Part 61 (1/2)
”I do think so. And yet this is sad; sometimes I cannot bear to think of it. Often I can find in my heart to wish that I might have handed that gla.s.s in your stead. Even if it had broken my heart, I stand alone; no other lives depend on me for well-being, and perhaps for well-doing.
Cannot you think of this, dear John, and try to bear it and overlive it for their sakes? Look, day begins to dawn, and the morning star flickers. Come in; cannot you rise?”
”I suppose not; I have tried. You will not go?”
”Yes; I may be wanted.”
”You have no resentments, Emily?”
”Oh no,” she answered, understanding him.
”Then give me one kiss.”
”Yes.” She stooped again toward him and gave it. ”You are going to live, John, and serve and love G.o.d, and even thank Him in the end, whatever happens.”
”You are helping me to live,” he answered.
It seemed impossible to him to say a single word more, and she went back towards the house again, moving more quickly as she drew near, because the sound of wheels was audible. As for him, he watched in the solemn dawn her retiring figure with unutterable regret. His other despair, who had talked to him of hope and consoled him with a simple directness of tender humanity, given him a kiss because he asked it. He had often wanted a woman's caressing affection before, and gone without it. It promised nothing, he thought; he perceived that it was the extremity she saw in the situation that had prompted it. When she next met him she would not, he knew, be ashamed of her kiss. If she thought about it, she would be aware that he understood her, and would not presume on it.
The spots of milky whiteness resolved themselves again into blush roses; hundreds and hundreds of them scented the air. Overhead hung long wreaths of honeysuckle; colours began to show themselves; purple iris and tree peony started out in detached patches from the shade; birds began to be restless; here and there one fluttered forth with a few sudden, imperfect notes; and the cold curd-like creases in the sky took on faint lines of gold. And there was Emily--Emily coming down the garden again, and Giles Brandon with her. Something in both their faces gave him courage to speak.
”St. George, you are not come merely to help me in. I heard wheels.”
Emily had moved a step forward; it was light enough now to show her face distinctly. The doctors had both paid a visit; they came together, she told him.
”It was very good of them; they are more than considerate,” he answered, sure that the news could not be bad.
”They both saw Anastasia, and they agreed that there was a decided improvement.”
”I thank G.o.d.”
With the aid of hope and a strong arm he managed to get up and stagger towards the house; but having once reached his room, it was several days before he could leave it or rise, though every message told of slow improvement.
A strange week followed the return of hope. The weeds in the garden began to take courage after long persecution, while Mr. Swan might frequently be seen reading aloud by Johnnie's bedside, sometimes the Bible, sometimes the newspaper, Master A.J. Mortimer deriving in his intervals of ease a grave satisfaction from the old man's peculiar style and his quaint remarks.
”I'm allers a comfort to them boys,” Swan was heard to remark in the middle of the night, when Valentine, who was refres.h.i.+ng himself with a short walk in the dark, chanced to be near him as he came on with his wife.
”And how do you get on, Maria?”
”Why, things seem going wrong, somehow. There's that new nurse feels herself unwell, and the jelly's melted, and Miss Christie was cross.”
”That's awkward; but they're trifles. When the mud's up to your neck, you needn't trouble yourself because you've lost your pattens. You want a night's rest, my dear.”
”Ay, I do; and don't you worrit, Swan, over Matthew being so _ugly_ with you.”
”Certainly not,” said Swan. ”He's turned more civil too. Said he to me this morning, 'Misfortunes in this life is what we all hev to expect.
They ought not to surprise us,' said he; 'they never surprise me, nor nothing does.' It's true too. And he's allers for making a sensible observation, as he thinks (that shows what a fool he is). No, if he was to meet a man with three heads, he wouldn't own as he was surprised; he'd merely say, 'You must find this here dispensation very expensive in hats.'”
CHAPTER x.x.xII.