Prince Fortunatus Part 64

"I will give him the message."

"Thanks--good-bye." And therewith Miss Burgoyne and her brother Jim withdrew.

But if Maurice set his face against that young lady being allowed to see Lionel in his present exhausted condition, it was quite otherwise with his notions about Nina. He talked to the three doctors, and to Mrs.

Moore, and to Francie--to Francie most of all; and he maintained that, so far from such a meeting causing any mental disturbance, the knowledge that Nina was in London, was close by, would only be a source of joy and placid congratulation and peace. They yielded at last, and the experiment was to be tried on the Sat.u.r.day morning about eleven. Nina was told. She trembled a little, but was ready to do whatever was required of her.

"Well, now," said Maurice to her, when she came up that morning (he noticed that she was dressed with extreme neatness and grace, and also that she seemed pale and careworn, though her beautiful dark eyes had lost none of their soft l.u.s.tre), "we mustn't startle him. We must lead up to his seeing you. I wonder whether your playing those Neapolitan airs may not have left some impression on his brain?--they might sound familiar?"

At once Nina went to the piano and silently opened it.

"I will go and talk to him," he whispered. "Just you play a little, and we'll see."

Mangan went into the next room and began to say a few casual words, in a careless kind of way, but all the time keeping watchful and furtive observation of his friend's face. And even as he spoke there came another sound--soft and low and distant--that seemed to say, "_A la fenesta affaciate_--_nennela de stu core_--_io t'aggio addo che spasem, ma spasemo d'amore_--_e cchiu non trovo requia, nennella mia, ppe te!_--"

"Maurice!" said Lionel, with staring eyes. "What is that? Who is there?"

"Don't you know, Linn?" his friend said, tranquilly. "She has been here all through your illness--she has played those airs for you--"

"Nina? Nina herself?" Lionel exclaimed, but in a low voice.

"Yes. If you like I will bring her in to see you. She has been awfully good. I thought it would please you to know she was here. Now be quite quiet, and she will come in and speak to you for a minute--for just a minute, you know."

He went and asked Nina to go into the room, but he did not accompany her; he remained without. Nina went gently forward to the bedside.

"Leo, I--I am glad you are getting on so well," she said, with admirable self-possession; it was only her lips that were tremulous.

As for him, he looked at her in silence, and tears rolled down his cheek--he was so nerveless. Then he said, in his weak voice,

"Nina, have you forgiven me?"

"What have I to forgive, Leo?" she made answer; and she took his hand for a moment. "Get well--it is the prayer of many friends. And if you wish to see me again before I go, then I will come--"

"Before you go?" he managed to say. "You are going away again, Nina?"

His eyes were more piteous than his speech; she met that look--and her resolution faltered.

"At least," she said, "I will not go until you are well--no. When you wish for me, I will come to see you. We are still friends as of old, Leo, are we not? Now I must not remain. I will say good-bye for the present."

"When are you coming back, Nina?" he said, still with those pleading eyes.

"When you wish, Leo."

"This afternoon?"

"This afternoon, if you wish."

She pressed his hand and left. Her determined self-possession had carried her bravely so far; there had hardly been a trace of emotion.

But when she went outside--when the strain was taken off--it may have been otherwise; at all events, when, with bowed and averted head, she crossed the sitting-room and betook herself to the empty chamber above, no one dreamed of following her--until Francie, some little time thereafter, went quietly up-stairs and tapped at the door and entered.

She found Nina stretched at full length on the sofa, her head buried in the cus.h.i.+on, sobbing as if her heart would break. Perhaps she was thinking of the approaching farewell.

CHAPTER XXVI.

TOWARDS THE DAWN.

On the Tuesday about midday, according to her promise, Miss Burgoyne called and again preferred her request. And, short of a downright lie, Mangan saw no way of refusing her.

"At the same time," he said, in the cold manner which he unconsciously adopted towards this young lady, "you must remember he is far from strong yet; and I hope you have nothing to say to him that would cause agitation, or even involve his speaking much. His voice has to be taken care of, as well as his general condition."

"Oh, you may trust me for that," said she, with decision. "Do you think _I_ don't know how important that is?"

Miss Burgoyne went into the room. Lionel was still in bed, but propped up in a sitting posture; and to keep his arms and shoulders warm he had donned a gorgeous smoking-jacket, the fantastic colors of which were hardly in keeping with his character as invalid. He knew of her arrival, and had laid aside the paper he had been reading.

"I am so glad to know you are getting on so satisfactorily," said Miss Burgoyne, in her most pleasant way. "And they tell me your voice will be all right too. Of course you must exercise great caution; it will be some time before you can begin your _vocalises_ again."

"How is Doyle doing?" he asked, in a fairly clear voice.

"Oh, pretty well," said she, but in rather a dissatisfied fas.h.i.+on. "It is difficult to say what it is that is wanting--he looks well, acts well, sings well--a very good performance altogether--and yet--it is respectable, and nothing more. He really has a good voice, as you know, and thoroughly well trained; but it seems to me as if there were in his singing everything but the one thing--everything but the thrill that makes your breath stop at times. However," added Miss Burgoyne, out of her complaisance, "the public will wait a long time before they find any one to sing 'The Starry Night' as you sang it, and as I hope you'll be singing it again before long."

She was silent for a second or two; she seemed to have something to say, and yet to hesitate about saying it.

"I hear you are going to Italy when you are strong enough to travel?"

she observed, at last.

"That is what they advise."

"You will be away for some time?"

"I suppose so."

And again she sat silent for a little while, pulling at the fringe of her rose-lined sun-shade.

"Well, Lionel," she said, at length, with downcast eyes, "there is something I have been thinking about for a long time back, and if you are going away very soon, and perhaps for a considerable while, I ought to tell you. It may be a relief to you as well as to me; indeed, I think it will; if I had imagined what I have to say would vex you in any way, you may be sure I wouldn't come at such a time as this. But to be frank--that engagement--do you think we entered upon it with any kind of wisdom, or with any fair prospect of happiness? Now if I trouble you or hurt your feelings in any way, you can stop me with a single word," she interposed, and she ventured to look up a little and to address him more directly. "The truth is, I was flattered by such a proposal--naturally--and rather lost my head, perhaps, when I ought to have asked myself what was the true state of our feelings towards each other. Of course, it was I who was in the wrong; I ought to have considered. And I must say you have behaved most honorably throughout; you never showed the least sign of a wish to break the engagement, even when we had our little quarrels, and you may have received some provocation. But after all, Lionel, I think you must admit that our relations have not been quite--quite--what you might expect between two people looking forward to spending their lives together."

She paused here--perhaps to give him an opportunity of signifying his a.s.sent. But he refused to do that. He uttered not a word. It was for her to say what was in her mind--if she wished to be released.

"I am quite sure that even now, even after what I have just told you,"

she continued, "you would be willing to keep your word. But--but would it be wise? Just think. Esteem and regard and respect there would always be between us, I hope; but--but is that enough? Of course you may tell me that as you are willing to fulfil your part of the engagement, so I should be on my side; and I don't say that I am not; if you challenged me and could convince me that your happiness depended on it, you would see whether I would draw back. But you have heard me so far without a word of protest. I have not wounded you. Perhaps you will be as glad to be free as I shall be--I don't mean glad, Lionel," she hastily put in, "except in the sense of being free from an obligation that might prove disastrous to both of us. Now, Lionel, what do you say? You see I have been quite candid; and I hope you won't think I have spoken out of any unkindness or ill-feeling."

He answered her at last,

"I agree with every word you have said."

A quick flush swept across Miss Burgoyne's forehead; but probably he could not have told what that meant, even if he had been looking; and he was not.