Part 72 (1/2)
He walked softly across the floor, leaned over the bed, and for some minutes watched the sleeper, then quietly left the room.
Drawing his dressing-gown closely around her, Regina sat down near the bedside; and as she felt the pleasant warmth of the pearl-grey merino, and detected the faint odour of cigar smoke in its folds, she involuntarily pressed her lips to the garment that seemed almost a part of its owner.
Day broke clear and cold, and when the sun had risen Regina saw that the flush was no longer visible in Olga's face, and that to delirium had succeeded stupor.
The physician looked anxious, and changed the medicine, and he found some difficulty in arousing her sufficiently to administer it. Mrs.
Palma resumed her watch at her daughter's side, and Dr. Suydam remained several hours, urging the pale young nurse to take some repose; but aware that the crisis of the disease had arrived, the latter could not consent to quit the room even for a moment. Twice during the day, Mr. Palma came up from his office, and into the darkened apartment where life and death were battling for their prostrate prey; but he exchanged neither word nor glance with his ward, and after brief consultation with the doctor glided noiselessly away.
About seven o'clock Mrs. Palma went down to dinner, leaving Regina alone with the sufferer, and scarcely five minutes later she heard a low moan from the figure that had not stirred for many hours.
Brightening the light, she peered cautiously at the face lying upon the pillow, and was startled to find the eyes wide open. Trembling with anxiety she said:
”Are you not better? You have slept long and soundly.”
Mournfully the hazel eyes looked at her, and the dry brown lips quivered.
”I have been awake some time.”
”Before your mother left?”
”Yes.”
”Dear Olga, is your mind quite clear again?”
”Terribly clear. I suppose I have been delirious?”
”Yes, you have known none of us for five days. Here, drink this, the doctor said you must have it the instant you waked.”
”To keep me from dying? Why should I live? I remember everything so vividly, and while custom made you all try to save me, you are obliged to know it would have been better, more kind and merciful, to have let me die at once. Give me some water.”
After some seconds, she wearily put her hand to her head, and a ghostly smile hovered over her mouth.
”All my hair cut off? No matter now, Belmont will never see me again, and I only cared for my glossy locks because he was so proud of them.
Poor darling.”
She groaned, knitted her brows, and shut her eyes; and though she did not speak again, Regina knew that she lay wrestling with bitter memories. When her mother came back, she turned her face toward the wall, and Mrs. Palma eagerly exclaimed:
”My darling, do you know me? Kiss your mother.”
Olga only covered her face with her hands and said wearily:
”Don't touch me yet, mamma. You have broken my heart.”
At the expiration of the fifth day of convalescence, Olga was wrapped in warm shawls and placed on the couch, which had been drawn near the grate where a bright fire burned. Thin and wan, she lay back on the cus.h.i.+ons and pillows, with her wasted hands drooping listlessly beside her. Moody, and taciturn, she refused all aid from any but Regina, and mercilessly exacted her continual presence. By day the latter waited upon and read to her; by night she rested on the same bed, where the unhappy woman remained for hours awake, and inconsolable, dwelling persistently upon her luckless fate. At Mrs.
Palma's suggestion her stepson had not visited the sick-room since the recovery of Olga's consciousness; and being closely confined to the limits of the apartment, Regina had not seen her guardian for several days. About three o'clock in the afternoon, when she had finished brus.h.i.+ng the short tangled hair that clung in auburn rings around the invalid's forehead, Olga said:
”Read me the 'Penelope.'”