A Changed Heart Part 36

"Yes," said Nathalie, glancing up.

Midge bustled out, and presently returned with a cup of tea.

"Who do you think was here this morning to say good-bye?" she asked, while Nathalie was drinking it.

"I don't know. Who?"

"Cherrie Nettleby, no less. She wanted to come up here whether or no, to see you and the missis, but I sent her to the right about quicker. The flyaway good-for-nothing's off to Greentown in the cars this afternoon."

"Indeed. And how long is she going to stay?"

"I told her I was glad to hear it," said Midge, "and that I hoped she wouldn't come bothering back in a hurry; and she laughed and shook back them black curls of hers, and said perhaps she would stay all summer.

The place is well rid of her, and I told her so."

Nathalie, reverting to Charley, perhaps, thought the same, but she did not say so. Midge departed, refreshed by her bit of gossip, and Nathalie resumed her book. The steaming sick-room was irksome enough to her, but she would not leave Mrs. Leroy even for a moment in her present state.

That old lady opened her eyes again; and as she did so, Midge came bolting back.

"Miss Natty, here's Mr. Tom Oaks come to pay that there money, I expect.

Shall I send him off again?"

Before Nathalie could reply, Lady Leroy half sat up in bed, feeble as she was, the ruling pa.s.sion strong in death.

"No, no, no!" she shrilly cried, "don't send him away. Fetch him up here--fetch him up!"

Nathalie dropped her book and was bending over her directly.

"Dear Mrs. Leroy, are you awake? How do you feel now?"

"Better, Natty, better. Fetch him up, Midge--fetch him up."

Midge trotted off, soliloquizing as she went:

"Well, I never! I do think if she was dead and buried, the sound of money jingling atop of her grave would bring her out of it. You're to come up, Mr. Oaks. Missis is sick abed, but she'll see you."

Mr. Tom Oaks, a dashing young fellow, well-looking of face, and free and easy of manner, strolled in, hat in hand. Nathalie rose to receive him.

"Good day to you, Miss Nathalie. How are you, Mrs. Leroy? Nothing the matter, I hope."

"She is better, now," said Nathalie, placing a chair for him by the bedside.

"I suppose you've come up to pay the money?" Mrs. Leroy inquired, her fingers beginning to work, as they always did when she was excited.

Yes, Mr. Oaks had come to pay the money and obtain possession of the doc.u.ments that made him master of Partridge Farm. Sundry papers were signed and handed over--a long roll of bank-bills, each for fifty pounds, were presented to Lady Leroy and greedily counted by her, over and over again. Then Nathalie had to go through the performance, and the roll was found to be correct. Mr. Oaks, master of a magnificent farm, bowed himself out, the perspiration streaming from every pore.

When he was gone, the old woman counted the bills over again--once, twice, three times; her eyes glittering with the true miser's delight.

It was not to make sure of their accuracy, but for the pure and unalloyed pleasure it gave her to handle so much money and feel that it was hers.

A knock at the front door. Mrs. Leroy rolled the bills hastily up.

"Give me the box, Natty; some one's coming, and it's not safe to let any one know there's so much money in the house, and only three poor lone women of us here."

Nathalie handed her the large j.a.panned tin box Cherrie had spoken of, which always stood at the head of the bed, and the bills were placed in it, the tin box relocked and replaced, before the visitor entered. It proved to be Lawyer Darcy; and Nathalie, availing herself of his presence, left the room for a few moments to breathe purer air.

"I was very sorry to hear of your illness," the lawyer said, "and ran in as I was going by, although I am in rather a hurry. By the way, I am expecting every day to be summoned back here to alter that last unjust will of yours. I hope you have begun to see its cruel injustice yourself."

"Yes," Lady Leroy gravely replied, "I have. There is no one living has so good a right to whatever I possess as Nathalie Marsh. I did wrong to take it from her, but it is not too late yet. Come up here to-morrow morning and draw out another--my last will--she shall have everything I own."

The old lawyer grasped the sick woman's hand delightedly.

"Thank heaven, my dear Mrs. Leroy, that you have been brought to see matters in their true light. Natty's the best girl alive--ain't you, Natty?"

"What, sir?" Nathalie asked, as she re-entered the room.

"The best and prettiest girl alive! There, don't blush. Good afternoon to you both. I'll be up to-morrow morning without fail, Mrs. Leroy, and I trust I shall find you quite restored."

He went out. How little did he think that never again, this side of eternity, should he meet that woman; how little did he think that with those words he had bidden her an eternal farewell.

Midge brought up some tea and toast to her mistress after the lawyer's departure; and feeling more comfortable after it, the old woman lay back among her pillows, and requested her ward to "read a piece for her."

The book Nathalie was reading had been one of her father's, and she loved it for his sake and for its own. It was not a novel, it was "At the Foot of the Cross," by Faber; and seating herself by the bedside, she read aloud in her sweet, grave voice. The touching story of Calvary was most touchingly retold there; more than once the letters swam on the page through a thick mist of tears, and more than once bright drops fell on the page and blistered it.

The long, sultry afternoon hours wore over, and in that shuttered room it had grown too dark to see the words, before the girl ceased. There was a silence; Nathalie's heart was full, and Mrs. Leroy was quiet, looking unwontedly thoughtful.

"It's a beautiful book," she said, at last, "a beautiful book, Natty; and it does me good to hear it. I wish you had read to me out of that book before!"

"I will read it all through to you," Nathalie said; "but you are tired now, and it is past seven. You had better have some tea, and take this opiate and go to sleep. You will be quite well again to-morrow."

Nathalie got the old woman's tea herself, and made the toast with her own white hands. Mrs. Leroy wished her to share the meal, but Nathalie could not eat there; the steaming and fetid atmosphere of that close chamber made her sick and faint. She was longing for the old woman to go to rest for the night, so that she might get out. She removed the tea-tray, and turned to leave the room.

"I am going out for a walk in the grounds," she said, "but I will be back by eight to give you the sleeping draught; and, for fear you might be taken ill again in the night, I will ask one of the Nettlebys to sleep here."

Without hat or mantle, she ran down-stairs and out into the hot twilight. The bra.s.sy hue of the sky, and the greenish-yellow haze filling the air, the ominous silence of nature, and the scudding black clouds, gave her warning for the first time of the coming storm.

She went down the avenue, through the gate, and along the dusty road to the cottage. The roses about it were hanging their heavy heads, the morning-glories and the scarlet-runners looked limp and wilted. She found Ann washing the dishes, and the two young Nettlebys lying lazily on the gra.s.s behind the cottage, smoking pipes. Nathalie proferred her request, and Rob Nettleby at once volunteered.

"I'll go up in half an hour, Miss Natty," he said, "and, if I'm wanted, I can gallop into town in ten minutes."

"Thank you, Rob!"

She went back to the kitchen, lounging a minute before she left.

"And so Cherrie's gone, Ann?"

"Yes," said Ann; "and I'm glad of it. We will have some peace for a while, which we don't have when she's here, with her gadding."

Nathalie walked slowly back to the house, wondering and awed by the weird and ghostly look of the sky. The evening was so close and oppressive that no breath of air was to be had; yet still it was better than the house, and she lingered in the grounds until the lightning shot out like tongues of blue flame, and the first heavy raindrops began to fall.

Hurrying in out of the coming storm, followed by Bob Nettleby, who opined it was going to be a "blazer of a night," she saw that all the doors and windows were secured, and then returned to Mrs. Leroy's room to administer the opiate. She found the old woman in a doze, from which her entrance aroused her, and raised her with her right arm in bed, while she held the gla.s.s to her lips with her left hand.