Zula Part 47

"There won't be any of my own to trouble myself about, if you and my father have the handling of it."

"We'll talk about that some other time," said Max, as he left the house, without even a good bye to the woman he called his wife.

"Where are you going?" Irene called out, as he pa.s.sed through the doorway.

"That is my business," he replied, angrily.

"It will be mine, too," she said, as she arose, trembling with rage.

It was her intention to follow Max, but when she tried to put on her wrap she found herself unable to do so, sinking back upon the couch.

"I will not bear it, so help me, heaven. He shall not treat me so, leaving me ill and alone. I will follow him," she said, trying again to arise, but was prostrated by a deathly faintness which followed her effort.

"Mary," she called.

Mary came hurrying in.

"What is it?" she asked in alarm.

"I want you to bring me a cup of strong tea--no, a good brandy sling will be better, I am really chilly."

Mary brought the brandy.

"I wanted to go out, but when I tried to get ready I found I could not stand, and if I fail after this brandy has warmed me up I want you to do the errand for me."

"What is it?"

"I want you to hurry down town and see if you can see where Max has gone."

"Why," said Mary, "I can't leave you alone."

"Go on, I say. I can take care of myself," Irene said angrily, at the same time making another effort to arise, but this time sinking back in a dead faint.

"Oh! oh! Such a time as I do have with her, she so fretful," said Mary. "I do wonder what has come between those two anyway; they quarrel all the time lately, and she so sick, too. Oh, dear, I wonder if she's going to die?"

"No," said Irene, as she slowly opened her eyes. "I won't die. No, that would please him too well. He would be glad to come and find me dead, but I won't die, I won't die."

"Why, how you talk; of course your husband don't want you to die.

Please lie down. You will get crazy if you talk in that way."

"Has Max come yet?" she asked, when in the morning she awoke and found Mary sitting near her.

"No; but I think he will be here by breakfast time," said Mary.

A cold fear shot through Irene's heart.

The day pa.s.sed, and still another, and Max did not come. Irene was growing extremely nervous. With constant watching and wishing she at last gave up in despair. She sent a message to her father, but at the end of a week she had received no word from him, and, lying there alone and unable to lift her head from her pillow, seemingly deserted by her father and the man who "could not live without her," Irene Wilmer gave herself up to the bitterest reflections. She wept until the fountain of tears was entirely exhausted. She cursed the day that Max Brunswick ever crossed her path, to take her away from her home and a husband who would never have spoken a harsh word to her. She could look back now and see all that she had lost. She could see, now that disease had laid hold of her and held her down with hands which could not be defied, that she had lost the whole world. She tried to picture something brighter than the dark cloud she saw. She tried to fancy herself back in Scott's home, and that she was living there an honored wife. Amid her vain fancies she fell asleep. She saw herself on a broad sea of deep and muddy waters, tossed up and down on the angry waves, and Scott standing with folded arms upon a high and ma.s.sive rock above. How like a G.o.d he seemed to her, as he stood there with his fine manly form outlined against the blue sky above, his auburn locks lifted from his n.o.ble brow by the breeze, and his searching eyes gazing down upon her. She reached out her hands, and called upon him to save her, but he closed his lips firmly, and still retaining his rigid position, he gazed at her as she floated away and went sinking down, down, down.

"Oh, Scott," she moaned, as she sank below the surface, "save me, save me."

"Why, who in the world are you calling for?" asked Mary. "Who is Scott? Why you must have been awfully choked, for you gasped two or three times as though you could hardly breathe."

"I had a terrible dream, and I have such pain in my chest too."

"I believe I'll go for the doctor," said Mary.

"Yes, for I don't see that I shall ever get better unless I have some medicine. Bring my purse."

Mary did as directed, and when Irene had opened it she uttered a cry:

"Oh, the wretch, to think that he could do that."

"What is it?" Mary asked.

"He has taken nearly all my money, and there is but fifty dollars left. Oh, what in heaven's name will become of me?"

"Let me bring the doctor at any rate," said Mary.

"Yes, go; I must have something to help me up. I shall go wild to lie here another day."

Mary called the physician.

"Do you think I am going to die?" Irene asked abruptly.

The doctor looked at her a moment in silence.

"I want to know just what you think. If you think I won't get well, I want to know it, and I want you to tell me what is the matter."

"You have consumption."

"Oh, don't tell me that," she said in a trembling voice.

"You ordered me to tell you the truth."

"Yes, I know. How soon do you think I will die?"

"That, madam, is only a question of time. Your disease has pa.s.sed the aid of human skill, and you may as well know the worst, if you have any business to attend to. Consumption is very flattering, and it is quite impossible to determine when the disease will meet with a change. You may live a year and you may not."

"Tell me truly; do you think I will not live long?"

"I cannot really tell," the doctor said evasively. "I think your time is short."

"Will I never get up again?"

"Yes, I may strengthen you and alleviate your pain."

"So I must die," Irene said, as the physician, after having prepared her medicine, left her. "Oh, dear, it's awful to die; I wish I could live, but if I must die I wish I were back with Scott. I am sure he never would have left me alone, as I am now. He would have tried to make it pleasant for me. I wonder if he would let me go back there.

Oh, it makes me shudder to think of dying out here alone; it doesn't seem as though I could. I believe I could die easier if I could get back to Scott. But, oh, I am afraid he never would speak to me again.