Other Things Being Equal Part 39

Standing under the chandelier, Mrs. Levice read. No change came over her face; when she had finished, she handed the paper without a word to Ruth. This was the message:--

RENO, Jan. 28, 188--

MISS RUTH LEVICE, San Francisco, Cal.

Found your father very weak and feverish and coughing continually.

Insists on getting home immediately. Says to inform Dr. Kemp, who will understand, and have him at the house on our arrival at 11.30 Thursday.

No present danger.

LOUIS ARNOLD

"Explain," commanded her mother, speaking in her overwrought condition as if to a stranger.

"Get into bed first, Mamma, or you will take cold."

Mrs. Levice suffered herself to be led there, and in a few words Ruth explained what she knew.

"You knew that yesterday before the train left?"

"Yes, Mamma."

"And why didn't you tell me? I should have gone to him. Oh, why didn't you tell me?"

"It would have been too late, dear."

"No, it is too late now; do you hear? I shall never see him again, and it is all your fault--what do you know? Stop crying! will you stop crying, or--"

"Mamma, I am not crying; you are crying, and saying things that are not true. It will not be too late; perhaps it is nothing but the cough.

Louis says there is no danger."

"Hus.h.!.+" cried her mother, her whole figure trembling. "I know there is danger now, this minute. Oh, what can I do, what can I do?" With this cry all her strength seemed to give way; she sobbed and laughed with the hysteria of long ago; when Ruth strove to put her arms around her, she shook her off convulsively.

"Don't touch me!" she breathed; "it is all your fault--he wants me--needs me--and, oh, look at me here! Why do you stand there like a ghost? Go away. No, come here--I want Dr. Kemp; now, at once, he said to have him; send for him, Ruth."

"On Thursday morning," she managed to answer.

"No, now--I must, must, must have him! You won't go? Then I shall; move aside."

Ruth, summoning all her strength, strove to hold her in her arms, all to no avail.

"Lie still," she said sternly; "I shall go for Dr. Kemp."

"You can't; it is night and raining. Oh," she continued, half deliriously, "I know I am acting strangely, and he will calm me. Ruth, I want to be calm; don't you understand?"

The two maids, frightened by the noise, stood in the doorway. Both had their heads covered with shawls; both were suffering with heavy colds.

"Come in, girls. Stay here with my mother; I am going for the doctor."

"Oh, Miss Ruth, ain't you afraid? It's a awful night, and black as pitch, and you all alone?" asked one, with wide, frightened eyes.

"I am not afraid," said the girl, a great calmness in her voice as she spoke above her mother's sobbing; "stay and try to quiet her. I shall not be gone long."

She flew into her room, drew on her overshoes and mackintosh, grasped a sealskin hood, which she tied securely under her chin, and went out into the howling, raging night.

She had but a few blocks to go, but under ordinary circ.u.mstances the undertaking would have been disagreeable enough. The rain came down in heavy, wild torrents; the wind roared madly, wrapping her skirts around her limbs and making walking almost an impossibility; the darkness was impenetrable save for the sickly, quavering light shed by the few street-lamps, as far apart as angel visitants. Lowering her head and keeping her figure as erect as possible, she struggled bravely on.

She met scarcely any one, and those she did meet occasioned her little uneasiness in the flood of unusual emotions that overwhelmed her soul.

At any other time the thought of her destination would have blotted out every other perception; now this was but one of many shuddering visions.

Trouble was making her hard; life could offer her little that would find her unequal to the test. Down the broad, deserted avenue, with its dark, imposing mansions, she hurried as if she were alone in the havocking elements. The rain beat her and lashed her in the face; she faced it unflinchingly as a small part of her trials. Without a tremor she ran up Dr. Kemp's steps. It was only when she stood with her finger on the bell-b.u.t.ton that she realized whom she was about to encounter. Then for the first time she gave one long sob of self-recollection, and pushed the b.u.t.ton.

Burke almost immediately opened the door. Ruth had no intention of entering; it would be sufficient to leave her message and hurry home.

"Who's there?" asked Burke, peering out into the darkness. "It's a divil of a night for any one but--"

"Is Dr. Kemp in?" The sweet woman-voice so startled him that he opened the door wide.

"Come in, mum," he said apologetically; "come in out of the night."

"No. Is the doctor in?"

"I don't know," he grumbled, "and I can't stand here with the door open."

"Close it, then, but see if he is in, please."

"I'll lave it open, and ye can come in or stay out according if ye are dry-humored or wet-soled;" and he shuffled off. The door was open! Her father had a.s.sured her of this once long ago. Inside were warmth and light; outside, in the shadow, were cold and darkness. Here she stood.

Would the man never return? Ah, here he came hurrying along; she drew nearer the door; within a half-foot she stood still with locked jaw and swimming senses.

"My good woman," said the grave, kindly voice which calmed while it unnerved her, "come in and speak to me here. Am I wanted anywhere? Come in, please; the door must be closed."

With almost superhuman will she drew herself together and came closer.

Seeing the dark, moving figure, he opened the door wide, and she stepped in; then as it closed she faced him, turning up her white, haggard face to his.

"You!"

He recoiled as if stunned, but quickly recovered himself.

"What trouble has brought you to me?" he cried.

"My mother," she replied in a low, stifled voice, adding almost instantly in a distant and formal tone, "can you come at once? She is suffering with hysteria and calls you incessantly."

He drew himself up and looked at her with a cold, grand air. This girl had been the only woman who had signally affected his life; yet if her only recognition of it was this cold manner, he could command the same.

"I will come," he replied, looking unbendingly, with steely gray eyes, into her white pa.s.sionless face, framed in its dark hood.

She bowed her head--further words were impossible--and turned to the door.

He watched her tugging in blind stupefaction at the strange bolt, but did not move to her a.s.sistance. Her head was bent low over the intricate thing; but it was useless,--it would not move, and she suddenly raised her eyes beseechingly to him; with a great revulsion of feeling he saw that they were swimming in tears. His own lips trembled, and his heart gave a wild leap. Then one of those unaccountable moods that sometimes masters the best swayed him strongly.

She was alone with him there; he could keep her if he wished. One look at her lovely, beloved face, and his higher manhood a.s.serted itself. He unlatched the door, and still holding it closed, said in a deferential tone,--