"THE WOMAN IS A WITCH."
It was Saxa Lydon who said those words, for the old man's face became
suddenly convulsed; his head dropped back, and, as Neil sank on one knee
and passed his arm beneath the neck, it turned sidewise, with the eyes
seeming to gaze reproachfully into his, but there was neither sight nor
understanding then.
The grey dawn was creeping into the room when Ralph Elthorne recovered
consciousness, and looked up questioningly in his son's face.
But he did not speak for a time, only let his eyes wander about the
room, and they saw that he appeared to be noting who were present, his
gaze resting long on both his sons, his daughter, sister, and the nurse.
At last he spoke.
"Isabel."
She ran to his side, and sank upon her knees.
"The girls?" he said feebly. "Saxa--Dana?"
"They went home, papa, dear, about two," whispered Isabel; "but don't
try to talk, now. Look at me, and I'll try to understand what you
mean."
He took no notice of her prayer, but closed his eyes, and lay apparently
thinking, his next words indicating that he recalled what had taken
place.
"Yes," he said gently; "they could not stay here. Tell Alison and your
aunt to go and then you go too."
Neil advanced just then to watch his father narrowly, but the old man
made no sign of anger. He lay quite calm and still, as if utterly
exhausted, but his son noted that he watched until Aunt Anne and Alison
had gone, when he unclosed his eyes fully, and whispered to Isabel to
leave.
"May I not stay, papa? I may be wanted."
"No. You have been here all night. Kiss me and go--"
Isabel bent down weeping, pressed her lips on her father's brow, and
then left the room, with Nurse Elisia and Neil both watching patiently
as the stricken man's eyes remained fast shut.
But he was quite conscious, for upon Neil approaching the couch after a
time, his lips parted.
"I am not asleep," he said, gently, "only very weak. You need not both
stay."
Neil looked at his father wonderingly, and with something of dread, the
old man seemed so passionless and strange.
Just then the invalid opened his eyes and gazed full at his son.
"I know what I am saying," he said quietly. "I recollect all that has
passed, but I am too weak and helpless to speak much. Nurse!"
She went to his side.
"Let him stay with me. You can go for an hour or two. I am not going
to die--yet."
She looked at him keenly, and then at Neil, as if to question him, but
she did not speak.
"The danger is past," he said quietly. "You can safely go for a time."
"Then set me free, sir," she cried, quickly, her woman's nature
asserting itself now above the habit of the passionless trained nurse.
"If there were danger, I would stay, but you say it is past; and it is
impossible for me to stay here after what has happened."
"There is no reason now, madam," said Neil coldly. "I am doctor, and
you are the nurse. You need not fear that I shall speak again. You
cannot leave my father yet."
She looked at him wildly, and then, growing momentarily less
self-controlled, she avoided his eyes and turned to the invalid, bending
down over him gently.
"Mr Elthorne," she said; "you have heard your son's words as regards
your state. I cannot stay here now. Give me your permission to go."
He looked at her sadly, and feebly shook his head.
"No, nurse," he whispered huskily. "You cannot go. Not yet--not yet."
She started, for he raised his hand, took hers and held it while he
gazed half wonderingly in her face, as Neil, unable to conceal his
feelings, hurried away to his own room.
"I am not fit to be left, nurse," said Ralph Elthorne gently. "You know
how ill and weak I am."
A sob rose in her throat as she tried to be calm, while he gazed
intently in her face, scanning each feature.
"So weak, so helpless," he muttered, as if to himself, but she heard
every word; "and I never thought of this, I never thought of this. Yes,
Anne. You wish to see me?"
"Yes, dear," said that lady, who had entered now unannounced even by a
tap on the door. "Yes, Ralph. I want to speak to you very
particularly." He turned to Nurse Elisia, and spoke in an apologetic
manner, and very feebly.
"Leave us, please, nurse," he said. "I will talk to you later on."
"No, sir," she whispered. "Give me leave to go."
"Not yet, not yet," he replied. "I will lie here and think. It is all
so sudden." Then, with a sudden flash of his old manner, "No; you are
not to go until I give you leave."
She glanced at Aunt Anne, who had ignored her presence entirely, and
then she went slowly to the room set apart for her use, asking herself
how all this would end, and whether it would not be wiser to leave the
house at once, and end the painful position in which she stood.
"Well, Anne, dear," said Mr Elthorne feebly. "You want to speak to
me?"
"Yes, Ralph, I must speak to you now."
"Speak gently, then, dear; I am much weaker. Not so well to-day."
"And never will be well again, Ralph, with the house in this state,"
cried Aunt Anne, ruffling up, and speaking excitedly.
"What, what do you mean?" he faltered; and it was like the shadow of his
former self speaking. "What do I mean, Ralph? I mean that the place
has not been the same since that dreadful woman came."
"You are wrong, my dear, you are wrong," he said querulously. "So good
and attentive to me. I should have been dead before now if it had not
been for her."
"Oh, my dear brother, how can you be so blindly prejudiced! Can you not
see the woman's cunning and artfulness?"
"No, Anne, no. She has been very good and kind."
"Yes; that is it, Ralph dear, playing a part. She has won those two
foolish boys to think of her only, and insult poor Saxa and Dana; and
now she has ended by winning over poor Isabel, who is in a state of
rebellion. I have had a terrible scene with her. She actually takes
this dreadful woman's part."
"Poor little Isabel!" sighed the sick man.
"And she's behaving shamefully to poor Sir Cheltnam."
"Ah!"
"Yes; shamefully, Ralph, shamefully."
"And you came to tell me that, my dear?" said Elthorne quietly.
"Yes, Ralph, and it has come to this."
She stopped short, and dabbed her face with her handkerchief.
"Yes, my dear, it has come to this? Tell me. I am tired. I must sleep
again."
"That this woman, this nurse must leave the house at once."
"Leave? Nurse Elisia leave?" said Elthorne with a faint smile. "No, my
dear, you do not wish to kill me."
"Heaven forbid, Ralph! I will nurse you now, and Isabel shall relieve
me from time to time."
"No, my dear, no," he said gently. "You are very good and kind, but you
do not understand."
"Not understand nursing?" she cried angrily. "Not such nursing as I
require. No, my dear. She cannot go."
"Then I shall," cried Aunt Anne angrily.
Her brother laughed softly.
"No," he said; "you will not go. The house could not exist without you,
sister."
"Am I to keep your house, then, or not, Ralph?"
"To keep it? of course, dear, as you always have done."
"I am mistress here, then?"
"Yes, my dear, yes."
"Then that woman goes at once," cried Aunt Anne emphatically.
"No," said Ralph Elthorne quietly.
"But I say yes, Ralph. I am mistress of this house, and it is my duty
to send her away."
"And I am master, dear, feeble and broken as I am. She stays till I bid
her go."
"Ralph, must I tell you everything I know?"
"There is no need, sister."
"But the woman's antecedents? Maria was at the hospital, and saw all
her dreadful goings on with the students, and with poor deluded Neil."
"Maria? Pish!" said Elthorne with a contemptuous smile. "Nurse
Elisia's face tells something different from that, my dear. I would
sooner believe her candid eyes than Maria Bellow's oath."
"Ralph! Has this dreadful woman bewitched you too?"
"Enough!" he said feebly. "Go to your cupboards and your keys, Anne.
You are a good, true woman, but you have always been as blind and
prejudiced as your brother has been overbearing and harsh. This illness
has brought me very low, dear, and taught me much. Go now, and
remember: I owe Nurse Elisia my life. She is to be treated with
respect, and I shall send her away when I think good."
"The woman is a witch," muttered Aunt Anne, as she left the room.