Part 29 (1/2)

”You are the only one who did not ask me to stay,” I said reproachfully.

”I know it; I know, too, that I'd be ill in your place if I could.”

”How could I help loving you!” I said impetuously. ”There, forgive me,”

I added hastily as I saw her look of pain and almost fright. ”Remember I'm ill, delirious it may be; but whatever happens, also remember that I said I wouldn't change anything. Were it all to do over again I'd do the same. It was inevitable: I'm sane enough to know that. You are not in the least to blame.”

She hung on my last words as if I were giving her absolution from a mortal sin.

”It's all a mistake. Oh, if you but knew how I regret--”

Steps were approaching. I shook my head, with a dreary glimmer of a smile.

”Good-by,” I said in a whisper, and wearily closed my eyes.

Everything soon became very confused. I remembered Mr. Yocomb's helping me to my room. I saw Adah's intent, wistful look as I tried to thank her. Mrs. Yocomb's kind, motherly face changed into the features of my own mother, and then came a long blank.

CHAPTER III

RETURNING CONSCIOUSNESS

I seemed to waken as if from a long, troubled sleep. At first I was merely conscious that I was awake, and I wondered how long I had slept.

Then I was glad I was awake, and that my confused and hateful dreams, of which no distinct memory remained, had vanished. The only thing I could recall concerning them was an indefinite and oppressive sense of loss of some kind, at which I had vaguely and impotently protested.

I knew I was awake, and yet I felt too languid to open my eyes. I was little more than barely conscious of existence, and I rather enjoyed this negative condition of complete inertia. The thought floated through my mind that I was like a new-born child, that knows nothing, fears nothing, thinks nothing, but simply breathes, and I felt so tired and ”gone” that I coveted an age of mere respiration.

But thought slowly kindled in a weak, fitful fas.h.i.+on. I first became slightly curious about myself. Why had I slept so profoundly? Why was I so nerveless and stupid after such a sleep?

Instead of answering these questions, I weakly wandered off into another train of thought. ”My mind seems a perfect blank,” I said to myself. ”I don't remember anything; I don't know where I am, and don't much care; nor do I know what my experience will be when I fully rouse myself. This is like beginning a new existence. What shall be the first entry on the blank page of my wakening mind? Perhaps I had better rouse up and see whether I am truly alive.”

And yet I did not rise, but just lay still, heavy with a strange, painless inertia, over which I puzzled in a vague, weak way.

At last I was sure I heard a child crying. Then there was a voice, that I thought I had heard before, trying to hush and rea.s.sure the child, and I began to think who they were, and yet I did not seem to care enough to open my eyes to see.

I next heard something like a low sob near me, and it caused a faint thrill among my sluggish nerves. Surely I had heard that sound before, and curiosity so far a.s.serted itself that I opened my eyes and looked wonderingly around.

The room was unfamiliar, and yet I was certain I had seen it on some previous occasion. Seated at a window, however, was a lady who soon absorbed my whole weak and wavering attention. My first thought was: ”How very pretty she is!” Then, ”What is she looking at so steadfastly from the window?” After a moment I mentally laughed at my stupidity.

”She's looking at the sunset. What else should she be looking at? Can I have slept all day?”

I saw her bosom heave with another convulsive sob, and that tears fast followed each other down her cheeks. I seemed to have the power of noting everything distinctly, but I couldn't understand or account for what I saw. Who was that sweet-faced girl? Beyond a doubt I had seen her before, but where? Why was she crying? Why was she in my room?

Then I thought, ”It must be all imaginary; I doubt whether I am awake yet. If she were only smiling instead of crying, I would like to dream on forever. How strangely familiar her face is! I must have seen it daily for years, and yet I can't recognize it.”

The loud whinny of a horse seemed to give my paralyzed memory an impetus and suggestion, by means of which I began to reconstruct the past.

”That's Old Plod!” I exclaimed mentally. ”And--and--why, that's Miss Warren sitting by the window. I remember now. We were in the barn together, and I was jealous of the old horse--how absurd! Then we were in the garden, and she was laughing at me. How like a dream it all is!