Red and Black

by Grace S. Richmond

And then, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, the tears leaped into her eyes. Like a small boy, abashed at having shown emotion, she threw back her head, smiling again, and drawing the back of her hand across the tell-tale eyes. “Oh, I’m ashamed of myself,” she breathed. “Believe me, I’m not so weak as this looks.”

“You’re not in the least weak. And it’s three o’clock in the morning, the hour when things take hold. See here——” And he looked her straight in the eyes. “Jane Ray,” he said, not too gently, but as a man might say it to a man, though he spoke low, on account of that open door—“I want you to know that, whatever comes, I’ll see you through. I won’t add—‘if you’ll let me’—for you’re going to let me. You can’t help it—after to-night.” And he held out his hand. “Shall we make a pledge of it?” he added, smiling gravely.

She looked straight back at him. “You can’t—see me through,” she said. “You—I’ve no claim on you. You have your church——”

“I have. Is that a reason why I can’t stand by you? If it is—it’s not the church I gave myself to. And—I think you need another brother. I’m sure Cary does.” His hand was waiting. He looked down at it. “Are you going to make me take it back?” he asked. “That would—feel very strange. I didn’t offer it—to take back.”

She put her own into it then. He gave it a long, strong clasp and let it go. Without looking at him she turned and ran downstairs, and he went back into the room where Cary was beginning to stir restlessly again.

He was conscious, in every fibre, that something had happened to him. He had not had the least idea, when he had begun his vigils that night, that before morning he should be thrilled as he never had been thrilled before, by a simple handclasp, and a few spoken words, offering only what he had offered many a man or woman in trouble before now, his sympathy and help. But somehow—this had been different. He was acutely aware that the wish to see Jane Ray through whatever difficulties and problems might lie before her in connection with this brother of hers was a mighty different sort of wish from any that he had experienced before. And the fact that she had tacitly accepted his help—proud Jane—for he knew she was proud—gave him a satisfaction out of all proportion to any ordinary significance attached to so obvious and natural a suggestion. There was now a bond between them—that was the thing that took hold of him; a bond which made possible—well, what did it make possible? What did he want it to make possible? He didn’t try to go into that. One thing was sure: he had, by an accident, come into her life in a way he had never dreamed of, and once in—he wanted to stay. This touch of intimate comradeship had been something new in his experience. It might never happen again; certainly he could not continue to take care of Cary Ray through nights such as this one had been. Doubtless Doctor Burns, once called, would take care of that; Black knew that under the proper treatment the following night might be one of comparative calm. But he could come to see him often; could cultivate his friendship—gain as much influence over him as possible. And if others found out about it, criticized him for giving time and thought to people outside his parish—well—they might. Black’s decision on this head was one which brooked no interference. Where he could help he would help, in his parish or out of it....

It was at five o’clock in the morning that he fell asleep. He had not meant to go to sleep, and had been caught unawares. For an hour Cary had been quiet. Black, sitting on the edge of his bed, had found a new way to keep hold of his man—and that was by keeping hold of him literally. In a moment of desperation he had seized the thin, restless fingers and forced them to remain still in his own. The firm contact had produced a remarkable effect. After a little Cary’s hand had laid hold of Black’s and clung to it, while the invalid himself had sunk almost immediately away into something more resembling real slumber than anything in the past night. Finding this expedient so successful Black had allowed it to continue, for each time he tried to release himself Cary took a fresh grip, like a child who will not let go his hold upon his mother, even in unconsciousness. Finally, Black had made himself as comfortable as he could by slipping down upon the floor, where he could rest his head upon the bed without withdrawing his hand. And in this posture, one eloquent of his own fatigue from the long vigil, he went soundly to sleep.

So when, with the approach of daylight, Jane came in to tell her assistant that he must go home now, while the streets were empty of observant eyes, she found what she had not expected. She stood looking at the two figures the one stretched so comfortably in the bed, the other propped in so strained an attitude outside of it. As she looked something very womanly and beautiful came into her eyes.

“Is it possible—” this was her thought—“that you have done this—for me? I didn’t know men of your profession ever did things like this. But if I had known any of them ever did, I should have known it would be you!”

He looked like a tall and fine-featured boy as he slept in his twisted position, did Robert McPherson Black. He had taken off his coat while he wrestled with Cary, and the white shirt-sleeves rolled to the elbows, showing a sinewy forearm, added to the boyish effect. Suddenly Jane’s eyes caught sight of something on one bare arm which made her stoop lower, and then flush with chagrin. It was the unmistakable mark upon the fair flesh of gripping fingers with nails which had torn—already turning dark, as such deep bruises do. It was a little thing enough—Jane knew already how her new friend would make light of it if she mentioned it—and yet somehow it was rather a big thing, too. It gave emphasis to the service he had done her; how could she have dealt, alone, with wild brutality like that?