Part 56 (1/2)
”Why, Bill!” she exclaimed, looking at him scrutinisingly.
”Yes, dear.”
”Why, you haven't been to bed all night!”
”No, dear.”
”Why, if you haven't been watching down there by that cottage!” she cried.
”Yes, dear,” he said quietly. ”It seemed to do me good like.”
”Oh, Bill!”
”And then I went to the post-office, and I've telegraphed for Sir Henry Venner to come down by special train.”
”You have, Bill dear! Why, that's the Queen's doctor, ain't it.”
”Yes, dear.”
”But won't it cost a heap of money?”
”I'd give every penny I've got and sell myself too,” he said, with a ring of simple pathos in his voice, ”if it would bring that poor darling back to herself.”
He laid his arms upon the table, and his forehead went down upon them, as he said softly, as if to himself--
”I don't want any return--I'm not selfish--and I'd ask nothing back. I could go on loving her always, and be glad to see her happy, only please G.o.d to let her live--please G.o.d let her live!”
Little Miss Burge, with the tears streaming down her honest round face, rose from her seat at the breakfast-table, and went down upon her knees beside her brother, to lay her cheek against one of his hands.
”I'm going down to her now, Bill dear,” she said softly; ”and I'll watch by her night and day; for I think I love her, poor dear! as much as you.”
”G.o.d bless you, Betsey dear!” he said, drawing her to his breast, and speaking now with energy. ”I couldn't ask you to go, for it seemed like sending you where I daren't go myself; but if you could go, dear, I should be a happier man!”
”And go I will, Bill; and I will do my best.”
”And look here, dear!” he cried, quite excitedly now, ”you don't know how you're helping me, for now I can do what I want.”
”What's that, dear?”
”Why, I thought, dear, if the big doctor would give leave, we might bring the poor girl on here; but I daren't even think of it before, on account of you. You, see, dear, I could send away the servants, and get a nurse to come.”
”Oh yes; do, Bill dear!” cried the little body eagerly. ”We'd put her in the west room, which would be so bright and cheerful, and--There, I'm standing talking when I ought to go.”
In fact, within five minutes little Miss Burge was ready, with her luggage on her arm; the said luggage consisting of a clean night-dress, ”ditto” cap, a cake of soap, and a brush and comb; with which easily portable impedimenta she was soon after settled in Mrs Potts's dreary low-roofed room.
”No, miss,” whispered the rough woman, ”never slep' a wink all night; but kep' on talk, talk, talk, talking about her mother and father, and Squire Canninge, and the school pence, and that she was in disgrace.”
”And teacher kep' saying Mr William Forth Burge was her dearest friend,” put in Feelier, in a shrill, weak voice.
”Hus.h.!.+” whispered little Miss Burge, for their voices had disturbed Hazel, who, till then, had been lying in a kind of stupor.
She opened her eyes widely, and stared straight before her.