Prince Fortunatus, William Black [pdf e book reader .txt] 📗

at once down to Petmansworth, when you know the cause. I shall be among a lot of people who won't know my relations to you; I shall have all kinds of duties before me now, and I wanted to take with me one word of assurance. Even if it was only sympathy I wanted, why should I not come first to you, when you are the one I care for most in the world? Isn't it a proof of that, when my first thought is of you when this great change has taken place? Don't you see how you will be affected by it--at least if you say yes. I know you are fond of the theatre, and of all the flattery you get, and bouquets and newspaper notices; but you might find another way of life just as satisfying to your pride--I mean a natural pride, a self-respect such as every woman should have. Oh, I don't mind your remaining on the stage, for a time anyway; we could not be married for at least six months, I suppose, according to usual observances; but I think if you knew how you could play the part of great lady down at Petmansworth, that might have as great attraction for you as the theatre. I was considering in the train last night," continued this luckless youth--studying every feature of his mistress's face for some favorable sign of yielding, "that perhaps you might agree to a private marriage, in a week or two's time, by private license, and we could have the marriage announced later on."

"Oh, Percy, you frighten me," said the young lady, whose wrath was clearly being mollified by his persuasive words--or perhaps by other considerations. "I couldn't think of such a thing! Oh, no, no! What would my people say? And what would the public say, when it all came out?"

"I only offered the suggestion," said he, submissively. "It would be making everything sure, that was all. But I can quite understand that a young lady would rather have a grand wedding, and presents, and a list of friends in the Morning Post: well, I don't insist; it was only a fancy I had last night in the train, but I am sure I would rather study your wishes in every respect."

She stood silent for a little time, he intently waiting her answer.

"It is too serious a matter for me to decide by myself," she said, at last, in a low voice.

"But who else has any right to interfere?" he exclaimed. "Why should you not decide for yourself? You know I love you--you have seen it? and I have waited and waited, and borne with a good deal. But then I was hardly in a position to demand an answer; there would have been some risk on your part, and I hesitated. Now there can be none. Dear Kate, you are going to say one word!--and I shall go away down to all this sad business that lies before me with a secret comfort that none of them will suspect."

"It is too sudden, Percy," she said, lingeringly; "I must have time to consider."

"What have you to consider?" he remonstrated.

"A great many things," she said, evasively. "You don't know how a girl is situated. Here is papa coming to town this very morning; Jim and Cicely have gone up to Paddington to meet him. Well, I don't know how he might regard it. If you wanted me to leave the theatre altogether, it would make a great difference; I do a good deal for Jim and Cicely."

"But, Katie," he said, and he took her hand in spite of her, "these are only matters of business! Do you think I can't make all that straight? Say yes!"--and he strove to draw her towards him, and would have kissed her, but that she withdrew a step, with her cheeks flushing prettily through the thin make-up of the morning.

"You must give me time, Percy," she said, with downcast eyes. "I must know what papa says."

"What time?"

"Well--a week," she said.

"A week be it: I won't worry you beyond your patience, dear Kate," said this infatuated young man. "But I know what you will have to say then--to make me the happiest of human beings alive on this earth. Good-bye, dearest!"

And with that he respectfully kissed her hand and took his leave; and so soon as she was sure he was out of the house she rang for breakfast, and called down to the little maid to look sharp with it, too. She was startled and pleased in one direction, and, in another, perhaps a trifle vexed; for what business had any man coming bothering her with a proposal of marriage before breakfast? How could she help displaying a little temper, when she was hungry and he over pertinacious? Yet she hoped she had not been too outspoken in her anger, for there were visions before her mind that somehow seemed agreeable.

That was another anxious day for those people in Piccadilly, for the fever showed no signs of abating, while some slight delirium returned from time to time. Nina, of course, was in constant attendance; and when he began, in his wanderings, to speak of her and to ask Maurice what had become of her, she would simply go into the room, and take a seat by the bedside, and talk to him just as if they had met by accident in the Piazza Cavour. For he had got it into his head now that they were in Naples again.

"Oh, yes, it is all right, Leo," she would say, putting her cool hand on his burning one, "they will all be in time, the whole party; when we get down to the Risposta, they will all be there; and perhaps Sabetta will bring her zither in its case. Then there will be the long sail across the blue water, and Capri coming nearer and nearer; then the landing and the donkeys and the steep climb up and up. Where shall we go, Leo?--to the Hotel Pagano or the Tiberio? The Pagano?--very well, for there is the long balcony shaded from the sun, and after luncheon we shall have chairs taken out--yes, and you can smoke there--and you will laugh to see Andrea go to the front of the railings and sing, 'Al ben de tuoi qual vittima,' with his arms stretched out like a windmill, and Carmela very angry with him that he is so ridiculous. But then no one hears--what matter?--no one except those perhaps in the small garden-house for the billiard. Will there be moonlight to-night before we get back? To-morrow Pandiani will grumble. Well, let him grumble; I am not afraid of him--no!"

So she would carelessly talk him back into quietude again; and then she would stealthily withdraw from the room, and perhaps go to the piano and begin to play some Neapolitan air--but so softly that the notes must have come to him like music in a dream.

Lord Rockminster called that afternoon and was shown up-stairs.

"I am going down to Scotland to-night," said he to Maurice, "and I have just got a telegram from Miss Cunyngham--you may have heard of her from Mr. Moore?"

"Oh, yes," Mangan said.

"She wishes me to bring her the latest news."

Well, he was told what there was to tell--which was not much, amid all this dire uncertainty. He looked perplexed.

"I should like to have taken Miss Cunyngham some more reassuring message," he said, thoughtfully. "I suppose there is nothing either she or I could do?" And then he drew Maurice aside and spoke in an undertone. "Except perhaps this. I have heard that Moore has been playing a little high of late--and has burned his fingers. I hope you won't let his mind be harassed by money matters. If a temporary loan will serve, and for a considerable amount if necessary, I will rely on your writing to me; may I?"

"It is exceedingly kind of you," Maurice said--but made no further promise.

No, Lionel had not been forgotten by all his fashionable friends. That same afternoon a package arrived, which, according to custom, Maurice opened, lest some acknowledgment should be necessary. It proved to be Lady Adela Cunyngham's new novel--the three volumes prettily bound in white parchment.

"Is the woman mad with vanity," said Francie, in hot indignation, "to send him her trash at such a time as this?"

Maurice laughed; it was not often that the gentle Francie was so vehement.

"Why, Francie, it was the best she could do," he said; "for when he is able to read it will send him to sleep."

He was still turning over the leaves of the first volume.

"Oh, look here," he cried. "Here is the dedication: 'To Octavius Quirk, Esq., M.A., in sincere gratitude for much kindly help and encouragement.' Now, that is very indiscreet. The log-rollers don't like books being dedicated to them; it draws the attention of the public and exposes the game. Ah, well, not many members of the public will see that dedication!"

A great change, however, was now imminent. Saying as little as possible--indeed, making all kinds of evasions and excuses, so as not to alarm the women-folk--old Dr. Moore intimated that he thought it advisable he should sit up this night with Lionel; and Maurice, though he promised Francie he would go home as soon as she and the old lady had left, was too restless to keep his word. They feared, they hoped--they knew not what. Would the exhausted system hold out any longer against the wasting ravages of this fell disease, or succumb and sink into coma and death? Or would Nature herself step in, and with her gentle fingers close the tired eyes and bring restoring sleep and calm? Maurice meant to go home, but could not. First of all, he stayed late. Then, when the nurse came down, she was bidden to go back to bed again, if she liked. Hour after hour passed. He threw himself on the sofa, but it was not to close his eyes. And yet all seemed going well in the sick-room. Both the doctor and he had convinced themselves that Lionel was now asleep--no lethargic stupor this time, but actual sleep, from which everything was to be hoped. Maurice would not speak; he wrote on slips of paper when he had anything to say. And so the long night went by, until the window-panes slowly changed from black to blue, and from blue to gray.

About eight o'clock in the morning the old doctor came out of the room, and Maurice knew in a moment the nature of his tidings.

"All is going well," he whispered. "The temperature is steadily decreasing--nearly three degrees since last night--and he is now in a profound sleep; the crisis is over, and happily over, as I imagine. I'm going along to tell his mother and Francie--and to go to bed for a bit."

And Maurice? Well, here was the nurse; he was not wanted; he was a good-natured sort of person and he had seen how patiently and faithfully Nina had concealed her grief and done mutely everything they wanted of her. A few minutes' drive in a hansom would take him down to Sloane Street; the fresh air would be pleasant--for his head felt stupefied for want of rest; and why should not Nina have this glad intelligence at the first possible moment? So forth he went, into the white light of the fresh April morning; and presently he was rattling away westward, as well as the eastward-flowing current of the newly awakened town would allow.