During the four succeeding days, the house hold at Riverside manor were
much alarmed for Arthur's safety, for a violent fever had ensued, and,
to judge from the physician's evasive answers, the event was doubtful.
The family were unremitting in their attentions, and Oriana, quietly,
but with her characteristic self-will, insisted upon fulfilling her
share of the duties of a nurse. And no hand more gently smoothed the
sick man's pillow or administered more tenderly the cooling draught. It
seemed that Arthur's sleep was calmer when her form was bending over
him, and even when his thoughts were wandering and his eyes were
restless with delirium, they turned to welcome her as she took her
accustomed seat. Once, while she watched there alone in the twilight,
the open book unheeded in her hand, and her subdued eyes bent
thoughtfully upon his face as he slept unconscious of her presence, she
saw the white lips move and heard the murmur of the low, musical voice.
Her fair head was bent to catch the words--they were the words of
delirium or of dreams, but they brought a blush to her cheek. And yet
she bent her head still lower and listened, until her forehead rested on
the pillow, and when she looked up again with a sigh, and fixed her eyes
mechanically on the page before her, there was a trace of tears upon the
drooping lashes.
He awoke from a refreshing slumber and it seemed that the fever was
gone; for his glance was calm and clear, and the old smile was upon his
lips. When he beheld Oriana, a slight flush passed over his cheek.
"Are you indeed there, Miss Weems," he said, "or do I still dream? I
have been dreaming, I know not what, but I was very happy." He sighed,
and closed his eyes, as if he longed to woo back the vision which had
fled. She seemed to know what he had been dreaming, for while his cheek
paled again, hers glowed like an autumn cloud at sunset.
"I trust you are much better, Mr. Wayne?"
"Oh yes, much better. I fear I have been very troublesome to you all.
You have been very kind to me."
"Do not speak so, Mr. Wayne," she replied, and a tear glistened in her
eyes. "If you knew how grateful we all are to you! You have suffered
terribly for my sake, Mr. Wayne. You have a brave, pure heart, and I
could hate myself with thinking that I once dared to wrong and to insult
it."
"In my turn, I say do not speak so. I pray you, let there be no thoughts
between us that make you unhappy. What you accuse yourself of, I have
forgotten, or remember only as a passing cloud that lingered for a
moment on a pure and lovely sky. There must be no self-reproaches
between us twain, Miss Weems, for we must become strangers to each other
in this world, and when we part I would not leave with you one bitter
recollection."
There was sorrow in his tone, and the young girl paused awhile and gazed
through the lattice earnestly into the gathering gloom of evening.
"We must not be strangers, Mr. Wayne."
"Alas! yes, for to be otherwise were fatal, at least to me."
She did not answer, and both remained silent and thoughtful, so long,
indeed, that the night shadows obscured the room. Oriana arose and lit
the lamp.
"I must go and prepare some supper for you," she said, in a lighter
tone.
He took her hand as she stood at his bed-side and spoke in a low but
earnest voice:
"You must forget what I have said to you, Miss Weems. I am weak and
feverish, and my brain has been wandering among misty dreams. If I have
spoken indiscreetly, you will forgive me, will you not?"
"It is I that am to be forgiven, for allowing my patient to talk when
the doctor prescribes silence. I am going to get your supper, for I am
sure you must be hungry; so, good bye," she added gaily, as she smoothed
the pillow, and glided from the room. Oriana was silent and reserved for
some days after this, and Harold seemed also to be disturbed and ill at
ease. Some link appeared to be broken between them, for she did not look
into his eyes with the same frank, trusting gaze that had so often
returned his glance of tenderness, and sometimes even she looked
furtively away with heightened color, when, with some gentle
commonplace, his voice broke in upon her meditation. Arthur was now able
to sit for some hours daily in his easy-chair, and Oriana often came to
him at such times, and although they conversed but rarely, and upon
indifferent themes, she was never weary of reading to him, at his
request, some favorite book. And sometimes, as the author's sentiment
found an echo in her heart, she would pause and gaze listlessly at the
willow branches that waved before the casement, and both would remain
silent and pensive, till some member of the family entered, and broke in
upon their revery.
"Come, Oriana," said Harold, one afternoon, "let us walk to the top of
yonder hillock, and look at this glorious sunset."
She went for her bonnet and shawl, and joined him. They had reached the
summit of the hill before either of them broke silence, and then Oriana
mechanically made some commonplace remark about the beauty of the
western sky. He replied with a monosyllable, and sat down upon a
moss-covered rock. She plucked a few wild-flowers, and toyed with them.
"Oriana, Arthur is much better now."
"Much better, Harold."
"I have no fears for his safety now. I think I shall go to-morrow."
"Go, Harold?"
"Yes, to New York. The President has appealed to the States for troops.
I am no soldier, but I cannot remain idle while my fellow citizens are
rallying to arms."
"Will you fight, Harold?"
"If needs be."
"Against your countrymen?"
"Against traitors."
"Against me, perhaps."
"Heaven forbid that the blood of any of your kin should be upon my
hands. I know how much you have suffered, dearest, with the thought that
this unhappy business may separate us for a time. Think you that the eye
of affection could fail to notice your dejection and reflective mood for
some days past?"
Her face grew crimson, and she tore nervously the petals of the flower
in her hand.
"Oriana, you are my betrothed, and no earthly discords should sever our
destinies or estrange our hearts. Why should we part at all. Be mine at
once, Oriana, and go with me to the loyal North, for none may tell how
soon a barrier may be set between your home and me."
"That would be treason to my kindred and the home of my birth."
"And to be severed from me--would it not be treason to your heart?"
She did not answer.
"I have spoken to Beverly about it, and he will not seek to control you.
We are most unhappy, Oriana, in our national troubles; why should we be
so in our domestic ties. We can be blest, even among the rude alarms of
war. This strife will soon be over, and you shall see the old homestead
once again. But while the dark cloud lowers, I call upon you, in the
name of your pledged affection, to share my fortunes with me, and bless
me with this dear hand."
That hand remained passively within his own, but her bosom swelled with
emotion, and presently the large tears rolled upon her cheek. He would
have pressed her to his bosom, but she gently turned from him, and
sinking upon the sward, sobbed through her clasped fingers.
"Why are you thus unhappy, dear Oriana?" he murmured, as he bent
tenderly above her. "Surely you do not love me less because of this
poison of rebellion that infects the land. And with love, woman's best
consolation, to be your comforter, why should you be unhappy?"
She arose, pale and excited, and raised his hand to her lips. The act
seemed to him a strange one for an affianced bride, and he gazed upon
her with a troubled air.
"Let us go home, Harold."
"But tell me that you love me."
She placed her two hands lightly about his neck, and looked up
mournfully but steadily into his face.
"I will be your true wife, Harold, and pray heaven I may love you as you
deserve to be loved. But I am not well to-day, Harold. Let us speak no
more of this now, for there is something at my heart that must be
quieted with penitence and prayer. Oh, do not question me, Harold," she
added, as she leaned her cheek upon his breast; "we will talk with
Beverly, and to-morrow I shall be stronger and less foolish. Come,
Harold, let us go home."
She placed her arm within his, and they walked silently homeward. When
they reached the house, Oriana was hastening to her chamber, but she
lingered at the threshold, and returned to Harold.
"I am not well to-night, and shall not come down to tea. Good night,
Harold. Smile upon me as you were wont to do," she added, as she pressed
his hand and raised her swollen eyes, beneath whose white lids were
crushed two teardrops that were striving to burst forth. "Give me the
smile of the old time, and the old kiss, Harold," and she raised her
forehead to receive it. "Do not look disturbed; I have but a headache,
and shall be well to-morrow. Good night--dear--Harold."
She strove to look pleasantly as she left the room, but Harold was
bewildered and anxious, and, till the summons came for supper, he paced
the veranda with slow and meditative steps.