Part 58 (1/2)
For he was haggard and worn, as she had never seen him, with dark lines under his eyes, and an air of prostration and fatigue.
”No, I'm very well. It's Nan--my wife,” he said, avoiding her alarmed gaze.
”I am sorry--very sorry. Is she----”
”She has been on the brink of death. There is some hope now. I don't know why I came here unless it was to tell you so,” said Sydney, with an odd abruptness which seemed to be a.s.sumed in order to mask some unusually strong feeling. ”I suppose you know that the man Johnson came to see me----”
”Yes: they have gone,” said Lettice, quickly. ”They were married yesterday, and sailed this morning.”
”Ah! Well, _she_ was in the room when he--made his communication to me.
I did not know it--Johnson never knew it at all. She had been asleep--but she woke and heard what he said. She fainted--and she has been ill ever since.” He added a few words concerning the technicalities of his wife's case.
”Oh, Sydney!--my poor Sydney! I am so sorry,” said Lettice, her eyes full of tears. For she saw, by his changed manner, something of what his trouble had been, and she instantly forgot all causes of complaint against him. He was sitting sideways on a chair, with his head on his hand; and when she put her arms round his neck and kissed him, he did not repulse her--indeed, he kissed her in return, and seemed comforted by her caress.
”I can't even see her,” he went on. ”She faints if I go into the room.
How long do you think it will last, Lettice? Will she ever get over it, do you think?”
”If she loves you, I think she will, Sydney. But you must give her time.
No doubt it was a great shock to her,” said Lettice.
He looked at her a.s.sentingly, and then stared out of the window as if absorbed in thought. The result of his reflections seemed to be summed up in a short sentence which, certainly, Lettice had never expected to hear from Sydney's lips:--
”I can't think how I came to be such a d.a.m.ned fool. I beg your pardon, Lettice; but it's true.”
”Can I be of any use to you--or to her?”
”Thank you, I don't think so--just yet. I don't know--”
heavily--”whether she will want you some day to tell her all you know.”
”Oh, no, Sydney!”
”You must do just what you think best about it. I shall put no barriers in the way. Perhaps she had better know everything now.”
Then he roused himself a little and looked at her kindly.
”How are you getting on?” he said. ”Writing as usual?”
”Yes, I am busy, and doing very well.”
”You look thin and f.a.gged.”
”Oh, Sydney, if you could but see yourself!”
He smiled at this, and then rose to go.
”But you will stay and have tea with me? Do, Sydney--if only,” and Lettice's voice grew low and deep, ”if only in token that there is peace between us.”
So he stayed; and, although they spoke no more of the matters that were dearest to their hearts, Lettice's bitterness of feeling towards her brother disappeared, and Sydney felt vaguely comforted in his trouble by her sympathy.
She did not tell him of the strange marriage-scene which she had witnessed the day before--when Milly, almost hysterical from over-wrought feeling, had vowed to be a true and faithful wife to the man who had pitied and succored her in the time of her sorest need: of Johnson's stolid demeanor, covering a totally unexpected fund of good-feeling and romance; or of his extraordinary desire, which Lettice had seen carried out, that the baby should be present at its mother's wedding, and should receive--poor little mite--a fatherly kiss from him as soon as he had kissed the forlorn and trembling bride. For Milly, although she professed to like and respect Michael Johnson, shrank somewhat from the prospect of life in another country, and was nervous and excitable to a degree which rather alarmed her mistress. Lettice confessed on reflection, however, that Johnson knew exactly how to manage poor little Milly; and that he had called smiles to her face in the very midst of a last flood of tears; and that she had no fear for the girl's ultimate happiness. Johnson had behaved in a very straightforward, manly and considerate way; and in new surroundings, in a new country, with a kind husband and good prospects, Milly was likely to lead a very happy and comfortable life. Lettice was glad to think so; and was more sorry to see the baby go than to part from Milly. Indeed, she had offered to adopt it; but Johnson was so indignant, and Milly so tearful, at the idea, that she had been forced to relinquish her desire.