The time was up; he walked toward Esther, and looked at her. She laid another flower in the basket, and said in a low tone, without looking at him, "I shall not go," and then he strode away without another word; and Esther gathered up her flowers and started on her mission.
How very much hung upon her keeping her promise she could not have imagined. She had arranged with Mrs. Lyman to sit with her after she had gone the rounds, and she carried a book to read her some Christmas poems. So after flitting about among the rooms, pinning a bit of the evergreen here, and a vine there, and dispensing flowers and kind wishes to all, she knocked at Mrs. Lyman's door. It was opened by a nurse who told her that the old lady had met with an accident. While going down-stairs that morning she had slipped and fallen, and could see no one.
Hearing a voice she loved, Mrs. Lyman said, "Is it Miss Harlowe? Let her come in."
She was in bed, pale with suffering, and a surgeon was setting her broken ankle. Esther came softly to her side, slipped her hand into hers, and stood still, watching the operation. It was like an anæsthetic in its soothing effect upon the patient— this fresh young face, with hair and eyes like Margaret's, the perfume of the flowers filling the room, and the warm little hand in hers.
Esther watched the surgeon's fingers curiously. How swift and cool their movements!—no uncertainty or clumsiness. A lady sorting embroidery silks could not work more delicately. As he put the finishing touches to his task Esther almost forgot there was any pain connected with it, and found herself wondering if he did not enjoy what he could do so deftly and neatly. Then for the first time she let her gaze rest upon his face. He was a young man—she had thought surgeons were always old or elderly. It was a strong, pure face, with wavy dark hair falling carelessly over the broad forehead. It was but a few seconds, but girls can think much in that time. She decided that hair was much more becoming worn so than plastered down in a precise manner, as she was accustomed to see it. He was surely not in the least like the young men of her acquaintance. Sire tried to fancy him arrayed in swallow-tail coat, light kids and slippers, dancing, and talking nonsense at an evening party. He could never be one of that sort, she was sure. He was too grave and earnest to be a trifler. When he had finished his work, he lifted a pair of clear, penetrating eyes to hers, and they surveyed each other an instant; then the doctor bowed, and Esther turned and, bending down, whispered a few words to Mrs. Lyman, left her flowers on the pillow, and a kiss on the worn cheek, and glided away. She made one or two more calls that she had left till the last, and was passing through the hall to go home, when a nurse met her and asked her to come in and sing to old Mrs. Moore. She had been very ill for many days, and they hoped the singing might quiet her nervous restlessness, and soothe her to sleep. Esther went willingly; she loved to sing, and loved to help others. But here was that eagle-eyed doctor to spoil it. She wished he would go, but he did not.
There was a tall old rocker by the bed, where they motioned her to sit, but she took her place at the back of the chair and folded her hands over its top. Standing so, the doctor could not see her face. He could hear, though, and to that he gave himself. Resting his head on his hand, he closed his eyes and let the sweet melody flow over him.
Almost as soon as the pure, soft tones met her ear the patient ceased her restless tossing, and listened eagerly to catch the words, which were articulated so plainly that not one was lost. They were simple words, just suited to the simple-minded old woman, and peculiarly soothing because they brought to mind the prayer of childhood. Neither was she the only one who felt the spell of the humble little song as it floated through the still room:—
"Now I lay me down to sleep,
As the shadows softly creep,
As the bird, with folded wing,
On some tiny bough doth swing;
As the flowers, wet with dew,
Bow themselves in slumber, too,
In the stillness, awful, deep,
Now I lay me down to sleep.
"Now I lay me down to sleep,
Friends and kindred 'round me weep;
But I know no want or fear,
For no darkness, Lord, is here;
All my way is lit by thee,
Through the shade thou leadest me.
Knowing that the Lord will keep,
May I lay me down to sleep."
Refreshed and calmed, the old lady folded her, hands and said, "'Now I lay me down to sleep.' Oh if I only had somebody to pray with me, I believe I could go to sleep."
There was silence a moment, and one looked at another. Who could pray? Not the doctor, surely; that was not considered to be in his line; but Dr. Evarts knelt down, and, in a few simple, tender words, besought a blessing on the aged mother whose journey was almost done. Here was another evidence, Esther thought, that this young man was different from any she had ever known. She thought about it as she walked home, and sighed as she remembered Mr. Langdon and the angry look on his face as he left her that morning.