LOVING SERVICE.
When Helen entered the vestibule to the Grenoble, where she lived, on
her return from her visit to Mrs. Everleigh, she found Mrs. Harding, to
whom she had sent John the night before, in the vestibule, just about
to ring her bell, and knew instantly, from the woman's face, that
something had gone wrong.
"What is it?" she inquired, with quickened pulses.
"You sent a man--Mr. Williams--to me last night?"
"Yes." Helen was touched by the fact that John had taken pains to
conceal his identity by giving his middle name to the woman.
He had been taken ill in the night, Mrs. Harding told her, and she had
found him delirious in the morning. She had sent for a
physician--Doctor Wing--who seemed to think the case critical, and
wanted him taken to some hospital, where he could have better air, and
a constant attendant; but, Mrs. Harding explained, she felt she ought
to come and talk with madam before consenting to the move.
"That was right," observed Helen, who had been thinking rapidly while
the woman was talking. "I knew Mr.--Williams years ago in San
Francisco, and I am sure his friends would not wish him sent to a
hospital. He told me he intended to start for California to-day--he
had his ticket--so his friends will be looking for him next week."
"Well, marm, it is my opinion that he'll never see San Francisco
again," said the woman, with a grave shake of her head.
"Oh!" cried Helen sharply; "is he as ill as that?"
Was John going to die, after all? She was shocked through and through
at the thought. No, he must not--he should not! She could never
forgive herself for the dreadful things she had thought and said the
night before, if he did.
Had her repentance come too late? Was she to have no opportunity to
prove the sincerity of her desire to put into practice the higher
interpretation of love to which she was beginning to awake?
"He's an awful sick man, marm," her companion replied.
"When will Doctor Wing go to see him again?"
"He said he'd drop in about six o'clock."
"Then I will be there at six, also; I wish to talk with Doctor Wing,"
Helen observed, and Mrs. Harding, anxious to get back to her charge,
but evidently relieved to have her responsibility shared, went her way.
When Helen had leased her apartment at the Grenoble, she had hired
another smaller suite of two rooms and bath, adjoining, and running at
right angles with it. These she had fitted up attractively as a
studio, where she gave her lessons and prepared for her social
engagements, thus leaving her apartment free for Dorrie to entertain
her friends whenever she wished. At her request, her landlord had cut
a door between the suites, and this arrangement had enabled her to go
back and forth without being obliged to pass through the public hall.
While talking with Mrs. Harding she had conceived a plan to meet Doctor
Wing's desire for better air and good care for his patient. She would
put a bed and other comforts in the larger room of the studio. Mrs.
Harding was a good, sensible, reliable woman, capable in every way--and
she would engage her and a trained nurse, if necessary, to take care of
the invalid. John should have every possible chance for his life that
she could give him, and perhaps this would blot out that dreadful
suspicion he had voiced that she had wished him out of the way.
She unfolded this plan to Doctor Wing when she went to Mrs. Harding's
to meet him, at six o'clock, and, the physician cordially approving it,
in less than three hours the sick man was transferred to Helen's
cheerful, well-ventilated rooms, with good Mrs. Harding as nurse and
attendant.
The woman said she would prefer to take care of him alone; she believed
she could do it, and it would be much easier for her than to be
subjected to the red tape and rigid rules of a trained nurse. Helen
seconded this proposition, saying she, too, would do whatever she was
able, and would stand ready to provide a trained nurse at any moment,
if the plan did not work to Doctor Wing's entire satisfaction.
The physician gave his consent somewhat reluctantly, but said they
would try it for a day or two. He was somewhat at a loss to understand
Madam Ford's interest in the man, even though she had frankly explained
that she had known both him and his family when, years ago, she also
had lived in San Francisco.
However, it was no affair of his, only so far as it made better
conditions for his patient; the rooms she offered were certainly more
desirable than a cot in the public ward of a hospital would be, and
madam, if she were doing this simply because of a friendly interest in
him and his far-off family, was a rare woman, indeed.
For two weeks it seemed a doubtful battle for the sick man, who was
delirious and entirely unconscious of his condition and surroundings;
but at the end of that time he began slowly to mend, although he
manifested very little interest in the fact, obediently submitting to
whatever was done or prescribed for him, but with a feeble air of
protest that was discouraging to those interested in him.
"He doesn't want to get well," Mrs. Harding told the physician, when he
came one morning and found his patient very weak and unresponsive to
his cheerful greeting.
"I know it, poor fellow!" he gravely replied. "But we will do the best
we can for him, although it looks as if that 'best' will not keep him
here very long."
"Where am I?" John asked his nurse a few days later. "Is this a
hospital?"
"No, it is a small suite," she told him. "Some one who was not going
to occupy it for a while offered the use of it to Doctor Wing, so he
brought you here and engaged me to take care of you."
Helen had insisted that her agency in the matter was not to be
known--at least, not at present, and when John came to himself she
withdrew from the rooms altogether.
"A man does not like to be under obligations to a woman," she had said,
"and doubtless we shall soon hear from his friends, who will then
assume the care of him."
But John, as he slowly improved, in spite of his indifference to life,
appeared intuitively to realize that he was not wholly indebted to the
good doctor for the comforts he was enjoying. The rooms were
handsomely furnished; there were dainty and womanly touches all around
him that somehow suggested a familiar atmosphere; the bed linen and
towels were fine and heavy; a rich, warm-hued dressing robe and nice
underwear had been provided for him, and, with the artistic tray on
which his food was served, the pretty hand-painted china, and bright
flowers in unique vases, besides many luxuries to tempt his appetite,
all betrayed a thoughtful interest that strangers, or a strange doctor,
would hardly bestow upon one so destitute as himself.
He talked very little with either his physician or Mrs. Harding; asked
no questions, yet was always appreciative of any service rendered him.
By the end of four weeks he was able to sit up in a great easy-chair by
a sunny window, where he would remain as long as was permitted,
sometimes sitting with closed eyes, apparently thinking; at others
manifesting a trifle more interest than heretofore by studying the
surrounding buildings and his rooms.
He was now allowed to have a daily paper to look over, and Doctor Wing
tried to draw him out on current events and other subjects, now and
then telling a pleasant story or a piquant joke; but while John was
always most courteous in his bearing and conversation he could hardly
be said to be responsive to these efforts in his behalf.
One day there came a tap on the door leading into Helen's apartment.
John caught the sound, although the door of the room he was in was
partially closed. Mrs. Harding answered the summons, there followed a
few low-spoken words, and presently the woman returned, bearing in her
hands a basket of luscious fruit, a few fragrant flowers carelessly
scattered over it.
"Where did you get it?" the man inquired, his face lighting with
pleasure at the attractive offering. It was the first really
spontaneous sign of interest he had manifested.
"A lady who lives in the next suite sent it in to you," Mrs. Harding
explained, as she laid a tempting peach, with a bunch of grapes, upon a
plate and passed it to him.
John sat suddenly erect, exhibiting an energy which betrayed to Mrs.
Harding that he possessed more strength than she had supposed. He
flushed a hot crimson, glanced alertly out of the window near him, then
at the door leading into the hall, through which the doctor usually
entered. He next set his plate upon a small table beside him, arose,
and went to another window, where he stood for several minutes,
studying the surroundings outside.
Presently he returned to his chair and his fruit, a wan smile curling
his lips, for between certain suspicions that had beset him of late and
a rather accurate bump of location he had gotten his bearings at last,
and thought he knew where he was.
"Mrs. Harding, this house is the Grenoble, is it not?" he quietly
inquired, as he began to pare his peach, but with hands that trembled
in spite of his efforts to conceal his excitement.
"Um--yes," she replied, with some reluctance.
"And Madam Ford lives in the adjoining suite, does she not? It was she
who sent me the fruit?"
"You know, Mrs. Harding, it was Madam Ford who sent me to you the night
I was taken ill," John resumed, in a matter-of-fact tone, without
appearing to observe her confusion. "I would be glad to see her again;
will you ask her if she will spare me a few moments?"
On receiving this message, Helen knew that she could no longer keep out
of sight; she had realized from the first that the truth would have to
be revealed sooner or later, and she went to him at once, greeting him
courteously, as if he had been simply an old acquaintance.
"Helen, you are responsible for my being here. Why did you do this?"
he exclaimed huskily, as the nurse left the room, closing the door
after her.
"If this is what you wished to see me about I am not going to stay, for
you are not to get excited," Helen returned reprovingly; then she added
kindly: "There was simply nothing else to do."
"Yes, there was; you could have let them take me to some hospital,
where they would have put me to die, like any other beggar. Why didn't
you?" he demanded bitterly.
"Because, for one reason, Doctor Wing thought this the better plan for
you----"
"But the expense of it!" he interposed, flushing hotly. "To say
nothing about the imposition on you."
"Oh, don't let that trouble you," said Helen calmly. "Of course, I
wrote to your uncle, telling him of your illness. I thought he would
be wondering, after sending you the ticket, why you did not put in an
appearance at San Francisco."
"Well, what did he say?"
"He wrote me to see that you were made comfortable, and sent me some
money."
"How much?"
"Fifty dollars," Helen confessed, rather reluctantly.
A cynical smile curled John Hungerford's lips.
"Fifty dollars! It has cost you many times that to provide for my
needs, and the care I have had, to say nothing about the doctor's
bill," he faltered. "Well"--with a reckless air--"I shall soon be
where I will trouble no one, and--I am glad of it."
"Why should you be glad of it?" Helen gravely asked.
"Because I do not wish to be a burden to any one. I've been a failure
from beginning to end, and I am weary of the race. Even if I were not,
I know my fate is settled, and it would be useless to try to change it."
"How do you know your fate is settled, as you express it?"
He held up a trembling, transparent hand.
"I have no blood; I have no strength, no courage, nothing to look
forward to," he said, in a hopeless tone.
"Don't you think it would be more brave if, instead of yielding to such
gloomy thoughts, you made an effort to get well?" Helen gently
suggested.
"What for? _What_ have I to live for?" he cried, lifting agonized eyes
to her.
"For the sake of trying to live--_right_ for a while," she gravely but
very kindly replied.
A wave of scarlet shot over his wan face, and his head fell upon his
breast.
"By Heaven, I wish I could!" he exclaimed, looking up, after a moment,
a ring of sincerity in his voice that Helen had never heard before.
"Then, John, why not make an honest effort for it?" And Helen's tone
was full of strength and encouragement.
"It is too late--I am not going to get well. I am sure the doctor
thinks I cannot," he wearily returned.
"Simply because you have no wish to, and will not try; your own
attitude is what is sending you to your doom. Don't let this inertia
conquer you, John; buckle on your courage, take a fresh grip on hope,
and rise above this weakness. There is hardly any situation in life so
adverse that it cannot be overcome if one will go to work the right
way. Then, think of your talent--it was a divine gift. Can you bear
the thought of making no return for it--of leaving absolutely nothing
behind you to show that John Hungerford, who was born with the soul of
a great artist--you know, Monsieur Jacques told you that--ever lived?
Oh, rouse yourself; start out anew, and make your mark in the world!"
Helen had spoken very earnestly, and it was evident that her words had
made a deep impression upon her listener, for it was with difficulty
that he preserved his composure.
"Do you think I can--now, after all the best of my life has been
wasted?" he breathed eagerly, but swallowing hard to keep back a sob
that almost got the better of him.
"I am sure you can," she cheerily responded. "Make up your mind, first
of all, that you are going to get well; that will be half of the battle
won; and, with health and strength regained, the rest will be
comparatively easy. I wish----"
She paused suddenly, as if in doubt of the wisdom of what she had been
about to say.
"What do you wish?" he inquired, as he keenly searched her thoughtful
face.
"I wish you would allow me to bring a dear friend to see you--some one
whom I feel sure would be a great help to you."
"Who is this friend?" John demanded, almost sharply, and with suddenly
averted face.
"A Mrs. Everleigh--the purest, sweetest woman I have ever known."
"Oh!" A great fear seemed to vanish as the man breathed the one word;
but Helen, busy with her own thoughts, did not appear to heed him.
"Does she know----" he began again, after a moment, and then faltered,
a hot flush mounting to his forehead.
"She knows nothing, except that a Mr. Williams, whom I once knew in
California, has been very ill here at the Grenoble, and I, as a
neighbor, have been interested in him," Helen assured him.
During the four weeks of John's illness she had seen Mrs. Everleigh
three times; once her new friend had come to see her, and twice she had
been to her, and a strong affection had sprung up between them. Helen
had been so benefited and uplifted by the woman's higher thought and
its practical application to daily living, it had occurred to her that
if she could bring John under her influence he might be inspired to
desire a new lease of life, and to try to redeem his past.
She had told her new friend of John, and of his sickness--had
intimated, as she said, that she had known him years ago in her old
home, San Francisco. She gave her some idea of his great talent, and
how he had wasted it; but she had not mentioned the fact that he had
once been her husband, and the author of her own troubles, or that he
was under any obligation to her for the care and comforts he had
received during his illness.
"Why do you wish me to meet this Mrs. Everleigh?" John inquired, after
silently considering the proposition for several moments.
"I want you to know this grand woman. She will do you good; she will
inspire you to take a different view--to have a better
understanding--of life and its obligations," was Helen's earnest
response. "She will not preach to you," she hastened to add, as she
saw an uneasy look flit over his face. "She is no officious
missionary, going about trying to reform the world at large, and I
shall simply introduce her to you as a friend whom I thought it would
be pleasant for you to meet after being shut up here for so long,
and---- Well, I am sure you will find her irresistible."
A smile, half of amusement, half of skepticism, curled her listener's
pale lips.
"You have certainly aroused my curiosity, and you may bring your friend
whenever you see fit," he observed, but more to please Helen than
because he felt any special desire to meet her paragon of excellence.
"Let me say you have a rare treat in store," she returned, adding, as
he manifested signs of weariness: "But you must not talk more now; try
to rest and think cheerful thoughts, and you will be stronger
to-morrow."
She arose as she concluded, and, with a kindly good-by, quietly left
the room.