The Wall Between Part 26

Or it might be the woman was one at whose door the G.o.d had never knocked.

Oh, the pity of it!

For after all did life hold any gift so rare, so supreme, as the perfect devotion of a man and woman who loved one another. It must be a wonderful thing, that divine miracle of Love.

Dreamily Lucy's gaze wandered off to the sunny fields, and with solemn realization it came to her that should Ellen die, they and all the Webster lands would be hers, to do with as she pleased. There were so many things she had been powerless to get her aunt to do. The house needed repairs if it were to be preserved for coming generations: certain patches of soil had been worked too long and should be allowed to lie fallow; there were scores of other improvements she would like to see carried out. Now she would be free to better the property as she saw fit. She would talk with Martin Howe about it. He was br.i.m.m.i.n.g with all the latest farming methods.

She would get him to buy her a cultivator such as he used in his own garden, and a wheel-hoe. He could advise her, too, about plowing buckwheat into the soil. And Martin would know what to do about shingling the barn and cementing the cellar.

In fact, it was amazing to discover how inseparable Martin seemed to be from her plans. He was so strong, so wise, just the type of man a woman could depend upon for sympathy and guidance. Absently she twisted the ring on her finger.

Her mind had traveled to the events of the morning, to his battle with himself and final victory. How appealing had been his surrender! The stern personality had melted into a tenderness as winning as a child's.

If he loved a woman and she loved him---- She started guiltily to find Ellen staring at her with vague, troubled eyes.

"Where--where--am--I--?" asked the woman in a weak, quavering voice.

"Upstairs in your own room, Aunt Ellen," replied Lucy gently.

"How'd I come here?"

"You didn't feel very well."

"Yes. I remember now. I fell, didn't I?"

"I'm afraid so."

"I was fussin' at somethin', an' it made me dizzy. 'Twas the heat, I guess. Where'd you find me?"

"In the kitchen."

"An' you managed to bring me here?"

Her niece hesitated.

"Yes," she answered firmly.

Ellen paused and with dread the girl awaited her next question. But no question came. Either the clouded mind was in too vague a mood to grasp details, or the invalid did not care. She seemed to be thinking.

"So I fell," she repeated at last.

"Yes."

Again there was a pause, and during the stillness Lucy plainly heard the sound of approaching wagon wheels. It must be Martin with the doctor. She rose softly.

"Where you goin'?" demanded her aunt.

"Just downstairs a minute. I think the doctor----"

"You didn't send Tony for the doctor!" the invalid exclaimed, a feeble querulousness vibrating in the words.

"Yes; I didn't know what else to do."

"He can't help any."

"Perhaps he can."

"I tell you he can't," snapped Ellen. "I know well enough what's the matter with me without bein' told. I've had a shock. My feet are all cold and numb: I can't feel nothin' in 'em, nor move 'em. There ain't no remedy for that. You're only wastin' money gettin' the man here to tell me what I already know. I shan't see him."

Lucy waited a moment.

"I'm sorry I sent for him if you don't want him," she said. "But now that he is here, don't you think he'd better come up? We don't need to have him come again."

Ellen did not respond at once. Then with more animation than she had exhibited, she said:

"I s'pose we'll have to pay him whether he comes up or not, so I may's well get my money's worth out of him. Go and fetch him. He'll likely be tickled to death to see with his own eyes how bad off I am so'st he can go back an' blab the news in the village. Folks will be thankful to have something new to talk about."

Lucy could not but smile at the characteristic remark. She went out and soon returned with Doctor Marsh tiptoeing gingerly behind her.

He was a heavy, florid man whom the combination of heat and speed had transformed into a panting mechanism. Mopping the beads of perspiration from his brow, he started to seat himself at Ellen's bedside, but the woman waved him off.

"Don't come any nearer," she called, "and don't bring that bag of pills and plasters in here, either. I shan't need nothin' you've got. I know that well's you do; an' I know better'n you do that there ain't no help for me. You needn't stay, an' you needn't come in. Good mornin'."

Having delivered herself of this ultimatum at a single breath, Ellen turned her head and closed her eyes.

The doctor looked at her in astonishment but did not move.

"Clip right along home," reiterated the sick woman without looking at the physician. "My niece'll pay you as you go out. I reckon you won't charge more'n half price, since you ain't done nothin'."

"I usually have----"

"Mebbe. But this call ain't like your usual ones, is it?"

"No," responded the doctor with dignity, "I can't say that it is."

"Then you can't expect to get so much for it," piped Ellen triumphantly.

"My niece will settle with you. Give him a dollar, Lucy--not a cent more.

He'll have fun enough gossipin' about me to make up the rest of the fee."

Doctor Marsh, his face a study in outraged decorum, stalked indignantly from the room. Ellen, peeping from beneath her lids, watched him with satisfaction.

"Has he gone?" she demanded, when Lucy returned.

"Yes."

"Thank the Lord. The fool doesn't know anything, anyway. Now you go back downstairs an' finish up your work. There ain't no call for you to be idlin' the day out, even if I am."

"I don't like to leave you alone."

"Pooh, pooh! I can't no more'n die, an' if I was to start doin' that you couldn't stop me."