The Definite Object Part 75

"Pray what is it, Mrs. Trapes?" A feeble whisper, but, at the sound, faint though it was, Mrs. Trapes started, half rose from her chair, sank down again heavily and letting fall her knitting, stared at the invalid.

"Land sakes, alive!" she gasped.

"Now you've dropped it!" said Ravenslee, his voice a little stronger.

"Oh, dear beloved land o' my fathers--it's come!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands, "the Lord be praised for evermore, it's come!"

"What has?"

"The turn! And you've took it! Doctor Dennison says last night as you'd take it soon one way or t' other. But all night long while they waited and watched here, you've laid so pale an' still as a corp'. An' now, while I'm a-settin' here, you go an' take th' turn so sudden as fair takes my breath away, Lord be praised! I mean--I mean--oh, I guess I'll go wake the doctor."

"But you haven't told me what it is," said Ravenslee drowsily.

"What what is?"

"That very peculiar--woolly thing."

"This?" said Mrs. Trapes, picking up the object in question, "this is my knittin'. Doctor said t' call him th' moment th' turn came--" Her voice seemed to sink to a slumberous murmur as, having smoothed his pillow, she crossed the room and very softly closed the door behind her; wherefore Ravenslee blinked sleepily at the door until its panels seemed slowly to become confused and merge one into another, changing gradually to a cloud, soft, billowy, and ever growing until it had engulfed him altogether, and he sank down and down into unknown deeps of forgetfulness and blessed quietude.

She was knitting; knitting a shapeless something in red wool, and Ravenslee thought he had never known her elbows more threatening of aspect nor seen wool quite so red and woolly; wherefore he presently spoke, and his voice was no longer a feeble croak.

"Pray what is it, Mrs. Trapes?"

Mrs. Trapes jumped.

"Well, for th' love o' heaven!" she exclaimed, and down fell her knitting.

"Now you've dropped it!" said Ravenslee a little petulantly.

"Your very--identical--words!" said Mrs. Trapes in awed tones. "Nacher sure 'moves in a mysterious way her wonders to perform'!"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean as them was the identical words as you addressed to me when you took th' turn two days ago!"

"Two days!" exclaimed Ravenslee, staring.

"Ever since you did take the turn two days ago, you've laid there so quiet an' peaceful--no more dreams an' ravin'--you've jest laid there 'wrapped in infant slumbers pure an' light', Mr. Geoffrey--Ravenslee, I mean."

"Why then, it's about time I got up. If you'll kindly--er--retire and send Patterson, I'll get dressed."

"Dressed?" echoed Mrs. Trapes, hollow-voiced and grim. "Get up? Lord, Mr. Geoffrey!"

"Certainly. Why not?"

"What, you--you as is only jest out o' the valley o' th' shadder! You as we've all give up for dead over an' over! You get up? Lord, Mr.

Geoffrey--I mean Ravenslee!"

"Oh," said Ravenslee, knitting his dark brows thoughtfully, "have I been sick long?"

"Four weeks."

"Weeks!" he exclaimed, staring incredulously.

"Four weeks an' a bit! For four weary, woeful weeks you've been layin'

here with death hoverin' over you, Mr. Geoffrey. For four long weeks we've been waitin' for ye t' draw your las' breath, Mr. Ravenslee. For four 'eart-rendin' weeks your servants has been carryin' on below stairs an' robbin' you somethin' shameful."

"My servants? Oh, yes, they generally do. But tell me--"

"The amount o' food as they consoom constant! The waste! The extravagance! Th' beer an' wine an' sperrits they swaller! Them is sure the thirstiest menials ever I heard tell of! An' the butler--such airs, such a appet.i.te! An' sherry an' bitters t' make it worse! Lord, Mr.

Geoffrey, your servants sure is a ravenin' horde!"

"Don't be too hard on 'em, Mrs. Trapes," he answered gravely, "I'm afraid I've neglected them quite a good deal. But it's a woman's hand they need over them."

"It's a pleeceman's club they need on 'em--frequent! I'd learn 'em different, I guess--"

"So you shall, Mrs. Trapes, if you will. You are precisely the kind of housekeeper I need."

"What--me?"

"You, Mrs. Trapes. A lonely bachelor needs some one to--er take care of his servants for him, to see they don't overeat themselves too often; or--er--strain themselves spring-cleaning out of season--or--"

"But you got a wife t' do all that for you. I guess Hermy'll know how to manage."

"Hermione!" said Ravenslee, starting, "wife? Am I really--married?"

"Sure! Didn't she go an' let you wed her when we all thought you was dyin'?"

"Oh, did she?" said he very gently. "Why then, it--it wasn't all a dream?"

"Mr. Geoffrey, Hermy's been Mrs. Ravenslee, your lawful wedded wife, just exactly four weeks."

Ravenslee stared up at the ceiling, dreamy-eyed.

"Good heavens!" he murmured. "I thought I'd only dreamed it."

"Hermy's watched over you night an' day a'most--like th' guardian angel she is--prayin' f' you, workin' f' you, fightin' death away from you.

Oh, I guess it's her fault as you're alive this day! Anyway, her an'

you's man an' wife till death do you part."

"But death--hasn't, you see."

"An' death sure ain't goin' to--yet."

"No, I'm--I'm very much alive still, it seems."