THE KISS.
Late in the afternoon of that same day, Barbara Evershed called at 12
Ashley Mansions.
“How is Sir Piers?” she asked of the servant who opened the door.
“Very ill, miss.”
“Is Mrs. Pelham at home?”
“Yes.”
The man knew Barbara, and invited her to enter.
“I am quite sure Mrs. Pelham will be glad to see you, Miss; she has
mentioned your name once or twice to-day.”
“I will find her myself,” said Barbara; “don’t come up-stairs.”
The girl ran quickly up the richly carpeted stairs, and a moment later
knocked at a door. A voice said “Come in,” and she entered.
Mrs. Pelham started up when Barbara appeared.
“Oh, I am glad to see you,” she exclaimed. “Come over here, sit down
near me. Have you heard the—the news?”
The widow’s lips trembled, and her eyelids were red from weeping.
“The news about Piers?” said Barbara. “Oh, I don’t believe for a moment
it is so bad. Dear Mrs. Pelham, don’t give way; try, try to bear up.”
For the poor woman had suddenly flung her arms round Barbara’s neck and
burst into a passion of convulsive weeping.
“He is dying!” she exclaimed. “He has such dreadful fainting fits. The
doctors say that there is no hope. There were two of them here this
morning. They say that in all probability little Piers will be dead
before many days are over. Oh, Barbara, I am glad you have called. It
seems a queer, wild thing to say, but I do believe you can save him.”
“I! What do you mean?” said Barbara, coloring vividly.
“He has been often asking for you and Dick—he loves you both so much. Do
you know, Barbara, I have taken a most terrible dislike to that
red-haired nurse?”
“Is she a trained nurse?”
“Yes, the one Dr. Tarbot insists on having. She belongs to his special
staff. Sir Richard Spears, as well as Mr. Williamson, called to-day. I
said something about having in a second nurse, but Dr. Tarbot said at
once that it was not necessary.”
“You ought to do what you please,” said Barbara.
“He is a very determined man, Barbara, and I dare not oppose him. It
seems to me as if I had not the management of my own child, and it is
hard, bitterly hard. Oh, I cannot believe that my darling is leaving
me.”
“I don’t think it _can_ be true,” said Barbara. She stood upright. All
the happiness which had filled her eyes left them, and her face looked
grave and older than her years.
“I don’t think God can mean little Piers to die,” she repeated. “I am
sorry you do not like the nurse, for so much depends on nursing in cases
of bad illness. May I go up to see Piers now, Mrs. Pelham?”
“Oh, my darling, I wish you would. I have a feeling that you can save
him.”
“I shall only be too delighted to go and sit in the room and do anything
the nurse says. I have always been fond of Piers. He has been like a
little brother to me.”
“Barbara, I shall die if my only child is taken from me.”
“But he may be spared,” exclaimed Barbara eagerly. There was hope in her
young voice.
Mrs. Pelham dried her tears.
“Go up and see him, Barbara,” she said. “Go now, at once; the nurse may
try to prevent it, but insist on seeing him. He ought not to be left
alone with that strange woman, and she never likes me to be long in the
room. Children have got better, haven’t they, even when the doctors have
given them up?”
“Over and over again,” said Barbara. “Yes, I’ll go up at once.”
She left the drawing-room and ran up-stairs. She knew Piers’s beautiful
room well, and softly opened the door. Within was darkness. A woman in
full nurse’s dress confronted the girl.
“What do you want? You must not come in here,” said Nurse Ives.
“My name is Evershed,” said Barbara, dropping her voice to a very low
tone. “I have come to see Piers. I am one of his greatest friends. I
have known him all his life. May I come in and sit with him for a
little? I should like it so much, and I would be quiet. I would do just
what you wished.”
“You cannot come in,” said the nurse. “I cannot permit it. No stranger
is to be allowed to come into the room. I am acting on the doctor’s
authority.” As Nurse Ives spoke Barbara found herself edged, against her
will, on to the landing. A very weak voice inside the room called her
name—“Barbara! Barbara!”
“Oh, he heard my voice; he wants me. Do—do, nurse, let me go to
him—please, nurse.”
“I cannot,” said the nurse. “Stay where you are for a moment. I will go
back to him.”
She reentered the room and said something to the child which Barbara
could not hear, and returned.
“You cannot see the boy—I have Dr. Tarbot’s orders. Now please go away.
I must return to him immediately.”
As the woman spoke she went back to the sick-room and shut the door in
Barbara’s face. Just for a moment the girl lingered on the landing, then
a resolved expression filled her eyes.
“You will not let me in without Dr. Tarbot’s permission. Then I will go
and obtain it,” she said aloud. “I will see Piers, come what may.”
She ran down-stairs. Mrs. Pelham met her on the landing.
“Well?” she said eagerly. “Did you see him? What did you think of him?
Was the nurse very unpleasant? Oh, Barbara dear, I shall go mad if
nothing is done! Oh, if I could only get that woman out of the house!”
“She seems a good and capable nurse,” said Barbara. “Don’t get too
nervous, please, Mrs. Pelham. The boy is ill, and I should like beyond
anything to be with him. No, dear, she would not let me see him. He
heard me, and called me, the darling; but she would not let me in. I
have made up my mind, however. I am going straight off now to get Dr.
Tarbot’s permission. If he says I may see Piers, it will be all right.”
“That’s splendid, Barbara! Do go at once. It is so queer that the only
person who is allowed freely to see the dear little fellow is Dick. Dr.
Tarbot does not mind Dick being with him, nor does the nurse, and Dick
calls every day. He will be here soon. It is the greatest possible
comfort to me to have the dear fellow about the house. He is almost like
a son of my own. You know, dear, how much I have always loved him. Oh,
and you are engaged to him, Barbara. Yes, I know; the report has reached
me. He will be a husband in a thousand. I am glad you are going to be
happy with him some day. Yes, when Dick comes he will sit with Piers,
but he does not often come until late, and if you could be with the
darling until Dick arrives I should not be nearly so anxious.”
“Well, hope for the best now, dear Mrs. Pelham. I will go off at once to
see Dr. Tarbot.”
Barbara ran down-stairs. Ashley Mansions was within a stone’s throw of
Harley Street. In less than five minutes she was standing on the steps
of Dr. Tarbot’s house, and the door was immediately opened in answer to
her ring. She asked if Dr. Tarbot was in.
“Yes, Miss,” replied the footman.
“I want to see him immediately.”
The man invited her in.
“What name?” he asked.
“Say that Miss Evershed has called. Say also that my business is of an
urgent nature.”
The man showed Barbara into the dining-room and withdrew. A moment later
Tarbot entered the room. He came forward eagerly, his thin lips
twitching, his eyes full of subdued light.
“To what am I indebted for this pleasure?” he began.
Barbara interrupted him.
“I want to ask you a great favor, Dr. Tarbot.”
“What is it?”
“I wish to sit up with little Piers to-night.”
On hearing these words the expression on Tarbot’s face altered.
“Are you mad?” he asked, looking full at the girl.
“No; I am sane.”
“Do you know anything whatever of nursing?”
“I don’t want to nurse—there is a professional nurse to do that. I want
to stay with the child, to hold his hand, to be with him. It is unkind
to leave him with strangers.”
“Miss Evershed,” said Tarbot suddenly, “I would do much for you, you
know that.” The look in the doctor’s eyes became eager, and Barbara
shrank towards the door.
“I would do much for you,” he continued, “but where my professional
duties are concerned I have no choice. I would rather that the nurse had
the entire care of Piers.”
“Oh, I cannot see any reason for this,” said Barbara, clasping her
hands. “Besides,” she added eagerly, “you allow Dick Pelham to be with
him.”
“Pelham is different. He has been with the boy from the first. It would
be unkind to turn him out of the room, but your face would be a fresh
one. The child’s condition is most serious. Any extra excitement might
stop the heart which is so dangerously affected.”
“Can I not induce you to grant my request? Little Piers called out for
me when I went to the door just now—he heard my voice. Is not happiness
good for sick people? Is not happiness, and a little bit of their own
way, quite as valuable as your most potent drugs? Oh, I believe such to
be the case—I am sure I am right. Dr. Tarbot, do allow me to have my
wish. It cannot possibly injure Piers for me to sit with him, and I am
always quiet and never excitable. It would make him happy! Please grant
my desire.”
While Barbara spoke, the eager light in her eyes, the tremulous movement
of her beautiful lips, her young figure all alive with the sympathy and
longing which filled her soul, brought to Tarbot a moment of mad brief
temptation. His own eyes glittered. He came close to the girl.
“You want this favor badly?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“If I grant it, will you do something for me?”
“Need you ask?”
“I will grant your wish on a condition.”
Tarbot’s face grew white. He came still closer to Barbara.
“Well?” she asked impatiently.
“If I allow you to sit with little Piers to-night will you—_kiss me_?”
Barbara staggered and caught a chair to steady herself.
“An hour ago I thought you a good man,” she said at last slowly. “I was
mistaken. I cannot sit with Piers on those terms. Good night.”
Tarbot quickly recovered himself.
“Forgive me! Forgive me!” he cried. “I was mad for a moment. It is your
fault. Why are you so beautiful, so lovable? Oh, Barbara, you could have
made a good man of me, and now I am”—he breathed the words low—“a devil!
But forgive me. Come, I will go back with you. You shall have your wish.
I grant it without any condition. I will accompany you to Ashley
Mansions and take you into the sick-room.”
Barbara said nothing. Her first impulse was to go straight home to her
mother, but thoughts of Piers and of the benefit she might do him caused
her to change her mind. She walked quickly back to Ashley Mansions with
the surgeon, neither of them speaking a word.
Mrs. Pelham was waiting by the drawing-room door.
“It is all right,” said Barbara, nodding to her. “Dr. Tarbot will allow
me to stay with Piers to-night.”
“Thank God!” answered Mrs. Pelham. “I am greatly obliged to you, doctor,
for this. Barbara, dear, Dick is up-stairs. He arrived almost
immediately after you left. There seems to be some commotion in the
sick-room. I heard steps hurrying about, but I am too frightened to go
and inquire. Go and tell me quickly if anything is wrong.”
Barbara nodded, and the girl and the doctor went up-stairs. When they
reached the threshold of the room Tarbot turned and looked full at
Barbara.
“Say that you forgive the impulse which came over me half an hour ago.”
Barbara hesitated; then her words came out, very low.
“I will—try.”
“Come this way.” Tarbot opened the door. The two passed beyond the
screen. The room was no longer dark—it was lit up with brilliance.
Pelham and Nurse Ives were both standing by the bed. When Pelham saw
Barbara he uttered a cry. Nurse Ives looked at the doctor and nodded to
him to come forward.
In the bed lay a little figure perfectly motionless, and as if carved in
marble.