Part 26 (1/2)
I heard the murmur of her voice as she gave a few brief directions, and then her steps returned swiftly to her room.
”She can be depended upon,” I sighed, ”to do all she thinks right. She must have been wearied beyond mortal endurance, and worried by my rash and unlooked-for words, and yet she keeps up till all need is past.
Every little act shows that I might as well try to win an angel of heaven as sue against her conscience, she is so absolutely true. You're right, old woman; I _was_ 'struck,' and I wish it had been by lightning only.”
Just when I exchanged waking thoughts for hateful dreams I do not remember. At last I started to my feet, exclaiming:
”It's all wrong; he shall not marry my wife!” and then I sat down on the lounge and tried to extricate myself from the shadows of sleep, and thus become able to recognize the facts of the real world that I must now face. Slowly the events of the previous day and night came back, and with them a sense of immeasurable loss. The sun was low in the west, thus proving that my unrefres.h.i.+ng stupor had lasted many hours.
The clatter of knives, and forks indicated preparations for supper in the dining-room below. I dreaded meeting the family and all words of thanks, as one would the touching of a diseased nerve. More than all, I dreaded meeting Miss Warren again, feeling that we both would be under a wretched constraint. My evil mood undoubtedly had physical causes, for my mouth was parched, my head throbbed and ached, and I felt so ill in body and mind, so morbid and depressed, that I was ready to escape to New York without seeing a soul, were the thing possible.
The door opened softly, and I saw Reuben's ruddy, happy face.
”Oh, I'm so glad thee's awake,” he said. ”They're all doing well.
Adah's got well so fast that she actually looks better than Emily Warren. Even Zillah's quite bright this evening, only she's so weak she can't sit up much, but the doctor says it'll wear away. Thee doesn't look very extra, and no wonder, thee did so much. Father, mother, and Emily Warren have been talking about thee for the last two hours, and Adah can't ask questions enough about thee, and how thee found her. She says the last thing she saw was thee on the lawn, and thee was the first thing she saw when she came to, and now she says she can't help seeing thee all the time. Emily Warren said we must let thee sleep as long as thee would, for that, she said, was what thee needed most of all.”
”She's mistaken,” I muttered, starting up. ”Reuben,” I continued aloud, ”you're a good, brave fellow. I'll come down to supper as soon, as I can fairly wake up. I feel as stupid as an owl at midday, but I'm exceedingly glad that all are doing well.”
When he left me I thought, ”Well, I will keep up for two or three hours, and then can excuse myself. To-morrow I can return to New York, since clearly this will be no place for me. Miss Warren thinks that a little sleep will cure me, and that I will be sane and sensible now that I am awake. She will find me matter-of-fact indeed, for I feel like a bottle of champagne that has stood uncorked for a month; but may the devil fly away with me if I play the forlorn, lackadaisical lover, and show my wounds.”
I bathed my face again and again, and made as careful a toilet as circ.u.mstances permitted.
In their kind-hearted simplicity they had evidently planned a sort of family ovation, for as I came out on the piazza, they were all there except Miss Warren, who sat at her piano playing softly; but as Mr.
Yocomb rose to greet me she turned toward us, and through the open window could see us and hear all that pa.s.sed. The old gentleman still bore marks of his shock and the illness that followed, but there was nothing weak or limp in his manner as he grasped my hand and began warmly:
”Richard Morton, last night I said thee was welcome; I now say this home is as truly thine as mine. Thee saved mother and the children from--” and here his voice was choked by emotion.
Mrs. Yocomb seized my other hand, and I saw that she was ”moved” now if ever, for her face was eloquent with kindly, grateful feeling.
”Please don't,” I said, so sharply as to indicate irritation, for I felt that I could not endure another syllable. Then, slapping Reuben brusquely on the shoulder, I added, ”Reuben was quite as helpful as I: thank him. Any tramp from New York would try to do as much as I did, and might have done better. Ah, here is Zillah!” And I saw that the little girl was propped up on pillows just within the parlor window, where she could enjoy the cool evening air without too great exposure.
”If she'll give me another kiss we'll call it all square and say no more about it,” and I leaned over the window-sill.
The child put her arms around my neck and clung to me for a moment.
There could have been no better antidote for my mood of irritable protest against my fate than the child's warm and innocent embrace, and for a moment it was balm indeed.
”There,” I cried, kissing her twice, ”now I'm overpaid.” Raising my eyes, I met those of Miss Warren as she sat by her piano.
”Yes,” she said, with a smile, ”after that I should think you would be more than content.”
”I certainly ought to be,” I replied, looking at her steadily.
”Zillah's very grateful,” Miss Warren continued. ”She knows that you watched with her till morning.”
”So did other night-owls, Zillah, and they were quite as useful as I was.”
She reached up her hand and pulled me down. ”Mother said,” she began.
”You needn't tell a stranger what mother said,” and I put my finger on her lips.
”Thee's no more of a stranger than Emily Warren,” said the little girl reproachfully. ”I can't think of thee without thinking of her.”