Part 64 (2/2)

”O G.o.d, give me rest!”

Painfully the words came through quivering lips, the first they had uttered for hours. Lucas Errol lay, as he had lain for nearly three months, with his face to the ceiling, his body stretched straight and rigid, ever in the same position, utterly helpless and weary unto death.

Day after day he lay there, never stirring save when they made him bend his knees, an exercise upon which the doctor daily insisted, but which was agony to him. Night after night, sleepless, he waited the coming of the day. His general health varied but little, but his weakness was telling upon him. His endurance still held, but it was wearing thin. His old cheeriness was gone, though he summoned it back now and again with piteous, spasmodic effort. Hope and despair were fighting together in his soul, and at that time despair was uppermost. He had set out with a brave heart, but the goal was still far off, and he was beginning to falter. He had ceased to make any progress, and the sheer monotony of existence was wearing him out. The keen, shrewd eyes were dull and listless. At the opening of the door he did not even turn his head.

And yet it was Anne who entered, Anne with the flush of exercise on her sweet face, her hands full of Russian violets.

”See how busy I have been!” she said. ”I am not disturbing you? You weren't asleep?”

”I never sleep,” he answered, and he did not look at her or the violets; he kept his eyes upon the ceiling.

She came and sat beside him. ”I gathered them all myself,” she said.

”Don't you want to smell them?”

He moved his lips without replying, and she leaned down, her eyes full of the utmost compa.s.sionate tenderness and held the violets to him. He raised a hand with evident effort and fumblingly took her wrist. He pressed the wet flowers against his face.

”It's a shame to bring them here, Lady Carfax,” he said, letting her go.

”Take them--wear them! I guess they'll be happier with you.”

She smiled a little. ”Should I have gathered all this quant.i.ty for myself? It has taken me nearly an hour.”

”You should have told the gardener,” he said. ”You mustn't go tiring yourself out over me. I'm not worth it.” He added, with that kindly courtesy of which adversity had never deprived him, ”But I'm real grateful all the same. You mustn't think me unappreciative.”

”I don't,” she answered gently. ”Wouldn't you like them in water?”

”Ah, yes,” he said. ”Put them near me. I shall smell them if I can't see them. Do you mind closing the window? I can't get warm to-day.”

She moved to comply, pa.s.sing across his line of vision. A moment she stood with the keen sweet air blowing in upon her, a tall, gracious figure in the full flower of comely womanhood, not beautiful, but possessing in every line of her that queenly, indescribable charm which is greater than beauty.

The man caught his breath as he watched her. His brows contracted.

Softly she closed the window and turned. She came back to her chair by his side, drew forward a little table, and began deftly to arrange her flowers.

Several seconds pa.s.sed before Lucas broke the silence. ”It does me good to watch you,” he said. ”You're always so serene.”

She smiled at him across the violets. ”You place serenity among the higher virtues?”

”I do,” he said simply. ”It's such a restful contrast to the strenuousness of life. You make me feel just by looking at you that everything's all right. You bring a peaceful atmosphere in with you, and”--his voice sank a little--”you take it away again when you go.”

The smile went out of her grey eyes at his last words, but the steadfastness remained. ”Then,” she said gently, ”I must come more often and stay longer.”

But he instantly negatived that. ”No--it wouldn't be good for you. It wouldn't be good for me either to get to lean on you too much. I should grow exacting.”

She saw a gleam of his old smile as he spoke, but it was gone at once, lost among the countless lines that pain and weariness had drawn of late upon his face.

<script>