The House Of Fulfilment Part 10

His nice blue eyes looked quite distressed.

"How bad?" asked Harriet steadily.

He looked at her quite miserably, the boy, then gathered himself together.

"May I ask--I beg pardon--may I know who I am talking to?" though true to tell he knew who she was, living as he did across from her, but in his young embarra.s.sment did not know how to say so.

The tall, beautiful woman stood a moment before him, then a slow colour came up over her throat and face. "I am Miss Blair--Major Rathbone is--"

Alexina had come close to her side and her young eyes were on the doctor's appealingly.

He understood; doubtless he had heard the two names connected before; the affairs of the wealthy Miss Blair and the somewhat famous editor were likely to be talked over in a city the size of Louisville, or, perhaps, being young, he merely divined. His distress increased; he looked quite wretched. "It's bad--I'm mighty sorry to be the one to tell you."

Did she grow taller, whiter? "Are you--are the doctors still--"

"They are through for the present and coming down now."

"Then I will go to him. Oh, but I must"--this to the horrified little Sister's upraised hands of protest and headshake of negation.

"It's against all rules," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the little Sister.

Miss Blair addressed herself to the young doctor.

"Kindly take me to the room," she said.

The abashed young fellow looked from one to the other. But he started.

The little Sister, however, hastily interposing herself between Miss Blair and progress, was heard to murmur that name of authority--the Mother.

"Go and bring her," said Harriet.

The Sister departed in haste, to return speedily with the Mother, her calm face beneath its bands mild, benignant, but inexorable.

"But I am," returned Harriet to anything she could say. "I am going to him."

The dominant calmness of the Mother had met its equal. Finally, in her turn, she retreated behind authority and mentioned Father Ryan.

"Oh," said Harriet, "go and bring him."

He came, heavy of jowl, keen and humorous of eye, but his manner disturbed, distraught, as with one whose absorption is elsewhere.

Suddenly Harriet remembered that he was the intimate, the friend of Major Rathbone.

"I am going to him," said Harriet; "nothing that you can say makes any difference."

The Father gazed at her thoughtfully. Then he nodded. "No," he said; "you are right; nothing will."

Just then the two other physicians came down the stairs.

"A word with you first, gentlemen, please," said the Father. The four men gathered at the foot of the stairway.

Watching, an outsider would have said that the priest and the young doctor were pleaders with the others for the cause of Miss Blair.

Later, the Mother herself led Harriet up the stairs and along a corridor, the young doctor following with Alexina.

"I think I--do you think I ought to go with her?" Alexina had faltered to him.

The two young things gazed at each other indeterminate. Alexina's eyes were swimming, like a child's, with unshed tears. Never has tragedy such epic qualities as in youth. Then he turned and led the way. "Yes," he told her, "I think if I were you I would."

Harriet was by the bed when they entered, gazing down on the lean, brown face of the man, whose eyes were closed. The Sister in charge, sitting on the other side, was speaking in a low voice. Had she seen fit to tell what she knew?

For Harriet turned as they entered and looked at them. Her face was set as in marble. It was cold, it was stern; only, the eyes fixed on the young doctor's face were imploring.

"Will he wake first?" she asked.

The young fellow seemed to shrink before the majesty of her suffering.

Alexina put out a hand to touch her and drew it back, afraid. If only she were not so superbly self-controlled.

"Yes, he will most likely awake," he a.s.sured her, and must have done so even if he had not thought it.

She took off her hat, a large, festive affair with plumes and jewelled buckles, and dropped her wrap. There was a low chair near the bed. She drew it close and sat down, her eyes on the face on the pillow. Jewels gleamed in the lace of her gown, and the shining silk of its folds trailed the floor about her.

Alexina stole across to a far and shadowed corner of the room and sat down by a table. She was crying and striving to keep it noiseless.

The doctor stood irresolute, then made a movement.

"Do you have to go?" said Harriet, turning.

"No; I expect to be here in the building all night. There might come a--change."

"Stay, please," she asked him; "here."

He sat down by the open fire and she turned again to the face on the pillow.

The night pa.s.sed. Now and then the Sister moved noiselessly about, or the doctor came to the bedside, lifted the inert hand, laid it down, and went back to the fire.

Alexina moved from her chair to the window or to the fire and back again. Now and again she knew that she must have slept a little, her head against the table. So the night pa.s.sed.

The square framed by the window sash was turning grey when there came a movement, and the eyelids of the face on the pillow lifted. Harriet was leaning over before the others, the nurse or doctor, got to the bed, and must have been there when the eyes opened. She must have seen consciousness of her presence in them, too, and possibly questioning, for she spoke rapidly, eagerly, like one who had said the thing over and over in readiness for the moment, though her voice shook. "You said you loved me from your soul, and, living or dead, would go on loving and wanting my love?"

There seemed no wonder in the voice replying, only content. There was even the usual touch of humour in his reply. "And will go on wanting your love," he said.

"But I am here to tell you how I love you," she returned.

The room was still, like death. Then in the man's voice: "Is this pity, Harriet?"

Her voice hurried on. "And how, living or dead, I will go on loving and wanting you."

It was no pity that trembled in her voice, it was pa.s.sion. He moved.

After a time he spoke again. It was to call her name, to say it as to himself. This time he knew it was love this woman was talking of, not pity.