Part 62 (1/2)
”But Swan intended a compliment,” answered Johnnie, ”and he loves onions. I often see him at his tea, eating slices of them with the bread and b.u.t.ter. You are better now, dear father, are you not?”
”Yes, my boy. What made you think there was anything specially the matter with me?”
”Oh, I knew you must be dreadfully miserable, for you could hardly take any notice even of me.”
A small shrill voice, thin and silvery, was heard across the pa.s.sage.
”Nancy often talks now,” said Johnnie; ”she spoke several times this morning.”
John rose softly and moved towards it. ”And what did the robin say then,” it asked. Emily's clear voice answered, ”The robin said, 'No, my wings are too short, I cannot fly over the sea, but I can stop here and be very happy all the winter, for I've got a warm little scarlet waistcoat.' Then the nightingale said, 'What does winter mean? I never heard of such a thing. Is it nice to eat?”
”That was very silly of the nightingale,” answered the little voice. The father thought it the sweetest and most consoling sound he had ever heard in his life. ”But tell the story,” it went on peremptorily in spite of its weakness, ”and then did the robin tell him about the snow?”
”Oh yes; he said, 'Sometimes such a number of little cold white feathers fall down from the place where the sun and moon live, that they cover up all the nice seeds and berries, so that we can find hardly anything to eat. But,' the robin went on, 'we don't care very much about that. Do you see that large nest, a very great nest indeed, with a red top to it?' 'Yes,' the nightingale said he did. 'A nice little girl lives there,' said the robin. 'Her name is Nancy. Whenever the cold feathers come, she gives us such a number of crumbs.'”
”Father, look at me,” said the little creature, catching sight of her father. ”Come and look at me, I'm so grand.” She turned her small white face on the pillow as he entered, and was all unconscious both how long it was since she had set her eyes on him, and the cause. Emily had been dressing a number of tiny dolls for her, with gauzy wings, and gay robes; they were pinned about the white curtains of her bed. ”My little fairies,” she said faintly; ”tell it, Mrs. Nemily.”
”The fairies are come to see if Nancy wants anything,” said Emily.
”Nancy is the little Queen. She is very much better this evening, dear John.” John knelt by the child to bring her small face close to his, and blessed her; he had borne the strain of many miserable hours without a tear, but the sound of this tender little voice completely overpowered him.
Emily was the only person about him who was naturally and ardently hopeful, but she scarcely ever left the child. He was devoured by anxiety himself, but he learned during the next two days to bless the elastic spirits of youth, and could move about among his other children pleased to see them smile and sometimes to hear them laugh. They were all getting better; Valentine took care they should not want for amus.e.m.e.nt, and Crayshaw, who, to do him justice, had not yet heard of little Janie's death or of Nancy's extremely precarious state, did not fail to write often, and bestow upon them all the nonsense he could think of. After his short sojourn in Germany, he had been sent back to Harrow, and there finding letters from the Mortimers awaiting him, had answered one of them as follows:--
LINES COMPOSED ON RECEIVING A PORTRAIT OF GLADYS WITH BLOB IN HER ARMS.
I gazed, and O with what a burst Of pride, this heart was striving!
His tongue was out! that touched me first.
My pup! and art thou thriving?
I sniffed one sniff, I wept one weep (But checked myself, however), And then I spake, my words went deep, Those words were, ”Well, I never.”
Tyrants avaunt! henceforth to me Whose Harrow'd heart beats faster, The coach shall as the coachman be, And Butler count as master.
That maiden's nose, that puppy's eyes, Which I this happy day saw, They've touched the manliest chords that rise I' the breast of Gifford Crayshaw.
John Mortimer was pleased when he saw his girls laughing over this effusion, but anxiety still weighed heavily on his soul--he did not live on any hope of his own, rather on Emily's hope and on a kiss.
He perceived how completely but for his father's companions.h.i.+p he had all his life been alone. It would have been out of all nature that such a man falling in love thus unaware should have loved moderately. All the fresh fancies of impa.s.sioned tenderness and doubt and fear, all the devotion and fealty that youth wastes often and almost forgets, woke up in his heart to full life at once, unworn and unsoiled. The strongest natures go down deepest among the hidden roots of feeling, and into the silent wells of thought.
It had not seemed unnatural heretofore to stand alone, but now he longed for something to lean upon, for a look from Emily's eyes, a touch from her hand.
But she vouchsafed him nothing. She was not so unconscious of the kiss she had bestowed as he had believed she would be; perhaps this was because he had mistaken its meaning and motive. It stood in his eyes as the expression of forgiveness and pity,--he never knew that it was full of regretful renunciation, and the hopelessness of a heart misunderstood.
But now the duties of life began to press upon him, old grey-headed clerks came about the place with messages, young ones brought letters to be signed. It was a relief to be able to turn, if only for a moment, to these matters, for the strain was great: little Nancy sometimes better, sometimes worse, was still spoken of as in a precarious state.
Every one in the house was delighted, when one morning he found it absolutely necessary to go into the town. Valentine drove him in, and all his children rejoiced, it seemed like an acknowledgment that they were really better.
Johnnie ate a large breakfast and called to Swan soon after to bring him up the first ripe bunch of grapes--he had himself propped up to eat them and to look out of the window at the garden.
”What a jolly bunch!” he exclaimed when Swan appeared with it.
”Ay, sir, I only wish Fergus could see it! The Marchioness sent yesterday to inquire,--sent the little young ladies. I haven't seen such a turn-out in our lane since last election time. Mr. Smithers said they were a sight to be seen, dressed up so handsome. 'Now then,' says he, 'you see the great need and use of our n.o.ble aristocracy. Markis is a credit to it, laying out as he does in the town he is connected with.