“Hermy!”
But she shrank from his contact and, hastening from the room and along the little passage, closed the door and left him to his hopeless misery. As one in a dream she followed the old man down the stairs, was aware of his ushering her through the crowd of women and children who thronged about the big car. As one in a dream she found herself seated beside Mrs. Trapes, whose motherly solicitude she heeded no more than the bustle and traffic of the streets through which the swift car whirled her on and on until, turning, it swung in between massive gates and pulled up before a great, gloomy house.
As one in a dream she ascended the broad steps, crossed a stately hall, was ushered up a noble stairway and along thick-carpeted corridors until at last she found herself in a darkened chamber where, his dark head conspicuous upon the white pillow, he lay. A nurse rose from beside the bed as Hermione entered and softly withdrew. Left alone, she stood for a long moment utterly still, her hands tightly clasped, her breath in check, gazing at that dark head upon the pillow, at that outstretched form lying so silent and so very still.
“Hermione!”
A feeble whisper, a sigh faintly breathed, but at the sound she had crossed the wide chamber on feet swift and noiseless, had sunk upon her knees beside the low bed to lean above him all murmurous love and sighing tenderness, while she stole a timid hand to touch the hair that curled upon his pallid brow; then, for all his helplessness, she flushed beneath his look.
“How beautiful—you are!” he said faintly, “and I—weak as—confounded rat! Hermione—love, they tell me I— must die. But first I want you for—my very own if only for—a little while!”
“Oh, my dear,” she whispered, soft mouth against his pale cheek, “I always was yours—yours from the very first; I always shall be.”
“Then you’ll—marry me?”
“Yes, dear.”
“Now?”
“Yes, dear.”
“I—hoped you would, so—I arranged—minister’s waiting now. Will you—ring?” And he motioned feebly toward an electric bell-push that stood upon a small table beside the bed.
And now once again as one in a dream she obeyed, and was presently aware of soft-treading figures about her in the dim chamber—among them the Old Un whose shoes for once creaked not at all. As one in a dream she made the responses, felt the feeble clasp of that hand whose strength and masterful power had thrilled her, heard the faint echo of that loved voice that had wooed her so passionately once, yet wooed in vain, while now—
She was alone again, alone with him who lay so very still and pale with eyes closed wearily; from him she glanced to that which gleamed so bright and new upon her finger and bending her head she pressed the wedding ring to her lips.
“Wife!” he whispered; the weary eyes were open, and his look drew her. So she knelt beside the bed again, stooping above him low and lower until her head lay beside his upon the pillow. Slowly, slowly his feeble hand crept up to her glowing cheek, to the soft waves of her hair, and to the little curl that wantoned above her eyebrow.
“Hermione—wife—kiss me!”
Tenderly her arms enfolded him, and with a soft little cry that was half a sob she kissed him, his brow, his hair, his lips, kissed him even while she wetted him with her falling tears.
“Beloved,” he murmured, “my glorious—scrubwoman—if I must—leave you—these dear hands need never— never slave again. Never—any—more, my Hermione.”
Long after he had fallen to sleep she knelt there, cradling his weakness in her arms, looking down on him with eyes bright with love.
After this were days and nights when the soul of him wandered in dark places filled with chaotic dreams and wild fancies; but there was ever one beside him whose gentle voice reached him in the darkness, and whose tender hand hushed his delirium and soothed his woes and troubles.
CHAPTER XXXV
HOW GEOFFREY RAVENSLEE CAME OUT OF THE DARK
She was knitting; and opening sleepy eyes he watched drowsily and wondered what it might be and was minded to enquire, but sighed instead and fell asleep again.
She was knitting; knitting something in red wool, and opening his eyes again, he lay watching awhile and pondered dreamily as to what it could be she wrought at so busily, for the wool was so very red and so extremely woolly.
Her chin was set at an angle somewhat grim, she was sitting very upright in her chair and, though scrupulously hidden from sight, her elbows—truly how portentous were the undisguisable points of those elbows! And she was knitting fiercely in wool that was remarkably red and woolly.
“Pray what is it, Mrs. Trapes?” A feeble whisper, but, at the sound, faint though it was, Mrs. Trapes started, half rose from her chair, sank down again heavily and letting fall her knitting, stared at the invalid.
“Land sakes, alive!” she gasped.
“Now you’ve dropped it!” said Ravenslee, his voice a little stronger.
“Oh, dear beloved land o’ my fathers—it’s come!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands, “the Lord be praised for evermore, it’s come!”
“What has?”
“The turn! And you’ve took it! Doctor Dennison says last night as you’d take it soon one way or t’ other. But all night long while they waited and watched here, you’ve laid so pale an’ still as a corp’. An’ now, while I’m a-settin’ here, you go an’ take th’ turn so sudden as fair takes my breath away, Lord be praised! I mean—I mean—oh, I guess I’ll go wake the doctor.”
“But you haven’t told me what it is,” said Ravenslee drowsily.
