CHAPTER VI. COLONEL HERBERT TO THE RESCUE.
There are times in life when the brain ceases to act—that is, consecutively—when the heart ceases to perform its usual functions, and when all life, and all that life means, becomes topsy-turvy. This happened to be the case with little Maureen O'Brien. When she entered Colonel Herbert's house looking brave and upright, never shedding a tear nor uttering a sigh, that brave little heart of hers suddenly gave way. She fell down in a deep and prolonged swoon. When she came to herself again she was in a small white bed, and two nurses were taking care of her. She did not recognise the room, and she did not recognise the nurses. They were of no moment to her. She passed quickly away again into a sort of trance, not a death trance by any means, but a fever trance. During that time she talked a great deal about step-auntie, and said with bright, uplifted eyes: "I don't mind being a charity child, step-auntie; I don't mind one little bit."
Uncle Pat came to see her, and so did Dominic, but she did not know either of them. She kept on with her eternal moan, "I don't mind being a charity child."
Then grave professional men came and stood by the little white bed and felt the fluttering pulse, and said gravely that the child was suffering from shock of a severe description.
Uncle Pat said: "Is Maureen in danger?"
They replied, "Yes, she is in great danger."
Then Uncle Pat took up his abode at Rathclaren, and Colonel Herbert endeavoured to cheer him all he could. There was a post-mortem examination on the poor wife who had broken her neck, and then there was her funeral, which was attended by almost everyone in the country, for the Irish are great at going to funerals, and do not need nor expect invitations thereto. They were interested in Mrs. O'Brien, and, although they had hated her in life, they quite loved her in death, because her death was so sudden and romantic, and, in short, what so exactly fitted their Celtic natures.
So Mrs. O'Brien was laid in the old family vault of the O'Briens in great state and unbounded respect, and the Rector gave away money freely, and so did Colonel Herbert, and the people got more drunk than ever that night at public houses; and that was the earthly end of this miserable woman.
But meanwhile a child, quite a young child, lay close to the eternal shores, upstairs in Colonel Herbert's house. Very weak she grew and very faint, and the fever ran high and yet higher, until at last Dominic, in a fit of ungovernable grief, entered the room without any leave and held one of the little burning bands between his two manly ones; and he held it so long and so firmly that the little hand ceased to struggle and drops of dew came out on the white low forehead. Then Dominic motioned to the nurse to bring eau de Cologne and water, and the nurse, wondering at the lad and the power he showed, obeyed him to the letter.
All night long Dominic stayed by Maureen's side. What he suffered in body no words can describe, but he would have gone through worse torture for Maureen.
The doctors came and looked and whispered to each other, and one said, "This is too wonderful," and the other said, "She is asleep. Whatever happens, she must not be awakened."
Then the first doctor said to the boy, "Can you bear to kneel just as you are kneeling all night long?"
And Dominic answered, "I could bear it for every night of my life if it would save her."
So then the doctors, by Colonel Herbert's desire and by Mr. O'Brien's desire, supported the lad as best they could with pillows, and gave him sips of wine to drink, and one of the nurses got him to lean partly against her. But the cramp which was so slight at first became terrific, and the boy could have shrieked with agony. But he did not shriek, he did not stir, for he knew without anyone telling him that he was saving the life of his little mate.
Dominic knelt by that bedside from six in the evening until six the following morning, and all that time Maureen slept away her fever and awoke to consciousness.
"Why, Dom!" she said, in the weak, weak voice of a little bird; but Dominic was in a dead faint on the floor, and was carried out of the room without Maureen seeing what happened.
He soon revived and was as well as ever again, but as long as he lived he never forgot that night when he saved the life of his little playmate.
From that moment Maureen was pronounced out of danger. A turn for the better set in, and, although the convalescence was slow, it was also sure. She was too weary to ask questions, and for the first week of her recovery she slept most of the time. Then Uncle Pat came in and kissed her, and she kissed him back and looked into his sweet, grave eyes, but still she asked no questions, nor did he volunteer any information.
After that, weeks and weeks and weeks passed, and the summer entered into autumn and the autumn into winter; and the winter was a very cold one even for the south of Ireland, but Colonel Herbert's house was well-warmed and Maureen's room contained every luxury. The two nurses, Nurse Cecilia and Nurse Hora, delighted in their life in the luxurious mansion, and Maureen thought her own deep thoughts.
Autumn passed into winter, and on Christmas day Maureen was well enough to be dressed in a pretty soft little tea-gown of white cashmere, which Nurse Nora had made for her. Then she was laid on the couch by the glowing turf fire, and she was told that Colonel Herbert would like to see her.
"Oh, but I want to see Uncle Pat," said Maureen. "I'm beginning to remember things a little. Can I see Uncle Pat, Nurse Cecilia?"
"I don't think you can to-day, my pretty, but the Colonel is very anxious to have a little chat with you; only first he says you must have your dinner. Nurse Nora has gone to fetch it now."
Her dinner consisted of a delicious snipe, for these dainty birds abound in the boggy parts of Ireland; and she had a little glass of wine, very stimulating and strong. The wine brought the colour into her sweet cheeks and made her eyes look softer and larger than ever.
A few minutes later Colonel Herbert entered the room. He was one of the most distinguished men in the entire county, and Rathclaren was a perfectly kept place. The Colonel did not know much about girls or women, however, and was a trifle nervous as he entered the room, but when he saw the little figure on the sofa, the pink colour in the cheeks, the soft glow in the brown eyes, the hair which had been cut off during her illness but was now curling in tight rings all over her pretty head, made this child of one of his greatest friends look altogether adorable to him.
Maureen had not lost her straightforward way. She held out a tiny hand now, which was no longer plump or brown.
"Dear Colonel," she said, "you are good."
"I hate thanks," was the Colonel's reply.
"How funny," said Maureen, with one of her merry laughs; "so do I."
"That's right, my pushkeen; then I quite expect you and I will suit each other."
"We have always suited each other," said Maureen.
"Yes, that's quite true," replied the Colonel. "And we need not talk of the past, need we, Maureen, acushla?"
"Why, of course not," said Maureen; "that is," she added, "not unless you wish to. I am beginning to remember everything now most beautifully."
"Don't talk of it, child; don't talk of it," said the Colonel.
"I won't—if it really hurts you," said Maureen. "I would not dream of hurting one so good; but please, dear Colonel—you do not mind my calling you dear Colonel, do you?"
"Not one little scrap, alanna."
"That is all right," said Maureen. "You must see that I cannot help loving you. I hope you do not mind that."
"Well—upon my word," replied Colonel Herbert, "I did not know that any one living loved me."
"Oh! but I do most truly. You see that you are a great soldierly man, and my father was your friend and the bravest of all brave soldiers. You see, dear Colonel, we are really close together. I, the daughter of a soldier; you, a soldier your very self. I cannot help loving you and feeling close to you, and I hope—I do hope that you do not mind—I want you to love me oh! so dreadfully badly, and I—well, I love you with all my heart."
The stern old Colonel never felt tears nearer to his eyes.
"Keep it up, child. I do not mind; in fact, I—I rather like it," he said.
"And may I call you 'dear Colonel'?"
"Yes, young 'un, yes."
"How, please, I have been in your house a long time."
"Since the summer," said the Colonel. "A matter of close on six months."
"Well, you see, in that time a little girl gets hungry."
"Good gracious! Sakes alive! Don't they give you enough to eat?"
"Oh, yes," said Maureen; "lashins and lavins. But it isn't that hunger. It's here——" She put her little white hand against her heart. "I'm hungry for Uncle Pat, and for darling Dominic, and for Denis and Kitty. When may I see them?"
"That's what I have come to you about, acushla. You see, it is this way: You had a good bit of serious illness—you're as right as a trivet now, but it might have been the other way round. Well, things happened that we needn't talk about, and your Uncle Pat wouldn't leave the house—not he, blessed man!—while you were in any sort of danger; but when all the danger was past (and I tell you, alanna, we did have one night of it)—when it was past and over and you were quite on the mend, the doctors who were looking after you took a good haul of him. My word, didn't they pull him about. Sounding him here and patting him there—they were great men, these doctors—and they said that if your Uncle Pat went off immediately to Egypt for the winter—why, he might get well or very nearly quite well. So, Maureen, you must forgive me; but I made him go, and there is a curate at Templemore; and as he couldn't go alone, Dominic went with him, and Denis and Kitty are both at boarding-school—not the school they used to go to, but a first-rate one in no less a place than old England; and I says to myself, says I, 'I can't have those bouncing brats back for the holidays; they'll be too much for Maureen.'"
"They wouldn't," murmured Maureen, but her voice was very low, and her eyes were really now full of tears, for she was too weak to keep them back. "They are not bouncing brats, Colonel; they are darlings!"
"Well, well, child, they may be so to you; but you see I'm an old bachelor and I have my notions. So it was arranged that the pair of them should stay at school for the Christmas holidays, and for that matter for Easter as well; and the long and short of it is this, Maureen, that you have to put up with the old Colonel until the warm weather comes and your Uncle returns. For when he finds Egypt too hot, he is ordered by the doctors to go to different parts of Switzerland, and the news of him is just of the very best. I have a letter in my pocket for you, Maureen, written by himself with orders that I should give it to you on Christmas Day if it was suitable."
"Is this Christmas Day?" cried Maureen.
"Why, yes, baby; have you forgotten everything? I wanted to bring you up some plum-pudding, but Nurse Cecilia wouldn't allow it. She's something of a tyrant is that woman, though she's a first-rate nurse."
"Indeed, she is; and so is Nurse Nora," said the child. "Oh, have I indeed forgotten so much, and has the time gone by at such a rate—and aren't you—aren't you sick of me, dear Colonel?"
"Well, this is about the tune of the thing," said Colonel Herbert: "I have taken a sort of fancy to you! Oh, there, child, for the Lord's sake! What are you doing?" For Maureen had slipped off her couch and had twined her weak little arms round the Colonel's neck, and given the confirmed old bachelor the first kiss he had ever received since his mother died.
"Child, child, you'll faint, or something awful will happen!"
"No, I won't. I'm not a bit fainty. I want to tell you that I love you"—here came a kiss—"and you love me"—another kiss.
"To be sure, pushkeen."
"Then that's all right. Put me back on the sofa, dear Colonel, and then give me Uncle Pat's letter, and then go away, please; only before you go, will you promise me one thing?"
"What is that, acushla machree?"
"I want you to come to me every day as you have come to-day until I am well enough to go to you, for we have just an awful lot to do and talk over before Uncle Pat comes back. Will you promise me, dear Colonel?"
"Yes, child. God help me, I think I'd promise you anything."
"Then that's all right and I am happy. I think I am about the happiest little girl in the world. I don't seem to have a care anywhere at all—only, please, my letter!"
"Yes, baby, only don't for goodness' sake, go and cry over it."
"You don't like cry-babies either," said Maureen.
"Of course not; they are detestable."
"Now my letter, please. Whatever you find in me, you won't find me a cry-baby."
The Colonel dropped a little packet into the child's bands and softly left the room.
"'Pon my word," he muttered to himself. "'Pon my word. I never could abide a wife, but a child like that of my very own, I could put up with her—'pon my word!"
Maureen lay for a few minutes after Colonel Herbert had left her with the unopened packet clasped in her two little white bands; and her eyes looked brighter than ever and her cheeks more rosy. In the packet were first of all quantities of enormous violets, which could be put into warm water and would revive by-and-by. Then there came two letters, one from Dominic and one from Uncle Pat.
Uncle Pat's letter was rather short. It ran somewhat as follows:
"Best of Darlings:—I get grand news of you from that fine fellow, Herbert, and if you are well enough to receive my Christmas greeting, here it is for you! The violets are from Dom. He's turning into a grand lad, and talks French to the manner born. Oh, what stories I shall have to tell you when I come home, for, Maureen—dear little Maureen—I am getting well. Each day I feel stronger. I am quite certain that with God's help I shall be with you when the long days come round again, and then what 'lashins' we'll have to talk to each other. Meanwhile, it is thought best for you to stay with the Colonel. You must be very sweet to him, and not bother him more than you can help; but you might ask him to lend you some books, for he has got quantities, and he is quite a famous Egyptologist, and you will like to know about the place where I am now regaining my health.
"God bless you, my darling. God above keep you!
Uncle Pat."
"P.S.—I send you a cheque for £500 to do what you like with."
The other letter was also short, but it seemed to go straight into Maureen's heart:
"Hurrah, playmate, good news—the best! The pater is getting well. We're having a right jolly time in this jolly place, and if you were with us it would be nothing short of perfection. I never did see such a magnificent country as Egypt. Oh, Maureen, the blue of the sky! And, oh, the soft delicious feel of the air; and no thought of rain, for of course it never rains. One day a week ago I went out and saw the three pyramids. I went out with a boy I came across, and he explained everything to me. He is a jolly sort, and his name is Oliver. There was the Great Pyramid with its steps, and we climbed it—every single step up to the top, and the two smaller pyramids; but the most wonderful thing of all was the Sphinx. I can't describe her to you except that she looked inscrutable and wise with all the wisdom of all the ages. There was a majesty about her; but there, I can't write tommyrot. We had tea afterwards at the Meena House Hotel, and then we came back in the cool of the evening. Oh, Maureen, the world is a big, big place, and I want to be a big traveller and see every inch of it. Good-bye for the present, my little darling.—Your loving old Dom."