The Story of Antony Grace Part 52

"No, and then only for a minute. How could you be so foolish?"

"Because--because--because--" said Mary, bursting out into a pa.s.sion of sobbing, "because my heart was half broke about my boy, and I only stopped to pack up a bundle and came--and then--when I found that pretty darling here, I--I--oh, my dear--my dear--my dear!" she cried, flinging herself on her knees at Linny's feet, clutching her dress, and burying her wet face in the folds; "please--please--please forgive me, and don't take no notice of my mad, foolish words. I've--I've--I've got such a temper! It's a curse to me--and I was nearly distracted. Some day, p'r'aps, you'll feel as bad and jealous as I did. Please--please forgive me!"

"Oh, yes, yes, yes!" cried Linny, whose tears now began to flow, and who, kneeling down in turn, drew poor Mary's face to her breast, and the two remained thus, while I went and looked out of the window.

"Please--pray--forgive me!" sobbed Mary.

"Oh yes, yes, I do, indeed!" whispered Linny. "Antony is right; I never saw Mr Revitts but once, and I believe he is a very good man, and loves you dearly."

"That he is, and that he does," cried Mary, raising her red face, and throwing back her hair. "Though I don't know why he should care for such a crooked-tempered, rough-tongued thing as I am."

I thought I could understand why, as I saw Mary's lit-up face, with her bonnet fallen back, and in spite of her distress looking quite as handsome as she was warm-hearted.

"But you do forgive me, dear?" she faltered, kissing Linny's hands again and again.

"Forgive you?" cried Linny, kissing her ruddy cheek, "of course I do; you couldn't help making the mistake."

And, as if feeling that she was the cause of the trouble, Linny gave her such a look of tender sympathy that poor Mary was obliged to crouch down quite low on the floor again, and hug herself tight, and rock to and fro.

Immediately after, though, she was hastily wiping her eyes on the silken strings of her bonnet, which she tore off and sent flying to the other end of the room before das.h.i.+ng at me and giving me a hug, and then going down on her knees by Revitts' pillow, and laying her cheek against his bandaged forehead.

"My poor old boy," she whispered softly, "as if I could stay a minute from him!"

The next moment she was up, and giving a great gulp, as if to swallow down the emotion caused by Revitts' appearance, she forced a smile upon her face, completely transforming it, and quickly but quietly dashed at her basket.

"I hadn't time to do much, my dears," she said to Linny and me collectively: "but I thought a pair o' soles and a chicken must be right for the poor boy. Now, if you'll only tell me where he keeps his pepper and salt, and the frying-pan and saucepans, I can get on. My sakes, poor boy, what a muddle he did live in, to be sure!"

We had to stop Mary in her culinary preparations by a.s.suring her that the doctor had ordered only beef-tea.

"Then he may have chicken-broth, my dears," she said; "I'm an old nuss, you know, though I wouldn't attend to Mr Blakeford--eh, Master Antony?--for fear I should give him his lotion for outward application inside. But I can nuss, and not a step do I stir from this floor till I've made my poor old Bill well. Oh, if I only knew who done it!" she cried, with a flash of fierce rage; and as she glanced at Linny, the latter shrank away guiltily. Mary read her action wrongly, and plumped herself once more at the poor girl's feet.

"Don't you mind me, my dear!" she cried kissing her hands and her dress.

"I'm a stupid, rough, jealous thing, and I was all on fire then, but I'm not now, and I humbly ask your pardon; as I says, G.o.d bless you, for coming to help my poor dear boy!"

There was another burst of sobbing here, and another embrace, when Mary jumped up again, all smiles, to apply a little fresh ice to the patient's head, and gently coo over him, as if he were a baby.

After which, and having satisfied herself that the chicken-broth was progressing favourably, poor Mary felt it her duty to plump at Linny's feet again, but she jumped up in confusion, as she heard the stairs crack as if some one were coming, and then she looked inquiringly at me, as the door softly opened and Hallett came in.

"Mr Hallett," I said, "this is my dear old Mary, Mr Revitts' friend, and she's come up to nurse him. Mary, this is Miss Hallett's brother."

"Which I'm glad to see him," said Mary, making a bob, and then growing redder in the face as she glanced at Linny, as if afraid that her late ebullition would be exposed.

"And I'm very glad to see you, Mary," said Hallett, smiling and holding out his hand, which Mary took after interposing her clean pocket handkerchief, on the score that she had been cooking. "Antony often talked to me about you."

"Have he, though?" said Mary, darting a gratified look at me.

"Often, of your great kindness to him. Your coming has helped us out of a great difficulty."

"And your dear sister's coming's put my heart at rest, for I didn't know, sir, what gin-drinking wretches might be neglecting my poor boy."

"And how is the patient?" said Hallett, going to the bedside.

"The doctor says he is going on all right," I replied.

"Is he a good doctor?" said Mary sharply.

"He is certain to be an eminent man," said Hallett quietly; and his words partially pacified Mary.

"Because if he ain't," said Mary, "money shan't stand in the way of his having the best in London."

"Mary," said Hallett, in his quiet telling way, and with a look that made poor Mary his firm friend, "a good surgeon will tell you that he can do much, but that the recovery of a patient princ.i.p.ally depends upon the nurse. I see that Mr Revitts is safe in that respect, and I shall be only too glad to hear of his getting well."

Mary seemed to have a ball rising in her throat, for she could not speak, and this time she forgot to place her pocket handkerchief over her hand, as she caught that of the visitor and kissed it.

"You can be quite at rest, Antony," Hallett said then. "Mr Ruddle said he was sorry to hear about your friend, and he should leave it to your good sense to come back to work as soon as you could. Mr Lister is away--ill."

I fancied that he knit his brows as he spoke, but it may have been fancy. Then, turning to Linny, he said:

"I am glad you are set at liberty, Linny. Our mother is very unwell, shall we go now?"

Linny nodded her a.s.sent, and put on her hat and jacket; but before they went Mary found it necessary to go down on her knees again, and in a whisper to ask Linny's pardon; all of which Hallett took as an expression of grat.i.tude, and shook hands warmly as he left.

I went with him down to the door to say good-night, and as we parted I asked him not to think I was neglecting him, now he was in such trouble with his model.

"I do not, my dear boy; and I never shall think ill of you for being faithful to your friends. Good-night; the model is buried for the present. When you can come again, we'll try once more to bring it back to life."

I stood watching them as they went together beneath the street lamps, and I was glad to see Linny clinging trustingly to her brother's arm.

"Poor Linny!" I thought to myself. "She's very fond of somebody who behaves badly to her. I wonder who it can be."

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

HOW MARY BROKE DOWN.

Few as the minutes of my absence had been, Mary had done a good deal towards tidying up the room, and as I entered I could see her bonnet and shawl hanging lovingly up against the wall, side by side with poor Bill's hat and greatcoat, just as if they had newly entered into the holy state of matrimony. There was beginning to be an appetising odour of chicken in the room, the bundle was tucked out of sight, the chairs in order, and it was plain to see that a clever housewife had been at work.

"Oh my, how you have growed, my dear!" whispered Mary ecstatically. "I never did see a boy improve so. And only to think of your running away from old Blakeford and finding out."

She ran here to the bed to see if her sweetheart was all right, and then turned to me with open arms.

"Give us a kiss, dear," she cried, and in a moment I was hugged tight in her arms and kissed and fondled again and again. "I _am_ glad to see you, you can't tell how glad," she cried softly, "and it was good of you to write. No sooner did I get your letter, than I ups and tells Mrs Blakeford as I was going away directly, because my friend in London was ill."

"But you did not say I wrote, Mary?" I cried in agony.

"Do you think I was such a silly, my dear? No, I'd got the letter safe in here," she said, thrusting her hand inside her dress. "Well, as I was saying--stop a moment--let me look at the broth."

She raised the lid, shut it again, had another look at Revitts, and then went on: