Other Things Being Equal [82]
after a pause. "Lay my head down, Esther love; you must be tired. Sit before me, dear, I want to see your two faces together."
His gaunt eyes flitted from one to the other.
"It is a fair picture to take with one," he whispered.
"To keep with one," softly trembled his wife's voice; his eyes met hers in a commiserating smile.
Suddenly he started up.
"Ruth," he gasped, "will you go to Louis? He must be worn out."
She left the room hurriedly. Her faint knock was not immediately answered, and she called softly; receiving no reply, she turned the knob, which yielded to her hand. Sunbeams danced merrily about the room of the young man, who sat in their light in a dejected attitude. He evidently had made no change in his toilet; and as Ruth stood unnoticed beside him, her eyes wandered over his gray, unshaven face, travel-stained and weary to a degree. She laid her hand upon his shoulder.
"Louis," she called gently.
He shook under her touch, but made no further sign that he knew of her presence.
"You must be so tired, Louis," she continued sympathetically.
It may have been the words, it may have been the tone, it may have been that she touched some hidden thought, for suddenly, without premonition, his breast heaved, and he sobbed heavily as only a man can sob.
She started back in pain. That such emotion could so unstring Louis Arnold was a marvel. It did not last long; and as he rose from his chair he spoke in his accustomed, quiet tone.
"Forgive my unmanliness," he said; "it was kind of you to come to me."
"You look very ill, Louis; can't I bring you something to refresh you, or will you lie down?"
"We shall see; is there anything you wish to ask me?
"Nothing."
After a pause he said, --
"You must not be hopeless; he is in good hands, and everything that can be done will be done. Is he resting now?"
"Yes; if to breathe like that is to rest. Oh, Louis, when I think how for months he has suffered alone, it almost drives me crazy."
"Why think of it, then? Or, if you must, remember that in his surpassing unselfishness he saved you much anxiety; for you could not have helped him."
"Not with our sympathy?"
"Not him, Ruth; to know that you suffered for him was--would have been his crowning sorrow. Is there anything I can do now?"
"No, only think of yourself for a moment; perhaps you can rest a little, for you need it, dear."
A flame of color burned in his cheek at the unusual endearment.
"I shall bring you a cup of tea presently," she said as she left him.
The morning passed into afternoon. Silence hung upon the house. A card had been pinned under the door-bell; and the many friends, who in the short time since the sick man's arrival had heard of his illness, dropped in quietly and left as they came.
Dr. Kemp came in after luncheon. Mr. Levice was sleeping, --in all truth, one could say easily, but the doctor counted much from the rest. He expected Dr. H----- for a consultation. This he had done as a voucher and a sort of comforting assurance that nothing would be left undone. Dr. H----- came in blandly; he went out gravely. There was little to be said.
Kemp walked thoughtfully upstairs after his colleague had left, and went straight to Arnold's room. the freedom of the house was his; he seemed to have established himself here simply through his earnestness and devotion.
"Mr. Arnold," he said to the Frenchman, who quickly rose from his desk, "I want you to prepare your aunt and your cousin for the worst. You know this; but if he should have a spell of coughing, the end might be sudden."
A cold pallor overspread Louis's face at the confirmation of his secret fears.
He bowed slightly and cleared his throat before answering.
"There will be no necessity," he said; "my uncle intends doing so himself."
"He must not hasten it by excitement," said Kemp, moving toward the door.
"That is unavoidable," returned Arnold. "You must know he had an object in hurrying home."
"I did not know; but I shall prevent any unnecessary effort
His gaunt eyes flitted from one to the other.
"It is a fair picture to take with one," he whispered.
"To keep with one," softly trembled his wife's voice; his eyes met hers in a commiserating smile.
Suddenly he started up.
"Ruth," he gasped, "will you go to Louis? He must be worn out."
She left the room hurriedly. Her faint knock was not immediately answered, and she called softly; receiving no reply, she turned the knob, which yielded to her hand. Sunbeams danced merrily about the room of the young man, who sat in their light in a dejected attitude. He evidently had made no change in his toilet; and as Ruth stood unnoticed beside him, her eyes wandered over his gray, unshaven face, travel-stained and weary to a degree. She laid her hand upon his shoulder.
"Louis," she called gently.
He shook under her touch, but made no further sign that he knew of her presence.
"You must be so tired, Louis," she continued sympathetically.
It may have been the words, it may have been the tone, it may have been that she touched some hidden thought, for suddenly, without premonition, his breast heaved, and he sobbed heavily as only a man can sob.
She started back in pain. That such emotion could so unstring Louis Arnold was a marvel. It did not last long; and as he rose from his chair he spoke in his accustomed, quiet tone.
"Forgive my unmanliness," he said; "it was kind of you to come to me."
"You look very ill, Louis; can't I bring you something to refresh you, or will you lie down?"
"We shall see; is there anything you wish to ask me?
"Nothing."
After a pause he said, --
"You must not be hopeless; he is in good hands, and everything that can be done will be done. Is he resting now?"
"Yes; if to breathe like that is to rest. Oh, Louis, when I think how for months he has suffered alone, it almost drives me crazy."
"Why think of it, then? Or, if you must, remember that in his surpassing unselfishness he saved you much anxiety; for you could not have helped him."
"Not with our sympathy?"
"Not him, Ruth; to know that you suffered for him was--would have been his crowning sorrow. Is there anything I can do now?"
"No, only think of yourself for a moment; perhaps you can rest a little, for you need it, dear."
A flame of color burned in his cheek at the unusual endearment.
"I shall bring you a cup of tea presently," she said as she left him.
The morning passed into afternoon. Silence hung upon the house. A card had been pinned under the door-bell; and the many friends, who in the short time since the sick man's arrival had heard of his illness, dropped in quietly and left as they came.
Dr. Kemp came in after luncheon. Mr. Levice was sleeping, --in all truth, one could say easily, but the doctor counted much from the rest. He expected Dr. H----- for a consultation. This he had done as a voucher and a sort of comforting assurance that nothing would be left undone. Dr. H----- came in blandly; he went out gravely. There was little to be said.
Kemp walked thoughtfully upstairs after his colleague had left, and went straight to Arnold's room. the freedom of the house was his; he seemed to have established himself here simply through his earnestness and devotion.
"Mr. Arnold," he said to the Frenchman, who quickly rose from his desk, "I want you to prepare your aunt and your cousin for the worst. You know this; but if he should have a spell of coughing, the end might be sudden."
A cold pallor overspread Louis's face at the confirmation of his secret fears.
He bowed slightly and cleared his throat before answering.
"There will be no necessity," he said; "my uncle intends doing so himself."
"He must not hasten it by excitement," said Kemp, moving toward the door.
"That is unavoidable," returned Arnold. "You must know he had an object in hurrying home."
"I did not know; but I shall prevent any unnecessary effort