Part 19 (1/2)
CHAPTER XXI.
A NEW LIFE.
”NEW YORK, December 16th.
”To Miss HELEN LENNOX, Silverton, Ma.s.s.:
”Your sister is very ill. Come as soon as possible.
”W. CAMERON.”
This was the purport of a telegram received at the farmhouse toward the close of a chill December day, and Helen's heart almost stopped its beating as she read it aloud, and then looked in the white, scared faces of those around her. Katy was very ill--dying, perhaps--or Wilford had never telegraphed. What could it be? What was the matter? Had it been somewhat later, they would have known; but now all was conjecture worse than useless, and in a half-distracted state Helen made her hasty preparations for the journey on the morrow, and then sent for Morris, hoping he might offer some advice or suggestion for her to carry to that sickroom in New York.
”Perhaps you will go with me,” Helen said. ”You know Katy's const.i.tution. You might save her life.”
But Morris shook his head. If he was needed they might send and he would come, but not without; and so next day he carried Helen to the cars, saying to her, as they were waiting for the train: ”I hope for the best, but it may be Katy will die. If you think so, tell her. Oh, tell her! of the better world, and ask if she is prepared. I cannot lose her in heaven.”
And this was all the message Morris sent, though his heart and prayers went after the rapid train which bore Helen safely onward, until Hartford was reached, where there was a long detention, so that the dark wintry night had closed over the city ere Helen had reached it, timid, anxious, and wondering what she should do if Wilford was not there to meet her. ”He will be, of course,” she kept repeating to herself, looking around in dismay, as pa.s.senger after pa.s.senger left, seeking in stages and street cars a swifter pa.s.sage to their homes.
”I shall soon be all alone,” she said, feeling some relief as the car in which she was seated began at last to move, and she knew she was being taken whither the others had gone, wherever that might be.
”Is Miss Helen Lennox here?” sounded cheerily in her ears as she stopped before the depot, and Helen uttered a cry of joy, for she recognized the voice of Mark Ray, who was soon grasping her hand, and trying to rea.s.sure her, as he saw how she shrank from the noise and clamor of New York, heard now for the first time. ”Our carriage is here,” he said, and in a moment she found herself in a close-covered vehicle, with Mark sitting opposite, tucking the warm blanket around her, asking if she were cold, and paying those numberless little attentions so gratifying to one always accustomed to act and think for herself.
Helen could not see Mark's face distinctly; but full of fear for Katy, she fancied there was a sad tone in his voice, as if he were keeping something back, something he dreaded to tell her; and then, as it suddenly occurred to her that Wilford should have met her, not Mark, her great fear found utterance in words, and leaning forward so that her face almost touched Mark's, she said: ”Tell me, Mr. Ray, is Katy dead?”
”Not dead, oh, no, nor yet very dangerous, my mother hopes; but she kept asking for you, and so my--that is, Mr. Cameron, sent the telegram.”
There was an ejaculatory prayer of thankfulness, and then Helen continued: ”Is it long since she was taken sick?”
”Her little daughter will be a week old to-morrow,” Mark replied; while Helen, with an exclamation of surprise she could not repress, sank back into the corner, faint and giddy with the excitement of this fact, which invested little Katy with a new dignity, but drew her, oh, so much nearer to the sister who could scarcely wait for the carriage to stop, so anxious was she to be where Katy was, to kiss her dear face once more, and whisper the words of love she knew she must have longed to hear.
Awe-struck, bewildered and half terrified, Helen looked up at the huge brown structure, which Mark designated as ”the place.” It was so lofty, so high, so like the Camerons, and so unlike the farmhouse far away, that Helen trembled as she followed Mark into the rooms flooded with light, and seeming to her like fairyland. They were so different from anything she had imagined, so much handsomer than even Katy's vivid descriptions had implied, that for the moment the sight took her breath away, and she sank pa.s.sively into the chair Mark brought for her, himself taking her m.u.f.f and tippet, and noting, as he did so, that they were not mink, nor yet Russian sable, but well-worn, well-kept fitch, such as Juno would laugh at and criticise. But Helen's dress was a matter of small moment to Mark, as he thought more of the look in her dark eyes as she said to him: ”You are very kind, Mr. Ray. I cannot thank you enough,” than of all the furs in Broadway. This remark had been wrung from Helen by the feeling of homesickness and desolation which swept over her, as she thought how really alone she should be there, in her sister's house, on this first night of her arrival, if it were not for Mark, thus virtually taking the place of the brother-in-law, who should have been there to greet her.
”He was with Mrs. Cameron,” the servant said, and taking out a card Mark wrote down a few words, and handing it to the servant who had been looking curiously at Helen, he continued standing until a step was heard on the stairs and Wilford came quietly in.
It was not a very loving meeting, but Helen was civil and Wilford was polite, offering her his hand and asking some questions about her journey.
”I was intending to meet you myself,” he said, ”but Mrs. Cameron does not like me to leave her, and Mark kindly offered to take the trouble off my hands.”
This was the most gracious thing he had said; this the nearest approach to friendliness, and Helen felt herself hating him less than she had supposed she should. He was looking very pale and anxious, while there was on his face the light of a new joy, as if the little life begun so short a time ago had brought an added good to him, softening his haughty manner and making him even endurable to the prejudiced sister watching him so closely!
”Does Phillips know you are here?” he asked, answering his own query by ringing the bell and bidding Esther, who appeared, tell Phillips that Miss Lennox had arrived and wished for supper, explaining to Helen that since Katy's illness they had dined at three, as that accommodated them the best.
This done and Helen's baggage ordered to her room, he seemed to think he had discharged his duty as host, and as Mark had left he began to grow fidgety, for a _tete-a-tete_ with Helen was not what he desired. He had said to her all he could think to say, for it never once occurred to him to inquire after the deacon's family. He had asked for Dr. Grant, but his solicitude went no further, and the inmates of the farmhouse might have been dead and buried for aught he knew to the contrary. The omission was not made purposely, but because he really did not feel enough of interest in people so widely different from himself even to ask for them, much less to suspect how Helen's blood boiled as she detected the omission and imputed it to intended slight, feeling so glad when he at last excused himself, saying he must go back to Katy, but would send his mother down to see her. His mother. Then she was there, the one whom Helen dreaded most of all, whom she had invested with every possible terror, hoping now that she would not be in haste to come down.
She might have spared herself anxiety on this point, as the lady in question was not anxious to meet a person who, could she have had her way, would not have been there at all.
From the first moment of consciousness after the long hours of suffering, Katy had asked for Helen, rather than her mother, feeling that the former would be more welcome, and could more easily conform to their customs.
”Send for Helen; I am so tired, and she could always rest me,” was her reply, when asked by Wilford what he could do for her. ”Send for Helen; I want her so much,” she had said to Mrs. Cameron, when she came, repeating the wish until a consultation was held between the mother and son, touching the propriety of sending for Helen. ”She would be of no use whatever, and might excite our Katy. Quiet is highly important just now,” Mrs. Cameron had said, thus veiling under pretended concern for Katy her aversion to the girl whose independence in declining her dressmaker had never been forgiven, and whom she had set down in her mind as rude and ignorant.