Vashti Part 70

"I fully appreciate the hazard, and am prepared to incur it. Do you regard this case as hopeless?"

"Not altogether, though the probabilities are that it will terminate fatally."

"I have had too little experience to warrant my undertaking the management of the case, and, while I intend to remain here, I wish you to engage the services of some trustworthy nurse who understands the treatment of this disease. Can you recommend such a person?"

"Yes, madam; I can send you a man in whom I have entire confidence, and fortunately he is not at present employed. If you desire it, I will see him within the next hour, and give him all requisite instructions about the patient."

"Promptness in this matter will greatly oblige me, and I wish to spare no expense in contributing to the comfort and restoration of the sufferer. As I am utterly unknown to you, I prefer to place in your hands a sufficient amount to defray all incidental expenditures."

She laid a roll of bills upon the table, and as Dr. Clingman counted them, she added,--

"It is possible that I may be attacked by this disease, though I have been repeatedly vaccinated; and if I should die, please recollect that you will find in my purse a memorandum of the disposition I wish made of my body,--also the address of my agent and banker in New York City."

With mingled curiosity and admiration the physician looked at the pale, handsome woman, who spoke of death as coldly and unconcernedly as of to-morrow's sun, or next month's moon.

"Madam, allow me to ask if you have no friends in this city,--no relatives nearer than New York?"

"None, sir. It is my wish that our conversation should be confined to the symptoms and treatment of your patient."

Dr. Clingman bowed, and, after writing minute instructions upon a sheet of paper left on the mantelpiece, took his departure.

Securing the door on the inside, Mrs. Carlyle threw aside her bonnet and wrappings, and came back to the sufferer on the bed.

Eight years of reckless excess and dissipation had obliterated every vestige of manly beauty from features that disease now rendered loathsome, and the curling hair and long beard were unkempt and grizzled.

Leaning against the pillow, the lonely woman bent over to scrutinize the distorted, burning face, and softly took into her cool palms one hot and swollen hand, which in other days she had admiringly stroked, and tenderly pressed against her cheek and lips. How totally unlike that countenance, which, handsome as Apollyon, had looked down at her on her bridal day, and fondly whispered--"my wife."

Memory mercilessly broke open sealed chambers in that wretched woman's heart, and out of one leaped a wail that made her tremble and moan,--"Oh, Evelyn, my wife, forgive your husband."

Slowly compa.s.sion began to bridge the dark gulf of separation and hate, and as the wife gazed at the writhing form of her husband, her stony face softened, and tears gathered in the large, mournful eyes.

"Ah, Maurice! This world has proved a huge cheat to you and to me,--and well-nigh cost us all peace in the next one. My husband, yet my bitterest foe,--my first, my last, my only love! If I could recall one throb of the old affection, one atom of the old wors.h.i.+pping tenderness and devotion,--but it has withered; my heart is scorched and ashen,--and neither love nor hope haunts its desolate ruins. Poor, polluted, down-trodden idol! Maurice--Maurice--my husband, I have come. Evelyn, your wife, forgives you, as she hopes for pardon at the hands of her G.o.d."

Kneeling beside the bed, with her snowy fingers clasped around his, she bowed her head, and humbly prayed for his soul, and for her own; and, when the pet.i.tion ended, that peace which this world can never give,--which had so long been exiled, fluttered back and brooded once more in her storm-riven heart.

Softly she lifted and smoothed the long tangled hair that clung to his forehead, and tears dripped upon his scarlet face, as she said; brokenly,--

"_Till death us do part!_ Poor Maurice! Deserted and despised by your former parasites. After long years, my vows bring me back in the hour of your need. G.o.d grant you life, to redeem your past,--to save your sinful soul from eternal ruin."

Suns rose and set, weary days and solemn nights of vigil succeeded each other, and tirelessly the wife and hired nurse watched the progress of the dreadful disease. Occasionally Mr. Carlyle talked deliriously, and more than once the name of Edith Dexter hung on his lips, and was coupled with tenderer terms than were ever bestowed on the woman who wore his own. Bending over his pillow, the pale watcher heard and noted all, and a sad pitying smile curved her mouth now and then, as she realized that the one holy love of this man's life triumphed over the wreck of fortune, health, and hope, and kept its hold upon the heart that long years before had sold itself to Lucifer.

Sleeplessly, faithfully, she went to and fro in that darkened room, whose atmosphere was tainted by infection, and at last she found her reward. The crisis was safely pa.s.sed, and she was a.s.sured the patient would recover.

The apartment was so dimly lighted that Mr. Carlyle took little notice of his attendants, but one afternoon when the nurse had gone to procure some refreshments, the sick man turned on his pillow, and looked earnestly at the woman who was engaged in writing at a table near the bed.

"Mrs. Smith."

Mrs. Carlyle rose and approached him.

"Are you Mrs. Smith,--my landlady?"

"No, sir. I am merely your nurse."

"My nurse? What is the matter with me?"

"Small-pox,--but the danger is now over."

"Small-pox! Where did I catch it? Am I still in Elm Street?"

"No, sir; you are in the hospital."

Shading his inflamed eyes with his hand, he mused for some moments, and she saw a perplexed and sorrowful expression cross his features.

"Is there any danger of my dying?"

"That danger is past."

"What is your name?"

"Mrs. Gerome."

"Stand a little closer to me. I find I am almost blind. Mrs. Gerome?

Your voice is strangely like one that I have not heard for many years,--and it carries me back,--back--to--" He sighed, and pressed his fingers over his eyes.

After a few seconds, he said,--

"Do give me some water. I am as parched as Dives."

She lifted his head and put the gla.s.s to his lips,--and while he drank, his eyes searched her face, and lingered admiringly on her beautiful hand.

"Are you a regular nurse at this hospital?"

"I am engaged for your case."

"I see no pock-marks on your skin; it is as smooth as ivory. Shall I escape as lightly?"

"It is impossible to tell. Here comes your dinner."

He caught her arm, and gazed earnestly at her.

"Is your hair really so white, or is it merely an illusion of my inflamed eyes?"

"There is not a dark hair in my head; it is as white as snow."

While the nurse prepared the food and arranged it on the table, Mrs.

Carlyle hastily collected several articles scattered about the apartment, and softly opened the door.

Standing there a moment, she looked back at the figure comfortably elevated on pillows, and a long sigh of relief crossed her lips.