Hello.
Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,
Your go-to romantic podcast that guarantees you a calm and entertaining transition into a great night's sleep.
Come with me as we immerse ourselves in a romantic journey to a time long since forgotten.
But before we begin,
Let's take a moment to focus on where we are now.
Take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out with a long sigh.
Now close your eyes and feel yourself sink deeper into the support beneath you.
It is time to relax and fully let go.
There is nothing you need to be doing now and nowhere you need to go.
Happy listening.
Chapter 33 Wherein the happiness of Oliver and his friends experiences a sudden check.
Spring flew swiftly by and summer came.
If the village had been beautiful at first,
It was now in the full glow and luxuriance of its richness.
The great trees which had looked shrunken and bare in the earlier months had now burst into strong life and health.
And stretching forth their green arms over the thirsty ground,
Converted open and naked spots into choice nooks,
Where was a deep and pleasant shade from which to look upon the wide prospect steeped in sunshine,
Which lay stretched beyond.
The earth had donned her mantle of brightest green and shed her richest perfumes abroad.
It was the prime and vigour of the year.
All things were glad and flourishing.
Still the same quiet life went on at the little cottage and the same cheerful serenity prevailed amongst its inmates.
Oliver had long since grown stout and healthy,
But health or sickness made no difference in his warm feelings of a great many people.
He was still the same gentle,
Attached,
Affectionate creature that he had been when pain and suffering had wasted his strength and when he was dependent for every slight attention and comfort on those who tended him.
One beautiful night,
When they had taken a walk longer than was customary with them,
For the day had been unusually warm and there was a brilliant moon and a light wind had sprung up,
Which was unusually refreshing,
Rose had been in high spirits and they had walked on in merry conversation until they had far exceeded their ordinary bounds.
Mrs.
Mailey,
Being fatigued,
They returned more slowly home.
The young lady,
Merely throwing off her simple bonnet,
Sat down to the piano as usual and after running abstractedly over the keys for a few minutes,
She fell into a low and solemn air.
As she played it,
They heard a sound as if she were weeping.
Rose,
My dear,
Said the older lady.
Rose made no reply,
But played a little quicker,
As though the words had roused her for some painful thoughts.
Rose,
My love,
Cried Mrs.
Mailey.
What is this?
My dear child,
What distresses you?
She rose hastily and bent over her.
Nothing,
Heart,
Nothing,
Replied the young lady.
I don't know what it is.
I can't describe it,
But I feel.
Not ill,
My love,
Interposed Mrs.
Mailey.
No,
Not ill,
Replied Rose,
Shuddering as though some deadly chillness were passing over her.
I shall be better presently.
Close the windows,
Pray.
Oliver hastened to comply with her request.
The young lady,
Making an effort to recover her cheerfulness,
Strove to play some livelier tune,
But her fingers dropped powerless over the keys.
Then,
Covering her face with her hands,
He sank upon a sofa and gave vent to the tears which she was now unable to repress.
My child,
Said the elderly lady,
Folding her arms about her,
I never saw you so before.
I would not alarm you if I could avoid it,
Rejoined Rose,
But I cannot help this.
I fear I am ill,
Heart.
She was indeed,
For when candles were brought,
They saw in that very short time,
Which had elapsed since their return,
The hue of her countenance had changed to a marvelled whiteness.
Its expression had lost nothing of its beauty,
But it was changed,
And there was an anxious haggard look about the gentle face which it had never worn before.
Another minute,
And it was suffused with a crimson flush,
And a heavy wildness came over the soft blue eye.
Again this disappeared,
Like the shadow thrown by a passing cloud,
And she was once more deadly pale.
Oliver,
Who watched the old lady anxiously,
Observed she was alarmed by these appearances,
And so in truth was he.
But seeing that she effected to make light of them,
He endeavoured to do the same.
And they so far succeeded,
That when Rose was persuaded by her aunt to retire for the night,
She was in better spirits,
And appeared even in better health,
Assuring them she felt certain she should rise in the morning quite well.
I hope,
Said Oliver,
When Mrs Maylie returned,
That nothing's the matter.
She doesn't look well tonight,
But.
.
.
The old lady motioned him not to speak,
And sitting herself down in a dark corner of the room,
Remained silent.
Then at length she said in a trembling voice,
I hope not,
Oliver.
I've been very happy with her for some years.
Too happy,
Perhaps.
It may be this time I should meet with some misfortune,
But I hope it is not this time.
What?
Inquired Oliver.
The heavy blow,
Said the old lady,
Of losing the dear girl who so long be my comfort and happiness.
God forbid!
Exclaimed Oliver hastily.
Amen to that,
My child,
Said the old lady,
Wringing her hands.
But two hours ago she was quite well.
She is very ill now,
And will be worse,
I'm sure.
Dear Rose,
What shall I do without her?
Then the old lady gave way to such grief that Oliver,
Suppressing his own emotion,
Ventured to remonstrate with her,
And to beg earnestly,
That for the sake of the dear young lady herself,
She would be more calm.
And consider,
Mum,
Said Oliver,
As the tears forced themselves into his eyes,
Despite his efforts to the contrary.
Consider how young and good she is,
And what pleasure and comfort she gives to all about her.
I'm certain that for your sake,
Who's so good yourself,
And for her own,
And for the sake of all she makes happy,
She will not die.
Heaven will never let her die so young.
Hush,
Said Mrs.
Mailey,
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 do hope I might be pardoned,
For I'm old,
And I've 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 it is not always the youngest and best who are spared.
To those that love them.
But this should give comfort in our sorrow,
For heaven is just.
And such things teach us impressively,
There's a brighter world than this,
And the passage to it is speedy.
God's will will be done.
I love her,
And he knows how well.
Oliver was surprised to see that as Mrs.
Mailey said these words,
That 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.
Mailey was ever ready and collected,
Performing all the duties which had devolved upon her,
Steadily and to all external appearances,
Even cheerfully.
But Oliver was young,
And he 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.
Mailey's predictions were but too well verified.
Mose 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.
Mailey,
Laying her finger on her lip,
As she looked steadily into his face.
This letter must be sent with all possible expedition to Mr.
Lossburn.
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 you to see it is done,
I know.
Oliver could make no reply,
But looked his anxiety to be gone at once.
Here is another letter,
Said Mrs.
Mailey,
But whether to send it now,
Or wait till I see how Rose goes on,
I scarcely know.
I would not forward it unless I feared the worst.
Is it for Chertsey too,
Mum?
Inquired Oliver,
Impatient to execute his commission,
And holding out his trembling hand for the letter.
No,
Replied the old lady,
Giving it to him mechanically.
It was directed to Harry Mailey,
Esquire,
At some great Lord's house in the country.
Shall it go?
Asked Oliver.
I think not,
Replied Mrs.
Mailey.
I'll wait till tomorrow.
And 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 his breath,
Until he came in a great heat and covered with dust on the little marketplace 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 Osler,
Who,
After hearing all that 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.
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,
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 as it was something to feel certain that assistance was sent for,
And 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 accidentally stumbled against a tall man wrapped in a cloak,
Who was at that moment coming out of the inn door.
Ah!
Cried the man,
Fixing his eyes on Oliver.
He suddenly recoiled.
What the devil was this?
I beg your pardon,
Sir,
Said Oliver,
I was in a great hurry to get home and I didn't see you were coming.
Death!
Muttered the man to himself.
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.
I hope I have not hurt you.
Then the man shook his fist,
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 dazed,
Darted back into the house for help.
The circumstance did not dwell in his recollection long,
However,
For when he reached the cottage after running away,
There was enough to occupy his mind and to drive all considerations of self completely from his memory.
