Pietro Ghisleri Part 17

"Donna Adele has great social talent," he remarked, finding, as usual, the one thing to be said in her favour.

"Indeed she has!" a.s.sented Laura, with a constrained little laugh, and looking into his blue eyes.

Ghisleri made no sign, however, and presently began to talk of other matters. He always felt a singular satisfaction in being with Laura, and this year he noticed that it was growing upon him. The impression he had first formed of her, when she had appeared in society, was confirmed year by year, and appealed to a side of his nature of which few people suspected the existence. It depended largely on Laura's looks, no doubt, which strongly suggested the high predominance of all that was good over the ordinary instincts of average human nature. He felt a sort of reverence for her which he had never felt for any one; he knew that she was good, he imagined that she was almost saintly in her life, and he believed that she might, under certain circ.u.mstances become, in the best religious sense, a holy woman. Had he seen her on that evening when Arden had found her strangling an imaginary enemy in a fit of exceedingly human anger, he could hardly have accepted the evidence of his senses. All that was good in her appealed directly through all that was bad in him to the small remnant of the better nature which had survived through his misspent life. It did not, indeed, rouse in him the slightest active desire to imitate her virtues. The very idea that he could ever be virtuous in any sense, brought a smile to his face. But he could not help admiring what he knew to be so very far beyond his sphere--what he believed, perhaps, to be even further from his reach than it actually was. He had reached that almost morbid stage of self-contempt in which a man, while still admiring goodness in others, checks even the aspiration towards it in his own heart, because he is convinced that it cannot be really genuine, and looks upon it as one of the affectations most to be despised in himself. He had got so far sometimes as to refuse a very wretched beggar a penny, merely because he doubted the sincerity of the charitable impulse which impelled his hand towards his pocket--laughing bitterly at himself afterwards when he thought of the poor wretch's disappointed face, and going back to find him again, perhaps, and to bestow a silver coin, simply because he could not resist the temptation to be kind.

Such unhealthy conditions of mind may seem inconceivable and incomprehensible to men of other nature, all whose thoughts are natural, logical, and sound. They exist, none the less, and not by any means necessarily in persons otherwise weak or morbid. The very absurdity of them, which cannot escape the man himself, makes him seem still more despicable in his own eyes, increases his distrust of himself and gives rise, completing the vicious circle, to conditions each time more senselessly self-torturing than the last. It is hard to bring such men to see how untenable their own position is. They will not even believe that a good instinct underlies the superstructure of morbid fancy, and that the latter could not exist without it.

Ghisleri looked long at Laura and admired her more than ever, realising at the same time how deeply her personality was impressed in his thoughts, and how vividly he was able at all times to evoke her outward image, and the conception he had formed of her character. He almost hated old Spicca for having said that no one could possibly be as good as she looked. In her own self she was the most overwhelming refutation of that remark; but then, he reflected, Spicca did not know her well enough, and habitually believed in nothing and in n.o.body. At least every one supposed that was Spicca's view of the world.

Before long Laura took Pietro to see Arden, and left the two together.

"There is something seriously wrong with me, Ghisleri," said his friend.

"I am going to be very ill. I feel it."

It was not like him to speak in that way, for he was brave and generally did his best to hide his sufferings from every one. Ghisleri looked at him anxiously. His face was drawn and pinched, and there were spots of colour on his cheeks which had not been there a few hours earlier.

"Perhaps you have a little fever with the cold," suggested Pietro, in a rea.s.suring tone. "It often happens in this country."

"I dare say," replied Arden. "It may be so. At all events, your specialist was right about the main thing, and I am no more consumptive than you are. But I feel--I cannot tell why--that I am going to be very ill indeed. It may be an impression, and even if I am, I shall probably weather it."

"Of course you will." But Ghisleri was in reality alarmed.

"I am so glad you came to-day," continued Arden, speaking more rapidly.

"If I should get worse to-morrow, really ill, you know--you must write to my brother. I would not ask my wife to do it for worlds. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly--but I do not believe there will be any reason--"

"Never mind that!" exclaimed Arden, interrupting him almost impatiently.

"If there is any reason, you will write. I cannot tell you all about it.

Of course I may not be delirious, you know, but again, I may be--one is never sure, and then it would be too late. Uncle Herbert is alive still, thank G.o.d, and quite well, and if anything should happen to me, his will would be worth nothing. Laura would not get a penny and would be dreadfully poor. Henry must do something for her. Do you understand me?

He must. You must see to it, too, or he will never think of it--kind as he is. Those things do not strike him. You see I have only my small portion--which is little enough, as you know, because there are so many sisters--and they are not all rich, either. We could not go on living in this way long--but Henry was very generous. He sent me two thousand pounds when we were married, and the yacht too, so that we spent very little--"

"You are exhausting yourself, my dear fellow," said Ghisleri, growing more anxious as he listened to the sick man's excited talk. "You have told me all this before, and your brother knows it too; he will not allow Lady Herbert--"

"One never can tell what he will do," broke in Arden, raising himself a little on his elbow, and facing his friend. His eyes were unnaturally brilliant. "He is so eccentric. And Laura must have money--she must have plenty--not that she is extravagant, but you know how she was brought up in the Gerano's house, and I should never have thought of marrying her, but for Uncle Herbert's money."

"You would both have been perfectly happy on a hundred a year," observed Pietro. "People are when they love each other as you do."

Arden's face softened at once, and Ghisleri saw that he was thinking of his wife. He was silent for a few moments.

"That is all very well," he said, suddenly rousing himself again. "That might do so long as I should be there to make life smooth for her. But when she is left alone--especially here--Ghisleri, I do not like to think that she must live here after I am gone--"

"For Heaven's sake do not begin to talk in that way, Arden! It is perfectly absurd. You only have a cold, after all!"

"Perhaps so. I believe I have something worse. Never mind! I was saying that I could not bear to think of her living here without me. It is quite true. No--it is not sentiment--something much more reasonable and real. There are people here who hate us both, who positively hate us, and who will make her life unbearable when there is no one to protect her--the more so, if she is poor. And besides, you know what will happen before long--oh, I cannot think of it!"

Ghisleri did not answer at once, for it was not clear to him how Arden had discovered that he had enemies. But the latter waited for no answer, and went on after a few seconds, still speaking excitedly.

"You see," he said, "how necessary it is that Harry should come--that you should write to him--that he should be made to understand--he must do something for Laura, Ghisleri--he really must."

There was something painful in the persistent repet.i.tion of the thought, and then, oddly enough, Pietro started as he heard his own name p.r.o.nounced almost without an interval, immediately after that of Laura.

It sounded very strangely--Laura Ghisleri--he had never thought of it before. A moment later he scorned himself for thinking of it at all.

"My dear Arden," he said, "you are really making yourself ill about nothing. Put it all out of your mind for the present, and remember that I am always ready if you need anything. You have only to send for me, and besides, I shall come every day until you are quite well."

"Thank you, my dear fellow, you are a good friend. Perhaps you are right. But as I lie here, thinking of all the possibilities--"

"You are beginning again," interrupted Ghisleri. "I must go away or you will talk yourself into a fever."

At that moment Laura re-entered the room. She started a little when she saw her husband's face.

"How do you find him?" she asked quickly of Ghisleri.

"He has a cold," answered the latter, cheerfully, "and perhaps there is a little fever with it. I am going to leave him, for he ought to keep quiet and not tire himself with too much talking."

He shook hands with Arden. Laura followed him out into the pa.s.sage beyond.

"He is very ill!" she exclaimed, in a low voice, touching his sleeve in her excitement. "I can see it. He never looked like that."

"It may not be anything serious," answered Ghisleri. "But he ought to see the doctor at once. I have a cab down stairs, and I will go and find him and bring him here. Keep him quiet; do not let him talk."

"Yes. You are so kind."

She left him and went back to Arden's bedside. He was tossing uneasily as though he could not find rest in any position, and the great round spots on his cheeks had deepened almost to a purple colour. He scarcely seemed to notice her entrance, but as she turned to move something on the table, after smoothing his pillow, he caught her suddenly by the skirt of her frock.

"Laura! Laura! do not go away!" he cried. "Do not leave me alone."

"No, love, I am not going," she answered gently, and sat down by his side.

Ghisleri was not gone long. By a mere chance he found the doctor at home, and brought him back. Then he waited in the drawing-room to hear the result of the visit. The physician's face was graver when he returned, and Laura was not with him.

"Is it anything serious?" asked Ghisleri.

"I am afraid so. I shall be better able to tell in a couple of hours.

The fever is very high, the other symptoms will develop before long, and we shall know what it is."

"What do you think it might be?"

"It might be scarlet fever," answered the doctor. "I am afraid it is.

But say nothing at present. You should get a nurse at once, for some one must sit up with him all night. I will send him something to take immediately, and I will come back myself in about two hours."

They went away together, but when the doctor returned, he found Ghisleri waiting for him in the street. It was now five o'clock and quite dark.

Pietro remained down stairs while the visit lasted.

"Well?" he asked, when the physician came down again.

"It is scarlet fever, as I was afraid--one of the most sudden cases I ever knew. They have not got a nurse yet, the idea seems to frighten Lady Herbert."