Wives and Widows; or The Broken Life Part 21

The old lady shook her head, and smiled sadly. "You were spoiling the boy, Hester, making a little coward of him; but he soon ceased to be afraid of the dark,--a brave young man, Miss Hyde, and a comfort to his mother; G.o.d spare him to us!"

Hester Bosworth began to cry afresh at these encomiums; and, going up to her mother-in-law's chair, bent her head upon the back, sobbing aloud.

The old lady reached up her soft, little hand, and patted the poor mother on the cheek as if she had been a child.

"Don't fret so, Hester. Our boy is young, and his const.i.tution will not give way easily. A little sleep--if we could only induce a few hours'

sleep!"

"I have made a hop pillow for him, and done everything," sobbed the mother; "but there he lies, looking, looking, looking, now at the wall, now at the ceiling, and muttering to himself."

"I know--I know," said the grandmother, hastily lifting her hand, as if the description wounded her. "Will nothing give him a little sleep?"

I remembered how often Mrs. Lee, in her nervous paroxysms, had been soothed to rest by the gentle force of my own will. Indeed, I sometimes fancy that some peculiar gift has been granted to me, by which physical suffering grows less in my presence.

"Shall I go up with you, Mrs. Bosworth?" I said, inspired with hope by this new idea. "He may recognize me as an old friend."

"Oh, yes, yes!" she exclaimed, leading the way. "Mother, will you come?"

CHAPTER XXVI.

SICK-BED FANCIES.

We mounted the staircase, a broad, old-fas.h.i.+oned flight of steps, surmounted with heavy bal.u.s.trades of black oak. There was a thick carpet running up them; but, lightly as we trod, the keen ear of the invalid detected a strange presence, and I heard his voice, m.u.f.fled and rough with fever, calling out, "Yes, yes, I knew, I knew, I knew that she would come!" Then he broke into the notes of some opera-song.

There was a cool, artificial twilight in the chamber when we entered it; but through the bars of the outer blinds a gleam of suns.h.i.+ne shot across the room, and broke against the wall opposite the great, high-posted bed on which young Bosworth was lying. The chamber was large, and but for the closed blinds would have been cheerful. As it was, a great easy-chair, draped with white dimity, loomed up like a snow-drift near the bed; which being clothed in like spotless fas.h.i.+on, gave a ghastly appearance to everything around.

Young Bosworth lay upon the bed with his arms feebly uplifted, and his great, wild eyes wandering almost fiercely after the sunbeams which came and went like golden arrows, as the branches of an elm-tree near the window changed their position.

I went up to the bed, and touched the young man's wrist. The pulse that leaped against my fingers was like the blows of a tiny hammer; his eyes turned on my face, and he clutched my hand, laughing pleasantly.

"How cool your hand is!" he said, with a child-like murmur. "You have been among the clover-blossoms; their breath is all around me."

"Yes," I said, dropping into his own monotone without an effort, "I came through the meadows, and brought some of the flowers with me. See how fresh and sweet they are."

He took the flowers eagerly, grasping them with both hands.

"Did she send them?" he whispered, mysteriously. "Did she?"

I smiled, but would not answer. The delusion seemed pleasant, and it would be cruelty to disturb it. He held the blossoms caressingly in his hand; a smile wandered over his lips, and he whispered over soft fragments of some melody that I remembered as one of Jessie's favorites.

Directly the flowers dropped from his grasp, and he began to search after the sunbeam again, clutching at it feverishly, and looking in his hands with vague wonder when he found them empty.

I do not think the young man recognized me at all; but my presence certainly aroused new a.s.sociations.

He looked wistfully into my face with that vacant stare of delirium which is so painful, and then his eyes wandered away, as if in search of some object they could not find.

"Jessie," he murmured; "Jessie Lee, are you there? Won't you speak to me once more, Jessie?"

The expression of his countenance changed so entirely--a look of such tender, earnest entreaty settled about his handsome, sensitive mouth--that I felt the tears come into my eyes. When I looked up, I saw the stately old grandmother gazing directly upon me; while little Mrs.

Bosworth, in her very efforts to be at the same time perfectly quiet and extremely useful, fluttered about in a feeble way that would have annoyed me beyond endurance had I been the sick person.

But the young man, apparently susceptible neither to outer sights nor sounds, saw nothing and heard nothing but the fanciful shapes and mocking whispers of his fever-visions.

"Put these flowers in your hair, Jessie," he said, somewhat brokenly, "they are wild flowers such as you love, and I love them for your sake--for your sake."

He put out his hands, moving them to and fro over the counterpane, to gather up the blossoms he had scattered there; but his fingers wandered so uncertainly, that even when he succeeded in collecting a few, they would drop from his grasp. I saw he began to grow impatient, and I knew that the least thing would excite his fever and thereby increase the delirium, so I put the flowers softly into his palm. He smiled in a satisfied way.

"Here they are," he said; "take them, Jessie; see what a pretty wreath they make."

Then the smile changed to a look of pain. He let the flowers fall to the counterpane with a low moan.

"She has a wreath on now!" he exclaimed. "Jessie Lee, who gave you that?

White flowers! Bridal flowers!"

He started up in the bed with such violence, that his mother hurried forward with a cry of dismay, and, getting into mischief, as people in a flurry are sure to do, she upset a bottle of cologne and a goblet, but fortunately the old lady caught them before they reached the floor.

"Oh my!" sobbed little Mrs. Bosworth, in nervous fright, "what have I done? Oh! dear, dear!"

"Sit down, my dear," said her mother-in-law, with a good deal of steadiness; "you only disturb him."

"But he looks so wild. Hadn't I better send for the doctor?"

"No, no. He will be here before long. Leave my grandson to Miss Hyde; she will quiet him."

The old lady looked at me, with confidence in my powers, and the mother joined her in a helpless, despairing manner, mixed with a little maternal jealousy, at seeing me in the place that was hers by right. I felt quite nervous and disturbed by this joint appeal; however, I was not foolish enough to give way to any weakness or nonsense when composure was required, so I drew close to the bed, and laid my hand on Bosworth's arm. He was muttering wildly, and I could catch the words,--

"Are they bridal flowers, Jessie Lee?"

"She has taken off the wreath," I whispered.

"No, no; it is there on her forehead. Who gave it to her?"

"She has thrown it aside," I protested; "she would not wear it a moment after she knew it pained you. It is gone now."

He looked earnestly at the place where he thought Jessie stood, and fell back on his pillows with a sigh of satisfaction.

"Kind Jessie," he said, "kind Jessie!"

But that quiet only lasted for a few moments. He grew more restless than before; and I saw old Mrs. Bosworth looking at me still, as if she had fully made up her mind that I could compose him, and nothing less than that desirable effect would satisfy her. Really, with those old-world eyes fastened upon me, I could not avoid exerting all my powers, although in my heart I fairly wished the fidgety little mother safe in her own room.

CHAPTER XXVII.