“Who sits up with her?” he inquired.
“The nurse, of course,” returned Harry: “that is, if snoring in an arm-chair deserves to be called so; and, until she is out of danger, or, if it should be so, until God may see fit to take her from me, I will never leave her!”
“Well, then, if she wakes of herself before morning, be very careful not to startle or alarm her. Watch her eyes closely, and see if she recognizes you; if she does so, that will be a favourable symptom; if she speaks to you, control your feelings, and answer her quietly and calmly; then instantly send for me. I think you perfectly understand? Well, then, as I’ve ridden a good many miles to-day, and have even a longer round to take to-morrow, I’ll go and lie down. I shall not undress, so I can be with our patient the moment you send for me.”
Thus saying, the doctor, who was a short, plump, florid little man, with a plain face preserved from insignificance by a pair of bright, keen eyes, and a magnificent forehead, yawned twice, and betook himself to the spare room allotted to him.
Twelve o’clock! Alice still asleep! The nurse having arranged a formidable line of medicine bottles ready for use, produces a well-thumbed volume from her pocket, and adjusting her spectacles, sits down to read by the night-lamp. One o’clock! The nurse, after many fruitless attempts to keep up appearances, and delude Harry into the belief that she is wide awake, begins to nod over her book, occasionally varying the performance by trying to swallow a suppressed snore, and choking in the attempt. Two o’clock! No change in the patient; but the nurse, who during the last half-hour has settled down into a deep and undisguisable sleep, begins to snore so loudly that Coverdale, afraid of her disturbing Alice, takes her by the shoulder, and leads her quietly, but unresistingly, into the dressing-room, and seats her on a sofa; to which discipline, the nurse, who has once or twice before experienced the force of Harry’s quiet manner, submits with a lamb-like meekness and docility, of which those who had seen her tyrannizing in the sick chambers of her poorer clients, would scarcely have deemed her capable. Three o’clock! How long the hours seem, and how dreary! The stillness—broken only by the measured breathing of the patient and the distant snoring of the banished nurse—the deep, solemn stillness of a country house at night, becomes painfully oppressive to the overwrought senses of the watcher. Will the crisis never arrive? Alice moves slightly, and moans in her sleep. Harry trembles from head to foot. Is she about to wake? Will she recognize him? No!—she sinks again into a deep, heavy slumber, and Harry breathes a sigh of relief and of thankfulness that the fearful moment is again postponed. Four o’clock! The dim grey light of dawn begins to peep in through the opening in the shutters, causing the lamp to shed lurid, flickering rays around the sick room, and thus adding to, rather than diminishing, the darkness. How cold it has become! and how every nerve and fibre in Harry’s injured arm aches and throbs! What an eternity of anguish appears capable of being condensed into a few minutes of severe bodily pain!
Hark! what is that low, wailing sound outside the window? He starts, and turns pale! Why do those foolish, hateful legends of Banshees, throng and crowd into his brain? Why does he remember with shivering dread that old wife’s tale of a white lady who weeps and wrings her hands before the death of any member of the Coverdale family? He laughed at it as a boy, and dressed himself in white to frighten the maids. He cannot laugh at it now! Again it comes, louder and more prolonged! but he knows this time that it is the howling of a dog—the King Charles’s spaniel, Alice’s pet, which he has been obliged to have tied up, lest it might disturb her; but hitherto it had borne its confinement quietly. Why should it howl so dismally to-night? Did any strange instinct warn it of its mistress’s danger? Ah! that word—danger!—yes, a danger from which all his deep fervent love, and his unequalled, manly strength, were alike powerless to shield her. How crushed, and helpless, and miserable, well-nigh despairing, he feels! And yet are they not both in the hands of a merciful Father? God’s will be done! but as the words of resignation pass his lips, the big tears roll down his cheeks as the recollection of all that he might be resigning wrung his loving breast. Covering his eyes with his hand, he strove to shut out all thought, all feeling! How long he remained in this position he never knew; but as soon as he removed his hand, it struck him that Alice had changed her attitude. Shading his eyes from the glare of the lamp, he gazed earnestly at her. Yes, she had moved, and surely she was awake. While he yet looked, unable to trust the evidence of his senses, a soft, faint voice, scarcely above a whisper, pronounced his name: so low was the sound, that, fancying it might be a delusion of his own overwrought senses, Harry bent down his head, as he asked, in a quiet, gentle tone of voice—
“Alice, darling, are you awake? Did you call me?”
For a moment there was no reply, and then the same gentle voice whispered—
“Harry, dear, you have been away a long, long time.”
As she spoke, she tried to raise her arm to draw his face nearer; but the wasted muscles refused to do their duty, and the poor thin, almost transparent hand, dropped powerless beside her.