Part 14 (2/2)

Mrs. Tuke came into the room on tip-toe, and closed the door softly behind her. There was a mysterious expression in her eyes, and she began at once to straighten the chairs and re-arrange the antimaca.s.sars. Her best parlour had been turned, for the time being, into a bedroom. To carry Rufus Sterne up the steep and narrow staircase was a task the fishermen refused to undertake, especially as Rufus had pleaded to be allowed to remain on the sofa. So a bed had been set up in the parlour--not without serious misgivings on the part of Mrs. Tuke, though she admitted the convenience of the arrangement later on. After Mrs.

Tuke had arranged the furniture and antimaca.s.sars to her satisfaction, she advanced to the side of the bed.

”A lady has called to see you,” she said, in an awed whisper.

”A lady?” Rufus questioned, with a slight lifting of the eyebrows.

Mrs. Tuke nodded.

”To see me or simply to inquire?”

”To see you.”

”Do I know the lady?” and a faint tinge of colour came into his cheek.

”I suppose so. You ought to do at any rate. It's that scare-away American as is staying at the Hall.” And Mrs. Tuke turned and looked apprehensively toward the door.

Rufus felt his heart give a sudden bound, but he answered quietly enough: ”Is she waiting in the pa.s.sage?”

”No, I turned her into your room. Are you going to see her?”

”Most certainly. I think it is awfully kind of her to call.”

”I suppose being a furrener explains things?”

”Explains what, Mrs. Tuke?”

”Well, in my day young ladies had different notions of what was the proper thing to do.”

”No doubt, Mrs. Tuke; but the world keeps advancing, you see.”

”Keeps advancing, do you call it. I am thankful that none of my girls was brought up that way.” And Mrs. Tuke walked with her most stately gait out of the room.

Rufus waited with rapidly beating heart. For days past--ever since the pain had become bearable, in fact--he had been longing for a glimpse of the sweet face that had captivated his fancy from the first. That she would call to see him he did not antic.i.p.ate for a moment. That she had made inquiries concerning his condition he knew from his conversations with Dr. Pendarvis. More than that he could not expect, whatever he might desire. Hence, to be told that she was in the house, that she was waiting to see him, seemed to set vibrating every nerve he possessed.

He heard a faint murmur of voices coming across the narrow lobby, and wondered what Mrs. Tuke was saying to her visitor. He hoped she would not feel it inc.u.mbent upon her to unburden her puritanical soul. When Mrs. Tuke was ”drawn out,” as she expressed it, she sometimes used great plainness of speech. At such times neither rank nor station counted. To clear her conscience was the supreme thing.

On the present occasion, however, Madeline got the first innings. She guessed from the set of Mrs. Tuke's lips that she did not altogether approve. Moreover, she was afraid that on the occasion of her first visit--when Mrs. Tuke revived her with burnt feathers--she had not made a very good impression.

Madeline came, therefore, fully armed and prepared to use all her wiles.

She waited with a good deal of trepidation until Mrs. Tuke returned from her lodger's room.

”What a n.o.ble, generous soul you must be, Mrs. Tuke,” she said, and she looked straight into the cold, blue eyes and smiled her sweetest.

Mrs. Tuke drew herself up and frowned.

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