The Argosy — page 91: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

78 A Doctor’s Story. do you suppose Iam going to leave my money to him? No!” he cried excitedly. ‘‘ My own life is too precarious for me to delay longer the settling of my affairs. My niece’s child is still my heir. I regard the other as wom est. For heaven’s sake don’t let me have my feelings harrowed by the sight of that poor idiot any more, The mother shall have a handsome annuity. I pity her.” And that day Lord Welbury made his will, leaving his immense fortune as he had said. Once more I returned to my country practice ; Mrs. Wilton and Charlie to Croft House. Never was grief grander in its simplicity, or more nobly borne than that of Mrs. Wilton. She still prayed—prayed with the faith which we are told will move mountains. Her eyes, when not raised to heaven, were bent on her child, ever seeking for the dawning of that intelligence which she believed must come in answer to her prayers. She tried to teach him his childish lessons; she read, she talked to him; even chanted in a low, sad voice the nursery rhymes that happy mothers sing. At last, one day, exercising over herself a supreme control, she told her son the story of his father’s death, told it in simple, child- like language, but with a pathos that might have moved a heart of stone. The boy was standing at her knee, she holding his unresponsive hand. But, as she proceeded with her narration, he pressed gradually closer to her side. With a thrill of rapture she looked at the drooped eyelids, hoping, praying to see a tear glisten on the dark curled lashes. Trembling, she reached the climax of her sad tale, and bending over him: “Charlie,” she whispered, ‘‘Charlie, he was dead / you understand ? ” Alas, she knew then, even ere she had done speaking that the boy was incapable of understanding her. His eyes were closed. He slept! And he seemed for ever thus. Whether the beautiful but ex- pressionless eyes were open or closed his mental faculties were in that dulled, dormant state, it might be said they slept. ‘‘ He is like that little statue of Jesus now,” she once said to me, pointing to a marble figure of Christ, “but some day God will awaken his soul. Ah, doctor, shall I live to see that day ?” I scarcely thought she could, but did not tell her so. From the day on which she related the story of her husband’s death, she herself drooped visibly. But grief kills very slowly. Five years passed by. Lord Welbury was dead. His wealth—with the exception of the annuity to his son’s widow—was left to his niece’s child; his title now by right became his grandson’s. The boy grew fast; he was eight years old, but his mind still slumbered. He knew the sound of his mother’s voice, would come 7 1 ‘. : Ps COPNICMOOOKS CO