Nell, of Shorne Mills Part 4

"Sorry, Mr. Vernon; but that is rather too large an order. Frankly, you have knocked yourself about rather more seriously than you think. The head----And you are not a particularly 'good patient,' I'm afraid. Been living rather--rapidly, eh?"

Vernon nodded.

"I've been living all the time," was the grim a.s.sent.

"I thought so. And you pay the usual penalty. Nature is inexorable, and never lets a man off with the option of a fine. If one of my fishermen had injured himself as you have done, I could let him do what he pleased; but you will have to remain here, in this room--or, at any rate, in this house--for some little time."

"Impossible!" said Vernon. "I am a stranger to these people. I can't trespa.s.s on their good nature; I've been nuisance enough already----"

"Oh, nonsense," retorted the doctor calmly. "We are not savages in these parts. They'd enjoy nursing and taking care of you. The good lady of the house is just dying for some little excitement like this. It's a quiet place; you couldn't be in a better; and whether you could or couldn't doesn't matter, for you've got to stay here for the present, unless you want brain fever and the princ.i.p.al part in a funeral."

Drake Vernon set his lips tight, then shrugged his shoulders, and in silence watched the doctor's preparations for setting the arm.

It is a painful operation, but during its accomplishment the patient gave no sign, either facial or vocal, of the agony endured. The doctor softly patted the splintered arm and looked at him keenly.

"Been in the service, Mr. Vernon?" he said.

Vernon glanced at him sharply.

"How did you know that?" he demanded reluctantly.

"By the way you held your arm," replied the doctor. "Was in the service myself, when a young army doctor. Oh, don't be afraid; I am not going to ask questions; and--and, like my tribe, I am as discreet as an owl. Now, I'll just give you a sleeping draft, and will look in in the evening, to see if it has taken effect; and to-morrow, if you haven't brain fever, you will be on the road to recovery. I'm candid, because I want you to understand that if you worry yourself----"

"Make the draft a strong one; I'm accustomed to narcotics," interrupted Vernon quietly.

"Opium, or chloral, or what?"

"Chloral," was the reply.

"Right. Comfortable?"

"Oh, yes. Wait a moment. I was hunting with the Devon and Somerset to-day. I know scarcely any one--not one of the people, I may say; but--well, I don't want a fuss. Perhaps you won't mind keeping my accident, and my presence here to yourself?"

"Certainly," said the doctor. "There is no friend--relative--you would like sent for?"

"Good Lord, no!" responded Mr. Vernon. "I shall have to get away in a day or two."

"Will you?" grunted the old doctor to himself, as he went down the stairs.

The day pa.s.sed slowly. The little house was filled with an air of suppressed excitement, which was kept going by Mrs. Lorton, who, whenever Nell or Molly moved, appeared from unexpected places, attired in a tea gown, and hissed a rebuking and warning "Hush!" which penetrated to the remotest corner of the house, and would certainly have disturbed the patient but for the double dose of sulphonal which the doctor; had administered.

About the time she expected d.i.c.k to return, Nell went down the road to meet him, fearing that he might enter singing or whistling; and when she saw him lounging up the hill, with a string of fish in his hand, she ran to him, and, catching his arm, began to tell her story in a whisper, as if the injured Mr. Vernon were within hearing.

d.i.c.k stared, and emitted a low whistle.

"'Pon my word, you've been a-going of it, Nell! Sounds like a play: 'The Mysterious Stranger and the Village Maiden.' Scene one. Enter the stranger: 'My horse is weary; no human habitation nigh. Where to find a resting place for my tired steed and my aching head! Ah! what is this? A simple child of Nature. I will seek direction at her hands.' Horse takes fright; mysterious stranger is thrown. Maiden falls on her knees: 'Ah, Heaven! 'tis he! 'tis he!'"

Nell laughed, but her face crimsoned.

"d.i.c.k, don't be an idiot, if you can help it. I know it is difficult----"

"Spare your blushes, my child," he retorted blandly. "The Mysterious S.

will turn out to be a commercial traveler with a wife and seven children. But, Nell, what does mamma say?"

"She likes it," said Nell, with a smile. "She is happier and more interested than I have ever seen her."

d.i.c.k struck an att.i.tude and his forehead.

"Can it be--oh, can it be that the romance will end another way? Are we going to lose our dear mamma? Grateful stranger--love at first sight----"

"d.i.c.k, you are the worst kind of imbecile! He is years younger than mamma--young enough to be her son. Now, d.i.c.k, dry up, and don't make a noise. He is really ill. I know it by the way the old doctor smiles. He always smiles and grins when the case is serious. You'll be quiet, d.i.c.k, dear?"

"This tender solicitude for the sufferer touches me deeply," he whimpered, mopping his eyes. "Oh, yes, I'll be quiet, Nell. Much as I love excitement, I'm not anxious for a funeral, and a bereaved and heartbroken sister. Shall I take my boots off before entering the abode of sickness, or shall I walk in on my head?"

The day pa.s.sed. d.i.c.k, driven almost mad by the enforced quietude, and the incessant "Hushes!" of Mrs. Lorton, betook himself to his tool shed to mend his fishing rod--and cut his fingers--and then to bed. Molly went to the sick room in the capacity of nurse, and Mrs. Lorton, after desiring everybody that she should be called if "a change took place,"

retired to the rest earned by pleasurable excitement; and Nell stole past the spare-room door to her nest under the roof.

As she undressed slowly, she paused now and again to listen. All was quiet; the injured man was still sleeping. She went to the open window and looked out seaward. Something was stirring within her, something that was like the faint motion of the air before a storm. Is it possible that we have some premonition of the first change in our lives; the change which is to alter the course of every feeling, every action? She knew too little of life or the world to ask herself the question; but she was conscious of a sensation of unrest, of disquietude. She could not free herself from the haunting presence of the handsome face, of the dark and weary, wistful eyes. The few sentences he had spoken kept repeating themselves in her ear, striking on her brain with soft persistence. The very name filled her thoughts. "Drake Vernon, Drake Vernon!"

At last, with an impatient movement, with a blush of shame for the way in which her mind was dwelling on him, she left the window and fell on her knees at the narrow bed to say her prayers.

But his personality intruded even on her devotions, and, half unconsciously, she added to her simple formula a supplication for his recovery.

Then she got into bed and fell asleep. But in a very little while she started awake, seeing the horse shy and fall, feeling the man's head upon her lap. She sat up and listened. His room was beneath hers--the cottage was built in the usual thin and unsubstantial fashion--and every sound from the room below rose to hers. She heard him moan; once, twice; then his voice, thick and husky, called for water.

She listened. The faint cry rose again and again. She could not endure it, and she got out of bed, put on her dressing gown, and slipped down the stairs. She could hear the voice more plainly now, and the cry was still, "Water! water!"

She opened the door, and, pausing a moment, her face crimson, stole toward the bed. Molly was in her chair, with her head lolling over the back, as if it were a guillotine, her huge mouth wide open, fast asleep.

Nell stood and looked down at the unconscious man. The dark-brown hair was tangled, the white face drawn with pain, the lips dry with fever, one hand, clenched, opening and shutting spasmodically, on the counterpane.

That divine pity which only a woman can feel filled and overran her heart. She poured some water into a gla.s.s and set it to his lips. He could not drink lying down, and, with difficulty, she raised his head on her bosom. He drank long and greedily; then, as she slowly--dare one write "reluctantly"?--lowered his head to the pillow, he muttered:

"Thanks, thanks, Luce! That was good!"

CHAPTER III.

"Luce!"

It was a strange name--the name of a woman, of course. Nell wondered whether it was his sister--or sweetheart? Perhaps it was his wife?

She waited for some minutes; then she woke Molly, and returned to her own room.

Drake Vernon was unconscious for some days, and Nell often stole in and stood beside the bed; sometimes she changed the ice bandages, or gave him something to drink. He wandered and talked a great deal, but it was incoherent talk, in which the names of the persons he whispered or shouted were indistinguishable. On the fourth day he recovered consciousness, but was terribly weak, and the doctor would not permit Mrs. Lorton to enter the room.