Other Things Being Equal [17]
is now but a poor, withered thing.' 'Give it me!' exclaimed the friend, eagerly. The other did so. True, it was lifeless and withered; not a vestige remained of its once fragrant glory. But as the man held it tenderly in his hand, memory and love untold overcame him, and he wept in ecstasy. And as his tears fell on the faded rose, lo! The petals sprang up, flushed into life; an exquisite perfume enveloped it, --it had revived in all its beauty. Sir, in the words of the rabbi, 'In the light of toleration and love, we too have revived, we too are looking up.'"
As the girl paused, Kemp slightly, almost reverentially, raised his hat.
"Miss Levice, that is exquisite," he said softly.
They had reached the old, poorer section of the city, and the doctor stopped before a weather-beaten cottage.
"This is where Bob receives," he said, holding out a hand to Ruth; "in all truth it cannot be called a home."
Ruth had a peculiar, inexplicable feeling of mutual understanding with the doctor as she went in with him. She hardly realized that she had been an impressionable witness of some of his dominant moods, and that she herself had been led on to an unrestrained display of feeling.
Chapter VI
They walked directly into a bare, dark hallway. There was no one stirring, and Kemp softly opened the door of one of several rooms leading into the passage. Here a broad band of yellow sunlight fell unrestrained athwart the waxen-like face of the sleeping boy. The rest of the simple, poor-looking room was in shadow. The doctor noiselessly closed the door behind them, and stepped to the bed, which was covered with a heavy horse-blanket.
The boy on the bed even in sleep could not be accounted good-looking; there was a heaviness of feature, a plentitude of freckles, a shock of lack-lustre hair, that made poor Bob Bard anything but a thing of beauty. And yet, as Ruth looked at him, and saw Kemp's strong white hand placed gently on the low forehead, a great wave of tender pity took possession of her. Sleep puts the strongest at the mercy of the watcher; there is a loneliness about it, a silent, expressive plea for protection, that appeals unconsciously. Ruth would have liked to raise the rough, lonely head to her bosom.
"It would be too bad to wake him now," said the doctor, in a low voice, coming back to her side; "he is sleeping restfully; and that is what he needs. I am sorry our little plan is frustrated; but it would be senseless to wait, as there is no telling when he will waken."
A shade of disappointment passed over the girl's face, which he noticed.
"But," he continued, "you might leave your roses where he cannot fail to see them. His conjectures on their mysterious appearance will rouse him sufficiently for one day."
He watched her move lightly across the room, and fill a cup with water from an earthenware pitcher. She looked about for a second as if hesitating where to place it, and then quickly drew up a high-backed wooden chair close to the bedside, and placed thereon a cup with roses, so that they looked straight into the face of the slumbering lad.
"We will go now," Kemp said, and opened the door for Ruth to pass before him. She followed him slowly, but on the threshold drew back, a thoughtful little pucker on her brow.
"I think I shall wait anyway," she explained. "I should like to talk with Bob a little."
The doctor looked slightly annoyed.
"You had better drive home with me," he objected.
"Thank you," she replied, drawing farther back into the room ; "but the Jackson Street cars are very convenient."
"Nevertheless, I should prefer to have you come with me," he insisted.
"But I do not wish to," she repeated quietly; "besides, I have decided to stay."
"That settles it, then," smiled Kemp; and shaking her hand, he went out alone.
"When my lady will, she will; and when she won't, she won't," he mused, gathering up his reins. But the terminal point to the thought was a smile.
Ruth, thus left alone, seated herself on the one other chair near the foot of the
As the girl paused, Kemp slightly, almost reverentially, raised his hat.
"Miss Levice, that is exquisite," he said softly.
They had reached the old, poorer section of the city, and the doctor stopped before a weather-beaten cottage.
"This is where Bob receives," he said, holding out a hand to Ruth; "in all truth it cannot be called a home."
Ruth had a peculiar, inexplicable feeling of mutual understanding with the doctor as she went in with him. She hardly realized that she had been an impressionable witness of some of his dominant moods, and that she herself had been led on to an unrestrained display of feeling.
Chapter VI
They walked directly into a bare, dark hallway. There was no one stirring, and Kemp softly opened the door of one of several rooms leading into the passage. Here a broad band of yellow sunlight fell unrestrained athwart the waxen-like face of the sleeping boy. The rest of the simple, poor-looking room was in shadow. The doctor noiselessly closed the door behind them, and stepped to the bed, which was covered with a heavy horse-blanket.
The boy on the bed even in sleep could not be accounted good-looking; there was a heaviness of feature, a plentitude of freckles, a shock of lack-lustre hair, that made poor Bob Bard anything but a thing of beauty. And yet, as Ruth looked at him, and saw Kemp's strong white hand placed gently on the low forehead, a great wave of tender pity took possession of her. Sleep puts the strongest at the mercy of the watcher; there is a loneliness about it, a silent, expressive plea for protection, that appeals unconsciously. Ruth would have liked to raise the rough, lonely head to her bosom.
"It would be too bad to wake him now," said the doctor, in a low voice, coming back to her side; "he is sleeping restfully; and that is what he needs. I am sorry our little plan is frustrated; but it would be senseless to wait, as there is no telling when he will waken."
A shade of disappointment passed over the girl's face, which he noticed.
"But," he continued, "you might leave your roses where he cannot fail to see them. His conjectures on their mysterious appearance will rouse him sufficiently for one day."
He watched her move lightly across the room, and fill a cup with water from an earthenware pitcher. She looked about for a second as if hesitating where to place it, and then quickly drew up a high-backed wooden chair close to the bedside, and placed thereon a cup with roses, so that they looked straight into the face of the slumbering lad.
"We will go now," Kemp said, and opened the door for Ruth to pass before him. She followed him slowly, but on the threshold drew back, a thoughtful little pucker on her brow.
"I think I shall wait anyway," she explained. "I should like to talk with Bob a little."
The doctor looked slightly annoyed.
"You had better drive home with me," he objected.
"Thank you," she replied, drawing farther back into the room ; "but the Jackson Street cars are very convenient."
"Nevertheless, I should prefer to have you come with me," he insisted.
"But I do not wish to," she repeated quietly; "besides, I have decided to stay."
"That settles it, then," smiled Kemp; and shaking her hand, he went out alone.
"When my lady will, she will; and when she won't, she won't," he mused, gathering up his reins. But the terminal point to the thought was a smile.
Ruth, thus left alone, seated herself on the one other chair near the foot of the