A SECOND time in her life did Mrs. Morgan, senior, seek her daughter-in-law's room. Not unsolicited, however. Louise, all unknowingly, planned the way for an easier approach.
"Mother," she said, toward the evening of the day that followed that night of watching, "won't you just slip up to my room and lie down for an hour or two? You look so tired, and you know you had no rest at all last night. Dorrie and I will take the best possible care of Nellie; and, indeed, she looks so bright as to hardly need care."
This invitation had been repeated at intervals during the day; but Mrs. Morgan, though not repellent in her manner, had steadily resisted every suggestion, and yet had seemed not ungrateful for the thoughtfulness.
"Perhaps I will by-and-by," she had said to Louise's last suggestion; but it was an hour afterward, when Louise had despaired of her success and had sought her room, that Mrs. Morgan tapped at her door.
"That is good," the daughter said briskly. "Let me bring a cover and arrange the pillows comfortably, and you will get a nice rest before Nellie misses you."
"Wait," said Mrs. Morgan, arresting Louise's quick steps; "don't fix the bed. I have not come to lie down; I don't feel like resting; I want to talk with you. Sit down here by the fire. I suppose I need your help. I need something—I don't really know what. I have been having a very hard time."
"I know it," said Louise, quick sympathy in her voice. "Last night was a heavy strain. But you can safely rest now, she is so much better. I never saw any one rally so rapidly."
"I don't mean that. My hard time did not begin last night. I don't feel sure that I can tell you when it began; away back. I have made some of my hard times, I can see that. I have been disappointed in my children. John disappointed me, long ago; I had ambitions for him, I had plans, and everything happened to thwart them. I felt hard at Lewis sometimes because he seemed to come in the way; and I felt hard—well, at everything. I have thought that his father did not treat him just as I would have done if I had been a father. So I have just gone through life, being out of sorts at everything."
"For a while after you came here I had hopes that John would take to you, and that he would come out all right; and when I saw how much stress you laid on prayer, I began to feel glad that you were praying for John, and to sort of expect that good would come out of it. Then you know how awfully I was disappointed, and how things went from bad to worse. Then after he went away it seemed to me as though my heart turned to stone. I didn't feel as though I cared much for the other children, and I didn't want to. Dorothy provoked me, and Lewis provoked me, and you provoked me worst of all. I have grown harder and bitterer every day; I was rebellious at God; I thought he had treated me badly. I got down on my knees once and prayed for John; and I said to myself that He ought to have heard me, and he didn't, and I couldn't forgive him."
"Then came last night. I was hard on my poor little girl. I didn't punish her hard, I don't mean that. I just gave her three or four slaps, which, if they had been given in sport, she wouldn't have minded. It was her heart that I hurt, and I knew it. I knew at the time that I was punishing her unjustly. The child didn't mean to be disobedient—didn't know that she was; but I had been having a dreadful day, and it seemed an actual relief to have some escape for my bitterness. So I whipped her. But I have been punished for it. Last night was an awful night! If she had died I believe I should have lost my reason. And I thought she would die; I believed that God had sent for her in retribution. Yet I cried to him. I told him I had been bitter and severe and rebellious, and was yet; but that if he would spare my baby I would try to serve him—I would do anything that he told me. Now he has taken me at my word when I didn't expect it, and I am a woman who has always been noted for keeping a promise. I mean to keep this one, but I don't know how. I don't even know what he wants of me. It seemed to me that you ought to know, and to be able to tell me, so I have come to you for help."