CHAPTER VI.IN THE SPRING.
Katy Lennox had been very sick, and the bed where Wilford slept had stood in the parlor during the long weeks while the obstinate fever ran its course; but she was better now, and sat nearly all day before the fire, sometimes trying to crochet a little, and again turning over the books which Morris had bought to interest her—Morris, the kind physician, who had attended her so faithfully, never leaving her while the fever was at its height, unless it was necessary, but staying with her day and night, watching her symptoms carefully, and praying so earnestly that she might not die, not, at least, until some token had been given that again in the better world he should find her, where partings were unknown and where no Wilford Camerons could contest the prize with him. Not that he was greatly afraid of Wilford now; that fear had mostly died away just as the hope had died from Katy’s heart that she would ever meet him again.
Since the September morning when he left her, she hadnot heard from him except once, when in the winter Morris had been to New York, and having a few hours’ leisure on his hands had called at Wilford’s office, receiving a most cordial reception, and meeting with Mark Ray, who impressed him as a man quite as highly cultivated as Wilford, and possessed of more character and principle. This call was not altogether of Morris’s seeking, but was made rather with a view to pleasing Katy, who, when she learned that he was going to New York, had said inadvertently, “Oh, I do so hope you’ll meet with Mr. Cameron, for then we shall know that he is neither sick nor dead, as I have sometimes feared.”
And so Morris had sought his rival, feeling repaid for the effort it had cost him, when he saw how glad Wilford seemed to meet him. The first commonplaces over, Wilford inquired for Katy. Was she well, and how was she occupying her time this winter?
“Both Helen and Katy are pupils of mine,” Morris replied, “reciting their lessons to me every day when the weather will admit of their crossing the fields to Linwood. We have often wondered what had become of you, that you did not even let us know of your safe arrival home,” he added, looking Wilford fully in the eye, and rather enjoying his confusion as he tried to apologize.
He had intended writing, but an unusual amount of business had occupied his time. “Mark will tell you how busy I was,” and he turned appealingly to his partner, in whose expressive eyes Morris read that Silverton was not unknown to him.
But if Wilford had told him anything derogatory of the farm-house or its inmates, it did not appear in Mr. Ray’s manner, as he replied that Mr. Cameron had been very busy ever since his return from Silverton, adding, “From what Cameron tells me of your neighborhood, there must be some splendid hunting and fishing there, and I had last fall half a mind to try it.”
This time there was something comical in the eyes turned so mischievously upon Wilford, who colored scarlet for an instant, but soon recovered his composure, and invited Morris home with him to dinner.
“I shall not take a refusal,” he said, as Morris beganto decline. “Mother and the young ladies will be delighted to see you again. Mark will go with us, of course.”
There was something so hearty in Wilford’s invitation that Morris did not again object, and two hours later found him in the drawing-room at No.—— Fifth Avenue, receiving the friendly greetings of Mrs. Cameron and her daughters, each of whom vied with the other in their polite attentions to him.
Morris did not regret having accepted Wilford’s invitation to dinner, as by this means he saw the home which had well nigh been little Katy Lennox’s. She would be sadly out of place here with these people, he thought, and he looked upon all their formality and ceremony, and then contrasted it with what Katy had been accustomed to. Juno would kill her outright, was his next mental comment, as he watched that haughty young lady, dividing her coquetries between himself and Mr. Ray, who being every way desirable, both in point of family and wealth, was evidently her favorite. She had colored scarlet when first presented to Dr. Grant, and her voice had trembled as she took his offered hand, for she remembered the time when her liking had not been concealed, and was only withdrawn at the last because she found how useless it was to waste her affections upon one who did not prize them.
When Wilford first returned from Silverton he had, as a sure means of forgetting Katy, told his mother and sister something of the farm-house and its inmates; and Juno, while ridiculing both Helen and Katy, had felt a fierce pang of jealousy in knowing they were cousins to Morris Grant, who lived so near that he could, if he liked, see them every day. In Paris Juno had suspected that somebody was standing between her and Dr. Grant, and with the quick insight of a smart, bright woman, she guessed that it was one of these cousins—Katy most likely, her brother having described Helen as very commonplace,—and for a time she had hated poor, innocent Katy most cordially for having come between her and the only man for whom she had ever really cared. Gradually, however, the feeling died away, but was revived again at sight of Morris Grant, and at the table she could not forbear saying to him,
“By the way, Dr. Grant, why did you never tell us of those charming cousins, when you were in Paris? Brother Will describes one of them as a little water lily, she is so fair and pretty. Katy, I think, is her name. Wilford, isn’t it Katy Lennox whom you think so beautiful, and with whom you are more than half in love?”
“Yes, itisKaty,” and Wilford spoke sternly, for he did not like Juno’s bantering tone, but he could not stop her, and she went on,
“Are they your own cousins, Dr. Grant?”
“No, they are removed from me two or three degrees, their father having been only my second cousin.”
The fact that Katy Lennox was not nearly enough related to Dr. Grant to prevent his marrying her if he liked, did not improve Juno’s amiability, and she continued to ask questions concerning both Katy and Helen, the latter of whom she persisted in thinking was strong-minded, until Mark Ray came to the rescue, diverting her attention by adroitly complimenting her in some way, and so relieving Wilford and Morris, both of whom were exceedingly annoyed.
“When Will visits Silverton again I mean to go with him,” she said to Morris at parting, but he did not tell her that such an event would give him the greatest pleasure. On the contrary, he merely replied,
“If you do you will find plenty of room at Linwood for those four trunks which I remember seeing in Paris, and your brother will tell you whether I am a hospitable host or not.”
Biting her lip with chagrin, Juno went back to the drawing-room, while Morris returned to his hotel, accompanied by Wilford, who passed the entire evening with him, appearing somewhat constrained, as if there was something on his mind which he wished to say; but it remained unspoken, and there was no allusion to Silverton until, as Wilford was leaving, he said,
“Remember me kindly to the Silverton friends, and say I have not forgotten them.”
And this was all there was to carry back to Katy, who on the afternoon of Morris’s return from New York was at Linwood, waiting to pour his tea and make his toast, shepretended, though the real reason was shining all over her tell-tale face, which grew so bright and eager when Morris said,
“I dined at Mr. Cameron’s, Kitty.”
But the brightness gradually faded as Morris described his call and then repeated Wilford’s message.
“And that was all,” Katy whispered sorrowfully as she beat the damask cloth softly with her fingers, shutting her lips tightly together to keep back her disappointment.
When Morris glanced at her again there was a tear on her long eyelashes, and it dropped upon her cheek, followed by another and another, but he did not seem to see it, and talked of New York and the fine sights in Broadway until Katy was able to take part in the conversation.
“Please don’t tellHelenthat you saw Wilford,” she said to Morris as he walked home with her after tea, and that was the only allusion she made to it, never after that mentioning Wilford’s name or giving any token of the love still so strong within her heart, and waiting only for some slight token to waken it again to life and vigor.
This was in the winter, and Katy had been very sick since then, while Morris had come to believe that Wilford was forgotten, and when, as she grew stronger, he saw how her eyes sparkled at his coming, and how impatient she seemed if he was obliged to hurry off, hope whispered that she would surely be his, and his usually grave face wore a look of happiness which his patients noticed, feeling themselves better after one of his cheery visits. Poor Morris! he was little prepared for the terrible blow in store for him, when one day early in April he started, as usual, to visit Katy, saying to himself, “If I find her alone, perhaps I’ll ask if she will come to Linwood this summer;” and Morris paused a moment beneath a beechwood tree to still the throbbings of his heart, which beat so fast as he thought of going home from his weary work and finding Kate there, his little wife—whom he might caress and love all his affectionate nature would prompt him to. He knew that in some points she was weak, but then she was very young, and there was about her so much of purity, innocence, and perfect beauty, that few men, however strong their intellect, could withstand her, and Morris feltthat in possessing her he should have all he needed to make this life desirable. She would improve as she grew older, and it would be a most delightful task to train her into what she was capable of becoming. Alas for Dr. Morris! He was very near the farm-house now, and there were only a few minutes between him and the cloud which would darken his horizon so completely. Katy was alone, sitting up in her pretty dressing gown of blue, which was so becoming to her pure complexion. Her hair, which had been all cut away during her long sickness, was growing out again somewhat darker than before, and lay in rings upon her head, making her look more childish than ever. But to this Morris did not object. He liked to have her a child, and he thought he had never seen her so beautiful as she was this morning, when, with glowing cheek and dancing eyes, she greeted him as he came in.
“Oh, Dr. Morris!” she began, holding up a letter she had in her hand, “I am so glad you’ve come! Wilford has not forgotten me. He has written, and he is coming again, if I will let him; Iamso glad! Ain’t you? Seeing you knew all about it, and never told Helen, I’ll let you read the letter.”
And she held it toward the young man leaning against the mantel and panting for the breath which came so heavily.
Something he said apologetically about beingsnow blind, for there was that day quite a fall of soft spring snow; and then, with a mighty effort which made his heart quiver with pain, Morris was himself once more, and took the letter in his hand.
“Perhaps I ought not to read it,” he said, but Katy insisted, and thinking to himself, “It will cure me sooner perhaps,” he read the few lines Wilford Cameron had written to his “dear little Katy.”
That was the way he addressed her, going on to say that circumstances which he could not explain to her had kept him silent ever since he left her the previous autumn; but through all he never for a moment had forgotten her, thinking of her the more for the silence he had maintained. “And now that I have risen above the circumstances,” he added, in conclusion, “I write to ask if I may come toSilverton again? If I may, just drop me one word, ‘come,’ and in less than a week I shall be there. Yours very truly, W. Cameron.”
Morris read the letter through, feeling that every word was separating him further and further from Katy, to whom he said, “You will answer this?”
“Yes, oh yes; perhaps to-day.”
“And you will tell him to come?”
“Why,—what else should I tell him?” and Katy’s blue eyes looked wonderingly at Morris, who hardly knew what he was doing, or why he said to her next, “Listen to me, Katy. You know why Wilford Cameron comes here a second time, and what he will probably ask you ere he goes away: but, Katy, you are not strong enough yet to see him under so exciting circumstances, and, as your physician, I desire that you tell him to wait at least three weeks before he comes. Will you do so, Katy?”
“That is just as Helen talked,” Katy answered mournfully. “She said I was not able.”
“And will you heed us?” Morris asked again, while Katy after a moment consented, and glad of this respite from what he knew to a certainty would be, Morris dealt out her medicine, and for an instant felt her rapid pulse, but did not retain her hand within his own, nor lay his other upon her head, as he had sometimes done.
He could not do that now, so he hurried away, finding the world into which he went far different from what it had seemed an hour ago. Then all was bright and hopeful; but now, alas! a darker night was gathering round him than any he had ever known, and the patients visited that day marveled at the whiteness of his face, asking if he were ill. Yes, he answered them truly, and for two days he was not seen again, but remained at home alone, where none but his God was witness to what he suffered; but when the third day came he went again among his sick, grave, quiet and unchanged in outward appearance, unless it was that his voice, always so kind, had now a kinder tone and his manner was tenderer, more sympathizing. Inwardly, however, there was a change, for Morris Grant had lain himself upon the sacrificial altar, willing to be and to endure whatever God should appoint, knowingthat all would eventually be for his good. To the farm-house he went every day, talking most with Helen now, but never forgetting who it was sitting so demurely in the arm-chair, or flitting about the room, for Katy was gaining rapidly. Love perhaps had had nothing to do with her dangerous illness, but it had much to do with her recovery, and those not in the secret wondered to see how she improved, her cheeks growing round and full and her eyes shining with returning health and happiness.
At Helen’s instigation Katy had deferred Wilford’s visit four weeks instead of three, but in that time there had come two letters from him, so full of anxiety and sympathy for “his poor little Katy who had been so sick,” that even Helen began to think that he was not as proud and heartless as she supposed, and that he did love her sister after all.
“If I supposed he meant to deceive her I should wish I was a man to cowhide him,” she said to herself, with flashing eye, as she heard Katy exulting that he was coming “to-morrow.”
This time he would stop at Linwood, for Katy had asked Morris if he might, while Morris had told her yes, feeling his heart-wound throb afresh, as he thought how hard it would be to entertain his rival. Of himself Morris could do nothing, but with the help he never sought in vain he could do all things, and so he gave orders that the best chamber should be prepared for his guest, bidding Mrs. Hull see that no pains were spared for his entertainment, and then with Katy he waited for the day, the last one in April, which would bring Wilford Cameron a second time to Silverton.