"Miss Hale acted under my directions. There may have been a mistake,but it was not cruel. Your wife will be a different creature to-morrow, Itrust. She has had spasms, as I anticipated, though I did not tell MissHale of my apprehensions. She has taken the opiate I brought with me;she will have a good long sleep; and to-morrow, that look which hasalarmed you so much will have passed away."
"But not the disease?"
Dr. Donaldson glanced at Margaret. Her bent head, her face raised withno appeal for a temporary reprieve, showed that quick observer ofhuman nature that she thought it better that the whole truth should betold.
"Not the disease. We cannot touch the disease, with all our poor vauntedskill. We can only delay its progress--alleviate the pain it causes. Be aman, sir--a Christian. Have faith in the immortality of the soul, whichno pain, no mortal disease, can assail or touch!"
But all the reply he got, was in the choked words, "You have never beenmarried, Dr. Donaldson; you do not know what it is," and in the deep,manly sobs, which went through the stillness of the night like heavypulses of agony.
Margaret knelt by him, caressing him with tearful caresses. No one, noteven Dr. Donaldson, knew how the time went by. Mr. Hale was the firstto dare to speak of the necessities of the present moment.
"What must we do?" asked he. "Tell us both. Margaret is my staff--myright hand."
Dr. Donaldson gave his clear, sensible directions. No fear for to-night-nay,even peace for to-morrow, and for many days yet. But no enduringhope of recovery. He advised Mr. Hale to go to bed, and leave only oneto watch the slumber, which he hoped would be undisturbed. Hepromised to come again early in the morning. And with a warm andkindly shake of the hand, he left them.
They spoke but few words; they were too much exhausted by theirterror to do more than decide upon the immediate course of action. Mr.
Hale was resolved to sit up through the night, and all that Margaretcould do was to prevail upon him to rest on the drawing-room sofa.
Dixon stoutly and bluntly refused to go to bed; and, as for Margaret, itwas simply impossible that she should leave her mother, let all thedoctors in the world speak of "husbanding resources," and "one watcheronly being required." So, Dixon sat, and stared, and winked, anddrooped, and picked herself up again with a jerk, and finally gave upthe battle, and fairly snored. Margaret had taken off her gown andtossed it aside with a sort of impatient disgust, and put on her dressing-gown. She felt as if she never could sleep again; as if her whole senseswere acutely vital, and all endued with double keenness, for thepurposes of watching. Every sight and sound--nay, even every thought,touched some nerve to the very quick. For more than two hours, sheheard her father"s restless movements in the next room. He cameperpetually to the door of her mother"s chamber, pausing there to listen,till she, not hearing his close unseen presence, went and opened it to tellhim how all went on, in reply to the questions his baked lips couldhardly form. At last he, too, fell asleep, and all the house was still.
Margaret sate behind the curtain thinking. Far away in time, far away inspace, seemed all the interests of past days. Not more than thirty-sixhours ago, she cared for Bessy Higgins and her father, and her heart waswrung for Boucher; now, that was all like a dreaming memory of someformer life;--everything that had passed out of doors seemed disseveredfrom her mother, and therefore unreal. Even Harley Street appearedmore distinct; there she remembered, as if it were yesterday, how shehad pleased herself with tracing out her mother"s features in her AuntShaw"s face,--and how letters had come, making her dwell on thethoughts of home with all the longing of love. Helstone, itself, was inthe dim past. The dull gray days of the preceding winter and spring, souneventless and monotonous, seemed more associated with what shecared for now above all price. She would fain have caught at the skirtsof that departing time, and prayed it to return, and give her back whatshe had too little valued while it was yet in her possession. What a vainshow Life seemed! How unsubstantial, and flickering, and flitting! Itwas as if from some aerial belfry, high up above the stir and jar of theearth, there was a bell continually tolling, "All are shadows!--all arepassing!--all is past!" And when the morning dawned, cool and gray,like many a happier morning before--when Margaret looked one by oneat the sleepers, it seemed as if the terrible night were unreal as a dream;it, too, was a shadow. It, too, was past.
