Chapter 21

I am, enjoying your society and Mrs. Yocomb's care."

"It is indeed strange," she replied musingly, as if half speaking to herself; "so strange that I cannot understand it. Life is a queer tangle at best. That is, it seems so to us sometimes."

"I assure you I am glad to have it tangled for me in this style," I said, laughing. "My only dread is getting out of the snarl. Indeed, I'm sorely tempted to play sick indefinitely."

"In that case we shall all leave you here to yourself."

"I think _you_ have done that already."

"What would your paper do without you?" she asked, with her brow slightly knitted and the color deepening in her cheeks.

"Recalling what you said, I'm tempted to think it is doing better without me."

"You imagine I said a great deal more than I did."

"No, I remember everything that happened until I was taken ill. It's strange I was taken so suddenly. I can see you playing Chopin's nocturne as distinctly as I see you now. Do you know that I had the fancy that the cluster of roses you sent me was that nocturne embodied, and that the shades of color were the variations in the melody?"

"You are indeed very fanciful. I hope you will grow more rational as you get well."

"I remember you thought me slightly insane in the garden."

"Yes; and you promised that you would see things just as they are after leaving it."

"I can't help seeing things just as they seem to me. Perhaps I do see them just as they are."

"Oh, no! To a matter-of-fact person like myself, you are clearly very fanciful. If you don't improve in this respect, you'll have to take a course in mathematics before returning to your work or you will mislead your readers."

"No, I'm going to take a course of weeding in the garden, and you were to invite me into the arbor as soon as I had done enough to earn my salt."

"I fear you will pull up the vegetables."

"You can at least show me which are the potatoes."

In spite of a restraint that she tried to disguise, she broke out into a low laugh at this reminiscence, and said: "After that revelation of ignorance you will never trust me again."

"I will trust you in regard to everything except kitchen vegetables," I replied, more in earnest than in jest. "A most important exception," she responded, her old troubled look coming back. "But you are talking far too much. Your face is slightly flushed. I fear you are growing feverish. I will call Mrs. Yocomb now."

"Please do not. I never felt better in my life. You are doing me good every moment, and it's so desperately stupid lying helplessly here."

"Well, I suppose I must humor you a few moments longer," she laughed. "People, when ill, are so arbitrary. By the way, your editorial friends must think a great deal of you, or else you are valuable to them, for your chief writes to Mr. Yocomb every day about you; so do some others; and they've sent enough fruit and delicacies to be the death of an ostrich."

"I'm glad to hear that; it rather increases one's faith in human nature. I didn't know whether they or any one would care much if I died."

"Mr. Morton!" she said reproachfully.

"Oh, I remember my promise to you. If, like a cat, I had lost my ninth life, I would live after your words. Indeed I imagine that you were the only reason I did live. It was your will that saved me, for I hadn't enough sense or spirit left to do more than flicker out."

"Do you think so?" she asked eagerly, and a rich glow of pleasure overspread her face.

"I do indeed. You have had a subtle power over me from the first, which I cannot resist, and don't wish to."

"I must go now," she said hastily.

"Please wait," I entreated. "I've a message for Mrs. Yocomb."

She stood irresolutely near the door.

"I wish you to tell her--why is it getting dark so suddenly?"

"I fear we're going to have a shower," and she glanced apprehensively toward the window.

"When have I seen that look on your face before?" I asked quickly.

"You had a message for Mrs. Yocomb?"

"Yes. I wish you would make her realize a little of my unbounded gratitude, which every day increases. In fact, I can't understand the kindness of this family, it is so hearty, so genuine. Why, I was an entire stranger the other day. Then Adah and--pardon me--you also used expressions which puzzle me very much. I can't understand how I became ill so suddenly. I was feeling superbly that Sunday evening, and then everything became a blank. Mrs. Yocomb, from a fear of disquieting me, won't say much about it. The impression that a storm or something occurred that I can't recall, haunts me. You are one that couldn't deceive if you tried."

"You needn't think I've anything to tell when Mrs. Yocomb hasn't," she answered, with a gay laugh.

"Miss Warren," I said gravely, "that laugh isn't natural. I never heard you laugh so before. Something _did_ happen."

A flash of lightning gleamed across the window, and the girl gave an involuntary and apprehensive start.

Almost as instantaneously the events I had forgotten passed through my mind. In strong and momentary excitement I rose on my elbow, and looked for their confirmation in her troubled face.

"Oh, forget--forget it all!" she exclaimed, in a low, distressed voice, and she came and stood before me with clasped hands.

"Would to God I had died!" I said, despairingly, and I sank back faint and crushed. "I had no right to speak--to think of you as I did. Good-by."

"Mr. Morton--"

"Please leave me now. I'm too weak to be a man, and I would not lose your esteem."

"But you will get well--you promised me that."

"Well!" I said, in a low, bitter tone. "When can I ever be well? Good-by."

"Mr. Morton, would you blight my life?" she asked, almost indignantly. "Am I to blame for this?"

"Nor am I to blame. It was inevitable. Curses on a world in which one can err so fatally."

"Can you not be a brave, generous man? If this should go against you--if you will not get well--you promised me to live."

"I will exist; but can one whose heart is stone, and hope dead, _live?_ I'll do my best. No, yon are not to blame--not in the least. Take the whole comfort of that truth. Nor was I either. That Sunday _was_ the day of my fate, since for me to see you was to love you by every instinct and law of my being. But I trust, as you said, you will find me too honorable to seek that which belongs to another."

"Mr. Morton," she said, in tones of deep distress, "you saved this home; you saved Mrs. Yocomb's life; you--you saved mine. Will you embitter it?"

"Would to God I had died!" I groaned. "All would then have been well. I had fulfilled my mission."

She wrung her hands as she stood beside me. "I can't--oh, I can't endure this!" she murmured, and there was anguish in her voice.

I rallied sufficiently to take her hand as I said: "Emily Warren, I understand your crystal truth too well not to know that there is no hope for me. I'll bear my hard fate as well as I can; but you must not expect too much. And remember this: I shall be like a planet hereafter. The little happiness I have will be but a pale reflection of yours. If you are unhappy, I shall be so inevitably. Not a shadow of blame rests on you--the first fair woman was not truer than you. I'll do my best--I'll get up again--soon, I trust, now. If you ever need a friend--but you would not so wrong me as to go to another--I won't be weak and lackadaisical. Don't make any change; let this episode in your life be between ourselves only. Good-by."

"Oh, you look so ill--so changed--what can I say--?"

Helpless tears rushed into her eyes. "You saved my life," she breathed softly; but as she turned hastily to depart she met our hostess.

"Oh, Mrs. Yocomb," she sobbed, "he knows all."

"Thee surely could not have told him--"

"Indeed I did not--it came to him like a flash."

"Mrs. Yocomb, by all that's sacred, Miss Warren is not to blame for anything--only myself. Please keep my secret; it shall not trouble any one;" and I turned my face to the wall.

"Richard Morton."

"Dear Mrs. Yocomb, give me time. I'm too sorely wounded to speak to any one."

"A man should try to do what is right under all circumstances," she said, firmly, "and it is your first and sacred duty to get well. It is time for your medicine."

I turned and said desperately, "Give me stimulants--give me anything that will make me strong, so that I may keep my word; for if ever a man was mortally weak in body and soul, I am."

"I'll do my best for thee," she said, gently, "for I feel for thee and with thee, as if thee were my own son. But I wish thee to remember now and always that the only true strength comes from Heaven."