God's Good Man Part 75

"It's true, John!" she said--"Lord Roxmouth has married Aunt Emily!"

John's blue eyes lighted with sudden laughter.

"Well done!" he exclaimed, gaily--"Anything for the millions, evidently! What a comfort to think he has secured them at last! And so you have become the niece instead of the wife of the future duke, my Maryllia! When and where were they married?"

"Last week at the Emba.s.sy in Paris. Cicely wrote to Aunt Emily at New Year, telling her that though I was much better, the doctors had said I should be a cripple for life. Well, we never had any answer at all to that letter,--not a word of regret, or affection or sympathy. Then,--this morning--behold!--the Roxmouth wedding cards!"

She took a silver-bordered envelope lying on a little table close beside her, and drawing out from it the cards in question, held them up to his view. Walden glanced at them with a touch of contempt.

"Shall I wire our united heartiest congratulations?" he queried, smiling--"And add that we are engaged to be married?"

"Do!" said Maryllia, clasping his hand in her own and kissing it-- "Go and send the wire off through dear old Mrs. Tapple! And then all the village will know how happy I am!"

"How happy WE are,"--corrected John--"I think they know that already, Maryllia! But it shall be well impressed upon them!"

Later on, when he was in the village, making his usual round of visits among the sick and poor, and receiving the affectionate good wishes of many who had heard the news of his betrothal, he saw Dr.

Forsyth driving up to the Manor in his gig with another man beside him, who, as he rightly guessed, was no other than the celebrated Italian specialist, Santori. Forsyth had promised to come and tell him the result of the consultation as soon as he knew it himself, and Walden waited for him hour after hour with increasing impatience. At last he appeared,--pale, and evidently under the influence of some strongly suppressed excitement.

"Walden,"--he said, without preface or hesitation--"are you prepared to face a great crisis?"

Walden's heart almost stood still. Had anything happened to Maryllia in the short s.p.a.ce of time which had elapsed since he saw her last?

"What do you mean?!" he faltered--"I could not bear to lose her-- now---"

"You must lose her in a year at the utmost, if you do not run the risk of losing her to save her now,"--said Forsyth, bluntly-- "Santori has seen her--and--keep cool, John!--he says there is just one chance of restoring her to her former health and activity again, but it is a chance fraught with imminent danger to her life. He will not risk it without her full consent,--and (knowing you are her betrothed husband)--yours. It is a very serious and difficult operation,--she may live through it, and she may not."

"I will not have it!" said Walden, quickly, almost fiercely, "She shall not be touched---"

"Wait!" continued Forsyth, regarding him steadily--"In her present condition, she will die in a year. She must. There is no help for it. If Santori operates--and he is quite willing to undertake it-- she may live,--and not only may she live, but she may be absolutely strong and well again,--able to walk and ride, and enjoy her life to the full. It rests with her and with you to decide,--yes or no!"

Walden was silent.

"I may as well tell you,"--went on Forsyth--"that she--Miss Vancourt herself,--is ready to risk it. Santori has gone back to London to- night,--but if we agree to place her under his hands he will come and perform the operation next week."

"Next week!" murmured Walden, faintly--"Must it be so soon?"

"The sooner the better,"--said Forsyth, quietly, yet firmly, "Come, John, face this thing out! I am thinking of the chance of her happiness as well as yours. Is it worth while to sacrifice the whole of a young life's possible activity for the sake of one year's certainty of helplessness with death at the end? Wrestle the facts out with yourself;--go and see her to-night. And after you have talked it over together, let me know."

He went out then, and left Walden alone to face this new dark cloud of anxiety and suspense that seemed to loom over a sky which he imagined had just cleared. But when he saw Maryllia that evening, her face reflected nothing but suns.h.i.+ne, and her eyes were radiant with hope.

"I must take this chance, John!" she said--"Do not withhold your consent! Think what it means to us both if this great surgeon is able to set me on my feet again!--and he is so kind and gentle!--he says he has every hope of success! What happiness it will be for me if I can be all in all to you, John!--a real true wife, instead of a poor helpless invalid dependent on your daily care!--oh John, let me show you how much I love you by facing this ordeal, and trying to save my life for your sake!"

He drew her into his arms, and folded her close to his heart.

"My child--my darling! If you wish it, it shall be done!" he murmured brokenly--"And may G.o.d in His great mercy be good to us both! But if you die, my Maryllia, I shall die too--so we shall still be together!"

So it was settled; and Dr. Forsyth, vacillating uneasily between hope and fear, communicated the decision at once to the famous Italian surgeon, who, without any delay or hesitation responded by promptly fixing a day in the ensuing week for his performance of the critical task which was either to kill or cure a woman who to one man was the dearest of all earth's creatures. And with such dreadful rapidity did the hours fly towards that day that Walden experienced in himself all the trembling horrors of a condemned criminal who knows that his execution is fixed for a certain moment to which Time itself seems racing like a relentless bloodhound, sure of its quarry. Writing to Bishop Brent he told him all, and thus concluded his letter:--

"If I lose her now--now, after the joy of knowing that she loves me- -I shall kneel before you broken-hearted and implore your forgiveness for ever having called you selfish in the extremity of your grief and despair for the loss of love. For I am myself utterly selfish to the heart's core, and though I say every night in my prayers 'Thy Will be done,' I know that if she is taken from me I shall rebel against that Will! For I am only human,--and make no pretence to be more than a man who loves greatly."

During this interval of suspense Cicely and Julian were thrown much together. Every moment that Walden could spare from his parish work, he pa.s.sed by the side of his beloved, knowing that his presence made her happy, and fearing that these days might be his last with her on earth. Maryllia herself however seemed to have no such forebodings.

She was wonderfully bright and cheerful, and though her body was so helpless her face was radiant with such perfect happiness that it looked as fair as that of any pictured angel. Cicely, recognising the nature of the ordeal through which these two lovers were pa.s.sing, left them as much by themselves as possible, and laid upon Julian the burden of her own particular terrors which she was at no pains to conceal. And unfortunately Julian did not, under the immediate circ.u.mstances, prove a very cheery comforter.

"I hate the knife!" he said, gloomily--"Everyone is cut up or slashed about in these days--there's too much of it altogether. If ever a fruit pip goes the way it should not go into my interior mechanism, I hope it may be left there to sprout up into a tree if it likes--I don't mind, so long as I'm not sliced up for appendicitis or pipcitis or whatever it is."

"I wonder what our great-grandparents used to do when they were ill?" queried Cicely, with a melancholy stare in her big, pitiful dark eyes.

"They let blood,"--replied Julian--"They used to go to the barber's and get a vein cut at the same time as their hair. Of course it was all wrong. We all know now that it was very wrong. In another hundred years or so we shall find out that twentieth-century surgery was just as wrong."

Cicely clasped her hands nervously.

"Oh, don' you think Maryllia will come through the operation all right?" she implored, for about the hundredth time in the course of two days.

Julian looked away from her.

"I don't know--and I don't like to express any opinion about it,"-- he answered, with careful gentleness--"But there is danger--and--if the worst should happen---"

"It won't happen! It shan't happen!" cried Cicely pa.s.sionately.

"Dear little singing Goblin, I wish you could control fate!" And, taking her hand, he patted it affectionately. "Everything would be all right for everybody if you could make it so, I'm sure!--even for me! Wouldn't it?"

Cicely blushed suddenly.

"I don't know,"--she said--"I never think about you!"

He smiled.

"Don't you? Well,--perhaps some day you will! When you are a great prima donna, you will read the poems and verses I shall write about you in all the newspapers and magazines, and you will say as you take kings' and emperors' diamonds out of your hair: 'Who is this fellow? Ah yes! I remember him! He was a chum of mine down in the little village of St. Rest. I called him Mooncalf, and he called me Goblin. And--he was very fond of me!'"

She laughed a little, and drew away her hand from his.

"Don't talk nonsense!" she said--"Think of Maryllia--and of Mr.

Walden!"

"I do think of them,--I think of them all the time!" declared Julian earnestly--"And that is why I am so uneasy. For--if the worst should happen, it will break Walden's heart."

Cicely's eyes filled with tears. She hurried away from him without another word or glance.

The fateful morning dawned. Walden had parted from Maryllia the previous night, promising himself that he would see her again before she pa.s.sed into the surgeon's hands,--but Forsyth would not permit this.

"She does not wish it, John,"--he said--"And she has asked me to tell you so. Stay away from the Manor--keep quiet in your own house, if you feel unable to perform your usual round of work. It will be best for her and for you. I will let you know directly the operation is over. Santori is already here. Now"--and he gave Walden's hand a close and friendly grip--"steady, John! Say your prayers if you like,--we want all the help G.o.d can give us!"

The door opened and closed again--he was gone. A great silence,--a horrible oppression and loneliness fell upon Walden's heart. He sank into his accustomed chair and stared before him with unseeing eyes,- -mechanically patting his dog Nebbie while gently pus.h.i.+ng the animal back in its attempts to clamber on his knee.

"My G.o.d, my G.o.d!" he muttered--"What shall I do without her?"

Someone opened the door again just then. He started, thinking that Forsyth had returned perhaps to tell him something he had forgotten.

But the tall attenuated form that confronted him was not that of Forsyth. A look of amazed recognition, almost of awe, flashed into his eyes.