Why was I here? Why was I alive if aught had harmed Silver Heels? G.o.d!
And I safe here in bed? Where was she? _Where was she?_ Dead? Why do they not tell me? Why do they not kill me as I lie here if I have returned without her?
I must have cried aloud in my agony, for the doctor came running and leaned over me.
"Tell me! Tell me!" I stammered. "Why don"t you tell me?" and strove to strike him, but could not use my arms.
"Quiet, quiet," he said, watching me; "I will tell you what you wish to know. What is it then, my poor boy?"
"I--want--Felicity," I blurted out.
"Felicity?" he repeated, blankly. "Oh--Miss--ahem!--Miss Warren?"
I glared at him.
"Miss Warren has gone with Sir John Johnson to Boston," he said, dryly.
My eyes never left him.
"Is that why you cried out?" he asked, curiously. "Miss Warren left us a week ago. Had you only known her she would have been happy, for she has slept for weeks on the couch yonder."
"Why--why did she go?"
"I cannot tell you the reasons," he said, gravely.
"When will she return?"
"I do not know."
With a strength that came from G.o.d knows where, I dragged myself upright and caught him by the hand.
"She is dead!" I whispered. "She is dead, and all in this house know it save I who love her!"
A strange light pa.s.sed over the doctor"s face; he took both my hands and looked at me carefully. Then he smiled and gently forced me back to the pillows.
"She is alive and well," he said. "On my honour as a man, lad, I set your heart at rest. She is in Boston, and I do know why, but I may not meddle with what concerns this family, save in sickness--or death."
I watched his lips. They were solemn as the solemn word he uttered. I knew death had been in the house; I had felt that for days. I waited, watching him.
"Poor lad," he said, holding my hands.
My eyes never left his.
"Ay," he said, softly, "his last word was your name. He loved you dearly, lad."
And so I knew that Sir William was dead.
CHAPTER XIX
Day after day I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling till night blotted it out. Then, stunned and exhausted, I would lie in the dark, crying in my weakness, whimpering for those I loved who had left me here alone. There was no strength left in me, body or mind; and, perhaps for that reason, my suffering was too feeble to waste what was left of me, for I had not even the strength of the fretful who do damage themselves with every grimace.
Certain it was that my thinned blood was growing gradually warmer, and its currents flowed with slightly increasing vigour day by day. The fever, which had come only partly from my wounds, had doubtless been long in me, and had fermented my blood as the opportunity offered when Wraxall nigh drained my every vein with his butcher"s blade.
The emaciation of my body was extreme, my limbs were pithless reeds, my skull grinned through the tensely stretched skin, and my eyes were enormous.
Yet, such st.u.r.dy fibre have I inherited from my soldier father that grief itself could not r.e.t.a.r.d the mending of me, and in the little French mirror I could almost see my sunken muscles harden and grow slowly fuller. Like a pear in a hot-frame, I was plump long before my strength could aid me or my shocked senses gather to take counsel for the future.
The dreadful anguish of my bereavement came only at intervals, succeeded by an apathy which served as a merciful relief. But most I thought of Silver Heels, and why she had left me here, and when she might return. Keen fear lurked near to stab me when, rousing from blank slumber, my first thought was of her. Then I would lie and wonder why she had gone, and tell myself I loved her above all else, or whimper and deem her cruel to leave me.
One late afternoon the doctor came with a dish of China oranges, which I found relief in sucking, my gums being as yet somewhat hot and painful. He made a hole in an orange and I sucked it awhile, watching him meditatively. He wore c.r.a.pe on his arm--the arm that Quider had broken, and which now he could not bend as formerly.
"Why does not my Aunt Molly come to see me?" I asked, quietly.
"Dear lad," said the doctor, raising his eyebrows, "did you not know she had gone to Montreal?"
"How should I know it," I asked, "when you tell me nothing?"
"I will tell you what I am permitted," he answered, gently.
"Then tell me when my cousin Felicity is coming back? Have you not heard from Sir John Johnson?"
"Yes--I have heard," replied the doctor, cautiously.
I waited, my eyes searching his face.
"Sir John returns to-morrow," he said.
A thrill set my blood leaping. I felt the warm colour staining my pinched face.
"To-morrow!" I repeated.
The doctor regarded me very gravely.
"Miss Warren will remain in Boston," he said.
The light died out before my eyes; presently I closed them.
"How long?" I asked.
"I do not know."
The orange, scarcely tasted, rolled over the bed and fell on the floor. I heard him rise to pick it up.
I opened my eyes and looked at the distant pines through the window.