RETURNING CONSCIOUSNESS
I seemed to waken as if from a long, troubled sleep. At first I was
merely conscious that I was awake, and I wondered how long I had slept.
Then I was glad I was awake, and that my confused and hateful dreams,
of which no distinct memory remained, had vanished. The only thing I
could recall concerning them was an indefinite and oppressive sense of
loss of some kind, at which I had vaguely and impotently protested.
I knew I was awake, and yet I felt too languid to open my eyes. I was
little more than barely conscious of existence, and I rather enjoyed
this negative condition of complete inertia. The thought floated
through my mind that I was like a new-born child, that knows nothing,
fears nothing, thinks nothing, but simply breathes, and I felt so tired
and "gone" that I coveted an age of mere respiration.
But thought slowly kindled in a weak, fitful fashion. I first became
slightly curious about myself. Why had I slept so profoundly? Why was I
so nerveless and stupid after such a sleep?
Instead of answering these questions, I weakly wandered off into
another train of thought. "My mind seems a perfect blank," I said to
myself. "I don't remember anything; I don't know where I am, and don't
much care; nor do I know what my experience will be when I fully rouse
myself. This is like beginning a new existence. What shall be the first
entry on the blank page of my wakening mind? Perhaps I had better rouse
up and see whether I am truly alive."
And yet I did not rise, but just lay still, heavy with a strange,
painless inertia, over which I puzzled in a vague, weak way.
At last I was sure I heard a child crying. Then there was a voice, that
I thought I had heard before, trying to hush and reassure the child,
and I began to think who they were, and yet I did not seem to care
enough to open my eyes to see.
I next heard something like a low sob near me, and it caused a faint
thrill among my sluggish nerves. Surely I had heard that sound before,
and curiosity so far asserted itself that I opened my eyes and looked
wonderingly around.
The room was unfamiliar, and yet I was certain I had seen it on some
previous occasion. Seated at a window, however, was a lady who soon
absorbed my whole weak and wavering attention. My first thought was:
"How very pretty she is!" Then, "What is she looking at so steadfastly
from the window?" After a moment I mentally laughed at my stupidity.
"She's looking at the sunset. What else should she be looking at? Can I
have slept all day?"
I saw her bosom heave with another convulsive sob, and that tears fast
followed each other down her cheeks. I seemed to have the power of
noting everything distinctly, but I couldn't understand or account for
what I saw. Who was that sweet-faced girl? Beyond a doubt I had seen
her before, but where? Why was she crying? Why was she in my room?
Then I thought, "It must be all imaginary; I doubt whether I am awake
yet. If she were only smiling instead of crying, I would like to dream
on forever. How strangely familiar her face is! I must have seen it
daily for years, and yet I can't recognize it."
The loud whinny of a horse seemed to give my paralyzed memory an
impetus and suggestion, by means of which I began to reconstruct the
past.
"That's Old Plod!" I exclaimed mentally. "And--and--why, that's Miss
Warren sitting by the window. I remember now. We were in the barn
together, and I was jealous of the old horse--how absurd! Then we were
in the garden, and she was laughing at me. How like a dream it all is!
It seemed as if she were always laughing, and that the birds might well
stop singing to listen. Now she is crying here in my room. I half
believe it's an apparition, and that if I speak it will vanish. Perhaps
it is a warning that she's in trouble somewhere, and that I ought to go
to her help. How lovely she looks, with her hands lying in her lap,
forgetful of the work they hold, and her tearful eyes fixed on the
glowing west! Her face is very pale in contrast. Surely she's only a
shadow, and the real maiden is in need of my aid;" and I made an effort
to rise.
It seemed exceedingly strange that I could scarcely lift my hand; but
my slight movement caused her to look around, and in answer to my gaze
of eager inquiry she came softly and hesitatingly toward me.
"Miss Warren," I said, "can it be you in very truth?"
"Yes," she replied, with a sudden and glad lighting up of her face,
"but please don't talk."
"How you relieve me," I tried to say joyfully, but I found I could only
whisper. "What the mischief--makes my voice--so weak? Do you know--that
I had the odd--impression--that you were an apparition--and had come to
me--as a token--that--you were in trouble--and I tried to rise--to go
to your aid--then it seemed yourself--that looked around. But you _are_
in trouble--why can't I get up and help you?"
She trembled, and by her gesture tried to stop my words.
"Will you do what I ask?" she said, in a low, eager tone.
I smiled as I replied, "Little need of your asking that question."
"Then please try to get well speedily; don't talk, but just keep every
little grain of strength. Oh, I'm so glad you are in your right mind.
You have been very ill, but will soon get well now if only careful.
I'll call Mrs. Yocomb."
"Please don't go," I whispered. "Now that I know you--it seems so
natural--that you should be here. So I've been ill--and you have taken
care of me;" and I gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. "I did not know
you at first--idiot!--but Old Plod whinnied--and then it all began to
come back."
At the word "Old Plod" she turned hastily toward the door. Then, as if
mastered by an impulse, she returned, and said, in a tone that thrilled
even my feeble pulse:
"Oh, live! in mercy live, or else I can never forgive myself."
"I'll live--never fear," I replied, with a low laugh. "I'm not such a
fool as to leave a world containing you."
A rich glow overspread her face, she smiled, then suddenly her face
became very pale, and she even seemed frightened as she hastily left
the room.
A moment later Mrs. Yocomb came in, full of motherly solicitude.
"Kind Mrs. Yocomb," I murmured, "I am glad I'm in such good hands."
"Thank God, Richard Morton," she said, in low, fervent tones, "thee's
going to get well. But don't speak a word."
"Wasn't that Zillah crying?"
"Yes, she was heart-broken about thee being so sick, but she'll laugh
now when I tell her thee's better. Take this, and sleep again."
"Bless her kind heart!" I said.
Mrs. Yocomb laid her finger on my lips. I saw her pour out something,
which I swallowed unquestioningly, and after a moment sank into a quiet
sleep.