Читать книгу Family Pride; Or, Purified by Suffering - Mary Jane Holmes - Страница 15

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Katy Lennox had been very sick, and the bed where Wilford slept had stood in the parlor during the long weeks while the obstinate fever ran its course; but she was better now, and sat nearly all day before the fire, sometimes trying to crochet a little, and again turning over the books which Morris had brought to interest her—Morris, the kind physician, who had attended her so faithfully, never leaving her while the fever was at its height, unless it was necessary, but staying with her day and night, watching her symptoms carefully, and praying so earnestly that she might not die—not, at least, until some token had been given that again in the better world he should find her, where partings were unknown and where no Wilford Camerons could contest the prize with him. Not that he was greatly afraid of Wilford now; that fear had mostly died away just as the hope had died from Katy's heart that she would ever meet him again.

Since the September morning when he left her, she had not heard from him except once, when in the winter Morris had been to New York, and having a few hours' leisure on his hands had called at Wilford's office, receiving a most cordial reception, and meeting with young Mark Ray, who impressed him as a man quite as highly cultivated as Wilford; and possessed of more character and principle. This call was not altogether of Morris' seeking, but was made rather with a view to pleasing Katy, who, when she learned that he was going to New York, had said inadvertently: "Oh, I do so hope you'll meet with Mr. Cameron, for then we shall know that he is neither sick nor dead, as I have sometimes feared."

And so, remembering this, Morris had sought out his rival, feeling more than repaid for the mental effort it had cost him, when he saw how really glad Wilford seemed to meet him. The first commonplaces over, Wilford inquired for Katy. Was she well, and how was she occupying her time this winter?

"Both Helen and Katy are pupils of mine," Morris replied, "reciting their lessons to me every day when the weather will admit of their crossing the fields to Linwood. We have often wondered what had become of you, that you did not even let us know of your safe arrival home," he added, looking Wilford fully in the eye, and rather enjoying his confusion as he tried to apologize.

He had intended writing, but an unusual amount of business had occupied his time. "Mark will tell you how busy I was," and he turned appealingly to his partner, in whose expressive eyes Morris read that Silverton was not unknown to him.

But if Wilford had told him anything derogatory of the farmhouse or its inmates, it did not appear in Mr. Ray's manner, as he replied that Mr. Cameron had been very busy ever since his return from Silverton, adding: "From what Cameron tells me of your neighborhood there must be some splendid hunting and fishing there, and I had last fall half a mind to try it."

This time there was something comical in the eyes turned so mischievously upon Wilford, who colored scarlet for an instant, but soon recovered his composure, and invited Morris home with him to dinner.

"I shall not take a refusal," he said, as Morris began to decline. "Mother and the young ladies will be delighted to see you again, while Jamie—well, Jamie, I believe, worships the memory of the physician who was so kind to him in France. You did Jamie a world of good, Dr. Grant, and you must see him. Mark will go with us, of course."

There was something so hearty in Wilford's invitation that Morris did not again object, and two hours later found him in the drawing-room at No. ——Fifth Avenue, receiving the friendly greetings of Mrs. Cameron and her daughter, each of whom vied with the other in their polite attentions to him, while little Jamie, to whose nursery he was admitted, wound his arms around his neck and laying his curly head upon his shoulder, cried quietly, whispering as he did so: "I am so glad, Dr. Grant, so glad to see you again. I thought I never should, but I've not forgotten the prayer you taught me, and I say it often when my back aches so I cannot sleep and there's no one around to hear but Jesus. I love Him now, if he did make me lame, and I know that He loves me."

Surely the bread cast upon the waters had returned again after many days, and Morris Grant did not regret the time spent with the poor crippled boy, teaching him the way of life and sowing the seed which now was bearing fruit. Nor did he regret having accepted Wilford's invitation to dinner, as by this means he saw the home which had well-nigh been little Katy Lennox's. She would be sadly out of place here with these people, he thought, as he looked upon all their formality and ceremony and then contrasted it with what Katy had been accustomed to. Juno would kill her outright, was his next mental comment, as he watched that haughty young lady, dressed in the extreme of fashion and dividing her coquetries between himself and Mr. Ray, who, being every way desirable both in point of family and wealth, was evidently her favorite. She had colored scarlet when first presented to Dr. Grant, and her voice had trembled as she took his offered hand, for she remembered the time when her liking had not been concealed, and was only withdrawn at the last because she found how useless it was to waste her affections upon one who did not prize them.

When Wilford first returned from Silverton he had, as a sore means of forgetting Katy, told his mother and sisters something of the farmhouse and its inmates; and Juno, while ridiculing both Helen and Katy, had felt a fierce pang of jealousy in knowing they were cousins to Morris Grant, who lived so near that he could, if he liked, see them every day. In Paris Juno had suspected that somebody was standing between her and Dr. Grant and how with the quick insight of a smart, bright woman, she guessed that it was one of these same cousins, Katy most likely, her brother having described Helen as very commonplace, and for a time she had hated poor, innocent Katy most cordially for having come between her and the only man for whom she had ever really cared. Gradually, however, the feeling died away, but was revived again at sight of Morris Grant, and at the table she could not forbear saying to him:

"By the way, Dr. Grant, why did you never tell us of those charming cousins, when you were in Paris? Why, Brother Will describes one of them as a little water lily, she is so fair and pretty. Katy, I think is her name. Wilford, isn't it Katy Lennox whom you think so beautiful, and with whom you are more than half in love?"

"Yes, it is Katy," and Wilford spoke sternly, for he did not like Juno's bantering tone, but he could not stop her, and she went on:

"Are they your cousins, Dr. Grant?"

"No, they are removed from me two or three degrees, their father having been only my second cousin."

The fact that Katy Lennox was not nearly enough related to Dr. Grant to prevent his marrying her if he liked, did not improve Juno's amiability, and she continued to ask questions concerning both Katy and Helen, the latter of whom she persisted in thinking was strong-minded, until Mark Ray came to the rescue, diverting her attention by adroitly complimenting her in some way, and so relieving Wilford and Morris, both of whom were exceedingly annoyed.

"When Will visits Silverton again I mean to go with him," she said to Morris at parting, but he did not tell her that such an event would give him the greatest pleasure. On the contrary, he merely replied:

"If you do you will find plenty of room at Linwood for those four trunks which I remember seeing in Paris, and your brother will tell you whether I am a hospitable host or not."

Biting her lip with chagrin, Juno went back to the drawing-room, while Morris returned to his hotel, accompanied by Wilford, who passed the entire evening with him, appearing somewhat constrained, as if there was something on his mind which he wished to say; but it remained unspoken, and there was no allusion to Silverton until as Wilford was leaving, he said:

"Remember me kindly to the Silverton friends, and say I have not forgotten them."

And this was all there was to carry back to the anxious Katy, who on the afternoon of Morris' return from New York was over at Linwood waiting to pour his tea and make his toast, she pretended, though the real reason was shining all over her telltale face, which grew so bright and eager when Morris said:

"I dined at Mr. Cameron's, Kitty."

But the brightness gradually faded as Morris described his call and then repeated Wilford's message.

"And that was all," Katy whispered sorrowfully as she beat the damask cloth softly with her fingers, shutting her lips tightly together to keep back her disappointment.

When Morris glanced at her again there was a tear on her long eyelashes, and it dropped upon her cheek, followed by another and another, but he did not seem to see it, talking of New York and the fine sights in Broadway until Katy was herself again, able to take part in the conversation.

"Please don't tell Helen that you saw Wilford," she said to Morris as he walked home with her after tea, and that was the only allusion she made to it, never after that mentioning Wilford's name or giving any token of the wounded love still so strong within her heart, and waiting only for some slight token to waken it again to life and vigor.

This was in the winter, and Katy had been very sick since then—so sick that even to her the thought had sometimes come: "What if I should die?" but she was too weak, too nearly unconscious, to go further and reflect upon the terrible reality death would bring if it found her unprepared. She had only strength and sense enough to wonder if Wilford would care when he heard that she was dead; and once, as she grew better, she almost worked herself into a second fever with assisting at her own obsequies, seeing only one mourner, and that one Wilford Cameron. Even he was not there in time to see her in her coffin, but he wept over her little grave and called her "darling Katy." So vividly had Katy pictured all this scene, that Morris, when he called, found her flushed and hot, with traces of tears on her face.

In reply to his inquiries as to what was the matter, she had answered laughingly: "Oh, nothing much—only I have been burying myself," and so Morris never dreamed of the real nature of her reveries, or guessed that Wilford Cameron was mingled with every thought. She had forgotten him, he believed; and when, as she grew stronger, he saw how her eyes sparkled at his coming, and how impatient she seemed if he was obliged to hurry off, hope whispered that she would surely be his, and his usually grave face wore a look of happiness which even his patients noticed, feeling themselves better after one of his cheery visits. Poor Morris! he was little prepared for the terrible blow in store for him, when one day early in April he started, as usual, to visit Katy, saying to himself: "If I find her alone, perhaps I'll tell her of my love, and ask if she will come to Linwood this summer;" and Morris paused a moment beneath a beechwood tree to still the throbbings of his heart, which beat so fast as he thought of going home some day from his weary work and finding Katy there, his little wife—his own—whom he might caress and love all his affectionate nature would prompt him to. He knew that in some points she was weak—a silly little thing she called herself when comparing her mind with Helen's—but there was about her so much of purity, innocence, and perfect beauty, that few men, however strong their intellect, could withstand her, and Morris, though knowing her weakness, felt that in possessing her he should have all he needed to make this life desirable. She would improve as she grew older, and it would be a most delightful task to train her into what she was capable of becoming. Alas! for Dr. Morris! He was very near the farmhouse now, and there were only a few minutes between him and the cloud which would darken his horizon so completely. Katy was alone, sitting up in her pretty dressing gown of blue, which was so becoming to her pure complexion. Her hair, which had been all cut away during her long sickness, was growing out again somewhat darker than before, and lay in rings upon her head, making her look more childish than ever. But to this Morris did not object. He liked to have her a child, and he thought he had never seen her so wholly beautiful as she was this morning, when, with glowing cheek and dancing eyes, she greeted him as he came in.

"Oh, Dr. Morris!" she began, holding up a letter she had in her hand, "I am so glad you've come, for I wanted to tell you so badly Wilford has not forgotten me, as I used to think, and as I guess you thought, too, though you did not say so. He has written, and he is coming again, if I will let him; and, oh, Morris! I am so glad! Ain't you? Seeing you knew all about it, and never told Helen, I'll let you read the letter."

And she held it toward the young man leaning against the mantel and panting for the breath which came so heavily.

Something he said apologetically about being snow blind, for there was that day quite a fall of soft spring snow; and then with a mighty effort, which made his heart quiver with pain, Morris was himself once more, and took the letter in his hand.

"Perhaps I had better not read it," he said, but Katy insisted that he might, and thinking to himself: "It will cure me sooner perhaps," he read the few lines Wilford Cameron had written to his "dear little Katy."

That was the way he addressed her, going on to say that circumstances which he could not explain to her had kept him silent ever since he left her the previous autumn; but through all he never for a moment had forgotten her, thinking of her the more for the silence he had maintained. "And now that I have risen above the circumstances," he added, in conclusion, "I write to ask if I may come to Silverton again. If I may, just drop me one word, 'come,' and in less than a week I shall be there. Yours very truly, W. Cameron."

Morris read the letter through, feeling that every word was separating him further and further from Katy, to whom he said: "You will answer this?"

"Yes, oh yes; perhaps to-day."

"And you will tell him to come?"

"Why, yes—what else should I tell him?" and Katy's blue eyes looked wonderingly at Morris, who hardly knew what he was doing, or why he said to her next: "Listen to me, Katy. You know why Wilford Cameron comes here a second time, and what he will probably ask you ere he goes away; but, Katy, you are not strong enough yet to see him under so exciting circumstances, and, as your physician, I desire that you tell him to wait at least three weeks before he comes. Will you do so, Katy?"

"That is just as Helen talked," Katy answered, mournfully. "She said I was not able."

"And will you heed us?" Morris asked again, while Katy after a moment consented; and glad of this respite from what he knew to a certainty would be, Morris dealt out her medicine, and for an instant felt her rapid pulse, but did not retain her hand within his own, nor lay his other upon her head, as he had sometimes done.

He could not do that now, and so he hurried away, finding the world into which he went far different from what it had seemed an hour ago. Then all was bright and hopeful; but now, alas! a darker night was gathering around him than any he had ever known, and the patients visited that day marveled at the whiteness of his face, asking if he were ill? Yes, he answered them truly, and for two days he was not seen again, but remained at home alone, where none but his God was witness to what he suffered; but when the third day came he went again among his sick, grave, quiet and unchanged to outward appearance, unless it was that his voice, always so kind, had now a kinder tone and his manner was tenderer, more sympathizing. Inwardly, however, there was a change, for Morris Grant had lain himself upon the sacrificial altar, willing to be and to endure whatever God should appoint, knowing that all would eventually be for his good. To the farmhouse he went every day, talking most with Helen now, but never forgetting who it was sitting so demurely in the armchair, or flitting about the room, for Katy was gaining rapidly. Love perhaps had had nothing to do with her dangerous illness, but it had much to do with her recovery, and those not in the secret wondered to see how she improved, her cheeks growing round and full and her eyes shining with returning health and happiness.

At Helen's instigation Katy had deferred Wilford's visit four weeks instead of three, but in that time there had come two letters from him, letters so full of anxiety and sympathy for "his poor little Katy who had been so sick," that even Helen began to think she had done injustice to him, that he was not as proud and heartless as she supposed, and that he did love her sister after all.

"If I supposed he meant to deceive her I should wish I was a man to cowhide him," she said to herself, with flashing eye, as she heard Katy exulting that he was coming "to-morrow."

This time he would stop at Linwood, for Katy had asked Morris if he might, while Morris had told her "yes," feeling his heart wound throb afresh, as he thought how hard it would be to entertain his rival. Of himself Morris could do nothing, but with the help he never sought in vain he could do all things, and so he gave orders that the best chamber should be prepared for his guest, bidding Mrs. Hull, his housekeeper, see that no pains were spared for his entertainment, and then with Katy he waited for the day, the last one in April, which should bring Wilford Cameron a second time to Silverton.