The Classic Mystery Collection - Arthur Conan Doyle [1429]
Who has not suffered as Emily suffered, when she was left alone? Are there not moments--if we dare to confess the truth--when poor humanity loses its hold on the consolations of religion and the hope of immortality, and feels the cruelty of creation that bids us live, on the condition that we die, and leads the first warm beginnings of love, with merciless certainty, to the cold conclusion of the grave?
"She's quiet, for the time being," Dr. Allday announced, on his return. "Remember, please, that she can't see you in the inflamed state of her eyes, and don't disturb the bed-curtains. The sooner you go to her the better, perhaps--if you have anything to say which depends on her recognizing your voice. I'll call to-morrow morning. Very distressing," he repeated, taking his hat and making his bow--"Very distressing."
Emily crossed the narrow little passage which separated the two rooms, and opened the bed-chamber door. Mrs. Ellmother met her on the threshold. "No," said the obstinate old servant, "you can't come in."
The faint voice of Miss Letitia made itself heard, calling Mrs. Ellmother by her familiar nick-name.
"Bony, who is it?"
"Never mind."
"Who is it?"
"Miss Emily, if you must know."
"Oh! poor dear, why does she come here? Who told her I was ill?"
"The doctor told her."
"Don't come in, Emily. It will only distress you--and it will do me no good. God bles s you, my love. Don't come in."
"There!" said Mrs. Ellmother. "Do you hear that? Go back to the sitting-room."
Thus far, the hard necessity of controlling herself had kept Emily silent. She was now able to speak without tears. "Remember the old times, aunt," she pleaded, gently. "Don't keep me out of your room, when I have come here to nurse you!"
"I'm her nurse. Go back to the sitting-room," Mrs. Ellmother repeated.
True love lasts while life lasts. The dying woman relented.
"Bony! Bony! I can't be unkind to Emily. Let her in."
Mrs. Ellmother still insisted on having her way.
"You're contradicting your own orders," she said to her mistress. "You don't know how soon you may begin wandering in your mind again. Think, Miss Letitia--think."
This remonstrance was received in silence. Mrs. Ellmother's great gaunt figure still blocked up the doorway.
"If you force me to it," Emily said, quietly, "I must go to the doctor, and ask him to interfere."
"Do you mean that?" Mrs. Ellmother said, quietly, on her side.
"I do mean it," was the answer.
The old servant suddenly submitted--with a look which took Emily by surprise. She had expected to see anger; the face that now confronted her was a face subdued by sorrow and fear.
"I wash my hands of it," Mrs. Ellmother said. "Go in--and take the consequences."
CHAPTER XIII.
MISS LETITIA.
Emily entered the room. The door was immediately closed on her from the outer side. Mrs. Ellmother's heavy steps were heard retreating along the passage. Then the banging of the door that led into the kitchen shook the flimsily-built cottage. Then, there was silence.
The dim light of a lamp hidden away in a corner and screened by a dingy green shade, just revealed the closely-curtained bed, and the table near it bearing medicine-bottles and glasses. The only objects on the chimney-piece were a clock that had been stopped in mercy to the sufferer's irritable nerves, and an open case containing a machine for pouring drops into the eyes. The smell of fumigating pastilles hung heavily on the air. To Emily's excited imagination, the silence was like the silence of death. She approached the bed trembling. "Won't you speak to me, aunt?"
"Is that you, Emily? Who let you come in?"
"You said I might come in, dear. Are you thirsty? I see some lemonade on the table. Shall I give it to you?"
"No! If you open the bed-curtains, you let in the light. My poor eyes! Why are you here, my dear? Why are you not at the school?"
"It's holiday-time, aunt. Besides, I have left school for good."
"Left school?" Miss Letitia's memory made an effort, as she repeated those words. "You were going somewhere when