Willoughby's Return_ A Tale of Almost Irresistible Temptation - Jane Odiwe [117]
“I am all the better for seeing you, my darling. Come here, let me look at you.” Marianne stepped forward, glowing under William's scrutiny. “I thought I might never see you again.”
“Oh William, I wish I had known sooner.”
“Even so, I did not imagine that I would see you here.” His eyes held hers for a moment but she could only look away. “Come here, my darling.”
Marianne rushed to his side and sat down on the small stool at the side of the sofa. She put out her hand to stroke his face and felt alarm at the touch of his fevered brow and pallid complexion. “Why did you not let Eliza write sooner?” she asked with fear in her voice. William's breathing was shallow; he appeared a shadow of the man she knew, as he lay languid and low.
“I did not want to worry you, my darling. Besides, I wanted to be sure.”
Marianne took a wet cloth from the bowl on the table at her side, wringing out the cool water before applying to William's forehead. His eyes were closing again as he grew restless and feverish.
“I wanted to be sure you came because you wished to be with me,” he muttered faintly before he fell into a slumber.
Marianne did not move, keeping watch over her husband's disturbed countenance as he slept. A half hour passed, during which William's repose became more and more troubled. Marianne, who steadfastly watched his continual change of posture and heard the frequent but inarticulate sounds of delirious murmurings which passed his lips, was on the point of rousing him from his sleep when William, suddenly awakened by some accidental noise in the house, started hastily up, and with feverish wildness, cried out, “Marianne is lost to me. Fetch Marianne, if she will come. Tell Willoughby I need her.”
“William, I am here; Marianne is with you, my darling,” she cried, concealing her terror, and assisting the Colonel to lie down again.
Marianne recognised with anxiety that he was not himself, and whilst attempting to pacify him, eagerly felt his pulse. It was very low and so fast as to give real concern. William was still talking incoherently so that her alarm increased rapidly. She quit the scene, running to find Eliza to ask her advice. Miss Williams was in the kitchen attending a small girl that Marianne knew was Willoughby's child the instant she saw her. The shock was great and for a moment she could not speak. Lizzy had her mother's dainty frame and pretty countenance, but the dark eyes that looked at Marianne from under arched brows were Willoughby's, with the same intensity of expression.
“Miss Williams, Brandon seems quite delirious. He only spoke to me for a moment before he slipped away into a deep sleep during which he has become most agitated. I cannot wake him. He doesn’t see me. I think we should send for the doctor.”
“Of course, Mrs Brandon, I will have Doctor Oliver sent for at once. Perhaps William needs a new dose of the cordials that he made last time.”
Mr Oliver had still something more to try, some new medicines, of whose success he was almost as confident as the last, and his visit concluded with assuring the ladies of his confidence in the efficacy of the treatment. Marianne tried to remain calm, but William showed no signs of improvement. His restlessness was gone but he lay very still and his breathing was imperceptible. Marianne felt hopeless, and in this state she continued, scarcely stirring from her husband's bed. She was convinced that she would not see Brandon's eyes open again, and her thoughts reflected on images of grief, and her spirits sank. Marianne was certain she was being punished for her wickedness, felt persuaded by the idea that her husband was ill because of her conduct, and it gave fresh misery to her reflections.
About midnight, however, she began to hope once more, to fancy that she could perceive a slight amendment in William's pulse. She waited, watched, and examined it again and again; and at last, with an agitation