Part 25 (2/2)
”Yes, love!” she exclaimed, flinging her arms around my neck as I stooped to kiss her; ”but you are so brown, love, and you are really handsome. Do come in and have some tea.”
She hovered about me all the time I was removing my hat and coat, anxious to render me service, and seizing every opportunity of stroking my hands and cheeks.
”You foolish old p.u.s.s.y-cat!” I said at length, as I forced her into her easy-chair and placed the hot toast before her. ”Give over petting and spoiling me, and tell me all about yourself--the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
She evaded all my questions, however, and insisted that I should describe for her every incident of my journey.
When we had cleared away the things and drawn our chairs up to the fire I returned to the attack. Perhaps she was a little thin, after all, and there was a tired look about the eyes that I did not like.
”What have you been doing in my absence?” I asked; ”not working yourself to death in the vain attempt to impart a brighter surface to everything polishable, eh?”
”No, love, I have taken things very easily, and have just kept the cottages and your studio tidy. I have spent a good deal of time at Reuben's, where they have been very kind to me; but I have missed you very much, love.”
”Well, I am back now, and not likely to leave you again for a long time. We must have another full day's jaunt on the moors and see the heather in all its royal magnificence.”
Her eyes brightened, but I noticed they fell again, and there was doubt in her voice as she replied:
”Yes, love. That will be nice. I think the heat has been very trying, and you may find it so, too. You must take care not to overtire yourself.”
Then I knew that there was something wrong, and was glad that I had not consented to live at the Hall. It had been a disappointment to the squire, but he had not pressed the point when he saw that I was unwilling, and I had, of course, readily agreed to spend a good deal of time with him. I know he would have welcomed my old lady as a permanent guest for my sake, but she would never have consented to abandon her own little Hall of Memories, though she would have sought by every cunning artifice which love could devise to induce me to leave her, and would have suffered smilingly. I registered a mental vow that she should never know, if I could keep the secret from her, and that I would do all in my power to make her declining days happy.
”Why are you so weary, dear?” I asked.
”Oh, it is nothing, love,” she replied. ”It is just the heat. I shall be better when the days are cooler. Indeed, love, I am feeling better already.”
I slept soundly enough, in spite of my new anxiety, but the morrow brought me no alleviation. The old lady's vigour was gone, and she moved about the house without energy. But her cheerfulness never failed her, and her patience was something to marvel at.
Dr. Trempest pulled up his horse at the gate and stopped to have a chat one day, and I took the opportunity of mentioning my uneasiness.
”I'll pop in and look at her,” he said. ”Why don't you give her the same magic physic you've poured down the throat of my old friend Evans?
He's taken on a new lease of life. I tell you it's a miracle, and he says you did it, but he won't divulge the secret. Dear! dear! we old fogeys are no use at all in compet.i.tion with the women! But come, let's have a look at the old girl.”
He walked brusquely in and sat astride a chair, leaning his chin on the high back, and talked with her for ten minutes. Then he came out to me again.
”Can't say much without an examination, but appears to me the machinery's getting done. We can none of us last for ever, you know.
Keep her still, if you can, and tell her she needn't be up every two minutes to flick the dust off the fireirons. Drive her out, now and then, and let her have exercise without exertion; and don't you pull a long face before her or get excited or boisterous.”
I pulled a face at _him_, and he grinned as he mounted his horse.
”I'll send her up a bottle,” he said; ”works wonders, does a bottle, if it's mixed with faith in them that take it;” and the caustic old man moved slowly away.
The bottle came, but so far it has wrought no miracle, and there has crept into my heart the unwelcome suggestion of loss. I have tried not to admit it, not to recognise it when admitted, but the attempt is vain. Dr. Trempest shakes his head and repeats his sagacious remark that we can't live for ever, and the squire presses my hand in sympathy, being too honest to attempt to comfort me with hollow hopes.
Only Mother Hubbard herself is cheerful, and as her physical strength decreases she appears to gain self-possession and mental vigour. When the squire suggested that she should be asked to accompany us on the drives which he so much enjoys I antic.i.p.ated considerable opposition, and felt certain that she would yield most reluctantly, but to my surprise she consented without demur.
”This is very kind of Mr. Evans, love,” she said, ”and if you do not mind having an old woman with you I shall be glad to go.”
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