The Daughter Pays Part 52

He saw the sweet face into which he gazed contract pitifully, and the shoulders shake with sobbing.

"There, there, that will do, Mrs. Gaunt," ordered Dr. Dymock peremptorily. "He will be all right now. You're utterly worn out. Lay him down and come away."

"Try--try first, if he will drink," she gasped, while the heart against his ear functioned violently.

He drank, for she told him that he must do so. Obviously she had to be obeyed. Then they laid him down, and raised her up, and took her away, out of his sight. This was too much. He felt it to be an outrage, when he had come back such a tremendous distance, just to be with her.

"Virginia," he said, quite clearly.

Dymock bent towards him. "All right, old man, she is close by. You shall go home with her quite soon. She is a bit tired, that's all. You must try not to be inconsiderate."

A vague smile dawned on Gaunt's face. He made an effort or two, and finally achieved the repet.i.tion of the doctor's term.

"In-con-sid-erate," he murmured. "That's--that's a word, isn't it?"

"Yes, a word. What did you expect?" asked the doctor gently.

"I thought I had done with words," sighed the patient, lifting his eyes to the grey autumnal sky.

"So did we all--all except your wife," was the reply. "She was certain that you would revive, if she went on calling you."

Gaunt filled his lungs with the sharp air. The brandy they had given him began to course in his veins. "Lift me up," he said.

Dr. Dymock raised him against his knee, and slowly, as though it were something of a feat, he lifted his hand and touched his forehead.

Around him was the gra.s.sy sloping of the Dale. Workmen's tools and sheds were close by. At a distance were the two cars, in one of which Joey Ferris was bending over some one. Memory returned in a rolling flood.

"Rosenberg. Is he alive?"

"Oh, yes. Broken collar-bone, and I think a rib as well, but I am not sure yet. A good many cuts and bruises, but he'll do."

"You ought to--set his bones?"

"Yes, the delay is bad, but it was inevitable. With you it was a matter of life and death. However, you are all right now. Drink some more of this stuff, and then you had better get home as fast as you can."

Gaunt's eyes were fixed upon the figure of his wife, sitting on a heap of stones not far off. Ferris was standing awkwardly by, evidently trying to comfort her. Her face was hidden and her handkerchief was held to her eyes.

"Virginia--Virginia's crying," he said in slow surprise. "What for?"

The doctor laughed. "Women are like that when it's all over," was his reply. "Those are tears of joy. She has been strung up to a high point, for I tell you candidly that I think, had it not been for her persistence I should have given you up about a quarter of an hour ago, and gone to attend upon the man who is alive. But she held on.

Everybody else thought you were gone."

"She mustn't cry," said Gaunt anxiously.

"She won't, now that she has got you back," was the reply; and the doctor, after administering another drink, smiled kindly and with meaning. "You are a lucky fellow, Gaunt--you have your reward for your forbearance with her last month. Do you remember I told you then that if you had patience you would win her in the end? Well, you did as I asked, and I was a true prophet, was I not?"

CHAPTER XXIX

THE MASTERY

"_I drew my window curtains, and instead Of the used yesterday, there laughing stood A new-born morning from the Infinite Before my very face!_"--Alexander Smith.

Gaunt's mind never retained any very clear image of the rest of that day. His brain was still partially clouded by the powerful poison which had entered his system. As Dr. Dymock explained to Virginia, there was not only CO_2, but actually the deadly CO itself present in the foul shaft down which he had imperilled his life. CO, as she was further instructed, gets into the blood, and milk and liquid nourishment should be given for some hours, until normal conditions gradually reappear.

The wonderful strength of the patient's heart had enabled him to rally from the toxic fumes, but the action of that powerful organ was, nevertheless, distinctly depressed; and he was content to pa.s.s the evening in his bed, lying in a state of not unpleasant semi-consciousness, and trying to adjust his ideas of what had happened.

The doctor came round late that night to see how he was. He had left his other patient fairly comfortable, though the injury to the ribs was serious. The Ferrises were being very kind and hospitable. They were only too anxious to do all they could, since they blamed themselves for the accident--Percy because he had not sufficiently considered the danger of the place; Joey because she had, as she herself expressed it, "got larking." Now no trouble was too great for her to take. A nurse was already installed, and there was no doubt that Gerald would have every possible care and attention.

Dr. Dymock was well satisfied with Gaunt's condition. He said that a long night's rest would restore him to his usual state, except for the fact that he must go carefully for a few days. He advised him not to get up until about eleven the following day--an order deeply resented by the master of Omberleigh, who could not remember to have breakfasted in bed in his life, except when his leg was broken. It was, however, consoling to be told that he would suffer no permanent effects at all from his awful adventure. If one has to live, one would rather live whole than maimed.

He felt much himself when he descended the stairs next day, and went, as Virginia had begged that he would, to her own sitting-room. She was not there when he made his appearance. He had a few minutes in which to realise how her presence and her touch permeated the place and made it hers. She came running along the terrace very soon, her hands full of spiky dahlias, orange, scarlet, yellow and copper coloured. Entering through the window, she gave him a cheery greeting, pulling off her gardening gloves and ap.r.o.n and laying down her flowers on a table.

He sat watching her with a curious intentness, feeling as if the handling of the situation were with her, waiting for some cue as to the att.i.tude he was expected to adopt.

It was not for two or three minutes that he realised that she was in precisely his own case. Her nervousness was very palpable. She coloured finely when for a moment she met his eyes, and went eagerly to ring the bell for the soup and wine which she had ordered for him. It came, almost before he had had time to object. When it was set before him, he did succeed, however, in voicing a protest. How could he be expected to eat like this, at odd hours? "I've had breakfast," he urged.

"But you must get up your strength," she told him, with serious solicitude. "Dr. Dymock told me to be sure that you did; and you have had nothing solid since yesterday. Do try and eat it."

As he still hesitated, she sat down beside him, and took the cup of soup in her hands, proffering it. "There was once a man," she said gravely, "and his wife couldn't eat any breakfast. So he stood over her with threats until she did."

He winced, and bit his lip. "Don't joke about it"--hurriedly.

"Why not?" she asked, deliberately provocative. "It _is_ a joke now, since it has ceased to hurt me."

"But it will never cease to humiliate me," he muttered.

"Well, perhaps that is good for you," was the mischievous suggestion; and to cover his confusion he was fain to take the cup of soup and drink it, she watching with a glance of covert triumph. She would not let him off until he had eaten and drunk all that was on the tray, which she then carried to a distant table.

He watched her as she returned, work-bag in hand, seating herself upon a high stool, or bunch of cus.h.i.+ons which stood near the hearth. She drew out her bit of embroidery, using it obviously as a refuge for eyes and hands. He leaned forward, and sat, chin cupped in palm, watching her.

"Must one be a little unwell in order to secure your sympathy and attention, Virginia?"

"Sick people need taking care of"--with a laugh and a blush--"and I like taking care of people. I always did."

He made no immediate reply, for he was meditating a plunge. She clung to her work as to a raft in a tumbling sea.

"I was very sick yesterday," he remarked at length.

"For a long time they said you were--dead," she almost whispered.

"I wish they had been right. It would have been better. Virginia!

_Why did you call me back?_"

She turned pale. Her work fell upon her knee. "Then I was right!" she muttered. "I suspected, I knew it really! You had some idea of throwing yourself down that place and pretending it was an accident!"

He sat still, without denying it.