“Oh, no! That would be kindness too great to accept. It would be too much; besides how would Mr. Westcot accept the situation? It would be an imposition; there is no gainsaying that. No! no! Alice. I cannot accept your kind offer. As soon as it is safe she will have to be removed to a hospital where I shall make arrangements, if at all possible, to have the care of her. If that cannot be done, why then—I shall have to do the best I can for her.”
“Nonsense, Imelda, do not speak like that. Lawrence has never yet refused me an expressed wish and I certainly do wish to have you near me as much as possible. But there will be time enough to discuss these matters later, for the present it is undoubtedly understood that you remain here. The rest we will trust to future developments. Just now,” she said, in order to change the subject, “I wish you to help me lay this sleeping child upon the tete-a-tete, as she is becoming quite heavy;” and while Imelda was arranging an easy position Edith returned.
Alice was more anxious to return home now, as she would have to do so without her trusted and faithful companion, but Edith insisted on refreshments first, and while they were being partaken of she sent out a servant to have Alice’s carriage brought up to the house. But the carriage was already waiting for them, and had been for some time. Osmond Leland had been possessed of forethought enough to attend to that matter. Edith explained to her guests that when she and her sister were alone they dispensed with the culinary art to a great extent, as they were both fond of fruits, and in the summer it was no difficult thing to have a variety of fruits on hand.
“Maybe I am a little indolent,” she explained smiling, “but I do not like to roast my brains above a great fire, and by the same token I do not like to see someone else do it either; so this is the result.”
There was no occasion, however, for Edith to make excuses. The ladies found the simple meal very refreshing. After it was over Imelda told Alice what few articles she deemed it necessary that she should send her; for as a matter of course she would remain for the present, and take upon herself the chief care of the wayward but now suffering sister. With the two sleepy little girls Alice was then snugly tucked away in the carriage and the driver being cautioned to be very careful, replied there was positively no cause to fear. It was not likely that a similar accident would again occur; had it not been for the throwing of that unlucky stone the trustworthy beasts would never have played such pranks. With a wave of the hand Imelda saw the carriage disappear, and with a heavy heart she again ascended the stairs to relieve the patient Hilda, and to take upon herself this new duty of nursing back to life wayward, erring Cora. To life? and what else? The sequel will show.
CHAPTER XXXI.
In the days and nights that followed Imelda had every opportunity for studying this sister pair, with whom her manner of becoming acquainted was so different from that she had pictured. The first week was a trying time. Fever flushed the cheeks of the injured girl, tossed her head upon her pillow, and in her delirium she spoke of many things that caused Imelda’s face alternately to pale and glow.
If any reliance could be placed upon those wild utterances, “storm tossed” would rightly apply to the life she had been leading. In her troubled dreams she was living in an atmosphere that was strange to the much tried sister. At intervals she would recognize Imelda for a few moments; then there was a subdued light in the feverish eyes, a nervous twitching about the lips. Her hand would come creeping in a hesitating way, groping for that of her sister. Imelda thought she understood. Gently pressing the groping hand she would lay her cheek to that of the suffering girl and whisper,
“It is all right, Cora, never mind.” Sometimes in lucid intervals, tears would force their way from under the closed eyelids and roll down the faded cheek. Imelda would gently wipe them away and kiss the parched lips. But invariably the next moment wild fancies would hold sway and she would talk of things the patient sister could not understand.
Edith and Hilda were of the greatest help to Imelda. They would insist upon relieving her that she might refresh her tired frame with hours of balmy sleep, and also insisted that she should occasionally take a walk in the evening or morning air. Hilda more particularly proved herself a valuable assistant. The soft magnetic touch of her hand seemed to give ease to Cora in her most restless moments.