Oswald Langdon Part 43

Oswald becomes ill, and is soon delirious. For a long time his strong will had braced against the insidious disease. The fever laid sure hold on that athletic frame, and its course was relentless.

Two days after Oswald was stricken, Marco Salvini died.

The continuous attentions of this quiet stranger at that Italian's cot had attracted the notice and won the regard of those in charge.

From this patient there were neither confidences nor complaints. During earlier deliriums utterances seemed held in check by that coercive will, but as the disease wasted vital energies speech became strikingly suggestive.

With some disregard to order of their occurrence, many tragic happenings were reenacted during these delirious states.

Oswald is again at Northfield, along the lake, and upon the Thames. They are now on the road from Calcutta.

"What a dreary stretch! 'So foolish was I and ignorant!'"

The scene changes to Himalaya slope.

"Lie still, Karl! I will hit him hard!"

From another room come violin strains of "Ave Maria."

Opening his eyes with a start, they settle upon the crucifix pendent from the neck of the sweet-faced nun.

"Poor fellow! I shot too straight!"

Again he gazes on that sacred symbol.

"'Thou that takest away--takest away--away the sin of the world'--his sin, poor fellow! Mine too!"

Staring at his upturned palm lying on the spread, he exclaims:

"See that mark? It's blood! I shot too straight."

Higher rise the notes of the violin.

Rapturously those grand eyes turn toward the ceiling.

"Look! look! Wild flowers arch the mountains! See the graves, Karl! The clouds drop wreaths!"

There is another quiet lapse, then the patient tosses feverishly. The weeping nun says:

"He is making a hard fight!"

In startling response comes:

"'I was ever a fighter, so one fight more, The best and the last!'"

His view seems dazzled by the lights, and the good priest suggests that his eyes be shaded.

"'I would hate that death bandaged my eyes and forbore and bade me creep past!'"

For a while Oswald seems quietly sleeping, then in confused accents mutters, and starting up, calls out:

"'Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set And blew; Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came.'"

These quotations fall upon the ears of priest and Sister of Charity with awfully solemn accents. They feel in presence of double mystery of life and death.

There is now naught to break the impressive silence but ticking of a clock and distant rumble of the elevated trains. No word had been uttered by this patient giving any clew to his religious training. The friend at whose cot this stranger so faithfully watched was a professed believer. Too, those fixed glances at the crucifix and solemn utterances suggested belief in the "atoning merits." Priest and nun exchange inquiring looks, then intently gaze at that quiet sleeper.

Oswald stirs, opens his eyes, tosses feebly, and in low tones says:

"A squall! They reef the sails! A typhoon!"

After brief pause he whispers audibly:

"Dark! So dark!" Then exclaims:

"The star! the star! Mother!"

Somewhere in pulsing zone, circling this vexed human state, there is commotion. Rock-posing Barjona, think not to question this outgoing! At sight of inverted spike-prints echoes not yet that morning crowing in old Jerusalem?

Faster than light, swifter than sweep of angelic herald, quicker than aught else than Infinite quickening at human prayer, speeds the mystery of motherhood.

Gently ministering to most intricate throbbings of that suspended spirit consciousness, as her own had dominated embryo pulsings pending expectant miracle of birth, each disordered beat is soothed to rest. Who may more than hint those voices, sounding not above the din of life--whisperings to That, not always checked by vesturing clay nor indexed by crude registers of flesh?

Oswald lay long in this still sleep. The fevered crisis past, he slowly returns to conscious memory. There seems no curiosity as to future plans. When there is but slight danger of relapse, the nun who had been present at critical stage asks his name, and suggests that he may desire his mail brought to the hospital. This seems proper. It soon arrives.

There is only one letter, but this bears a suggestive postmark. Its contents electrify Oswald, who hardly can restrain his joy. His impulse is to confide the good news to that kind-hearted sister who stands smiling at this handsome patient. Oswald checks his feelings and remarks:

"It is only good news from England, sister!"

The nun now learns that Oswald's home is near London, and that he has been away for years.

The rigid reserve relaxes, and he talks freely, yet saying nothing about causes for such absence. Recovery is now rapid. The letter arrived in New York about three weeks before its delivery at the hospital.

Not knowing anything about Oswald's past life or name, there had been no call for his mail.

As he would not be able to take the sea voyage for several days, a letter is sent, addressed to Sir Donald Randolph, stating the reasons for delay in receiving and answering, with expectation of being able to start homeward within two weeks. This had been dictated to an obliging nurse.

The now happy convalescent hardly can suppress within discreet bounds his longing for speedy return. Within three weeks from this date Oswald Langdon is aboard s.h.i.+p, booked for Southampton.

CHAPTER XXV

A ROGUE'S HEART AND CONSCIENCE

That evening's meeting was most interesting. Out of consideration for the feelings of Alice, Charles Randolph was absent until after those girl friends had exchanged tearful greetings and all embarra.s.sments of the reunion were past. Sir Donald's and Esther's unfeigned hospitality eased any possible misgivings or restraints of their guests. Father and daughter seemed influenced by a glad hope that their future lives would find congenial a.s.sociation through this renewed confiding. Soon Sir Donald and Thomas Webster are conferring privately. That conditional promise is being kept sacred. The pledge is now without scruple. Reasons for such puzzling reservations are told. In abbreviated summary Sir Donald relates his own and detective tactics during that long pursuit of the Laniers.