The room was full of some pungent scent, hot and unrefreshing. Some one had moved the dressing-table, and Gladys lay on a couch in the circular window, within the curtained enclosure. I always thought it the prettiest window in the house. It looked full on the oak avenue, and on the elms, where the rooks had built their nests. There was a glimpse of the white road, too, and the blue smoke from the chimneys of Maplehurst was plainly visible.
The evening sunshine was streaming full on Gladys"s pale face, and my first action after kissing her was to lower the blind. I was glad of the excuse for turning away a moment, for her appearance gave me quite a shock.
She looked as though she had been ill for weeks. Her face looked dark and sunken, and the blue lines were painfully visible round her temples. Her forehead was contracted, as though with severe pain, and her eyes were heavy and feverish. When she raised her languid eyelids and looked at me, a sudden fear contracted my heart.
"Ursula, thank G.o.d you have come!"
"We must always thank Him, dearest, whatever happens," I returned, as I knelt down by her and took her burning hand in mine. "And now you must tell me what is wrong with you, and why I find you like this."
"I do not know," she whispered, almost clinging to me. And it struck me then that she was frightened about herself. "As I told Giles, I feel very ill. The heat tries me, and my head always aches,--such a dull, miserable pain; and, most of all, I cannot sleep, and all sorts of horrid thoughts come to me. Sometimes in the night, when I am quite alone, I feel as though I were light-headed and should lose my senses. Oh, Ursula, if this goes on, what will become of me?"
"We will talk about that presently. Tell me, have you ever been ill in this way before?"
"Yes, last summer, only not so bad. But I had the pain and the sleeplessness then. Giles was so good to me. He said I wanted change, and he took a little cottage at Westgate-on-Sea and sent me down with Lady Betty and Chatty, and I soon got all right."
"So I thought. And now--"
"Oh, it is different this time," she replied nervously. "I did not have dreadful thoughts then, or feel frightened, as I do now. Ursula, I know I am very ill. If you leave me to Etta and Leah, I shall get worse. I have sent for you to-night to remind you of your promise."
"What promise?" I faltered. But of course I knew what she meant. A sense of wretchedness had been slowly growing on me as she talked. If it should come to that,--that I must remain under his roof! I felt a tingling sense of shame and humiliation at the bare idea.
"Of your solemn promise, most solemnly uttered," she repeated, "that if I were ill you would come and nurse me. I claim that promise, Ursula."
"Is it absolutely necessary that I should come?" I asked, in a distressed voice, for all at once life seemed too difficult to me. How had I deserved this fresh pain!
In a moment her manner grew more excited.
"Necessary! If you leave me to Etta"s tender mercies I shall die. But no--no! you could not be so cruel. They are making me take those horrid draughts now, and I know she gives me too much. I get so confused, but it is not sleep. My one terror is that I shall say things I do not mean, about--well, never mind that. And then she will say that my brain is queer. She has hinted it already, when I was excited at your going away.
There is nothing too cruel for her to say to me. She hates me, and I do not know why."
"Hush! I cannot have you talk so much," for her excitement alarmed me.
"Remember, I am your nurse now,--a very strict one, too, as you will find. Yes, I will keep my promise. I will not leave you, darling."
"You promise that? You will not go away to-night?"
"I shall not leave you until you are well again," I returned, with forced cheerfulness. But if she knew how keenly I felt my cruel position, how sick and trembling I was at heart! What would he think of me? No, I must not go into that. Gladys had asked this sacrifice of me. She had thrown herself on my compa.s.sion. I would not forsake her. "G.o.d knows my integrity and innocence of intention. I will not be afraid to do my duty to this suffering human creature," I said to myself. And with this my courage revived, and I felt that strength would be given me for all that I had to do.
CHAPTER x.x.xVIII
IN THE TURRET-ROOM
My promise to stay with Gladys soothed her at once, and she lay back on her pillows and closed her aching eyes contentedly, while I sat down and wrote a hasty note to Mrs. Barton.
When I had finished it, I said quietly that I was going downstairs in search of her brother; and when she looked a little frightened at this, I made her understand, in as few words as possible, that it was necessary for me to obtain his sanction, both as doctor and master of the house, and then we should have nothing to fear from Miss Darrell. And when I had said this she let me go more willingly.
My errand was not a pleasant one, and I felt very sorry for myself as I walked slowly downstairs hoping that I should find Mr. Hamilton alone in his study; but they must have lingered longer than usual over dessert, for before I reached the hall the dining-room door opened, and they came out together; and Miss Darrell paused for a moment under the hall lamp.
She was very much overdressed, as usual, in an _eau de Nile_ gown, trimmed with costly lace: her gold bangles jangled as she fanned herself.
"Come out into the garden, Giles," she said, with a ladylike yawn; "it is so hot indoors. I thought you said that you expected Mr. Cunliffe."
"Perhaps he will be here by and by," returned Mr. Hamilton; and then he looked up and saw me.
"Miss Garston!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, as though he could scarcely believe his eyes, and Miss Darrell broke into an angry little laugh; but I took no notice of her. I determined to speak out boldly what I had to say.
"Mr. Hamilton," I said quickly, "I have seen Gladys. I am quite shocked at her appearance: she certainly looks very ill. If you will allow me, I should like to remain and nurse her."
"But you must allow no such thing, Giles," interfered his cousin sharply.
"I have always nursed poor dear Gladys myself, and no one understands her as I do."
"Gladys sent for me just now," I went on firmly, without taking any notice of this speech, "to beg me to remain with her. She has set her heart on my nursing her, and she reminded me of my promise."
"What promise?" he asked, rather harshly; but I noticed that he looked disturbed and ill at ease.
"Some months ago, just before Gladys went to Bournemouth, she asked me to make her a promise, that if she were ever ill in this house I would give up my work and come and nurse her. She was perfectly well then,--at least, in her ordinary health,--and I saw no harm in giving her the promise. She claims from me now the fulfilment."
"Very extraordinary," observed Miss Darrell, in a sneering voice. "But then dear Gladys was always a little odd and romantic. You remember I warned you some time ago, Giles, that if we were not careful and firm--"
"Pshaw!" was the impatient answer, and I continued pleadingly,--
"Gladys seems to me in a weak, nervous state, and I do not think it would be wise to thwart her in this. Sick people must be humoured sometimes. I think you could trust me to watch over her most carefully."
"Giles, I will not answer for the consequences if Miss Garston nurses Gladys," interposed Miss Darrell eagerly. "You have no idea how she excites her. They talk, and have mysteries together, and Gladys is always more low-spirited when she has seen Miss Garston. You know I have only dear Gladys"s interest at heart, and in a serious nervous illness like this--" But he interrupted her.
"Etta, this is no affair of yours: you can leave me, if you please, to make arrangements for my sister. I am very much obliged to you, Miss Garston, for offering to nurse Gladys, but there was no need of all this explanation; you might have known, I think, that I was not likely to refuse."
He spoke coldly, and his face looked dark and inflexible, but I could see he was watching me. I am sure I perplexed and baffled him that night: as I thanked him warmly for his consent, he checked me almost irritably:
"Nonsense! the thanks are on our side, as we shall reap the benefit of your services. What shall you do about your other patients, may I ask?"
"I will tell you," I returned, not a bit daunted either by his irritability or sternness. In my heart I knew that he was glad that I had asked this favour of him. Oh, I understood him too well to be afraid of his moods now!
"I must ask you to help me," I went on. "Will you kindly send that note to Mrs. Barton. It is to beg her to furnish me with all I need."
"Thornton shall take it at once," he returned promptly.
"Thank you. Now about my poor people. Little Jessie still needs care, and Janet will be an invalid for some time. I do not wish them to miss me."
His face softened; a half-smile came to his lips. "There is only one village nurse," he said dubiously.
"True, but I think I can find an excellent subst.i.tute. Do you remember my speaking to you of a young nurse at St. Thomas"s who was obliged to leave from ill health? She is better now, only not fit for hospital work. I am thinking of writing to her, and asking her to occupy my rooms at the cottage for a week or two until Gladys is better. Change of air will do Miss Watson good, and it will not hurt her to look after Janet and little Jessie."
Mr. Hamilton looked pleased at this suggestion,--"an excellent idea,"
and, as though by an afterthought, "a very kind one. I did not wish to add to your burdens, but Janet Coombe is hardly out of the wood yet."