The garden of resurrection

by E. Temple Thurston

He stood up and looked at me. I knew he guessed it all by then. But he only asked if there were a bed where we could put her.

"She must go to bed at once," said he.

"There's Mr. Moxon's bed," began Mrs. Bullwell.

"I'll sleep there," said I. "Put her in my room."

There was no surprise in Perowne's face, but I am sure that if Mrs. Bullwell had described her feelings she would have made some allusion to that feather which has the power to lay low a woman even of her proportions.

So we carried her upstairs and laid her on my bed. I wonder shall I ever forget the strangeness of that first sensation which the sight of Clarissa's head upon my pillow brought me. But I was not allowed to look at her for long. Perowne told me to go downstairs and wait.

"I'll come and tell you how we're getting on in a minute or two. Don't worry yourself. Have some tea."

My Lord! They are casual, these doctors! It strikes you like that when they are dealing with some one in the hollow of whose hand lies your only hope of happiness.

I went out of the room and closed the door behind me. But to take tea when such an issue as Clarissa's life was weighing in the balance! I cannot remember walking downstairs to my room. The first thing that comes back to me is the memory of standing by my table with that little weapon in my hand which was to have done for me such wonders of legerdemain. With one touch of its bright steel trigger I was to have passed from that pit of depression—to what? The forgetfulness, the oblivion I suppose which, since my visit to Ballysheen, I had lost all power to conjure in my mind.

I think I must have stood some moments looking at it, holding it out in the palm of my open hand. At last I locked it away in an empty drawer. I had no further use for it then. I had come back to the power of something better than oblivion. Since that moment when Clarissa's lips had touched my cheek, I had discovered once more that priceless secret of remembrance. If Clarissa's life were safe it mattered little to me what issue should befall. She had come to me in trouble. I might never win her more than that. Indeed, I scarcely hoped of it. Her words on the cliffs that day at Ballysheen were always ringing in my ears. "You're ugly! You couldn't tell the truth!"