SEPARATION
I loved and love you--here is simple speech;
I loved and love you, who are out of reach.
--WILLIAM WATSON.
For a minute or two the possibility that Denzil's aunt might
recognize him rose up and flooded out everything else in the mind of
Felix. That would be the culminating point of shame. Yet, as he
thought it over, he felt nearly certain that she could not. She had
not seen him since he was a Rugby boy. He was changed out of all
knowledge, and he had never been considered like his father, so there
would be no family likeness to guide her. And then there was the
safeguard of his disreputable appearance.
Choking down his nervousness, and by a great effort avoiding looking
at Miss Rawson, he mumbled out, with as thick a Cockney accent as he
could assume, the fact that his sister was ill aboard a canal boat at
the wharf. She had had an accident cleaning "winders." She fell out
over the rail of a balcony. He faltered out his story, aware of very
formidable gaps in it, should he be called upon to substantiate it.
But if the doctor was to help the suffering child he must know what
had happened to her. The pickle-factory story and the anæmia were no
good here, though they had served the _George Barnes_. He added the
fact that they had no money.
Felix became aware that Miss Rawson was looking at him with her kind
face charged with pity. She laid her hand upon the arm of the doctor.
"Here is my motor," said she; "jump in. What do you say is the name
of the barge? The _Sarah Dawkes_? Yes, thank you, you will follow
on foot, will you not?"
He assented, relieved beyond measure to think of the approaching help
for Rona. The two got into the car, which whizzed out of sight in a
moment, and Felix stumbled back, limping in his worn-out boots, along
the mile to the village.
He had forgotten the windings of the river. He had not realized
that, though ten miles or more along the water to Normansgrave,
Dunhythe was only a very few miles by road.
He was all wrapped up in the thought of what he was to do. He could
not face Denzil--Denzil would know him in a moment. And if Miss
Rawson were to take an interest in the case, who knew but that Denzil
might at any moment appear?
He could not tell what feeling was uppermost, as at last he came in
sight of the wharf. A small crowd of natives was collected on the
landing-stage, the motor was still in waiting, and several people
seemed to be picking their way about the encumbered deck of the
_Sarah Dawkes_.
As he approached he made out the figure of the doctor, moving along
with a huge bundle in his arms, which at once he knew to be the
muffled form of Rona.
His girl! They were taking her away! A rebellion now tore at his
heart, as unlike as possible to that despair of lethargy which had
filled his soul before the coming of Rona into his life. In spite of
his sore feet he ran as hard as he could, crossed the bridge, and
came panting up, just as the doctor was carefully placing the sick
girl in the motor.
"What are you doing?" cried Felix, in a voice that did not belong to
a barge-boy.
It surprised the doctor, but, as it happened, Miss Rawson was out of
earshot. She had remained to offer Mr. Doggett half a sovereign for
his humane care of the invalid. "Lord love yer, I'd 'a done twice as
much if I'd 'a bin arst," said he, with a geniality few were
privileged to perceive in his usual manner. "Love the gal as if she
was me own I do, and 'er brother'll tell yer jest the syme if you was
to arst 'im."
The brother at the moment was standing there all a-quiver, his
extremely beautiful dark gray eyes appealing to the doctor in a
passion of protest.
"It's all right, my man, your sister will be nursed and taken care of
like a Princess," said Dr. Causton. "Miss Rawson runs a cottage
hospital at Aylfleet, and we are taking her there. I fear there is
internal inflammation. The bargee says you and he are going to
Basingstoke, and coming back by the same route. Well, she won't be
wanting to see you for some days to come, I'm afraid; and you can
stop on the way back and come up to find out how she is."
There was one master question at the back of Felix's mind, and he
asked it straight out, and with no hesitation, "Will she die?"
The doctor looked at him with a puzzled interest. But he had seen a
good deal in his London hospital days, and he knew that such a thing
as a deep fraternal devotion is not unknown, though certainly rare,
among the lowest classes. "No, I hope not," he said; "she has a fine
constitution, and I don't see why she should not pull through."
Felix turned to look at the girl, moaning and tossing in her
wrappings. She knew nobody, she had no need of him, she was going to
be taken care of--he must let her go. With a rush the conviction
came to him that he should never see her again. He had not wept for
years, but tears blinded him now. They overflowed his eyes, and, to
his fury, he had to lift his hand and dash them away.
Who was he, the acquaintance of a moment, to have any claim upon her?
Perhaps when she was rational again she would not remember that she
had ever seen him. He had read of such things in books. Miss Rawson
hurried up.
"There, poor fellow," said she, with deep pity, "how glad I am that I
just chanced to be down at the surgery when you called. It seems
providential for your poor little sister! We shall take such care of
her up at our sweet little hospital you won't know her when next you
see her. Let me see, Smith you say the name is?"
"Yes, miss. Rona Smith."
Her kind hand was outstretched. He suddenly became aware that there
was a coin in it. With a tremendous effort he resisted the impulse
to push it away, and accepted it thankfully. He would be able to buy
pen, ink, paper, stamp, and write a few lines for Rona to have when
she was no longer delirious--words telling her the story he had
fabricated, and coaching her in what she must say when she was
questioned.
"Thank you, miss," said he, meekly, adding, as he shut the carriage
door, "and Gawd bless yer," with as thick an accent as he could
assume. He had much more to say, but there was no time, the motor
was off in two twos, as a member of the interested throng around
remarked.
"Ah! she's a good 'un, is Miss Rawson," pronounced a woman who was
wiping her hands on a corner of her canvas apron. "A little bit of
all right she is, and no mistake. Not like that last 'un they had up
at Normansgrave, a painted Jezebel no better than a ----" She used a
foul word vigorously. "Seemed queer a man of old Vanston's sort
should 'a married such as her."
"And the son no better, seemin'ly," chimed in a man leaning on a
post. "I did 'ear 'e 'ad gone to the deuce as clean as a whistle;
but, Lord! I ain't one to believe all I 'ear."
"Not even your ears wouldn't be large enough down in these parts,"
said the woman, cheerfully, waddling into her cottage door.
Felix, who had overheard this conversation, mooned down to the
water's edge, his face set hard to prevent tears, and went aboard the
_Sarah Dawkes_.
"An' now she's gorn, glory be," observed Doggett gayly. "Now you an'
me can be comfortable, and if you come over to the Flower-pot with
me, I don't mind standin' yer a sorsidge an' mashed. 'A good deed,'
says the lydy, 'never goes without its reward, my man'; and I tell
yer stryte, I ain't sorry I took yer sister aboard, though at the
time it went all agin me."
Felix had no reply to make. He turned his back, and went along to
where the empty lair which had contained Rona lay upon the deck.
What should he do? Wait till the darkest hour of night and then drop
into the smooth black water?
No! She still lived; and, though it was not likely, it was still
possible that she might want him again.