Part 28 (1/2)
”And I never knew,” said Osmond, in a slow, absorbed way.
”And so I asked Jane to go back round by the road because--because I wanted to see your face; and when we got there you were lying on the gra.s.s.”
Here the lip quivered. Allonby threw himself forward in his chair, his chin on his elbow.
”I saw your face,” he said, earnestly. ”Tell me, did you not--were you not kneeling by me, and--and _weeping_?”
The girl nodded, hardly able to speak.
”You opened your eyes,” she said, very low, after a pause, ”and looked at me for a moment; but not as if you knew me.”
”But I saw you. Do you know”--sinking his voice--”that your face was with me all through my illness--your face, as I saw it to-day, with tears on your eyelashes?... I knew even your voice, when I have heard it in the garden, and I have been lying in bed. I knew when you laughed and when you spoke ... and I counted the hours till I should be well enough to see you and thank you. You'll let me thank you, won't you?”
He took her hand again. The child--for she was no more--could not speak.
It seemed as if light were breaking so swiftly in upon her soul that the glare dazzled her. She was helpless--almost frightened. Osmond saw that he must be careful not to startle or vex her. With a great effort he curbed his own excitement, and took a lighter tone.
”Think what a benefactor in disguise my unknown a.s.sailant has been!” he cried brightly. ”What have I lost? Nothing--absolutely nothing but a pudding-basin; what have I gained?” He made an eloquent sweep of the hand. ”Everything! In fact, I can hardly realise at present what my gain is. To be ill--to be tenderly nursed--to have enquiries made all day by kind friends--to have my name in all the local papers--to be interviewed at least once a day by gentlemen of the press. I a.s.sure you that I never before was the centre of attraction; I hope it will last. That day's sketching in the lane may turn out to be the best stroke of business I ever did.”
”But,” cried Elsa, remonstrating, ”you don't count all the pain you had to bear?”
”Pain!” he said, almost incoherently. ”Did I? Have I borne pain? Oh, it counts for nothing, for I have forgotten all about it.”
”Really and truly? Have you forgotten it?”
”Really and truly, just now. I may remember it presently, when I am crawling upstairs to bed to-night, with my arm round Joe Battis.h.i.+ll's neck; but just now it is clean gone, and every day I shall grow stronger, you know.”
She did not answer. She saw fate, in the shape of Jane Gollop, bearing down upon her from the open farm-house door.
”Miss Elaine, my dear, you wasn't to stay but a very little while to-day; and, if we don't start back, you won't be in time to go to the station with your Aunt Charlotte to meet your brother, you know.”
”To meet your brother!” echoed Osmond.
”Yes.” She turned to him. ”He is my step-brother; I have never seen him since he was a baby.”
”Really? That sounds odd; but you are orphans; I suppose he is being brought up by other relations. I think it was cruel to separate you. How old is he?”
”Just fourteen. I am glad he is coming at last.”
”I suppose so; and you will be so happy together that you will forget to come up to Poole and see the poor sick man?”
”You _know_ I shall not. I shall bring G.o.dfrey.”
”Yes, do. Please come soon. But I ought not to be so grasping, and I have never thanked you properly for coming to-day. What an unmannerly brute I am. Please forgive me! Don't punish me by staying away, will you?”
She drew near, and spoke low, that Jane might not hear.
”I shall come whenever they let me,” she said, with vehemence; ”whenever I don't come, you will know it is because I was forbidden. If they would allow it, I'd come _every single day_.”