Catching a Chill.
The warm light from the open nursery door flashed across Clara Lake's
path in the corridor, and she went in. Mrs. Chester was running some
slate-coloured breadths together, the lining for a black frock for
Fanny. Miss Cooper sat at the table equally busy. She was a steady,
industrious young woman, as well-conducted as her brother, the
unfortunate engine-driver; and many ladies employed her at their
houses by day.
"Is it you, Clara?" cried Mrs. Chester, looking up. "I'm coming down.
I suppose you are all wondering what has become of me? Is tea on the
table?"
"I--I don't know; I have been in my room," replied Mrs. Lake, taking a
low chair near the fire.
Anna, with her quick ear of discernment--at work apart from the rest,
with very little benefit of the candles' light--turned round and
looked at Clara, as if something in the tone were unnatural;
disguised. But she said nothing. Clara seemed absorbed in the fire.
Light, quick steps were heard on the stairs, and Robert Lake dashed
in, a gay smile on his face. "Pretty housekeepers you are! The
drawing-room fire's gone out."
"The fire gone out!" repeated Mrs. Chester, in consternation. "What
will Lady Ellis say? Clara, dear, what could you have been thinking
of? You should have rung for coals."
"It was a good fire when I left it," murmured Clara, believing she
spoke in accordance with the truth.
"And the fire was all red coals, and the room as hot as could be when
I went in for that newspaper," put in Fanny Chester.
"Run, Fanny, and tell them to make up the fire again, and to put in
plenty of sticks," said Mrs. Chester. "Has Lady Ellis not been sitting
with you this afternoon, Clara?"
"In her own room, no doubt, writing letters. I hope she is there
still. So you have got back, Robert," Mrs. Chester added, turning to
her brother.
"Safe and sound," was Mr. Lake's response, as he stood surveying the
table and the work going on. "What are you so busy over, all of you?"
Mrs. Chester, bending her eyes and fingers on a complicated join,
inserted from consideration of economy, did not take the trouble to
answer. Mr. Lake went round to his wife.
"How are you by this time, Clary?" he lightly said; as, standing
between her and the table, he bent down to the low chair where she
sat, and kissed her forehead.
It was a cold kiss; a careless matter-of-fact sort of kiss à la
matrimony. She made no response in words, or else; but the hot crimson
dyed her cheeks, as she contrasted it with a certain other kiss
bestowed by him on somebody else not long before; _that_ was
passionate enough; rather too much so. Had he noticed, he might have
seen his wife press her hand sharply upon her bosom; as if she might
be trying to hide its tumultuous throbbing.
"And how does the house get on, Robert?" asked Mrs. Chester, lifting
her head to speak.
"Slower than ever. You'll have us here until Christmas, Penelope,
according to the present lookout."
"I hope I shall; although Clara"--turning towards her--"does seem in a
fidget to get back."
Clara seemed in a fidget about nothing, just then; she was sitting
perfectly still, her face and her eyes cast down. Robert Lake ran on,
in his own fashion, turning his attention upon the dressmaker now.
"Working for your life as usual, Miss Cooper! What is that you are
cutting out? A pair of pantaloons for me?"
"It's a pair of sleeves, sir."
"Oh, sleeves; I feared they'd hardly be large enough. By the way, when
is that inquest to be brought to an end?"
"I wish I knew, sir," she answered.
"And nothing has been decided in regard to your brother yet!"
"No, sir. It is very hard."
"It is very strange," returned Mr. Lake--"strange there should be this
contradiction about the lights. Each side is so positive."
"I am quite certain, sir, that Matthew would not say what was untrue,
even to save himself; therefore, when he says it was the green light
up, I know it was the green."
"Precisely the same thing that I tell everybody. I have unlimited
faith in Cooper."
"And there's Colonel West to bear out what he says, you know, sir. The
colonel would not say the green light was up, if it was not."
"No. But then, again, Oliver Jupp and the station people maintain it
was the red," said Mr. Lake, remarking upon the fact that had puzzled
him all along. "For my part, I think there was a little sleight of
hand going on. Some conjurors must have been there in disguise. Now
gentlemen and ladies, walk up; the performance is just going to begin.
The celebrated Signor Confusiani has taken his place, and is entering
on his mysteries. He transforms colours by the help of his magic wand
In looking at the green, you perceive it change to red; in looking at
the red, it at once passes into blue."
They all laughed, except Clara. She sat still as before, her eyes
fixed on the fire.
"You see, sir, the worst of it is that Matthew is kept out of
employment all this time," said Miss Cooper. "They have suspended him.
He and his poor young wife are at their wits' end nearly, over it. Two
months now, and not a shilling coming in."
"Yes, it is very bad," returned Mr. Lake, speaking seriously for once.
"There's a baby too, is there not?"
"Yes, sir. Three weeks old."
"I suppose you give them your earnings."
"I give them what I can, sir; but I have my mother to keep."
"Ah," concluded Mr. Lake, abandoning the subject. "Have you been for a
walk today, Clara?"
"No."
"You ought to take her, Robert; she scarcely ever goes out now. You
might have come back earlier and done it. Lady Ellis did not have a
walk today, failing you. Why did you not come sooner?"
"Couldn't manage it, Mrs. Chester."
"But--when _did_ you come?" suddenly resumed Mrs. Chester, after a
pause of thought. "You must have come back in the afternoon. There's
no train at this hour."
"Oh, they put on a special one for me."
"Don't be stupid," retorted Mrs. Chester. "You must have been back
some time."
"Have it your own way, Penelope, and perhaps you'll live the longer."
"Uncle Robert, you know you were back ever so long ago," interposed
Fanny Chester, who had just come into the room. "You have been staying
in the garden with Lady Ellis."
"What's that?" cried Mr. Lake.
"I saw you. You were both of you going towards the shrubbery."
He caught hold of the little speaker by the waist, and swung her
round. "That's the way you see ghosts, is it, Miss Fanny! Take care
they don't run away with you! How could you see me in the shrubbery,
pray, if I was not there."
"Be quiet, Uncle Robert; put me down. Mamma there's a good fire in the
parlour now, and the tea-tray is carried in. And Miss Cooper, I was to
tell you they are waiting tea for you in the kitchen."
Mrs. Chester, shaking the threads from her black gown, left the room,
Fanny went with her, and Miss Cooper followed. Tea was a thankful boon
to the weary, hard-worked dressmaker. Anna never quitted her work
until the last minute, and sat on, drawing one of the candles a little
nearer to her. Robert Lake began speaking to his wife of the progress
of their house; or rather, the non-progress. Clara--the one dreadful
certainty giving rise to other suspicions--wondered whether he had
bribed the men to retard it. He had not done that, however; he was not
one to commit wrong deliberately.
"Seriously speaking, Clara, I do think we shall not get back before
Christmas."
She had determined upon saying something; what, she hardly knew. But
when she tried to speak, the violent agitation that the effort
brought, impeded all utterance. And perhaps the presence of Anna
Chester acted as a restraint. She glanced up at him and opened her
lips; but no words came; her throat was beating, her breath troubled.
"Clara! you have turned quite white. Are you ill?"
"I--I feel cold," was all she could say.
"It is a cold, nasty night," remarked Mr. Lake, giving no further
thought to the matter, or supposing that there was cause to give it.
"The tea is ready, I think; that will warm you."
He took one of the candles off the table and went to his room to wash
his hands. Anna Chester laid down her work and approached Clara.
"Dear Mrs. Lake, something is troubling you," she said in her gentle
manner, as her sweet eyes glanced deprecatingly at that care-betraying
face. "Can I do anything for you--or get you anything? Shall I bring
you some tea up here?"
"Hush, Anna! No, it is nothing--only that I am cold. Thank you all the
same."
"You are looking so pale. Pale and sad."
"I don't think I have been very well lately, Anna. Let me be quiet, my
dear, for a few minutes, will you? my head aches."
Anna Chester, with the delicacy innate in her, quitted the room,
setting things a little straight on the work-table in passing it. When
Mr. Lake came back, Clara was sitting just as he had left her. Putting
down the candle, he came close up, making some trifling remark.
She would have given the world to be able to say a word to him; to ask
whether she was to be _second_ in his heart; second to that woman; but
she simply dared not. Her agitation would have become unbearable, and
ended in an hysterical scene.
"Are you not coming to tea, Clara?"
"Presently."
He looked at her with a keen eye. She was odd, he thought.
"What's the matter, Clara? You seem dull this evening."
There was no answer. Mrs. Lake had her hand pressed upon her throat
and chest, striving, though he knew it not, to still the agitation
that all but burst its bounds.
"Where is the book?" she presently asked.
"What book?"
"The one you were to bring for me; that you forgot last time."
"Oh, to be sure; here it is," he said, taking it from his coat pocket.
"I did not forget it this time, you see."
"You might have brought it to me when you first got back," she
reproachfully said.
"Well, I have not been back long. You are shivering; what makes you so
cold?"
"Oh, I don't know."
"Perhaps you have been asleep; one does shiver sometimes on waking.
Come along, Clara; tea will do you good."
She rose and followed him down. Mrs. Chester was pouring out the tea,
and Lady Ellis, in her black silk gown with its low body and short
sleeves, and the ruche of white crape, causing her to look girlish,
years younger than she was, sat on the sofa. She had several evening
dresses, but they were all black, and all made in the same simple
style. Sir George had not been dead twelve months yet; but she had
never worn a regular widow's cap--it would have spoilt her hair, she
told them. The pretty white net things she wore in a morning were but
an apology for one. Very fine, very silky and beautiful did her
purple-black hair look that night, and Robert Lake playfully touched
it as he sat down beside her.
The children's meal-table, at which Anna Chester used to preside in a
little room, was done away with, the two boys having gone to school,
so that Anna and Fanny were present as usual this evening. There
was plenty of talking and laughing, and Clara's silence was not
noticed--save perhaps by Anna Chester.
After tea, when Anna and Fanny were gone away again, Mr. Lake and Lady
Ellis began chess: in one way or other they generally monopolized each
other's evenings. Sometimes it would be with music; sometimes at
écarté, which she had taught him; often at chess. The small table was
drawn out, and they sat at it apart. Mrs. Chester was doing some
embroidery-work this evening; Clara sat alone by the fire reading; or
making believe to read.
But when she was unobserved the book dropped on her lap. Nobody was
looking at her. Mrs. Chester's profile was towards her, but she was
fully engrossed with her work; her husband's back was turned. Only
Lady Ellis was in full view, and Clara sat studying her face and the
glances of her large and flashing eyes.
How long silence had reigned, except for the remarks exchanged now and
again between the chess-players, perhaps none of them could have told,
when one of those subtle instincts, alike unaccountable and
unexplainable, caused Mrs. Chester to turn suddenly to Clara Lake.
What she saw made her start.
"Clara! What is the matter?"
Mr. Lake turned quickly round and regarded his wife. The book lay on
her knee, her cheeks were scarlet as with incipient fever, her whole
frame was shaking, her eyes were wild. That she was labouring under
some extraordinary attack of terror appeared evident to all. He rose
and came up.
"You are certainly ill, my dear!"
Ill, agitated, frightened--there could be no question of it. Not at
once did she speak; she was battling with herself for calmness. Mrs.
Chester took her hand Lady Ellis approached with dark and wondering
eyes. Clara put her hands before her own.
"It is a nervous attack," said Mrs. Chester. "Go and get some wine,
Robert, or some brandy."
He was going already, before she told him, and brought back both.
Clara would take neither. Awfully vexed at having caused a scene, the
mortification enabled her to throw off the symptoms of illness, except
the shivering. Lady Ellis, with extreme bad taste, slipped her hand
within Mr. Lake's arm as they stood watching her. He moved forward to
speak, and so dropped it.
"You must have caught cold, I fear, Clara. Had you not better take
something warm and go to bed?"
She lifted her eyes to his, and answered sharply--sharply for her.
"I shall not go to bed. I am well now."
"Colds are sooner caught than got rid of, Clara. If you have take
one--"
"If I have, it will be gone in the morning," came the sharp
interruption. "Pray do not let me disturb your game."
Contriving to repress the shivering by a strong effort of will, she
took up her book again. They returned to the chess-table, Mrs. Chester
went on with her embroidery, and so the night went on: Clara,
outwardly calm, reading sedulously--inwardly shaking as though she had
an ague-fit. Even to herself it was evident that she had caught a
violent cold.
"I shall send you a glass of white-wine whey," spoke Mrs. Chester,
when Clara at length rose to go upstairs, declining to partake of the
refreshments brought in. "And mind you lie in bed in the morning.
There's no mistake about the cold."
"How _could_ she have caught it?" exclaimed Lady Ellis, with a vast
display of sympathy; and Clara bit her tongue to enforce silence, for
she could scarcely forbear telling her. My lady, taking her unawares,
gave her a kiss on the cheek.
"Drink the whey quite hot, my dear Mrs. Lake."
Clara, her mind full of Judas the false and _his_ kiss, went upstairs
alone; she preferred to do so, she told them, and shut-herself in her
own chamber. When Elizabeth appeared with the white-wine whey, and
left it, she noticed that her mistress had not begun to undress.
Neither had she when Mr. Lake came up, nearly an hour afterwards. They
had lingered in the dining-room--he, Mrs. Chester, and Lady Ellis. He
was very much surprised. She sat by the fire, wrapped in a shawl, with
her feet on the fender.
"Why, Clara, I thought you were in bed and asleep!"
There was no answering remark. Mr. Lake, thinking her manner more and
more strange, laid his hand kindly on her shoulder.
"Clary, what ails you to-night?"
She shrank away from his hand, and replied to his question by another.
"Why is it that our house is not ready?"
"That is just what I asked of the workmen today, lazy dogs!"
"We can go back to it as it is. Some of the rooms are habitable. Will
you do so?"
"What in the world for?" he demanded. "We are very comfortable here,
Clara; and, between ourselves, it is a help to Penelope."
"We must go back. I cannot stay."
"But why? Where's the motive?"
She drew her shawl closely round her as if she shivered again, and
spoke the next words with a jerk, for to get them out required an
effort of pain. What it had taken to nerve her to this task so far,
she alone knew.
"What is there between you and Lady Ellis?"
"Between me and Lady Ellis!" echoed Mr. Lake, with all the
carelessness in life. "Nothing at all. What should there be?"
She bent towards him and whispered.
"Which is it--which is it _to be_, I or she?"
"To be--for what?" rejoined Mr. Lake, really at a loss.
"Which of us is it that you love?" she wailed forth; and indeed the
tone of her voice could be called little else than a wail.
"Clara, you are growing foolish."
"Don't put me off in this false way," she vehemently uttered, roused
to passion by his indifference. "Why are you always with her, stealing
walks and interviews?--why do you give to her your impassioned kisses,
and call her by endearing names? Robert, you will kill me!"
He put the heel of his boot on the bars to push down a piece of
refractory coal, probably debating with himself what he should answer.
"Considering that you are my wife, Clara, and that Lady Ellis is but a
chance acquaintance, I think you might be above this nonsense."
"Have you forgotten my dream?" she resumed, in a low tone. "Have you
forgotten that my coming to this house seemed to shadow forth my
death?"
"That dream again, of all things!" exclaimed Mr. Lake in open
surprise, involuntary sarcasm in his tone. "I thought it was done with
and dismissed."
"I have been thinking of it all the evening."
"Then I'd not confess it," he said, dropping either by accident or in
temper the hair-brush he had taken in his hand "And the notion
of my kissing Lady Ellis! and calling her--what did you phrase
it?--endearing names? That's the best joke I have heard lately."
She fixed her gaze steadfastly upon him; there was something in it
which seemed to say she could convict him of falsehood, if she chose;
and his eyes fell beneath hers.
"What has come over you, Clary? You must be turning jealous! I never
knew you so foolish before."
"No," she answered, in a tone of pain, "never before, never before."
"And why now? There's no occasion for it."
"I will not descend to explanation or reproach," she said, after a
pause; "you may ask your own conscience how much of the latter you
merit. I shall go home tomorrow; I dare not stay in this house with
that woman. Do you understand me, I _dare not_. You can accompany me
if--if---- Robert, you must choose between us."
He did not speak for a minute or two; and when he did, it was in a
careless tone, as though he wished to make light of the matter
altogether.
"Of course if you have made up your mind to return to an uncomfortable
home, half pulled down, we must do so. I am sorry for the caprice, for
we shall be choked with paint and dust."
"Very well. We go tomorrow. I will send Elizabeth over early in the
morning, to get things straight for us."
She rose as she spoke, and began to undress. His eyes fell upon the
tumbler. Taking it up he held it to the light.
"I do believe this is your whey! It is quite cold. To drink it like
this would do you no good."
"Oh, what does it signify?" she answered; as if that and all things
else were utterly indifferent to her.
Mr. Lake quitted the room without speaking. By and by he came back
with another glassful, quite hot.
"Now, Clara, drink this."
She refused at first; it would do her no good, she said; but Mr. Lake
insisted upon it. He was her husband still, and could exact obedience.
But the morrow brought no journey for Mrs. Lake. It brought illness
instead. With early morning Mr. Lake got up and aroused the house,
saying that his wife was ill. She had awoke so exceedingly
suffering--her breath impeded, her face and eyes hot and wild--as to
alarm him. Mrs. Chester hastened to her bedside, and the nearest
doctor was summoned in haste and brought to the house. He pronounced
the malady to be inflammation of the chest and lungs, and forbade her
to attempt to leave her bed. He inquired of Mrs. Lake if she knew how
she had taken it, and she told him, after a pause of hesitation, that
she had gone out of doors from a warm room the previous evening
without putting anything on, and the damp cold must have struck to
her.
Yes; it was so. As the sight she had gone out to witness struck a
chill to her heart, so did the cold and damp strike a chill to her
frame. Once before, five or six years ago, she had caught a similar
chill, and inflammation had come on in the same rapid manner. The
doctor observed that she must be especially predisposed to it, and
privately inquired of Mrs. Chester whether any of her relatives had
died of consumption. "Yes," was the answer, "her mother and her
brother."
Mr. Lake went to Katterley and brought back the gentleman who had
attended her from infancy, Dr. Marlow, an old man now. He was a
personal friend of theirs as well as medical attendant. He saw no
cause for anxiety, he said to Mr. Lake; that she was very ill there
was no doubt, but not, he thought, ill unto danger.
"She has a good constitution, she has a good constitution," urged Mr.
Lake, his tone of anxiety proving that he wished to be reassured upon
the point.
"For all I have ever seen to the contrary," replied Dr. Marlow. "She
must be more prudent for the future, and not subject herself to sudden
changes of temperature."
"She found the drawing-room very hot, and went from it into the cold
night-air. It opens with glass doors. And if you remember, doctor,
last night was raw and foggy. At least, it was so here; I don't know
what it may have been at Katterley."
So spoke Mr. Lake. But it never entered into his
carelessly-constituted mind to wonder _why_ his wife had gone out; or
whether, having gone out, she might by some curious chance have come
unsuspected across the path of himself and another.
For three weeks Mrs. Lake never left her bed. The inflammation had
taken strong hold upon her. A nice time of it those two must have had
downstairs! Robert Lake, genuinely sorry for her illness in itself,
for her prolonged seclusion, was quite an exemplary attendant, and
would pass half an hour together in the sick-chamber, indemnifying
himself by several half-hours with somebody else. Mrs. Chester of
course saw nothing; nobody on earth could be more conveniently blind
where her interest was concerned, and it would be unprofitable to her
to lose or to offend Lady Ellis. Clara lay and _imagined_ all that
might be taking place, the sweet words, the pretty endearments, the
confidential interchange of feeling and thought: it was not precisely
the way to get better.
The maid Elizabeth was her chief attendant; Anna Chester sat with her
often. Mrs. Chester, bustling and restless in a sick room as she was
elsewhere, was better out of the chamber than in it. To none of these
did Clara speak of her husband; but when Fanny ran in, as she did two
or three times a day, Clara would ask questions if nobody was within
hearing.
"Where's Mr. Lake, Fanny?"
"Oh! he's downstairs in the drawing-room."
"What is he doing?"
"Talking to Lady Ellis."
The answers would vary according to circumstances; and Fanny, too
young for any sort of suspicion, was quite ready and willing to give
them. "He is reading to Lady Ellis;" or "He is out with Lady Ellis;"
or "He and Lady Ellis are sitting together by the fire-light;" just as
it might chance to be. Twice Lady Ellis went with him to Katterley,
and gave Mrs. Lake on her return a glowing account of how quickly the
house was getting on now.
Well, the time wore away somehow, and Mrs. Lake got better and took to
sit up in her room. The first time she went downstairs was an evening
in November. She did not go down then by orders; quite the contrary.
"Not just yet," the doctor had, told her in answer to an inquiry; "in
a few days." But she felt very, very dull that afternoon, sitting
alone in her chamber. Mrs. Chester and Anna were busy downstairs,
making pickles--in the very kitchen that Clara had seen so minutely in
her dream; Elizabeth had gone on an errand to Katterley, taking Fanny
Chester, and Robert did not come up. She knew he was at home and sat
feverishly expecting him, but he never came. Very lonely felt she,
very dispirited; tears filled her eyes repeatedly, uncalled for; and
so it went on to dusk. Had everybody abandoned her? she thought,
sitting there between the lights.
The shadows of the room, only lighted by its fire, threw their sombre
darkness across, taking curious shapes. A long narrow box, containing
ferns and seaweed, stood on a stool in front of the hearth; as the
shadow of it grew deeper on the opposite wall in the rapidly fading
daylight, it began to look not unlike a coffin. As this fancy took
possession of her, the remembrance of her dream with all its
distressing terror suddenly flashed into her mind; she grew nervous
and timid; too frightened to remain alone.
Wrapping herself up in a grey chenille shawl, as warmly as her husband
had wrapped another that recent bygone night, she prepared to descend.
She was fully dressed, in a striped green silk, and her pretty hair
was plainly braided from her brow. The lovely face was thin and pale;
the dark eyes were larger and sadder than of yore; and she was very
weak yet.
Too weak to venture down the staircase alone, as she soon found. But
for clinging to the balustrades, she would have fallen. This naturally
caused her movements to be slow and quiet. She looked into the
dining-room first; it was all in darkness; then she turned to the
drawing-room, and pushed open the half-closed door. Little light was
there, either; only what came from the fire, and that was low.
Standing over it she discerned two forms, which, as she slowly
advanced with her tottering steps, revealed themselves as those of her
husband and Lady Ellis. She was in her usual evening attire: the black
silk gown with the low body and short sleeves, and some black ribbons
floated from her hair. Mr. Lake's hand was lightly resting on her
neck; ostensibly playing with the jet chain around it, and touching
her fair shoulder. Talking together, they did not hear her entrance.
"You know, Angeline," were the first words audible--when at that
moment he seemed to become conscious that some one had entered to
disturb the interview, and turned his head. Who was it? Some muffled
figure. Mr. Lake strained his eyes as it came nearer, and sent them
peering through the semidarkness. The next moment he had sprung at
least five yards from "Angeline."
"Clara! How could you be so imprudent? My dear child! you know you
ought not to have left your room."
Pushing aside Lady Ellis with, it must be confessed, little ceremony,
he dragged a couch to the warmest corner of the hearth, and took his
wife in his sheltering arms. Placing her upon it, he snatched up a
cloth mantle of Mrs. Chester's that happened to be near, and fenced
her in with it from the draught, should there be any. Then he sat down
on the same sofa, edging himself on it, as if he would also be a fence
for her against the cold. That his concern and care were genuine,
springing right from his heart, there could be no question. My Lady
Ellis, standing on the opposite side to recover her equanimity, after
having stirred the fire into a blaze, and looking on with her great
black eyes, saw that.
He bent his head slightly as he gazed on his wife, waiting in silence,
not saying a word further until her breath was calmer. Very laboured
it was just then, perhaps with the exertion of walking down, perhaps
with mental emotion.
"Now tell me why you ventured out of your room," said he, making a
prisoner of one of her hands, and speaking in a tender tone.
"I was dull: I was alone," she panted.
"Alone! dull! Where's Penelope? where's Anna? I thought they were with
you. Elizabeth, what is she about?"
She did not explain or answer. She lay back quietly as he had placed
her, her eyes closed, and her white face motionless. For the first
time Robert Lake thought he saw a look of DEATH upon it, and a strange
thrill of anguish darted through him. "What a fool I am!" quoth he to
himself, the next moment; "it's the reflection of that fire."
"My dear Mrs. Lake, I should only be too happy to sit with you when
you feel lonely," spoke Lady Ellis, as softly as her naturally harsh
voice would allow. "But you never will let me, you know."
Clara murmured some inaudible answer about not giving her trouble, and
lay quiet where her husband had placed her. He kept her hand still;
and she let him do it. He stole quick glances at her wasted features,
as if alarm had struck him. She never lifted her eyes to either of
them.
The announcement of dinner and Mrs. Chester came together. When that
lady saw who was in the drawing-room lying on the sofa, like a picture
of a ghost more than a living woman, she set up a commotion. What did
Clara mean by it? Did she come out of her room on purpose to renew her
illness? She must go back to it again. Clara simply shook her head by
way of dissent, and Mr. Lake interposed, saying she should stay if she
wished: she would get no harm in the warm room.
They went in to dinner. Not Clara; what little solid food she could
take yet was eaten in the middle of the day. There was a fowl on the
table; and Mr. Lake, leaving his own dinner to get cold, prepared to
carry a piece of it to his wife.
"It will be of no use," said Mrs. Chester to him, in rather a cross
tone, as if she thought the morsel was going to be wasted; but he
quitted the room, paying no attention.
He found his wife in a perfect paroxysm of tears, sobbing wildly. Left
alone, her long pent-up feelings had given way. Putting the plate on
the table, he bent over her--
"My dearest, this will never do. Why do you grieve so? What is the
matter?"
"Oh, you know! you know!" she answered.
There was a dead pause. She employed it in smothering and choking down
her sobs; he in any reflection that might be agreeable to him.
"I want to go home."
"The very instant that you may go with safety, you shall go," he
readily assented. "If the doctor says you may go tomorrow, Clara, why
we will. I must not have my dear little wife grieve like this."
No response. She seemed quite exhausted.
"I have brought you a bit of fowl, Clara; try and eat it."
She waved it away, briefly saying she could not touch it: she could
not eat. She waved him away, telling him to go to his dinner. Mr. Lake
simply put the plate down again, and stood near her.
"I must go home. I shall die if I stay here."
"Clara, I _promise_ that you shall go. What more can I say? The house
is sufficiently habitable now; there's nothing to detain us. Settle it
yourself with the doctor. If he says you may travel tomorrow, so be
it."
She closed her eyes--a sign that the contest was over. Mr. Lake
carried the plate of fowl back to the dining-room, not feeling
altogether upon the best terms with himself. For the first time he was
realizing the fact that his wife's full recovery might be a more
precarious affair than he had suspected.
"I knew she'd not touch it," said Mrs. Chester; "though I think she
might eat it if she would."
"Surely she is not sulky!" spoke Lady Ellis, in an undertone, to Mr.
Lake, turning her brilliant and fascinating eyes upon him, as he sat
down in his place beside her.
He was not quite bad. He cared for his wife probably as much as he had
ever done, although he had become enthralled by another, according to
his light and unsteady nature. A haughty flush darkened his brow, and
he pointedly turned from Lady Ellis without answering.
"It is the breast of the fowl wasted," cried thrifty Mrs. Chester, in
her vexation.
It was not wasted. Mr. Lake took it upon his own plate, and made his
dinner off it, never speaking a word all the while to anybody.
What of that? With her wiles and her sweet glances, my lady won
him round again to good-humour; and before the meal was over he
was as much her own as ever. But when the dessert was put on the
table--consisting of a dish of apples and another of nuts--Mr. Lake
left them to it, and went back to his wife.
She lay on the sofa all the evening. Mrs. Chester grumbled at the
imprudence; but Clara said it was a change for the better: she was so
tired of her bedroom. Her husband waited upon her at tea--a willing
slave; and Clara really said a few cheerful words. Lady Ellis
challenged him to chess again afterwards. Mrs. Chester and Anna sat by
Clara.
"Very shortly," said the doctor, the following morning, in answer to
the appeal which Mr. Lake himself made. "Yearning for home, is she? I
fancied there was something of the sort. Not today: perhaps not
tomorrow; but I think you may venture to take her the following one,
provided the wind's fair."
"All right," was the answer. "Tell her so yourself, will you, my good
sir?"
Clara was told accordingly. And on the third day, sure enough, the
wind being fair and soft for November, Mr. and Mrs. Lake terminated
their long sojourn at Guild, and returned to Katterley.
Home at last! In her exhilaration of spirit, it seemed just as though
she had taken a renewed lease of happy life.