Hepsey Burke Part 28

The patient closed his eyes wearily.

It was evident that he was growing weaker, and just as the doctor returned, he again lapsed into unconsciousness. The doctor felt of Bascom's pulse, and sent Maxwell hastily for Doctor Field for consultation. For fifteen minutes the doctors were alone in Bascom's room, and then Doctor Field called Maxwell in and quietly informed him that the warden had lost so much blood from the wound in the wrist that there was danger of immediate collapse unless they resorted to extreme measures, and bled some one to supply the patient. To this Maxwell instantly replied:

"I am strong and well. There is no reason why you should hesitate for a moment. Send for your instruments at once; but my wife must know nothing of it until it is all over with. Tell Mrs. Burke to take her over to Thunder Cliff for an hour or two, on the pretext of getting some bedding. Yes, I insist on having my own way, and as you say, there is no time to be lost."

Doctor Field took Mrs. Burke aside, and the women immediately departed for Thunder Cliff. The necessary instruments were brought, and then the three men entered the sick room.

In about twenty minutes Maxwell came out of the invalid's room, a.s.sisted by Doctor Field, and stretched himself on the bed.

Bascom's color began slowly to return; his pulse quickened, and Dr.

Field remarked to his colleague:

"Well, I think the old chap is going to pull through after all; but it was a mighty close squeak."

Meanwhile, the messenger who had been sent out to Willow Bluff to apprise Virginia of her father's accident returned with the information that Virginia had left the day before, to stay with friends, and could not possibly get home till next day. It was decided to telegraph for her; and in the meantime the doctors advised that Mr.

Bascom be left quietly in his bed at the new "rectory," and be moved home next day, after having recovered some of his lost strength. Mrs.

Betty and Mrs. Burke took turns in watching by the invalid that night, and it might have been observed that his eyes remained closed, even when he did not sleep, while Mrs. Burke was in attendance, but that he watched Mrs. Betty with keen curiosity and wonder, from between half-closed lids, as she sat at the foot of his bed sewing, or moved about noiselessly preparing the nourishment prescribed for him by the doctors, and which the old gentleman took from her with unusual gentleness and patience.

It was Mrs. Burke who, having learned of the time when Virginia was expected to return home, drove out to Willow Bluff with Mr. Bascom, and a.s.sisted in making him comfortable there before his daughter's arrival. He volunteered no word on their way thither, but lay back among his cushions and pillows with closed eyes, pale and exhausted--though the doctors a.s.sured the Maxwells that there was no cause for anxiety on the score of his removal, when they urged that he be left in their care until he had regained more strength.

It was a white and scared Virginia who listened to Hepsey's account of all that had happened--an account which neither over-stated the Bascoms' debt to the Maxwells nor spared Virginia's guilty conscience.

When she found that her father had been the guest of the Maxwells and that they had played the part of good Samaritans to him in the tent in which the Senior Warden had obliged them to take refuge, she was thoroughly mortified, and there was a struggle between false pride and proper grat.i.tude.

"It is very awkward, is it not, Mrs. Burke?" she said. "I ought certainly to call on Mrs. Maxwell and thank her--but--under the circ.u.mstances----"

"What circ.u.mstances?" asked Hepsey.

"Well, you know, it will be very embarra.s.sing for me to go to Mr.

Maxwell's tent after what has happened between him and--my father."

"I'm not sure that I catch on, Virginia. Which happenin' do you mean?

Your father's cold-blooded ejection of the Maxwells from their house, or Mr. Maxwell's warm-blooded sacrifice to save your father's life?

Perhaps it _is_ a bit embarra.s.sing, as you call it, to thank a man for givin' his blood to save your father."

"It is a more personal matter than that," replied Virginia, gazing dramatically out of the window. "You don't quite seem to appreciate the delicacy of the situation, Mrs. Burke."

"No, I'm blessed if I do. But then you know I'm very stupid about some things, Virginia. Fact is, I'm just stupid enough to imagine--no, I mean think--that it would be the most natural thing in the world to go straight to the Maxwells and thank 'em for all they've done for your father in takin' him in and givin' him the kind of care that money can't buy. There's special reasons that I needn't mention why you should say thank you, and say it right."

Virginia examined the toe of her boot for some time in silence and then began:

"But you don't understand the situation, Mrs. Burke."

"Virginia, if you don't stop that kind of thing, I shall certainly send for the police. Are you _lookin'_ for a situation? If you have got anything to say, say it."

"Well, to be quite frank with you, Mrs. Burke, I must confess that at one time Mr. Maxwell and I were supposed to be very good friends."

"Naturally. You ought to be good friends with your rector. I don't see anything tragic about that."

"But we were something more than friends."

"Who told you? You can't believe all you hear in a town like this.

Maybe some one was foolin' you."

"I ought to know what I am talking about. He accepted our hospitality at Willow Bluff, and was so attentive that people began to make remarks."

"Well, people have been makin' remarks ever since Eve told Adam to put his ap.r.o.n on for dinner. Any fool can make remarks, and the biggest fool is the one who cares. Are you sure that you didn't make any remarks yourself, Virginia?"

Virginia instantly bridled, and looked the picture of injured innocence.

"Certainly not!" she retorted. "Do you think that I would talk about such a delicate matter before others?"

"Oh no; I suppose not. But you could look wise and foolish at the same time when Maxwell's name was mentioned, with a coy and kittenish air which would suggest more than ten volumes of Mary Jane Holmes."

"You are not very sympathetic, Mrs. Burke, when I am in deep trouble.

I want your help, not ridicule and abuse."

"Well, I am sorry for you, Virginia, in more ways than one. But really I'd like to know what reason you have to think that Donald Maxwell was ever in love with you; I suppose that's what you mean."

Virginia blushed deeply, as became a gentle maiden of her tender years, and replied:

"Oh, it is not a question of things which one can easily define. Love is vocal without words, you know."

"Hm! You don't mean that he made love to you and proposed to you through a phonograph? You know I had some sort of idea that love that was all wool, and a yard wide, and meant business, usually got vocal at times."

"But Mr. Maxwell and I were thrown together in such an intimate way in parish work, you know."

"Which did the throwing?"

"You don't for one moment suppose that I would intrude myself, or press myself on his attention, do you?"

"Oh my gracious, no! He is not the kind of a man to be easily impressed. He may have seen a girl or two before he met you; of course I mean just incidentally, as it were. Now, Virginia Bascom, allow me to ask you one or two plain questions. Did he ever ask you to marry him?"

"No, not in so many words."

"Did he ever give you any plain indication that he wanted to marry you? Did he ever play the mandolin under your window at midnight? Did he ever steal one of your gloves, or beg for a rose out of your bouquet, or turn the gas out when he called?"

"No, but one night he sat on the sofa with me and told me that I was a great a.s.sistance to him in his parish work, and that he felt greatly indebted to me."

"Hm! That's certainly rather p.r.o.nounced, isn't it? Did you call your father, or rise hastily and leave the room, or what did you do?"

"Well, of course it was not a proposal, but the way he did it was very suggestive, and calculated to give a wrong impression, especially as he had his arm on the back of the sofa behind me."

"Maybe he was makin' love to the sofa. Didn't you know that Donald Maxwell was engaged to be married before he ever set foot in Durford?"

"Good gracious, no! What are you talking about?"

"Well, he certainly was, for keeps."