Part 38 (1/2)
”And leave him all to you!”
The words flashed from Nola, as if they had sprung out of her mouth before her reason had given them permission to depart.
”Of course with me; he's mine!”
”If he's going to die, Frances, can't I share him with you till the end--can't I have just a little share in the care of him here with you?”
Nola laid her hand on Frances' arm as she pleaded, turning her white face appealingly in the dim light.
”Don't talk that way, girl!” said Frances, roughly; ”you have no part in him at all--he is nothing to you.”
”He is all to me--everything to me! Oh, Frances! If you knew, if you knew!”
”What? If I knew what?” Frances caught her arm in fierce grip, and shook her savagely.
”Don't--don't--hurt me, Frances!” Nola cringed and shrank away, and lifted her arms as if to ward a blow.
”What did you mean by that? Tell me--tell me!”
”Oh, the way it came to me, the way it came to me as he carried me in his arms and sang to me so I wouldn't be afraid!” moaned Nola, her face hidden in her hands. ”I never knew before what it was to care for anybody that way--I never, never knew before!”
”You can't have this man, nor any share in him, living or dead! I gave up Major King to you; be satisfied.”
”Oh, Major King!”
”Poor shadow that he is in comparison with a man, he'll have to serve for you. Living or dead, I tell you, this man is mine. Now go!”
Nola was shaking again with sudden gust of weeping. She had sunk to the floor at the head of the couch, a white heap, her bare arms clasping her head.
”It breaks my heart to see him die!” she moaned, rocking herself in her grief like a child.
And child Frances felt her to be in her selfishness, a child never denied, and careless and unfeeling of the rights of others from this long indulgence. She doubted Nola's sincerity, even in the face of such demonstrative evidence. There was no pity for her, and no softness.
”Get up!” Frances spoke sternly--”and go to your room.”
”He must not be allowed to die--he must be saved!” Nola reached out her hands, standing now on her knees, as if to call back his struggling soul.
”Belated tears will not save him. Get up--it's time for you to go.”
Nola bent forward suddenly, her hair sweeping the wounded man's face, her lips near his brow. Frances caught her with a sound in her throat like a growl, and flung her back.
”You'll not kiss him--you'll never kiss him!” she said.
Nola sprang up, not crying now, but hot with sudden anger.
”If you were out of the way he'd love me!”
”Love _you!_ you little cat!”
”Yes, he'd love me--I'd take him away from you like I've taken other men! He'd love me, I tell you--he'd love _me!_”