Alice was just steaming the potatoes as Marigold entered, and she did
not turn her head till they were done to a nicety; but Marigold had
run upstairs to remove her hat, and when everything was ready, Alice
went to the foot of the stairs and called her. But when she came down,
it was not with her usual gaiety and lightness, and Alice’s watchful
eye detected traces of tears about her eyes--yet she passed no remarks
except those in general, till she became aware her mistress’s plate had
never yet been touched.
“Are you not well, Princess?” she asked with anxiety.
“Ye-es. No. Yes. Alice, I don’t like being a poor woman. You haven’t
half as nice a time as when you’re rich.”
“Then let us go back, Princess. Indeed I am tired of it too. The
kitchen is like an oven after dinner has been baked in it.”
But Marigold shook her head stubbornly.
“No; I’m going to stay--till--till the end.”
“The end of what?”
“I don’t know. Don’t ask questions, Alice. What time did Dr Quack go?”
“Just about half-an-hour since. He came in here to ask for some
filtered water.”
“Did you give him it?”
“Yes; and he asked would one of us go and sit with Timothy this
afternoon. He says he’s getting too bad to be left long.”
“Why didn’t he stay himself?” asked Marigold in a hard voice.
“I don’t know. Oh! he said he was busy. A great deal of sickness about,
and he was needed.”
“I don’t believe him.”
“I do. I went in after him with the water, and I never saw any one so
gentle or clever with a child. He had a bad spell of coughing on, and
it was frightful, he was in such pain.”
“Poor little Patches! I’ll go in and sit with him this afternoon,
unless you’d rather go, Alice. Perhaps both of us might. But, oh dear!
I _do_ feel tired, somehow or other.”
“Did you meet any one outside?”
“Ye-es. I met the High Priest and his friend, the one we saw under the
archway--and--and this doctor--Dr Quack.”
“Did any of them speak to you?”
“All three; and I like the doctor the least. He is very stiff and
proper, and believes in every one being kept in their right place.”
“Did he snub you again?”
“Don’t, Alice; he takes everybody from me--and now I believe he’s even
taking you,” and she pushed her chair back and went and stood over by
the fireplace. But Alice loved her so well, she could not bear to see
her in this quiet, distressed mood, so she got up and went and stood
beside her.
“No one will ever take me away from you,” she answered sturdily. “My
business in life is to look after you, for you don’t seem able to look
after yourself, and I’ll do it to the best of my ability.”
“But I am going to turn over a new leaf. I am going to do nothing but
nurse little Patches.”
“Serpent be praised!” said Alice. “I knew that whim of yours about the
great High Priest would never last.”
Marigold gave a movement of pain, though she laughed immediately after.
“Yes, it was very silly of me. I believe now I’ve taken a fancy to his
friend.”
“The one with the black eyes?”
“Yes. Alice, he has the most beautiful voice I ever heard.”
“So has Dr Quack. On my word I never remember noticing the difference
between one voice and another till I heard his.”
“_Mine_, Alice?”
“I mean Men’s voices. Was the High Priest’s friend very gracious to you
then?”
“He made me feel that to sin in my position, and with my beauty, was in
reality no sin at all.”
“The wicked man!”
“He doesn’t like Dr Quack for some reason or other--that is why he said
it.”
“And did you listen to him?”
“No. I ran away. If I had stayed any longer I would have done as he
advised me.”
“How?”
“Oh! I--I would have hated and suspected the doctor even more strongly
than I do. He told me he was jealous of me. Just what I said myself
last night. And it is not good, Alice, to hate any one. If he is rude
to me--and he has been--I have at least dignity enough left in me
to forgive him. I may appear frivolous and vain and foolish on the
surface, Alice; but oh! great Serpent! I am not underneath. It is
because I feel so much that I laugh and act continually to hide it.”
“No one but a simpleton would ever take you for anything but an angel.”
“Don’t, Alice!” she answered in real distress. “Any one hearing you
would think you wanted your salary raised.”
“I think I’ll finish the dress, Princess, this afternoon. I’ll soon run
it up with the machine now. You take your lute and play for Patches.
He’s fairly gone upon your singing.”
“Yes. I’ll go and sing for him then, for I don’t understand the
machining.”
And with that she went upstairs to her own room.
But it was some time before Marigold came down again--for every
struggling passion, good and evil, seemed let loose in her.
A hundred times, with a burning feeling of eclipse and failure, she
saw the High Priest walk away, forgetting her, the beggar girl who had
smiled, and given him a greater intimacy than ever any man before.
Again she heard the doctor’s laugh--that light insolence that galled
her spirit to the quick, and called up all the long centuries of
fighting pride that mingled with her blood.
And again the soft voice tempting her to fling aside all the carping
responsibilities of life, and take a side in the big game--winning or
losing. To fight against the Master, this Mr Barringcourt, this quack
insufferable--to fight as spirits do--the body, that tame servant,
working its little part in the big argument, for the universal end.
“What is my body?” said she, laughing at her reflection in the glass.
“Something that will wear out and die, and never come again to me.
Something I may give away to any man, provided that I don’t forget
and then repeat the gift to some one else--like some kind ladies do.
Why should I feel his laugh this morning? I should have laughed as
well. I’ll give my body to the great High Priest, if he begs hard
enough--only if he begs very, very hard; and I’ll keep my soul to give
to no man--not even elderly gentlemen who sit on camp-stools to escape
the indignity of sitting on the ground.”
Thus was Marigold, so lately doleful, once more herself again.
With ribbons and strings and laughter she set out to sing for Patches,
dancing all the way.
Like those who are very, very ill, Patches looked worse to-day, though
yesterday you would have thought he never could look worse. Yet his
face brightened up wonderfully when she appeared.
“I knew you’d come,” said he.
“Of course,” said Marigold. “I couldn’t stay away, because I’ve really
come to love you, Patches, dear.”
“To love _me_?” he said, looking up with big dark eyes.
“Yes. You’re good, and you make me feel good. When I go away from you,
I begin to have all kinds of see-saw feelings--up and down, every
way. I think you must be one of the little green men who live within
the magic circle. That’s how it is you know so many kings and queens,
because kings and queens always like to be where no one else can get,
though they don’t always manage it.”
“Do they have any pain in the magic circle?”
“No, never. There’s a big notice on the outside ring, saying ‘Pain not
admitted on penalty of Death’; and so he keeps out, because he wants to
live like most things else--though it isn’t very kind of him.”
“Then I’m not a green man, because I have pain?”
“Well, if you’re not, you will be some day.”
“Miss Rags,” he said, suddenly sitting up in his chair eagerly,
“I’ll--I’ll tell you what I’ll do. When it comes my turn to go in, I’ll
grab hold of Pain ever so tight and not leave go of him, and then he’ll
be forced to go in with me--and then they’ll kill him--and everybody
else outside here will be quite safe then.”
“But how brave you’ll have to be to keep tight hold of him!”
“Yes, I know. But if I’d been all right and had my leg, I was going to
be a soldier. Why--why--do your eyes keep filling with tears, like
that?”
“Oh! I don’t know. I expect I’m not the right one to come to you. You
should have Dr Quack all the time. He’s got a big hard heart, and he
doesn’t know how to cry, so--so he can’t.”
“No. He never cries. I wouldn’t like him to. But you’re different. I
don’t mind you. It’s company for when I do myself.”
“Timothy, which of us do you like best--him or me?”
A silence followed--and Marigold wondered why she should hear her own
heart beating so in the stillness.
At last he said:
“I love you both. But I love him best, because he found me first--and
he is strong and kind with me.”
Then Marigold was silent, with a dull disappointment, because,
unreasonably, she had hoped so much from this reply.
“Yes,” she said at length, “he is strong and kind and good to you. And
I am frivolous and giddy. But you like me second best, don’t you?”
“Yes, second best. Mother I love different, you know.”
“And even if Dr Quack doesn’t like me, you will still let me come,
won’t you, Patches?”
“Oh yes. But I think he does like you--at least, I think he doesn’t
mind much, either way. He said this morning if you would only
dress respectable and be tidy, you might make a very nice little
nurse--seeing I’d taken a fancy to you. He told your aunt when she was
in here and they were talking.”
“Oh! and what did she say?”
“She said she’d argued with you every way, but that you had never had
any taste in dress. And that’s all they said about you.”
“Would you like me for a nurse, Patches?”
“Oh! I should love it.”
“But if I’m the nurse, I’ll have to stay in when the doctor comes.”
“I expect it will all depend on him,” said Patches. “Perhaps, if he
once got used to you, he’d like you--especially if you only had another
dress.”