Salome crept softly back up stairs, but Miss Jane called out,--
"Who is there, in the hall? What is the matter?"
The girl opened the door, and put her head inside.
"Dr. Grey has been called to see a sick woman at "Solitude," and I have just locked the door after him."
"Why could not Rachel do that, and save you from coming down stairs?
What time of night is it?"
"About half-past two. Rachel is asleep. Good-night."
""Solitude," did you say?"
"Yes, madam."
"Well, if people will persist in burrowing in that unlucky den, they must take the consequences. Ulpian, poor fellow, will be completely worn out. Good-night, dear; don"t get up to breakfast, if you feel sleepy."
Salome went to her own room, changed her dress, laid gloves, hat, and shawl in readiness upon the bed, and threw herself down on the lounge to rest, and if possible to sleep.
When Dr. Grey reached "Solitude," he found Robert Maclean pacing the paved walk that led to the gate.
"Oh, doctor! Have you come at last? It seems to me I could have crawled twice to your house, since Jerry came back."
"What change has taken place in your mother"s condition? She was better than usual, when I saw her last."
"We thought she was getting along very well, till all of a sudden she became speechless. Go in, sir; don"t stop to knock."
Mrs. Gerome sat at the bedside, mechanically chafing one of the hands that lay on the coverlet, and the face of the dying woman was not more ghastly than the one which bent over her. As Dr. Grey approached, the mistress of the house rose, and put out her hands towards him, with a wistful, pleading, childish manner, that touched him inexpressibly.
"Do not let her die."
He leaned over the pillow, and put his finger on the scarcely palpable pulse.
"Elsie, tell me where or how you suffer."
A ray of recognition leaped up in her sunken eyes, and she looked at him with a yearning, imploring expression, that was pitiable and distressing indeed.
He saw that she was struggling to articulate, but failing in the effort, a groan escaped her, and tears gathered and trickled down her pinched face. He smoothed her contracted forehead, and said, soothingly,--
"Elsie, you feel that I will do all that I can to relieve you. You can not talk to me, but you know me?"
She inclined her head slightly, and in examining her he discovered that only one side was completely paralyzed, and that she could still partially control her left arm. When he had done all that medical skill could suggest, he stood at her side, and she suddenly grasped his fingers.
He put his face close to hers, and observing her tears start afresh, whispered,--
"You wish to tell me something before you die?"
A gurgling sound, and a faint motion of her lips was the only reply of which she was capable.
He placed a pencil between her fingers, but she could not use it intelligibly, and he noticed that her eyes moved from his to those of her mistress, as if to indicate that she was the subject of the desired conversation.
It was distressing to witness her efforts to communicate her wishes, while the tears dripped on her pillow; and unable to endure the sight of her anguish, Mrs. Gerome sank on her knees and hid her face in the coverlet.
Dr. Grey gently lifted Elsie"s arm and placed her hand on the head of her mistress, and the expression of her face a.s.sured him he had correctly interpreted her feelings. Something still disturbed her, and he suggested,--
"Mrs. Gerome, put your hand in hers."
She silently obeyed him, and then the old woman"s eyes looked once more intently into his. He could not conjecture her meaning, until, in feeling her pulse, he found that she was trying to touch his fingers with hers.
He slipped his own into the palm where Mrs. Gerome"s lay, and, by a last great effort, she pressed them feebly together.
Even then, the touch of those white, soft fingers, thrilled his heart as no other hand had ever done, and he said,--
"Elsie, you mean that you leave her in my care? That you put her in my hands? That you trust her to me?"
It was impossible to mistake the satisfied expression that flashed over her countenance.
"I accept the trust. Elsie, I promise you that while I live she shall never want a true and faithful friend. I will try to take care of her body, and pray for her soul. I will do all that you would have done."
Once more, but very faintly, she pressed the two hands she had clasped, and closed her eyes.
"Oh, doctor, can"t you save her?" sobbed Robert.
In the solemn silence that ensued Mrs. Gerome lifted her face, and Dr.
Grey never forgot the wild, imploring gaze, that met his. He understood its import, and shook his head. She rose instantly, moved away from the bed, and left the room.
For nearly an hour Dr. Grey hung over the prostrate form, which lay with closed eyes, and gradually sank into the heavy lethargic sleep, from which he knew she could never awake.
Leaving her to the care of Robert and two female servants, he went in search of the mistress of the silent and dreary house.
Taking a lamp from the escritoire in the back parlor, he went from room to room, finding nowhere the object he sought, and at length became alarmed. As he stood in the front door, perplexed and anxious, the thought presented itself that she might have gone down to the beach. He went back to the apartment occupied by the dying woman,--felt once more the sinking pulse, and took a last look at the altered and almost rigid face.
"Robert, I can do her no good. Her soul will very soon be with her G.o.d."
"Oh, sir, don"t leave her! Don"t give her up, while there is life in her body!" cried the son, grasping the doctor"s sleeve.
Dr. Grey put his hand on the Scotchman"s shoulder, and whispered,--
"I am going to hunt for Mrs. Gerome. She is not in the house. I may be able to render her some service, but your mother is beyond all human aid."
"Is there any pulse?"
"It is so feeble now, I can scarcely count it."
"Please, doctor, stay here by her while she breathes. Don"t desert the dear soul. My poor mother!"
Robert lost all control of himself, and wept like a child.