Chapter 34 Chapter Thirty-Three

(In this chapter, the joy of Oliver and his friends meets an unexpected setback.) Spring is gone, and summer is here.If the village was once very beautiful, now it fully demonstrates its elegance and prosperity.Cowardly and cowering in the early months, the tall, naked trees now spring to life, spreading their green arms to cover the parched earth, turning a bare spot into an impeccable place. of quiet place.Under the dense and comfortable shade of trees, people can see that the vast space bathed in sunlight stretches into the distance.The earth was covered with an emerald green cloak, exuding a mellow fragrance.This is the heyday of the year when everything is thriving and cheerful.

The quiet life in the small villa is still the same, and the people in the villa live happily and peacefully as usual.Oliver had grown strong and strong.But neither health nor illness has changed his deep affection for those around him, and there are many others who are not.He was still the little one who had been drained by misery and had to be looked after everywhere, that obedient and grateful child. On a bright night, they took a longer walk than usual. The day was extremely hot, and the night was bright and full of moonlight. From time to time, there was an unusually cool breeze.Ruth was also in high spirits at first, and they chatted and laughed as they walked, far out of the usual range.Mrs. Maylie felt a little tired, and they walked home slowly.Ruth threw off her slack hat, as usual, and sat down at the piano.She played absently for a few minutes, her fingers gliding rapidly across the keys, and then she began to play a low and solemn piece.Just as she was playing the piano, everyone heard a sound, she seemed to be crying.

"Ruth, my dear," said the old lady. Ruth didn't answer, but played a little faster, as if the words had awakened her from painful thoughts. "Ruth, my girl," cried Mrs. Maylie, standing up in a panic, and stooping down. "What is it? Crying. My dear child, what is it that makes you sad?" "Nothing, auntie. Nothing," answered the girl, "I don't know what it is. I can't tell. But I feel—" "Aren't you sick, Niuniu?" Mrs. Maylie interrupted. "No, no. Oh, I'm not sick." Ruth shuddered, and it seemed that a cold chill ran through her body as she spoke. "I'll be well soon. Shut the windows."

Oliver hastened forward and closed the window.The young lady wanted to restore her previous enthusiasm and changed to a more relaxed tune, but her fingers stopped feebly on the keys.She covered her face with her hands and collapsed on the sofa, tears bursting out of her eyes. "My child," said the old woman, putting her arms around her shoulders, "I never saw you like this before." "I don't want to disturb you, if I can," replied Ruth. "I tried to hold back, but I couldn't help it. I'm afraid I'm really ill, aunt." She was indeed ill, and when the candles were brought they found that, in the very short time they had been home, she had grown as pale as marble.The beautiful face has not changed at all, but the expression has changed.On Wen Jing's face, there was a look of anxiety and exhaustion that had never been seen before.A minute later, a flush rose in the cheeks, and a frantic light shone in the soft blue eyes.The blush disappeared again, and she was once again deathly pale like a passing cloud.

Oliver looked longingly at the old lady, and could not help noticing that she was frightened by these symptoms, and so was he himself.But seeing the old lady pretending to be indifferent, he tried his best to do that, and it really worked.Ruth went in to rest under her aunt's persuasion. Her spirits improved a little, and she even looked better. She also promised that she would be fine when she woke up tomorrow morning. "Are you all right?" said Oliver, when Mrs. Maylie came back; "she looked ill to-night, but—" The old lady motioned him to stop talking, sat down in a dark corner, and remained silent for a while.Finally, she said in a trembling voice:

"I don't believe so, Oliver. I've been very happy--perhaps too happy--perhaps too happy to be with her for so many years. It may be time for me to have some misfortune. But I hope not." "What?" asked Oliver. "It is a heavy blow to lose this good girl," said the old lady, "who has been my comfort and happiness for a long time." "Oh! God won't answer!" cried Oliver in alarm. "God bless you, my child," said the old lady, wringing her hands. "Surely there is nothing so dreadful?" said Oliver. "She was quite well two hours ago."

"She is very ill now," replied Mrs. Maylie, "and it will be worse, I believe. My dear Ruth. Oh, what shall I do without her!" So great was the grief which overwhelmed her, that Oliver was obliged to subdue his feelings, and to entreat and entreat, that for the dear lady's own sake she should be calmer. "Think about it, ma'am," said Oliver, with tears welling up in his eyes. "Oh! Just think, she's so young, and has such a good heart, and brings so much joy and comfort to all around her. I promise - yes - really - for you, your heart And that's all right, for her own sake, and for the sake of all who will get happiness from her, she won't die. God never let her die so young."

"Be quiet," said Mrs. Maylie, laying her hand on Oliver's head. "You're naive, poor boy. Anyway, you taught me my duty. I forgot it all at once, Oliver, but I believe I'll be forgiven, I'm old, I have seen enough sickness and death to know how painful it is to be parted from those we love. I have seen enough that the youngest and kindest do not always get the love of those who love them. Forgiveness is found in man, but this can bring comfort in our sorrow, and God is just. Such a thing is impressive, reminding us that there is a world brighter than this one, and it is useless to go there How much time. God has his way. I love her, God knows how much I love her anyway."

Mrs. Maylie poured out these words, and Oliver was amazed to see that Mrs. Maylie seemed to suppress her sorrow by gritting her teeth, and as she spoke, she straightened her back and became calm and firm.Then he was still more amazed that this firmness remained constant, that although the care of the sick rested upon her shoulders, Mrs. Maylie was always methodical, poised, meticulous in the discharge of these duties, and on the whole looked quite easy.But he is still young after all, and he doesn't know how strong a strong heart can be in times of crisis.It's no wonder he doesn't understand, how many strong people understand themselves?

An anxious night passed.When morning came, Mrs. Maylie's prophecy came true.Ruth was in the early stages of a very dangerous fever. "We must take the initiative, Oliver, and not just make futile laments," said Mrs. Maylie, putting a finger to her lips, and looking directly into his face. "This letter must be delivered to Mr. Rothberleigh as soon as possible. It must be sent to the market town. You take the by-path across the fields and walk no more than four miles, and from there send a messenger to ride directly to Jets. The man at the inn Will get it done. I want you to go and see them send it, I can trust you."

Oliver could not utter a word, but was only anxious to go away at once. "Here's another letter," said Mrs. Maylie, and paused for a moment in thought. "But whether to send it now or wait until I see Ruth's condition, I can't make up my mind. I can't send it unless the worst happens." "To Jets too, ma'am?" asked Oliver, anxiously, stretching out his trembling hand towards the letter. "Yes." The old lady replied, and handed the letter to him blankly.Oliver glanced at the envelope. It was addressed to Mr. Harry Maylie at the estate of Lord So-and-so, and he could not tell where. "Send it, ma'am?" asked Oliver, looking up impatiently. "I don't think so," said Mrs. Maylie, taking the letter back. "Let's talk about it tomorrow." Mrs. Maylie said, and handing Oliver the purse, he set off with all his might, without delay. He ran quickly across the fields, along paths, sometimes across field paths, sometimes almost hidden by tall crops on either side, sometimes emerging from a clearing where several farmers were busy harvesting, stacking.He didn't stop once in a while, just resting for a few seconds occasionally to catch his breath, and ran to the small market in the town, sweating profusely and covered in dust. He stopped and looked around for the inn.The white house was the bank, the red house was the brewery, the yellow house was the town hall, and at one corner there was a large house painted green in every part of its wood, with a "George" sign in front of it.As soon as the house came into his sight, he ran to it. He explained the purpose of his visit to a postman who was dozing off under the porch. After the postman understood what he wanted to do, he asked him to ask the groom in the store, who asked him to repeat it from the beginning, and then told him to talk to the boss.The proprietor, a tall gentleman, wearing a blue scarf, a white hat, light brown pea trousers, and well-turned boots, was leaning on the pump by the stable door, with a silver Pick your teeth with a toothpick. The gentleman walked slowly to the counter and began to issue the invoice, which took a long time.After the money was paid, the horse had to be saddled, and the postman had to put on his uniform, which took more than ten minutes.Oliver was as anxious as an ant on a hot pot, wishing he could jump on the horse and gallop away to the next stop.It was so hard to get everything ready, and the letter was handed over, and he urged the postman again and again, begging him to deliver it as soon as possible.The postman rode his horse and set off, crossing the potholed gravel road in the market, and two minutes later he was on the main road. Oliver was relieved to see that the emergency had been sent, and that the effort was not in vain, and with a somewhat relieved heart, he hurried across the inn yard, and was about to turn around at the gate, when he did not want to but followed a body. The tall man in the cloak bumped into him, who was coming out of the inn. "Drink!" cried the man, keeping his eyes fixed on Oliver, and drawing back abruptly. "What the fuck is this?" "I am sorry, sir," said Oliver, "but I was hurrying home and did not see you coming." "Damn it!" murmured the man to himself, gazing at Oliver with his great black eyes. "Who would. He should be ground to dust. He'll jump up from his stone coffin to block my way." "I'm sorry," stammered Oliver, frightened by the wild man's look, "I hope I haven't hurt you." "Bastard!" the man was furious, muttering through his teeth, "if I had the guts to say that, I'd dump you in just one night. You bloody thing, let the Black Death creep into you Go ahead, you little bastard. What are you doing here?" The man waved his fists while talking nonchalantly.He came up to Oliver, as if about to give him a blow, but fell suddenly, convulsed, and foaming at the mouth. For a moment Oliver (whom he thought he had met a madman) just watched him writhing on the ground, and then rushed into the inn to get help.He watched the man being erected, and the wife entered the inn peacefully, and then turned and went home.He galloped all the way to make up for lost time, and at the same time recalled, with great amazement and a touch of terror, the strange behavior of the man he had just left. However, this situation did not stay in his mind for long. After he came back, there were a lot of things in the villa that occupied his mind, and he squeezed out all the considerations about himself from his memory. Ruth Maylie's condition deteriorated dramatically and before midnight she started talking nonsense.A doctor who lives locally is by her side at all times.After a preliminary examination of the patient, the doctor took Mrs. Maylie aside and declared her ailment to be of a most dangerous type. "To tell you the truth," he said, "it depends on a miracle whether she can be cured." How many times during the night did Oliver jump out of bed, and creep quietly to the landing, to listen intently for the slightest sound in the sick-room.How many times, whenever the sound of chaotic footsteps suddenly sounded, he couldn't help worrying that something unimaginable happened after all, he was so frightened that he trembled all over, and cold sweat broke out on his forehead.He wept and prayed for the life of the good girl who was teetering on the edge of the deep grave, with a passion far beyond anything he had ever done. Oh!This kind of concern, when the life of someone we love so much is in the balance, and there is nothing we can do, how terrible and painful it is.Oh!Gripping thoughts flood the mind, the heart beats and the breath grows faster by the magic of the visions they evoke--a desperate urge to do something to relieve our pain. A pain we are powerless to relieve, and a danger we are powerless to reduce.We painfully thought of how helpless we were, our hearts sank, and we vented non-stop. What torture can compare to this?Any ideas or practices that can ease the pain when anxiety is at its peak? morning came.There was silence in the small villa.People whispered, anxious faces appeared at the door from time to time, and women and children walked aside with tears in their eyes.All the long day, and for some hours after dark, Oliver walked softly up and down the garden, raising his head every now and then to cast a glance into the sick-room, which he watched with trepidation. Looking at him in the dark window, it seems that the god of death has already arrived first.Late at night, Mr. Rothbury arrived. "It's difficult," said the kind doctor, turning his face away. "So young and so cute. But there's little hope." Another morning came.The sun is so bright, it seems that there is no suffering or sorrow in the world.The garden was full of leaves and flowers, and everything seemed alive and full of energy, and the sounds and sights around were full of joy—and the lovely girl was lying on the sickbed, rapidly weakened.Oliver sneaked into the old churchyard, sat down on a grassy tomb, and wept and prayed for her silently. This picture is so peaceful.There is so much hope and joy in a beautiful, sunny landscape: the summer birds sing so cheerfully; the rooks fly overhead with such freedom; everything is so alive exuberant, gaiety; and the boy lifted his throbbing eyes, looked about him, and the thought welled up in his mind that it was not the time of death, that Ruth would not die if the little things were still so gay.What the tomb likes is the cold and bleak winter, not the sunshine and the fragrance of flowers.He almost believed that the shroud was only used to wrap the old and withered body, and never drew the young and delicate form into their terrible embrace. These childish thoughts were violently interrupted by the sound of the mourning bell from the other side of the church.Another sound!Another sound!It was the death knell that announced the beginning of the funeral.A funeral procession of ordinary people enters the gates of the cemetery, wearing white bowknots because the deceased was so young.They stood before a grave with their hats off, and in the weeping ranks was a mother—a mother who had lost her child.But the sun was still shining, and the birds were still singing. Oliver went home, recalling all the care the lady had given him, and looking forward to another opportunity, that he might never stop showing how grateful and attached he was to her.He had no reason to blame himself for how many times he had been careless or thoughtless, because he had served her sincerely.Still, there were so many little things floating in front of him that he fancied he could have worked harder and more seriously, but he didn't.Each death brings to the few survivors the thought that so much has been neglected and so little has been done - so much has been forgotten and many more have been irretrievably ——So we must pay attention to how we usually treat the people around us!There is nothing more frustrating than regret.Let us remember this early if we wish to escape the censure of remorse. Mrs. Maylie was sitting in the little drawing-room when Oliver arrived.Oliver's heart sank at the sight of her, for she never left his niece's bed.He mused tremblingly that something must have happened to prompt her to step aside.He learned that the lady fell into a deep sleep, and when she woke up this time, she would either recover and regenerate, or say goodbye and die. They sat and listened intently, and dared not speak for hours.Untouched meals were withdrawn.They stared absently at the sinking sun, and finally at the sun filling the sky and the earth with its dying colors.Their sharp ears suddenly heard the sound of footsteps approaching.No sooner had Mr. Rosbery entered the room than they could not help rushing for the door. "How is Ruth?" cried the old lady. "Tell me, I can take it, and don't worry about me any more! Oh, tell me! For God's sake!" "You must hold your breath," said the doctor, supporting her. "Please keep calm, my dear lady." "Let me die, in the name of God. My dear child. She is dead. She is going to die." "No!" cried the doctor emotionally. "God is merciful and forgiving, so she will live for many years to be a blessing to us all." The old lady knelt down and tried her best to put her hands together, but the perseverance that had supported her for so long had already flown to the kingdom of heaven with the first thanksgiving prayer.She fell into the arms of her friend who stretched out his arms to catch her.