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'Hush!' said Mrs. Maylie, laying her hand on Oliver's head. 'You
think like a child, poor boy. But you teach me my duty,
notwithstanding. I had forgotten it for a moment, Oliver, but I
hope I may be pardoned, for I am old, and have seen enough of
illness and death to know the agony of separation from the
objects of our love. I have seen enough, too, to know that it is
not always the youngest and best who are spared to those that
love them; but this should give us comfort in our sorrow; for
Heaven is just; and such things teach us, impressively, that
there is a brighter world than this; and that the passage to it
is speedy. God's will be done! I love her; and He know how
Oliver was surprised to see that as Mrs. Maylie said these words,
she checked her lamentations as though by one effort; and drawing
herself up as she spoke, became composed and firm. He was still
more astonished to find that this firmness lasted; and that,
under all the care and watching which ensued, Mrs. Maylie was
every ready and collected: performing all the duties which had
devolved upon her, steadily, and, to all external appearances,
even cheerfully. But he was young, and did not know what strong
minds are capable of, under trying circumstances. How should he,
when their possessors so seldom know themselves?
An anxious night ensued. When morning came, Mrs. Maylie's
predictions were but too well verified. Rose was in the first
stage of a high and dangerous fever.
'We must be active, Oliver, and not give way to useless grief,'
said Mrs. Maylie, laying her finger on her lip, as she looked
steadily into his face; 'this letter must be sent, with all
possible expedition, to Mr. Losberne. It must be carried to the
market-town: which is not more than four miles off, by the
footpath across the field: and thence dispatched, by an express
on horseback, straight to Chertsey. The people at the inn will
undertake to do this: and I can trust to you to see it done, I
Oliver could make no reply, but looked his anxiety to be gone at
'Here is another letter,' said Mrs. Maylie, pausing to reflect;
'but whether to send it now, or wait until I see how Rose goes
on, I scarcely know. I would not forward it, unless I feared the
'Is it for Chertsey, too, ma'am?' inquired Oliver; impatient to
execute his commission, and holding out his trembling hand for
'No,' replied the old lady, giving it to him mechanically.
Oliver glanced at it, and saw that it was directed to Harry
Maylie, Esquire, at some great lord's house in the country;
where, he could not make out.
'Shall it go, ma'am?' asked Oliver, looking up, impatiently.
'I think not,' replied Mrs. Maylie, taking it back. 'I will wait
With these words, she gave Oliver her purse, and he started off,
without more delay, at the greatest speed he could muster.
Swiftly he ran across the fields, and down the little lanes which
sometimes divided them: now almost hidden by the high corn on
either side, and now emerging on an open field, where the mowers
and haymakers were busy at their work: nor did he stop once,
save now and then, for a few seconds, to recover breath, until he
came, in a great heat, and covered with dust, on the little
market-place of the market-town.
Here he paused, and looked about for the inn. There were a white
bank, and a red brewery, and a yellow town-hall; and in one
corner there was a large house, with all the wood about it
painted green: before which was the sign of 'The George.' To
this he hastened, as soon as it caught his eye.
He spoke to a postboy who was dozing under the gateway; and who,
after hearing what he wanted, referred him to the ostler; who
after hearing all he had to say again, referred him to the
landlord; who was a tall gentleman in a blue neckcloth, a white
hat, drab breeches, and boots with tops to match, leaning against
a pump by the stable-door, picking his teeth with a silver
This gentleman walked with much deliberation into the bar to make
out the bill: which took a long time making out: and after it
was ready, and paid, a horse had to be saddled, and a man to be
dressed, which took up ten good minutes more. Meanwhile Oliver
was in such a desperate state of impatience and anxiety, that he
felt as if he could have jumped upon the horse himself, and
galloped away, full tear, to the next stage. At length, all was
ready; and the little parcel having been handed up, with many
injunctions and entreaties for its speedy delivery, the man set
spurs to his horse, and rattling over the uneven paving of the
market-place, was out of the town, and galloping along the
turnpike-road, in a couple of minutes.
As it was something to feel certain that assistance was sent for,
and that no time had been lost, Oliver hurried up the inn-yard,
with a somewhat lighter heart. He was turning out of the gateway
when he accidently stumbled against a tall man wrapped in a
cloak, who was at that moment coming out of the inn door.
'Hah!' cried the man, fixing his eyes on Oliver, and suddenly
recoiling. 'What the devil's this?'
'I beg your pardon, sir,' said Oliver; 'I was in a great hurry to
get home, and didn't see you were coming.'
'Death!' muttered the man to himself, glaring at the boy with his
large dark eyes. 'Who would have thought it! Grind him to ashes!
He'd start up from a stone coffin, to come in my way!'
'I am sorry,' stammered Oliver, confused by the strange man's
wild look. 'I hope I have not hurt you!'
'Rot you!' murmured the man, in a horrible passion; between his
clenched teeth; 'if I had only had the courage to say the word, I
might have been free of you in a night. Curses on your head, and
black death on your heart, you imp! What are you doing here?'
The man shook his fist, as he uttered these words incoherently.
He advanced towards Oliver, as if with the intention of aiming a
blow at him, but fell violently on the ground: writhing and
foaming, in a fit.
Oliver gazed, for a moment, at the struggles of the madman (for
such he supposed him to be); and then darted into the house for
help. Having seen him safely carried into the hotel, he turned
his face homewards, running as fast as he could, to make up for
lost time: and recalling with a great deal of astonishment and
some fear, the extraordinary behaviour of the person from whom he
had just parted.
The circumstance did not dwell in his recollection long, however:
for when he reached the cottage, there was enough to occupy his
mind, and to drive all considerations of self completely from his
Rose Maylie had rapidly grown worse; before mid-night she was
delirious. A medical practitioner, who resided on the spot, was
in constant attendance upon her; and after first seeing the
patient, he had taken Mrs. Maylie aside, and pronounced her
disorder to be one of a most alarming nature. 'In fact,' he said,
'it would be little short of a miracle, if she recovered.'
How often did Oliver start from his bed that night, and stealing
out, with noiseless footstep, to the staircase, listen for the
slightest sound from the sick chamber! How often did a tremble
shake his frame, and cold drops of terror start upon his brow,
when a sudden trampling of feet caused him to fear that something
too dreadful to think of, had even then occurred! And what had
been the fervency of all the prayers he had ever muttered,
compared with those he poured forth, now, in the agony and
passion of his supplication for the life and health of the gentle
creature, who was tottering on the deep grave's verge!
Oh! the suspense, the fearful, acute suspense, of standing idly
by while the life of one we dearly love, is trembling in the
balance! Oh! the racking thoughts that crowd upon the mind, and
make the heart beat violently, and the breath come thick, by the
force of the images they conjure up before it; the DESPERATE
ANXIETY TO BE DOING SOMETHING to relieve the pain, or lessen the
danger, which we have no power to alleviate; the sinking of soul
and spirit, which the sad remembrance of our helplessness
produces; what tortures can equal these; what reflections or
endeavours can, in the full tide and fever of the time, allay
Morning came; and the little cottage was lonely and still. People
spoke in whispers; anxious faces appeared at the gate, from time
to time; women and children went away in tears. All the livelong
day, and for hours after it had grown dark, Oliver paced softly
up and down the garden, raising his eyes every instant to the
sick chamber, and shuddering to see the darkened window, looking
as if death lay stretched inside. Late that night, Mr. Losberne
arrived. 'It is hard,' said the good doctor, turning away as he
spoke; 'so young; so much beloved; but there is very little
Another morning. The sun shone brightly; as brightly as if it
looked upon no misery or care; and, with every leaf and flower in
full bloom about her; with life, and health, and sounds and
sights of joy, surrounding her on every side: the fair young
creature lay, wasting fast. Oliver crept away to the old
churchyard, and sitting down on one of the green mounds, wept and
prayed for her, in silence.
There was such peace and beauty in the scene; so much of
brightness and mirth in the sunny landscape; such blithesome
music in the songs of the summer birds; such freedom in the rapid
flight of the rook, careering overhead; so much of life and
joyousness in all; that, when the boy raised his aching eyes, and
looked about, the thought instinctively occurred to him, that
this was not a time for death; that Rose could surely never die
when humbler things were all so glad and gay; that graves were