Rathfelder's Hotel

by Annie E. Bosworth

"I propose going every day to see him," answered uncle, "until, at least, he is out of danger (if such a mercy awaits him), and will certainly deliver your message the instant I can do so unheard by others."

The next evening's account of the unfortunate Blurdon was, if possible, worse than the preceding—worse because hopeless. His life seemed now limited to a few days only. He knew it, and had been warned to employ, to the best of his power, the short time left him in this world, in seeking the mercy he had spurned or neglected.

"I told him all you said," continued uncle, "and after a moment's silence, during which his hard, dark face underwent several strongly-marked changes, he told me to bring him a coat which was thrown over the back of a chair. I did so, and then at his further desire passed my hand down between the lining and the coarse cloth almost to the bottom of the coat behind, and from thence drew out this chain and watch of yours, and these notes and sovereigns;" and uncle laid them all upon the table as he spoke.

"In a husky, broken voice he bade me return them to you. He had spent nothing out of it, he said; he has had no time. I promised to do as he requested. His voice and manner were full of a sort of reckless despair that to me was truly sad, and presently I spoke gently and kindly to him, as my little Mechie once did, and told him of the boundless love and compassion of our merciful Redeemer for even the greatest of sinners. Then I read to him about the thief on the cross, and concluded with a short prayer. I do not know what impression I made upon his darkened soul, or whether any at all; he said nothing, but lay quite still, his glittering eyes sometimes fixed on vacancy, sometimes on my face, though instantly averted if our looks met. As I rose to leave, saying I would, if possible, come and see him again to-morrow, he exclaimed suddenly, in a low voice, 'Are you her father? You speak and look just like her.' Guessing directly to whom he alluded, I told him no, but she was as dear to me as a daughter; did he wish to send any message to her? I would deliver it faithfully if he did.

"'Yes,' he answered, abruptly. 'Tell her Joe Blurdon wants her to come and speak to him again—just once more—as his poor old mother used to do. Tell her it won't be for more than once, maybe, for the doctors say my hours are numbered.'

"'God willing, I will bring her with me to-morrow,' I said. A softened light came up into his hard features, but he remained silent; and wishing him good-night, to which he made no response, I came away. And now, my little girl," continued uncle, turning to me, "what do you say to the promise I have made this unhappy man in your name?"

"Say, uncle?" I repeated, my heart throbbing painfully from mingled feelings; "I am glad you answered as you did. Oh, I hope, I wish, I could do him good!"

"You can but do your best, my child," aunt said, encouragingly. "Our blessed Redeemer assures us that even a cup of cold water given in his name shall have its reward, and think you, my little Mechie, that your compassionate endeavours to save from utter starvation this famished soul will not be highly pleasing in the sight of our gracious Saviour?"

Early on the following morning I awoke, and could sleep no more from thinking of the coming interview. The sun was just rising, and his golden light glinted here and there through the closed venetians into our large, well-furnished bed-room. Rising, I comforted my disquieted spirit by earnest prayer, then went out into the garden. How cheering and soothing are the early summer mornings on the high parts of the Cape! The extreme softness and dryness of the air, owing to the sandy quality of the soil, the sweet, harmonious call notes of myriads of birds, the several sorts of gay-coloured and innoxious insects out at that time, whose appearance adds yet more of life and brightness to the radiant combination of flowers and sunbeams around, and then the splendid boundless view of mountains, valleys and water, the glittering ocean, whose subdued, treacherous voice mingles so musically from the distance with all the other pleasant sounds of that waking hour and penetrates to quiet spots removed beyond reach of the sight and the noise of life's great commercial stir and conflict,—these things altogether present a union of delights rarely to be found, and the more to be enjoyed because of the beauty also of the climate.

But the day passed, and the time arrived for my painful and yet anxiously desired duty to be performed. The carriage conveyed me to the town, where, according to previous arrangement, I met and took up Uncle Rossiter. In a little while we reached the hospital, and I was soon seated by the bedside of the dying man. Uncle, after a few kind inquiries and the brief remark that he had brought his niece according to Blurdon's request, left us together and went to the end of the ward to speak to another sick person with whom he was acquainted.