“She will help to bring you back from those places, Roscoe.”
“If I am delirious ever, do not let her come, will you, Marmion? Promise me that.” I promised.
I went to her. She was very calm and womanly. She entered the room, went quietly to his bedside, and, sitting down, took his hand. Her smile was pitiful and anxious, but her words were brave.
“My dearest,” she said, “I am so sorry. But you will soon be well, so we must be as patient and cheerful as we can.”
His eyes answered, but he did not speak. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. Then he said: “I hope I may get well.”
“This was the shadow over you,” she ventured. “This was your presentiment of trouble--this accident.”
Some sharp thought seemed to move her, for her eyes grew suddenly hard, and she stooped and whispered: “Was SHE there--when--it happened, Galt?”
He shrank from the question, but he said immediately: “No, she was not there.”
“I am glad,” she added, “that it was only an accident.”
Her eyes grew clear of their momentary hardness. There is nothing in life like the anger of one woman against another concerning a man.
Justine Caron came to the house, pale and anxious, to inquire. Mrs. Falchion, she said, was not going away until she knew how Mr. Roscoe’s illness would turn.
“Miss Caron,” I said to her, “do you not think it better that she should go?”
“Not alone for him,” was the reply. There was a pause, and then she continued: “Madame told me to say to you that she did not wish Mr. Roscoe to know that she was still here.”
I assured her that I understood, and then she added mournfully: “I cannot help you now, monsieur, as I did on board the ‘Fulvia’. But he will be better cared for in Miss Devlin’s hands, the poor lady!... Do you think that he will live?”
Her eyes went to tears; and then I tried to speak more encouragingly.
All day people came to inquire, chief among them Mr. Devlin, whose big heart split itself in humanity and compassion. “The price of the big mill for the guarantee of his life!” he said over and over again. “We can’t afford to let him go.”
Although I should have been on my way back to Toronto, I determined to stay until Roscoe was entirely out of danger. It was singular, but in this illness, though the fever was high, he never was delirious. It would almost seem as if, having paid his penalty, the brain was at rest.