 | CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE FEVER AND ITS RESULTS. The Cameron pride, or, Purified by suffering |  |
36. CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE FEVER AND ITS RESULTS.
WILFORD could not forget Katy's face, so full of
reproach. It followed him continually, and was
the magnet which turned his steps homeward before
his business was quite done, and before the
telegram had found him. Thus it was with no knowledge
of existing circumstances that he reached New
York just at the close of the day, and ordering a carriage,
was driven rapidly towards home. All the shutters in
the front part of the house were closed, and not a ray of
light was to be seen in the parlors as he entered the hall,
where the gas was burning dimly.
“Katy is at home,” he said, as he went into the library,
where a shawl was thrown across a chair, as if some one
had lately been there.
It was his mother's shawl, and Wilford was wondering
if she was there, when down the stairs came a man's rapid
step, and the next moment Dr. Grant came into the
room, starting when he saw Wilford, who felt intuitively
that something was wrong.
“Is Katy sick?” was his first question, which Morris
answered in the affirmative, holding him back as he
was starting for her room, and saying to him, “Let me
send your mother to you first.”
What passed between Wilford and his mother was
never known exactly, but at the close of the interview
Mrs Cameron was very pale, while Wilford's face looked
dark and anxious as he said, “You think he understands
it then?”
“Yes, in part, but the world will be none the wiser for
his knowledge. I knew Dr. Grant before you did, and
no one whom I would trust as soon.”
Mrs. Cameron had paid a high compliment to Morris
Grant, and Wilford bowed in assent, asking next how
she managed Dr. Craig.
“That was easy, inasmuch as he believed it an insane
freak of Katy's to have no other physician than her
cousin. It was quite natural, he said, adding that she
was as safe with Dr. Grant as any one. And I was glad,
for I could not have a stranger know of that affair.
You will go up now,” Mrs. Cameron continued, and
a moment after Wilford stood in the dimly-lighted room,
where Katy was talking of Genevra and St. Mary's, and
was only kept upon her pillow by the strong arm of Morris,
who stood over her when Wilford entered, trying in
vain to quiet her.
She knew him, and writhing herself away from Morris's
arms, she said to him, “Genevra is not in that grave at
St. Mary's; she is living, and you are not my husband.
So you can leave the house at once. Morris will settle
the estate, and no bill shall be sent in for your board and
lodging.
In some moods Wilford would have smiled at being
thus summarily dismissed from his own house; but he
was too sore now, too sensitive to smile, and his voice
was rather severe as he laid his hand on Katy's and said,
“Don't be foolish, Katy. Don't you know me? I am
Wilford, your husband.”
“That was, you mean,” Katy rejoined, drawing her
hand quickly away. “Go find your first love, where bullets
fall like hail, and where there is pain, and blood, and
carnage. Genevra is there.”
She would not let him come near her, and grew so excited
with his presence that he was forced either to leave
the room or sit where she could not see him. He chose
the latter, and from his seat by the door watched with a
half jealous, angry heart, Morris Grant doing for his
wife what he should have done.
With Morris Katy was gentle as a little child, talking
still of Genevra, but talking quietly, and in a way which
did not wear her out as fast as her excitement did.
“What God hath joined together let not man put
short sermons as the night wore on, but just as the
morning dawned she fell into the first quiet sleep she had
had during the last twenty-four hours. And while she
slept Wilford ventured near enough to see the sunken
cheeks and hollow eyes which wrung a groan from him
as he turned to Morris, and asked what he supposed was
the immediate cause of her sudden illness?
“A terrible shock, the nature of which I understand,
but you have nothing to fear from me,” Morris replied.
“I accuse you to no man, but leave you to settle it with
your conscience whether you did right to deceive her so
long.”
Morris spoke as one having authority, and Wilford
simply bowed his head, feeling no resentment towards
one who had ventured to reprove him. Afterwards he
might remember it differently, but now he was too anxious
to keep Morris there to quarrel with him, and so he
made no reply, but sat watching Katy as she slept, wondering
if she would die, and feeling how terrible life would
be without her. Suddenly Genevra's warning words rang
in his ear.
“God will not forgive you for the wrong you have done
me.”
Was Genevra right? Had God remembered all this
time, and overtaken him at last? It might be, and with
a groan Wilford hid his face in his hands, believing that
he repented of his sin, and not knowing that his fancied
repentance arose merely from the fact that he had been
detected. Could the last few days be blotted out, and
Katy stand just where she did, with no suspicion of him,
he would have cast his remorse to the winds, and as it is
not such repentance God accepts, Wilford had only begun
to sip the cup of retribution presented to his lips.
Worn out with watching and waiting, Mrs. Cameron,
who would suffer neither Juno nor Bell to come near the
house, waited uneasily for the arrival of the New Haven
train, which she hoped would bring Helen to her aid.
Under ordinary circumstances she would rather not have
met her, for her presence would keep the letter so constantly
in mind; but now anybody who could be trusted
was welcome, and when at last there came a cautious
vexation when she saw the timid-looking woman
following close behind Helen, and whom the latter presented
as “My mother, Mrs. Lennox.”
Convinced that Morris's sudden journey to New York
had something to do with Katy's illness, and almost distracted
with fears for her daughter's life, Mrs. Lennox
could not remain at home and wait for the tardy mail or
careless telegraph. She must go to her child, and casting
off her dread of Wilford's displeasure, she had come
with Helen, and was bowing meekly to Mrs. Cameron,
who neither offered her hand nor gave any token of
greeting except a distant bow and a simple “Good morning,
madam.”
But Mrs. Lennox was too anxious to notice the lady's
haughty manner as she led them to the library and then
went for her son. Wilford was not glad to see his mother-in-law,
but he tried to be polite, answering her questions
civilly, and when she asked if it were true that he
had sent for Morris, assuring her that it was not. “Dr.
Grant happened here very providentially, and I hope to
keep him until the crisis is past, although he has just
told me he must go back to-morrow.” It hurt Wilford's
pride that she, whom he considered greatly his inferior,
should learn his secret; but it could not now be helped,
and within an hour after her arrival she was looking curiously
at him for an explanation of the strange things
she heard from Katy's lips.
“Was you a widower when you married my daughter?”
she said to him, when at last Helen left the room and she
was alone with him.
“Yes, madam,” he replied, “some would call me so,
though I was divorced from my wife. As this was a matter
which did not in any way concern your daughter, I
deemed it best not to tell her. Latterly she has found it
out, and it is having a very extraordinary effect upon
her.”
And this was all Mrs. Lennox knew until alone with
Helen, who told her the story as she had heard it from
Morris. His sudden journey to New York was thus accounted
for, and Helen explained it to her mother, advising
her to say nothing of it, as it might be better for
It seemed very necessary that Dr. Grant should return
to Silverton, and the day following Helen's arrival
in New York, he made arrangements to do so.
“You have other physicians here,” he said to Wilford,
who objected to his leaving. “Dr. Craig will do as well
as I.”
Wilford admitted that he might, but it was with a sinking
heart that he saw Morris depart, and then went to
Katy, who began to grow very restless and uneasy, bidding
him go away and send Dr. Morris back. It was in
vain that they administered the medicine just as Morris
directed. Katy grew constantly worse, until Mrs. Lennox
asked that another doctor be called. But to this
Wilford would not listen. Fear of exposure and censure
was stronger than his fears for Katy's life, which seemed
balancing upon a thread as that long night and the next
day went by. Three times Wilford telegraphed for Morris,
and it was with unfeigned joy that he welcomed him
back at last, and heard that he had so arranged his business
as to stay with Katy while the danger lasted.
With a monotonous sameness the days now came and
went, people still shunning the house as if the plague
was there. Once, Bell Cameron came round to call on
Helen, holding her breath as she passed through the
hall, and never asking to go near Katy's room. Two or
three times, too, Mrs. Banker's carriage stood at the
door, and Mrs. Banker herself came in, appearing so cool
and distant that Helen could scarcely keep back her tears
as she guessed the cause. Mark, too, was in the city,
having returned with the Seventh Regiment; but from
Esther, Helen learned that he was about joining the army
as captain of a company, composed of the finest men in
the city. The next she heard was from Mrs. Banker,
who, incidentally, remarked, “I shall be very lonely now
that Mark is gone. He left me to-day for Washington.”
There were tears on the mother's face, and her lip
quivered as she tried to keep them back, by looking from
the window into the street, instead of at her companion,
who, overcome with the rush of feeling which swept over
her, laid her face on the sofa arm and sobbed aloud.
“Why, Helen! Miss Lennox, I am surprised! I had
care,” Mrs. Baker exclaimed, coming closer to Helen,
who stammered out, “I beg you will excuse me, I cannot
help it. I care for all our soldiers. It seems so terrible.”
At the words “I care for all the soldiers,” a shadow of
disappointment flitted over Mrs. Banker's face. She
knew her son had offered himself and been refused, as
she supposed; and she believed too that Helen had given
publicity to the affair, feeling justly indignant at this
breach of confidence and lack of delicacy in one whom
she had liked so much, and whom she still liked, in spite
of the wounded pride which had prompted her to appear
so cold and distant.
“Perhaps it is all a mistake,” she thought, as she
continued standing by Helen, “or it may be she has relented,”
and for a moment she felt tempted to ask why
her boy had been refused.
But Mark would not be pleased with her interference,
she knew, and so the golden moment fled, and when she
left the house, the misunderstanding between herself and
Helen was just as wide as ever. Wearily after that the
days passed with Helen until all thoughts of herself
were forgotten in the terrible fear that death was really
brooding over the pillow where Katy lay, insensible to all
that was passing around her. The lips were silent now,
and Wilford had nothing to fear from the tongue hitherto
so busy. Juno, Bell, and father Cameron all came to see
her, dropping tears upon the face looking so old and
worn with suffering. Mrs. Cameron, too, was very sorry,
very sad, but managed to find some consolation in mentally
arranging a grand funeral, which would do honor to
her son, and wondering if “those Barlows in Silverton
would think they must attend.” And while she thus arranged,
the mother who had given birth to Katy wrestled
in earnest prayer that God would spare her child, or at
least grant some space in which she might be told of the
world to which she was hastening. What Wilford suffered
none could guess. His face was very white, and
its expression almost stern, as he sat by the young wife
who had been his for little more than two brief years,
and who, but for his sin, might not have been lying
there, unconscious of the love and grief around her. With
too, sat watching Katy, feeling for the pulse, and bending
his ear to catch the faintest breath which came from
her parted lips, while in his heart there was an earnest
prayer for the safety of the soul, hovering so evenly between
this world and the next. He did not ask that she
might live, for if all were well hereafter he knew it was
better for her to die in her young womanhood, than to
live till the heart, now so sad and bleeding, had grown
callosed with sorrow. And yet it was terrible to think
of Katy dead; terrible to think of that face and form
laid away beneath the turf of Greenwood, where those
who loved her best could seldom go to weep.
And as they sat there thus, the night shadows stole
into the room, and the hours crept on till from a city
tower a clock struck ten, and Morris, motioning Helen to
his side, bade her go with her mother to rest. “We do
not need you here,” he said; “your presence can do no
good. Should a change occur, you shall be told at once.”
Thus importuned, Helen and her mother withdrew,
and only Morris and Wilford remained to watch that
heavy slumber, so nearly resembling death.
| CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE FEVER AND ITS RESULTS. The Cameron pride, or, Purified by suffering | |