A Day of Fate Part 35

"Miss Warren," I said gravely, "that laugh isn't natural. I never heard you laugh so before. Something _did_ happen."

A flash of lightning gleamed across the window, and the girl gave an involuntary and apprehensive start.

Almost as instantaneously the events I had forgotten pa.s.sed through my mind. In strong and momentary excitement I rose on my elbow, and looked for their confirmation in her troubled face.

"Oh, forget--forget it all!" she exclaimed, in a low, distressed voice, and she came and stood before me with clasped hands.

"Would to G.o.d I had died!" I said, despairingly, and I sank back faint and crushed. "I had no right to speak--to think of you as I did.

Good-by."

"Mr. Morton--"

"Please leave me now. I'm too weak to be a man, and I would not lose your esteem."

"But you will get well--you promised me that."

"Well!" I said, in a low, bitter tone. "When can I ever be well?

Good-by."

"Mr. Morton, would you blight my life?" she asked, almost indignantly.

"Am I to blame for this?"

"Nor am I to blame. It was inevitable. Curses on a world in which one can err so fatally."

"Can you not be a brave, generous man? If this should go against you--if you will not get well--you promised me to live."

"I will exist; but can one whose heart is stone, and hope dead, _live?_ I'll do my best. No, yon are not to blame--not in the least. Take the whole comfort of that truth. Nor was I either. That Sunday _was_ the day of my fate, since for me to see you was to love you by every instinct and law of my being. But I trust, as you said, you will find me too honorable to seek that which belongs to another."

"Mr. Morton," she said, in tones of deep distress, "you saved this home; you saved Mrs. Yocomb's life; you--you saved mine. Will you embitter it?"

"Would to G.o.d I had died!" I groaned. "All would then have been well. I had fulfilled my mission."

She wrung her hands as she stood beside me. "I can't--oh, I can't endure this!" she murmured, and there was anguish in her voice.

I rallied sufficiently to take her hand as I said: "Emily Warren, I understand your crystal truth too well not to know that there is no hope for me. I'll bear my hard fate as well as I can; but you must not expect too much. And remember this: I shall be like a planet hereafter.

The little happiness I have will be but a pale reflection of yours. If you are unhappy, I shall be so inevitably. Not a shadow of blame rests on you--the first fair woman was not truer than you. I'll do my best--I'll get up again--soon, I trust, now. If you ever need a friend--but you would not so wrong me as to go to another--I won't be weak and lackadaisical. Don't make any change; let this episode in your life be between ourselves only. Good-by."

"Oh, you look so ill--so changed--what can I say--?"

Helpless tears rushed into her eyes. "You saved my life," she breathed softly; but as she turned hastily to depart she met our hostess.

"Oh, Mrs. Yocomb," she sobbed, "he knows all."

"Thee surely could not have told him--"

"Indeed I did not--it came to him like a flash."

"Mrs. Yocomb, by all that's sacred, Miss Warren is not to blame for anything--only myself. Please keep my secret; it shall not trouble any one;" and I turned my face to the wall.

"Richard Morton."

"Dear Mrs. Yocomb, give me time. I'm too sorely wounded to speak to any one."

"A man should try to do what is right under all circ.u.mstances," she said, firmly, "and it is your first and sacred duty to get well. It is time for your medicine."

I turned and said desperately, "Give me stimulants--give me anything that will make me strong, so that I may keep my word; for if ever a man was mortally weak in body and soul, I am."

"I'll do my best for thee," she said, gently, "for I feel for thee and with thee, as if thee were my own son. But I wish thee to remember now and always that the only true strength comes from Heaven."

CHAPTER VI

WEAKNESS

Soul and body are too nearly related for one to suffer without the other's sympathy. Mrs. Yocomb mercifully s.h.i.+elded me that evening, merely saying that I had seen enough company for one day. My sleep that night resulted from opiates instead of nature's impulses, and so was unrefres.h.i.+ng, and the doctor was surprised to find a change for the worse the following morning. For two or three days the scale wavered, and I scarcely held what I had gained. Mrs. Yocomb rarely left me, and I believe that I owe my life not only to her excellent nursing, but even more to her strong moral support--her gentle but unspoken sympathy. I knew she understood me, and that her mercy was infinite for my almost mortal weakness; for now that the inexplicable buoyancy which that chief of earthly hopes imparts was gone, I sank into an abyss of despondency from which I feared I could never escape. Her wisdom and intuitive delicacy led her to select Reuben as her chief a.s.sistant. I found his presence very restful; for, so far from suspecting, he could not understand a wound often more real and painful than any received on battlefields. I now could not have endured Adah's intent and curious scrutiny, and yet I deeply appreciated her kindness, for she kept my table laden with delicate fruits and flowers.

The dainty little vase was replenished daily also with cl.u.s.ters of roses--roses only--and I soon recognized rare and perfect buds that at this late season only a florist could supply. The pleasure they gave was almost counterbalanced by the pain. Their exquisite color and fragrance suggested a character whose perfection daily made my disappointment more intolerable. At last Mrs. Yocomb said:

"Richard Morton, is thee doing thy best to get well? Thee's incurring a grave responsibility if thee is not. Emily Warren is quite alone in the world and she came to me as to a mother when thee was taken ill, and told me of thy unfortunate attachment. As thee said, she is not to blame, and yet such is her kindly and sensitive nature that she suffers quite as much as if she were wholly to blame. Her life almost depends on thine. She is growing pale and ill. She eats next to nothing, and I fear she sleeps but little. She is just waiting in miserable suspense to see if thee will keep thy word and live. I believe thee _can_ live, and grow strong and good and n.o.ble, if thee will."

"Oh, Mrs. Yocomb, how you must despise me! If you but knew how I loathe myself."

"No, I'm sorry for thee from the depths of my heart. If thee's doing thy best, I've not a word to say; but thee should know the truth. As Emily said, thee has the power either to embitter her life or to add very much to its happiness."

"Well," I said, "if I have not the strength to overcome this unmanly, contemptible weakness, I ought to die, and the sooner the better. If I'm worth life, I shall live."

If ever a weak, nerveless body yielded to an imperious will, mine did.

From that hour, as far as possible, I gave my whole thought to recovery, and was as solicitous as I before had been apathetic. No captain could have been more so in regard to his s.h.i.+p, which he fears may not outride a storm.

I appealed to Dr. Bates to rack his brains in the preparation of the most effective tonics, I took my food with scrupulous regularity; and in the effort to oxygenize my thin pale blood, drew long respirations of the pure summer air. Mrs. Yocomb daily smiled a warmer and more hearty encouragement.

Under the impetus of a resolute purpose the wheels of life began to move steadily and at last rapidly toward the goal of health. I soon was able to sit up part of the day.

As I rallied, I could not help recognizing the richer coloring that came into the life at the farmhouse, and the fact touched me deeply.

"What is my suffering compared with the happiness of this home?" I thought. "It would have been brutally selfish to have died."

I now had my letters brought to me. My paper--my first love--was daily read, and my old interest in its welfare kindled slowly.

"Work," I said, "is the best of antidotes. It shall be my remedy. Men are respected only as they stand on their feet and work, and I shall win her respect to the utmost."

Reuben and Adah read to me. The presence of the former, like that of his father and mother, was very restful; but Adah began to puzzle me.

At first I ascribed her manner to an extravagant sense of grat.i.tude, and the romantic interest which a young girl might naturally take in one who had pa.s.sed with her through peril, and who seemingly had been dangerously ill in consequence; but I was compelled at last to see that her regard was not open, frank, and friendly, but shy, absorbing, and jealous. It gave her unmingled satisfaction that I did not ask for Miss Warren, and she rarely spoke of her. When she did she watched me keenly, as if seeking to read my thoughts. Reuben, on the contrary, spoke freely of her; but, from some restraint placed upon him by his mother probably, did not ask her to relieve him in his care of me again.

After I began to sit up, Miss Warren would not infrequently come to my door, when others were present, and smilingly express her gladness that I was improving daily. Indeed there would often be quite gay repartee between us, and I think that even Adah was so blinded by our manner that her suspicions were allayed. It evidently puzzled her, and Reuben also, that I had apparently lost my interest in one who had such great attractions for me at first. But Adah was not one to seek long and deeply for subtle and hidden causes of action. She had a quick eye, however, for what was apparent, and scanned surfaces narrowly. I fear I perplexed her as sorely as she did me.