GERALD OBEYS ORDERS.
In an incredibly short time Denham brought back not only Dr. Dennis, whom
he had caught just setting out for a stolen game of whist with Mr.
Upjohn, during the absence of that gentleman's wife at prayer-meeting,
but also Soeur Angélique, whose mere presence in a sick-room was more
than half the cure. And then he sat in the dark, disordered room below,
impatiently enough, anxiously waiting for news from Phebe. The time
seemed to him interminable before at last the door opened, and Gerald
entered, bearing a lamp. The vivid light, flung so full upon her, showed
traces of passionate weeping; and her white dress all scorched and burned
and hopelessly ruined, with the rich lace hanging in shreds from the
sleeves, made her a startling contrast indeed to the usually calm,
self-possessed, perfectly-dressed Gerald Vernor.
Denham sprang forward to take the heavy lamp from her. "How is
she, please?"
Gerald started. "What, you here?"
"Did you think I could leave till I knew?"
"Oh, of course not, I had forgotten you. I was only thinking of Phebe."
"But how is she?"
"Better. She is burned about the shoulders and a little on the arms, but
not seriously, and nothing that will disfigure. It is so fortunate. The
doctor is still with her, but she is much easier now, and there is
nothing to fear."
"Ah, what a relief! It seemed as if I should never hear. She is really in
no danger then?"
"None."
"Thank God! As you came in you looked so distressed I feared--"
"When it was all over and there was nothing to cry about, I cried,"
interrupted Gerald. "Women are always fools. I'll except Mrs. Whittridge,
however. She has been the greatest comfort to Phebe."
"It is Soeur Angélique's characteristic privilege always to be a comfort,
I believe," answered Denham, recovering his light-heartedness in a
flash. "Might I inquire if you have any especial object with this lamp?
Shall I do any thing particularly with it?"
"Let it down, please--anywhere. I remembered the room was dark, and ran
down to put it to rights before Mrs. Lane should comeback. Her orderly
soul would have a spasm if she came upon it suddenly like this."
"It was well I had no light," said Denham, looking around him. "It would
have frightened even me. Shan't I call some one?"
"It's the ridiculous fashion of the house to suppose it never needs
servants at this hour. There's not one within reach."
"You must let me help you then. Is this the table-cover?"
"Thanks. I am afraid the fire has done for it, but we can't help that.
Pull it a little farther to your side, please. Farther still. That's too
far. So. That's right. Now the lamp here. Now the books. Cover up the
holes with them."
"Ah, Miss Lydia's pet cup! and her little favorite statuette!"
"Hideous things! I'm glad they're smashed."
"Will you equally enjoy imparting to her the fact of their loss?"
"Somebody else may do that. I had my share telling her about Phebe."
"I suppose she was terribly shocked, poor old soul. I don't wonder."
"She had an instant attack of hysterics, and I _did_ wonder," rejoined
Gerald, tartly. "But as I told you, women are always fools, and nervous
women the worst ones, I haven't any patience with them. I was vexed
enough with her for keeping me from Phebe. I don't believe she was ever
hurried so out of an attack before."
"I'm afraid there's need of a broom or something here, Miss Vernor. This
vase is in a thousand pieces."
Gerald seized the hearth-brush and was on her knees by him in a moment.
"The lamp, please, Mr. Halloway. Set it on the floor an instant."
Denham moved it as desired, and stood looking down at her as she began
deftly brushing up the scattered bits.
"Miss Vernor!" he suddenly exclaimed in a shocked voice. The bright
light, falling broadly across her hands, showed two great angry-red
blotches just above one of the delicate wrists. He stooped and laid
masterful hold of the long handle of the brush.
"Well?" she said, stopping perforce and looking up in surprise.
"What is it?"
"Your arm--you are burned, badly burned."
Gerald made a little sound of contempt for all reply.
"It should be dressed at once. How it must pain you!"
Gerald looked at her arm reflectively. "I haven't had time to feel," she
said, vainly trying to pull her sleeve over it. "It will make an ugly
scar, won't it? I shall have to abandon elbow sleeves. Now please let go
the brush."
"Miss Vernor, why should you be so cruel to yourself? Do go up to the
doctor at once!"
"And take him away from Phebe? I will not. It won't hurt any more now
than it has done already. I must ask you to let me have the brush, Mr.
Halloway. I am losing time."
Halloway relinquished it without speaking, and went quietly out of the
room, and Gerald unconcernedly resumed her work, scarcely pausing to
wonder where he had gone or what he intended. He returned just as she had
finished, and lifting the lamp back to the table, called to her: "Will
you come here, please?"
"What in the world have you there?" she inquired, coming up to him in
sheer curiosity.
"Soap. I found the way to the kitchen, you see. I had to bring the water
in this tin thing. I didn't know where to look for a cup."
"Pray what is it for?"
"For you. Soap is good for burns. Will you let me take your hand,
please?"
Gerald put the wounded member behind her. "Thank you. I neither require
nor desire assistance."
"Pardon me, you do require it, and if you refuse to see the doctor--"
"Is that any reason why I should resort to you--and kitchen soap?"
"I grant it is a very homely remedy, Miss Vernor, but it is an excellent
one and the only one I know."
"I daresay. It is one more than I know of."
"You will not try it?"
"No."
"Perhaps you are afraid of the pain attending the dressing?"
It was a masterly stroke. Gerald gave him one look of intense scorn,
almost of anger, and immediately reached out her hand. "I am afraid of
nothing--not even of your lack of skill."
Denham took her hand without further ceremony, and holding it firmly,
pushed back the hanging lace from her arm and began rubbing the soap over
the burns, without so much as a word of pity for the pain he knew he was
giving her. She winced involuntarily at the first touch, but set her
teeth tightly lest she should cry out. It hurt her cruelly. "I was not
aware before that the custody of souls extended to that of the temples
they inhabit," she said, when she could command herself sufficiently to
assume a supreme indifference of tone. "You believe in purely household
remedies, I see."
"I believe always in doing what I can with what means I have. One moment
more, please. I am not quite through."
Gerald held out her hand again. "Perhaps you had better try sandstone on
it this time, or a little burning oil."
Halloway did not answer, but hastily tearing his handkerchief into
strips, bound the arm as closely as he could. "There," he said, surveying
the bandages critically, and inwardly well pleased with his success; "at
least that will do till you can see the doctor."
"Are you sure you are quite through now?" asked Gerald, in mock
submission. "You don't think it necessary to put the arm in a splint, or
to fasten weights to it, or to amputate the first joint of the thumb?"
"I am sorry to say that is all I know how to do for you, Miss Vernor."
"Then I will go back to Miss Lydia. By the way, would you recommend soap
also for hysterics?"
"Applied with a close bandage over the mouth? Certainly, it will be both
effectual and immediate."
"Thank you. Good-night."
"Will you not shake hands with me?"
Gerald turned as she was moving off and held out her hand, more as a
queen might have extended it in motion of dismissal than as friend to
friend. Denham took it between both his. "Before you go, I want to thank
you in the name of all Miss Phebe's friends," he said, earnestly. "You
have saved her life to-night, and at the risk of your own."
"The table-cloth was her savior, not I," returned Gerald, lightly, but
with a softened voice. "And anyway, is it not quite thanks enough only to
know that Phebe is safe? Now good-night in earnest."