All day, like a ministering angel, she moved about his couch, and laved his fevered brow. All his art could not lure her into any conversation beyond the necessary replies to his questions concerning his physical condition. Henry was too thankful for being permitted to enjoy her presence to forfeit the boon by any untractableness, and, for one of his excitable temperament, he was exceedingly docile.
CHAPTER XX.
"Appius. Well, Claudius, are the forces
At hand?
"Claudius. They are, and timely, too; the people
Are in unwonted ferment."
KNOWLES.
It was midnight at Cottage Island,—the third night after the events of the preceding chapter. Henry Carroll, by the skilful treatment of his host, was in a great degree relieved from his severe pain, and had now sunk into a natural and quiet slumber. By his bedside sat Dr. Vaudelier. Emily had, an hour before, retired to the rest which her exhausted frame demanded. For the past three days she had watched patiently and lovingly by the invalid. And now she had only been induced to retire by the promise of the doctor to call her, if any unfavorable symptom appeared.
The threatened assault upon the island had been thoroughly considered, and for the past two nights the island wore the appearance of a garrisoned fortress, rather than the secluded abode of a hermit. Emily knew of the peril which now menaced her, but the ample means at hand for protection rendered it insignificant. All thought, even of her own security, was merged in her generous interest in the comfort of the sufferer.
The good physician was uneasy and disturbed, as he sat by the bedside of his patient. The circumstances which surrounded him were novel in the extreme. Accustomed as he had been to the quiet which always reigned in his domain, to find himself, as it were, the inmate of a fortress, in momentary expectation of an attack, was so singularly odd, that his natural indifference deserted him. He had collected quite a large force of his humble neighbors to assist him in his present emergency, and they were now making their final arrangements to meet the assault.
The doctor was restless; but it was not on account of any fear of his personal safety,—he was above that. The lonely and innocent being whom he had undertaken to protect had filled his mind with a sense of responsibility. A single day had been long enough for Emily to win a way to his affections, and he had grown to regard her with the tender care of a father. Occasionally he left his place at the bedside, and went to the window, as if to assure himself that the attack had not already commenced.
In front of the cottage a different sentiment prevailed among the motley group there assembled. There were twenty men, including Hatchie, all armed with rifle and bowie-knife, and every one anxious for the fight to commence. Besides their arms, each man was provided with a small cord, and a torch of pitch-wood, the end of which had been plentifully besprinkled with turpentine.
The party was composed mostly of woodmen and boatmen, who had promptly and willingly obeyed the doctor's summons. Like most men of their class in that locality, they were hardy and reckless; they had not that healthy horror of a mortal combat which the moralist would gladly see. Dr. Vaudelier had always been their friend; had always promptly and kindly aided them in their necessities, whether moral, physical, or pecuniary. As he had laved the fevered brows of their wives and children, so had he said prayers over their dead, in the absence of a clergyman. He had exhorted the intemperate and the dishonest, and with his purse relieved the needy in their distress. They were not ungrateful; they appreciated his many kindnesses, and rejoiced in an opportunity to serve him. These men, notwithstanding their rude speech, their rough exteriors, and their reckless dispositions, were true-hearted men. They reciprocated the offering of a true friendship, not by smooth speeches and unmeaning smiles, but by actions of manly kindness. The philosopher in ethics may say what he pleases of the refinements of sympathy; we would not give a single such heart as those gathered on Cottage Island for a whole army of puling, sentimental, hair-splitting moralizers. They were men of action, not of words; and, though they hesitated not, in what they deemed a good cause, to close with their man in deadly combat, they were true as steel to a friend in the hour of his need.