Part 12 (1/2)
Grizel rolled eloquent eyes to the ceiling.
”I have been young,” she declaimed dramatically, ”and now am old, yet have I never seen a woman staring into s.p.a.ce, smirking, and looking silly, considering how she can best turn a sentence, to another woman!
I tell you that which I do know and, Martin dear, it's not disloyalty...
I wouldn't have breathed a word, if it had not been for the hope of helping both. Keep your own eyes open, and _act_! Katrine's conscience is of the good, old-fas.h.i.+oned, Nonconformist type which urges her on to do the thing she most dislikes, out of a deluded idea that it must needs be right! She's quite capable of playing suttee with her life. _Don't let her do it_!”
”How can I help it? I know nothing. I am not consulted. I believe the whole thing is imagination. If there had been anything real she would surely have confided in you.”
”Me? I'm the last person,--the last person in the world--”
The words were spoken on the impulse of the moment, and apparently regretted as soon as they were p.r.o.nounced. Grizel flushed; obviously, unmistakably, even in the glow of the firelight. She flushed, and pus.h.i.+ng back her chair rose hurriedly to her feet.
”Whew! That fire! Katrine was right,--it _does_ get close. And I believe it is going to clear.--I'll go and see.”
”Why are you the last? _Why_?”
Martin had followed her, was questioning with a new light in his eyes-- eager, curious, antic.i.p.atory. On her way towards the door her progress was blocked by his tall form.
”Why the last, Grizel?” he repeated urgently. ”Tell me! I want to know. Why should Katrine--?”
Never before had he seen a trace of embarra.s.sment break the lazy serenity of Grizel's mien. The sight of it, and the possibility of an intoxicating explanation of her statement, fired his blood. For the last two years he had been fighting against this love, fighting it as a forbidden thing, a thing of which to be ashamed, but lately, subtly, the mental position had changed. Life was forcibly pus.h.i.+ng him from one standpoint after another, proving its untenability, sending him forth to find fresh fields.
”Why should Katrine--?” he cried, and at that moment the door opened and Katrine herself stood upon the threshold.
Her face was pale, her eyes grave and gentle, the picture of her as she appeared at that moment dwelt in Martin's mind, and brought with it a startled recognition of his sister's charm, then in a flash, she stiffened; the softness pa.s.sed from the eyes, and was replaced by a chilly scorn. This was a love scene upon which she had intruded,-- Grizel flushed, protesting, Martin flushed, appealing, and her own name ”Katrine” bandied upon his lip--no doubt to be waved aside, as an obstacle blocking the way.
It was in a voice icily bereft of expression that she delivered her message:
”I have just taken a message for you, Grizel. They have rung up to say that Lady Griselda is worse. You are wanted at home at once.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
Lady Griselda Dundas lay a-dying on her great oak bed. For two long weeks after Grizel's summons home she had lingered on, until now her aquiline features were attenuated to a knife-like sharpness, and every particle of flesh seemed to have departed from the skeleton form, but the eyes were alive, conscious, yet with a puzzled wistfulness in their glance. Her brain had cleared, as often happens immediately before the great change; the present was clear, but over the past the cloud still hung.
”I--can't remember!” she reiterated feebly. ”It's all blank. What have I been doing these last weeks, Grizel? Where have I been?”
Grizel knelt by the bedside, her warm hands clasped over the icy fingers. She wore a soft white dressing-gown, and her hair hung in a long plait down her back. She had been sleeping on a sofa at the end of the room, but now it was two o'clock, and there was a look in the old woman's face which made her determine to keep close at hand.
Nevertheless there was no sorrow in her face; the smile with which she spoke was as usual, sweet and unperturbed.
”You have been here, Buddy; in this house; in these rooms, and I've been with you, except for a few days. Everything has gone on just the same...”
”Ha!” exclaimed Lady Griselda loudly. Her eyes flashed with a flicker of the old fire. ”And a fine old fool I've been making of myself, no doubt! Senile decay! I hoped at least I should be spared _that_. I can't remember.--It is like a mist. Have I been ill?”
”Weak, darling, and tired. You've been up most days. A month ago you had a drive. Only two days ago you were taken worse.”
”And now,” said the old woman calmly, ”I'm dying. Pretty soon too, I should say, for there's not much feeling left. Don't let them poke me about, Grizel. Keep them away! It's a poor thing if one can't die in peace.” She was silent, munching her sunken jaws. Then the keen glance wandered to the girl's face, and softened.
”Have I been rough with you, child? Bullied you? More than usual, I mean. If I have, I didn't know it... Has it been a hard time?”
Grizel smiled again.
”You varied, dear. Rather fierce at times, and again quite meek, and sometimes, terribly funny! You'd laugh, Buddy, if you could hear some of the things you said!”
”Ha!” A wraith of a smile pa.s.sed over the grey face. ”Glad to hear it.