William Gardiner jumped into the chaise, and by dint of twitching the reins, and applying the whip, succeeded in getting the horse into a trot, and was soon out of sight. Frank proceeded with a light step, and a still lighter heart, and delivered the letter. After waiting half an hour for the answer, he returned, walking very fast, as it was late. When he passed the old house, he saw Mr. Allen's horse and chaise standing exactly in the same position in which they first found it; and a short distance beyond, he overtook William.
'You have been gone for ever,' said he; 'why, I do believe I have rode six miles, at least. I left the chaise in the same spot; nobody but yourself, I will venture to say, is the wiser for the expedition; for I turned down that unfrequented lane.'
They reached home before night; Frank delivered the answer to Mr. Reed. Gardiner told of his ride to Albert Lawrence and a few other boys. They had a good laugh,—said it was a capital trick, and they thought it would be a real kindness to the horse, to relieve him occasionally, from the tiresome business of standing an hour or two, in the same spot.
The next evening, the minister called on Mr. Reed, and finding he was in the play room, and all the boys round him, (for he often passed an hour with them in this way,) he walked in. Mr. Allen was an amiable man, and a group of happy young folks was always a pleasing sight to him.
The boys were relating remarkable occurrences; each one trying to recollect something strange, which he had lately heard or read of.
'I believe I can tell a singular story, which happened only yesterday,' said Mr. Allen; though it may be rather too sad to relate in this merry company. But they may as well look on the shadows now and then, in the morning of life; for their turn must come. I went yesterday afternoon to call on the Miss Bradford's, worthy women as any in my parish. The special object of this visit, however, was not themselves, but their niece, Miss Alice Bradford; who has been in a consumption for more than a year, and came out here six weeks ago, for the benefit of the country air. The change was rather hurtful than beneficial; she failed fast, and became too ill to be carried back. I had not, however, thought her quite so near her end, as she proved to be. When I got there yesterday afternoon, I entered into prayer with her, and found her spirit peaceful and resigned. The piety and innocence of her short life, gave tranquility and hope to her dying hour. Neither she nor her aunts appeared to apprehend immediate dissolution. I had witnessed too many death-bed scenes, not to know its symptoms, even when most deceitful. Her aunt said, that she appeared to have but one earthly wish remaining; and that they hoped to gratify, the next morning. It was to see her younger sister, who had been purposely kept away; as the sight of Alices' sufferings distressed her exceedingly. My mother has gone before me, said the sweet girl. I am ready to join her; though I had hoped it might be the will of our Heavenly Father that I should be spared to my sister. Not as I will, but as thou wilt, she added, after a moment's pause, and a great struggle; but I should like to take leave of her and give her a few words of advice; as they are the last, they will make a deep impression on her mind. I called one of the ladies aside, and told her the present was the only time; I did not believe her niece would be alive in the morning. She shuddered, and exclaimed, what shall I do! how can I send for her sister now. I have no horse,—no man. I will go, I replied; my horse is at the door I shall be back before it is late; I will go directly. Thank you, sir; thank you a thousand times; do go directly—and she returned to prepare the young woman to receive her sister.
When I went to the bottom of the avenue, my horse and chaise were not there; by the marks in the road, I found he had turned round, and presumed he had taken a homeward direction. I hastened there, when I arrived out of breath at home, no one had seen him. I resolved to lose no more precious time, for I knew that the sands must be nearly all out in the poor young creature's glass: so I hurried to Dr. Parker to beg him to lend me his chaise; the Dr. had gone to visit at Brookline: then I went to farmer Thomson; he willingly lent his horse, but had neither chaise nor waggon. I determined to go over to Mr. Welles' and borrow his chaise. In doing this, I of course, passed by Miss Bradford's house. I had lost nearly an hour and a half,—there I found my horse standing exactly as I had left him, in the former part of the afternoon. I could not stop to make either inquiries or reflections; but got in, hastened into town, and brought the young sister out in the shortest time possible.
Soon after my departure from Miss Bradford's, the unequivocal symptoms of death began to come on; but the poor creature made great exertion to keep up her strength, anxiously expecting the arrival of her sister, and wondering at the delay. She took some drops which revived her a good deal; and half an hour before I arrived, conversed freely with her aunts; spoke of her perfect reliance on the goodness of God, and the merits of the Saviour, and gave many injunctions in case she did not see her sister. Ere we reached there, it was too late. She took her sister's hand, looked up in her face with an expression of disappointment which I shall never forget; but she was speechless. The hour and a half which I lost, in looking for a chaise, deprived her of that last and most earnestly desired satisfaction, the power of taking leave of her sister, and of giving her the invaluable instructions of her dying hour.
I went there again, this morning. She lived till daylight, but did not speak. The sister is overwhelmed with grief.—'Could she have spoken to me,—could I have been with her but one hour earlier I could have borne it,' was all she said.'
Every one present was deeply affected by the narration; all mirth ceased, and tears and sobs came in its place. Mr. Reed was himself surprised at the effect it had produced on some of the boys, touching as it was; he remarked a deadly paleness on William Gardiner's countenance; little did he suspect the true cause.