The Awakening of Helena Richie Part 33

"Oh, William," Martha whispered, "what shall we do? Must you give it to her _now?_--oh, William!"

Dr. King stood staring at the orange-colored envelope in silence.

"Shall I call Dr. Lavendar?" Martha asked breathlessly.

"Wait," her husband said; "let me think: it may not be anybody very near and dear; but whether it is or not, there is nothing she can do about it to-night. The telegraph-office is closed. I don't see why her evening need be spoiled. No; I won't give it to her now. When the people go--"

"Oh, dear! Dr. Lavendar says we must end up with a reel. But I'll get them off as soon as I can," Martha declared, in her capable voice, "and then I'll break it to her."

"I will tell her," the doctor said. He put the envelope in his pocket with a troubled frown.

"If she is in affliction, a woman will be more comfort to her than a man," Martha instructed him. "Look at her now, poor thing! She little thinks--No indeed; I must stay with her. I'm very tired, and she's not very friendly, but I won't s.h.i.+rk my duty on that account. That's one thing about me: I may not be perfect, but I don't let personal feelings interfere with duty."

"It isn't your duty," William said impatiently; "you'd better arrange about the reel." And with that he left her. But he was so uneasy at withholding the telegram that he forgot to choose a partner, and let Martha push him into place opposite Miss Maggie Jay, who was so stout that when the two large bodies went jigging down the lane, the clasping hands arched above their heads had to break apart to give them room.

"She may think I ought to have told her at once," William was saying to himself, watching Mrs. Richie with such furtive attention that he forgot to turn his partner, until Martha's sharp reminder set him shuffling his feet, and grinning in a sickly way at panting Miss Maggie.... "Who is 'F.'? Will 'F.'s death be a great grief? Will she suffer?" William King's kind heart began to beat thickly in his throat. If she should cry! He bowed, with stiffly swinging arms to Miss Maggie. He thought of Helena,--who was moving through the dance as a flower sways on its stalk,--as one thinks of a child in pain; with the impulse to hold out his arms. In his absorption he stood stock-still--but happily the reel was over, and the people were beginning to say good-by. He drew a long breath of relief at getting rid of them, and as he stood waiting, Martha plucked at his sleeve.

"Give me the despatch; I'll break it to her."

He looked at her with absent eyes. "No; I'll see to it. Do start, Martha, and maybe that will hurry them off!"

Mrs. King drew back, affronted. "Oh, very well," She said; and made her cold adieux.

But Helena Richie was oblivious of Mrs. King's coldness; her anxiety and dismay had grown into an uncontrollable nervousness, and when at last, thinking she was alone, she threw up her arms with a gesture of relief, the sight of William King, coming gravely towards her, made her break into an angry exclamation. But before she knew it, he had taken her hand, and was holding it in his kind clasp.

"Mrs. Richie, I am afraid I must give you bad news."

"Bad--news--?"

"A telegram has come," he began, taking the envelope from his pocket; but she interrupted him, Seizing it with a sort of gasp and tearing it open. A moment later she stood quite still, looking at the despatch, then with dilating eyes at the doctor, and again at the despatch. She pressed her fingers hard against her lips, and he saw that she was trembling.

"You must sit down," he said gently, and put his big, quiet hand on her shoulder. She sank under his firm touch into a chair.

"It is not--bad news."

"I am glad of that," William said. "But you are a little pale," he added smiling.

"It was a shock."

"I am glad it was nothing more."

She spread out the telegram and read it again. She did not seem to hear him. Dr. King looked at her uneasily. There was certainly no grief in her face, yet her color did not come back.

"Some one is dead," she said. "Not--a friend." William was silent.

"But it startled me."

"Yes," the doctor said.

"Oh, Dr. King!" she cried violently; and put her hands over her face.

He thought with relief that tears had come. "He was--an enemy," she said. "He is dead, Mrs. Richie; forgive him."

She did not answer. It was all William King could do not to stroke the soft hair of the bent head, and say "Don't cry," as if to a child. But when she lifted her face, her eyes were quite dry; there was a flas.h.i.+ng look in them that broke into breathless, wavering laughter.

"I beg your pardon; it is just the--the shock, you know."

"Yes," the doctor said; "I know." He could not help covering with his big, warm palm, the shaking hands that were pulling and twisting the telegram. "There, there! My dear Mrs. Richie--where is that bromide I gave you for David? I want you to take some."

"Oh, it isn't necessary; truly it isn't. I am not unhappy. I am just-- "

"You are startled; and you must have a good night's sleep. Is the bromide in David's room? I'll get it."

When he came back with the medicine, she took it hurriedly--anything to get rid of him! "Is there anything I can do?" he said. "Do you want to send any reply? I can take it down to-night and send it the first thing in the morning."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "what am I thinking of! Of course, a message--I must send a message! Will you take it? Oh, I am afraid I trouble you very much, but you are so kind. I'll go and write it."

She tried to rise, but she was still so shaken that involuntarily he put out his hand to help her. At the old mahogany desk between the windows she hunted about for paper and pencil, and when she found them, wrote for a moment, rapidly; then paused, and tore the paper up.

William glanced at her side-wise; she was pressing the pencil against her lips, her left hand opening and closing with agitation. The doctor shook his head. "That won't do," he said to himself. Again she wrote; again hesitated; again tore the sheet of paper across. It seemed to him that he waited a long time. But when she brought him the message, it was very short; only: _"F. is dead,"_ and her initials. It was addressed to Mr. Lloyd Pryor.

"I am very much obliged to you," she said; her color was coming back, and she had evidently got control of herself. But she hardly noticed William's farewell, and he had not reached the front door before she began to pace up and down the parlor.

"Well!" said Martha, "was it a brother, or sister? How did she take it? I suppose you think she found it easier because you broke it to her. I must say, William, flatly and frankly, that I think a nice woman would rather have a woman near her when she is in trouble, than a man. I was very tired, but I was perfectly willing to remain. Well!

what relation was this F.? A cousin?"

"Why, I don't know," the doctor confessed blankly; "she didn't say, and it never occurred to me to ask; and--"

"Well, upon my word!" said Martha King.

CHAPTER XXI

Helena stood breathing quickly; it was as if she had been smothering, and suddenly felt free air. She was alone. The people--the terrible, persistently friendly, suffocating people, were gone! She could draw a full breath; she could face her own blazing fact; ... _Frederick was dead._

She was walking back and forth, staring with unseeing eyes at the confusion of the room--chairs pulled out from their accustomed places; two card-tables with a litter of cards and counters; the astral-lamp burning low on the rosewood table that was cluttered with old daguerreotypes belonging to the house. The dining-room door was ajar, and as she pa.s.sed it she had a glimpse of the empty disorder of the room, and could hear her two women moving about, carrying off plates and gla.s.ses and talking to each other.

"Well, I like company," she heard Sarah say. "I wish she'd have somebody in every day."

And Maggie's harsh murmur: "You ain't got to cook for 'em." Then the clatter of forks and spoons in the pantry.

"Seemed to me like as if she wasn't real glad to see 'em," Sarah commented. "My! look at all this here good cake crumbled up on somebody's plate."

"Well, a widow woman don't enjoy company," Maggie explained.

A minute later Sarah came bustling in to close the parlor windows for the night, and started to find the room still occupied. "I thought you had gone upstairs, ma'am," the girl stammered, wondering nervously if she had said anything that she would not care to have overheard.

"I am going now," Mrs. Richie said, drawing a long breath, and opening and shutting her eyes in a dazed way;--"like as if she'd been asleep and was woke up, sudden," Sarah told Maggie later.

In her own room, the door locked, she sank down in a chair, her clasped hands falling between her knees, her eyes staring at the floor.