Part 63 (1/2)
Had Mary known anything of science, she might have said that, in morals as in chemistry, the qualitative a.n.a.lysis is easy, but the quant.i.tative another affair.
The latter part of this conversation, Sepia listening heard, and misunderstood utterly.
All the rest of the day Mary was with Mr. Redmain, mostly by his bedside, sitting in silent watchfulness when he was unable to talk with her. n.o.body entered the room except Mewks, who, when he did, seemed to watch everything, and try to hear everything, and once Lady Margaret.
When she saw Mary seated by the bed, though she must have known well enough she was there, she drew herself up with grand English repellence, and looked scandalized. Mary rose, and was about to retire.
But Mr. Redmain motioned her to sit still.
”This is my spiritual adviser, Lady Margaret,” he said.
Her ladys.h.i.+p cast a second look on Mary, such as few but her could cast, and left the room.
On into the gloom of the evening Mary sat. No one brought her anything to eat or drink, and Mr. Redmain was too much taken up with himself, soul and body, to think of her. She was now past hunger, and growing faint, when, through the settled darkness, the words came to her from the bed:
”I should like to have you near me when I am dying, Mary.”
The voice was a softer than she had yet heard from Mr. Redmain, and its tone went to her heart.
”I will certainly be with you, if G.o.d please,” she answered.
”There is no fear of G.o.d,” returned Mr. Redmain; ”it's the devil will try to keep you away. But never you heed what any one may do or say to prevent you. Do your very best to be with me. By that time I may not be having my own way any more. Be sure, the first moment they can get the better of me, they will. And you mustn't place confidence in a single soul in this house. I don't say my wife would play me false so long as I was able to swear at her, but I wouldn't trust her one moment longer.
You come and be with me in spite of the whole posse of them.”
”I will try, Mr. Redmain,” she answered, faintly. ”But indeed you must let me go now, else I may be unable to come to-morrow.”
”What's the matter?” he asked hurriedly, half lifting his head with a look of alarm. ”There's no knowing,” he went on, muttering to himself, ”what may happen in this cursed house.”
”Nothing,” replied Mary, ”but that I have not had anything to eat since I left home. I feel rather faint.”
”They've given you nothing to eat!” cried Mr. Redmain, but in a tone that seemed rather of satisfaction than displeasure. ”Ring--no, don't.”
”Indeed, I would rather not have anything now till I get home,” said Mary. ”I don't feel inclined to eat where I am not welcome.”
”Right! right! right!” said Mr. Redmain. ”Stick to that. Never eat where you are not welcome. Go home directly. Only say when you will come to-morrow.”
”I can't very well during the day,” answered Mary. ”There is so much to be done, and I have so little help. But, if you should want me, I would rather shut up the shop than not come.”
”There is no need for that! Indeed, I would much rather have you in the evening. The first of the night is worst of all. It's then the devils are out.--Look here,” he added, after a short pause, during which Mary, for as unfit as she felt, hesitated to leave him, ”--being in business, you've got a lawyer, I suppose?”
”Yes,” she answered.
”Then you go to him to-night the first thing, and tell him to come to me to-morrow, about noon. Tell him I am ill, and in bed, and particularly want to see him; and he mustn't let anything they say keep him from me, not even if they tell him I am dead.”
”I will,” said Mary, and, stroking the thin hand that lay outside the counterpane, turned and left him.
”Don't tell any one you are gone,” he called after her, with a voice far from feeble. ”I don't want any of their d.a.m.ned company.”
CHAPTER LIII.
A FRIEND IN NEED.