Part 97 (2/2)
”Gwendolen forgot you altogether,” Beth said. ”She has far too much to do, poor girl, and I have only just heard that you were ill. Why didn't you call me?”
He smiled again.
”We are all of the same family here, you know,” Beth said, ”the great human family. You had only to say 'Sister!' and I should have come.”
The smile faded from his lips, but it was replaced by another expression, which, when she saw it, caused Beth to e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.e inwardly, ”Surely of such are the Kingdom----”
Each had seen in the other's face at the same time something there is no human utterance to describe, and, recognising it, had reverently held their peace.
Beth fetched her oil-stove first, with the kettle on it, and, while the water was boiling, she cut bread and b.u.t.ter and lighted the fire.
”We'll have tea together, if you please,” she said cheerfully. ”I've a horrible suspicion that you've had nothing to eat or drink all day.”
Her sympathy recalled his pleasant, patient smile.
”My appet.i.te is not devouring,” he said, ”but my thirst is. Talk about selling one's birthright! I'd sell my brains, I believe, for a cup of tea at this moment.”
”There's a bowl full for nothing, then,” Beth rejoined. ”Sip it while I boil you an egg.”
He took the bowl in both hands and tried the tea.
”Oh!” he exclaimed with a long-drawn sigh, ”it's nectar! it's mead!
it's nepenthe! it's all the drinks ever brewed for all the G.o.ds in one! But I'm afraid to touch it lest I should finish it.”
”Don't be afraid, then,” said Beth, ”for you'll find it like liquor for the G.o.ds in another respect; it will be to be had whenever you want it. What's the matter?”
”Did I make lament?” he asked. ”I didn't know it. But I'm all one ache. I can't lie still for it, and I can't move without adding to it.
I've been watching the ice-floes on the river from the Embankment and bridges by all lights lately; I never saw finer effects--such colour!
It's wonderful what colour there is under your sombre sky if you know how to look for it; and it has the great advantage over the colour other countries teem with of being unexpected. It's not obvious; you have to look out for it; but when you have found it, you rejoice in it as in something rare and precious, and it excites you to enthusiasm beyond your wont--which should prevent chills, but it doesn't, as witness my aches.”
Beth felt his hand and found it dry and burning.
”The doctor is the next and only thing for you, young man, after this frugal meal,” she said, ”and I'll go and fetch him. I hope to goodness these are the right things to give you.”
He objected to the doctor, but she paid no attention to his remonstrance, and when she had done all she could think of for the moment, she put on her wet boots and walking things again, got the address of a good man from Ethel Maud Mary, and sallied out into the snow once more.
Rheumatic fever was the doctor's diagnosis, and his directions to Beth concluded with a long list of expensive medical comforts which it seemed were absolutely necessary. She went out again when he had gone, and brought back everything, toiling up the long flights of stairs with both arms full, breathless but cheerful; and having set all in order for use--sheets of medicated cotton-wool, medicines, Valentine's extract, clinical thermometer and chart--she settled herself to watch the patient, the clock, and the temperature of the room, which had to be equable, with the exactness and method of a capable nurse. Before the household retired, she went downstairs to fetch more coals, fearing they might run short in the night.
”He's 'ad one scuttle to-day,” Gwendolen reminded her, warningly.
”He must have two more, then, if necessary,” said Beth.
”They're sixpence a scuttle, you know,” Gwendolen remonstrated.
”Two for a s.h.i.+lling, and no charge for delivery,” said Beth as she toiled up the long ascent once more with her heavy burden.
”Eh! it would be a gay glad world if they all took it like you,”
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