Only an Incident Part 12

Phebe looked up at her, smiling strangely.

"Oh, Gerald," she whispered, while two big tears rolled slowly down on to the pillow, "I wish I might die to-night! I don't think I can ever be so happy again!"

"Nonsense!" said Gerald, with utmost sternness. "Don't talk about dying.

I won't allow it." And then she suddenly put down her head beside Phebe's, and burst into tears.

CHAPTER VIII.

GERALD OBEYS ORDERS.

In an incredibly short time Denham brought back not only Dr. Dennis, whom he had caught just setting out for a stolen game of whist with Mr.

Upjohn, during the absence of that gentleman's wife at prayer-meeting, but also Soeur Angelique, whose mere presence in a sick-room was more than half the cure. And then he sat in the dark, disordered room below, impatiently enough, anxiously waiting for news from Phebe. The time seemed to him interminable before at last the door opened, and Gerald entered, bearing a lamp. The vivid light, flung so full upon her, showed traces of pa.s.sionate weeping; and her white dress all scorched and burned and hopelessly ruined, with the rich lace hanging in shreds from the sleeves, made her a startling contrast indeed to the usually calm, self-possessed, perfectly-dressed Gerald Vernor.

Denham sprang forward to take the heavy lamp from her. "How is she, please?"

Gerald started. "What, you here?"

"Did you think I could leave till I knew?"

"Oh, of course not, I had forgotten you. I was only thinking of Phebe."

"But how is she?"

"Better. She is burned about the shoulders and a little on the arms, but not seriously, and nothing that will disfigure. It is so fortunate. The doctor is still with her, but she is much easier now, and there is nothing to fear."

"Ah, what a relief! It seemed as if I should never hear. She is really in no danger then?"

"None."

"Thank G.o.d! As you came in you looked so distressed I feared--"

"When it was all over and there was nothing to cry about, I cried,"

interrupted Gerald. "Women are always fools. I'll except Mrs. Whittridge, however. She has been the greatest comfort to Phebe."

"It is Soeur Angelique's characteristic privilege always to be a comfort, I believe," answered Denham, recovering his light-heartedness in a flash. "Might I inquire if you have any especial object with this lamp?

Shall I do any thing particularly with it?"

"Let it down, please--anywhere. I remembered the room was dark, and ran down to put it to rights before Mrs. Lane should comeback. Her orderly soul would have a spasm if she came upon it suddenly like this."

"It was well I had no light," said Denham, looking around him. "It would have frightened even me. Shan't I call some one?"

"It's the ridiculous fashion of the house to suppose it never needs servants at this hour. There's not one within reach."

"You must let me help you then. Is this the table-cover?"

"Thanks. I am afraid the fire has done for it, but we can't help that.

Pull it a little farther to your side, please. Farther still. That's too far. So. That's right. Now the lamp here. Now the books. Cover up the holes with them."

"Ah, Miss Lydia's pet cup! and her little favorite statuette!"

"Hideous things! I'm glad they're smashed."

"Will you equally enjoy imparting to her the fact of their loss?"

"Somebody else may do that. I had my share telling her about Phebe."

"I suppose she was terribly shocked, poor old soul. I don't wonder."

"She had an instant attack of hysterics, and I _did_ wonder," rejoined Gerald, tartly. "But as I told you, women are always fools, and nervous women the worst ones, I haven't any patience with them. I was vexed enough with her for keeping me from Phebe. I don't believe she was ever hurried so out of an attack before."

"I'm afraid there's need of a broom or something here, Miss Vernor. This vase is in a thousand pieces."

Gerald seized the hearth-brush and was on her knees by him in a moment.

"The lamp, please, Mr. Halloway. Set it on the floor an instant."

Denham moved it as desired, and stood looking down at her as she began deftly brushing up the scattered bits.

"Miss Vernor!" he suddenly exclaimed in a shocked voice. The bright light, falling broadly across her hands, showed two great angry-red blotches just above one of the delicate wrists. He stooped and laid masterful hold of the long handle of the brush.

"Well?" she said, stopping perforce and looking up in surprise.

"What is it?"

"Your arm--you are burned, badly burned."

Gerald made a little sound of contempt for all reply.

"It should be dressed at once. How it must pain you!"

Gerald looked at her arm reflectively. "I haven't had time to feel," she said, vainly trying to pull her sleeve over it. "It will make an ugly scar, won't it? I shall have to abandon elbow sleeves. Now please let go the brush."

"Miss Vernor, why should you be so cruel to yourself? Do go up to the doctor at once!"

"And take him away from Phebe? I will not. It won't hurt any more now than it has done already. I must ask you to let me have the brush, Mr.

Halloway. I am losing time."

Halloway relinquished it without speaking, and went quietly out of the room, and Gerald unconcernedly resumed her work, scarcely pausing to wonder where he had gone or what he intended. He returned just as she had finished, and lifting the lamp back to the table, called to her: "Will you come here, please?"

"What in the world have you there?" she inquired, coming up to him in sheer curiosity.

"Soap. I found the way to the kitchen, you see. I had to bring the water in this tin thing. I didn't know where to look for a cup."

"Pray what is it for?"

"For you. Soap is good for burns. Will you let me take your hand, please?"