CHAPTER XXX.
A GENEROUS OFFER.
Poor Charley, returning next day from London, depressed and discouraged at not seeing his father, was dazed to find his sweet wife gone, and to get her letter of explanation.
But after the first shock of surprise, and trouble, his warm heart thrilled with joy and pride at her noble deed.
“Father cannot help but forgive us now if she should save his life, dear girl, for when once he knows her how could he resist her grace and beauty?” he said, over and over, to himself hopefully, for the yearning for reunion with his kindred was strong within him.
“Rosalind is at the bottom of it all. If I could but break her influence, all might be well again; but she is posing as injured innocence and beauty, and hardening their hearts against me for her sake,” he thought, with impatient resentment. Then he put it from him to write a long letter to Berry—a real love letter, full of praise and tenderness, which he went and slipped under the front door of the inn that night.
She very soon found it, and smiled to herself as she appropriated the sealed envelope addressed simply to “The Lady Nurse.”
Hurrying to her tidy little room, she read the loving contents and kissed the letter over and over, hiding it next her heart, while she returned to her duties by the sick man, who was very ill indeed, with his eyes quite shut so that he could not see the vision of beauty and tenderness that bent over him. But not so wholly unconscious that he could not feel the balm of healing carried by the soft white hands that touched him so gently. He knew, dimly, by her gentle ministrations and the improved food, that the valet now had efficient aid. And that was enough, in his feverish state, to soothe his mind.
Within twenty-four hours came the physician engaged by Charley. Though he shook his head over the gravity of the case, he approved all that Berenice had done, and desired her to continue at her post.
So the days came and went and the disease ran its course quickly, while John Tousey also came down with a light case, so that the physician recommended another nurse, an elderly woman, who took second place to Berry in the conduct of the invalids.
Charley had taken the young physician frankly into his confidence, telling him to safeguard his young wife’s health very carefully, and by him he sent her daily letters of love and cheer, telling her how he missed her, and of the pride he felt in her noble mission.
But, ah, how they missed each other, the loving pair; how slowly the weeks of absence went, and how happy the day when Doctor Perry said to the lonely husband:
“My patients are convalescing fast. The valet is going to sit up to-day, and to-morrow the senator will be allowed to sit up for an hour or two. He is quite out of danger, and I am going to tell your wife she may leave him to-morrow and come home. I am not sure the patient will like it, for he is devoted to her and impatient of the elderly woman, but he will have to bear it.”
He was right, for when the senator was told next day that Miss Brown, as they called her, was going to leave him, he protested vigorously; said he could not spare her yet; he needed her to read and talk to him, and was willing to pay any price to have her stay on even one week longer. Why, his eyes had only got strong now to see how lovely and charming she was, and he needed some one pleasant to look at since he could not have his daughters, who were both on their bridal tours, and to whom he had not allowed any message of his illness to be sent.
“But you have a son, sir?” interrogated Doctor Perry.
The invalid’s face gloomed over, and he answered curtly:
“I had a son, sir, but he died to me when he disgraced his family by jilting the sweet young girl to whom he was betrothed, and wedding a low-born, scheming actress.”
He did not hear a low, soft sigh outside the half-open door, for Doctor Perry said, with apparent surprise:
“You astonish me, sir, for we English have been led to believe that in your favored land of America you raise no barriers against marriage with those of inferior birth or fortunes.”
The senator answered testily:
“We raise no barriers against true worth, Doctor Perry. I myself am a self-made man, risen from poverty, and not ashamed of it. But you have heard that circumstances alter cases? Well, let me explain. My son’s offense had not been so unpardonable had he been free to choose the girl he wed, but when he took the marriage vow he dishonored himself and his family because he was already pledged to another, a girl whose heart was almost broken by his falsity.”
“Yet rumor says that she is already consoled by a promise of your hand, sir,” the young physician ventured.
Senator Bonair’s face already reddened by his illness, flushed deeper as he exclaimed:
“You seem well posted on my affairs, sir.”
“I beg your pardon, but no offense was meant, my dear senator. Surely you know that the affairs of so eminent a person as yourself are public property. All I have spoken of to you I have read in the London newspapers, but perhaps I should not have ventured to discuss them with you.”
“You might choose pleasanter subjects,” the senator answered quickly. “For instance, my pretty young nurse whom we were discussing just now, and to whom Tousey says I really owe my life, coming to me as she did when I was in the worst stages of my illness.”
“Tousey tells the truth. You could hardly have lived a day longer without her kindly ministrations at the time she came to you. But the time has come when, for the sake of her own health, she must forsake you and go home to rest.”
“Ah, she is tired, broken-down—you mean that?”
“Somewhat that way, for Miss Brown herself has had a serious illness this summer, and that explains why she was found in this rude village where she remains to strengthen her health. I hardly believe it safe for her to remain another week in attendance on you. But here she comes,” as a light step crossed the threshold, “and I will let her speak for herself.”
Berenice entered, graceful as a young princess in her snowy white gown and becoming nurse’s cap, and she gave the doctor a roguish smile that plainly said:
“I’ve been eavesdropping, but, of course, you knew that I was there.”
He smiled back at her and retired, leaving her alone with the patient, who, in his dressing gown, lay back at ease in his reclining chair, watching with admiring eyes every movement of his fair nurse.
Berry sat down close to him and looked, shyly, into his face, trying to appear at ease, though her poor heart thumped wildly against her side, and the fitful color came and went, like a flag of distress, in her cheeks.
“Ah, you are getting on fast, sir!” she cried, with a slight tremor in her musical voice. “Your eyes seem quite strong to-day, and that blistering red skin is getting fairer. How fortunate, too, that you will only be pitted very slightly, and if I could but have come to you a little sooner you need not have carried a single scar.”
“You came in time to save my life, dear child, that was enough,” replied the great man, so kindly that it emboldened Berenice to exclaim:
“Oh, how glad I was to serve you, sir! I can never make you realize it. It is sweet to save a life so valuable to the world and to so many friends who love you.”
He smiled at her gratefully.
“Among those latter friends, please let me have the pleasure of counting you, henceforth, Miss Brown,” he answered. “In my gratitude to you for all you have done for me in this terrible illness, I look upon you almost as a daughter, and am eager to advance your interests in any way most pleasing to you. Our good doctor has just told me that you must leave me soon, to my great regret. But, as he puts it, on the score of your health, I dare not protest against my ill fortune in losing you, just as we begin to know each other well.”
“Your words make me very, very happy,” she sweetly said, “but do not think that I intend to desert you altogether, for I shall remain in the village a while longer, and I will come and see you every day, if you will let me.”
“I shall be only too glad to have you come whenever you will, my dear young lady, and I wish you to understand that I take a deep interest in you and am anxious to reward you beyond your mere salary for all you have done for me. Tell me frankly, Miss Brown, if there is any great favor, financial or otherwise, I can do for you?”