IN THE DARK
"Yes, Mrs. Yocomb, good nursing and nourishment are all that he now
requires," were the reassuring words that greeted my waking later in
the evening. I opened my eyes, and found that a physician was feeling
my pulse.
I turned feebly toward my kind hostess, and smilingly whispered:
"There's no fear of my wanting these where you are, Mrs. Yocomb; but
don't let me make trouble. I fear I've made too much already."
"The only way thee can make trouble, Richard, is to worry about making
trouble. The more we can do for thee the better we shall be pleased.
All thee's got to do is to get well and take thy time about it."
"That's just like you. How long have I been ill?"
"That's none of thy business at present. One thing at a time. The
doctor has put thee in my hands, and I'm going to make thee mind."
"I've heard that men were perfect bears when getting well," I said.
"Thee can be a bear if thee feels like it, but not another word
to-night--not another syllable; am I not right, doctor?"
"Yes, I prescribe absolute quiet of mind and body; that and good living
will bring you around in time. You've had a narrow graze of it, but if
you will mind Mrs. Yocomb you will yet die of old age. Good-night."
My nurse gave me what she thought I needed, and darkened the room. But
it was not so dark but that I saw a beautiful face in the doorway.
"Miss Warren," I exclaimed.
"It was Adah," said Mrs. Yocomb quietly; "she's been very anxious about
thee."
"You are all so kind. Please thank her for me," I replied eagerly.
"Mother, may I speak to Richard Morton?" asked a timid voice from the
obscurity of the hallway.
"Not to-night, Adah--to-morrow." "Forgive me if I disobey you this
once," I interrupted hastily. "Yes, Miss Adah, I want to thank you."
She came instantly to my side, and I held out my hand to her. I
wondered why hers throbbed and trembled so strangely.
"It's I who should thank thee: I can never thank thee enough. Oh, I
feared I might--I might never have a chance."
"There, Adah, thee mustn't say another word; Richard's too weak yet."
Her hand closed tightly over mine. "Good-by," she breathed softly, and
vanished.
Mrs. Yocomb sat down with her knitting by a distant and shaded lamp.
Too weak to think, or to realize aught except that I was surrounded by
an atmosphere of kindness and sympathy, I was well content to lie still
and watch, through the open window, the dark foliage wave to and fro,
and the leaves grow distinct in the light of the rising moon, which,
though hidden, I knew must be above the eastern mountains. I had the
vague impression that very much had happened, but I would not think;
not for the world would I break the spell of deep quietude that
enthralled every sense of my body and every faculty of my mind.
"Mrs. Yocomb," I said at last, "it must be you who creates this
atmosphere of perfect peace and restfulness. The past is forgotten, the
future a blank, and I see only your serene face. A subdued light seems
to come from it, as from the shaded lamp."
"Thee is weak and fanciful, Richard. The doctor said thee must be
quiet."
"I wish it were possible to obey the doctor forever, and that this
exquisite rest and oblivion could last, I am like a ship becalmed on a
summer sea in a summer night. Mind and body are both motionless."
"Sleep, Richard Morton, and when rested and well, may gales from heaven
spring up and carry thee homeward. Fear not even rough winds, if they
bear thee toward the only true home. Now thy only duty is to rest."
"You are not going to sit up to-night, Mrs. Yocomb."
She put her finger on her lips.
"Hush!" she said.
"Oh, delicious tyranny!" I murmured. "The ideal government is that of
an absolute and friendly power."
I had a vague consciousness of being wakened from time to time, and of
taking something from Mrs. Yocomb's hand, and then sinking back into an
enthrallment of blessed and refreshing slumber. With every respiration
life and health flowed back.
At last, as after my first long sleep in the country, I seemed to hear
exquisite strains of music that swelled into richer harmony until what
seemed a burst of song awoke me. Opening my eyes, I looked intently
through the open, window and gladly welcomed the early day. The air was
fresh, and I felt its exhilarating quality. The drooping branches of
the elm swayed to and fro, and the mountains beyond were bathed in
light. I speedily realized that it was the song of innumerable birds
that had supplied the music of my waking dream.
For a few moments I gazed through the window, with the same perfect
content with which I had watched the foliage grow distinct in the
moonlight the previous evening, and then I looked around the room.
I started slightly as I encountered the deep blue eyes of Adah Yocomb
fixed on me with an intent, eager wistfulness. "Can I do anything for
thee, Richard Morton?" she asked, rising from her chair near the door.
"Mother asked me to stay with thee awhile, and to let her know if thee
woke and wanted anything."
"With you here this bright morning, how could I want anything more?" I
asked, with a smile, for her young, beautiful face comported so well
with the early morning of the summer day as to greatly please both my
eye and fancy. The color of the early morning grew richer in her face
as she replied:
"I'm glad thee doesn't want me to go away, but I must go and have thy
breakfast brought up."
"No, stay; tell me all that's happened. I seem to have forgotten
everything so strangely! I feel as if I had known you all a long time,
and yet that can't be, for only the other day I was at my office in New
York."
"Mother says thee's too weak to talk yet, and that I must not answer
questions. She says thee knows thee's been sick and thee knows thee's
getting well, and that must do till thee's much stronger."
"Oh, I feel ever so much stronger. Sleep and the good things your
mother has given me have made a new man of me."
"Mother says thee has never been sick, and that thee doesn't know how
to take care of thyself, and that thee'll use thy strength right up if
we don't take good care of thee."
"And are you going to take care of me?"
"Yes, if thee pleases. I'll help mother."
"I should be hard to please were I not glad. I shall have so nice a
time getting well that I shall be tempted to play sick."
"I'll--I'll wait on thee as long as thee'll let me, for no one owes
thee more than I do."
"What in the world do you owe me?" I asked, much perplexed. "If you are
going to help me to get well, and will come to my room daily with a
face like this summer morning, I shall owe you more than I can ever
repay."
"My face would have been black enough but for thee; but I'm glad thee
thinks I look well. They are all saying I look pale and am growing
thin, but if thee doesn't think so I don't care," and she seemed aglow
with pleasure.
"It would make a sick man well to look at you," I said, smiling.
"Please come and sit by me and help me to get my confused brain
straight once more. I have the strangest sense of not knowing what I
ought to know well. You and your kind father and mother brought me home
from meeting. Your mother said I might stay here and rest. Miss Warren
was here--she was singing in the parlor. Where is Miss Warren?"
"She has gone out for a walk," said the girl a little coldly.
Her manner perplexed me, and, together with my thought of Miss Warren,
there came a vague sense of trouble--of something wrong. I tried to
raise my hand to my brow, as if to clear away the mist that obscured my
mind, and my hand was like lead, it was so heavy.
"A plague on my memory!" I exclaimed. "We were in the parlor, and Miss
Warren was singing. Your mother spoke--would that I might hear her
again!--it's all tolerably clear up to that time, and then everything
is confused."
"Adah, how's this?" said Mrs. Yocomb reproachfully. "Thee was not to
let Richard Morton talk."
"I only am to blame, Mrs. Yocomb: I would talk. I'm trying to get the
past straightened out; I know that something happened the other evening
when you spoke so beautifully to us, but my memory comes up to that
point as to an abyss, and I can't bridge it over."
"Richard Morton, doesn't thee believe that I'm thy friend?"
"My mind would indeed be a total blank if I doubted that."
"Well, then, do what I ask thee: don't question, don't think. Isn't it
sufficient to know that thee has been ill, and that thy life depends on
quiet? Thee can scarcely lift thy hand to thy head; thy words are slow
and feeble. Can't thee realize that it is thy sacred duty to rest and
grow strong before taking up the cares and burdens that life brings to
us all? Thee looks weak and exhausted."
"I am indeed weak enough, but I felt almost well when I awoke."
"Adah, I fear I can't trust thee as a nurse," her mother began gravely.
"Please don't blame her; it was wholly my fault," I whispered. "I'll be
very good now, and do just what you bid me."
"Well, then, thee must take what I have prepared, and thy medicine, and
sleep again."
"Good-by, Adah," I said, smiling. "Don't look so concerned; you haven't
done me a bit of harm. Your face was as bright and welcome as the
sunshine."
"If it hadn't been for thee--" she began.
Mrs. Yocomb raised a warning finger, and the girl stole away.
"Can--can I not see Miss Warren this morning?" I asked hesitatingly.
"Thee must sleep first."
The medicine she gave evidently contained a sedative, or else sleep was
the remedy that Nature instinctively grasped, for it gave back part of
the strength that I had lost.
When I awoke again I felt wonderfully the better for a long rest that
had not been broken, but made more beneficial from the fact that I was
slightly roused from time to time to take stimulants and nourishment.
The heat and glare of the summer day had passed. This I could perceive
even through the half-closed window-blinds. At first I thought myself
alone, but soon saw that Reuben was seated in the furthest corner,
quietly carving on some woodwork that interested his boyish fancy. His
round, fresh face was like a tonic.
"Well, old fellow," I laughed, "so you are playing nurse?"
"Is thee awake for good, Richard Morton?" he asked, springing up.
"I hope so."
"'Cause mother said that as soon as thee really waked up I must call
her."
"Oh, wait a moment, and tell me all the news."
"Mother said I mustn't tell thee anything but to get well."
"I'm never going to get well."
"What!" exclaimed the boy, in consternation.
"Your mother and Miss Adah take such good care of me that I am going to
play sick the rest of my life," I explained, laughing. "How is Dapple?"
"Oh, thee's only joking, then. Well, all I ask of thee is to get well
just enough to drive Dapple around with me. He'll put life into
thee--never fear. When I get hold of the reins he fairly makes my hands
tingle. But there, mother said I shouldn't let thee talk, but tell her
right away," and he started for the door.
"How is Miss Warren? Is she never coming to see me?"
"Emily Warren's been dreadfully anxious about thee. I never saw any one
change so. But to-day she has been like a lark. She went with me to the
village this morning, and she had almost as much spirit and life as
Dapple. She's a jolly good girl. I like her. We're all so glad thee's
getting well we don't know what to do. Father said he felt like jumping
over a five-bar fence. Only Adah acts kind of queer and glum."
"I think I hear talking," said Mrs. Yocomb, entering.
"Dear Mrs. Yocomb," I laughed, "you are the most amiable and beneficent
dragon that ever watched over a captive."
"Thee wants watching. The moment my back's turned thee's into mischief,
and the young people are just as bad. Reuben, I might better have left
Zillah here."
"Do let her come," I exclaimed; "she'll do more good than medicine."
"Well, she shall bring thee up thy chicken broth; that will please her
wonderfully. Go away, Reuben, and tell Zillah to bring the broth--not
another word. Does thee feel better, Richard?"
"Oh, I am almost well. I'm ashamed to own how hungry I am."
"That's a good sign--a very good sign."
"Mrs. Yocomb, how did I become so ill? I'm haunted by the oddest sense
of not remembering something that happened after you spoke to us the
other evening."
"There's nothing strange in people's being sick--thee knows that. Then
thee had been overworking so long that thee had to pay the penalty."
"Yes, I remember that. Thank Heaven I drifted into this quiet harbor
before the storm came. I should have died in New York."
"Well, thee knows where to come now when thee's going to have another
bad turn. I hope, however, that thee'll be too good a man to overwork
so again. Now thee's talked enough."
"Can I not see Mr. Yocomb, and--and--Miss Warren this evening?"
"No, not till to-morrow. Father's been waiting till I said he could
come; but he's so hearty-like that I won't trust him till thee's
stronger."
"Is--is Miss Warren so hearty-like also? It seems to me her laugh would
put life into a mummy."
"Well, thee isn't a mummy, so she can't come till to-morrow."
She had been smoothing my pillow and bathing my face with cologne, thus
creating a general sense of comfort and refreshment. Now she lifted my
head on her strong, plump arm, and brushed my hair. Tears came into my
eyes as I said brokenly:
"I can remember my mother doing this for me when I was ill once and a
little fellow. I've taken care of myself ever since. You can have no
idea how grateful your manner is to one who has no one to care for him
specially."
"Thee'll always have some one to care for thee now; but thee mustn't
say anything more;" and I saw strong sympathy in her moist eyes.
"Yes," I breathed softly, "I should have died in New York."
"And thee said an imp from the printing-house could take care of thee,"
she replied, with a low laugh.
"Did I say that? I must have been out of my head."
"Thee'll see that all was ordered for the best, and be content when
thee gets strong. People are often better every way after a good fit of
sickness. I believe the Good Physician will give His healing touch to
thy soul as well as thy body. Ah, here is Zillah. Come in, little girl.
Richard wishes to see thee."
Bearing a bowl in both hands, she entered hesitatingly.
"Why, Zillah, you waiting on me, too! It's all like a fairy tale, and
I'm transformed into a great prince, and am waited on right royally.
I'm going to drink that broth to your health, as if you were a great
lady. It will do me more good than all the drugs of all the doctors,
just because you are such a good little fairy, and have bewitched it."
The child dimpled all over with pleasure as she came and stood by my
side.
"Oh, I'm so glad thee's getting well!" she cried. "Thee talks queer,
but not so queer as thee did before. Thee--"
A warning gesture from her mother checked her, and she looked a little
frightened.
"That will do, Zillah. After Richard has taken this I'm not going to
let him talk for a long time."
"Do you want to make me all well, Zillah?" I asked, smiling into her
troubled and sympathetic face.
She nodded eagerly and most emphatically.
"Then climb on a chair and give me a kiss."
After a quick, questioning look at her mother, she complied, laughing.
"Ah, that puts life into me," I said. "You can tell them all that you
did me more good than the doctor. I'll go with you to see the robins
soon."
"I've got something else for thee downstairs," she whispered,
"something that Emily Warren gathered for thee," and she was gone in a
flash.
A moment later she stood in the doorway, announced in advance by the
perfume of an exquisite cluster of rosebuds arranged in a dainty vase
entwined and half hidden with myrtle.
"Put the vase on the table by Richard, and then thee mustn't come any
more."
"Thee surely are from the Garden of Eden," I exclaimed. "These and your
kiss, Zillah, will make me well. Tell Miss Warren that I am going to
thank her myself. Good-by now," and she flitted out of the room, bright
with the unalloyed happiness of a child.
"Dear me," said Mrs. Yocomb, "thee must indeed get strong fast, for I
do have such a time keeping the young people out of thy room. Reuben
asks a dozen times a day if he can see thee, and father's nearly as
bad. No more shall see thee to-day, I promise thee. Now thee must rest
till to-morrow."
I was well content, for the roses brought a presence very near. In
their fragrance, their beauty, their dewy freshness, their superiority
to other flowers, they seemed the emblem of the maiden who had made
harmony in the garden when Nature was at her best. The scene, as we had
stood there together, grew so vivid that I saw her again almost in
reality, her face glowing with the undisguised, irrepressible pleasure
that had been caused by my unexpected tribute to the absolute
truthfulness of her character. Again I heard her piquant laugh; then
her sweet, vibratory voice as she sang hymns that awakened other than
religious emotions, I fear. By an odd freak of fancy the flowers seemed
an embodied strain from Chopin's nocturne that she had played, and the
different shades of color the rising and falling of the melody.
"What do they mean?" I murmured to myself. "At any rate I see no York
and Lancaster buds among them."
"Is thee so very fond of roses that thee gazes so long and intently at
them?" Mrs. Yocomb quietly asked.
I started, and I had still sufficient blood to crimson my pallid face.
Turning away I said, "They recalled a scene in the garden where they
grew. It seemed to me that Miss Warren had grown there too, she was so
like them; and that this impression should have been made by a girl
bred in the city struck me as rather strange."
"Thy impression was correct--she's genuine," Mrs. Yocomb replied
gravely, and her eyes rested on me in a questioning and sympathetic way
that I understood better as I thought it over afterward.
"Yes," I said, "she made just that impression on me from the first. We
met as strangers, and in a few hours, without the slightest effort on
her part, she won my absolute trust. This at first greatly surprised
me, for I regret to say that my calling has made me distrustful. I soon
learned, however, that this was just the impression that she should
make on any one capable of understanding her."
A deep sigh was my companion's only answer.
"Mrs. Yocomb," I continued, earnestly, "was I taken ill while you were
speaking? I have a vague, tormenting impression that something occurred
which I cannot recall. The last that I can remember was your speaking
to us; and then--and then--wasn't there a storm?"
"There may have been. We've had several showers of late. Thee had been
overdoing, Richard, and thee felt the effects of the fever in thy
system before thee or any of us knew what was the matter. Thy mind soon
wandered; but thee was never violent; thee made us no trouble--only our
anxiety. Now I hope I've satisfied thee."
"How wondrously kind you've all been to such a stranger! But Miss Adah
made reference to something that I can't understand."
Mrs. Yocomb looked perplexed and annoyed. "I'll ask Adah," she said,
gravely. "It's time thee took this medicine and slept."
The draught she gave me was more quieting than her words had been, for
I remembered nothing more distinctly until I awoke in the brightness of
another day.