With a sense of relief so great that she realised,for one shocked moment,the full extent of her fears,she hastened back into the sitting-room,with her collection of books and pamphlets.A low voice greeted her.It came from the adjoining room.
"Doris,come here,sweet child.I want you."How she would have bounded joyously at the summons,had not that Dread raised its bony finger in every call from that dearly loved voice.As it was,her feet moved slowly,lingering at the sound.
But they carried her to his side at last,and once there,she smiled.
"See what an armful,"she cried in joyous greeting,as she held out the bundle she had brought."You will be amused all day.Only,do not tire yourself.""I do not want the papers,Doris;not yet.There's something else which must come first.Doris,I have decided to let you write to her.I'm so much better now,she will not feel alarmed.I must -must get a word from her.I'm starving for it.I lie here and can think of nothing else.A message -one little message of six short words would set me on my feet again.So get your paper and pen,dear child,and write her one of your prettiest letters."Had he loved her,he would have perceived the chill which shook her whole body,as he spoke.But his first thought,his penetrating thought,was not for her and he saw only the answering glance,the patient smile.She had not expected him to see more.She knew that she was quite safe from the divining look;otherwise,he would have known her secret long ago.
"I'm ready,"said she.But she did not lay down her bundle.She was not ready for her task,poor child.She quailed before it.She quailed so much that she feared to stir lest he should see that she had no command over her movements.
The man who watched without seeing wondered that she stood so still and spoke so briefly.But only for a moment.He thought he understood her hesitation,and a look of great earnestness replaced his former one of grave decision.
"I know that in doing this I am going beyond my sacred compact with Miss Challoner,"he said."I never thought of illness,-at least,of illness on my part.I never dreamt that I,always so well,always so full of life,could know such feebleness as this,feebleness which is all of the body,Doris,leaving the mind free to dream and long.
Talk of her,child.Tell me all over again just how she looked and spoke that day you saw her in New York.""Would it not be better for me to write my letter first?Papa will be coming soon and Truda can never cook your bird as you like it."Surprised now by something not quite natural in her manner,he caught at her hand and held her as she was moving away.
"You are tired,"said he."I've wearied you with my commission and complaints.Forgive me,dear child,and -""You are mistaken,"she interrupted softly."I am not tired;I only wished to do the important thing first.Shall I get my desk?Do you really wish me to write?""Yes,"said he,softly dropping her hand."I wish you to write.It will ensure me good sleep,and sleep will make me strong.A few words,Doris;just a few words."She nodded;turning quickly away to hide her tears.His smile had gone to her very soul.It was always a beautiful one,his chief personal attraction,but at this moment it seemed to concentrate within it the unspoken fervours and the boundless expectations of a great love,and she who was the aim and cause of all this sweetness lay in unresponsive silence in a distant tomb!
But Doris'own smile was not lacking in encouragement and beauty when she came back a few minutes later and sat down by his side to write.His melted before it,leaving his eyes very earnest as he watched her bending figure and the hard-worked little hand at its unaccustomed task.
"I must give her daily exercises,"he decided within himself."That look of pain shows how difficult this work is for her.It must be made easy at any cost to my time.Such beauty calls for accomplishment.I must not neglect so plain a duty."Meantime,she was struggling to find words in face of that great Dread.She had written Dear Miss Challoner and was staring in horror at the soulless words.Only her sense of duty upheld her.
Gladly would she have torn the sheet in two and rushed away.How could she add sentences to this hollow phrase,the mere employment of which seemed a sacrilege.Dear Miss Challoner.Oh,she was dear,but -Unconsciously the young head drooped,and the pen slid from her hand.
"I cannot,"she murmured,"I cannot think what to say.""Shall I help you?"came softly from the bed."I'll try and not forget that it is Doris writing.""If you will be so good,"she answered,with renewed courage.
"I can put the words down if you will only find them for me.""Write then.'Dear Miss Challoner!"
"I have already written that."
"Why do you shudder?"
"I'm cold.I've been cold all day.But never mind that,Mr.
Brotherson.Tell me how to begin my letter.""This way.'I've not been able to answer your kind letter,because I have had to play nurse for some three or four weeks to a very fretful and exacting patient.'Have you written that?""No,"said Doris,bending over her desk till her curls fell in a tangle over her white cheeks."I do not like to,"she protested at last,with an attempt at naivete which seemed real enough to him.
"Well,leave out the fretful if you must,but keep in the exacting.
I have been exacting,you know."
Silence,broken only by the scratching of the stubborn,illy-directed pen.
"It's down,"she whispered.She said,afterward,that it was like writing with a ghost looking over one's shoulder.
"Then add,'Mr.Brotherson has had a slight attack of fever,but he is getting well fast,and will soon -,Do I run on too quickly?""No,no,I can follow."
"But not without losing breath;eh,Doris?"
As he laughed,she smiled.There was a heroism in that smile,Oswald Brotherson,of which you knew nothing.
"You might speak a little more slowly,"she admitted.
