Part 24 (1/2)
”You mean that any shock may kill her?”
”That is what I mean.”
”Then she ought to be kept without anxiety?”
”That is precisely what I intend.”
”And if this is done how long will her most precious life be prolonged?”
”As I have just said, a year is about the limit.”
”One year,” I answered. ”Does she know?”
”No, she has not the slightest idea, nor do I want her to be told. She is ready--would to G.o.d we were all as ready--why distress her unnecessarily? She would be anxious about you if she thought she was leaving you. It must be your province to give her no anxiety, to guard her. That is an excellent woman, Miss Mullins, she will a.s.sist you in every way. I am truly sorry that Jim Randolph has to leave England.
However, there is not the slightest doubt that he will hurry home, and when he does come back, will be time sufficient to let your mother know the truth.”
I did not answer. Dr. Reade looked at his watch.
”I must be off,” he said. ”I can only spare one more moment. I have made certain suggestions to my old friend Anderson, and he will propose certain arrangements which may add to your mother's comfort. I do not want her to go up and down stairs much, but at the same time she must be entertained and kept cheerful. Be a.s.sured of one thing, that in no case will she suffer. Now, I have told you all. If you should be perplexed or in any difficulty come to me at once. Come to me as your friend, and remember I am a very special friend of Jim Randolph's. Now, good-bye.”
He left the room.
I sat after he had gone for a moment without stirring; I was not suffering exactly. We do not suffer most when the heavy blows fall, it is afterwards that the terrible agony of pain comes on. Of course I believed Dr. Reade--who could doubt him who looked into his face? I guessed him to be what he was, one of the strongest, most faithful, bravest men who ever lived--a man whose whole life was given up to the alleviation of the suffering of others. He was always warding off death, or doing all that man could do to ward it off, and in many many cases death was afraid of him, and retired from his prey, vanquished by that knowledge, that genius, that sympathy, that love for humanity, which overflowed the little doctor's personality.
Just then a hand touched me, and I turned and saw Jim Randolph.
”You know?” he said.
I nodded. Mr. Randolph looked at me very gravely.
”My suspicions have been confirmed,” he said; ”I always guessed that your mother's state of health was most precarious. I can scarcely explain to you the intense pain I feel in leaving her now. A girl like you ought to have some man at hand to help her, but I must go, there is no help for it. It is a terrible trial to me. I know, Miss Wickham, that you will guard your mother from all sorrows and anxieties, and so cheer her pa.s.sage from this world to the next. Her death may come suddenly or gradually, there is just a possibility that she may know when she is dying, and at such a time, to know also that you are unprovided for, will give her great and terrible anxiety.” Here he looked at me as if he were anxious to say more, but he restrained himself. ”I cannot remove her anxiety, I must trust for the very best, and you must wait and--and _trust me_. I will come back as soon as ever I can.”
”But why do you go away?” I asked, ”you have been kind--more than kind--to her. O Mr. Randolph! do you think I have made a mistake, a great mistake, in coming here?”
”No,” he said emphatically, ”do not let that thought ever worry you, you have done a singularly brave thing, you can little guess what I--but there, I said I would not speak, not yet.” He shut his lips, and I noticed that drawn look round his eyes and mouth.
”I must go and return as fast as I can,” he said abruptly. ”I set myself a task, and I must carry it through to the bitter end. Only unexpected calamity drives me from England just now.”
”You are keeping a secret from me,” I said.
”I am,” he replied.
”Won't you tell me--is it fair to keep me in the dark?”
”It is perfectly fair.”
”Does Jane know?”