The Old Stone House, Constance Fenimore Woolson [e book free reading txt] 📗

He will be left to hired nurses and you know what Westerton nurses are!”

“Go, then, my boy, and may God be with you,” said Aunt Faith, with tears in her eyes.

The tea-table was soon deserted. Sibyl went to her room, Tom and Gem took refuge in the back garden with the three dogs to bear them company, but Aunt Faith and Bessie sat on the piazza waiting for Hugh’s return.

“After all,” said Bessie, “we need not feel so anxious. The report has passed through several mouths; no doubt it is exaggerated.”

“I hope so,” replied Aunt Faith; “and still I have a strong presentiment that Mr. Leslie is very ill. His face looked strangely worn and pallid as he sat there that last evening, and when fever attacks a man as strong and full of life as he is, the contest is far more severe than with a more feeble patient.”

Eight o’clock struck, but still Hugh did not return. A step sounded up the walk in the dusky twilight, but it was not his; Graham Marr appeared, and again asked for Miss Warrington.

“Go and tell Sibyl, my dear,” said Aunt Faith to Bessie with an inward sigh. Then, as Bessie went into the house, she said, “Have you heard of Mr. Leslie’s illness, Mr. Marr?”

“No,” replied Graham, as he stood in the doorway carelessly twirling his hat in his hand; “is he very ill?”

“We do not know; we have heard only a rumor. Hugh has gone to find out the exact truth.”

“Ah—yes. If it is fever, no doubt he caught it in that unpleasant locality where his chapel stands,” said Graham. “I have often wondered how he could endure the life he leads, but I suppose he is not fastidious. His nature is not so finely wrought, or his nerves so delicately strung as those of some other organizations.”

“His nature is strong and manly,” replied Aunt Faith, with a shade of indignation in her voice.

“Ah, yes, exactly. A man in his position has need of strength,” said Graham loftily. Then, after a pause, “You have heard of my good fortune, Mrs. Sheldon?”

“I have heard that your uncle was dead, Mr. Marr.”

“Ah—yes. Poor old gentleman! I never knew him well; we were not at all sympathetic. My grandfather’s singular will has now been fulfilled, and the estate, which has rolled up to double its original value, will now be divided between my two Southern cousins and myself.”

“I congratulate you, Mr. Marr.”

“Thank you. I think I shall not discredit my fortune; I have long endeavored to cultivate the tastes which belong to wealth,” said Graham with languid pride.

At this moment Bessie returned. “Sibyl is in the parlor, Mr. Marr,” she said; “will you walk in?”

“Thanks, kind messenger,” said Graham, bowing gracefully as he passed her; “Hebe could not be fairer!”

“How ridiculous he is, Aunt Faith,” she said, as the young man disappeared. “How can Sibyl like him? I do not really think she does like him, but I cannot make her out. When I went to her room she was as pale as a ghost, but while she was smoothing her hair, the color rose, and she began to laugh and talk as gayly as possible. Listen, now; hear her laugh. How can she be so heartless!”

“Do not be too severe, Bessie. I suspect Sibyl is putting a great strain on herself to-night. She has so many good traits,” said Aunt Faith with a sigh. “She has so much energy! She only needs to have the right direction given to it and she will accomplish a wonderful amount of good work if her life is spared.”

“But that right direction, Aunt Faith; is Graham Marr to give it?” asked Bessie with a tinge of scorn in her voice.

“I do not know, dear. But Sibyl has a true heart at bottom.”

“I do believe you are made of charity, aunt. Your name ought to be Faith, Hope, and Charity, instead of Faith alone,” said Bessie warmly.

“I have learned one lesson by the experience of a long life,” replied Aunt Faith, smiling; “the lesson of patience.”

“How else could you have brought up such a troublesome set of nephews and nieces?” exclaimed Bessie. “We must have tried your patience severely, Aunt Faith. But we do love you dearly, every one of us.” And the impulsive girl threw her arms around her aunt and kissed her affectionately.

About half-past nine they heard the sound of the gate, and recognized Hugh’s step on the gravel walk.

“How is he, Hugh?” said Bessie, before he came in sight.

“He is a very sick man,” replied Hugh gravely, as he came up the steps. “The doctors are perplexed, for the case is not like ordinary fever. They think he will either be much better or much worse before morning.”

“Oh, Hugh; you do not mean that he is in any danger?”

“Yes; so the doctors say. There is trouble with the brain, threatenings of congestion, I believe. As I said before, he will probably be out of danger before morning, or,—or, gone where he is fully prepared to go,” said Hugh with emotion.

“Then I shall go to see him now,—directly,” said a strange, muffled voice behind them.

“Sibyl!” exclaimed Aunt Faith.

“Yes, aunt,” said Sibyl, stepping forward and speaking in the same muffled voice. “I heard what Hugh said, and I wish to go directly to see Mr. Leslie; you must go with me.”

They all looked at her as she stood in the lighted hall; her face was deadly pale, and her eyes had a far-off look as though she saw something terrible in the distance. Behind her was Graham Marr looking perplexed and angry; he did not know what to do or say, and his usual graceful manner had given place to confused irritation. As Sibyl spoke he made an effort to regain his composure.

“Ah!” he said, with studied carelessness, “so Leslie is sick, is he? I must really send a nurse to take care of him. I will do what I can for him, poor fellow!”

“I shall be his nurse,” said Sibyl, in the same strange, still voice.

“You are joking, Miss Warrington. Of course you would not expose yourself so foolishly,” said Graham angrily.

“I shall be his nurse. I shall go to-night,” repeated Sibyl, without changing her attitude.

Graham looked at her a moment as if about to continue the argument, but something in the set expression of her face convinced him of the hopelessness of the attempt. Curbing his annoyance under an appearance of amusement, he smiled and turned to Aunt Faith. “There is no use in combating a young lady, I suppose, Mrs. Sheldon. Really,—I had no idea it was so late. I must go. I will bid you good-night, ladies, and at the same time good-bye, as I shall soon leave Westerton for the summer.” Then he turned again to Sibyl; “I shall meet you in Saratoga next week, I trust, Miss Warrington?”

“No,” said Sibyl, with the same far-off look in her eyes. “Aunt Faith, are you ready to go with me?”

“Ah!” said Graham lightly; “you ladies change your minds so rapidly that it is difficult to follow you. But it is your privilege, I know, Farewell, then, Miss Warrington. Life is long,—we may meet again.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Marr,” said Sibyl, hardly noticing his departure.

As the young man disappeared, Aunt Faith spoke; “Are you in earnest, Sibyl? Do you really wish to visit Mr. Leslie to-night?”

“I am in earnest, and I must go, Aunt Faith. Do not try to prevent it.”

“But there may be danger for you, dear.”

“Hugh has seen him, and am I to be kept back?” cried Sibyl passionately. “I must go! I will go! Aunt Faith, do not desert me now!”

“I am not deserting you, poor child,” said Aunt Faith, rising and putting her arms around her niece with motherly affection. “If you wish to see Mr. Leslie to-night, I will go with you. You approve of your sister’s wish, Hugh?”

“Yes,” said Hugh decidedly. “Sibyl, you are right at last.”

They found Mr. Leslie unconscious and breathing heavily; two physicians were in attendance, and a nurse sat by the bedside.

“He does not know me,” whispered Sibyl, clinging convulsively to Aunt Faith, as the sufferer opened his eyes and looked blankly at them.

“No, dear, he is unconscious,” replied Aunt Faith, herself much moved at the sight of one whom she had so lately seen full of young life, stricken down almost to death.

The doctors were watching their patient closely; they expected a crisis before morning.

“I shall stay,” said Sibyl, quietly taking off her hat and sitting down on the sofa.

Aunt Faith spoke a few words of objection, but the mute appeal of Sibyl’s eyes silenced her; she said no more, but sitting down by her niece, took her cold hand and held it in both her own. She had felt sorrow herself, and she could feel for others; she knew that in Sibyl’s heart the depths were broken up.

Hugh went back to the old stone house and returned about midnight; from that time on, there was silence in the sick-chamber, and anxious eyes watched the unconscious face with painful interest. The night seemed endless; only those who have watched by a sick bed can know how minutes can lengthen themselves! As the gray twilight of dawn came into the room the sick man moved restlessly upon his pillow and moaned. Sibyl’s heart throbbed; any change seemed for the better. But one of the physicians after bending over the patient, shook his head gravely.

“Let us pray,” said Aunt Faith in a low tone, and, falling upon her knees, she bowed her head in silent prayer. Sibyl knelt beside her, and, after a moment, Hugh too joined them, and throwing his arm around his sister, drew her to his side.

“Oh, Hugh, I cannot bear it!” she murmured; “he will die,—he will never know,—and I—” here her voice was broken by stifled sobs and low moans of anguish, strangely touching in the proud, self-reliant Sibyl.

Hugh held his sister in his arms, and soothed her as one would soothe a child. From that hour Sibyl’s coldness left her never to return.

As the first sunbeams brightened the sky, Mr. Leslie again opened his eyes, the doctors bent over him, and it seemed to Aunt Faith as if she could hear all the hearts in the room throbbing aloud in the intense anxiety of the moment.

“The worst is over,” whispered Doctor Gregory, stepping back and shaking hands with Aunt Faith; “we shall bring him through, now, I think.”

Sibyl sat with her head hidden on Hugh’s shoulder; she heard the doctor’s words, but a sudden timidity had come over her. “Let us go,” she whispered, turning towards the door.

But Hugh had been watching the sick man.

“He is conscious; he knows us!” he said suddenly, and leading his sister forward, he left her at the bedside, pale and trembling with joyful emotion.

“Sibyl,” said Mr. Leslie in a faint voice, “is it you? Have you come to me at last, dear?”

“Yes, John,” said Sibyl, bending over him with tears in her eyes. “I have brought myself and my life to you,—if you care for them.”

“If?” said Mr. Leslie, with the ghost of a smile on his pale face; “as if there was any doubt—” but here the doctors interfered, and the rest of the sentence was postponed.

 

CHAPTER IX.

THE LAST DAY OF SUMMER

 

Mr. Leslie improved slowly; when he was able to leave his room most of his days of enforced idleness were spent in the shaded parlor of the old stone house, or riding through the narrow country lanes, sometimes with all