CHAPTER XXXII.
"I WILL NEVER BE FAITHLESS AGAIN."
"Nothing begins and nothing ends That is not paid with moan, For we are born in other's pain And perish in our own."
THOMPSON.
"He had a face like a benediction."
CERVANTES.
In spite of her terrible exhaustion, Waveney instinctively dreaded thesurprised looks and curious questionings which she feared awaited her.The idea of Joanna's pity and Betty's welcoming caresses seemed alikerepugnant; and when Thorold opened the parlour door, she drew back asthough afraid to enter; but he gently led her in.
"They are all out," he said, quietly; "but you can rest and get warm."And then he drew up an easy-chair to the fire and placed her in it, andbrought her a footstool; the next moment, with careful hands, heremoved her hat, and put a cushion under her head; then he drew off hergloves, and gently rubbed her benumbed fingers.
Waveney submitted to it all passively. The warmth and stillness soothedher, in spite of herself. When Thorold left the room to speak to Jemima,she rested her weary head against the soft cushion and closed her eyes.How kind he was!--how kind every one was! And then, all of a sudden,great tears welled up in her eyes. The little parlours, with their drawncrimson curtains and bright fire, seemed to fade from her sight. She wassitting on a bench in Old Ranelagh gardens, and Mollie was beside her.The sunlight was filtering through the limes, the children were flittingto and fro like butterflies. "Here he is--the noticeable man, with largegrey eyes," she was saying; and she could hear Mollie's sweet, scornfullaughter in reply.
"Dear Miss Ward, please drink this; it will warm you and do you good."Thorold spoke in a clear, persuasive voice. But as Waveney opened hereyes, the tears were rolling down her small white face.
"Why did you rouse me?" she said, with a little sob. "I was dreaming,and it was so lovely. I was sitting with my Mollie, and we were laughingand talking together. Oh, Mollie, Mollie!" And here a fit of bitterweeping seemed to shake her from head to foot. No power on earth couldhave hindered the flow of those tears.
For one moment Thorold almost lost his calmness.
"Waveney, my dear child, hush!" he said, hoarsely, "you will makeyourself ill. Why are you so hopeless? It is often darkest just beforethe dawn." And then his hand rested for a moment lightly on her head."How do you know that your sister's life may not be spared? and then allthese tears may have been needlessly shed. Child, do not lose yourfaith. God may be dealing mercifully with you and yours."
He spoke in a voice of intense feeling; then he gently raised her fromthe cushions, and held the cup to her lips.
"You must drink this," he said, very quietly and gently. And Waveneychecked her tears and obeyed him.
"There, you are better now," he said, in a tone of relief, when the cupwas empty.
"Yes," she whispered. "Thank you, for being so good and patient. I oughtnot to have troubled you so."
"Troubled?" returned Thorold, in a low, suppressed voice, "when thereis nothing on earth that I would not do for you, my darling!" The lastwords were scarcely audible. Then he bit his lip, and rose hastily. Whatwas he doing? He had forgotten himself. The sight of her tears, theanguish in her beautiful eyes, had utterly unnerved him. For the momenthe had been oblivious of everything but her suffering, and his greatlove; and words of tenderness had forced themselves to his lips.
Good heavens! what had he done? And here he paced the room in agitation;but a glance at the easy-chair reassured him. Poor child! she was sodazed, so confused, that probably the words had not reached her ears. Ifthey had--and here he frowned, and stared at the fire in perplexity--if,fool that he was, he had betrayed himself! And then, in spite of hisself-reproach, a gleam of joy crossed his face. What if she hadunderstood him, and knew, without doubt, that she was the darling of hisheart!
But he would not trust himself to be alone with her any longer. He sentfor a cab, and then went up to Joanna's room for an old fur-lined cloak,that he knew hung in her wardrobe.
A few minutes later, when he returned to the room, the cloak was overhis arm. Waveney was still in the same position, lying back on thecushions, with closed eyes, and listless hands folded on her lap. But atthe sound of his step, she struggled into a sitting posture.
"Have you come for me? May I go, now?" she asked, in a weak littlevoice. But he noticed that the colour had returned to her lips.
"Yes," he said, quietly. "The cab is here. But you must let me wrap youin this cloak, for it is bitterly cold outside, and this room is sowarm." Then she stood up without a word, and allowed him to put it roundher; then, still silently, he drew her hand through his arm, and led herslowly down the little courtyard.
For some minutes no word passed between them.
Thorold pulled up the windows. Then he wrapped the old cloak a littlecloser round her, and stooped to bring it under her feet. As he did soshe put out her hand to stop him.
"Oh, please--please do not trouble about me so," she said, in adistressed tone. "I am quite warm now. You are so kind, and I cannoteven thank you?" Then, with a sudden impulse, he took her hand, and heldit firmly.
"Do you know how you can thank me best?" he said, very gently. "Bytaking better care of yourself in future. Waveney, promise me that youwill never act so recklessly again. Good heavens! what would have becomeof you if I had not found you! And even now----" Then, with aninvoluntary shudder, he checked himself.
"I was very wrong," she returned, humbly, "but I was so unhappy, and Iwanted to tire myself; and somehow the river, and the loneliness,soothed me. And then all at once I seemed to lose myself, and you came.I think the cold numbed me; but I understand better now, and I amsorry."
She spoke in broken little sentences, and it was with difficulty that hecould hear the words; they were just entering the Lodge gates at thatmoment, and he leant forward in the darkness and lifted the cold littlehand to his lips. "Yes, you were wrong," he said, tenderly, as though hewere speaking to a child, "but you will never be so foolish again. Youwill take care of yourself for the sake of those who love you." Then hedropped her hand as a gleam of light from the open door streamed acrossthe shrubbery. And as the cab stopped he saw Althea standing in theporch, with a light, fleecy wrap thrown over her head.
"Oh, Waveney," she exclaimed, in an anxious tone, as Thorold lifted thegirl out. "Where have you been?" Then, as she caught sight of Waveney'sface, "My dear child, you look dreadful. What has happened?"
"Nothing has happened," returned Thorold, impatiently. "Miss Ward is notwell; the cold has struck her. Please do not keep her standing here."And, unceremoniously putting Althea aside, he almost carried Waveneyacross the hall.
"Take her to Doreen's room. There is a nice fire there," Althea said,quickly. But she was too late, for Thorold had already opened thelibrary door. As he did so, two people, sitting by the fire, rosehastily and looked at them. The next moment Waveney uttered a cry andfreed herself from Thorold's supporting arm.
"Father," she exclaimed, in a voice of terror, "you have come--you havecome to tell me----" Then her breath failed her, and she almost fellinto Everard's arms.
"My darling, I have come to bring you good news," he said, pressing heralmost convulsively to him. "Oh, such good news, my Waveney! Mollie isbetter; the danger has passed, and----" But here he stopped, asWaveney's head fell heavily on his shoulder.
"You have told her too suddenly," observed Althea, in an alarmed voice.But Thorold, without a word, took the girl from her father's arms andlaid her on a couch.
"She has fainted," he said, briefly. "You had better bring some brandyand smelling-salts. The sudden revulsion has been too much for her." Andthen he helped Althea apply the remedies, while Everard stood helplesslyby, too shocked and troubled to be of any use.
It seemed long before Waveney opened her eyes. She seemed ratherconfused at first. As Thorold put a glass to her lips, she looked at hima little wildly.
"Is it
another dream?" she whispered. "Was not father here really?"
Then Thorold smiled at her.
"It was no dream," he said, quietly. "The good news is quite true. Mr.Ward, will you take my place, please?"
Then Everard knelt down by her couch. Waveney's weak arms were round hisneck in a moment.
"Father," she said, pressing her cheek against his, "tell it me again.Mollie--my Mollie--is not going to die?"
Then Everard, in rather a tremulous voice, repeated the good news. Therehad been a change for the better early in the day, but he had waiteduntil the afternoon for the physician's verdict. The danger that theydreaded was no longer imminent; the disease had run its course;everything depended now upon skilful nursing, with care andwatchfulness; Sir Hindley hoped that Mollie would, in time, recover hernormal strength; but in this insidious disease there was the danger ofsudden collapse from exhaustion--indeed, there were other risks, butEverard did not mention this.
Waveney listened with painful attention; then her heavy eyes were fixedwistfully on her father's face.
"It is really true!" she murmured. "Thank God, oh, thank God! Father,dear, may I see her now?"
Everard frowned anxiously; he had dreaded this question, but he had tobe firm, for the doctor's orders were stringent.
"No, dear," he said, sorrowfully, "you must not see her yet. It is forMollie's sake as well as yours. No one must see her; the leastexcitement or agitation, in her weak state, might be fatal. You must bepatient, my little Waveney, and I will promise you this, that you shallbe Mollie's first visitor;" and then Waveney hid her face on hisshoulder.
"Do not let her talk any more," observed Althea, gently; and thenThorold came forward to take his leave. As he pressed her hand, Waveneylooked at him with a touching expression of gratitude in her dark eyes.
"You were right," she said, in a low voice, "and I was wicked andfaithless; but I will never be faithless again."
But his sole answer was a smile so bright and reassuring that in herweakness it almost dazzled her, as though some sudden sunbeam hadflashed across her eyes.
"Fear nothing," it seemed to say, "poor little tired child, rest and bestill." And indeed, before Everard left the house, an hour later, theworn-out girl was sleeping peacefully, while Althea, with motherly eyes,watched beside her.
It was late that night before Althea retired to rest. Thorold's accounthad filled her with uneasiness; his description made her shudder. Thedark, solitary towing-path, with the dense mist rising from the river;the exhausted little creature trying to walk off her sorrow andrestlessness. No wonder that Althea's kind heart ached with pity.
"Oh, Thorold," she said, and her eyes were full of tears, "how do weknow what that poor child may have to suffer for her imprudence? She mayhave rheumatic fever. Oh, one cannot tell what may be the result of suchmadness."
Then Thorold shook his head with rather a sad smile.
"You must not take such a gloomy view. Let us hope there will be no badresult. I confess Miss Ward's exhausted condition alarmed me at first.It was distressing to see her. And then there was so little one coulddo!"
Thorold's tone had a note of pain in it, but Althea looked at him withan affectionate smile.
"Don't undervalue yourself, Thorold. In any emergency or trouble I knowof no one who could give more efficient help. So many kind-heartedpeople spoil everything by their fussiness."
"Oh, that is one for Joa!"
"No, no, I was not thinking of poor Joa. With all her goodness, she isthe last person I should care to have near me in any sudden trouble.Perhaps it is unkind of me to say this, but I know we think alike onthis point;" and though Thorold made no verbal response to this, it wasevident that he agreed with her.
When Waveney woke the next morning, she was conscious of aching limbsand unusual weariness and lassitude, and it was almost with a feeling ofrelief that she heard Althea say she must remain in bed.
"You have been a naughty little child," she said, kissing her, "andDoreen and I are excessively angry with you; so we have agreed that youare to be punished by some hours of solitary confinement. I am going tolight your fire, and then you are to eat your breakfast and go to sleepagain."
Waveney smiled quite happily at this. She had no wish to dispute thepoint. It was a luxury to lie still in her soft bed and watch thepleasant firelight until her drowsy eyelids closed again. In spite ofher weariness and aching limbs, there was a fount of joy in her heart."Mollie is better. Mollie will get well." Those were the words sherepeated over and over again, and more than once her hands were folded,and "Thank God!" came audibly from her lips.
At midday Althea brought a note that Moritz had sent by a boy messenger.It was written to her, but there was a message for Waveney. She readpart of it aloud. Mollie had slept well, and the improvement continued.Both doctor and nurses seemed satisfied.
"If I had my way, Sir Hindley should have a peerage," wrote Moritz. "Heis worth all the other doctors put together; and Miss Mollie would neverhave pulled through without him, I'll take my oath of that." But Altheakept the remainder of the letter to herself. It was too strictly privateand confidential even for Doreen's ears.
All day long, in her waking intervals, Waveney was keeping one thoughtat bay. Deep down in her inner consciousness, she was aware of somestrange and secret joy which she dare not face, but which seemed todistil some rare and precious aroma.
"Was it a dream?" she was continually asking herself; but the answer tothis perpetually eluded her. All the events of the previous evening hadresolved themselves into a sort of painful vision. The dark, sullenriver; her restless anguish; those confused moments when, giddy andsick, she had sat on the bench with Mr. Chaytor beside her; the walkthrough the lighted streets; and then the warmth and comfort of thatfriendly refuge.
It was not until late in the afternoon, when the wintry dusk had closedin, and the Pansy Room was bright with firelight, that the power ofconsecutive thought and memory seemed to return to Waveney, when somesudden remembrance made her bury her face in the pillow. What were thosewords that, in spite of her weakness, seemed stamped on her heart andbrain?
"Trouble? When there is nothing on earth that I would not do for you, mydarling!" No, it was no dream. She had actually heard them. He hadreally said them. Would she ever forget his voice, or the smile that hadseemed to steal into her weary heart like a benediction? Then, for a fewblissful moments, Mollie was forgotten in the overwhelming consciousnessthat the man she most admired and revered, who seemed so far above herin wisdom and intellect, should stoop from his great height to care forher.