Prince Fortunatus Part 63

"Oh, look here," he cried. "Here is the dedication: 'To Octavius Quirk, Esq., M.A., in sincere grat.i.tude for much kindly help and encouragement.' Now, that is very indiscreet. The log-rollers don't like books being dedicated to them; it draws the attention of the public and exposes the game. Ah, well, not many members of the public will see _that_ dedication!"

A great change, however, was now imminent. Saying as little as possible--indeed, making all kinds of evasions and excuses, so as not to alarm the women-folk--old Dr. Moore intimated that he thought it advisable he should sit up this night with Lionel; and Maurice, though he promised Francie he would go home as soon as she and the old lady had left, was too restless to keep his word. They feared, they hoped--they knew not what. Would the exhausted system hold out any longer against the wasting ravages of this fell disease, or succ.u.mb and sink into coma and death? Or would Nature herself step in, and with her gentle fingers close the tired eyes and bring restoring sleep and calm? Maurice meant to go home, but could not. First of all, he stayed late. Then, when the nurse came down, she was bidden to go back to bed again, if she liked.

Hour after hour pa.s.sed. He threw himself on the sofa, but it was not to close his eyes. And yet all seemed going well in the sick-room. Both the doctor and he had convinced themselves that Lionel was now asleep--no lethargic stupor this time, but actual sleep, from which everything was to be hoped. Maurice would not speak; he wrote on slips of paper when he had anything to say. And so the long night went by, until the window-panes slowly changed from black to blue, and from blue to gray.

About eight o'clock in the morning the old doctor came out of the room, and Maurice knew in a moment the nature of his tidings.

"All is going well," he whispered. "The temperature is steadily decreasing--nearly three degrees since last night--and he is now in a profound sleep; the crisis is over, and happily over, as I imagine. I'm going along to tell his mother and Francie--and to go to bed for a bit."

And Maurice? Well, here was the nurse; he was not wanted; he was a good-natured sort of person and he had seen how patiently and faithfully Nina had concealed her grief and done mutely everything they wanted of her. A few minutes' drive in a hansom would take him down to Sloane Street; the fresh air would be pleasant--for his head felt stupefied for want of rest; and why should not Nina have this glad intelligence at the first possible moment? So forth he went, into the white light of the fresh April morning; and presently he was rattling away westward, as well as the eastward-flowing current of the newly awakened town would allow. But very much surprised was he, when he got to Mrs. Grey's house, to find that Nina was not there. She had gone out very early in the morning, the maid-servant told him; she had done so the last two or three days back--without waiting for breakfast even.

"But where does she go?" he demanded, wondering.

"I don't know, sir," the girl said; so there was nothing for it but to walk leisurely away back to Piccadilly--after all, Nina would be sure to make her appearance at the usual hour, which was about ten.

By the time he was nearing Lionel's lodgings again, he had forgotten all about Nina; he was thinking that now, since Lionel seemed on a fair way to recovery, there might be a little more leisure for Francie and himself to talk over their own plans and prospects. He was on the southern side of Piccadilly, and sometimes he glanced into the Green Park; when suddenly his eye was caught by a figure that somehow appeared familiar. Was not that Miss Ross--walking slowly along a pathway between the trees, her head bent down, though sometimes she turned and looked up towards the houses for but a second, as if she were asking some unspoken, pathetic question. She was about opposite Lionel's rooms, but some little way inside the Park, so that it was not probable she could be seen from the windows. Well, Maurice walked back until he found a gate, entered, and went forward and overtook her. In fact, she seemed to be simply going this way and that, hovering about the one spot, while ever and anon a hopeless glance was cast on the unresponsive house-fronts up there.

"Miss Ross!" he said.

She turned, quickly, and when she saw who it was, her face paled with alarm. For a moment she could not speak. Her eyes questioned him--and yet not eagerly; there was a terrible dread there as well.

"Why are you here?" he asked, in his surprise.

"I could not rest within doors--I wished to be nearer," she answered, hurriedly; and then, fixing her eyes on him, she said, "Well? What is it? What do they say?"

"Oh, but I have good news for you," said he; "such excellent news that I went away down to Sloane Street, so that you could hear it without delay. The crisis is over and everything going on satisfactorily."

She murmured something in her native tongue and turned away her face. He waited a minute or two, until she brushed her handkerchief across her eyes and raised her head somewhat.

"Come," said he, "we will go in now. I hear you have had no breakfast.

Do you want to be ill, too? Mrs. Jenkins will get you something. We can't have two invalids on our hands."

She accompanied him, with the silent obedience she had shown all the way through; she only said, in a low voice, as he opened the door for her,

"I wonder if Leo will ever know how kind you have been to every one?"

This was a happy day for that household, though their joy was subdued; for a shadow of possibilities still hung over them. And perhaps it was the knowledge that now there was every probability of the greater danger being removed that caused a certain exaggeration of minor troubles and brought them to the front. When Mangan begged his betrothed to go out for a five-minutes' stroll in the Park before lunch, he found, after all, that it was not his and her own affairs that claimed their chief attention.

"I don't know what to do, Francie," he said, ruefully. "I'm in a regular fix, and no mistake. Here is Nina--it seems more natural to call her Nina, doesn't it?--well, she talks of going away to-morrow, now that Linn is in a fair way to get better. She is quite aware that he does not know she has been in London, or that he has seen her; and now she wishes that he should never be told; and that she may get safely away again, and matters be just as they were before. I don't quite understand her, perhaps; she is very proud, for one thing, but she is very much in love with him--poor thing! she has tried to conceal it as well as ever she could; but you must have seen it, Francie--a woman's eyes must have seen it--"

"Oh, yes, Maurice!" his companion said; then she added, "And--and don't you think Linn is just as much in love with her? I am sure of it! It's just dreadful to think of her going away again--these two being separated as they were before--and Linn perhaps fretting himself into another illness, though never speaking a word--"

"But how am I to ask her to stay?" Maurice demanded, as if in appeal to her woman's wit. "There's Miss Burgoyne. Linn himself could only ask Nina to stay on one condition--and Miss Burgoyne makes it impossible."

"Then," said Francie, grown bold, "if I were you, Maurice, I would go straight to Miss Burgoyne, and I would say to her, 'My friend Lionel is in love with another woman; he never was in love with you at all; _now_ will you marry him?'"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_Maurice walked back until he found a gate, entered, and went forward and overtook her._"]

"Yes, very pretty," he said, moodily. "The first thing she would do would be to call a policeman and get me locked up as a raging lunatic.

And what would Linn say to me about such interference when he came to hear of it? No, I must leave them to manage their own affairs, however they may turn out; the only thing I should like in the meantime would be for Nina to see Linn before she goes. That's all; and that I think I could manage."

"How, Maurice?"

"Well, there is simply nothing she wouldn't do for Linn's sake," he made answer; "and if I were to tell her I thought it would greatly help his recovery if he were to know that she was well, that she was here in London and ready to be friends with him and looking forward to his getting better, then I am pretty sure she would remain for that little time at least, and do anything we asked of her. Of course it would not do for them to meet just now--Linn is too weak to stand any excitement--and he will be so for some time to come; still, I think Nina would wait that time if we told her she could be of help. Then once these two have seen each other and spoken, let them take the management of their own affairs. Why, good gracious me!" he exclaimed, in lighter tones, "haven't you and I got our own affairs to manage, too? I have just been drawing up a code of regulations for the better governing of a wife!"

"Oh, indeed!" said Francie.

"Yes, indeed," said he, firmly. "I am a believer in the good old robust virtues that have made England what she is--or rather, what she has been. I'm not a sentimentalist. If the sentimentalists and the theorists and the faddists go on as they are doing, they'll soon leave us without any England at all; England will be moralized away to nothing; there will only be her name and her literature left to remind the world that she once existed. The equal rights of women--that's one of their fads.

The equal rights of women! Bos.h.!.+ Women ought to be very proud and grateful that they are allowed to live at all! However, that is a general principle; the particular application of it is that a man should be master in his own house, and that his wife's first and paramount duty is to obey him--"

"You shouldn't frighten me too soon, Maurice," she said--but she did not appear to be terribly scared.

"And I mean to begin as I mean to end," said he, ominously, as they were about to cross the street on their way back. "I am not going to marry a wife who will have all her interests out of doors. I will not allow it.

A woman, madam, should attend to her own house and her own husband, and not spend her time in gadding about hospitals and sick-wards and making friends and companions of nurses."

Francie laughed at him.

"Why, Maurice," said she, as they were about to enter, "you yourself are the very best nurse I ever saw!"

But it was not in this mood that Mangan received Miss Burgoyne when she called that afternoon to make inquiries. She and her brother were shown to the room up-stairs, and thither Mangan followed them. He was very polite and cold and courteous; told her that Lionel was getting on very well; that the fever was subsiding, and that he was quite sensible again, though very weak; and said he hoped his complete recovery was now only a question of time. But when the young lady--with more hesitation than she usually displayed--preferred a request that she might be allowed to see Mr. Moore, Maurice met that by a gently decisive negative.

"He is not to be disturbed in any way. Perfect rest is what the doctors ordain. He has been left a wreck, but his fine const.i.tution will pull him through; in the meantime we have to be most careful."

She was silent and thoughtful for a minute.

"I can't see him?"

"I think not--it would be most unwise. You would not wish to do anything inconsiderate."

"Oh, certainly not. May I write to him, then?" she asked.

"It will be some time before he can attend to any letters. You have no idea how weak he is. We want him to remain in perfect rest and quiet."

"This is Thursday," she said. "Supposing everything goes well, and I called on Tuesday next, could I see him then?"

"By that time it would be easier to say," he answered, with diplomatic ingenuity. "I should think it very likely."

"It will be a long time before he can come back to the theatre?" she asked again.

"There is no doubt about that."

"But his voice will be all right when he gets well?"

"Dr. Whitsen seems to think so."

She stood undecided for a moment; then she said,

"Well, I won't write until you give me leave. I don't mind your seeing the letter, when I do. In the meantime, will you tell Lionel how awfully glad I am that he is going on well, and that we shall all be glad to have him back at the theatre?"