“He is in a raging fever. Whether it is an affection of the brain, or the effects of the exposure and wetting on a constitution already much enfeebled, I hardly know yet, but he is in raving delirium at present, and I doubt if we pull him through. Poor fellow! poor fellow! It is a fine character blasted and ruined, a fine career flung away for the gratification of senseless passion! Ah me!—we live in a world of perplexities. The history of that young man has been a source of wonderment and sorrow to the whole place. I fear it is drawing to its close now.”
“Perhaps that is the happiest thing for him,” said Bride softly, “if only——”
She did not finish her sentence—there was no need. All who knew the young man’s story could finish it themselves. As the girl sat beside Eustace whilst the hours sped by, each one renewing her hope and sense of thankful relief in seeing the flame of life within him burn more steadily and brightly, her thoughts were much with that other patient lying not so far away, wondering what was going on in his soul, and whether this chastening had indeed been for the salvation of his soul. Towards evening Eustace was so wonderfully recovered that he had spoken a few short sentences, and would have told her something of the wreck of the vessel, only that consecutive speech was forbidden him. The grey shadow had vanished, a faint colour had come into his lips. He was able to take such nourishment as his condition required, and to dispense with much of the outward application of heat. At last he fell into a sound, refreshing, and perfectly natural sleep, and Bride, at the suggestion of the nurse, stole away to get a mouthful of air on the terrace before dark, after which she went herself to that other part of the house where Saul lay, to try to get speech of Abner, who was with his grandson, as he had been ever since he was brought in the previous night.
The old man came out to her, looking bent and aged, but with a light in his eyes which Bride saw at once.
“Is he better?” she asked eagerly; and the answer was curious.
“I trust and hope that he is, my lady. I think that he has prayed.”
“Prayed?” repeated Bride, her eyes lighting in quick response. “Ah, Abner!—then he must indeed be better!”
“I think he will die,” said Abner, with quiet calmness; “but what matters the death of the corruptible body, if the spark of immortal life and love be quickened in the soul? My lady, in his ravings of fever my boy has laid bare his soul to me—all the terrible darkness, all the wild hatred, all the fearful thoughts which went to prompt that last dread act of his life. But he has told other things as well. He has told how, whilst he sat alone upon the wreck, gloating over the crime he had committed, he saw an object in the water, and knew that one of his victims was near him. I cannot paint that scene as he has painted it in his ravings, but I think I see it all. He turned his light upon the victim, and he saw the face of Mr. Marchmont, his friend. Then I think he saw his handiwork as it appears in the sight of God. He saw himself the blackest of sinners, and with a prayer on his lips that he might be permitted to make this atonement, he sprang into the water to strive and save Mr. Marchmont, who else must surely have been sucked back into the cruel quicksands lying so close at hand.”
“Ah!” cried Bride softly, “I said so—I thought so!”
“So he tied himself to the vessel—ah! he has been acting it all so fearfully, that I can see it as though I had been there!—he flung himself into the sea and grappled with the floating figure, trying to pull it to the wreck and place it in safety. Ah! how he must have struggled with the wind and tide that were fighting against him! but in his mortal agony he turned in prayer to the God he had despised and defied, and prayed to Him that this life—this one life—might be given to him. Ah! how many times has that prayer passed his lips to-day—‘God help me! God give me strength! God be merciful to me, a sinner!’ He knows not what he says now, but he knew it when he lifted his heart in prayer in the hour of his extremest need. It was not for his own life he prayed, but for the life of the one he sought to save. I truly believe that in those terrible moments he lived through a lifetime of agony and repentance. God does not measure time as we do. I think He will accept those moments of agonised penitence as He accepted the repentance of the thief upon the cross. I think he looked to his Saviour in that hour of mortal weakness and despair, when life and all seemed slipping away. Last night was the witness of the crowning sin of his reckless life, yet I believe, by the grace of God, it was witness, too, of a penitent malefactor turning towards Him at the last. This gives me more hope and joy than I have ever known before for him.”