Part 13 (1/2)

The stranger turned eagerly.

”This is not serious, I trust. She was always delicate, but--it is wonderful how she pulls together when the worst is over.”

For almost the first time in his life John Chetwynd was tongue-tied.

Who and what was this man, and what was he to Bella? He forced himself to give a professional opinion, and answered mechanically a string of questions Mr. Bolingbroke poured forth, but he hardly knew what he was saying.

”If only she gets over this she shall never be bothered any more, poor darling,” he said brokenly. ”I suppose I can go in, eh?”

His hand was on the door--John Chetwynd sprang to his feet.

”No one must see her,” he cried excitedly. ”I absolutely forbid it.

It would be most dangerous--most improper.”

The two men looked into each other's faces for the s.p.a.ce of several seconds; then Mr. Bolingbroke turned away with a sigh and an impatient word. ”Absurd! As if I could do her any harm,” he said.

”Well, I will be round again later in the day,” he added with a nod to Saidie, and a minute later the hall door shut upon him.

”Who is that man?” asked Sir John sternly.

Saidie shrugged her shoulders.

”You shall tell me--what is he to Bella?”

”He is a good and n.o.ble man, and let me tell you there ain't too many knocking around. If she lives to get over this he will make her his wife.”

And there was silence--a silence in which John Chetwynd read clearly his own heart at last, and stood face to face with facts--facts stripped of false adornments--naked, convincing.

Then he strode across the room and entered that in which Bella lay.

She was asleep, and he drew his chair close to the bedside and fixed his eyes on the wan, thin face, fever flushed, and fought the fiercest battle of his life with his inner self; and when the struggle was over, Pride lay in tatters and Love was conqueror.

She slept at intervals almost the whole of that day. Waking late in the afternoon, her eyes fell on the silent watcher by her side, and she smiled happily, contentedly.

Saidie bent over her and whispered a word or two.

”No--no,” cried Bella vehemently; ”send him away. I don't want to see him.”

”But he is so anxious, dear.”

”Is he?--poor Charlie! Tell him I am in no pain, and I should like to think he will never quite forget me.”

”He will never do that,” said Saidie, going away with her message but half satisfied, and Bella turned a flushed cheek to her pillow.

And then, for the second time, John Chetwynd asked, ”Who is that man?”

And Bella tried feebly to tell him. He had been attached to her for a long time, and had come over with her from the States.

”And you--did you mean to marry him, Bella?”