Читать книгу Say and Seal - Warner Susan - Страница 21

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Dr. Harrison did not find anybody at Mrs. Derrick's gate. The two, mother and daughter, had stood there, even after Cindy had come in with her report; unconscious, or unregardful, of the chill thick mist which enveloped everything and fell with steady heavy fall upon the bright hair of one and the smooth cap of the other. They had not spoken to each other all that while, unless an unfinished word or two of Mrs. Derrick's reached ears that did not heed them. It was Faith herself who first moved, perhaps reminded by the increasing dullness that her mother was feeling it too. She took her hand from the gate, and passing the other round Mrs. Derrick, led her into the house, and into the sitting-room and to a chair; and then went for wood and kindling and built up a fire. She went to the kitchen next. That fire was out too, and that fire also Faith rebuilt, and coaxed till a blaze was going up round the cold tea kettle. Cindy sat with her head on her arms on the kitchen table, fast asleep. Faith did not wake her. In half an hour she brought into the sitting-room a tray with tea made, and clams warmed, and all things that should accompany the one teacup and saucer, and mutely set it before her mother. She did not then ask her to eat, except by this pantomime; and she herself immediately went again to stand in the porch. But again her mother followed.

"Child," she said, "you mustn't stand here. You'll be sick next. You must come right in and drink some hot tea."

Faith's quick answer was to put her hand upon her mother's lips. Her mother went on, softly and steadily, in spite of that slight obstruction. Yet not in spite of it, for her voice was very low.

"I know who'd say you ought to—" and she paused a little, as if to let her words have their full effect. Then with a carious sort of instinct she herself hardly perceived, Mrs. Derrick added,

"Dr. Harrison'll be sure to come—and you mustn't be standing here then."

For the first time Faith's head drooped, and she turned, but it was to pass her mother and go upstairs; laying her hand for an instant as she went, with a kind of caressing touch, on her mother's arm; then she was gone.

Mrs. Derrick stood where Faith left her, the still mist before her out of doors, the still house behind her. And there she stood until her ear caught the distant smooth roll of wheels. Softly it came, nearing her every minute, till Mrs. Somers' little wagon stopped at the gate, and Dr. Harrison jumped down and came towards her. Another had seen him, for Mrs. Derrick knew that a light step had come swiftly down stairs, but whither it went she knew not. The doctor spoke cheerily.

"Nasty thick evening! My dear Mrs. Derrick, do you stand at the door to shew your hospitality in welcoming your friends, all night?"

"It is late," said Mrs. Derrick. The doctor's words were too slippery for her to get hold of; she waited for him to speak again.

"If it is late, my dear madam, why are you here? I don't want you to see me ever for anything but pleasure. Is it so late I mustn't come in?"

Mrs. Derrick stepped back into the hall—then stopped and turned.

"I was there to watch, Dr. Harrison. What have you got to tell me? One story has come already."

"Has it! Then I can tell you but half a one. I was thinking to make my fortune. Mr. Linden is spending the night at a friend's house, my dear Mrs. Derrick—that is all. He is as well as you are—though perhaps just at this minute not quite so strong as I am. But I am afraid he can boast more than that in another few days."

That Mrs. Derrick felt at once relieved, doubtful, unsatisfied, was clear. But the relief—slight as it was—brought back her hospitality; she led the way into the parlour.

"What has been the matter?" she said. "What is the matter?"

"I don't know," said the doctor. "He fell in with somebody carrying a gun—which was very likely to happen, seeing I have met a great many myself; but I never fell out with any of them yet—perhaps my time will come.—This fellow however, let off his gun in the wrong place and some of the shot hit Mr. Linden in the arm, and before he could get to Mr. Simlins, where I found him, he was a little faint. So I commanded him to stay where he was till morning. That's all. He's perfectly well, I give you my word. I came now on purpose to relieve you from anxiety. He wanted to come down with me, but I wouldn't let him."

"Why didn't you let him?" said Mrs. Derrick.

"Well, I came near letting him," said the doctor—"for I didn't know at one time that I could help it. It wouldn't have hurt him seriously. But he'll see you with more pleasure to-morrow."

"I can't think how you made out to hinder him at all!" said Mrs. Derrick, looking a little puzzled. "But I'm much obliged to you, doctor, for coming."

"Is he such a difficult person to deal with?" said the doctor, glancing at the different doors of the room.

"I never tried," said Mrs. Derrick with very simple truth.

"I must try, some time," said the doctor abstractedly:—"I like to deal with difficult people.—But I remember you remarked it was late!—" And he started up and was about to take his leave; when his purpose met with an interruption. For the swift trot of a horse upon the road came to as quick a pause at Mrs. Derrick's gate, and Reuben Taylor came up the steps and in at the open front door before Dr. Harrison had finished his compliments.

"I see!" said the doctor—"you don't keep open doors for nothing, Mrs. Derrick. Here's another. You're not riding after me, my friend, are you? You don't let the grass grow!"

"No sir," said Reuben. "Good evening, Mrs. Derrick—may I go up to Mr. Linden's room?"

"How is he now, Reuben?" said Mrs. Derrick. "O yes, you can go up, of course."

"Thank you, ma'am—he said he was more comfortable when I came away." And with an almost imperceptible glance round the room he was in, Reuben turned and bounded lightly up the staircase. But all was dark there and in Mr. Linden's room. Reuben could not execute his commission so; and was turning to come down stairs again, when he encountered in the dim entry-way a white figure.

"How is Mr. Linden, Reuben?" said a voice which he knew, though it was in a very low key.

"Miss Faith!" Reuben said with a little start—"O I am so glad to find you!"—Then repeated gravely his former answer—"He said he was more comfortable when I came away, ma'am."

"Is he much hurt?"

Reuben hesitated.

"I don't rightly know, Miss Faith," he said, so low that she could scarce catch the words. "He says he's not—and Dr. Harrison says not—I suppose I'm easy frightened."

"What makes you frightened, then?" she said quickly.

"I was frightened—" Reuben said, drawing a long breath, and with a sort of awe-stricken voice, as if the fright was upon him yet;—"and it takes a while to get over it. Maybe that's all. He wrote that, Miss Faith—" and Reuben laid a tiny folded paper in her hand. "And may I have a light, ma'am, to get some things from his room?" He spoke eagerly now, as if he grudged the moments.

Faith directed him to the kitchen, and when Reuben came up, followed him into the room and stood waiting while he sought what he wanted. Then suddenly remembered that her paper might contain a request for something else, and bent over the candle to read it. It contained more than one.

"Miss Faith," it said, "if any of my scholars are anxious about me, tell them, from me, that there is no cause. Bid them take rest—without 'waiting for it.'—I am sorry that exercise must wait!—but I shall hope to see two on Monday. J. E. L."

Faith's head was bent a long while over the candle.

"Have you got what you wanted, Reuben?" she asked at last.

Reuben had heard her voice often, but he had never heard it like that—nor any one else. What had passed through it, clearing it so? it was like the chiming of silver bells. He came at her word, bag in hand; and—with the freedom a mutual sorrow gives—held out his other hand to her. Then ran quick and softly down the stairs.

"Hollo, sir!" said the doctor, as Reuben passed the open doorway. "A word with you." Reuben paused, then came back a step.

"So you are Mr. Linden's friend, are you?" said the doctor in a careless manner.

"Did you want anything of me, sir?" Reuben said.

"Why yes—I commonly want an answer to a question."

"I don't just know what you mean by a friend, Dr. Harrison," said Reuben respectfully. "I might answer wrong."

"So rather than do that—You like to be on the safe side. Suppose you ask Mr. Linden to teach you definitions, among other things? And look here—keep him quiet and don't let anybody talk him out of his sleep to night. That's all." And the doctor followed Reuben immediately.

With a feeling of satisfaction certainly, Mrs. Derrick at last locked and bolted the front door, shutting out the driving mist and all that might hide within it; and then went to look after the only treasure the house contained. She wasn't far to seek, for as the locking and bolting sounded through the house, Faith came down and went with her mother into the sitting-room.

"Have you had nothing to eat yet, mother!" she exclaimed as her eye fell on the orderly tea-tray.

"No child—nor sha'n't want it, till I see you have something."

Faith smiled a little, came and put her arms round her and kissed her; and then set about the whole work of getting tea over again. It was with a very pale face yet; only the silver ring of her voice told the change of the mental atmosphere. Her mother looked at her—but was perhaps afraid to ask any questions to disturb the quiet.

"Reuben's a good boy!" she said, feeling that remark to be perfectly safe.

"I'm glad he's there," Faith answered gravely. "I heard all Dr. Harrison said, mother."

"Yes child," said her mother—as if she knew that before—"I thought you'd see Reuben too."

"Reuben said the same, mother. And Mr. Linden himself sent word there was no cause to be anxious."

Faith did not say he had written that word to her. Perhaps her own consciousness might have made her shy of the subject—or perhaps what she judged to be people's false reports had left a sore spot in her heart and she was afraid of touching that. But she did not speak of the little note which had come to her. She was preparing her mother's tea with all speed, while Mrs. Derrick on her part peeped into the sugar-bowl to see if it wanted filling, and began to cut the bread.

"I'm glad to hear it, child," she said. "Dr. Harrison's too smart for me—I can't get a bit of good out of him. My, Faith! I suppose Mr. Linden can manage him, but if I had that man buzzing round me, I shouldn't know whether I was sick or well. When is he coming back, child?"

"I don't know, mother."—Then with the invincible instinct of truth, she added, "He wants my work to be ready for him Monday."

"Reuben's got a great deal of gumption!" said Mrs. Derrick, her heart quite expanding with the pleasure of hearing Faith talk once more. "Now half the boys in town would have blurted that right out to me and Dr. Harrison together—and I wouldn't trust him for not asking questions. But I'm sure I'm glad, child—it seems as if he'd been gone a month. Do you think he'll come to morrow? Maybe he meant you should send your work down to him."

"I sha'n't do that," said Faith, as she gave her mother at last a cup of tea that was to be drunk. But she had poured out none for herself. She sat before the tea-tray, still and pale. Her mother looked at her.

"You must take some, child."

"I don't want it, mother."—And she brought everything that was on the table round her mother's plate.

"You must—" Mrs. Derrick repeated. "I sha'n't, if you don't—or else I'll get you a glass of wine. Why child," she said, with a half sober, half smiling look, which Faith for once did not read—"he's better. You ought to eat and be thankful."

"I am thankful,"—Faith said, her head sinking for a moment.

Mrs. Derrick deliberately got up, went to the pantry, and fetching thence a tiny cup and plate set them before Faith.

"Eat, pretty child!" she said. "You know I'm right. If you don't look out, Mr. Linden 'll be worse scared when he comes home than he's been to-day, I guess."

Faith gave her a look, both grateful and appealing, and very innocent of belief in her statement;—and did honour the little cup so far as to fill it with tea which she swallowed. But the plate she left clean.

"I can't to-night, mother," she said in answer to Mrs. Derrick's look. "I'll eat breakfast."