Mrs. Hammond told me one day I ought to marry a gentleman; and it pleased me to hear her say it, even though I guessed she meant Mr. Russell—and I knew he wasn't a real gentleman.
Mother was very busy with Miss Russell. It didn't seem as if she could know much of what was going on outside the sick-room, she was so much shut up in it. I never could be sure, though. Mother had such sharp eyes; she seemed able to see through anything. Her not speaking meant nothing, for she wasn't a sieve, like many women, always letting everything in her mind run out. If she didn't think the time was come for speaking, she'd wait till it did come.
Miss Russell was very ill for several days. She had to keep still, and at first she might not talk. Mother seldom left her. I think those two took to one another at first sight, as people sometimes do.
She was wonderfully patient, and never complained. She didn't even seem to be in a hurry to get well. I used to go and sit by her sometimes, and watch her quiet pale face. Often she looked as if she had very happy thoughts; but that wasn't always.
One evening, mother had gone for a few minutes into the garden, and I was there instead. Miss Russell was asleep, when all of a sudden she stirred, and put out both hands.
"Don't, don't! oh, Walter, don't!" she says, in such a sad voice.
I kept still, and didn't speak, only wondering what she meant.
"O Walter, don't!" she said again, and then she woke, and her eyes met mine.
"I think you were dreaming, weren't you?" I said.
"Yes, I was dreaming," she said, and sighed. "Such an uncomfortable dream! I am glad you roused me."