"Quanto minus est cum reliquis versari, quam tui meminisse."
The tidings of her son's illness reached Lady Catharine quickly at
Kerton Manor. I did not hear of it till a day later, and when I arrived
I found her nearly exhausted by sleeplessness and anxiety, though she
had not been Guy's nurse for more than thirty-six hours.
The sick-bed of delirium taxes the energies of the watcher very
differently from any other. There is a sort of fascination in the roll
of the restless head, tossing from side to side, as if trying to escape
from the pressure of a heavy hot hand; in the glare of the eager eyes,
that follow you every where, with a question in them that they never
wait to have answered; in the incoherent words, just trembling on the
verge of a revelation, but always leaving the tale half told, that
creates a perpetual strain on the attention, enough to wear out a strong
man.
There have been men, they say, who, sensible of the approach of
delirium, chose the one person who should attend them, and ordered their
doors to be closed against all others, preferring to die almost alone to
the risk of what their ravings might betray; but I have heard, also,
that there are secrets--secrets shared, too, by many confederates--to
which neither fever or intoxication ever gave a clew. The hot blood grew
chill for an instant, and the babbling tongue was tied when the dreamer
came near the frontier ground, where the oath reared itself distinct and
threatening as ever, while all else was fantastic and vague.
There was something of this in Guy's case. We could hear distinctly many
of his broken sentences, relating sometimes to the hunting-field,
sometimes to the orgies of wine or play. There were names, too,
occurring now and then, which to his mother were meaningless, but to me
had an evil significance. Once or twice--not oftener--he was talking to
Flora Bellasys. But when the name of Constance Brandon came, the harsh
loud voice sank into a whisper so low that if you had laid your ear to
his lips you would not have caught one syllable. Very, very often I had
occasion to remark this, and to wonder how the heart could guard its
treasure so rigidly when the brain was driving on, aimless as a ship
before the hurricane with her rudder gone.
On the fifth day after Guy's illness began, an angel might have
interceded for him in the stead of a pure true-hearted woman, for
Constance was dead.
I saw Lady Catharine tremble, and bend her head down low when she heard
the news, as if herself crushed by the blow which would fall so heavily
on her son. She had known but very little of Constance; that little had
made her love her dearly--who could help doing that? Yet it was not
Constance she was regretting then. I could see the same thought was in
her mind as in mine--who will tell Guy this if he recovers? I did all I
could to spare her; but the anxiety she felt when out of the sick-room
tried her almost more than the bodily fatigue. It was best to let her
have her way. I never guessed, till then, the extent of a weak woman's
endurance.
It was a close struggle, indeed, between life and death. The fire of the
fever died out when there was little left for it to feed on. The arm
which, a month ago, was fatal as old Front-de-Boeuf's, had not
strength enough in its loosened sinews to lift itself three inches from
the coverlet.
Guy had fallen at last into a heavy sleep. The doctors said it was the
turning-point. If he woke quite calm and sane, the immense power of his
constitution would probably enable him to rally; if not, the worst that
could be feared was certain.
He woke after many hours. There was such a stillness in the room as he
unclosed his eyes that you might have heard his mother's heart beat as
she sat motionless by his bedside. They recognized her at once--heavy
and dim as they were--for he tried to turn his head to kiss her hand
that lay on the pillow beside him. Then we knew that he was saved; and I
saw, for the first time, tears stream down Lady Catharine's worn cheeks.
She could check the evidence of her grief better than that of her joy.
He saw me, too, as I came forward out of the shadow. "Is that you,
Frank?" he said, faintly. "How very good of you to come." We would not
let him speak any more.
On the third day after the change for the better, I was alone with the
invalid. He turned to me suddenly, and spoke in a low voice, but so
steady that it surprised me. "Frank, what have you heard of Constance?"
Had I been arming myself to meet that question--disciplining my voice
and countenance for days, only to fail so miserably at last? I felt
unspeakably angry and self-reproachful when I saw that my face had told
him all.
"When did she die?" He went on in the same measured tone, without taking
his eyes off me. I think he had nerved himself just enough for the
effort, and was afraid of breaking down if he paused.
I could speak now, and told him. I was going on to tell him, too, how
calmly and happily her life had ended (her aunt had written all this to
Lady Catharine), when Guy stopped me--not coldly, but with a hopeless
sadness in his accent very painful to hear. "Thank you; it is meant
kindly, but I would rather not speak of this, even to you--at least for
some time."
His self-command carried him through bravely, but it only just lasted
out. Then he turned his head aside and threw his arm across it. As I
drew back to the window, I saw the quivering of the long, emaciated
fingers that veiled his face. I did not look again till Guy's voice
called to me, quite composedly, for I did not dare to pry into or meddle
with the secrets of the strong heart that knew its own bitterness so
well.
I told Lady Catharine what had passed. She was very much relieved to
hear that it was all over. She never opened her lips on the subject to
her son; indeed, though those two understood each other thoroughly,
there were wonderfully few confidences between them.
Guy's convalescence was slow--far slower than we had hoped for. It
seemed as if some spring was broken in his being not easily to be
replaced. He was moody and listless always, speaking very seldom; but
his words and manner, when he did talk, were gentler and more kindly
than I ever remembered them.
One of his first visitors was Colonel Mohun. He had been incessant in
his inquiries, and had offered to share our watching, but Lady Catharine
would not hear of it. She had a sort of dread at the idea of that grim
face lowering over the sick man's bed.
No one was present at their first interview. Ralph was more moved than
he cared to show at his old friend's altered looks and ways; but he gave
him the account of his search after the lost letter conscientiously,
without sparing a single detail. "It must have gone hard with Guy," he
remarked to me, thoughtfully, as he came away. "He's very far from right
yet. When I told him what Willis had done, I made sure he would be very
angry. He only said, 'Poor wretch! He acted under orders, and did not
know what mischief he was doing.' He wants rousing; but I am sure I
don't know what is to do it."
Forgiveness and forgetfulness of injuries seemed to that hard old
heathen the most dangerous sign of bodily and mental debility.
He came almost daily after that, and I think his rough ways, and sharp,
sarcastic remarks acted on Livingstone as a sort of tonic--bitter, but
strengthening.
A few days later Mrs. Vavasour called. She, too, saw Guy alone. She
surely had a message to deliver, or she would not have ventured on an
interview which must have been so painful to both. It did not last long;
but when she came down, her thick black veil was drawn closely over her
face, and that evening Guy was denied to Ralph Mohun.
One afternoon Livingstone was quite by himself. The colonel had gone
into Warwickshire for a few days' hunting; Lady Catharine had paid her
usual visit and had gone back to her hotel, and I was out for an hour or
two. We did not mind leaving him a good deal alone; indeed, he preferred
it very often, and said so.
His servant came in, looking rather puzzled, to say that a lady wished
to see him. She would not give her name, but said that she would not
detain him many minutes.
Guy had not time to refuse admittance to the visitor, she followed so
close upon her message. Though she was closely-wrapped in her mantle,
and her veil fell in triple folds, there was no mistaking the turn of
the haughty head, the smooth, elastic step, and the lithe undulations of
a figure matchless between the four seas. No wonder that he drew his
breath hard as he recognized Flora Bellasys.