It was the afternoon of the same day.
"I shall go, grandpa," said Cicely; "I shall go to-night. There's a
boat, somebody said."
"But, my dear child, listen to reason; Sabrina does not say that he is
in danger."
"And she does not say that he is out of it."
The judge took up the letter again, and, putting on his glasses, he read
aloud, with a frown of attention: "'For the first two days Dr. Daniels
came over twice a day'"--
"You see?--twice a day," said Cicely.
--"'But as he is beginning to feel his age, the crossing so often in the
row-boat tired him; so now he sends us his partner, Dr. Knox, a new man
here, and a very intelligent person, I should judge. Dr. Knox comes over
every afternoon and spends the night'"--
"You see?--spends the night," said Cicely.
--"'Going back early the following morning. He has brought us a nurse,
an excellent and skilful young man, and now we can have the satisfaction
of feeling that our poor Ferdie has every possible attention. As I
write, the fever is going down, and the nurse tells me that by
to-morrow, or day after to-morrow, he will probably be able to speak to
us, to talk.'"
"I don't know exactly how many days it will take me to get there," said
Cicely, beginning to count upon her fingers. "Four days--or is it
three?--to Cleveland, where I take the train; then how many hours from
there to Washington? You will have to make it out for me, grandpa; or
rather Paul will; Paul knows everything."
"My poor little girl, you haven't had any rest; even now you have only
just come out of a fainting-fit. Sabrina will write every day; wait at
least until her next letter comes to-morrow morning."
"You are all so strange! Wouldn't you wish me to see him if he were
dying?" Cicely demanded, her voice growing hard.
"Of course, of course," replied the old man, hastily. "But there is no
mention of dying, Sabrina says nothing that looks like it; Daniels, our
old friend--why, Daniels would cross twenty times a day if he thought
there was danger."
"I can't argue, grandpa. But I shall go; I shall go to-night," Cicely
responded.
She was seated on a sofa in Paul Tennant's parlor, a large room,
furnished with what the furniture dealer of Port aux Pins called a
"drawing-room set." The sofa of this set was of the pattern named
tête-à-tête, very hard and slippery, upholstered in hideous green
damask. Cicely was sitting on the edge of this unreposeful couch, her
feet close together on a footstool, her arms tight to her sides and
folded from the elbows in a horizontal position across the front of her
waist. She looked very rigid and very small.
"But supposing, when you get there, that you find him up,--well?"
suggested the judge.
"Shouldn't I be glad?" answered Cicely, defiantly. "What questions you
ask!"
"But _we_ couldn't be glad. Can't you think a little of us?--you are all
we have left now."
"Aunt Sabrina doesn't feel as you do--if you mean Aunt Sabrina; she
would be delighted to have me come back. _She_ likes Ferdie; it is only
you who are so hard about him."
"Sabrina doesn't know. But supposing it were only I, is my wish nothing
to you?" And the old man put out his hand in appeal.
"No," answered Cicely, inflexibly. "I am sorry, grandpa; but for the
moment it isn't, nothing is anything to me now but Ferdie. And what is
it that Aunt Sabrina doesn't know, pray? There's nothing to know; Ferdie
had one of his attacks--he has had them before--and I came away with
Jack; that is all. Eve has exaggerated everything. I told her I would
come here, come to Paul, because Ferdie likes Paul; but I never intended
to stay forever, and now that Ferdie is ill, do you suppose that I will
wait one moment longer than I must? Of course not."
The door opened and Eve came in. Cicely glanced at her; then she turned
her eyes away, looking indifferently at the whitewashed wall.
"She is going to take the steamer back to-night," said the judge,
helplessly.
"Oh no, Cicely; surely not to-night," Eve began. In spite of the
fatigues of the journey, Eve had been a changed creature since morning;
there was in her eyes an expression of deep happiness, which was almost
exaltation.
"There is no use in explaining anything to Eve, and I shall not try,"
replied Cicely. She unfolded her arms and rose, still standing, a rigid
little figure, close to the sofa. "I love my husband, and I shall go to
him; what Eve says is of no consequence, because she knows nothing about
such things; but I suppose _you_ cared for grandma once, didn't you,
grandpa, when she was young? and if she had been shot, wouldn't you have
gone to her?"
"Cicely, you are cruel," said Eve.
"When grandpa thinks so, it will be time enough for me to trouble
myself. But grandpa doesn't think so."
"No, no," said the old man; "never." And for the moment he and his
grandchild made common cause against the intruder.
Eve felt this, she stood looking at them in silence. Then she said, "And
Jack?"
"I shall take him with me, of course. That reminds me that I must speak
to Porley about his frocks; Porley is so stupid." And Cicely turned
towards the door.