Part 12 (1/2)
Phebe looked up at her, smiling strangely.
”Oh, Gerald,” she whispered, while two big tears rolled slowly down on to the pillow, ”I wish I might die to-night! I don't think I can ever be so happy again!”
”Nonsense!” said Gerald, with utmost sternness. ”Don't talk about dying.
I won't allow it.” And then she suddenly put down her head beside Phebe's, and burst into tears.
CHAPTER VIII.
GERALD OBEYS ORDERS.
In an incredibly short time Denham brought back not only Dr. Dennis, whom he had caught just setting out for a stolen game of whist with Mr.
Upjohn, during the absence of that gentleman's wife at prayer-meeting, but also Soeur Angelique, whose mere presence in a sick-room was more than half the cure. And then he sat in the dark, disordered room below, impatiently enough, anxiously waiting for news from Phebe. The time seemed to him interminable before at last the door opened, and Gerald entered, bearing a lamp. The vivid light, flung so full upon her, showed traces of pa.s.sionate weeping; and her white dress all scorched and burned and hopelessly ruined, with the rich lace hanging in shreds from the sleeves, made her a startling contrast indeed to the usually calm, self-possessed, perfectly-dressed Gerald Vernor.
Denham sprang forward to take the heavy lamp from her. ”How is she, please?”
Gerald started. ”What, you here?”
”Did you think I could leave till I knew?”
”Oh, of course not, I had forgotten you. I was only thinking of Phebe.”
”But how is she?”
”Better. She is burned about the shoulders and a little on the arms, but not seriously, and nothing that will disfigure. It is so fortunate. The doctor is still with her, but she is much easier now, and there is nothing to fear.”
”Ah, what a relief! It seemed as if I should never hear. She is really in no danger then?”
”None.”
”Thank G.o.d! As you came in you looked so distressed I feared--”
”When it was all over and there was nothing to cry about, I cried,”
interrupted Gerald. ”Women are always fools. I'll except Mrs. Whittridge, however. She has been the greatest comfort to Phebe.”
”It is Soeur Angelique's characteristic privilege always to be a comfort, I believe,” answered Denham, recovering his light-heartedness in a flash. ”Might I inquire if you have any especial object with this lamp?
Shall I do any thing particularly with it?”
”Let it down, please--anywhere. I remembered the room was dark, and ran down to put it to rights before Mrs. Lane should comeback. Her orderly soul would have a spasm if she came upon it suddenly like this.”
”It was well I had no light,” said Denham, looking around him. ”It would have frightened even me. Shan't I call some one?”
”It's the ridiculous fas.h.i.+on of the house to suppose it never needs servants at this hour. There's not one within reach.”
”You must let me help you then. Is this the table-cover?”
”Thanks. I am afraid the fire has done for it, but we can't help that.
Pull it a little farther to your side, please. Farther still. That's too far. So. That's right. Now the lamp here. Now the books. Cover up the holes with them.”