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Page 9
But Roger grew daily closer to his Shadow, and gave himself up to its
dominion, till his mother saw the bondage, and tried, mourning, every
art and device to win him away from the evil spirit, but tried in vain.
So they lived till Sunny was four years old, when suddenly, one bright
day in June, she left the roses in her garden with broken stems, but
ungathered, and, tottering into the house, fell across the threshold,
flushed and sleepy,--as they who lifted her saw at once, in the first
stage of a fever.
This unexpected blow once more severed Roger from his Shadow. He watched
his little sister with a heart full of anxious regret, yet so fully
wrapt in her wants and danger, that the gloomy Shadow, which looked afar
off at his self-accusations, dared not once intrude.
At length that day of crisis came, the pause of fever and delirium,
desired, yet dreaded, by every trembling, fearful heart that hung over
the child's pillow. If she slept, the physician said, her fate hung on
the waking; life or death would seal her when sleep resigned its claim.
It was early morning when this sentence was given; in an hour's time the
fever had subsided, the flush passed from Sunny's cheek, and she slept,
watched breathlessly by Roger and his mother. The curtains of the room
were half drawn to give the little creature air, and there rustled
lightly through them a low south wind, bearing the delicate perfume of
blossoms, and the lulling murmur of bees singing at their sweet toil.
Roger was weary with watching; the chiming sounds of Summer, the low
ticking of the old clock on the stairs, and the utter quiet within,
soothed him to slumber; his head bent forward and rested on the bedside;
he fell asleep, and in his sleep he dreamed.
Over Sunny's pillow (for in this dream he seemed to himself waking and
watching) he saw a hovering spirit, the incarnate shape of Light, gazing
at the sleeping child with ineffable tenderness; but its keen eyes
caught the aspect of Roger's Shadow; the pure lineaments glowed with
something more divinely awful than anger, and with levelled lance it
assailed that evil Presence and bore it to the ground; but the Shadow
slipped aside from the spear, and cowered into distance; the angelic
face saddened, and, stooping downward, folded Sunny in its arms as if to
bear her away.
Roger woke with his own vain attempt to grasp and detain the child. The
setting sun streamed in at the window, and his mother stood at his side,
brought by some inarticulate sound from Sunny's lips.
She sent the boy to call his father, and when they came in together, the
child's wide blue eyes were open, full of supernatural calm; her parched
lips parted with a faint smile; and the loose golden curls pushed off
her forehead, where the blue veins crept, like vivid stains of violet,
under the clear skin.
"Dear mother!" she said, raising her arms slowly, to be lifted on the
pillow; but the low, hoarse voice had lost its music.
Then she turned to her father with that strange bright smile, and again
to Roger, uttering faintly,--
"Stand away, Roger; Sunny wants the light."
They drew all the curtain opposite her bed away, and, as she stretched
her hands eagerly toward the window, the last rays of sunshine glowed
on her pale illuminated face, till it was even as an angel's, and Roger
caught a sudden gleam of wings across the air; but a cold pain struck
him as he gazed, for Sunny fell backward on her pillow. She had gone
with the sunshine.
It seemed now for a time as if the phantasm that haunted Roger Pierce
were banished at last. His moody reserve disappeared; he addressed
himself with quiet, constant effort to console his mother,--to aid his
father,--to fill, so far as he could, the vacant place; and his heart
longed with an incessant thirst for the bright Spirit that hovered in
his dream over Sunny;--he seemed almost to have begun a natural and
healthy life.
But year after year passed away, and the light of Sunny's influence
faded with her fading memory. Green turf grew over her short grave, and
the long slant shadow of its headstone no longer lay on a foot-worn
track. Roger's pilgrimages to that spot were over; his heart had ceased
to remember. The Shadow had reassumed its power, and reigned.
Still through its obscurity he kept one gleam of light,--an admiration
undiminished for those who seemed to have no such attendance; but daily
the number of these grew less.
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