CHAPTER XXVIII.
"BUT YET THE PITY OF IT."
"The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together."--_All's Well that Ends Well._
"For this relief much thanks."--_Hamlet._
When Althea had read the brief message, she told Mitchell very quietlythat there was no answer required, and that she might give the boy somerefreshment and send him away; and then, as the maid left the room, shehanded the telegram to Moritz.
It troubled her kind heart to see the pain in his eyes as he read it. Hewas quite pale, and his lips twitched under his moustache.
"What does it mean?" he asked, in rather a stifled voice. "I thought yousaid that she was well. If she is ill, why is her sister to be keptaway? You see what he says: 'Do not come.'"
"Yes, I see," returned Althea, very gravely. "It must be somethingsudden; but I hope, for poor dear Waveney's sake, that it is nothinginfectious. Let me think for a moment--one cannot grasp it at once. Thisis Wednesday, and on Sunday Mollie was well--only a little pale andtired; and yes, I remember, she had a slight headache, and so Waveneypersuaded her not to go to church."
"A headache and pale and tired! Good heavens, Althea, it is clear asdaylight! She was sickening for something." Moritz's tone was sotragical, and he paced the room so restlessly, that, in spite of hervery real anxiety, Althea could hardly repress a smile.
"Dear Moritz," she said, gently, "there is no need to take such a gloomyview. Our pretty Mollie is human, and must be ill sometimes like otherpeople. Perhaps it is a bad cold or influenza, or it might even bemeasles--they are very much about."
For Moritz's "unregenerate woman" had been singularly captious since theNew Year, and close muggy days had paved the way for all kinds ofailments to which flesh is heir.
There was a great deal of sickness at Dereham, and Althea had been bothwise and careful in refusing to allow Waveney to go as usual amongst herpensioners.
"Of course it may be anything," returned Lord Ralston, impatiently,--foreven his easy temper was not proof against the bitterness of hisdisappointment,--he had so hungered and thirsted, poor fellow, for asight of Mollie's sweet face. All these weeks he had been doing his dutynobly, and now he had looked for his reward. "Absence makes the heartgrow fonder," he had said to himself that very morning. Would "this budof love" which he had been nurturing so tenderly, have blossomed into "abeauteous flower" when they met again? Over and over again he had askedhimself this question; but Mollie was ill, and all hope of an immediateanswer was over.
"It may be anything," he repeated. "But who is to look after her? Thereis only her father and that half-witted maid-of-all-work. There used tobe some friend who nursed them when they were ill, but she is livingsomewhere in the country with an invalid lady. We must get a nurse. Doyou know where their doctor lives?"
But Althea shook her head.
"No; but we can find out. Moritz, I think the best plan will be for meto go over to Cleveland Terrace, and then I can tell Waveney exactly howthings are; I will leave a line for Doreen and beg her to say nothinguntil my return." Then a look of intense relief crossed Moritz's face.
"It is a good idea," he said, eagerly; "and I will go with you." AndAlthea made no objection to this.
"It is a pity the carriage is out," she said, regretfully; "but Georgeshall get us a cab. Now we will go and have some luncheon, and then Iwill get ready." But with both of them the meal was a pretence.Apprehension and worry deprived Moritz of all appetite, and Althea wasso nervous and fluttered at the idea of encountering Everard in his ownhome, that she could scarcely eat a morsel.
She rose as soon as possible, and left Moritz to finish his repast; buthe preferred pacing the room. In spite of his vivacity and_gaiete-de-coeur_, his jaunty airs and cheerfulness, he was easilydepressed. Any form of illness that attacked those he loved, preyed onhis mind. When Gwendoline's little son was born, he was so anxious anddespondent that Jack Compton, in spite of his own natural solicitude forhis young wife's safety, laughed at him and told him "that he looked asmelancholy as a gib cat." "The old chap was in the doldrums and nomistake," he said to Gwen afterwards. "I tell him I played the man twiceas well as he. But he is a good old sort, too." And then, with awe andwonder, the young father regarded the small and crumpled and exceedinglyred morsel of humanity, lying snugly within Gwen's arm.
As they drove up to Cleveland Terrace they saw an unmistakable doctor'sbrougham before the door of Number Ten. Lord Ralston's swarthycomplexion turned rather livid at the sight, but Althea only remarked,with composure, that they had come just at the right time.
Noel opened the door to them; he had seen them from the window; his facebrightened perceptibly. "Father has gone up with Dr. Duncan," he said;"but they will be coming down directly; you had better come up into thestudio. There is a fire there." And Noel led the way. Althea glancedquickly round the room as she entered. It was shabby, there could be nodoubt of that, but there was an air of comfort about it. And then shesubsided wearily into a corner of the big, cosy-looking couch; butMoritz marched off to the inner room and stood with his back to them,gazing at poor Mollie's little writing-table with an aching heart.
"Noel, what is the matter with your sister?" asked Althea, in a lowvoice; but Noel could not tell her. She had seemed queer and feverishthe previous day, he explained, and his father had advised her remainingin bed. She had had a bad night, and her throat was painful, and he hadbeen forbidden to go near her. This was Dr. Duncan's first visit. Theyhad sent for him in the morning, but he had been unable to come untilnow.
It was evident that Noel could not enlighten them much, so Altheaforebore to question him further, and waited silently until they heardfootsteps descending the stairs; but as they passed by the studio doorAlthea heard the doctor say,--
"I will look in later and see what you have done about the nurse."
Noel heard it, too, for he looked rather startled.
"A nurse!" he muttered. "Poor old pater, that will bother him a bit."And then Everard came quickly into the room.
"Noel, I want you!" he said, rather sharply. "Duncan says----" but herehe stopped in sudden surprise as Althea's tall figure rose from thecouch.
"Mr. Ward," she said, quietly, "Waveney was out, so I opened yourtelegram, and I have come to see if there is anything I can do forMollie. My cousin, Lord--I mean Mr. Ingram, has brought me." ThenEverard, with rather a sad smile, held out his hand to the young man.
"You are both very kind," he said, simply, "but there is nothing you cando for the dear child. Mollie is very ill, and Dr. Duncan wishes her tohave a good nurse at once. I am going to send Noel off to theInstitution. He has given me the address--it is diphtheria, and herthroat is in a dreadful state, and there is no time to be lost."
"Let me go," returned Moritz, earnestly. "I will take a hansom and bethere in no time. Mr. Ward, I shall esteem it as a favour and a mark oftrue friendship if you will send me instead of Noel." But before Everardcould reply to this urgent request, Althea's gentle voice interposed.
"Mr. Ward, please listen to me a moment. I know what this illnessmeans--I have had it myself--Mollie will need two nurses; there would beno one to take care of her by day while the nurse rests, and any neglectwould be an awful risk. Please let Moritz go and settle the business.There need only be one to-night, but the day-nurse must relieve herto-morrow morning. Let him have the address, and Noel can go with him;and then you must let me go up and see Mollie." And then Everard, in adazed fashion, held out a folded piece of paper.
"Two nurses! I shall be in the workhouse," they heard him mutter. But noone took any notice.
"Althea, you are a trump," whispered Moritz, as she followed him intothe passage. "Tell me anything she needs, and I will get it. Twonurses!--she shall have a dozen nurses. If the doctor approves, we willhave a second opinion; we will have the great throat doctor, Sir HindleyRichmond, down." But what more Moritz would have said in that eager,sibilant whisper, was never known, for Althea gave him an impatientli
ttle push.
"Go--go; there is no use in talking. I shall not leave until the nursearrives." And then she went back into the studio.
She had forgotten her nervousness now, her reluctance to enter Everard'shouse; her face glowed with kindly, womanly sympathy, as she approachedhim.
"I am so sorry for you," she said, gently; "and I am sorry for dearMollie, too, for it is such a painful complaint. But with good nursingI hope she will soon be well. Is Dr. Duncan a clever man?"
"Oh, yes, I believe so," returned Mr. Ward, dejectedly; "but his chargesare very high. Miss Harford, I am afraid we must manage with one nurse.I have not the means. I am a poor man." But Althea turned a deaf ear tothis. It was far too early in the day to proffer help. He must not betold yet that he had good friends, who were only too thankful to beallowed to bear his burdens. For Mollie's sake, for Waveney's sake, andfor poor Moritz's sake, there must be no indulgence of false andmisplaced pride. He must be managed adroitly and with _finesse_ andfemale diplomacy--no masculine blundering must effect this.
"How did Mollie catch it?" she asked, to turn his thoughts from thequestion of expense. But Everard could not answer this question. Molliehad not seemed well since Sunday, he said; she had been restless andirritable, and complained of feeling ill. She had been so feverish inthe night that he thought it must be influenza, and he had sent for Dr.Duncan; but, early as it was, he had already started on his rounds, andhad only just come. He would pay another visit later in the evening.Althea listened to this in silence; then she said, rather gravely,--
"Mr. Ward, what are we to do about Waveney? It will break her heart tobe kept from Mollie; and yet----" Then he turned upon her almostfiercely, and there was an excited gleam in his eyes.
"I will not have it. Tell Waveney that I forbid her to come near thehouse. Good heavens! would she add to my troubles? Is it not enough tohave one child ill?" Then his eyes filled with tears, and the hand heput on Althea's arm shook a little. "Dear Miss Harford, be my friend inthis; keep Waveney safe for me." And something in his tone told Altheathat, dearly as Everard loved all his children, this was the one whocame closest to his heart.
"Do not fear," she returned, tenderly. "You can trust me, and Waveneyloves you far too well to disobey you; but"--here she sighed--"it willcertainly break her heart. Mollie is her other and her dearer self."
"Yes, poor darling, I know that; but she must be brave. Tell her, fromme, please, that I will write twice a day if that will comfort her. Sheshall know everything. There shall be nothing hidden from her."
"Yes, I will tell her," returned Althea, sorrowfully. "And when mycousin returns, we will arrange about Noel; he must not stop here." Thenthere was an unmistakable look of gratitude in Everard's eyes.
"You think of everything," he said, in a broken voice. "I was troublingsadly about the poor lad. Now I am afraid I must leave you, as Molliehas no other nurse." But he was both touched and surprised when Althearose, too.
"Let me go with you," she said, quickly; "I am not the least afraid. Ihad the complaint very badly myself before we left Kitlands."
"I fear we are both doing wrong," returned Everard, hesitating. "Yoursister will be very angry with you." But Althea shook her head verydecidedly at this, and he was too bewildered and miserable to argue thepoint.
The sick room looked bare and comfortless to Althea's eyes, in spite ofthe bright fire burning cheerily in the grate. The big iron bedstead,with its old and obviously patched quilt; the dark stained woodfurniture, and the narrow window seats, with faded red cushions, werehardly a fit shrine for Mollie's dainty beauty. Mollie lay uncomfortablyon her pillows; she looked flushed and ill, and her beautiful eyes had aheavy, distressed look in them. She held out her hands rather eagerly toAlthea, but the next moment she drew them back.
"Oh, I forgot," she said, in a thick voice; and it was evidently a greateffort to speak. "You must not come near me: Dr. Duncan said so. Tell mydarling Wave that she must keep away if she loves me, and ask her not tofret. Oh, I cannot talk;" and here poor Mollie flung herself back on thepillows, and her hot, restless fingers tried to put back the heavymasses of rough tangled hair.
How Althea longed to brush it out and sponge the fevered face and hands!But at her first hint Everard frowned and looked anxious. "Not forworlds," he said, decidedly. "The nurse will be here directly. TheInstitution is hardly a mile from here, and Ingram will take a hansom."He spoke in a low voice, but Mollie heard him.
"Oh, father, is Mr. Ingram here?" she whispered. "How sorry he will beto hear I am ill!" And then a sudden thought struck her, and shebeckoned to Althea rather excitedly. "Miss Harford," she said, in herpoor, hoarse voice, "will you do something for me? In that smallright-hand drawer behind you, you will see a little parcel; it isdirected. Please give it to Mr. Ingram from me."
Althea secretly marvelled at this, but held her peace. When the daintywhite parcel was in her hand, she said, gently,--
"Yes, dear Mollie, he shall have it directly he returns. But now yourfather does not wish me to stay. Good-bye. God bless you, my child." AndAlthea's tone of faltering tenderness arrested Everard's attention.
"It would not be safe. I dare not let you do anything for her," he said,very softly, as he opened the door. "I will stay with her until thenurse comes. But please, go down and rest." And Althea, who wastrembling with some strange emotion, obeyed him without a word.