Part 9 (1/2)
He said to himself that he had had no choice, but then neither had the lady, and the thing might be hateful to her. She might be in love, and then how she must abominate the business, and detest him! It was horrible to think of her knowing it. But for knowing it, she would never be a whit the worse, for he never had a day's illness in his life and knew of no taint in his family.
When she saw him approach her bedside, a look reminding him of the ripple of a sudden cold gust pa.s.sing with the shadow of a cloud over still water swept across her face. She closed her eyes, and turned a little from him. What color she had, came and went painfully. Cursing in his heart the faithlessness of Mrs. Puckridge, he a.s.sumed his coldest, hardest professional manner, felt her pulse with the gentlest, yet most peremptory inquiry, gave her attendant some authoritative directions, and left her, saying he would call again in the afternoon.
During seven days he visited her twice a day. He had good cause to be anxious, and her recovery was very slow. Once and again appeared threatenings of the primary complaint, while from the tardiness with which her veins refilled, he feared for her lungs. During all these visits, hardly a word beyond the most necessary pa.s.sed between them.
After that time they were reduced to one a day. Ever as the lady grew stronger, she seemed to become colder, and her manner grew more distant.
After a fortnight, he again reduced them to one in two days--very unwillingly, for by that time she had come to occupy nearly as much of his thoughts as all the rest of his patients together. She made him feel that his visits were less than welcome to her, except for the help they brought her, allowed him no insight into her character and ways of thinking, behaved to him indeed with such restraint, that he could recall no expression of her face the memory of which drew him to dwell upon it; yet her face and form possessed him with their mere perfection.
He had to set himself sometimes to get rid of what seemed all but her very presence, for it threatened to unfit him for the right discharge of his duties. He was haunted with the form to which he had given a renewal of life, as a murderer is haunted with the form of the man he has killed. In those marvelous intervals betwixt sleep and waking, when the soul is like a _camera obscura_, into which throng shapes unbidden, hers had displaced all others, and came constantly--now flas.h.i.+ng with feverous radiance, now pale and bloodless as death itself. But ever and always her countenance wore a look of aversion. She seemed in these visions, to regard him as a vile necromancer, who first cast her into the sepulcher, and then brought her back by some h.e.l.lish art. She had fascinated him. But he would not allow that he was in love with her. A man may be fascinated and hate. A man is not necessarily in love with the woman whose form haunts him. So said Faber to himself; and I can not yet tell whether he was in love with her or not. I do not know where the individuality of love commences--when love begins to be love. He must have been a good way toward that point, however, to have thus betaken himself to denial. He was the more interested to prove himself free, that he feared, almost believed, there was a lover concerned, and that was the reason she hated him so severely for what he had done.
He had long come to the conclusion that circ.u.mstances had straitened themselves around her. Experience had given him a keen eye, and he had noted several things about her dress. For one thing, while he had observed that her under-clothing was peculiarly dainty, he had once or twice caught a glimpse of such an incongruity as he was compelled to set down to poverty. Besides, what reason in which poverty bore no part, could a lady have for being alone in a poor country lodging, without even a maid? Indeed, might it not be the consciousness of the peculiarity of her position, and no dislike to him, that made her treat him with such impenetrable politeness? Might she not well dread being misunderstood!
She would be wanting to pay him for his attendance--and what was he to do? He must let her pay something, or she would consider herself still more grievously wronged by him, but how was he to take the money from her hand? It was very hard that ephemeral creatures of the earth, born but to die, to gleam out upon the black curtain and vanish again, might not, for the brief time the poor yet glorious bubble swelled and throbbed, offer and accept from each other even a few sunbeams in which to dance! Would not the inevitable rain beat them down at night, and ”ma.s.s them into the common clay”? How then could they hurt each other--why should they fear it--when they were all wandering home to the black, obliterative bosom of their grandmother Night? He well knew a certain reply to such reflection, but so he talked with himself.
He would take his leave as if she were a d.u.c.h.ess. But he would not until she made him feel another visit would be an intrusion.
One day Mrs. Puckridge met him at the door, looking mysterious. She pointed with her thumb over her shoulder to indicate that the lady was in the garden, but at the same time nudged him with her elbow, confident that the impartment she had to make would justify the liberty, and led the way into the little parlor.
”Please, sir, and tell me,” she said, turning and closing the door, ”what I be to do. She says she's got no money to pay neither me nor the doctor, so she give me this, and wants me to sell it. I daren't show it!
They'd say I stole it! She declares that if I mention to a living soul where I got it, she'll never speak to me again. In course she didn't mean you, sir, seein' as doctors an' clergymen ain't n.o.body--leastways n.o.body to speak on--and I'm sure I beg your pardon, sir, but my meanin'
is as they ain't them as ain't to be told things. I declare I'm most terrified to set eyes on the thing!”
She handed the doctor a little morocco case. He opened it, and saw a ring, which was plainly of value. It was old-fas.h.i.+oned--a round ma.s.s of small diamonds with a good-sized central one.
”You are quite right,” he said. ”The ring is far too valuable for you to dispose of. Bring it to my house at four o'clock, and I will get rid of it for you.”
Mrs. Puckridge was greatly relieved, and ended the interview by leading the way to the back-door. When she opened it, he saw his patient sitting in the little arbor. She rose, and came to meet him.
”You see I am quite well now,” she said, holding out her hand.
Her tone was guarded, but surely the ice was melting a little! Was she taking courage at the near approach of her deliverance?
She stooped to pick a double daisy from the border. Prompt as he generally was, he could say nothing: he knew what was coming next. She spoke while still she stooped.
”When you come again,” she said, ”will you kindly let me know how much I am in your debt?”
As she ended she rose and stood before him, but she looked no higher than his s.h.i.+rt-studs. She was ashamed to speak of her indebtedness as an amount that could be reckoned. The whiteness of her cheek grew warm, which was all her complexion ever revealed of a blush. It showed plainer in the deepened darkness of her eyes, and the tremulous increase of light in them.
”I will,” he replied, without the smallest response of confusion, for he had recovered himself. ”You will be careful!” he added. ”Indeed you must, or you will never be strong.”
She answered only with a little sigh, as if weakness was such a weariness! and looked away across the garden-hedge out into the infinite--into more of it at least I think, than Faber recognized.
”And of all things,” he went on, ”wear shoes--every time you have to step off a carpet--not mere foot-gloves like those.”
”Is this a healthy place, Doctor Faber?” she asked, looking haughtier, he thought, but plainly with a little trouble in her eyes.
”Decidedly,” he answered. ”And when you are able to walk on the heath you will find the air invigorating. Only please mind what I say about your shoes.--May I ask if you intend remaining here any time?”
”I have already remained so much longer than I intended, that I am afraid to say. My plans are now uncertain.”