Elsie's Kith and Kin Part 9

Zoe would not stir till she had seen Edward put into the ambulance, and made as comfortable for his ride home as circ.u.mstances would permit.

Then, as the vehicle moved slowly off, she hurried to her carriage.

Ben helped her in, sprang into his own seat, and, as he took the reins from Ella, Zoe gave the order, "Home now, Uncle Ben, keeping as close behind the ambulance as you can."

"Oh, don't, Zoe! you oughtn't to!" expostulated Ella, perceiving that her cousin was crying violently behind her veil. "I don't think Ned is very badly hurt. Didn't you hear Arthur say so?"

"He only expressed such a hope: he didn't say certainly," sobbed Zoe.

"And when people are in danger, doctors always try to hide it from their friends."

"Arthur is perfectly truthful," a.s.serted Ella, with some warmth. "He may keep his opinions to himself at times, but he never builds people up with false hopes. So cheer up, coz," she added, squeezing Zoe's hand affectionately.

"I know that what you say of cousin Arthur is all true," sobbed Zoe; "but I could see he had fears as well as hopes: and--and--Ned doesn't seem a bit like himself; he has such a dazed look, as if not quite in his right mind."

"But he knew you and Art; and it is to be expected that a man would feel dazed after such a shock as he must have had."

"Yes, of course. Oh, I'm afraid he's dreadfully, dreadfully hurt, and will never get over it!"

"Still," returned Ella, "try to hope for the best. Don't you think that is the wiser plan always?"

"I suppose so," said Zoe, laughing and crying hysterically; "but I can't be wise to-night; indeed, I never can."

CHAPTER VI.

"And, if division come, it soon is past, Too sharp, too strange an agony to last."

MRS. NORTON.

Christine and Aunt Phillis, who had been left in charge of Miss Deane, had had a sore trial of patience in waiting upon her, humoring her whims, listening to her fretting and complaints, and trying to soothe and entertain her. She was extremely irritable, and seemed determined not to be pleased with any thing they could do for her.

"Where is your mistress?" she asked at length. "Pretty manners she has, to leave a suffering guest to the sole care of servants."

"Yes, Miss, Ise alluz t'ought Miss Zoe hab pretty manners and a pretty face," replied Aunt Phillis; "but dere is ladies what habn't none, an'

doan' git pleased wid nuffin' nor n.o.body, an eayn't stan' no misery nowhars 'bout deirselves, but jes' keep frettin' and concessantly displainin' 'bout dis t'ing and dat, like dey hasn't got nuffin' to be thankful for."

"Impudence!" muttered Miss Deane, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng angrily. Then bidding her attendants be quiet, she settled herself for a nap.

She was waked by a slight bustle in the house, accompanied by sounds as if a number of men were carrying a heavy burden through the entrance-hall, and up the wide stairway leading to the second story.

"What's the matter? What's going on? Has any thing happened?" she asked, starting up to a sitting posture.

Christine had risen to her feet, pale and trembling, and stood listening intently.

"I must go and see," she said, and hurried from the room, Aunt Phillis shambling after her in haste and trepidation.

"Stay!" cried Miss Deane: "don't leave me alone. What are you thinking of?"

But they were already out of hearing. "I was never so shamefully treated anywhere as I am here," muttered the angry lady, sinking back upon her pillows. "I'll leave this house to-morrow, if it is a possible thing, and never darken its doors again."

Listening again, she thought she heard sounds of grief, sobbing and wailing, groans and sighs.

She was by no means deficient in curiosity, and it was exceedingly trying to be compelled to lie there in doubt and suspense.

The time seemed very much longer than it really was before Aunt Phillis came back, sobbing, and wiping her eyes on her ap.r.o.n.

"What is the matter?" asked Miss Deane impatiently.

"Dere's--dere's been a awful commission on de railroad," sobbed Aunt Phillis; "and Ma.r.s.e Ed'ard's 'most killed."

"Oh, dreadful!" cried Miss Deane. "Have they sent for his mother?"

Aunt Phillis only shook her head doubtfully, and burst into fresh and louder sobs.

"Most killed! Dear me!" sighed the lady. "And he was so young and handsome! It will quite break his mother's heart, I suppose. But she'll get over it. It takes a vast deal of grief to kill."

"P'raps Ma.r.s.e Ed'ard ain't gwine ter die," said the old nurse, checking her sobs. "Dey does say Doctah Arthur kin 'most raise de dead."

"Well, I'm sure I hope Mr. Travilla won't die," responded Miss Deane, "or prove to be permanently injured in any way.--Ah, Christine!" as the latter re-entered the room: "what is all this story about a railroad accident? Is Mr. Travilla killed?"

"No, no, he not killed," replied Christine, in her broken English. "How bad hurt, I not know to say; but not killed."

Meantime Edward had been taken to his room, and put comfortably to bed; while Zoe, seated in her boudoir, waited anxiously for the doctor's report of his condition.

Ella was with her, and now and then tried to speak a comforting word, which Zoe scarcely seemed to hear. She sat with her hands clasped in her lap, listening intently to catch every sound from the room where her injured husband lay. She looked pale and anxious, and occasionally a tear would roll quickly down her cheek.

At last the door opened, and Arthur stepped softly across the room to her side.

"Cheer up, little cousin," he said kindly. "Edward seems to be doing very well; and if you will be a good, quiet little woman, you may go and sit by his side."

"Oh, thank you! I'll try," she said, starting up at once. "But mayn't I talk to him at all?"

"Not much to-night," was the reply; "not more than seems absolutely necessary; and you must be particularly careful not to say any thing that would have the least tendency to excite him."

"Oh, then he must be very, very ill,--terribly injured!" she cried, with a burst of tears and sobs.

"That does not necessarily follow," Arthur said, taking her hand, and holding it in a kindly pressure. "But you must be more composed, or,"

playfully, "I shall be compelled to exert my authority so far as to forbid you to go to him."

"Oh, no, no! don't do that!" she cried pleadingly. "I'll be calm and quiet; indeed, indeed I will."

"That's right," he said. "I think I may venture to try you."

"But won't you please tell me just how much you think he is hurt?" she pleaded, clinging to his hand, and looking up beseechingly into his face.

"My dear little cousin," he said in a tenderly sympathizing tone, "I wish to do all in my power to relieve your anxiety, but am as yet in some doubt myself as to the extent of his injuries. He is a good deal shaken and bruised; but, as I have said before, there are no broken bones; and, unless there should be some internal injury which I have not yet discovered, he is likely to recover entirely in a few days or weeks."

"But you are not sure? Oh! how could I ever bear it if he should"--she broke off with a burst of violent weeping.