Macaria Part 30

"Where are you going, Aubrey?"

"Back to my office."

"Is there any message which you would like for me to deliver to her, if she should recover consciousness? You may trust me, young man."

"Thank you; I have no message to send. I merely called to ask after her. I trust she will yet recover. Good night."

He walked on rapidly till he reached the door of his office. The gas was burning brightly over his desk, and red tape and legal-cap beckoned him in; but fathomless blue eyes, calm as mid-ocean, looked up at him, and, without entering, he turned, and went through the cold and darkness to the cemetery, to his mother's tomb. She had been his comfort in boyish sorrows, and habit was strong; he went to her grave for it still.

When Russell left him, Dr. Arnold carefully weighed out the powder and rode back to the Hill. He could perceive no change, unless it were a heightening of the carmine on cheeks and lips, and an increased twitching of the fingers, which hunted so pertinaciously about the bed-clothes.

"That everlasting picking, picking at everything is such an awful bad sign!" said poor Nellie, who was crying bitterly at the foot of the bed; and she covered her face with her ap.r.o.n to shut out the sight.

"You 'pick' yourself off to bed, Nellie! I don't want you snubbing and groaning around day and night."

"I am afraid to leave her a minute. I am afraid when my poor baby shuts her eyes she will never open 'em again till she opens 'em in heaven."

"Oh, go along to sleep! you eternal old stupid. I will wake you up, I tell you, if she gets worse."

He mixed one of the powders and stooped down.

"Irene--Irene, take this for me, won't you, dear?"

She gave no intimation of having heard him till he placed the winegla.s.s to her mouth and raised her head tenderly; then she swallowed the contents mechanically. At the expiration of an hour he repeated the dose, and at ten o'clock, while he sat watching her intently, he saw the eyelids begin to droop, the long, silky lashes quivered and touched her cheeks. When he listened to her breathing, and knew that at last she slept, his grey head sank on his chest, and he murmured, inaudibly, "Thank G.o.d!" Patient as a woman, he kept his place at her side, fearing to move lest he should wake her; the dreary hours of night wore away; morning came, gloriously bright, and still she slept. The flush had faded, leaving her wan as death, and the little hands were now at rest. She looked like the figures which all have seen on cenotaphs, and anxiously and often the doctor felt the slow pulse, that seemed weary of its mission. He kept the room quiet, and maintained his faithful watch, refusing to leave her for a moment. Twelve o'clock rolled round, and it appeared, indeed, as if Nellie's prognostication would prove true, the sleeper was so motionless. At three o'clock the doctor counted the pulse, and, rea.s.sured, threw his head back against the velvet lining of the chair, and shut his aching eyes. Before five minutes had elapsed, he heard a faint, sweet voice say, "Paragon." Springing to his feet, he saw her put out her hand to pat the head of her favourite, who could not be kept out of the room, and howled so intolerably when they chained him, that they were forced to set him free. Now he stood with his paws on the pillow and his face close to hers whining with delight. Tears of joy almost blinded the doctor as he pushed Paragon aside, and said eagerly--

"Irene, one dog is as good as another! You know Paragon, do you know me, Queen?"

"Certainly--I know you, Doctor."

"G.o.d bless you, beauty! You haven't known me for a week."

"I am so thirsty--please give me some water."

He lifted her head, and she drank eagerly, till he checked her.

"There--we haven't all turned hydropathists since you were taken sick.

Nellie! I say, Nellie! you witch of Endor! bring some wine-whey here.

Irene, how do you feel, child?"

"Very tired and feeble, sir. My head is confused. Where is father?"

"Here I am, my daughter."

He bent down with trembling lips and kissed her, for the first time since the day of their estrangement, nearly three years before. She put her arms feebly around his neck, and as he held her to his heart, she felt a tear drop on her forehead.

"Father, have you forgiven me?"

He either could not or would not answer, but kissed her again warmly; and, as he disengaged her arms and left the room, she felt a.s.sured that at last she had been forgiven. She took the whey silently, and, after some moments, said--

"Doctor, have you been sitting by me a long time?"

"I rather think I have!--losing my sleep for nearly ten days, you unconscionable young heathen."

"Have I been so ill as to require that? I have a dim recollection of going on a long journey, and of your being by my side all the way."

"Well, I hope you travelled to your entire satisfaction, and found what, you wanted--for you were feeling about as if hunting for something, the whole time. Oh! I am so thankful that you know me once more. Child, you have cost me a deal of sorrow. Now be quiet, and go to sleep again; at least, don't talk to Nellie or Paragon. I shall take a nap on the sofa in the library."

She regained her strength very slowly, and many days elapsed before she was able to leave her room. One bright sunny morning she sat before the open window, looking down on the lawn where the pigeons flashed in and out of the hedges, and now and then glancing at the bouquet of choice hot-house flowers in the vase beside her. In her lap lay a letter just received from Harvey Young--a letter full of fond remembrance, grave counsel, and gentle encouragement--and the unbent lines about her mouth showed that her mind was troubled.

The doctor came in and drew up a chair.

"I should like to know who gave you leave to ride yesterday?"

"Father thought that I was well enough, and the carriage was close and warm. I hope, sir, that I shall not be on your hands much longer."

"What did I tell you? Next time don't be so hard-headed when you are advised by older and wiser persons. I trust you are quite satisfied with the result of your eleemosynary performances at the Row."

"Far from it, Doctor. I am fully acclimated now, and have nothing to fear in future. I am very sorry, sir, that I caused you all so much trouble and anxiety; I did not believe that I should take the fever. If Philip had not been so ill, I should have come out safely; but I suppose my uneasiness about him unnerved me in some way--for, when I saw that he would get well, all my strength left me in an instant. How is he, sir?"

"Oh! the young dog is as well as ever. Comes to my office every day to ask after his blessed Lady Bountiful."

Leaning forward carelessly, but so as to command a full view of her face, he added,--

"You stirred up quite an excitement in town, and introduced me generally to society. People who never inflicted themselves on me before thought it was inc.u.mbent on them to hang around my door to make inquiries concerning my fair patient. One night I found even that statue of bronze and steel, Russell Aubrey, waiting at my office to find out whether you really intended translation."

A change certainly pa.s.sed swiftly over her countenance; but it was inexplicable, indescribable--an anomalous lightening of the eye and darkening of the brow. Before he could a.n.a.lyse it, her features resumed their wonted serenity, and he found her voice unfluttered.

"I was not aware that I had so many friends; it is a pleasant discovery, and almost compensates for the pain of illness. Take care, Doctor! You are tilting my flowers out of their vase."

"Confound the flowers, Queen! They are always in the way. It is a great pity there is such Theban-brother affection between your father and Aubrey.

He has an amount of fine feeling hid away under that dark, Jesuitical, non-committal face of his. He has not forgotten your interest in his mother, and when I told him that I thought you had determined to take your departure from this world, he seemed really hurt about it. I always liked the boy, but I think he is a heretic in politics."

The doctor had scarcely taken his departure when Nellie's turbaned head showed itself at the door.

"That factory-boy, Philip, is downstairs; he brought back a book, and wants to see you. He seems in trouble; but you don't feel like being bothered to-day, do you?"

"Did he ask to see me?"

"Not exactly; but showed very plainly he wanted to see you."

"Let him come up."

As, he entered, she rose and held out her hand.

"Good morning, Philip; I am glad you are well enough to be out again."

He looked at her reverently, and, as he noticed the change her illness had wrought, his lips quivered and his eyes filled.