The good sister was pleased and glad for Beatrix's sake that this strange occurrence had taken place, and Beatrix would have the privilege of nursing the man she so dearly loved. But the kindly face grew pale as death as she thought of the fresh complications that must now ensue. Who could foresee the end?
Beatrix took up her position at Keith's bedside and nursed him indefatigably. The days came and went, and still Keith lay there upon his bed of pain. Through Doctor Darrow, Beatrix was able to send word to old Bernard Dane as to Keith's whereabouts and condition, though Beatrix preferred that her own name should be kept out of the matter, and the message to Mr. Dane was sent, purporting to have come from Dr. Darrow.
Beatrix could not deny herself the privilege of nursing her husband, even though she knew that with his returning health she must go from him again. They must separate, and never hope to be anything to each other. Surely it was the saddest—the very saddest—experience on record. But the brave girl was strong in her determination. Better far to never see him again than to expose the life so dear to her to such a horrible fate!
It was the very acme of self-denial and abnegation; but any true woman would have done as Beatrix did. For what woman who loves a man will deliberately expose him to suffering of any description, mental or bodily? And this was such a horrible thing, that no wonder the poor girl, feeling herself accursed, felt at times almost tempted to take her own life, so that she might escape from the horrors of the future, and above all, put it beyond the possibility of harming the one so dearly loved.
One day, not long after Keith's arrival at the Home, Beatrix was informed that a lady and gentleman wished to see Mr. Kenyon. They were in the waiting-room, and Beatrix hastened thither to receive them.
She had fully expected to meet old Bernard Dane, and probably Mrs. Graves. The thought of Serena had never once entered her mind; for as Keith was almost always delirious, he could not tell her of the strange changes that had taken place since Beatrix had left home.
Imagine her surprise, as she entered the reception-room, to see at the old man's side Serena, the woman who so cordially hated her—Serena, her bitter, implacable foe!
As Beatrix entered the room, old Bernard Dane uttered a wild cry of delight.
"Beatrix! Good heavens! is it really you?" he faltered, brokenly. "We—we thought that you were dead!"
She smiled; but still she observed, with a pang at her sensitive heart, that he did not come near her, or even take her hand. Did he fear contagion?