ARLEY’S ILLNESS.
“I fear you will think me very foolish,” Arley said, trying to smile
through her tears; “but indeed I am very anxious to go home.”
“No, dear heart, I’ve been homesick myself afore now,” Mrs. Collins
responded, sympathetically.
“But how happens it that ye’r alone in this strange country--that
you’ve no one to go with ye to take care of ye?” she added, with a keen
glance into the fair, flushed face.
“I do not like to tell you about it here,” Arley replied, looking
furtively around, as if she feared some one might be within hearing.
“Could you come to my lodging some time to-morrow or next day? Then I
will tell you more about how I am situated, and why I am so anxious to
secure an escort back to England.”
Yes, Mrs. Collins said, she would come to-morrow, and Arley gave her
the address; then, thanking her for her kindness, she took leave of
them both and returned to her lodging quite content with her day’s
work, even though she had failed to see the consul.
On entering the room, however, she was dismayed at the state in which
she found it.
She knew she had left it in perfect order when she went out. Now her
closet door stood wide open, and her clothing appeared to have been
tossed about. Her writing-desk was also open and her papers scattered
about in confusion. Her trunk, likewise, had been tampered with, for
its contents had been roughly turned over and left in a disordered
state.
But after a hasty glance at these things she turned to her
dressing-case, a look of great anxiety on her face. The upper drawer
was partially drawn out, but she knew that she had been careful to lock
it and put the key in her purse before going out.
With a cry of dismay, she sprang forward, drew it further out, and
looked into it.
Her face, and even her lips, turned ghastly pale as she did so; her
eyes stared wildly at a vacant spot within it for a moment; then, with
a despairing moan, she dropped upon her knees, leaned her head against
the drawer, sobbing as if her heart were broken.
Her jewel-box was gone, and it contained all that she had except what
she had worn that morning.
Her diamonds were, of course, more valuable than anything else, and she
had saved them by wearing them; but there were many things which she
had prized very highly in the casket, and it was very trying to have
them stolen from her thus.
Still, she could have borne even this with fortitude, but for one
thing; in one of the compartments pinned to the velvet cushion, there
was the hundred-pound note which Miss McAllister had given her on her
wedding day, and which she had carefully preserved through everything
for a case of emergency.
Now all her hopes were blasted, for, without funds what could she do?
She could not go home without money to pay her passage; she could not
live there, or anywhere, without it. Her purse was nearly empty. She
did not know how long she might find employment at the art store; and,
besides, it would take her so long--such a weary while to earn enough
to go home.
For a time she was nearly wild over her loss, and did not know what to
do about it.
She dared not tell her landlady that she had been robbed, lest she
might suspect her poverty and refuse to allow her to stay there. She
could not inform the police, for she could not speak the language, and
she had no faith to believe that she could recover her property if she
made her case known, while it might involve her in doubt and deeper
trouble.
Philip could not help her pecuniarily, and it was probable that he
would not if he could, after the step which she had taken the previous
day.
What made her start so suddenly at the thought of her husband, and the
color flame hotly over her whole face?
Could it be possible that he would be guilty of so dastardly a deed as
to creep into her room and rob her thus?
The thought came to her like a shock, and perhaps she would not have
suspected him if she had not told him that she would sell her jewels to
get money to go home. Remembering this made her feel that perhaps she
had put a temptation in his way, which, in his embarrassing situation,
he had not been able to resist. But after a moment she put the thought
from her--she would not believe anything so dreadful of him, even
though his treatment of her had been so unmanly.
But it was a terrible blow to her, whoever was the thief, for there was
no going home now until she had earned the money, or unless--she could
sell her diamonds.
She could not bear to do that, for they had been the last gift of Dr.
McAllister to her before his death, and they seemed almost sacred to
her.
Wretched as she was, she resolved to lose no time in taking care of
them, lest they also should be stolen from her; so, struggling for
calmness, she unclasped them from her ears and throat, and sewed them
securely into the waist of a dress, stitched them in over the top of
whalebones, thinking that no one would ever suspect such a hiding-place
for them.
This done, she strove to busy herself over her drawings, for she must
make the most of her time now; but she was so nervous and trembling
that she grew hot and cold at every sound--she imagined that she heard
steps creeping up the stairs and pausing at her door; she would listen
with painful intentness until every nerve quaked with fear, then,
bursting into a passion of tears, wept until she had no strength to cry
more.
Thus the day and most of the night was spent, and morning found her a
pitiable object indeed--burning with fever and wild with delirium.
When her landlady brought up her breakfast she knocked, but no one
came to open the door, though she could hear Arley talking in a rapid,
unnatural way within her room.
She listened a few moments, and, being convinced that something was
wrong, she tried the door.
It was fastened, as she expected; but being of a resolute nature, she
was not long in forcing an entrance, and found Arley in a high fever
and in an almost uncontrollable state of excitement.
She did what she could for her temporary relief, and then sent for a
physician.
When he came and made an examination of his patient he looked very
grave and pronounced her very ill. He prescribed for her; waited an
hour to see what effect his medicines would have, and as she became
somewhat more quiet he finally went away, promising, however, to come
again later in the day.
Afternoon brought Jane Collins, who, by showing the address which Arley
had given her, and by signs, managed to make her errand known.
The landlady saw at once that she was English, although belonging to an
entirely different class from that of her lodger, and she was only too
glad to conduct her upstairs to the sick girl’s room.
The good woman was dismayed upon finding her in such a condition, and
saw at once that all hope of her returning to England with her in the
_Rocket_ was at an end; she knew that she was booked for a long and
tedious illness.
She at once removed her bonnet and shawl and by signs made the woman of
the house to understand that she wanted water and towels.
She was a kind-hearted creature, and comprehended at once that Jane
wanted to give the sick girl a bath, and hastened to bring everything
necessary.
Then with a gentleness which one would scarcely have thought she was
capable, she sponged the sufferer, who, though she did not recognize
her, seemed to be grateful for the attention, and grew gradually
quieter under the soothing process, until, when she had finished and
covered her with fresh linen, which she had asked to have brought for
the bed, Arley dropped into a deep, quiet sleep.
Jane then donned her bonnet and shawl again and hastened back to her
own humble lodgings to tell John about the sad state in which she had
found the “beautiful young leddy,” and to get his consent for her to
remain with her until she should be better, or as long as she could
before the sailing of the _Rocket_.
Honest John Collins’ tender heart went out to the lovely girl lying so
ill and desolate among strangers, and he bade his wife go back and stay
with her if she wished.
She did wish, and, hastily putting together a few necessary articles in
a bundle, she returned to her post in the sickroom.
There was much to try the good woman’s patience in assuming the
responsibility, for, of course, she could not understand a word of the
strange physician’s directions, although she liked his appearance and
treatment of Arley.
The only way she could ascertain how to give his medicine was by making
him point out on Arley’s watch--which she had found under her pillow
and immediately taken possession of--the hours when they were to be
administered.
For four days the poor girl was fearfully ill and utterly unconscious
of everything that transpired about her.
But good Jane Collins was indefatigable, sparing herself in no way,
while she was as tender and motherly as if she had been the mother of
a dozen children, instead of a lone woman without one in the world to
love.
On the fifth day Arley seemed somewhat more comfortable, and began to
have lucid intervals.
The next day her mind was quite clear, and she recognized her attendant
with evident pleasure.
“How came you here?” she asked.
“Ye were sick, and John said I might come to take care of ye,” Jane
answered, her face beaming to hear her speak naturally once more.
“How good it is of you!” Arley said, grasping the woman’s rough hand
and clinging to it with what strength she had.
“Have I been very ill?” she asked, after a minute.
“Yes, miss, very ill, and ye ain’t none too well now,” Jane returned,
regarding her somewhat anxiously.
“Do you think I shall be sick long?” the young girl questioned,
wistfully.
“I hope ye’re a trifle better this mornin’, but it’ll take quite a
spell yet for ye to get up where ye was afore.”
Arley sighed heavily at this.
“What day is it?” she asked.
“Monday, miss.”
“Monday!” with a startled look. “It was Tuesday that I saw you at the
consul’s. It must be nearly time to sail.”
Her eyes were growing very bright, and the fever flush began to mount
hotly in her cheeks again.
“Yes; the _Rocket_ sails Wednesday at noon.”
Jane did not know what else to say.
“And I can’t go,” Arley wailed, with a hysterical sob.
“Hush, dearie! ye’ll do yerself mischief if ye get to cryin’,” the
woman said, soothingly, while she smoothed the pretty brown head as
tenderly as a mother would have done.
“But I did so want to go home,” Arley replied, with quivering lips.
“I know--I know, and I wanted to have ye,” Dame Collins responded,
while a huge lump rose in her throat; “but, after all, dearie, a
sailin’ vessel ain’t no fit way for the like o’ ye to be travelin’ in;
it’ll be much better for ye to take passage in some steamer and go as a
leddy should go.”
“But I cannot go alone--I’m afraid,” and Arley clung to her companion
almost in terror, while a feeling of desolation surged like a huge
billow over her.
The woman hardly knew what to say to her.
She felt it might do her great injury if she should get excited, and
yet she knew that some arrangements ought to be made for her future
care. She longed to stay herself, for she felt a strange yearning for
the beautiful but forlorn stranger; but she could not.
“Where do you sail from?” Arley asked, after a few moments, and
struggling to be calm.
“Valencia, miss, where they are loadin’ the packet with fruits and nuts
as fast as ever they can, and my old man and me will have to start
early Wednesday mornin’, so’s to be on hand. It makes my old heart
ache, dearie, to go and leave you behind, sick and alone, and--and--”
She wanted to ask how Arley happened to be there so friendless in that
strange country, but a sort of rude delicacy prevented her from putting
her curiosity into words.
But the sick girl understood her, and, though a vivid blush rose to her
forehead, she finished the sentence for her.
“And you cannot understand how I happened to be in such a desolate
condition. I will tell you; you have been so good to me that you have
earned the right to know, and I am too miserable to care who knows it
now,” she said, wearily.
She then gave a brief account of her life since leaving London, telling
how she and her husband had wandered from place to place, their
comforts growing less and less because of the lack of funds, and how,
after coming to Madrid, their resources had failed entirely.
Her eyes drooped and her cheeks burned with shame as she told how
she had begged her husband to get something to do to improve their
condition, and that when he had refused she had sought employment and
earned enough to keep out of debt.
“But I could not live so,” she said. “I felt that I must go home or my
heart would break, and so I went that morning to the consul’s to see if
he could tell me of any parties about to return to England with whom I
could go. I felt so elated,” she added, “when you told me that I could
return with you, even though it would be in a sailing vessel, and I
knew that the voyage would be long and wearisome.”
Then she related how, on her return from the consul’s, she found that
she had been robbed of her jewels and the money which she had been
depending upon to pay her passage, and how she had been plunged into
depths of despair upon making the discovery.
“It was this which made me ill,” she said; “it gave me such a shock,
and I grew so nervous and excited over my loss that it made me sick,”
and Jane saw that excitement was fast hurrying toward the verge of
delirium again.
“Never mind the loss of the money, dearie,” she said, soothingly; “it
were a good deal to lose, I own, and the scamp who took it’ll get
his pay yet I promise ye; but Jane Collins hasn’t the heart to see
ye take on like this for the matter of a few pounds; ye shan’t want
for anything that a little money can buy; John and me’ll let ye have
whatever ye need, and when ye get back to the old country, and the good
aunt that ye’ve been telling me about, ye can make it all right with me
again, if ye like.”
Arley was greatly comforted by this, and began to grow calmer at once.
“What should I have done if it had not been for you?” she said,
gratefully.
“The Lord always takes care of His helpless ones, and if He hadn’t sent
me, ’twould have been some one else,” Jane responded, with simple faith.
“But where is this”--“villain,” she was going to ask, but changed her
mind before the obnoxious word was spoken and substituted--“man who has
used ye so badly?”
Arley gave the street and number where she and Philip had boarded;
then, after thinking a moment, she asked:
“As you must go soon, and there will be no one but strangers to care
for me, perhaps it will be best to send word to my husband regarding my
condition, and it may be, when he sees how I am, he will be willing to
exert himself to take care of me.”
Jane Collins’ face lighted at this proposal.
She thought it would be the best, the only thing to do, and offered to
go at once in search of the recreant husband.
Arley thanked her and consented, and Jane immediately started out upon
her errand.
She easily found the place to which she had been directed, and
presented to the landlord, who answered her summons, Mr. Paxton’s name,
which Arley had written upon a card for her.
She was made to understand that Mr. Paxton was not there--that the
gentleman and his wife had both gone, and they did not know whither.
The fact of the case was that when Philip found that his wife was
determined to go he, too, left on the same day, and their landlord
believed that they had gone together to some other place.
It was with a heavy heart that Jane Collins returned to poor Arley with
this intelligence, for she well knew how critical her condition was,
and what a terrible thing it would be to leave her in that strange
city alone and so very ill.
“If it wasn’t for John I’d stay,” she murmured to herself, with a
troubled face; “but I’ve only him in all the world, and I just can’t
let him go without me.”
And the faithful creature was much distressed by her desire to act the
part of the good Samaritan to the fair young invalid, while her strong
affection for her husband could not endure a long separation from him.
Arley clung to her almost in terror upon learning how fruitless her
errand had been.
“What shall I do? How can I bear to let you leave me?” she cried, in
despair. “I can trust you--you are good and kind, I know, by your face,
while I feel as if I was in a den of thieves. I believe I shall surely
die if I am left here alone.”
She became so excited that Jane grew alarmed, but she had not one word
of comfort to offer, for it was indeed a hard case, and she could only
gather her in her arms and try to soothe her as she would have soothed
a child.
The doctor came in during this scene and shook his head with great
displeasure as he saw the condition which his patient was in, and he
jabbered as fast as his tongue could fly, while of course neither of
his hearers could understand a word he said.
At length, as if inspired by some happy thought, Arley raised her head
from Jane Collins’ shoulder and addressed him in French.
To her delight he responded at once and with a very good accent, and
the look of care and misery began to fade out somewhat from her face.
If she could make herself understood her situation would not be quite
so uncomfortable, and when she explained it to Jane she also looked
much relieved.
Arley told the doctor that her kind friend would be obliged to leave
her in a day or two and that they were both much troubled on account of
the separation.
But he spoke very kindly, telling her not to be troubled; he would make
her his special charge, and she should have every care that she needed,
and it was not long before he had the satisfaction of seeing her sink
back upon her pillow with a sigh of relief and an actual smile--though
a tremulous one--on her lips, at his assurance.