Theo: A Sprightly Love Story

  CHAPTER VIII.

  THEO'S FIRST TROUBLE.

  He had been gone three days, and, in their lapse, Theo felt as if threelustrums had passed. Their parting had been so unexpected a one, thatshe could not get used to it, or believe it was anything else but apainful dream. After all, it seemed that Fortune was crueller than shehad imagined possible. He was gone, and to Priscilla Gower; and she hadnever been able to believe that some alteration, of which she had novery definite conception, would occur, and end her innocent little ghostof a love-story, as all love-stories should be ended. It had never beenmore than the ghost of a story. Until that last night he had neveruttered a word of love to her; he had never even made the fine speechesto her which she might have expected, and, doubtless, would haveexpected, if she had been anybody else but Theodora North. She had notexpected them, though, and, consequently, was not disappointed when shedid not receive them. But she found herself feeling terribly lonelyafter Denis Oglethorpe left Paris. The first day she felt more stunnedthan anything else. The second her sensibilities began to revive keenly,and she was full of sad, desperate wonder concerning him--concerning howhe would feel when he stood face to face with Priscilla Gower; how hewould look, what he would say to her. The third day was only the secondintensified, and filled with a something that was almost like a terrornow and then.

  It was upon this third day that Lady Throckmorton was unexpectedlycalled away. A long-lost friend of her young days had suddenly made herappearance at Rouen, and having, by chance, heard of her ladyship'spresence in Paris, had written to her a letter of invitation, which theties of their girlhood rendered almost a command. So to Rouen herladyship went, for once leaving Theo behind. Madam St. Etunne was aninvalid, and the visit could not be a very interesting one to a younggirl. This was one reason why she was left--the other was the moreimportant one, that she did not wish to go, and made her wishes known.She was not sorry for the chance of being left to herself for a fewdays--it would be only a few days at most.

  "Besides," said Lady Throckmorton, looking at her a trifle curiously,"you do not look well yourself. Theo, you look feverish, or nervous, orsomething of the kind. How was it I did not notice it before? You musthave caught cold. Yes, I believe I must leave you here."

  Consequently, Theo was left. She was quiet enough, too, when herladyship had taken her departure. It was generally supposed that MissNorth had accompanied her chaperon, and so she had very few callers. Shespent the greater part of her time in the apartment in which DenisOglethorpe had bidden her farewell, and, as may be easily imagined, itdid not add to her lightness of spirit to sit in her old seat and ponderover the past in the silence of the deserted room. She arose from herottoman one night, and walked to one of the great mirrors that extendedfrom floor to ceiling. She saw herself in it as she advanced--aregal-like young figure, with a head set like a queen's, speechful darkeyes, and glowing lips; a face that was half child's, half woman's, andyet wholly perfect in its fresh young life and beauty. Seeing thisreflection, she stopped and looked at it, in a swift recognition of anew thought.

  "Oh, Pam!" she cried out, piteously. "Oh, my poor, darling, faded Pam.You were pretty once, too, very dear, pretty and young. And you werehappier than I can be, for Arthur only died. Nobody came between yourlove and you--nobody ever could. He died, but he was yours, Pam, and youwere his."

  She cried piteously and passionately when she went back to her seat,rested her arm upon a lounging-chair near her, and hid her face upon it,crying as only a girl can, with an innocent grief that had a pathos ofits own. She was so lovely and remorseful. It seemed to her that somefault must have been hers, and she blamed herself that even now shecould not wish that she had never met the man whose love for her was adishonor to himself. Where was he now? He had told Lady Throckmortonthat business would call him to several smaller towns on his way, so hemight not be very far from Paris yet. She was thinking of this when atlast she fell asleep, sitting by the fire, still resting her hand uponthe chair by her side. It was by no means unnatural, though by no meanspoetic, that her girl's pain should end so.

  But when the time-piece on the mantle chimed twelve with its silvertongue, she found herself suddenly and unaccountably wide awake. She satup and looked about her. It was not the clock's chime that had awakenedher she thought. It must have been, something more, she was so very wideawake indeed, and her senses were so clear. One minute later she foundout what it was. There was some slight confusion down-stairs; a door wasopened and closed, and she heard the sound of voices in theentrance-hall. She turned her head, and listening attentively,discovered that some one was coming up to the room in which she sat. Thedoor opened, and upon the threshold stood a servant bearing in his handa salver, and upon the salver a queer, official-looking document, suchas she did not remember ever having seen before.

  "A telegram," he said, rapidly in French, "for milady. They had thoughtit better to acquaint Mad'moiselle."

  She took it from him, and opened it slowly and mechanically. She read itmechanically also--read it twice before she comprehended its fullmeaning, so great was the shock it gave her. Then she started from herseat with a cry that made the servant start also.

  "Send Splaighton to me," she said, "this minute, without a moment'sdelay."

  For the telegram she had just read told her that in a wayside inn, atSt. Quentin, Denis Oglethorpe lay dying, or so near it that the medicalman had thought it his duty to send for the only friend who was on theright side of Calais, and that friend, whose name he had discovered bychance, was Lady Throckmorton.

  It was, of course, a terribly unwise thing that Theodora North decidedupon doing an hour later. Only such a girl as she was, or as her lifehad necessarily made her, would have hit upon a plan so loving, so wildand indiscreet. But it did not occur to her, even for a second, thatthere was any other thing to do. She must go to him herself in LadyThrockmorton's stead; she must take Splaighton with her, and go try totake care of him until Lady Throckmorton came, or could send forPriscilla Gower and Miss Elizabeth.

  "Ma'mselle," began the stricken Splaighton, when, as she stood beforethe erect young figure and desperate young face, this desperate plan washurriedly revealed to her. "Ma'mselle, you forget the imprudence--"

  But Theo stopped her, quite ignorant of the fact, that by doing so, sheforfeited her reputation in Splaighton's eyes forever.

  "He is going to die!" she said, with a wild little sob in her voice."And he is all alone-and--and he was to have been married, Splaighton, inJuly--only a few months from now. Oh, poor Priscilla Gower! Oh, poorgirl! We must save him. I must go now and try to save him for her. Oh,if I could just have Pamela with me."

  The woman saw at once that remonstrance would be worse than useless.Theo was slowly revealing to her that this despairing, terrified youngcreature would not understand her resistance in the slightest degree.She would not comprehend what it meant; so, while Splaighton packed up afew necessary articles, Theo superintended her, following her from placeto place, with a longing impatience that showed itself in every word andgesture. She did not dare to do more, poor child. She had never overcomeher secret awe of her waiting-woman. In her inexperienced respect forher, she even apologized pathetically and appealingly for the libertyshe was taking in calling upon her.

  "I am sorry to trouble you," she said, humbly, and feeling terriblyhomesick as she said it; "but I could not go alone, you know--and I mustgo. There is a lace collar in that little box that you may have,Splaighton. It is a pretty collar, and I will give you the satin bowthat is fastened to it."

  Scarcely two hours later they were on their way to St. Quentin. It neveroccurred to Theo, in the midst of her fright and unhappiness, that shewas now doing a very unwise and dangerous thing. She only thought of onething, that Denis was going to die. She loved him too much to think ofherself at all, and, besides, she did not, poor innocent, know anythingabout such things.

  It was a wonderful trial of the little old French doctor's calmness ofmind, when, on his next visi
t to his patient, he found himselfconfronted by a tall, young creature, with a pale, desperate face, andlovely tear-fraught eyes, instead of by the majestic, elderly person,the perusal of Lady Throckmorton's last letter to Denis had led him toexpect. It was in the little inn parlor that he first encounteredTheodora North, when she arrived, and on seeing her he gazed over hisspectacles, first at herself, and then at the respectable Splaighton, ina maze of bewilderment, at seemingly having made so strange a blunder.

  "Lady Throckmorton?" he said, at last, in English, or in a brokenattempt at it. "Oh! _Oui_--I understand. The sister of monsieur? Ah,milady?"

  Theo broke in upon him in a passionate impulse of fear and grief.

  "No," she said. "I am not Lady Throckmorton. I am only her niece,Theodora North. My aunt was away when your telegram arrived, and--and Iknew some one must come--so I came myself. Splaighton and I can takecare of Mr. Oglethorpe. Oh, monsieur, is it true that he is dying?--willhe never get well? How could it happen? He was so strong only a few dayssince. He must not die. It cannot be true that he will die--he has somany friends who love him."

  Monsieur, the doctor, softened perceptibly under this; she was so youngand innocent-looking, this girlish little English mademoiselle. Monsieurup-stairs must be a lucky man to have won her tender young heart soutterly. Strange and equivocal a thing as the pretty child (she seemed achild to him) was doing, he never for an instant doubted the ignorantfaith and love that shone in the depths of her beautiful agonized eyes.He bowed to her as deferentially as to a sultana, when he made hisanswer.

  "It had been an accident," he commenced. "The stage had overturned onits way, and monsieur being in it, had been thrown out by its fallinginto a gully. His collar-bone had been broken, and several of his ribsfractured; but the worst of his injuries had been a gash on his head--asharp stone had done it. Mademoiselle would understand wherein thedanger lay. He was unconscious at present."

  This he told her on their way to the chamber up-stairs; but even thegravity of his manner did not prepare her for the sight the opening ofthe door revealed to her. Handsome Denis Oglethorpe lay upon the narrowlittle bed with the face of a dying man, which is far worse than that ofa dead man. There were spots of blood on his pillow and upon hisgarments; he was bandaged from head to foot, it seemed, with ghastlyred, wet bandages; his eyes were glazed, and his jaw half dropped.

  A low, wild cry broke from the pale lips of the figure in the door-way,and the next instant Theodora North had flown to the bedside and droppedupon her knees by it, hiding her deathly-stricken young face upon herlover's lifeless hand, forgetting Splaighton, forgetting the doctor,forgetting even Priscilla Gower, forgetting all but that she, in thismoment, knew that she could not give him up, even to the undivided quietof death.

  "He will die! He will die!" she cried out. "And I never told him. Oh, mylove! love! Oh, my dearest, dear!"

  The little, old doctor drew back, half way, through a suddenly strangerimpulse of sympathy. He was uneasily conscious of the fact, that thestaid, elderly person at his side was startled and outragedsimultaneously by this passionate burst of grief on the part of heryoung mistress. He had seen so many of these unprepossessing Englishwaiting-women that he understood the state of her feelings as byinstinct. He turned to her with all the blandness possible under thecircumstances, and gave her an order which would call for her presencedown-stairs.

  When she departed, as she did in a state bordering on petrification, hecame forward to the bedside. He did not speak, however; merely lookingdown at his patient in a silence whose delicacy was worthy of honor,even in a shrivelled little snuff-taking, French, village doctor. Thepretty young mademoiselle would be calmer before many minutes hadelapsed--his experience had taught him. And so she was. At least, herfirst shock of terror wore away, and she was calm enough to speak tohim. She lifted her face from the motionless hand, and looked up at himin a wild appeal for help, that was more than touching.

  "Don't say he will die!" she prayed. "Oh, monsieur, only save him, andhe will bless you forever. I will nurse him so well. Only give mesomething to do, and see how faithful I shall prove. I shall neverforget anything, and I shall never be tired--if--if he can only live,monsieur," the terrified catching of her breath making every littlepause almost a sob.

  "My child," he answered her, with a grave touch of something quite likeaffection in his air. "My child, I shall save him, if he is to be saved,and you shall help me."

  How faithfully she held to the very letter of her promises, only thislittle, shrivelled village doctor could say. How tender, and watchful,and loving she was, in her care of her charge, only he could bearwitness. She was never tired--never forgetful. She held to her place inthe poor little bedroom, day and night, with an intensity of zeal thatwas actually astonishing. Priscilla Gower and Pamela North might havebeen more calm--certainly would have been more self-possessed, but theycould not have been more faithful. She obeyed every order given to herlike a child. She sat by the bedside, hour after hour, day and night,watching every change of symptom, noting every slight alteration ofcolor, or pulse.

  The friendship between herself and monsieur, the doctor, so strengthenedthat the confidence between them was unlimited. She was only disobedientin one thing. She would not leave her place either for food or rest. Sheate her poor little dinners near her patient, and, if the truth had beenknown, scarcely slept at all for the first two or three days.

  "I could not sleep, you know," she said to the doctor, her greatpathetic eyes filling with tears. "Please let me stay until LadyThrockmorton comes, at least."

  So she stayed, and watched, and waited, quite alone, for nearly a week.But it seemed a much longer time to her. The poor, handsome face changedso often in even those few days, and her passions of despair and hopewere so often changed with it. She never thought of Priscilla Gower. Herlove and fear were too strong to allow of her giving a thought toanything on earth but Denis Oglethorpe. Perhaps her only consolation hadsomething of guilt in it; but it was so poor and desperate a comfort,this wretched one of hearing him speak to and of her in his fever anddelirium.

  "My poor, handsome Theo," he would say. "Why, my beauty, there are tearsin your eyes. What a scoundrel I am, if I have brought them there. What!the rose-colored satin again, my darling! Don't wear the rose-coloredsatin, Theo. It hurts my eyes. For God's sake, Priscilla, forgive me!"

  And yet, even while they added to her terror, these poor ravings weresome vague comfort, since they told her that he loved her. More thanonce her friend the doctor entered the room, and found her kneeling bythe bedside, holding the unresponsive hand, with a white face and wide,tearless eyes; and seeing her thus, he read clearly that his pretty,inexperienced _protege_ had more at stake than he had even at firstfancied.

  It was about six days after Theodora North had arrived at St. Quentin,when, sitting at her post one morning, she heard the lumbering stagestop before the inn door. She rose and went to the window, halfmechanically, half anxiously. She had been expecting Lady Throckmorton,for so long a time, that it seemed almost impossible that it could beshe. But strangers had evidently alighted. There was a bustle ofservants below, and one of them was carrying a leathern trunk into thehouse immediately under her window. It was a leathern trunk, rathershabby than otherwise, and on its side was an old label, which, beingturned toward her, she could read plainly. She read it, and gave a faintstart. It bore, in dingy black letters, the word "Downport."

  She had hardly time to turn round, before there was a summons at thedoor, and without waiting to be answered, Splaighton entered, looking atonce decorous and injured.

  "There are two ladies in the parlor, mademoiselle," she said (she alwayscalled Theo mademoiselle in these days), "two English ladies, who didnot give their names. They asked for Miss North."

  Theo looked at the woman, and turned pale. She did not know how or whyher mother and Pamela should come down to this place, but she felt sureit was they who were awaiting her; and for the first time since she hadreceived the telegram
, a shock of something like misgiving rushed uponher. Suppose, after all, she had not done right. Suppose she had donewrong, and they had heard of it, and came to reproach her, or worsestill (poor child, it seemed worse still to her), to take her away--tomake her leave her love to strangers. She began to tremble, and as shewent out of the room, she looked back on the face upon the pillow, witha despairing fear that the look might be her last.

  She hardly knew how she got down the narrow stair-case. She only knewthat she went slowly, in a curious sort of hysterical excitement.

  Then she was standing upon the mat at the parlor-door; then she hadopened the door itself, and stood upon the threshold, looking in upontwo figures just revealed to her in the shadow. One figure--yes, it wasPamela's; the other not her mother's. No, the figure of Priscilla Gower.

  "Pamela!" she cried out. "Oh, Pam, don't blame me!"

  She never knew how the sight of her standing before them, like a poorlittle ghost, with her white, appealing eyes, touched one of these twowomen to the heart.

  There was something pathetic in her very figure--something indescribablyso in her half-humble, half-fearing voice.

  Pamela rose up from the horse-hair sofa, and went to her.

  Each of the three faces was pale enough; but Pamela had the trouble ofthese two, as well as her own anxiousness in her eyes.

  "Theo," she said to her, "what have you done? Don't you understand whata mad act you have been guilty of?"

  But her voice was not as sharp as usual, and it even softened before shefinished speaking. She made Theo sit down, and gave her a glass of waterto steady her nervousness. She could not be angry even at suchindiscretion as this--in the face of the tremulous hands and pleadingeyes.

  "Where was Lady Throckmorton?" she said. "What was she doing, to let youcome alone?"

  "She was away," put in Theo, faintly. "And the telegram said he wasdying, Pam, and--I didn't come alone quite. I brought Splaighton withme."

  "You had no right to come at all," said Pam, trying to speak withasperity, and failing miserably. "Mr. Oglethorpe is nothing to you. Theyshould have sent for Miss Gower at once."

  But the fact was the little doctor had searched in vain for the exactaddress of the lady whose letters he found in his patient's portmanteau,when examining his papers to find some clue to the whereabouts of hisfriends, and it was by the merest chance that he had discovered it inthe end from Theo's own lips, and so had secretly written to Broomestreet, in his great respect and admiration for this pretty young nurse,who was at once so youthful and indescribably innocent. In her troubleand anxious excitement, Theo had not once thought of doing so herself,until during the last two days, and now there was no necessity for theaction.

  "And Mr. Oglethorpe," interposed Miss Gower.

  "He is up-stairs," Theo answered. "The doctor thinks that perhaps he maybe saved by careful nursing. I did what I could," and she stopped with acurious click in her throat.

  The simple sight of Priscilla Gower, with her calm, handsome face, andcalm, handsome presence, set her so far away from him and she had seemedso near to him during the few last days--she felt so poor and weakthrough the contrast. And Pamela was right. She was nothing to him--hewas nothing to her. This was his wife who had come to him now, andshe--what was she?

  She led them up-stairs to the sick-room, silently, and there left them.It had actually never occurred to her to ask herself how it was that thetwo were together. She was thinking only about Denis. She went to herown little bedroom at the top of the house--such a poor, little bareplace as it was, as poor and bare as only a bedroom in a miserablelittle French road-side inn can be--only the low, white bed in it, achair or two, and a barren toilet-table standing near the deep window.This deep, square window was the only part of the room holding anyattraction for Theo. From it she could look out along the road, wherethe lumbering stages made their daily appearance, and could see miles offields behind the hedges, and watch the peasant women in their woodensabots journeying on to the market towns. She flung herself down on thebare floor, in the recess formed by the window, and folded her arms uponits broad ledge. She looked out for a minute at the road, and thefields, and the hedges, and then gave vent to a single, sudden desperatesob. Nobody knew her pain--nobody would ever know it. Perhaps everythingwould end, and pass, and die away forever, and it would be her own painto the end of her life. Even Denis himself would not know it. He hadnever asked her to tell him that she loved him, and if he died, he woulddie without having heard a word of love from her lips. What would theydo with her now--Priscilla and Pamela? Make her go back to Paris, andleave him to them; and if he got well they might never meet again, and,perhaps, he would never learn who had watched by his bedside, when noone else on earth was near to try to save him.

  She dropped her face upon her folded arms, sobbing in a great,uncontrollable burst of rebellion against her fate.

  "No one cares for us, my darling, my angel, my love!" she cried. "Theywould take me from you, if they could; but they shall not, my own. If itwas wrong, how can I help it? And, oh! what does it matter, if all theworld should be lost to me, if only you could be left? If I could onlysee your dear face once every day, and hear your voice, even if it wasever so far away, and you were not speaking to me at all."

  She was so wearied with her watching and excitement, that her grief woreitself away into silence and exhausted quiet. She did not raise herhead, but let it rest upon her arms as she knelt, and before manyminutes had passed, her eyes closed with utter weariness.

  She awoke with a start, half an hour later. Some one was standing nearher. It had been twilight when she fell asleep, and now the room was sogray, that she could barely distinguish who it was. A soft, thick shawlhad been dropped over her, evidently by the person in question. WhenTheo's eyes became accustomed to the shadows, she recognized the erect,slender figure and handsome head. It was Priscilla Gower, and PriscillaGower was leaning against the window, and looking down at her fixedly.

  "You were cold when I found you," were her first words, "and so I threwmy shawl around you. You ought not to have gone to sleep there."

  "I fell asleep before I knew that I was tired," said Theo. "Thank you,Miss Gower."

  There was a pause of a moment, before she summoned courage to speakagain.

  "I have not had time yet," she hesitated, at last, "to ask you how MissElizabeth is. I hope she is well?"

  "I am sorry to say she is not," Priscilla replied. "If she had beenwell, she would have accompanied me here. She has been very weak oflate. It was on that account that I applied to your sister when thedoctor's letter told me I was needed."

  "I have been expecting Lady Throckmorton for so long, that I am afraidsomething has gone wrong," said Theo.

  To this remark, Priscilla made no reply. She was never prone to becommunicative regarding Lady Throckmorton. But she had come here to saysomething to Theodora North, and at last she said it.

  "You have been here--how long?" she asked, suddenly.

  "Nearly a week," said Theo.

  "Is Mr. Oglethorpe better, or worse, than when you saw him first?"

  "I do not know exactly," answered the low, humble voice. "Sometimesbetter--though I do not think he is ever much worse."

  Another pause, and then:

  "You were very brave to come so far alone."

  The beautiful, dark, inconsistently, un-English face was uplifted all atonce, but the next moment it dropped with a sob of actual anguish.

  "Oh, Miss Gower!" the girl cried. "Don't blame me; please don't blameme. There was no one else, and the telegram said he was dying."

  "Hush," said Priscilla Gower, with an inexplicable softness in her tone."I don't blame you; I should have done the same thing in your place."

  "But you--" began Theo, faintly.

  Priscilla stopped her before she had time to finish her sentence;stopped her with a cold, clear, steady voice.

  "No," she said. "You are making a mistake."

  What this brief speech meant, she
did not explain; but she evidently hadunderstood what Theodora was going to say, and had not wished to hearit.

  But brief speech as it was, its brevity held a swift pang of new fearfor Theo. She could not quite comprehend its exact meaning, but itstruck a fresh dread to her heart. Could it be that she knew the truth,and was going to punish him? Could she be cruel enough to think ofreproaching him at such an hour as this, when he lay at death's door?Some frantic idea of falling at her stern feet and pleading for himrushed into her mind. But the next moment, glancing up at the erect,motionless figure, she became dimly conscious of something that quietedher, she scarcely knew how.

  The dim room was so quiet, too; there was so deep a stillness upon thewhole place, it seemed that she gained a touch of courage for theinstant. Priscilla was not looking at her now; her statuesque face wasturned toward the wide expanse of landscape, fast dying out, as it were,in the twilight grayness. Theo's eyes rested on her for a few minutes ina remorseful pity for, and a mute yearning toward this woman whom shehad so bitterly, yet so unconsciously wronged. She would not wrong hermore deeply still; the wrong should end just as she had thought it hadended, when Denis dropped her hand and left her standing alone beforethe fire that last night in Paris. This resolve rose up in her mind witha power so overwhelming, that it carried before it all the past ofrebellion, and pain, and love. She would go away before he knew that shehad been with him at all. She would herself be the means of bringing topass the end she had only so short a time ago rebelled against sopassionately. He should think it was his promised wife who had been withhim from the first. She would make Priscilla promise that it should beso. Having resolved this, her new courage--courage, though it was sofull of desperate, heart-sick pain, helped her to ask a question bearingupon her thoughts. She touched the motionless figure with her hand.

  "Did Pamela come here to bring me away?" she asked.

  Priscilla Gower turned, half starting, as though from a reverie.

  "What did you say?" she said.

  "Did Pamela come to take me away from here?" Theo repeated.

  "No," she said. "Do not be afraid of that."

  Theo looked out of the window, straight over her folded arms. The answerhad not been given unkindly, but she could not look at Priscilla Gower,in saying what she had to say.

  "I am not afraid," she said. "I think it would be best; I must go backto Paris or to--to Downport, before Mr. Oglethorpe knows I have beenhere at all. You can take care of him now--and there is no need that heshould know I ever came to St. Quentin. I dare say I was very unwise incoming as I did; but, I am afraid I would do the same thing again underthe same circumstances. If you will be so kind as to let him thinkthat--that it was you who came----"

  Priscilla Gower interrupted her here, in the same manner, and with thesame words, as she had interrupted her before.

  "Hush!" she said. "You are making a mistake, again----"

  She did not finish what she was saying. A hurried footstep upon thestairs stopped her; and as both turned toward the door, it was opened,and Pamela stood upon the threshold and faced them, looking at each inthe breathless pause that followed.

  "There has been a change," she said. "A change for the worse. I havesent for the doctor. You had better come down-stairs at once, Theodora,you have been here long enough to understand him better than we can."

  And down together they went; and the first thing that met their eyes asthey entered the sick-room, was Oglethorpe, sitting up in bed, with wildeyes, haggard and fever-mad, struggling with his attendants, who weretrying to hold him down, and raving aloud in the old strain Theo hadheard so often.

  "Why, Theo, my beauty, there are tears in your eyes. Good-by! Yes!Forgive me! Forget me, and good-by! For God's sake, Priscilla, forgiveme!"