The Passion for Life Part 57

"I am forbidden to talk, sir; the doctor won't allow me. You see----"

"What doctor?" I interrupted.

"Dr. Rhomboid, sir."

"Dr. Rhomboid? Dr. Rhomboid?" The name was familiar to me.

"Where am I, Simpson?"

"You are at Trecarrel, sir; Miss Lethbridge insisted on----"

"Miss Lethbridge! Miss Lethbridge!" Then like a flash the veil dropped from my memory. I called to mind the struggle on the beach, the hand-to-hand fight, the plot which I had determined to expose.

"Miss Lethbridge insisted on my being brought here, did she, Simpson?"

"Yes, sir; you see, sir, that man Liddicoat struck you with something heavy. I--I--but there, I mustn't tell you."

"Yes, you must, Simpson; I insist upon knowing everything. I remember all that happened now: I was leaning against the rock waiting, when the dog barked, and the man Liddicoat sprang upon me. I struggled with him for a long time, and then suddenly everything became dark."

"Yes, sir, after they had finished----"

"Finished what?" I asked.

"I can't tell you now, sir; but Miss Lethbridge insisted on your being brought here. And really, sir, the road is easier here than it is to our house, and I gave in."

"But how did Miss Lethbridge get there?"

"I don't know, sir. I expect she will be telling you herself as soon as you are strong enough. Then I insisted upon sending for Dr. Rhomboid, and, sir, as Providence would have it, he was staying at the Tolgarrick Manor Hotel. The Squire had heard of it, sir; that was why, as soon as you were brought here...."

I felt that my mind was weakening, and that I had no longer any strength to grasp the things which Simpson was saying. I lost interest in them, too, and I remember falling asleep with the thought in my mind that I was in the house where Isabella Lethbridge had insisted upon bringing me.

I awoke again, and I knew that I was stronger; everything was outlined more clearly to me. Not only the objects by which I was surrounded, but my thoughts seemed more definite. It was now night; the room in which I lay was only illumined by a candle, but I saw everything plainly.

Sitting by my side was the nurse whom I remembered previously; she started up on hearing me move and looked at me anxiously.

"You need not fear, nurse," I said. "I am better; the cobwebs have gone."

The nurse smiled, then she placed her hand upon my wrist.

"Yes," she said, "you are better, stronger. Can you bear to have this in your mouth a minute?"

"I can bear anything, nurse."

Evidently she was pleased with me, for a minute later she smiled confidently.

"Your pulse is normal and you have no fever," she said.

"Why am I here, nurse? What has happened to me? Tell me everything."

"No, no; go to sleep now, and in the morning you may be strong enough to bear it."

"I should sleep far better if I knew everything," I replied; "don't be foolish, nurse."

"What do you want to know?"

"Dr. Rhomboid has been here, I am told," I said. "What did he say about me? When I saw him in London he wrote my death-warrant."

"Now he has given you a reprieve," was her reply, "and more than a reprieve. In fact, he said that if you got through the operation you would live!"

I was not surprised; I felt that life, and not death, was surging within me.

"Don't try to keep things back from me, nurse," I said. "I remember everything that took place. I remember the struggle on the beach and the darkness which followed. Simpson tells me that I have been brought to Mr. Lethbridge's house, and that, as if by special Providence, Dr.

Rhomboid was staying at the Tolgarrick Hotel. What was his verdict?"

"He sent for a London surgeon," said the nurse, "and he told us that if you recovered from the operation you would live. You have recovered."

"Then he made a wrong diagnosis in London. That means I had something growing in me, and now it's cut out I shall live?"

The nurse nodded and smiled.

"That's all I must tell you now," she said; "take this and go to sleep."

I obeyed her like a child; a feeling of utter contentment possessed me, and I felt myself dropping into a deep, untroubled sleep.

When I awoke again I had a feeling that it was morning. I knew that the dewdrops were shining on the gra.s.s, that the day was new-born; I knew, too, that the sun was rising in a cloudless sky, that the time was summer.

I was in the same room, but somehow it was different. A new atmosphere pervaded it; I saw vases of flowers, flowers that were wet with the morning dew, flowers that had been gathered that morning. Their perfume was as sweet as the spices of Araby. A feeling of delicious restfulness possessed me; I was as weak as a child; but there was new life in my being, a life that would overcome everything. I closed my eyes with the consciousness that all was well; nothing troubled me, no thought of care weighed upon my brain or heart. I caught myself remembering those lines of Browning:

"The lark's on the wing, The morning's at seven, The hillside's dew-pearled, The snail's on the thorn; G.o.d's in His heaven, All's right with the world!"

I heard a sob close by my side.

I did not know how it was, but the sob seemed to be in accord with my thoughts, for it contained no sorrow.

I opened my eyes and saw Isabella Lethbridge leaning over my bed. I didn't speak, I couldn't; my life was filled with wonder, a wonder which I cannot put into words.

She was dressed, I remember, all in white; this I thought strange, because I imagined she would show some kind of mourning for her dead brother; but I gave it only a pa.s.sing thought, for it was of no importance; the thing that impressed me was the new light in her eyes, the new joy in her face.

The barrier which had always stood between us had melted away; she was transformed, glorified. There was no need to tell me that a wondrous change had come over her; that some joy to which she had hitherto been blind possessed her; that a new power was pulsating in her life: Isabella Lethbridge was transformed, beautified beyond all thought.

We looked at each other without speaking a word; there was no need for words; words at that moment would have seemed like sacrilege.

A thousand questions flashed through my mind, but I did not ask them; there was only one question which I longed to ask, a question which embraced everything.

Still we did not speak; we remained looking in each other's eyes, as if each were trying to find what we looked for.

Then I saw the tears well up, saw them trickle down her cheeks, saw her lips quiver, and then she could no longer hold back her words.

"Don't you know, don't you know?" she sobbed.