"Her mother is too wise a woman to permit that, Sister. I admit that I do not know the child as you do, but I have seen enough of her to feel sure that she is all that you say of her, and that her loss would be a great blow. I find her so well instructed that, if the Doctor thinks she will not recover, I shall allow her to make her First Communion.[1] I have not mentioned the matter to her, however. Speak to the Doctor as soon as he comes in, and if he thinks that there is grave danger, let me know when she again becomes conscious, and I shall come at once. At all events, I shall call again to-morrow."
The next morning, three of the finest doctors of New York gathered with Doctor Carlton about the sick child, sadly shook their heads, and quietly went away. In the afternoon, the Doctor himself opened the door for the priest and drew him into the library.
"I would have telephoned to you last evening, Father, but it was useless to do so, for my little niece has not been conscious since your visit yesterday. I have little hope that she will become so before—the end. I have known from the first that she could not pull through except by a miracle. Humanly speaking, it is now merely a question of how long her heart can hold out."
"Humanly speaking, yes, Doctor; but the days of miracles are not passed, and He Who raised the dead to life is still the all-powerful God. Mary became conscious yesterday just after I had read a Gospel over her. I feel that our Divine Lord permitted it so that she might make her first Confession for which she was preparing when she became ill. He may permit the same thing to happen to-day so that she may make her First Communion. I am going now to the church for the Blessed Sacrament. Ask Sister Julia to have all in readiness when I return."
But though Father Lacey prayed long and earnestly over the little girl, and her mother and the nurse spoke close to her ear of the happiness awaiting her, Mary gave no sign that she understood. Then the priest anointed her and raised the Blessed Sacrament in benediction above her; and promising to come again the moment he should hear that she had become conscious, he returned to the church.
The long night began. The house was very quiet, for Mary had ceased to moan and cry out, and lay perfectly still, her breath coming in little gasps. Close by her pillow sat the Doctor, his watch in his left hand, the fingers of his right on the child's fluttering pulse. Across from him knelt Sister Julia, her eyes never wavering from his haggard, gray face as she watched for the least sign from him that something was needed. Her lips moved in prayer as the beads slipped through her fingers. At the foot of the bed knelt Mr. Selwyn, his arm supporting his wife, his head bowed on the railing where Mary had so often during the past week seen the strange little birds hopping about. Tom was at his post at the head of the stairs; and Aunt Mandy and Liza had taken the babies down to the kitchen so that nothing would disturb the little sufferer.
The hours dragged on. Midnight passed. The child's breathing grew fainter—then a great stillness fell upon the room. Mr. Selwyn looked up with a start, and his wife clung closer to him. The Doctor had slipped to his knees, his eyes on the still, white face. Suddenly, the little eyelids fluttered open, the big blue eyes looked straight into Mr. Selwyn's, then rested for an instant on the Doctor, while a wan little smile flitted across the child's face. A faint sigh issued from her parched lips, and her eyes closed. The Doctor raised his hand. No one stirred. Was it life or death? Did they hear the rustle of angels' wings, or was it the murmur of the night wind?
The father's eyes sought the Doctor's face, and soon a look of wonder and doubt crept over it. By degrees, the wonder increased, and the doubt disappeared, and two great tears of relief rolled down the haggard face which turned toward Mr. Selwyn with a smile, while the warning hand remained uplifted.
Close to the mother's ear, the father whispered just one little word; then carried her into the next room where, some minutes later, the Doctor joined them. Mr. Selwyn stepped out into the hall, and the next instant, Tom, shoes in hand, was making all possible speed toward the kitchen.
Slowly, oh, so slowly, the little girl crept back from the chill, dark shadow into the warm, bright love-light waiting to envelope her. It would be many and many a long day before she would be able to play with the babies and romp with her little friends; but to those who loved her, it was happiness enough just to have her still among them.