She gave him her hand, which he did not hold as long as he had held Bertha’s, nor did the holding it affect him the same. Bertha’s had been warm and full of life, with something electrical in their touch, which sent the blood bounding through his veins and made him long to kiss them, as well as the bright face raised so eagerly to his. Louie’s hand was thin and clammy, and so small that he could have crushed it easily, as he raised it to his lips with the freedom of an old-time friend, and just as he would have done had Fred himself been present. He told her he should stay as long as he was needed, and after a few moments went to see her husband, who was beginning to grow restless and to fret at Bertha’s absence. But at sight of Reginald his mood changed, and he exclaimed joyfully:
“Rex, old boy, I wonder if you know how glad I am to see you. I do believe I shall get well now you are here, though I am having a big tussle with some confounded thing,—typhoid, the doctor calls it; but doctors are fools. How did you happen to drop down here?”
Rex told him how he chanced to be there, and that he was going to stay, and then, excusing himself, went in quest of Bertha, whom he found sitting upon a rustic seat which was partially concealed by a clump of shrubbery. It was a glorious afternoon, and Rex, who was very fond of boating, proposed a row upon the lake, to which Bertha consented.
“I have had too many races with Harvard not to know how to manage the oars myself,” he said, as he handed Bertha into the boat, and dismissing the boy, pushed off from the shore.
It was a delightful hour they spent together gliding over the smooth waters of the lake, and in that time they became better acquainted than many people do in years. There was no coquetry nor sham in Bertha’s nature, while Rex was so open and frank, and they had so much in common to talk about, that restraint was impossible between them. Poor Rose Arabella Jefferson was discussed and laughed over, Rex declaring his intention to find her some time, if he made a pilgrimage to Scotsburg on purpose. Then he spoke of the encounter on the ship, and said:
“I can’t tell you how many times I have thought of that girl before I knew it was you, or how I have wanted to see her and apologize properly for my awkwardness. Something seems to be drawing us together strangely.” Then he spoke again of his visit to the Homestead, while Bertha became wonderfully animated as she talked of her home, and Rex, watching her, felt that he had never seen so beautiful a face as hers, or listened to a sweeter voice. “I wonder if I am really falling in love,” he thought, as he helped her from the boat, while she was conscious of some subtle change wrought in her during that hour on Lake Geneva, and felt that life would never be to her again exactly what it had been.
CHAPTER XV.
THE UNWELCOME GUEST.
Thurston was very ill with typhoid fever, which held high carnival with him physically, but left him mentally untouched. One afternoon, the fifth after Rex’s arrival, the two were alone, and for some time Fred lay with his eyes closed and an expression of intense thought upon his face. Then, turning suddenly to Rex, he said, “Sit close to me. I want to tell you something.”
Rex drew his chair to the bedside, and Fred continued, “That idiot of a doctor has the same as told me I am going to die, and, though I don’t believe him, I can’t help feeling a little anxious about it, and I want you to help me get ready.”
“Certainly,” Rex answered, with a gasp, entirely misunderstanding Fred’s meaning, and wishing the task of getting his friend ready to die had devolved on some one else. “We hope to pull you through, but it is always well to be prepared for death, and I’ll help you all I can. I’m afraid, though, you have called upon a poor stick. I might say the Lord’s Prayer with you, or, better yet,” and Rex grew quite cheerful, “there’s a young American clergyman in the hotel. I will bring him to see you. He’ll know just what to say.”