Slight as the incident was, it broke the train of her painful thoughts. She sat up with a gesture that flung the past with all its beautiful hopes and wishes behind her, and welcomed the one thought that came in their stead, sad yet sweet, like a smile half quenched in tears. Lawrence Gerald did not love her, but he needed her, and she took up her cross, this time with an upward glance.
When we have set self aside, from whatever motive, the appeal to God for help is instinctive, and seems less a call than the answer to a call. As though Infinite Love, which for love’s sake sacrificed a God, could not see a trembling human soul binding itself for the altar without claiming kindred with it. “My child, the spark that lights thy pyre is from my heart. Hold by me, and it shall not burn in vain.”
Yet that the happiness of giving love and help is nobler and more elevating than the pleasure of receiving them Annette did not then realize, perhaps would not have believed. Who does believe it, or, at least, who acts upon the belief till after long and severe discipline, till the world has lost its hold on the heart, and it has placed all its hopes in the future? Fine sentiments drop easily from the lips of those to whom they cost nothing, or who have forgotten the struggles by which their own peace was won. Those who are fed can talk eloquently of patience under starvation, and those who are warmed can cry out on the folly of the poor traveller who sinks to sleep under the snowdrift. Verily, preaching is easy, and there is no one who has such breath to utter heroic sentiments as he who never puts them in practice.
As Annette lay there, growing quieter now that all was settled, clouds came up from behind the hills, and slowly extinguished the stars. Opaline lightnings quivered and expanded inside those heavy mists without piercing them, as though some winged creature of fire were imprisoned there, and fluttering to escape; and every time the air grew luminous, the azaleas and rhododendrons bloomed rose-red out of their shadows. Deep and mellow thunders rolled incessantly, and a thick rain came down in drops so fine that the sound of their falling was but a whisper. It was a thunder-storm played piano. Annette was lulled to a light sleep, through which she still heard the storm, as in a dream, growing softer till it ceased. And no sooner did she dream it had ceased than she dreamed it had recommenced, with a clamor of rain and thunder, and a wind that shook the doors and windows, and a flash like a shriek that syllabled her name.
She started up in affright. The sky was clear and calm, and the storm had all passed by; but the wet trees in the garden shone with a red light from the windows, and there was noise and a hurrying to and fro in the house, and her mother was calling her with hysterical cries.
Annette would have answered, but her tongue was paralyzed with that sudden fear. She could only hasten into the house with what speed the deathly sickness of such an awakening allowed her.
Mrs. Ferrier was walking through the rooms, wringing her hands, and calling for her daughter. “Where is Annette? What has become of Annette?” The servants stood about, silent and confounded by the noisy grief of their mistress, unable to do anything but stare at her.
There is usually but one chief mourner on such occasions, however many candidates there may be for the office. The one who first raises the voice of lamentation leaves the others hors de combat.
In one of her turns, Mrs. Ferrier saw Annette leaning pale and mute on a chair near by.
“O Annette, Annette! do you know what has happened? Oh! what shall I do?” she cried.