Hurrah for Fuzzy-wuzzy," exclaimed Daisy. "Upon my word, she is coming on."