But I heard nothing save the heaving swell of the waves, and the sullen roar of the lake, which came in through the open window, seeming to his disordered imagination an accusing spirit from another world. At last looking up timidly and speaking low, as if fearful of being overheard, he said, “Is there a Prayer Book in the house?”
I answered in the affirmative. Raising himself upon his elbow, and glancing fearfully around, he continued, “Bring it quick, while they are away, and put it under my pillow. Who knows but it may operate like a spell!”
I complied with his request, and brought the book, which he placed under his head, saying, “There—now I can pray, and God won’t let them mock me, will he, think?”
I could only weep as he folded his long white hands one over the other, and said reverently the prayer taught him years and years before, commencing with—
“Now I lay me down to sleep,” etc.
As if the words, indeed, had a soothing power, he almost instantly fell into a deep sleep, from which he awoke refreshed, and better than he had been for several days. They said he could not live; and though it was a painful task, Anna wrote to his mother apprising her of his danger, and bidding her hasten, if she would see him again.
During the few remaining weeks of his life he was subject to strange fancies. For a time the Prayer Book beneath his pillow had the effect of keeping him comparatively quiet; but, anon, it lost its power, and one day he awoke with a fearful shriek. The imps, as he called them, had again returned, and were mockingly taunting him with the victory he vainly imagined he had obtained.
“Keep off, ye devils!” he shouted, drawing the volume from beneath his pillow, and holding it to view. “Keep off; for, see, this book is full of prayers, which my mother has said. My mother! Do you hear? Ha! They laugh at the idea, and well they may. Had she learned to pray sooner, I might not have been the vile thing that I am. But she taught me to drink. She set the example; so go to her with those horrid faces, besmeared with the smoke of the pit.”
There was a bitter groan, and then the wretched woman, his mother, fell half fainting upon a chair. She had just arrived, and eager to see her boy, had entered the room in time to hear what he said. He knew her in a moment, and starting upright in bed, exclaimed, “Woman, look—this is your work—the result of your example. There was a time, long ago—how long ago it seems—but there was a time, I say, when I loathed the very smell of the liquors, which daily graced our table. By little and by little that loathing was overcome. You drank and called it good; and what one’s mother says is true. So I, too, tasted and tasted again until here I am, Herbert Langley, husband of Anna Lee, ruined body and soul—body and soul! What do you say to that, mother?”
He sank back upon the bed exhausted; while Aunt Charlotte, who had swooned entirely away, was taken from the room. The shock was too great for her, and for two days she did not again venture into his presence. The next time, however, that she saw him, his mood had changed, and winding his feeble arms around her neck, he wept like a child, asking her to take from his heart the worm which was knawing there. Oh, how I pitied the heartbroken woman! for I well knew she would gladly have lain down her life could that have saved her son. For three days longer he lingered, and then there came the closing scene, which haunted me for months.