Other Things Being Equal [79]
"Ah," he returned, "and will he relish the idea of my standing in his shoes?"
No double-entendre was intended, but Ruth's thoughts gave one miserable bound to Arnold.
"He will be pleased to add to your comfort," spoke Mrs. Levice from the bed, thus saving Ruth an answer.
"I do not need them," said the doctor, turning to her swiftly; "and, Mrs. Levice, if you do not go to sleep, I shall leave."
"I want Ruth to stay in the room," she murmured petulantly.
"Very well, Mamma," said Ruth, wearily, seating herself in a low, soft-cushioned chair in a remote corner. She knew how to sit perfectly still. It was a peculiar situation, --the mother, who had been the means of drawing these two together first and last, slept peacefully; and he and she, the only waking mortals in the house, with the miserable gulf between them, sat there without a word.
Ruth's temples throbbed painfully; she felt weak and tired; toward morning she sank into a heavy sleep. Kemp did not sleep; he kept his face turned from her, trying to quiet his thoughts with the dull lullaby of the rain. But he knew when she slept; his gaze wandered searchingly around the room till it fell upon a slumber-robe thrown across a divan. He arose softly and picked it up; his light step made no sound in the soft carpet. As he came up to Ruth, he saw with an inward groan the change upon her sleeping face. Great, dark shadows lay about her eyes not caused by the curling lashes; her mouth drooped pathetically at the corners; her temples, from which her soft hair was rolled, showed the blue veins; he would have given much to touch her hair with his hand, but he laid the cover over her shoulders without touching her, and tucked it lightly about her knees and feet. Then he went back to his chair. It was five o'clock before either mother or daughter opened her eyes; they started up almost simultaneously. Ruth noticed the warm robe about her, and her eyes sped to the doctor. He, however, was speaking to Mrs. Levice, who in the dim light looked pale but calm.
"I feel perfectly well," she was saying, "and shall get up immediately."
"Where is the necessity?" he inquired. "Lie still to-day; it is not bad weather for staying in bed."
"Did not Ruth tell you?"
"Tell me?" he repeated in surprise.
"Of the cause of this attack?"
"No."
"Then I must. Briefly, my husband has been in New York for the past five weeks; he suffered there with acute pneumonia for a week, told us nothing, but hurried home as soon as possible, --too soon, I suppose. Day before yesterday my nephew received a letter stating these facts, and, later, a telegram asking him to come to Reno, where he was delayed, feeling too ill to go farther alone. The first I heard of this was last night, when Ruth received this telegram from Louis." She handed it to him.
As Kemp read, an unmistakable gravity settled on his face. As he was folding the paper thoughtfully, Mrs. Levice addressed him again in her unfamiliar, calm voice, --
"Will you please explain what he means by your understanding?"
"Yes; I suppose it is expedient for me to tell you at once," he said slowly, reseating himself and pausing as if trying to recall something.
"Last year," he began, "probably as early as February, your husband came to me complaining of a cough that annoyed him nights and mornings; he further told me that when he felt it coming, he went to another apartment so as not to disturb you. I examined him, and found he was suffering with the first stages of asthma, and that one of his lungs was slightly diseased already. I treated him and gave him directions for living carefully. You knew nothing of this?"
"Nothing," she answered hoarsely.
"Well," he went on gently, "there was no cause for worry; if checked in time, a man may live to second childhood with asthma, and the loss of a small portion of a lung is not necessarily fatal. He knew this, and was mending slowly; I examined him several times and found no increase in the loss of tissue, while he told me the cough was not so troublesome."