CHAPTER 11. I decline a good offer.

Otago Witness, Issue 2130, 20 December 1894, Page 2

CHAPTER 11. I decline a good offer.

When I returned to the patient lie waß tosfiug about ia a high fever ; the temperature had gous up several degrees, and he seemed wor^e rather than better for the quiet sleep. He was not wildly delirious, but yet he was not properly conscious. I gave him his medicine aud put iced water on his head, and triad to induce him to driok some milk, but he turned from it with loathing, declaring that he could not drink it — that it had a bad taste. The ftver was intermittent, and when it was over he bad a shivering fit, and his pulse fell. I f elchod the brandy and gave him a few drops. When he tasted it he opened hia eyes and smiled faintly into ray face.

'•Ought I— to take it?" " Yes," said I boldly ; " please take It. I have seen it given before with good effect, and the doctors did not forbid it."

He complied, and gradually the blood flowed to the extremities, warmth returned to them, and the deadly pallor passed away. He was easier, and the finaold head, crowned with its suowy hair, lay reatfully on the pillow. In the morning I told the doctors whatlhad done ; they approved and changed the treatment. For some weeks the patient continued to mend, and then there was a sudden and unaccountable relapse. The medical men questioned me closely — had ho done this, that, or the other 7 Bat no, I had taken every precaution, and so had Nurse Field, who had remained to help me in the constant arduous task, and who, like myself, was amazed as well as grieved by the relapse, for which we could not in any way account.

By this time I had become quite attached to Dr Ingram. His gentle, uniform kindness and consideration, his thoughtfulness for others, his patience in suffering could not fail to win the regard of all with whom he cams in contact. Fu % myself, my feeling for the fine old man speedily outstripped mere respect and even regard. A keen, warm affection, as of a daughter for an aged parent, gradually woke in my heart ; he was no longer " a case." Had ho been my father —that father whom I never knew— l could not have tended him with greater devotion ; and now suddenly, for no apparent reason, he had gone back. I could not bear it. "Little girl," he said gently, "come to me."

His eyes were 6hut, and I thought he was asleap So I sat quietly with my hands lightly claeped upon my lap, and suddenly a great tear splashed upon them, and startled me out of all my composure, and then I looked up and met Dr Ingrain's eyes. " What is it, my dear ? "

•' I— l don't know."

" Are you orylng for me 7 lam not worth it. An old man with one foot already in the grave, the thought of death is not terrible to mo. Why, then; should you weep for me ? I am fortunate in having so kind and tender a nurse ; but if you fret you will get ill, and then you will have to go away and send someone elie in your place."

" No, no," I cried earnestly, 4< don't send me away. I know that I should not let you see me cry, but I could not help it ; I thought you were asleep." •' I was thinking with my eyes shut. lam easier just now, and I want you to do something for me. Will you ? "

11 Gladly— oh, so gladly."

11 That is right, that's my brave little nurse. Come, smile once more — you must keep up my spirits and your own too. We will not Bay peccavi till everj hope is gone. In epita of this relapse, I believe that I shall recover. I will do my best. Ah 1 that is right— smiles suit you better than tears, my bravo, clever little nurse. Now, tell me, is Bertrand at homo ? "

11 1 think not. He was oalled out of town early this morning, and said that he might not return until late."

" That is well. I have some business to do in which I had rather that he was not present. Go to the telephone and ring up Edmonds, the lawyer. Tell him to come a3 quickly as he can, and bring a clerk with him. I want to alter my will." " Your will 1 "

•'Yes. Does the name startle you 7 "

" Oh, no. I think everyone should make a will— that is to Bay, everyone who has anything to leave." «' Just bo. Well, I made mine years ago, but as I lay awake last night I thought I would make lomi^ighLAlteraiioß iaifc .. Nea. g9

and ring np Edmonds. I want to do it at once before I get any worse."

I obeyed. As I was speaking through the tube Dr Bartrand came out of his surgery.

"What is all this 7" he said brusquely, and a heavy frown contracted his dark brows.

I put the instrument down, having delivered my mos?age and received Mr Edmonds's asEuraiace that he would soon be with his clisnt.

" I thought you were in MDSgiel." " I went there this morning, but I have been back Borne time. Who were you speaking to ? " "Mr Edmonds." "The lawyer 7"

" What is wanted with him 7 "

I hesitated a moment. It was evident to me that Dr Ingcam did not wish hi? adopted son to know of the lawyer's visit; at the same time I felt that it could not now be hidden, and it seemed puerile to affoct a mystery which must so soon be penetrated. " Dr Ingram wants to make some alteration in Mb will, I believe."

"No, no; it is impossible —it must not be. You mußt Btop it in some way." "1 1 How can 1 7 What do you mean ? "

"You must. It ia a matter of life and death. No one else can help me, so you must. When is Edmonds coming 7 "

«' Directly." "Take up the instrument agiin, and tell him not to come for an hour, two hours, tomorrow if possible." "Dr Ingram wishes him to come at once."

" Do as I tell you I "

His dark, handsome face was distorted by passion. Never had I aeen Buch a transformation. For one moment the mask of whicn May had spoken slipped on oue side. The beautiful features were actually repellant with sullen fierce passion. As I looked up the deep eyes met mine with thoir mesmeric insistence. I tried to hold my own, to resist, to protest, but in vain ; my will power seemed gone ; 1 had no strength to resist. He rang the bell and put the instrument in my hand. 1 tried to put it down, but could not. "Are you still there, Mr Edmonds 7 " •'Yes. What do you want?"

I looked at Bertrand for directions.

" Tell him that Dr Ingram is worse and cannot 6ee him, and that you will sand another message to-morrow." I obeyed, and then I flung the instrument away with sudden passion.

"What have I done?— what have you made me do 7" I cried wildly. "Dr lugiam will never forgive me."

•' He will never know. Come, wo are not children — we can keep our own counsol. You have done me a great service, and I thaak you." "And you have done me a great disservice," I cried, for now that I had obeyed his command he appeared satisfied, and his will no longer dominated mine. "Oh, come, spare me these heroics," he csid coollj, and re-entered his surgery, while I slowly remounted the etairs and returned to my patient, to explain a3 well as I could the non-appearance of the lawyer. Lnter in the evening Dr Bertrand Ingram had a long interview with the old gentleman. I was not present, but from tho tones which reached me in the ante-room, whore I sat by the window trying not to listen, it Beemed to me that the older man accused and expostulated, and that the youngar justified and excused himself. After a while Dr Bertrand came out, looking flushed and excited. When he saw me he stopped suddenly aud came towards me. " There," he said impatiently, " it is done at laBt ; but it was pretty tough work, I can tell you. Of course I denied everything, but at first he was not very willing to aocept my explanation. However, I think ie is all right now, thanks to you. If Edmonds had se6n him first I believe he would have cut me off with a shilling. He is so dreadfully crochetty and particular." " I hope you have not over- excited him ? "

"No fear of that. You can go and see for yourself. Only I think when Edmonds comes to-morrow be will have bis journey for his pains. It would be rather hard if, after allowing oneself to be experimented on all these years, I should lose the reward of my patience in the end. I denied it all in toto." " What did you deny 7 " He gave me a curious quizzical look, as if appraising my value bodily and mentally. " You would like to know, wouldn't you 7 However, on second thoughts, I don't mean to tell. I expect you are as strait laced as the old gentleman himself? Look me in the face and tell me: do you think I am a scoundrel ? " " I know so little of you. I " 41 That is no answer," said he impatiently. "I know that little head is full of fancies and that you havo bsen taking stock of us all. Is it not so?"

•'Indeed you are mistaken, — in my pooition ; I " —• — •' Would not dare to form an opinion on any subject, or say that your soul was your own without the express permission of— your employers." He epoke with considerable Irritation, for which thera was no apparent reason. I hastened to explain myself. " Of course, I did not mean that — only that in my quasi-confidential position aa a nurse in astrange house I have no right to form orude and hasty opinions — indeed, I try not to form opinions at all." " Very praiseworthy, I'm sure I " he said scornfully ; " but just a little overdone. Do you know that the old gentleman in there," and he glanced towards the open door, " has taken a great fancy to you, and that be is anxious to try some experiments on you ? "

"On me 7 Impossible?" " Very well ; you will see. If he asks you to stay with him as his daughter, housekeeper, what not — will you consent ? " I started. The Idea thus presented to me was altogether strange and unexpected. " What nonsense 1 "

"It is true, however, as you will find. He would not let euoh an 'opportunity escape him ; It would bo a fatal mistake, What shall you answer?" AUiasL better wait UU J em asked," Xm-J

swered, abrnptly rising from my Beat, as if to give him a hint to go.

«• Very well ; you will of course do as you please abcut it. But remember, whatever he tells you he has but one object — to treat you as he has treated me, as an experimout."

Some days later, when the old doctor seemed on a fair way to recovery, and I had ventured to hint at the necessity of my speedy departure, he did, indeed, make the proposition that I should remain with him aa his housekeeper, adding many kind and pleasant things concerning the fancy be had taken for me, and the desire he had that I should remain with him to nurse and look after him.

" You know, my dear, that I have no wife, no child. Ie is true Bartrandis like a son to me; but men are not sympathetic, already you understand me better than he does. I wi9h now that I had married 40 years ngo ; but regrets are useless. Howevor, if you will accept my offer I shall never feel quite alone, for though I shall call you my honsakeeper, you will be like a daughter to me. Wliils I live you will want for nothing, and when I die you shall be well provided for. Is the oflar tempting enough ? "

" Ob 1 Y>t Ingram," I cried, flinging myself on my knees beside bis chair— for he was up and dressed, and we had wheeled him into the sunny window of the ante-room — " how good you are to mo 1 " " Nay, dear, it is you who will be good if you agree to my proposition." "Oh I how I wish I could ; but indeed —indeed it is impossible," for cveu as he 6poka Dc Bartrund Ingram's warning flashed across my mind and I knew that I could not acoopt his offur. Not because I fearod any experiments which the good old man might make upon me, but, because I felt that the younger doctor did not desire my presence in the house. Ho was perhaps jealous of me, and of the regard which his adopted father appeared to havo for me. Under such circumstances I felt that il would be impossible for me to entertain the idea for a moment. "It cannot be ; indeed it cannot be."

" Djn't distresa yourself, my dear. If you have bettor prospects " 11 li'g not that."

"It might very well be. It is natural and right that young people should think of tsuch things. If you wiBD to marry " "I do not. I havo no such thought. No one has ever asked me."

He smiled, and laid his trembling baud on mine.

" Then, my dear, why not stay witb me. I am an old man and woak. I shall not trouble you long, and then " I suddenly bent down and pressed my lips upon his withered, wrinkled hand. " Don't fay that. You havo got over this illness wonderfully well ; you will live many years." "It may ba so, but I think not. However, that Is neither hero nor there. If you could make up your mind to stay with me I might have a batter chance."

"Ah I pray say no more. It cannot bo." He waß silent, evidently hurt and grieved by the reception wnich his generous offer had met with. Still ho was too true a gentleman and too kind-hearted to resent it to my prejudice. I was free to choose. He would have scorned to exoroi3O undue influence even by a word. Still I felt that he was pained, and as I truly loved and esteemed him, the knowledge of thia pierced me to the heart. "Dear Dr Ingram, don't think mo ungrateful. But there are reasons — I catmot explain. But I beg you to believe that lam only acting as I think right, and in this as in other thicga I must follow the voice of my coußcience."

He said little more, yet the reserve of strength In his words and his evident disappointment at my refusal affected me more than many persuasions and great insistanco, and finally it was settled that I should return to the hospital with the understanding that If he should need me at any future time I ehould go to him at ones even if it were necessary for me to resign my situation.

On the morning of my departure, aa I was arranging tho ante-room as usual, Dr Bsrtrand Ingram came in. He glanced at the inner door, which was closed, and then, coming to my side, said abruptly : " And so you decline to be experimented on?"

" I don't underFtand you."

" Yes you do. Did not Dr Ingram offer to adopt you and leave you a fortune 7 Why did you refuse ? " " That is my business, if such an offer was made, and I do not say that it was." " But I know that it was, for my father told me." " Did he tell you that I had refused it ? " " Yes, but he did not say why. Why was it, Miss Thurston 7 " " Perhaps because I do not care to resign my mission In life and give up a profession on which I have only just entered.

He looked at me for a moment as if be could read into the innermost recesses of my BOUI.

" I don't believe you are so fond of work as all that comes to," he said coolly. " You know that no woman really likes it. The best of you would rather baßk in the sun of prosperity and do nothing ; or, in plain English, sit with your feet on the fender and read the last new novel, and let some man work for you."

"That 13 not true," I said hotly ; " a great many women love work for work's sake, and I have a considerable amount of sympathy with them. I like to see a thing well done, and know that I have done it. It satisfies one side o£ my nature, though not perhaps the best side."

" Self-righteous, eh 7 "

" Perhapa so. Still, I don't Bee that work aa an end has any great value. It is only as a means to an end that it possesses educational foroe. And if the end can be obtained without it, so much the better. But oan it 7 that is the point. It seem 3to me that nothing good can be got in this world without work, and bard work, too. So one may as well accept one's fate, and make tho be3t of it." " And so you are returning to the hospital to nurse the sick paupers 7 I wish you 40y." " Thank you. It Is not exactly a subject for rejoicing." «• And yet you ate going j tt • i JiYet I am fitting i

" Why ?Is it jngt your d d obstinacy, or ie there any oth«r o»u«s ? " I met his look frankly and folly. He bit bis lip and turned away.