Janet's Love and Service

by Margaret M. Robertson

“I am very sorry not to go, Graeme,” said she; “but I was so weary last time. Let me stay at home to-day.”

So she stayed; and all the way down the hill and over the valley the thought of her darkened the sunlight to her sister’s eyes. Nor was the shadow chased away by the many kindly greetings that awaited her at the church door; for no one asked why her sister was not with her, but only how she seemed to-day. It was well that the sunshine, coming in on the corner where she sat, gave her an excuse for letting fall her veil over her face, for many a bitter tear fell behind it. When the services were over, and it was time to go home, she shrunk from answering more inquiries about Marian, and hastened away, though she knew that Mrs Merle was waiting for her at the other end of the broad aisle, and that Mrs Greenleaf had much ado to keep fast hold of her impatient boy till she should speak a word with her. But she could not trust herself to meet them and to answer them quietly, and hurried away. So she went home again, over the valley and up the hill with the darkness still round her, till Menie’s bright smile and cheerful welcome chased both pain and darkness away.

But when the rest were gone, and the sisters were left to the Sabbath quiet of the deserted home, the fear came back again, for in a little Marian laid herself down with a sigh of weariness, and slept with her cheek laid on the Bible that she held in her hand. As Graeme listened to her quick breathing, and watched the hectic rising on her cheek, she felt, for the moment, as though all hope were vain. But she put the thought from her. It was too dreadful to be true; and she chid herself for always seeing the possible dark side of future events, and told herself that she must change in this respect. With all her might she strove to reason away the sickening fear at her heart, saying how utterly beyond belief it was that Menie could be going to die—Menie, who had always been so well and so merry. She was growing too fast, that was all; and when the spring came again, they would all go to some quiet place by the sea-shore, and run about among the rocks, and over the sands, till she should be well and strong as ever again.

“If spring were only come!” she sighed to herself. But first there were weeks of frost and snow, and then weeks of bleak weather, before the mild sea-breezes could blow on her drooping flower, and Graeme could not reason her fears away; nor when the painful hour of thought was over, and Menie opened her eyes with a smile, did her cheerful sweetness chase it away.

After this, for a few days, Graeme grow impatient of her sister’s quietness, and strove to win her to her old employments again. She would have her struggle against her wish to be still, and took her to ride and to visit, and even to walk, when the day was fine. But this was not for long. Menie yielded always, and tried with all her might to seem well and not weary; but it was not always with success; and Graeme saw that it was in vain to urge her beyond her strength; so, in a little, she was allowed to fall back into her old ways again.

“I will speak to Doctor Chittenden, and know the worst,” said Graeme, to herself, but her heart grew sick at the thought of what the worst might be.

By and by there came a mild bright day, more like April than January. Mr Elliott had gone to a distant part of the parish for the day, and had taken Will and Rosie with him, and the sisters were left alone. Graeme would have gladly availed herself of Deacon Snow’s offer to lend them grey Major, or to drive them himself for a few miles. The day was so fine, she said to Menie; but she was loth to go. It would be so pleasant to be a whole day quite alone together. Or, if Graeme liked, they might send down for Janet in the afternoon. Graeme sighed, and urged no more.

“We can finish our book, you know,” went on Menie. “And there are the last letters to read to Mrs Snow. I hope nobody will come in. We shall have such a quiet day.”

But this was not to be. There was the sound of sleigh-bells beneath the window, and Graeme looked out.

“It is Doctor Chittenden,” said she.