A JOYFUL AWAKENING.
As we said before, only those who have watched by the sick-bed of one
they love better than themselves can picture the next few days.
Doctor May had made the nurse understand that “Miss Mordaunt” had
a right to be with Colonel Dacre, and the two watched every night
together, expecting every hour to be the last. Miss Mordaunt was worn
to a shadow with these anxious nights, for she did not even rest in the
daytime, like her companion. How could she sleep through these precious
minutes, which might be the only comfort in the future--a memory that
would be more to her than any living love?
For she had sworn to be Colonel Dacre’s widow if she was never to be
his wife. Colonel Dacre had been ten days unconscious, and hovering so
close on the edge of the “valley of the shadow,” that sometimes they
thought he had gone for good, and could never creep back into the light
again. But he had a strong constitution, and fought every inch of the
ground resolutely.
At last Doctor May said:
“There will be a crisis to-night. I see a great change coming on, but
whether for good or evil, I cannot tell as yet, since the rally before
death often deceives us for the moment.”
“Couldn’t you remain with us?” inquired Miss Mordaunt wistfully. “I
don’t mean sit up, for I know you oughtn’t to do that; but if you
were sleeping in one of these rooms close to us, it would be a great
comfort; and we need not call you unless it is absolutely necessary.”
There is not much men will not do for a beautiful woman who knows how
to manage them, and Doctor May had long since lost the power of denying
Colonel Dacre’s fiancée. He had promised himself elsewhere, but that
did not weigh with him for a moment. He had been dreaming wild dreams
of late. Hearts were caught in the rebound, and if anything happened to
his patient, why should not he take his place?
Of course there was a great disparity between them, socially speaking;
but he knew cases in which this had been ignored, and Miss Mordaunt did
not appear the kind of person to stop at anything when she loved. He
was ashamed of himself, but he could not help the thought. It is the
fate of women who are so wondrously fair to make all the men who come
in contact with them either dolts or knaves.
He turned to her with a faint smile.
“I will certainly remain if it is any comfort to you. I will go at once
and see a few of my most pressing cases, and then return.”
“I can never thank you enough,” she murmured. “It will be such a great
relief to feel that you are near.”
By ten o’clock Doctor May had come back, and they had settled in the
sick-room for the night. Doctor May had refused to lie down, and
insisted upon keeping them company, the truth being that he was too
much interested in the denouement to feel as if he could sleep.
There was a slight restlessness in Colonel Dacre’s manner, but he still
remained unconscious; and Miss Mordaunt sat beside his pillow, with her
anxious, beautiful eyes fixed persistently on his white face. On the
opposite side Doctor May watched, too--not the patient, but her--while
nurse, relieved from all responsibility, dozed comfortably.
At last the sick man’s eyelids began to tremble, and Miss Mordaunt held
her very breath for eagerness. Finally he opened his eyes full upon
her, and said, languidly but without surprise:
“Are you here, Gwen?”
“Hush!” she answered, with a thankfulness far too deep for outward
expression. “You must not talk; must he, Doctor May?”
Doctor May was as pale as the sick man, as he lifted his head to answer:
“Certainly not. The best thing for Colonel Dacre now is sleep. Give him
a few spoonfuls of beef tea, and then keep him as quiet as you can. As
I am not wanted any more, I’ll go and lie down.”
The girl looked radiant, and there were tears of gratitude in her dark
eyes.
“I can’t talk about things to-night,” she followed him to the door
to say; “but if ever there should be any way in which I could serve
you----”
“Thank you, Lady Gwendolyn,” he answered, with peculiar gravity; “you
have paid me the greatest compliment in your power by trusting me with
your secret.”
“Oh! I wasn’t the least afraid.”
“Thank you for saying so. I shall never, of course, breathe a word of
all that has happened lately.”
“I know that. But how did you guess my name, Doctor May?”
“You forget that your portrait is in almost every print-shop in London,
Lady Gwendolyn.”
“True; it is very impertinent of people, but my brother said it could
not be helped.”
“I shall hear of your marriage soon, I suppose?” he ventured to say,
emboldened by her gracious manner; “and, believe me, Lady Gwendolyn,
no one will pray for your happiness more earnestly than I.”
“I am sure of that,” she replied, holding her hand to him with a rosy
blush. “But I do not know yet anything about my marriage. You see, my
brother is away, and--there are certain little difficulties. But I am
so happy to-night, I can only look on the bright side; and I feel as
if things must come right. See, Doctor May, Colonel Dacre is already
asleep. Oh!”--with a sudden, frightened glance at her companion--“is it
sleep? He looks so terribly like death! Do come and see!”
She drew him forward with nervous haste, and watched him, with her
heart in her eyes, as he bent over the sick man and felt his pulse.
“It is all right--but he will look like this for awhile--he is so
terribly pulled down. However, he will get on now, I believe. Try and
get a little sleep yourself, Lady Gwendolyn, for you need it sadly,
too.”
“I am too happy to be tired,” she said confidently. Nevertheless, when
Doctor May was gone, and there was silence in the sick-room, she began
to feel drowsy, and presently she was locked in slumber as soft as it
was light.
When once Colonel Dacre had taken a turn for the better he mended
very fast. But then he was so patient and good, and took his medicine
without so much as a wry face. He wanted to get well quickly, for his
special license was ready, and he had a notion that Lady Gwendolyn
could hardly deny him now. But not a word did he say on the subject,
for fear of scaring her away; and she just drifted along with the tide,
hardly caring where it landed her, so that it was close to Lawrence
Dacre.
One afternoon she had gone out to do some commission, and as she was
stepping out of the shop, she found herself suddenly face to face with
her sister-in-law, Lady Teignmouth. Pauline held out her hand with an
embarrassed smile.
“I declare, it is you, Gwen! What are you doing in town at such a
dreadful time of the year?”
“You forget that I might contaminate you,” answered Lady Gwendolyn,
refusing the proffered hand, and standing up very straight. “It is a
great pity you spoke to me, Pauline, because I know how careful you are
never to conceal the slightest thing from my brother, and he will be
very angry.”
Pauline laughed--the hollow, artificial laugh that always grated upon
Lady Gwendolyn’s nerves.
“Don’t be so very absurd! No woman, with a grain of sense, makes a
confidant of her husband. Besides, Reggie is quite coming round, Gwen;
he is, indeed!”
“Very kind of him, I am sure,” replied her sister-in-law, with a bitter
smile. “Do you know, I feel quite grateful.”
Lady Teignmouth walked along at her side, and lowered her voice to say:
“I dare say you do feel annoyed about it all; but it really was best he
should take it as he did, and I have been a perfect model of discretion
ever since. Reggie and I get on charmingly nowadays; and just think
what a scandal it would have created, supposing we had separated!”