Part 50 (2/2)
”Richard Morton!” Mrs. Yocomb began almost indignantly, ”if thee hasn't any regard for thyself, thee should have some for thy friends. Thee isn't fit to leave home, and this is thy home now. Thee doesn't call thy hot rooms in New York home, so I don't see as thee has got any other. Just so sure as thee goes back to New York now, thee'll be sick again. I won't hear to it. Thee's just beginning to improve a little.”
Adah looked at me through reproachful tears, but she did not say anything. Mr. Yocomb dropped his pen and came out, looking quite excited:
”I'll send for Doctor Bates and have him lay his commands on thee,” he said. ”I won't take thee to the depot, and thee isn't able to walk half way there. Here, Emily, come and talk reason to this crazy man. He says he's going back to New York. He ought to be put in a strait-jacket.
Doesn't thee think so?”
Her laugh was anything but simple and natural.
As she said ”I do indeed,” Mr. Hearn had joined her.
”What would thee do in such an extreme case of mental disorder?”
”Treat him as they did in the good old times: get a chain and lock him up on bread and water.”
”Would thee then enjoy thy dinner?”
”That wouldn't matter if he were cured.”
”I think Mr. Morton would prefer hot New York to the remedies that Emily prescribes,” said Mr. Hearn, with his smiling face full of vigilance.
”Richard,” said Mrs. Yocomb, putting both her hands on my arm, ”I should feel more hurt than I can tell thee if thee leaves us now.”
”Why, Mrs. Yocomb! I didn't think you would care so much.”
”Then thee's very blind, Richard. I didn't think thee'd say that.”
”You cut deep now; suppose I must go?”
”Why must thee go, just as thee is beginning to gain? Thee is as pale as a ghost this minute, and thee doesn't weigh much more than half as much as I do. Still, we don't want to put an unwelcome constraint on thee.”
I took her hand in both of mine as I said earnestly, ”G.o.d forbid that I should ever escape from any constraint that you put upon me. Well, I won't go to-day, and I'll see what word my mail brings me.” And I went up to my room, not trusting myself to glance at the real controller of my action, but hoping that something would occur which would make my course clear. As I came out of my room to go down to dinner, Miss Warren intercepted me, saying eagerly:
”Mr. Morton, don't go. If you should be ill again in New York, as Mrs.
Yocomb says--”
”I won't be ill again.”
”Please don't go,” she entreated. ”I--I shouldn't have said what I did.
You _would_ be ill; Mrs. Yocomb would never forgive me.”
”Miss Warren, I will do what you wish.”
”I wish what is best for you--only that.”
”I fear I cloud your happiness. You are too kind-hearted.”
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