Part 32 (1/2)

Roger, while on his way to Dr. Benton's office, pa.s.sed a livery-stable with a coach standing just within the door, and he at once resolved that the weary girls should not be exhausted by flying home in terror-stricken haste. He took the carriage, obtained the physician, and explained to him what had happened while on the way to the shop in which Belle was employed. It was Christmas-eve, and the store was still crowded with eleventh-hour purchasers, on whom the weary child was waiting in a jaded, mechanical way. Her vacant look and the dark lines under her eyes proved how exhausted she was; but at the sight of Roger a flash of light and pleasure came into her face, and then his expression caused it to fade into extreme pallor.

”What is it?” she asked, turning from a garrulous customer.

”Don't be alarmed; get your things and come with me. I will make it all right with your employer.”

”Belle,” he said, when they were by the carriage door, ”you must be a brave woman to-night. Your father is home, and he is very ill.

Perhaps his life depends on quiet and freedom from all excitement.

Dr Benton, an experienced physician, is in the carriage, and will go with us. You must tell your sister--I cannot.”

If Belle had been herself she would not have failed him; but, after the long strain of the day, she became completely unnerved at his tidings, and sobbed almost hysterically. She could not control herself sufficiently to enter the shop where Mildred stood, unconscious of the approaching shadow, and so the heavy task of breaking the news fell upon Roger. ”If Belle, naturally so strong, was white and faint from the long, toilsome day, how wan and ghost-like poor Mildred will appear!” was his thought as he sprang to the sidewalk.

They were closing up, and the discipline of the shop was over.

Instead of pallor, there was an angry crimson in Mildred's cheeks, and an indignant fire in her eyes. She evidently was deeply incensed, and her companions apparently were as greatly amused. When she saw Roger the crimson deepened in her face, her brow knitted in strong vexation, and she went on with her task of putting the goods under her charge in order, as if she had not seen him; but the thought flashed through her mind: ”Oh that he were to me what he is to Belle! Then he might punish my insolent persecutor, but he's the last one in the world to whom I can appeal. Oh, where's papa?”

”Miss Jocelyn--”

”Don't you see you have another beau?” whispered one of her companions as she pa.s.sed out. ”You won't treat this one with words and manner that are the same as a slap in the face, for he's too good-looking.”

She paid no heed to the gibe, for the young man's tone was significant, and she had lifted her eyes to his with eager questioning. His grave, sad face banished the flush from hers instantly.

”Miss Jocelyn,” Roger began again, in a low tone, ”you have already learned to a.s.sociate me with painful experiences. I cannot help it. But this, my misfortune, is nothing; you must nerve yourself for anxiety that will test even your strength. Your father is home, and ill. I will not explain further before strangers. Belle and a physician are awaiting you in the carriage.”

How quiet and measured were his words; but even in her distress she was painfully conscious that the slight tremor in his voice was the low vibration of a feeling whose repressed intensity would sooner or later break forth. Beyond a momentary shrinking from what seemed to her but well-mastered vehemence, she gave him no thought in her overwhelming solicitude.

Scarcely a moment elapsed before she joined him at the door. As he placed her in the carriage he said, ”Dr. Benton will explain to you what has happened.”

”Roger--” sobbed Belle, but he sprang on the box with the driver, and in a few moments they were at the door of the old mansion.

”Dr. Benton,” said the young man, ”will you please accompany Miss Jocelyn? After the fatigue of the day and the shock of this evening she will need your support,” and he saw that she leaned heavily on the physician's arm.

Having dismissed the carriage, he found Belle leaning against the side of the house, faint and trembling. The young athlete lifted her in his arms and bore her steadily and easily to the doorway, and then again up the winding stairway. ”Belle,” he whispered, ”if you lose your father you shall at least have a brother.”

She entwined her arm about his neck in mute acceptance of the relations.h.i.+p. Her every breath was a low sob, and she could not then tell him how his words rea.s.sured her, taking away, in part, the almost overwhelming terror of being left unprotected in the world.

During Mr. Jocelyn's absence his family had tried to banish from their minds the memory of his weakness, and thus they had come to think of him again as the strong, cheerful, genial man they had known all their lives. The months preceding his departure were like a hateful dream. It had been a dearly cherished hope that, after breathing his native air for a few weeks, he would return the same frank, clear-eyed, clear-brained man that had won his way, even among strangers, after the wreck and ruin of the war. To him their thoughts had turned daily, in the hope of release from toil that was often torture, and from anxieties that filled every waking hour with foreboding.

How bitter the disappointment then, and how terrible the shock, as they now looked upon his prostrate form, meagre, shrunken, and almost lifeless! Instead of the full, dark eyes that had beamed mirthfully and lovingly for so many years, there was an unnatural contraction of the pupils which rendered them almost invisible.

His once healthful complexion was now livid, or rather of a leaden, bluish hue; his respirations stertorous and singularly deliberate.

”He is dying,” Mildred moaned; ”he is far, far away from us, even now. Oh, if we could have but one look, one sign of farewell!”

Belle and Mrs. Jocelyn became almost helpless with grief, for it did not seem possible to them that he could rally. ”Oh, why did I let him go--why did I let him go!” was the wife's remorseful and often-repeated question.

The elderly and experienced physician whom Roger had brought ignored with professional indifference the grief-stricken household, and was giving his whole mind to the study of the case. After examining the pupils of Mr. Jocelyn's eyes, taking his temperature, and counting his pulse, he looked at his a.s.sociate and shook his head significantly. Roger, who stood in the background, saw that Dr.

Benton did not accept the young physician's diagnosis. A moment later Dr. Benton bared the patient's arm and pointed to many small scars, some old and scarcely visible, and others recent and slightly inflamed. The young pract.i.tioner then apparently understood him, for he said, ”This is both worse and better than I feared.”

”Worse, worse,” growled Dr. Benton.

”What do you mean?” asked Mrs. Jocelyn, more dead than alive.