CHAPTER V
A FLASH OF MEMORY
I found my spirits attuned to the clear sunshine of the new day, andcongratulated myself that convalescence promised to be so speedy. AgainI had the sense that it was my body only that was weak and exhausted bydisease, for my mind seemed singularly elastic, and I felt as if theweight of years and toil had dropped away, and I was entering on a newand higher plane of existence. An unwonted hopefulness, too, gavebuoyancy to my waking thoughts.
My first conscious act was to look for my flowers. They had beenremoved to a distant table, and in their place was a larger bouquet,that, for some reason, suggested Adah. "It's very pretty," I thought,"but it lacks the dainty, refined quality of the other. There's toomuch of it. One is a bouquet; the other suggests the bushes on whichthe buds grew, and their garden home."
From the sounds I heard, I knew the family was at breakfast, and beforevery long a musical laugh that thrilled every nerve with delight rangup the stairway, and I laughed in sympathy without knowing why.
"Happy will the home be in which that laugh makes music," I murmured."Heaven grant it may be mine. Can it be presumption to hope this, whenshe showed so much solicitude at my illness? She was crying when myrecovery was doubtful, and she entreated me to live. Reuben's wordssuggested that she was depressed while I was in danger, and buoyantafter the crisis had passed. That she feels as I do I cannot yet hope.But what the mischief do she and Adah mean by saying that they owe meso much? It's I who owe them everything for their care during myillness. How long _have_ I been ill? There seems to be something that Ican't recall; and now I think of it, Mrs. Yocomb's account last nightwas very indefinite."
My further musings were interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Yocomb witha steaming bowl that smelt very savory.
"Mrs. Yocomb," I cried, "you're always welcome; and that bowl is, too,for I'm hungry as a cub."
"Glad to hear it," said Mr. Yocomb's hearty voice from the doorway."I'll kill for you a young gobbler that Emily Warren thinks is like theapple of my eye, if you will promise to eat him."
"No, indeed," I answered, reaching out my hand. "He is already devotedto Miss Warren's Thanksgiving dinner. May he continue to gobble untilthat auspicious day."
"What! do you remember that?" and Mr. Yocomb cast a quick look ofsurprise at his wife.
"Yes, I remember everything up to a certain point, and then all comesto a full stop. I wish you would bridge over the gap for me."
"Richard," interposed Mrs. Yocomb, quickly, "it wouldn't do thee anygood to have father tell thee what thee said when out of thy mind fromfever. I can tell thee, however, that thee said nothing of which theeneed be ashamed."
"Well, I can't account for it. I must have been taken very suddenly.One thing is clear: you are the kindest people I ever heard of. Youought to be put in a museum."
"Why, Friend Morton, is it queer that we didn't turn thee out of doorsor give thee in charge of the poormaster?"
"I certainly am the most fortunate man in the world," I said, laughing."I had broken myself down and was about to become very ill, and Istarted off in the dark and never stopped till I reached the shelter ofMrs. Yocomb's wing. If I should tell my experience in New York there'dbe an exodus to the country among newspaper men."
"Thee mustn't do it," protested Mr. Yocomb, assuming a look of dismay."Thee knows I'm down on editors: I make thee an exception."
"I should think you had; but they would not expect to be treated onehundredth part so well as you have treated me."
"Well, bring thy friends, editors or otherwise. Thy friends will bewelcome."
"I fear I'll be selfish; I feel as if I had made too rich a discoveryto show it to others."
"Now, father, thee's had thy turn, and must go right out and letRichard take his breakfast and his medicine. I'm bent on making Dr.Bates say I'm the best nurse in town, and between such a lively patientand such a lively family I have a hard time of it."
"Well, thee knows I always mind, mother," said the old gentleman,putting on a rueful look. "I do it, thee knows, to set the children anexample. Good-by now; mother will make thee as hearty as I am ifthee'll mind her."
"Oh, I'm well enough to see _everybody_ to-day," I said with emphasis,and I imagine that Mrs. Yocomb gave as definite a meaning to myindefinite term as I did.
"No one can stay long yet, but if thee continues to improve so nicely,we can move thee downstairs part of the day before very long."
"At that prospect I'll mind as well as Mr. Yocomb himself," I criedgladly. "Mr. Yocomb, they are spoiling me. I feel like a great pettedboy, and behave like one, I fear; but having never been ill, I don'tknow how to behave."
"Thee's doing very well for a beginner. Keep on--keep on," and hisgenial visage vanished from the doorway.
After I had my breakfast, Zillah flitted in and out with her mother twoor three times.
"Mother says I can look at thee, but I mustn't talk;" and she wouldn't.
Then Adah, with her wide-brimmed hat hanging on her arm, brought me adainty little basket of wild strawberries.
"I promised to gather them for thee," she said, placing them on mytable.
"You did? I had forgotten that," I replied. "I fear my memory isplaying me sad tricks. You have just gathered them, I think?"
"What makes thee think so?"
"Because their color has got into your cheeks."
"I hope thee'll like them--the strawberries, I mean."
I laughed heartily as I answered, "I like both. I don't see how eithercould be improved upon."
"I think thee likes a city pallor best," she replied, shaking her head.
I imagine that a faint tinge of the strawberry came into my face, forshe gave me a quick glance and turned away.
"Adah," said Mrs. Yocomb, entering, "thee can take thy sewing and sithere by the door for a while. Call me if Richard wants anything. Thedoctor will be here soon."
"Would thee like to have me stay?" she asked timidly.
"Indeed I would. Mrs. Yocomb, can I eat these strawberries? I'vedevoured them with my eyes already."
"Yes, if the doctor says so, and thee'll promise not to talk much."
I made no promise, for I was bent on talking, as convalescents usuallyare, I believe, and Adah forgot her sewing, and her blue eyes rested onme with an intentness that at last grew a little embarrassing. She saidcomparatively little, and her words had much of their old directnessand simplicity; but the former flippancy and coloring of small vanitywas absent. Her simple morning costume was scrupulously neat, and quiteas becoming as the Sunday muslin which I had so admired, and she hadfastened at her breastpin a rose that reminded me of the one I hadgiven her on that wretched Sunday afternoon when she unconsciously andspeedily dispelled the bright dream that I had woven around her.
"For some reason she has changed very much," I thought, "and I'm gladit's for the better."
Zillah came in, and leaned on her lap as she asked her a question ortwo. "Surely the little girl would not have done that the first day Imet her," I mused, then added aloud:
"You are greatly changed, Miss Adah. What has happened to you?"
She blushed vividly at my abrupt question, and did not answer for amoment. Then she began hesitatingly:
"From what mother says, it's time I changed a little."
"I think Zillah likes you now as she does Miss Warren."
"No, she likes Emily Warren best--so does every one."
"You are mistaken. Zillah could not have looked at Miss Warrendifferently from the way in which she just looked at you. You have noidea what a pretty picture you two then made."
"I did not think about it."
"I imagine you don't think about yourself as much as you did. Perhapsthat's the change I'm conscious of."
"I don't think about myself at all any more," and she bent low over herwork.
Dr. Bates now entered with Mrs. Yocomb, and Adah slipped quietly away.
After strong professions of satisfaction at my rapid convalescence,
andgiving a medicine that speedily produced drowsiness, he too departed.
I roused up slightly from time to time as the day declined, and findingReuben quietly busy at his carving, dozed again in a delicious, dreamyrestfulness. In one of these half-waking moments I heard a low voiceask:
"Reuben, may I come in?"
Sleep departed instantly, and I felt that I must be stone dead before Icould be unmoved by those tones, now as familiar as if heard all mylife.
"Yes, please come," I exclaimed; "and you have been long in coming."
Reuben sprang up with alacrity as he said, "I'm glad thee's come,Emily. Would thee mind staying with Richard for a little while? I wantto take Dapple out before night. If I don't, he gets fractious."
"I will take your place for a time, and will call Mrs. Yocomb if Mr.Morton needs anything."
"I assure you I won't need anything as long as you'll stay," I began,as soon as we were alone. "I want to thank you for the rosebuds. Theywere taken away this morning; but I had them brought back and placedhere where I could touch them. They seemed to bring back that Juneevening in the old garden so vividly that I've lived the scene over andover again."
She looked perplexed, and colored slightly, but said smilingly, "Mrs.Yocomb will think I'm a poor nurse if I let you talk too much."
"Then talk to me. I promise to listen as long as you will talk."
"Well, mention an agreeable subject."
"Yourself. What have you been doing in the ages that have elapsed sinceI came to life. It seems as if I had been dead, and I can't recall athing that happened in that nether world. I only hope I didn't make afool of myself."
"I'm sorry to say you were too ill to do anything very bad. Mr. Morton,you can't realize how glad we all are that you are getting well sofast."
"I hope I can't realize how glad YOU are, and yet I would like to thinkthat you are very glad. Do you know what has done me the most goodto-day?"
"How should I know?" she asked, looking away, with something liketrouble in her face.
"I heard your laugh this morning while you were at breakfast, and itfilled all the old house with music. It seemed to become a part of thesunshine that was shimmering on the elm-leaves that swayed to and frobefore my window, and then the robins took it up in the garden. By theway, have you seen the robin's nest that Zillah showed us?"
"Yes," she replied, "but it's empty, and the queer little things thatZillah said were all 'mouth and swallow' are now pert young robins,rollicking around the garden all day long. They remind me of Reuben andDapple. I love such fresh young life, unshadowed by care or experience."
"I believe you; and your sympathy with such life will always keep youyoung at heart. I can't imagine you growing old; indeed, truth is neverold and feeble."
"You are very fanciful, Mr. Morton," she said, with a trace ofperplexity again on her face.
"I have heard that that was a characteristic of sick people," I laughed.
"Yes; we have to humor them like children," she added, smoothing herbrow as if this were an excuse for letting me express more admirationthan she relished.
"Well," I admitted, "I've never been ill and made much of before, sinceI was a little fellow, and my mother spoiled me, and I've no idea howto behave. Even if I did, it would seem impossible to be conventionalin this house. Am I not the most singularly fortunate man that everexisted? Like a fool I had broken myself down, and was destined to beill. I started off as aimlessly as an arrow shot into the air, and hereI am, enjoying your society and Mrs. Yocomb's care."
"It is indeed strange," she replied musingly, as if half speaking toherself; "so strange that I cannot understand it. Life is a queertangle at best. That is, it seems so to us sometimes."
"I assure you I am glad to have it tangled for me in this style," Isaid, laughing. "My only dread is getting out of the snarl. Indeed, I'msorely tempted to play sick indefinitely."
"In that case we shall all leave you here to yourself."
"I think _you_ have done that already."
"What would your paper do without you?" she asked, with her browslightly knitted and the color deepening in her cheeks.
"Recalling what you said, I'm tempted to think it is doing betterwithout me."
"You imagine I said a great deal more than I did."
"No, I remember everything that happened until I was taken ill. It'sstrange I was taken so suddenly. I can see you playing Chopin'snocturne as distinctly as I see you now. Do you know that I had thefancy that the cluster of roses you sent me was that nocturne embodied,and that the shades of color were the variations in the melody?"
"You are indeed very fanciful. I hope you will grow more rational asyou get well."
"I remember you thought me slightly insane in the garden."
"Yes; and you promised that you would see things just as they are afterleaving it."
"I can't help seeing things just as they seem to me. Perhaps I do seethem just as they are."
"Oh, no! To a matter-of-fact person like myself, you are clearly veryfanciful. If you don't improve in this respect, you'll have to take acourse in mathematics before returning to your work or you will misleadyour readers."
"No, I'm going to take a course of weeding in the garden, and you wereto invite me into the arbor as soon as I had done enough to earn mysalt."
"I fear you will pull up the vegetables."
"You can at least show me which are the potatoes."
In spite of a restraint that she tried to disguise, she broke out intoa low laugh at this reminiscence, and said: "After that revelation ofignorance you will never trust me again."
"I will trust you in regard to everything except kitchen vegetables," Ireplied, more in earnest than in jest. "A most important exception,"she responded, her old troubled look coming back. "But you are talkingfar too much. Your face is slightly flushed. I fear you are growingfeverish. I will call Mrs. Yocomb now."
"Please do not. I never felt better in my life. You are doing me goodevery moment, and it's so desperately stupid lying helplessly here."
"Well, I suppose I must humor you a few moments longer," she laughed."People, when ill, are so arbitrary. By the way, your editorial friendsmust think a great deal of you, or else you are valuable to them, foryour chief writes to Mr. Yocomb every day about you; so do some others;and they've sent enough fruit and delicacies to be the death of anostrich."
"I'm glad to hear that; it rather increases one's faith in humannature. I didn't know whether they or any one would care much if Idied."
"Mr. Morton!" she said reproachfully.
"Oh, I remember my promise to you. If, like a cat, I had lost my ninthlife, I would live after your words. Indeed I imagine that you were theonly reason I did live. It was your will that saved me, for I hadn'tenough sense or spirit left to do more than flicker out."
"Do you think so?" she asked eagerly, and a rich glow of pleasureoverspread her face.
"I do indeed. You have had a subtle power over me from the first, whichI cannot resist, and don't wish to."
"I must go now," she said hastily.
"Please wait," I entreated. "I've a message for Mrs. Yocomb."
She stood irresolutely near the door.
"I wish you to tell her--why is it getting dark so suddenly?"
"I fear we're going to have a shower," and she glanced apprehensivelytoward the window.
"When have I seen that look on your face before?" I asked quickly.
"You had a message for Mrs. Yocomb?"
"Yes. I wish you would make her realize a little of my unboundedgratitude, which every day increases. In fact, I can't understand thekindness of this family, it is so hearty, so genuine. Why, I was anentire stranger the other day. Then Adah and--pardon me--you also usedexpressions which puzzle me very much. I can't understand how I becameill so suddenly. I was feeling superbly that Sunday evening, and theneverything became a blank. Mrs. Yocomb, from a fear of disquieting me,won't say much about it. The impression that a storm or somethingoccurred tha
t I can't recall, haunts me. You are one that couldn'tdeceive if you tried."
"You needn't think I've anything to tell when Mrs. Yocomb hasn't," sheanswered, with a gay laugh.
"Miss Warren," I said gravely, "that laugh isn't natural. I never heardyou laugh so before. Something _did_ happen."
A flash of lightning gleamed across the window, and the girl gave aninvoluntary and apprehensive start.
Almost as instantaneously the events I had forgotten passed through mymind. In strong and momentary excitement I rose on my elbow, and lookedfor their confirmation in her troubled face.
"Oh, forget--forget it all!" she exclaimed, in a low, distressed voice,and she came and stood before me with clasped hands.
"Would to God I had died!" I said, despairingly, and I sank back faintand crushed. "I had no right to speak--to think of you as I did.Good-by."
"Mr. Morton--"
"Please leave me now. I'm too weak to be a man, and I would not loseyour esteem."
"But you will get well--you promised me that."
"Well!" I said, in a low, bitter tone. "When can I ever be well?Good-by."
"Mr. Morton, would you blight my life?" she asked, almost indignantly."Am I to blame for this?"
"Nor am I to blame. It was inevitable. Curses on a world in which onecan err so fatally."
"Can you not be a brave, generous man? If this should go againstyou--if you will not get well--you promised me to live."
"I will exist; but can one whose heart is stone, and hope dead, _live?_I'll do my best. No, yon are not to blame--not in the least. Take thewhole comfort of that truth. Nor was I either. That Sunday _was_ theday of my fate, since for me to see you was to love you by everyinstinct and law of my being. But I trust, as you said, you will findme too honorable to seek that which belongs to another."
"Mr. Morton," she said, in tones of deep distress, "you saved thishome; you saved Mrs. Yocomb's life; you--you saved mine. Will youembitter it?"
"Would to God I had died!" I groaned. "All would then have been well. Ihad fulfilled my mission."
She wrung her hands as she stood beside me. "I can't--oh, I can'tendure this!" she murmured, and there was anguish in her voice.
I rallied sufficiently to take her hand as I said: "Emily Warren, Iunderstand your crystal truth too well not to know that there is nohope for me. I'll bear my hard fate as well as I can; but you must notexpect too much. And remember this: I shall be like a planet hereafter.The little happiness I have will be but a pale reflection of yours. Ifyou are unhappy, I shall be so inevitably. Not a shadow of blame restson you--the first fair woman was not truer than you. I'll do mybest--I'll get up again--soon, I trust, now. If you ever need afriend--but you would not so wrong me as to go to another--I won't beweak and lackadaisical. Don't make any change; let this episode in yourlife be between ourselves only. Good-by."
"Oh, you look so ill--so changed--what can I say--?"
Helpless tears rushed into her eyes. "You saved my life," she breathedsoftly; but as she turned hastily to depart she met our hostess.
"Oh, Mrs. Yocomb," she sobbed, "he knows all."
"Thee surely could not have told him--"
"Indeed I did not--it came to him like a flash."
"Mrs. Yocomb, by all that's sacred, Miss Warren is not to blame foranything--only myself. Please keep my secret; it shall not trouble anyone;" and I turned my face to the wall.
"Richard Morton."
"Dear Mrs. Yocomb, give me time. I'm too sorely wounded to speak to anyone."
"A man should try to do what is right under all circumstances," shesaid, firmly, "and it is your first and sacred duty to get well. It istime for your medicine."
I turned and said desperately, "Give me stimulants--give me anythingthat will make me strong, so that I may keep my word; for if ever a manwas mortally weak in body and soul, I am."
"I'll do my best for thee," she said, gently, "for I feel for thee andwith thee, as if thee were my own son. But I wish thee to remember nowand always that the only true strength comes from Heaven."