 | CHAPTER VI.
IN THE SPRING. The Cameron pride, or, Purified by suffering |  |
6. 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
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 fo 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 began to
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 daughter, 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, as
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
sisters 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 common
place,—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, it is Katy,” 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,
she pretended, though the real reason was shining all
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 eye-lashes, 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 tell Helen that 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 Katy 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,
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; I am so 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 being snow
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
if I may come to Silverton 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, and 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
endure whatever God should appoint, knowing that 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 doall 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
asecon time to Silverton.
| CHAPTER VI.
IN THE SPRING. The Cameron pride, or, Purified by suffering | |