The great grief overwhelmed her, and Yongchang had to restrain her feelings, persuade her with good words, and beg bitterly, for the sake of the young lady herself, she should be calmer.

"Think about it, ma'am," Young-chang said, tears welling up in his eyes. "Think about it, she is so young, her heart is so good, and she brings so much joy and comfort to everyone around her. I promise—yes—indeed—that your heart is so good for you, and for her own sake, and for all who receive happiness from her, she will not die. God would never let her die at such a young age. ”

"Be quiet." Mrs. May put a hand on Yongchang's head and said. "You are naïve, poor boy. Anyway, you taught me what I do. I forgot about it all at once, but I believe that I will be forgiven, I am old, I have seen enough sickness and death, I know how painful it is to be separated from our beloved. I've seen so much that the youngest, kindest people don't always get forgiveness from those who love them, but this can bring comfort when we grieve, and Heaven is just. Such things are so impressive that they remind us that there is a world that is brighter than this, and that it will not take much time to get there. ”

Mei Tai poured out these words, and Yongchang was surprised to see that Mrs. Mei seemed to grit her teeth and suppress her sadness, and she straightened her back as she spoke, becoming calm and firm. Then he was more and more amazed that this steadfastness had remained the same, and that Mrs. Merley had always been methodical and composed, and that she had carried out these duties with meticulous care, and that she had come with an outward ease on the whole, even though the burden of caring for the sick had fallen on her shoulders. But after all, he is still young, and he does not know how strong a strong heart can be in times of crisis. It's no wonder he doesn't understand, and how many strong people understand themselves?

An anxious night passed. When the morning came, Mrs. May's prophecy was fully fulfilled. Jin Xiu is in the early stages of a very dangerous fever.

"We must take the initiative, Yongchang, we can't just send some useless lamentations." Mrs. May said, putting a finger to her lips and looking directly into his face. "This letter must be handed over to Mr. Qian as soon as possible. It must be sent to the market town, and you take the path through the fields, and you can walk less than four miles, and then send a special messenger to ride a horse directly to the Yangtze Road. The people in the inn will take care of it. I want you to watch them go out, and I can trust you. ”

Yongchang couldn't say a word, he just wished he was going to leave immediately.

"There's another letter here," said Mrs. May, pausing again and pondering for a moment. "But I can't decide whether to send it out now, or wait until I see Ruth's condition. I can't send it out unless the worst happens. ”

"Are you also sent to Yangtze Road, ma'am?" Yongchang was anxious in his heart, and as he asked, he stretched out his trembling hand towards the letter.

"Yes." The old lady replied, and gave him the letter blankly. Yongchang glanced at the envelope, the letter was sent to a certain honorable master, and he couldn't figure out what it was.

"Do you want to send it, ma'am?" Yongchang raised his head impatiently and asked.

"I don't think so," Mrs. May said, taking the letter back. "We'll talk about it tomorrow."

Mrs. Mei said that, handed over the wallet to Yongchang, he didn't delay any longer, mustered up the strength of his whole body, and set off as fast as he could.

He hurried through the fields, running along the paths, sometimes through the paths, sometimes almost covered by the tall crops on either side, and at other times emerging out of a clearing where several peasants were busy harvesting and stacking. He didn't stop once, only occasionally resting for a few seconds, gasping for breath, and ran all the way to the little bazaar in town, sweating profusely and covered in dust.

He stopped and looked around for the inn. The white house is the bank, the red house is the beer workshop, the yellow house is the town office, and on a street corner there is a large house, all the wooden parts are painted green, and there is a signboard in front of it. As soon as the house came into his sight, he ran to it.

He explained his intention to a postman who was dozing under the porch, and when the postman understood what he was going to do, he told him to ask the groom in the shop, and the groom asked him to repeat it all over again, and then told him to go with the boss.

The proprietor was a tall man, wearing a white hat, light brown tweed breeches and a pair of cuffed boots, leaning against the barrel next to the stable door, picking his teeth with a silver toothpick.

The old man walked slowly and methodically into the counter, and it took a long time. It took more than ten minutes to pay for the money, to saddle the horses, and to put on the postman's uniform.

Yongchang was as anxious as an ant on a hot pot, and he couldn't wait to jump on his horse and gallop away to the next stop. It was easy to get everything ready, and the letter was handed over, and he told the postman again and again, begging him to deliver it as soon as possible.

The postman rode his horse and crossed the potholed gravel road of the bazaar, and in two minutes was already on the avenue.

Seeing that the emergency had been sent out, and it was not in vain, Yongchang relieved his heart, and with a somewhat relaxed mood, he hurried through the courtyard of the inn, and was about to turn around at the gate, but he didn't want to collide with a tall man in a cloak, who was walking out of the inn.

"Drink!" The man stared at Yongchang and stepped back sharply, shouting. "What the fuck is this?"

"I'm sorry, sir," said Yongchang, "I was in a hurry to get home, and I didn't see you coming. ”

The man muttered to himself, two large, dark eyes glaring at Yongchang. "Who would have thought that. He should have been crushed to ashes. He would jump out of the stone coffin and stand in my way. ”

"I'm sorry," Yongchang stammered, startling the frenzied look of the strange man, "I hope I didn't hurt you." ”

"Bastard thing!" The man was furious, muttering from between his teeth, "If I had the courage to say that, I would have dumped you in one night." You goddamn thing, you little bastard. What are you doing here? ”

The man shook his fist and said nonchalantly. He walked towards Yongchangfu, as if he was about to punch him, but he fell to the ground suddenly, spasmodizing and foaming at the mouth.

For a moment, Yongchang thought that he had met a madman, and just stared blankly at him rolling on the ground, and then rushed into the inn to find someone to help. He watched as the man set up, and the wife entered the inn peacefully, and then turned and went home. He raced all the way to make up for the delay, and at the same time, with great surprise and a little fear, he remembered the strange behavior of the man he had just left.

However, this situation did not linger in his mind for long, and when he returned, there were things in the villa that occupied his mind, squeezing all the considerations about himself out of his memory.

Jin Xiu's condition deteriorated dramatically, and before midnight she began to talk nonsense. A local doctor was on her sidelines. The doctor examined the patient preliminarily, then took Mrs. May aside and declared her illness to be of an extremely dangerous type. "Truly," he said, "she can only be healed by a miracle."

How many times did Yongchang jump up from bed that night, creep to the top of the stairs, and listen intently for even the slightest noise in the ward. How many times, whenever the chaotic footsteps suddenly sounded, he couldn't help but worry that something unimaginable had happened, and he was so frightened that he trembled and cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

He burst into tears, praying for the life of the good girl who was teetering on the edge of the deep grave, a passion far beyond what he had done before.

How terrible and painful is this kind of care, when the life of a person we love so deeply is wavering on the scales, and we are powerless. A desperate impulse arises: to do something to alleviate this pain that we are powerless to alleviate, to reduce this danger that we are powerless to reduce.

We think bitterly that we are so helpless, that our hearts sink straight down, and that our anger is constantly venting, and what punishment can compare to this? What ideas or practices can alleviate anxiety at a time when it is at its peak?

Morning came. There was silence in the small villa. People whispered, scorched faces appeared at the door from time to time, and women and children walked aside with tears in their eyes. Throughout the long day, and for hours after dark, Yongchang walked softly around the garden, and every moment he had to raise his head to glance at the patient's room, and he looked at the dark window with trepidation, as if death had taken the lead.

Late at night, Mr. Qian arrived. "It's hard," said the kind doctor, turning his face away. "So young, so cute. But there is little hope. ”

Another morning has arrived. The sun is so bright, as if I can't see the slightest bit of suffering or sorrow in the world. The garden is full of foliage and flowers, everything seems to be full of life and energy, and the sounds and sights around it are full of joy.

But the girl lay on the hospital bed, and became debilitated sharply. Yongchang sneaked into the old church cemetery, sat down on a grassy tomb, and silently wept and prayed for her.

This picture is so peaceful. The beautiful, sunny scenery contains so much hope and joy: the birds of summer sing so cheerfully; The white-billed crow fluttering its wings swept overhead, it was so free; All things are so vibrant and elated; The child raised his aching eyes, looked around, and the thought swelled up in his heart, this is not the season of death, the little things are still so happy and free, and the golden embroidery will not die.

The tomb prefers the cold and bleak winter, and does not like the sun and the fragrance of flowers. He was almost certain that the shroud was only used to wrap around the old and shriveled bodies, and never to pull the young and delicate bodies into their terrible embrace.

A mourning bell rang from the side of the church, rudely interrupting these childish thoughts. Another bang! Another bang! This is the death knell that announces the beginning of the funeral.

Yongchang walked towards the house, remembering all the care that the young lady had given him, and hoping that the opportunity would come again, so that he could show how grateful and attached he was to her.

He had no reason to blame himself for how many times he was careless, or for not using his brains, because he was sincere in his service to her. Still, there were many small things that came to him, and he fantasized that he could have done it harder and more seriously, but unfortunately he didn't.

Every death brings to the few survivors the idea that so many things have been neglected, so few things have been done—so many things have been forgotten, and so many more things have been irretrievable!

Yongchang arrived home, and Mrs. May was sitting in the small living room. At the sight of her, his heart sank at once, for she had never left his niece's hospital bed.

He shuddered and wondered if something must have happened to make her step aside. He learns that the young lady has fallen into a deep sleep, and that she will wake up this time, either to recover and regenerate, or to say goodbye and die.

They sat down and listened intently, and for hours they did not dare to speak. The untouched meal was withdrawn.

They watched absentmindedly at the sinking sun, and finally as the sun sprinkled the sky and the earth with its departing colors. Their keen ears suddenly heard a sound of footsteps getting closer and closer. As soon as Mr. Roseberry entered the house, they could not help but rush to the door.

"How's the golden embroidery?" The old lady shouted, "Tell me quickly, I can stand it, don't worry me anymore!" Tell me! For God's sake! ”

"You'll have to hold your breath," the doctor said, holding her up.

"Let me die. She's dead. She's going to die. ”

The old lady knelt down and tried her best to put her hands together, but the perseverance that had sustained her for so long had flown to heaven with the first prayer of thanksgiving.