Captain Desmond, V.C. Part 55

She spoke very low, and her eyes had a misty softness. But behind the softness lay an invincible a.s.surance, which Evelyn felt without being able to a.n.a.lyse or understand.

"I don't know how you are going to manage it, Honor," she murmured.

"But I believe you could make _any_body do _any_thing--especially me!"

Honor's eyes twinkled at the incoherent compliment. The visionary moment had pa.s.sed, and she was her practical self again, the richer by a fixed resolve.

"At that rate we shall work wonders," she said cheerfully; "and I promise not to make you do anything alarming. You shall begin by taking Theo's breakfast to him at once."

The ill news brought Frank Olliver round later in the morning. She did not stay long; and the look in her eyes as she parted from Paul in the verandah touched him to the heart.

"You'll send me word how he goes on, won't you?" she said. "I'll not be coming round much meself. There's plenty of you to look after him, and you'll not be needing any help from me. 'Tis the first time I could say so with truth," she added, smiling through moist lashes.

"An', no doubt, 'tis a wholesome set-down for me self-conceit!"

"I don't believe you can say it with truth yet," Paul answered promptly. "I shall get a chance to talk things over with Honor this morning, and you shall hear the result. May I invite myself to tea, please?"

"Ah, G.o.d bless you, Major Wyndham!" she exclaimed, with something of her natural heartiness. "It's a pity there's not more o' your sort in the world."

A compliment, even from Mrs Olliver, invariably struck Paul dumb; and before any answer occurred to him she had cantered away.

The first time he could secure a few minutes alone with Honor he put in an urgent plea for Mrs Olliver's services, and had the satisfaction of going round to her bungalow at tea-time, armed with a special request from the girl herself.

Evelyn accepted, with a slight lift of her brows, Honor's announcement that Mrs Olliver would be only too glad to help in nursing Theo. These odd people, who seemed to enjoy long nights of watching, the uncanny mutterings of delirium, and the incessant doling out of food and medicine, puzzled her beyond measure. She had a hazy idea that she ought to enjoy it in the same way, and a very clear knowledge that she did no such thing. She regarded it as a sort of penance, imposed by Honor, not altogether unfairly. She had just conscience enough to recognise that. And as the hushed monotone of nights and days dragged by, with little relief from the dead weight of anxiety, it did indeed seem as if Honor had succeeded in willing a portion of her brave spirit into her friend. What had pa.s.sed in secret between G.o.d and her own soul resulted in a breaking down of the bounds of self--an unconscious spiritual bestowal of the best that was in her, with that splendid lack of economy in giving which is the hall-mark of a great nature. And Evelyn took colour from the new atmosphere enveloping her with the curious readiness of her type.

Desmond himself, in moments of wakefulness, or pa.s.sing freedom from delirium, was surprised and profoundly moved to find his wife constantly in attendance on him. At the time he was too ill to express his appreciation. But a vision of her dwelt continually in his mind; and the frequency of her name on his lips brought tears of real self-reproach to her eyes as she sat alone with him through the dread small hours, not daring to glance into the darkest corners or to stir unless necessity compelled her; overpowered by those vague terrors that evaporate like mist in the cold light of definition.

In this fashion an interminable week slipped past, bringing the patient to that critical "corner" with which too many of us are familiar. Neither Paul nor Mackay left the study for twenty-four hours; while the women sat with folded hands and waited--a more arduous task than it sounds.

With the coming of morning, and of the first hopeful word from the sick-room, an audible sigh of relief seemed to pa.s.s through the house and compound. It was as if they had all been holding their breath till the worst was over. It became possible at last to achieve smiles that were not mere dutiful distortions of the lips. James Mackay grew one degree less irritable; Wyndham one degree less monosyllabic; Amar Singh condescended to arise and resume his neglected duties; while Rob--becoming aware, in his own fashion, of a stir in the air--emerged from his basket, and shook himself with such energy and thoroughness that Mackay whisked him unceremoniously into the hall, where he sat nursing his injured dignity, quietly determined to slip back, on the first chance, into the room that was his by right, though temporarily in the hands of the enemy.

It was some five days later that Desmond, waking towards morning, found his wife standing beside him in expectant watchfulness.

The low camp-bed lent her a fict.i.tious air of height, as did also the unbroken line of her blue dressing-gown, with its cloud of misty whiteness at the throat. A shaded lamp in a far corner clashed with the first glimmer of dawn; and in the dimness Evelyn's face showed pale and indistinct, save for two dusky semicircles where her lashes rested on her cheek. Desmond saw all this, because at night the shade was discarded, though the rakish bandage still eclipsed his right eye.

He lay lapped in a pleasant sense of the unreality of outward things, and his wife--dimly seen and motionless--had the air of a dream-figure in a dream.

Suddenly she leaned down, and caressed his damp hair with a familiar lightness of touch.

"I heard you move, darling," she whispered. "I've been sitting such a long, long while alone; and I badly wanted you to wake up."

"Such a brave Ladybird!" he said, imprisoning her fingers. "You seem to be on duty all the time. They haven't been letting you do too much, have they?"

"Oh no; I'm not clever enough to do much," she answered, a little wistfully. "It is Honor who really does everything."

Desmond frowned. Mention of Honor effectually dispelled the dream. "I choose to believe that everything _isn't_ her doing," he said with unnecessary emphasis.

But for once Evelyn was disposed to extol Honor at her own expense.

She had been lifted, for the time being, higher than she knew.

"It _is_, Theo--truly," she persisted, perching lightly on the edge of the bed, though she had been reminded half a dozen times that the "patient's" bed must not be treated as a chair. "I don't know anything about nursing people. Honor just told me that I was going to do it beautifully, that I wasn't really frightened or stupid at all; and somehow, she has made it all come true. She's been ever so kind and patient; and I'm not half so nervous now when I'm left alone all night. She writes out every little thing I have to do, and sits up herself in her own room. She's sitting there now, reading or writing, so I can go to her any minute if I really want help. She knows it comforts me to feel there's some one else awake; and she does her own nights of nursing just the same. I often wonder how she stands it all."

Desmond drew in his breath with a sharp sound. The infinitely much that he owed to this girl, at every turn, threatened to become a torment beyond endurance.

Evelyn caught the sound and misunderstood it.

"There now, I'm tiring you, talking too much. I'm sure you ought to be having something or another, even though you are better."

She consulted her paper; and returning with the medicine-gla.s.s half filled, held it to his lips, raising his head with one hand. But at the first sip he jerked it back abruptly.

"Tastes queer. Are you sure it's the right stuff?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Better look and see."

She took up the bottle, and examined it close to the light. There was an ominous silence.

"Well?" he asked in pure amus.e.m.e.nt.

"It--it was the--lotion for your eyes!"

The last words came out in a desperate rush, and there was tragedy in her tone. But Desmond laughed as he had not laughed since his parting with the Boy.

"Come on, then, and square the account by doctoring my eyes with the medicine."

"Oh, Theo, don't! It isn't a joke!"

"It is, if I choose to take it so, you dear, foolish little woman!"

She handed him the refilled gla.s.s; then, to his surprise, collapsed beside the bed and burst into tears.

"Ladybird, what nonsense!" he rebuked her gently, laying a hand on her head.

"It's not nonsense. It's horrible to be useless and--idiotic, however hard you try. It might easily have been--poison, and I might have--killed you!"

"_Only_ it wasn't--_and_ you didn't!" he retorted, smiling. "You're upset, and worn out from want of sleep; that's all."

She made a determined effort to swallow down her sobs, and knelt upright with clasped hands.

"No, Theo, I'm not worn out; I'm simply stupid. And you're the kindest man that ever lived. But I mustn't cry any more, or you'll get ill again, and then Honor will be really angry!"

"Oh, shut up about Honor!" he broke out irritably; and set his teeth directly the words were spoken.

Evelyn started. "I won't shut up about Honor! I love her, and you're very ungrateful not to love her too, when she's been so good to you."

She spoke almost angrily, and he made haste to rectify his slip.

"No. I'm not ungrateful. I--love her right enough."