One bright summer morning, while the dew still glistened like diamonds on
grass blades and flower petals, Dexie and her father were to be seen
walking quickly in the direction of the depot, and, on arriving there, were
surprised to see Mr. Traverse waiting on the platform.
"What, Traverse, are you off this morning too?" said Mr. Sherwood.
"Yes, I have business in Boston; some machinery to order. And you, Miss
Dexie, are you going on a journey as well?"
"Oh, no; I have come to see papa safely on board the train, and to jog his
memory about a few trifles I want him to bring me home from the Hub."
"Ha, ha; a few trifles, indeed! If you expect me to bring back half the
things you have mentioned, you had better come along with me, for I've
forgotten them already," her father laughingly replied.
"I thought that would be the way," Dexie replied with a smile, "but you
will not get off so easily as you think. Here is my book, and the list is
on the last pages, so you have no excuse to forget one of the articles,
papa," and she slipped the little book inside his vest-pocket.
"Glad to have your company, Traverse. How long do you stay?"
"Well, I am not particular to a day or two. I expect to be ready to return
on Friday."
"And this is Monday; well, we can arrange to return together, so, Dexie,
you can make your mind easy. Your old dad will have someone to look after
him both ways."
"That is very nice. Take good care of him, Mr. Traverse," and she gave him
her hand as he said good-bye.
Her father bent his head and kissed her, saying playfully:
"Now, don't run off with the gardener, or do any other dreadful thing while
I am gone, and I will try and get your commissions filled, even to the box
of chocolates."
They stepped on the cars, and with the usual ear-splitting shriek the train
moved away, leaving Dexie on the platform looking after them. The two men
stood at the rear door and waved a farewell, and Dexie returned home, never
thinking that she had seen her father well and strong for the last time.
Mr. Sherwood had not been away from home since they had moved to
Lennoxville, and Dexie planned to have a dainty repast awaiting his return,
and she was in the kitchen when a telegraph messenger appeared at the door.
"A telegram for Mrs. Sherwood, and one for Miss Dexie Sherwood."
Dexie tore hers open, and her heart seemed to stop beating as she read:
"There has been an accident, and your father is hurt, but not
fatally. He cannot be moved at present. Can you come at once?
"GUY TRAVERSE."
Dexie rushed up the stairs, her white face telling of trouble, and as soon
as her mother saw her she asked in alarm:
"What is it, Dexie? What has happened?"
"Dear mamma, come back into the room, and I will tell you. There has been
an accident, and papa is hurt. Oh, mamma, do not scream so! No, he is not
killed; do not say it. Oh, hush! let me open your message. Mine is from Mr.
Traverse, and he says papa is hurt and cannot be moved. Oh, mamma! do not
scream so. You will terrify the children and make yourself ill."
"Oh, he is dead! My husband is killed!" she cried. "Why has this dreadful
calamity come upon me?" and she wrung her hands and wept aloud.
"Oh, mamma, you _must_ stop! Listen: this is what your message says, and it
is signed by a railroad official:
'There has been a collision, and your husband is injured. It is
impossible to move him in his present condition, but everything
possible shall be done for his comfort and relief.'"
"Oh, mamma! let us go to him at once."
"Dexie, do you want to kill me? I could not survive the journey in the
present state of my nerves; and does not the message say that everything
shall be done for him? What could I do more?"
Another peal of the bell, and Dexie flew down to the door, where a
brass-buttoned youth presented himself.
"I am sent to say that there is a train starting for the scene of the
collision in fifteen minutes. If there is anyone here going down, they will
have to hurry."
Dexie rushed back to her mother's side.
"Oh, mamma, I must go to him! Can you go, too? Say quickly, mamma!"
"Oh, I shall die! I shall die!" and Mrs. Sherwood fell back on the sofa in
violent hysterics.
This was answer enough, and Dexie rushed to her own room, calling loudly
for Eliza.
Gussie ran up the stairs at that moment, saying wildly: "Oh, Dexie, is it
true? Is papa hurt?"
"Yes, Gussie, and I am going to him. Run to mamma; I cannot delay a moment.
Here, Eliza," as the frightened domestic appeared, "put those things into
this travelling-bag while I tell you what you are to do. Papa is hurt, and
I have barely time to catch the train. You must run for Mrs. Jarvis as soon
as I am done with you, and tell her to come and stay with mamma; then hurry
along for the doctor--he will give mamma something to quiet her. Tell Mrs.
Jarvis I leave everything in her care till I return, and say that she must
fix up the back parlor all ready for papa, in case he can be brought home.
She will know what to do. Now, I must go. I am sure I can trust you to do
your best, Eliza, till I get back. I do not know when that will be."
She arrived at the depot hot and breathless, but in time to take her place
among the number who, with white, sad faces and tear-dimmed eyes, were on
their way to claim the forms of loved ones, or to comfort and relieve those
whose lives had been spared them. The first tears she shed were those that
fell when she recognized Edith Wolcott and her brother among the
passengers.
"Dexie, you here, and alone!" was Edith's greeting, and the answer was a
flood of relief-giving tears.
"Papa is hurt," she sobbed, as Edith inquired why she was on the train.
"I am so sorry; but perhaps it is not as bad as you fear. We expected Aunt
Eunice would arrive by that train. We do not know that she really was a
passenger, but I could not rest at home till I knew the truth!" Edith
exclaimed. "Mr. Traverse was to have returned to-day," she added. "Did you
hear if he was hurt?"
Dexie did not know, but thought not, as he had sent her the message
concerning her father.
They relapsed into silence, except when someone would voice the sentiments
in the heart of each and say, with a sigh, "How slowly the train moves
along!" Yet they were travelling very rapidly, and in due time they arrived
at the scene of the wreck.
Such a spectacle Dexie had never seen. Cars were piled upon one another in
a confused mass, and she wondered how anyone had escaped alive from the
broken timbers that had formed the cars.
She seemed to know instinctively which way to turn in search of her father,
but she had only made a few steps when she met Mr. Traverse looking for
her.
"Do not be alarmed, Miss Dexie; I am not so bad as I look," he said,
reassuringly, as Dexie started at the sight of his bandaged head and
splintered arm. "I have an ugly scalp wound, and that makes the bandages
necessary, and my broken arm is nothing. Now, be brave," he said, as they
stopped before the door of the house where her father had been taken. "He
has been suffering great pain and looks badly, and he will not be able to
see you unless you are calm. The doctor is with him now. I will go and see
if you can come in."
"Do not keep me waiting, Mr. Traverse. I will be quiet. Indeed, you can
trust me," and she lifted a white face, full of entreaty, to his gaze.
"My brave little girl!" was Guy's inward comment. "It is just as well that
she came alone, for no one else in the family has self-control enough to
bear this."
In a few minutes Guy returned and conducted her to her father's side, and
she bent over him and kissed his white face tenderly.
"Dear papa, I have come to stay with you. What can I do to help you?" and
she laid her hand in his. "Mamma feels too badly to come just now, dear
papa."
The quiet manner in which she removed her hat and cloak and then returned
to the bedside to await the doctor's orders impressed the latter favorably,
and with a few words of instruction to Mr. Traverse he departed to see his
other waiting charges.
They were sad and anxious days that followed, for it was feared that Mr.
Sherwood might not, after all, survive the shock; but Dexie never lost
heart, and was rewarded, after many days, by hearing the welcome news that
her father could safely be moved to his home.
Traverse had proved himself a helpful and faithful friend, and more than
one broken-hearted person blessed him for his ready help and sympathy, for
the accident had been attended with much loss of life and had spread
mourning into many homes.
Dexie had written twice daily to her mother; but having once mentioned the
fact that the few houses in the vicinity of the accident were filled with
maimed and wounded who were too ill to be sent to their homes, Mrs.
Sherwood considered it impossible for her to witness the sight, and Dexie
advised her to stay at home. She was well aware that the distressing sights
and sounds which were to be witnessed hourly in every house would have such
an effect on her mother that her presence would be more hurtful than
beneficial to her father in his present condition.
Dexie was very anxious to know if everything was in readiness for her
father's arrival, and Mr. Traverse relieved her anxiety by offering to go
to the house with the family doctor and make everything sure, and then
return and accompany them home.
It was with a feeling of shame that she gave her last message to him as he
was about to leave her.
"Will you be kind enough to tell Dr. Brown how necessary it will be for
papa to come home to a quiet house; and if mamma is not able to bear the
sight of his arrival, will he see that she is not at home just at the time?
He will understand and can manage it, I am sure."
Traverse looked at her in surprise.
"Mamma is apt to be hysterical, and papa will be too tired with the journey
to bear any unusual excitement. I dread the time of his arrival at the
house more than I do the rest of the journey; but it must be managed
quietly, somehow. It would take so little to set him back when he is so
weak."
"It shall be managed quietly, Miss Dexie, so do not be anxious; I will see
that your father has every chance," and he turned away, wondering at the
care and tact that could see and overrule the want of thought in others,
when age and experience should have given others the self-control that was
so wonderful to see in a girl of her years.
Mr. Sherwood bore the journey much better than they expected, and they
carried him to the room which, by Dexie's forethought, had been provided
with everything that could add to his comfort. The house was quiet and
still, and a good hour's rest fortified him for the visit that his wife
must soon make to his room.
Mrs. Sherwood had been persuaded into taking a drive with the doctor's wife
about the time the train was expected, and she had been kept away long
enough for Mr. Sherwood to rally from the fatigue of the journey. Gussie,
with the rest of the family, had witnessed his arrival from an upper
window, and wept sorely at seeing her father carried into the house on a
bed, remembering how well and strong he had walked out of it a few short
weeks before.
When Mrs. Sherwood arrived, and found that her husband had been brought
home in her absence, she felt very much hurt, and she entered the room
subdued and quiet; but when she beheld the change that had taken place in
her strong, robust husband since she had last seen him, nothing but the
doctor's presence prevented her from throwing herself across the bed. She
dropped to her knees by the bedside, with a wail of despair, and Gussie's
sobs were added to the moans that came from the lips of the kneeling wife.
Dexie bent over her sister, saying firmly:
"You must either control yourself or leave the room. Can't you see how it
distresses papa?"
Guy Traverse led the sobbing girl out of the room at last, and his kind
words of comfort did much to help Gussie overcome her violent grief. He
was fast recovering from his own wounds, and he made himself very useful in
spite of his one-armed condition--for he still wore his broken arm in a
sling. Dexie was not blind to the excellent traits of character he had
displayed during the trying weeks past, but when she endeavored to express
her thanks he stopped her with a word.
Weeks passed, and Mr. Sherwood's progress was so slow as to damp all hopes
as to his ultimate recovery.
"I must know the truth," he said one morning, when the doctor made his
usual visit; "it is no kindness to keep me in ignorance of my true
condition. If I am not likely to rise from this bed a well man, then it is
time I settled my business; so tell me what you think, Dr. Brown."
But it is not easy to get a doctor's opinion, and at last it was decided to
send for the famous Dr. Jacobs, and have a consultation.
"Well, have the consultation as soon as possible, for this uncertainty is
harder to bear than the knowledge of a speedy death," said Mr. Sherwood.
Oh, the agony of that hour, when Dexie waited, with the rest of the family,
the verdict of the assembled doctors. As she knelt by her bed, her face
buried in the pillows, she felt as if the worst could not be much harder to
bear than this dreadful suspense. She dreaded the sound that would summon
her to her father's bedside, yet, when it came, she rose to obey with a
firm step, though the white face, from which her eyes shone almost black in
their intensity, was proof of the anxiety that filled her heart.
"My dear little girl," and her father pressed the hand she laid in his, "it
is not so bad as we feared, after all. Dr. Brown, will you go and tell my
wife? Dexie, do you think you will get tired waiting on me if I have to lie
here a few more months?"
"Oh, papa!" She could not restrain the tears that sprang to her eyes, so
she laid her head on the pillow beside him until she could lift a quiet
face.
"Don't fret, Dexie, dear!" and he fondly stroked the head so near him.
"I am likely to live for months, and you are such a capital little nurse
that it will not be such a hardship to spend the rest of my life on my
back."
Yes, that was the verdict. Mr. Sherwood could never hope to walk again or
be a well man; but he would probably live for some time, his splendid
constitution being in his favor.
This was hard news for the family; but they had feared the worst, and so
felt thankful for the extended time that might intervene before the end
would come.
Mrs. Sherwood engaged the assistance of Mrs. Jarvis, an excellent nurse, to
attend on her husband; and as Dexie shared the nursing and relieved Mrs.
Jarvis, Mrs. Sherwood considered she had done her duty well and faithfully.
She did not feel strong enough to do very much of the laborious part of
nursing, but she was willing to make her appearance in the sick-room when
the patient was at his best. She had been present once when her husband had
been seized with a paroxysm of pain, and was so terrified and overcome that
she felt more than willing to leave her husband to the care of those who
were "so hard-hearted that they could witness such suffering," and still be
able to administer the necessary relief.
As the weeks passed by and Mr. Sherwood grew no worse, it seemed impossible
to think that the "grim messenger" was really lurking in the shadow, for he
bore his illness with such patience and cheerfulness that only those who
were constantly about him realized how he really suffered.
Mr. Traverse was always a welcome visitor, for Mr. Sherwood could never
forget that awful moment when death stared them both in the face, and how
Traverse had kept the flying timbers from crashing into his pinioned body,
receiving on his own head and arm the blows he might have escaped.
Dexie had listened with averted face and tear-dimmed eyes to the story as
it fell from her father's lips, and she found it hard to meet her hero
without betraying something of the feeling which his noble conduct had
awakened in her heart.
His frequent visits were both a joy and a pain to her, though why she felt
glad to hear his step, yet dreaded to meet his glance, she could not have
explained.
Gussie was able now to meet Mr. Traverse without that feeling of
mortification which she experienced after she had read his love-letter
before her guests. His manner to her was as kind and respectful as ever,
and she hoped he had almost forgotten the circumstance. How often that
thoughtless act had been regretted no one knew but herself. There was no
chance of adding his name to her list of admirers, for he kept her at a
distance, even when his manner was most kind. She often wondered if his
_city girl_, as she styled her, had yet relented, or if he had given up all
hope of winning her. How he must have cared for her to write such a letter!
If she had learned the true facts of the case, and found out that the
letter was really Dexie's, as she at first supposed, she would have put
aside the fact that her conduct was none the less reprehensible, and would
have used all her arts to win him to her side. As it was, she was more
willing to sit by her father's side during the time Mr. Traverse was
present than at any other time during the day.
One evening when Mr. Traverse was sitting by Mr. Sherwood's bedside, Gussie
also being in the room, one of those sudden attacks that always came on
without a moment's warning seized upon Mr. Sherwood, and Mr. Traverse was
so alarmed that for a moment he lost his presence of mind; but Gussie's
shrill screams, as she rushed out of the room, aroused him. Something
should be done for the sufferer, he knew not what, and reaching for the
bell-cord that hung over the head of the bed he gave it a hasty pull, and
as he did so Dexie was beside him.
She took in the situation at a glance, her rapid movements relieving Mr.
Traverse from the fear and apprehension that had seized him, and the means
of relief were soon at hand.
"Raise his head on your arm a moment," she said, coming quickly to the
bedside. "Not quite so much; there. I must get this into his mouth somehow.
Thank you. Now, lay him down very carefully." A practical knowledge of
what was required made her movements swift, though quiet, and she worked
about him with a firm, steady hand. She was able to witness her father's
agony and still keep her wits about her; but this was positive proof to her
mother that Dexie had "no feelings."
Mr. Sherwood was soon able to look the thanks he could not express, and
Dexie took a fan that lay near at hand and began, with a gentle motion, to
fan her father's flushed face. Guy noticed for the first time that the
tears were flowing down her cheeks, though she gave no sign of her
distress, nor made any movement to wipe them away lest that act should
betray them.
"Let me do that much, Dexie?" was the low, whispered words, as he took the
fan from Dexie's fingers.
He drew a chair softly to the bedside, and kept up the gentle motion until
Guy felt assured that the sufferer was asleep.
Dexie was kneeling by the bedside, intently watching her father's face
through her tears, and she started when Guy laid his hand across her
clasped palms, and whispered, "Come away, Dexie; he is sleeping."
She rose at his bidding, and he drew her to the window.
"This has been very hard on you, Dexie, and you have borne it bravely," he
whispered softly, holding her trembling hands in his own. "Do not try to
hide the tears from me. Am I not your friend?"
The touch of his hand and the tenderness of his voice touched a chord in
Dexie's heart and sent a thrill through every nerve, and she raised her
eyes to his for one brief moment; but in that short time she read a story
that might have filled a volume, and no one could now say of her that "her
heart had not yet awakened," for she knew the truth at last.
The appearance of Mrs. Jarvis at this moment was a welcome relief to Dexie,
and giving a hasty account of her father's late attack she hurried from the
room. She felt she must get away from everyone and face this new thing that
had come upon her.
As she passed into the hall she found Guy Traverse waiting for her.
"May I ask for a few minutes, Miss Dexie?" he asked, in a low voice. "I
have something I would like to say to you to-night."
"Please excuse me to-night, Mr. Traverse," she replied, without lifting her
eyes. "I do not feel able to see anyone just now."
"Some other time, Dexie, then. Good-night," and he held her hand one moment
in his, and turned to leave the house.
He did not seem particularly pleased to find Gussie waiting at the parlor
door for him; but he intended to pass on and go home.
"Oh! Mr. Traverse you are not going home so soon, surely!" she cried. "I
wanted your opinion of a new book that was sent to me to-day. Is papa not
better?" seeing the altered expression on his face.
"Yes, he is better now, I believe, but you must excuse me to-night, Miss
Sherwood; your book must wait for some future time. Good evening," and the
door closed softly behind him.
As Guy turned the corner of the house, intending to take a short cut to his
hotel through the back garden, there issued from an open window such music
as Guy had never heard before--so soft, so sad, yet so exquisitely sweet
that he stopped for a moment to listen. He had often listened to Dexie's
playing; but he never had heard her play a piece like that, and he drew
nearer the window.
He could see her through the thin curtain that hid him from view; and as he
stood and watched her, he wondered what it was that had the power to call
up such an expression to her face. But as he looked the music suddenly
ceased, and Dexie's face was buried in her hands, and he could hear the
sobs that shook her frame. He longed to speak to her, yet dared not. He
knew he had no right even to witness her emotion, and he turned silently
and sadly away. Could he have been mistaken, after all? That one brief
moment when Dexie had looked into his eyes he felt sure of her love, and
his heart had throbbed with joy; and but for that interruption he might
even now be holding her against his breast, while he poured into her ears
the story of his love.
But her tears and grief seemed a denial of his hopes. Had thoughts of her
absent lover given her that glorified look on which he had based his hopes?
If Guy Traverse had been permitted to read a part of the letter which Dexie
penned that evening before retiring, he would not have waited so long
before testing the value of his hopes, for he would have guessed the
meaning of the words sent to "the lover over the sea."
"I have thought several times lately that you are not so open and frank
with me as you used to be. Are you keeping something from me, Lancy? I
wonder if you have found out the truth of the words I said to you in
Halifax. Do not forget that it was to be 'honor bright' between us. I am
beginning to hope that my surmises are correct, but I know it is hardly
fair to force a confession from you that I shrink from making myself. It
may be true that 'open confession is good for the soul,' but I find it is
particularly mortifying to the body.
"But I have been talking to you through the piano to-night, Lancy, and I
must set down in writing a little of what is in my mind, for I have to
confess to you, Lancy, that I can no longer _honestly_ keep the ring that
has stood 'for a sign between me and thee.' Now, do not mistake me, dear
Lancy. I have heard no word of love from any man's lips since I left you,
but for all that I have met someone that will always stand between you and
me, and I really have little to tell you, only that under the conditions I
cannot keep the ring any longer. Will you release me from any promise I may
have given you, and tell me truly if you are not pleased that I asked for
the release? You must not think that I have ceased to care for you, for
there are times, when I am at the piano, that I would give all I ever
possessed to have you beside me, and I have missed you more than I can
tell. I see now that more than one kind of love can find room in the heart
at one and the same time. Now, Lancy, if I have made a mistake in thinking
that you may have had the same experience as myself, and this confession of
mine grieves you, I will keep my promise still, _if you wish it_. I shall
look anxiously for your answer."
But if Guy Traverse had no knowledge of this letter he was present when
Gussie held out the answer across the table, with the words:
"Here is an extra heavy letter from over the sea, Dexie, and that bold
handwriting tells the identity of the writer at a glance, so there is no
use to deny that it is from Lancy Gurney."
Guy saw no hope for him in the flushed face, and Dexie hurried from the
room as soon as she had grasped the letter from Gussie's hand.
But Guy Traverse had no need to be so cast down, if he had only known it,
for the letter said:
"I begin to fear that you are gifted with second-sight, and it is with
shame I confess that I have not kept 'honor bright' with you. I was afraid
you would not understand if I began to explain the matter, but your own
confession has made it easier. I can hardly tell you what has happened,
Dexie--it has all come about so suddenly that I hardly realize it myself;
but I was thrown from a vicious horse while visiting at a country-seat, and
was taken up insensible, and when I opened my eyes I found a sweet heart
bending over me; but believe me, Dexie, I did not know it was so until her
own lips confessed it, and she has become very dear to me since. But I have
been in misery when I thought how you would despise me, and I feared your
scorn. I shall always care for you, Dexie, as you care for me, and I am
glad to know that the music still holds us together. I have a request to
make, and if you will grant it I shall know that the admission in this
letter has not wounded you. Do not send back the ring, but keep it and wear
it occasionally. I have had a counterpart made of the little charm which I
enclose in this, and I shall always keep it in memory of the happy hours we
have spent together."
Dexie read this letter over a good many times before she laid it away
under lock and key; but when she did so she took from its hiding-place the
ring she had not looked at for months, and slipped it upon her finger.
"Yes, I will keep it and wear it, now that it means only friendship; of
course he does not wish to have it back. I am so glad he has found someone
else. He will never forget me, I am sure--I know that by my own feelings
for him; but if he had kept me to my promise I--" but she finished the
sentence in the innermost recesses of her heart.
Dexie's reply gave Lancy a feeling of relief. He must explain to his
parents the change in his feelings, and he feared they would consider that
he had wronged Dexie Sherwood; but her letters would prove the contrary,
for did she not say:
"Your ring is on my finger as I write, and I never wore it with more
willingness and pleasure than I do now, when it tells only of freedom and
friendship. I have had those words engraved on the inside of the ring. Will
you do the same with the token of friendship which you say you possess? I
was sorry to hear you had taken the trouble to get one made after the same
pattern, and I have a little scold all ready for you. Do not hide from your
ladylove till after your marriage the little romance 'between me and thee.'
Believe me, it will sound much better if told beforehand. I am pleased to
hear that your prospects are so bright, but you did not tell me half enough
about your pretty English lassie, or in what direction her talents lie, but
I can well believe that I am far in the shade so far as music goes. I
cannot tell you what you ask, Lancy, for my love has not been asked for in
words; but I am very happy, and if my future holds nothing brighter than my
present life, it will be well worth living, for the only shadow is the
thought of poor papa's sufferings. And now, dear Lancy, good-bye. This is
my last letter to you, but if we ever meet again I think you will find that
I am the same old Dexie."
The letter had such a kind, honest ring to it that it quite relieved
Lancy's mind, and he wondered what Dexie would say if she knew that his
ladylove was only a passable singer, and had no talent for music at all.
Truly, he had fallen in love with his opposite.