Part 5 (2/2)
”What do you mean?”
”She stayed a few days.” Again the woman hesitated. Then her anger mastered her and she spoke scornfully and with intense bitterness.
”She stayed a few days and then she left the house--said she could not do any good by staying. And Mr. Francis lying between life and death!”
She covered her face with her wrinkled hands and began to weep again, and it was some moments before she could proceed. When she did so, it was in a low, hurried tone, as though she wanted to get to the end of her story, as if the mere mention of the dreadful days which followed was more than she could bear.
”The time pa.s.sed, and doctors came and went, and at last he recovered consciousness, but he wasn't the same. The first word he spoke was her name. After that he asked for her unceasingly. I remember a doctor coming--a very great man he was--and he said to my lady, 'I am hopeful, decidedly hopeful, but your son must be kept quiet, and perfectly contented. Where is this young lady he asks for? she must come immediately. If he is not kept quiet I will not answer for the consequences.'
”After he had gone, my lady turned to me. 'We will telegraph at once,'
she said, 'Surely she will come.'
”Well she came, and she went to his room. He had been calling her just before, and when she came he did not know her. He was very ill that day, and he was wandering, and when he saw her he talked some childish nonsense about his boyhood.
”She didn't say a word as she came out, but that evening my lady spoke to her, and told her that she must have patience, that he would be better soon; but she only said, 'He is terribly disfigured.' Those were her very words. Not a word for the pity of it, or of comfort for his poor mother.
”The next morning his mind was clearer, and again he asked for her.
She went to him, but she wouldn't go in without my lady went with her.
He was lying quite still, but after a minute he opened his eyes and said, 'Phil, darling! where have you been? There is a nest in the holly-bush. I'll show it you after breakfast.' Of course it was just rambling talk, but the doctors said that the fact of his knowing her was a hopeful sign.
”She never spoke to him, or answered him as one must answer sick folk when they have fancies. She went away again the next day. My lady tried to reason with her--she thought she was frightened; but it was no use, she wouldn't listen.
”Then, after a few more days, my lady wrote. I saw the letter. It was pitiful, just a cry from her breaking heart imploring her to come back, saying that without her Mr. Francis would never get well. She wrote back saying that she would come when he was right in his mind. She just seemed determined not to understand that his mind never could get clear while he was fretting for her night and day. That is two-and-twenty years ago last June, and he has waited for her coming ever since.”
”But I cannot understand it,” said Philippa. ”I cannot understand any woman not coming to the man she loved, however crazed he was. He wanted her!”
”Ah, that was just it!” answered Mrs. Goodman sadly. ”I knew it all along, but my lady would not believe it until she was forced to do so.
She never loved him; and it was proved at last, for about six months later she wrote to my lady and said she considered herself free--that of course it was dreadfully sad, but that she could not spend her life engaged to a hopeless invalid. Just a month after that she was married.”
”Married!” echoed Philippa.
”She ran away with some man her family didn't approve of. She never had a heart, hadn't Miss Philippa.”
”Then why did she become engaged to Francis Heathcote--if she did not care about him?”
”Well, you see, he was rich and very handsome, and there were plenty of young ladies who would have been glad to marry him. He was madly in love with her!”
”Where was my father in those days? Do you know?”
”He was abroad somewhere. My lady wrote to him, beseeching him to try and get Miss Philippa to come back. That was soon after the accident.
He came to England, but he couldn't do any good. I did hear he quarrelled with his sister over it, and wouldn't see her or speak to her again. He was so fond of Mr. Francis.
”It is an old story now.” The old woman sighed deeply. ”I little thought to speak of it again. My lady never named her, and I hated her too much to wish to speak of her. She condemned my boy to years of prison--aye, and worse than prison. Of course I hated her. Even when I heard that she had died a few years after her marriage the hatred didn't die. I couldn't help it. You can't help your feelings. But I never spoke of her. If you can't say good of the dead you had best say nothing. When I saw you last night I really thought it was her. G.o.d forgive me! I think there was murder in my old heart! But now--you have come--and he will be content.”
CHAPTER V
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