Other Things Being Equal [83]
to speak. If you can do this for him, will you not?"
"I cannot."
"And you know what it is in detail?"
"I do."
"Then for his sake --"
"And for the others, he must be allowed to speak."
Kemp regarded him steadily, wondering wherein lay the impression of concealed power which emanated from him. He left the room without another word.
"Dr. H----- must have gone to school with you," panted Levice, as Dr. Kemp entered; "even his eyes have been educated to express the same feeling; except for a little --"
"There, there," quieted Kemp; "don't exhaust yourself. Miss Levice, that fan, please. A little higher? How's that?"
"Do not go, Doctor," he said feebly; "I have something to say, to do, and you--I want you--give me something--I must say it now. Esther, where are you?"
"Here, love."
"Mr. Levice, you must not talk now," put in Kemp, authoritatively; "whatever you have to say will last till morning."
"And I?"
"And you. Now go to sleep."
Mrs. Levice followed him to the door.
"You spoke just now of a nurse," she said through her pale lips; "I shall not want one: I alone can nurse him."
"There is much required; I doubt if you are strong enough."
"I am strong."
He clasped her hand in assent; he could not deny her.
"I shall come in and stay with you to-night," he said simply.
"You. Why should you?"
"Because I too love him."
Her mouth trembled and the lines of her face quivered, but she drew her hand quickly over it.
Kemp gave one sharp glance over to the bed; Ruth had laid her head beside her father's and held his hand. In such a house, in every Jewish house, one finds the best nurses in the family.
Chapter XXV
Shafts of pale sunlight darted into the room and rested on Mr. Levice's hair, covering it with a silver glory, --they trailed along the silken coverlet, but stopped there; one little beam strayed slowly, and almost as if with intention, toward Arnold, seated near the foot of the bed. Ruth, lovely in her pallor, sat near him; Mrs. Levice, on the other side of the bed, leaned back in her chair placed close to her husband's pillow; more remote, though inadvertently so, sat Dr. Kemp. It was by Mr. Levice's desire that these four had assembled here.
He was sitting up, supported by many pillows; his face was hollow and colorless; his hands lay listlessly upon the counterpane. No one touches him; bathed in sunlight, as he was, the others seemed in shadow. When he spoke, his voice was almost a whisper, but it was distinctly audible to the four intent listeners; only the clock seemed to accompany his staccato speech, running a race, as it were, with his failing strength.
"It is a beautiful world," he said dreamily, "a very beautiful world;" the sunbeams kissed his pale hands as if thanking him; no one stirred, letting the old man take his time. Finally he realized that all were waiting for him, and thought sprang, strong and powerful, to his face.
"Dr. Kemp," he began, "I have something to say to you, --to you in particular, and to my daughter Ruth. My wife and nephew know in brief what I have to say; therefore I need not dwell on the painful event that happened here last September; you will pardon me, when you see the necessity, for my reverting to it at all."
Every one's eyes rested upon him, --that is, all but Arnold's, which seemed holding some secret communion with the cupids on the ceiling, --and the look of convulsive agony that swept across Ruth's face was unnoticed.
"In all my long, diversified life," he went on, "I had never suffered as I did after she told me her decision, --for in all those years no one had ever been made to suffer through me; that is, so far as I knew. Unconsciously, or in anger, I may have hurt many, but never, as in this case, with knowledge aforethought, --when the blow fell upon my own child. You will understand, and perhaps forgive, when I say I gave no thought to you. She came to me with her sweet, renunciating hands held out, and with a smile of self-forgetfulness, said, 'Father, you are right;
"I cannot."
"And you know what it is in detail?"
"I do."
"Then for his sake --"
"And for the others, he must be allowed to speak."
Kemp regarded him steadily, wondering wherein lay the impression of concealed power which emanated from him. He left the room without another word.
"Dr. H----- must have gone to school with you," panted Levice, as Dr. Kemp entered; "even his eyes have been educated to express the same feeling; except for a little --"
"There, there," quieted Kemp; "don't exhaust yourself. Miss Levice, that fan, please. A little higher? How's that?"
"Do not go, Doctor," he said feebly; "I have something to say, to do, and you--I want you--give me something--I must say it now. Esther, where are you?"
"Here, love."
"Mr. Levice, you must not talk now," put in Kemp, authoritatively; "whatever you have to say will last till morning."
"And I?"
"And you. Now go to sleep."
Mrs. Levice followed him to the door.
"You spoke just now of a nurse," she said through her pale lips; "I shall not want one: I alone can nurse him."
"There is much required; I doubt if you are strong enough."
"I am strong."
He clasped her hand in assent; he could not deny her.
"I shall come in and stay with you to-night," he said simply.
"You. Why should you?"
"Because I too love him."
Her mouth trembled and the lines of her face quivered, but she drew her hand quickly over it.
Kemp gave one sharp glance over to the bed; Ruth had laid her head beside her father's and held his hand. In such a house, in every Jewish house, one finds the best nurses in the family.
Chapter XXV
Shafts of pale sunlight darted into the room and rested on Mr. Levice's hair, covering it with a silver glory, --they trailed along the silken coverlet, but stopped there; one little beam strayed slowly, and almost as if with intention, toward Arnold, seated near the foot of the bed. Ruth, lovely in her pallor, sat near him; Mrs. Levice, on the other side of the bed, leaned back in her chair placed close to her husband's pillow; more remote, though inadvertently so, sat Dr. Kemp. It was by Mr. Levice's desire that these four had assembled here.
He was sitting up, supported by many pillows; his face was hollow and colorless; his hands lay listlessly upon the counterpane. No one touches him; bathed in sunlight, as he was, the others seemed in shadow. When he spoke, his voice was almost a whisper, but it was distinctly audible to the four intent listeners; only the clock seemed to accompany his staccato speech, running a race, as it were, with his failing strength.
"It is a beautiful world," he said dreamily, "a very beautiful world;" the sunbeams kissed his pale hands as if thanking him; no one stirred, letting the old man take his time. Finally he realized that all were waiting for him, and thought sprang, strong and powerful, to his face.
"Dr. Kemp," he began, "I have something to say to you, --to you in particular, and to my daughter Ruth. My wife and nephew know in brief what I have to say; therefore I need not dwell on the painful event that happened here last September; you will pardon me, when you see the necessity, for my reverting to it at all."
Every one's eyes rested upon him, --that is, all but Arnold's, which seemed holding some secret communion with the cupids on the ceiling, --and the look of convulsive agony that swept across Ruth's face was unnoticed.
"In all my long, diversified life," he went on, "I had never suffered as I did after she told me her decision, --for in all those years no one had ever been made to suffer through me; that is, so far as I knew. Unconsciously, or in anger, I may have hurt many, but never, as in this case, with knowledge aforethought, --when the blow fell upon my own child. You will understand, and perhaps forgive, when I say I gave no thought to you. She came to me with her sweet, renunciating hands held out, and with a smile of self-forgetfulness, said, 'Father, you are right;