The Pleasant Street Partnership Part 23

Poor Miss Sarah was too ill to understand more than that the bond was sold. She was feverishly anxious till she could put the money for his debts into Wayland's hands. After this she grew rapidly worse, and the outcome began to seem doubtful.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH

WAYLAND

Wayland blamed himself bitterly. He could not forget the touch of those burning fingers pressing the money into his hand. He tried to refuse it, but his aunt whispered: "Take it, dear. It is all right. I shall not be happy till you do." After this he had been sent from the room and not allowed to see her again.

Old Mrs. Leigh, bemoaning Sarah's hard lot and accusing herself of selfishness, unconsciously enlightened him as to the true state of affairs. Wayland sincerely loved his aunt,--the only mother he had ever known,--and he realized with shame how unworthy had been his att.i.tude toward her of late. While she had been struggling to make a home for him and her old aunt, thinking and spending for him till there was nothing left for herself, he, absorbed in his own affairs, had been disdainful and critical, fretted by her habit of laughing at things, annoyed by her style of dress.

And this money. He guessed where it came from. She must have sold a bond left to her by a friend some years ago, which she called her rainy-day legacy. He fiercely promised himself he would pay it back.

But in the terrible fear that she would not recover, this thought ceased to console him. What if he should never have the opportunity to tell her how sorry he was, how ashamed? The doctor looked very grave, the nurse and Miss Virginia shook their heads and said, "No better."

Norah was the only one who gave him any encouragement. She bade him not give up yet, and devised errands to distract him from his misery, and make him feel that he was of some use. He hung upon her words with such an appealing face her heart was touched, for she guessed that remorse mingled with his sorrow.

There came a dreadful day when even she had no hopeful word to say; when, hurrying home at the earliest moment, he found the house hushed in a terrible suspense.

Miss Virginia sat with Mrs. Leigh, and they talked of Miss Sarah, and wiped the tears from their eyes as if she were already dead. Wayland could not endure it.

In his longing for comfort he thought of Madelaine. Surely, she would be kind to him now. She was tender-hearted and sympathetic; just the touch of her pretty hand would help him. He had not seen her for more than a week.

Miss Madelaine was dressing to go out, but would see him for a moment if he cared to wait, the servant said; and presently as he strode back and forth, too restless to sit down, she floated in, lovely and gracious as ever.

"I am going to dinner at the Mays'. I am sorry I can't see you for more than a minute. How is Miss Sarah to-night?"

"No better--worse," Wayland answered brokenly, holding fast the hand she offered him. Gently Madelaine drew it away, and began to put on her glove.

"I am _so_ sorry," she said, "but you mustn't despair. I am sure she is going to get well."

Upon Wayland's sensitive ear the words fell with a hollowness almost unbearable. "She does not care at all," he told himself.

This was perhaps a little unjust to Madelaine. She was very full at that moment of the joy of living; she knew nothing by experience, of illness and death. She was sorry for Wayland, but the thought of the evening's pleasure was not for an instant dimmed by it.

Wayland went blindly home again, conscious of nothing but the pain in his heart. At the door Norah met him with a note which she asked him to take to Miss Carpenter. "The doctor thinks there will be no change for some hours," she told him.

He sat staring into the fire in the same blind way when Marion entered the room.

"There is no haste about the answer. Won't you stay with me for a while?" she said. "I am alone, and I know you must be feeling the strain of suspense."

Norah's note had said: "Do keep the poor boy and comfort him if you can. He does nothing but wander in and out."

"Thank you, I think I must go back," he answered, lingering aimlessly however.

Marion brought him a cup of after-dinner coffee, and he submitted and drank it, although he felt it must choke him; and when he had swallowed it, he was the better for it.

Marion did not make the mistake of trying to cheer him in the face of this terrible anxiety, but in every possible way she showed her sympathy. She spoke of his aunt, of her brightness and kindness, of her evident attachment for him; and poor Wayland, longing to pour out his unhappiness to some one, forgot she was almost a stranger and came out with his confession. His foolishness and extravagance, his carelessness of his aunt's comfort. It was very boyish and perfectly sincere. Madelaine was not mentioned by name, but the wound showed plainly, and Marion guessed what he did not tell.

"And now I shall never have a chance to show her how sorry I am," he groaned, hiding his face.

"Don't say that. There is still some room for hope that you may have another opportunity; and even if you do not, you can yet make of yourself what she would wish," Marion said; adding, "If you will let me speak to you as if you were my younger brother, I should say that all the trouble has come from a natural but selfish determination to have what, after all, was not meant for you. I think I understand; and although you may not believe me, I am sure it could never have made you happy if you had been able to obtain it."

"If you mean Madelaine," Wayland said, lifting his head, "that is all over."

Afterward he could look back on that evening and feel that out of his grief he had won a friend who might never have been his under other circ.u.mstances. At the moment he was conscious only of the new courage and determination that inspired him, when after the long talk he said good night.

With the morning new hope came. There was a chance for recovery; and this grew, until at length Miss Sarah began slowly to climb the hill toward health again.

It was some time before Wayland could pour out to her his repentance, and then his aunt would not let him say half he wanted to say.

"Why, child," she exclaimed, patting the head bowed on the arm of her chair, "you have done nothing to call forth all this. You have been thoughtless, as most young persons are; but I suspect it is my fault.

I spoiled you. I did so want you to have what you wanted, always. I suppose it is foolish, but it is the way we feel about the children we bring up."

"You shall have that bond back, or one just as good, Aunt Sarah," he a.s.sured her; and there was something in his face which showed he meant it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIFTH

THE PRICE OF A BOND

"Mr. Goodman, I want to understand about that bond Miss Pennington sold for me. I have been reading the papers, and I don't see how it could have brought a thousand dollars when they are only quoted at eighty-something." Miss Sarah was still white and weak, but she spoke with a touch of her old energy.

Ever since she had been able to think connectedly, the matter had puzzled her. Norah, when appealed to, was innocence itself.

"I am sure he did not lose anything, Miss Sarah," she said. "I offered it to him because I happened to know he had already bought some."

So now she had summoned Giant Despair himself, happening to see from her window his clumsy figure coming up the street.

"I am glad to see you better, Miss Sarah," he said, appearing rather ill at ease as he seated himself ponderously in a wicker chair.

"Goodness! I hope it won't give way with him," thought Miss Sarah; then aloud she repeated her question, adding, "I have no confidence whatever in Miss Pennington."

Giant Despair squinted at her with his best eye, as if to see just what she meant.

"My own opinion," Miss Sarah continued, "has always been that she is a witch; but even then I don't understand it."

Mr. Goodman smiled grimly and slapped his gloves across his knee.

"Probably you don't know much about the ways of witches," he remarked.

"I ought to know something. I can't imagine what I should have done without Norah. Everybody was kind,--more than kind,--but she knew how to take hold and manage things. I--" she hesitated a moment before she added, "and we didn't want them in the neighborhood!"

"I guess you are right about the witch business," agreed the old man.

"But the bond," urged Miss Sarah.