Other Things Being Equal [76]
hand she endeavored to relax Ruth's fingers from the paper.
"But, Mamma, it was addressed to me"
"It was a mistake, then; I know it was meant for me. Let go instantly, or I shall tear the paper. Obey me, Ruth."
Her voice sounded harsh as a man's. At the strange tone Ruth's fingers loosened, and Mrs. Levice, taking the telegram, re-entered the room; Ruth followed her closely.
Standing under the chandelier, Mrs. Levice read. No change came over her face; when she had finished, she handed the paper without a word to Ruth. This was the message: --
RENO, Jan. 28, 188--
MISS RUTH LEVICE, San Francisco, Cal."
Found your father very weak and feverish and coughing continually. Insists on getting home immediately. Says to inform Dr. Kemp, who will understand, and have him at the house on our arrival at 11.30 Thursday. No present danger.
LOUIS ARNOLD
"Explain," commanded her mother, speaking in her overwrought condition as if to a stranger.
"Get into bed first, Mamma, or you will take cold."
Mrs. Levice suffered herself to be led there, and in a few words Ruth explained what she knew.
"You knew that yesterday before the train left?"
"Yes, Mamma."
"And why didn't you tell me? I should have gone to him. Oh, why didn't you tell me?"
"It would have been too late, dear."
"No, it is too late now; do you hear? I shall never see him again, and it is all your fault--what do you know? Stop crying! will you stop crying, or--"
"Mamma, I am not crying; you are crying, and saying things that are not true. It will not be too late; perhaps it is nothing but the cough. Louis says there is no danger."
"Hush!" cried her mother, her whole figure trembling. "I know there is danger now, this minute. Oh, what can I do, what can I do?" With this cry all her strength seemed to give way; she sobbed and laughed with the hysteria of long ago; when Ruth strove to put her arms around her, she shook her off convulsively.
"Don't touch me!" she breathed; "it is all your fault--he wants me--needs me--and, oh, look at me here! Why do you stand there like a ghost? Go away. No, come here--I want Dr. Kemp; now, at once, he said to have him; send for him, Ruth."
"On Thursday morning," she managed to answer.
"No, now--I must, must, must have him! You won't go? Then I shall; move aside."
Ruth, summoning all her strength, strove to hold her in her arms, all to no avail.
"Lie still," she said sternly; "I shall go for Dr. Kemp."
"You can't; it is night and raining. Oh," she continued, half deliriously, "I know I am acting strangely, and he will calm me. Ruth, I want to be calm; don't you understand?"
The two maids, frightened by the noise, stood in the doorway. Both had their heads covered with shawls; both were suffering with heavy colds.
"Come in, girls. Stay here with my mother; I am going for the doctor."
"Oh, Miss Ruth, ain't you afraid? It's a awful night, and black as pitch, and you all alone?" asked one, with wide, frightened eyes.
"I am not afraid," said the girl, a great calmness in her voice as she spoke above her mother's sobbing; "stay and try to quiet her. I shall not be gone long."
She flew into her room, drew on her overshoes and mackintosh, grasped a sealskin hood, which she tied securely under her chin, and went out into the howling, raging night.
She had but a few blocks to go, but under ordinary circumstances the undertaking would have been disagreeable enough. The rain came down in heavy, wild torrents; the wind roared madly, wrapping her skirts around her limbs and making walking almost an impossibility; the darkness was impenetrable save for the sickly, quavering light shed by the few street-lamps, as far apart as angel visitants. Lowering her head and keeping her figure as erect as possible, she struggled bravely on. She met scarcely any one, and those she did meet occasioned her little uneasiness in the flood of unusual emotions that overwhelmed her soul. At any other time the thought of her destination would have blotted out every
"But, Mamma, it was addressed to me"
"It was a mistake, then; I know it was meant for me. Let go instantly, or I shall tear the paper. Obey me, Ruth."
Her voice sounded harsh as a man's. At the strange tone Ruth's fingers loosened, and Mrs. Levice, taking the telegram, re-entered the room; Ruth followed her closely.
Standing under the chandelier, Mrs. Levice read. No change came over her face; when she had finished, she handed the paper without a word to Ruth. This was the message: --
RENO, Jan. 28, 188--
MISS RUTH LEVICE, San Francisco, Cal."
Found your father very weak and feverish and coughing continually. Insists on getting home immediately. Says to inform Dr. Kemp, who will understand, and have him at the house on our arrival at 11.30 Thursday. No present danger.
LOUIS ARNOLD
"Explain," commanded her mother, speaking in her overwrought condition as if to a stranger.
"Get into bed first, Mamma, or you will take cold."
Mrs. Levice suffered herself to be led there, and in a few words Ruth explained what she knew.
"You knew that yesterday before the train left?"
"Yes, Mamma."
"And why didn't you tell me? I should have gone to him. Oh, why didn't you tell me?"
"It would have been too late, dear."
"No, it is too late now; do you hear? I shall never see him again, and it is all your fault--what do you know? Stop crying! will you stop crying, or--"
"Mamma, I am not crying; you are crying, and saying things that are not true. It will not be too late; perhaps it is nothing but the cough. Louis says there is no danger."
"Hush!" cried her mother, her whole figure trembling. "I know there is danger now, this minute. Oh, what can I do, what can I do?" With this cry all her strength seemed to give way; she sobbed and laughed with the hysteria of long ago; when Ruth strove to put her arms around her, she shook her off convulsively.
"Don't touch me!" she breathed; "it is all your fault--he wants me--needs me--and, oh, look at me here! Why do you stand there like a ghost? Go away. No, come here--I want Dr. Kemp; now, at once, he said to have him; send for him, Ruth."
"On Thursday morning," she managed to answer.
"No, now--I must, must, must have him! You won't go? Then I shall; move aside."
Ruth, summoning all her strength, strove to hold her in her arms, all to no avail.
"Lie still," she said sternly; "I shall go for Dr. Kemp."
"You can't; it is night and raining. Oh," she continued, half deliriously, "I know I am acting strangely, and he will calm me. Ruth, I want to be calm; don't you understand?"
The two maids, frightened by the noise, stood in the doorway. Both had their heads covered with shawls; both were suffering with heavy colds.
"Come in, girls. Stay here with my mother; I am going for the doctor."
"Oh, Miss Ruth, ain't you afraid? It's a awful night, and black as pitch, and you all alone?" asked one, with wide, frightened eyes.
"I am not afraid," said the girl, a great calmness in her voice as she spoke above her mother's sobbing; "stay and try to quiet her. I shall not be gone long."
She flew into her room, drew on her overshoes and mackintosh, grasped a sealskin hood, which she tied securely under her chin, and went out into the howling, raging night.
She had but a few blocks to go, but under ordinary circumstances the undertaking would have been disagreeable enough. The rain came down in heavy, wild torrents; the wind roared madly, wrapping her skirts around her limbs and making walking almost an impossibility; the darkness was impenetrable save for the sickly, quavering light shed by the few street-lamps, as far apart as angel visitants. Lowering her head and keeping her figure as erect as possible, she struggled bravely on. She met scarcely any one, and those she did meet occasioned her little uneasiness in the flood of unusual emotions that overwhelmed her soul. At any other time the thought of her destination would have blotted out every