Theo: A Sprightly Love Story Read online

  CHAPTER IX.

  WHAT COMES OF IT ALL.

  The hardest professional trouble the shrivelled little French doctorhad, perhaps, ever encountered, was the sight of the white, woe-strickenyoung face, turned up to his when Theodora North followed him out of thechamber upon the landing that night, and caught his arm in both herclinging hands.

  "He will die now, doctor," she said, in an agonized whisper. "He willdie now; I saw it in your face when you let his hand drop."

  It would have been a hard-hearted individual who would have told theexact truth in the face of these beautiful, agonized eyes--and thelittle doctor was anything but hard of heart.

  He patted the clinging hands quite affectionately, feeling in secretgreat apprehension, yet hiding his feelings admirably.

  "My little mademoiselle," he said (the tall young creature at his sidewas almost regal, head and shoulders above him in height). "My dearlittle Mademoiselle Theodora, this will not do. If you give way, I shallgive way too. You must help me--we must help each other, as we have beendoing. It is you only who can save him--it is you he calls for. You musthope with me until some day when he awakes to know us, and then I shallshow you to him, and say, 'here is the beautiful young mademoiselle whosaved you.' And then we shall see, Miss Theodora--then we shall see whata charm those words will work."

  But she did not seem to be comforted, as he expected she would be.

  "No," she said. "The time will never come when you can say that to him.If he is ever well enough to know me, I must go away, and no one musttell him I have been here."

  Monsieur, the doctor, looked at her over his spectacles, sharply.

  The pale face at once touched and suggested to him the outline of alittle romance--and he had all a Frenchman's sympathy forromance--monsieur, the doctor. It was _une grande passion_, was it, andthis tractable, beautiful young creature was going to make a sacrificeof all her hope of love, upon the altar of stern honor. But he made nocomment, only patted her hand again.

  "Well, well," he said. "We shall see, mademoiselle, we shall see. Onlylet us hope."

  The days and nights of watching, in companionship with Priscilla Gower,were a heavy trial to Theo. Not that any unusual coldness in thehandsome face was added to her troubles as an extra burden. BothPriscilla and Pamela were very mindful of her comfort--so very mindfulthat their undemonstrative care for her cut her to the heart, sometimes.Yet, somehow, she felt herself as a stranger, without the right to watchwith them. It was so terrible a thing to stand near the woman she hadinnocently injured, and listen with her to the impassioned adjurationsof the lover who had been false, in spite of himself. It seemed his mindwas always upon the one theme, and in his delirium his ravings wanderedfrom Priscilla to Theo, and from Theo to Priscilla, in a misery that wasnot without its pathos. Sometimes it was that last night in Paris--andhe went over his farewell, word for word; sometimes it was his weddingday--and he was frantically appealing to Priscilla for forgiveness, andremorsefully anathematizing himself.

  They were both together in the room, one evening, when he was ravingthus, when he suddenly paused for an instant and began to count slowlyupon his fingers,

  "January, February, March, April, May, June, July. My pretty Theo, whata mistake it was--only seven months, and then to have lost you. GoodGod, my darling!" and his voice became a low, agonized cry. "Good God,my darling! and I cannot give you up!"

  Theo glanced up at Priscilla Gower, mute with misery for a moment. Theerect, black-robed figure stood between herself and the fire,motionless, but the fixed face was so white that it forced a low cryfrom her. She could not bear it a second longer. She slipped upon herknees on the hearth rug, and caught the hem of the black dress in herhands, in a tumult of despair and remorse.

  "He does not know what he is saying," she cried, breathlessly. "Oh,forgive him, forgive him! I will go away now, if you think I ought. Heknows that you are better than I am. I will go away, and you will makehim happy. Oh! I know you will make him happier than I ever could havedone, even if he had really loved me as--as he only thought he did."

  A moment before, Priscilla had been gazing into the fire in a deepreverie. But the passionate voice stirred her. She looked down into thegirl's imploring eyes, without a shadow of resentment.

  "Get up," she said, a trifle huskily. "You have done no wrong to me. Getup, Theodora, and look at me."

  Unsteadily as she spoke, there was so strange a power in her voice thatTheo obeyed her. Wonderingly, sadly and humbly she rose to her feet, andstood before Priscilla as before a judge.

  "Will you believe what I say to you?" she asked.

  "Yes," answered Theo, sorrowfully.

  "Well, then, I say this to you. You have not sacrificed me, you havesaved me!"

  It was perhaps characteristic of her that she did not say anything more.The subject dropped here, and she did not renew it.

  It was a hard battle which Denis Oglethorpe fought during the nextfortnight, in that small chamber of the wayside inn at St. Quentin; andit was a stern antagonist he waged war against--that grim old enemy,Death.

  But, with the help of the little doctor, the _vis medicatrix natural_,and his three nurses, he gained the victory at length, and conquered,only by a hair's breadth. The fierce fire of the brain wearing itselfout, left him as weak as a child, and for days after he returned toconsciousness, he had scarcely power to move a limb or utter a word.

  When first he opened his eyes upon life again, no one was in the roombut Priscilla Gower; and so it was upon Priscilla Gower that his firstconscious glance fell.

  He looked at her for a minute, before he found strength to speak. But atlast his faltering voice came back to him.

  "Priscilla," he whispered weakly. "Is it you? Poor girl!"

  She bent over him with a calm face, but she did not attempt to caresshim.

  "Yes," she said. "Don't try your strength too much yet, Denis. It is I."

  His heavy wearied eyes searched hers for an instant.

  "And no one else?" he whispered again. "Is no one else here, Priscilla?"

  "There is no one else in the room with me," she answered, quietly. "Therest are up-stairs. You must not talk, Denis. Try to be quiet."

  There was hardly any need for the caution, for his eyes were closingagain, even then, through sheer exhaustion.

  Theo was in her room lying down and trying to rest. But half an hourlater, when Pamela came up to her bedside, the dark eyes flew wide openin an instant.

  "What is it, Pam?" she asked. "Is he worse again?"

  Pam sat down on the bedside, and looked at her with a sort of pity forthe almost haggard young face drooping against the white pillow.

  "No," she said. "He is better. The doctor said he would be, and he is.Theo, he has spoken to Priscilla Gower, and knows her."

  Theo sat up in bed, white and still--all white, it seemed, but her largehollow eyes.

  "Pamela," she said. "I must go home."

  "Where?" said Pam.

  The white face turned toward her pitifully.

  "I don't know," the girl answered, her voice fluttering almost as weaklyas Denis' had done. "I don't know--somewhere, though. To Paris again--orto Downport," with a faint shudder. And then, all at once she flung upher arms wildly, and dropped upon them, face downward.

  "Oh, Pam," she cried out, "take me back to Downport, and let me die. Ihave no right here, and I had better go away. Oh, why did I ever come?Why did I ever come?"

  She was sobbing in a hysterical, strained way, that was fairly terrible.Pamela bent over her, and touched her disordered hair with a singularlylight touch. The tears welled up into her faded eyes. Just at the momentshe could think of nothing but the day, so far away now, when her ownheart had been torn up by the roots by one fierce grasp of the hand ofrelentless fate--the day when Arthur had died.

  "Hush, Theo," she said to her, "don't cry, child."

  But the feverish, excited sobs only came the faster, and more wildly.

  "Why did I ever come?"
Theo gasped. "It would have been better to havelived and died in Downport--far better, I can tell you now, Pam, nowthat it is all over. I loved him, and he loved me, too; he loved mealways from the first, though we both tried so hard, so hard; yes, wedid, Pamela, to help it. And now it is all ended, and I must never seehim again. I must live and die, grow old--old, and never see him again."

  There was no comfort for her. Her burst of grief and despair wore itselfaway into a strained quiet, and she lay at length in silence, Pamela ather side. But she was suffering fearfully in her intense girlish way.

  She did not say much more to Pamela, but she had made up her mind,before many hours had passed, to return to Paris. She even got up in themiddle of the night, in her feverish hurry to make her slightpreparations for the journey. She could go to Paris and wait till LadyThrockmorton came back, if she had not got back already, and then shecould do as she was told as to the rest. She would either stay there orgo to Downport with Pamela.

  Fortune, however, interposed. A carriage made its appearance, in themorning, with a new arrival--an arrival no less than Lady Throckmortonherself, bearing down upon them in actual excitement.

  An untoward accident had called her friend from home, and taken her toCaen, and there, at her earnest request, her ladyship had accompaniedher. The blunder of an awkward servant had prevented her receiving theletters from St. Quentin, and it was only on her return to Paris thatshe had learned the truth.

  Intense as was her bewilderment at her protege's indiscretion, she felta touch of admiration, at the simple, faithful daring of the girl'scourse.

  "It is sufficiently out of the way for Priscilla Gower to be here, andshe is his promised wife; and Pamela is nearly thirty-two years old andlooks forty; but you, Theodora--you to run away from Paris, with no onebut a maid; to run away to nurse a man like Denis Oglethorpe. Itactually takes away my breath. My dear, innocent little simpleton, whatwere you thinking about?"

  It would be futile to attempt to describe her state of mind when shediscovered that Denis had not learned of Theo's presence in the house.

  But, being quick-sighted, and keen of sense, she began to comprehend atlast, and it was Priscilla Gower who assisted her to a clearer state ofmind.

  Two days later, when, after a visit to his patient, the little doctorwas preparing to take his departure, Priscilla Gower addressed himsuddenly, as it seemed, without the slightest regard to her ladyship'spresence.

  "You think your patient improves rapidly," she said.

  "Very rapidly," was the answer. "Men like him always do, mademoiselle."

  She bent her head in acquiescence.

  "I have a reason for asking this," she said. "Do you think he is strongenough to bear a shock?"

  "Of what description, mademoiselle? Of grief, or--or of joy?"

  "Of joy, monsieur," she answered, distinctly.

  "Mademoiselle," said the doctor, "joy rarely kills."

  She bent her erect head again.

  She had not regarded the fact of her old enemy's presence ever soslightly while she spoke, but when the doctor was gone she addressedher.

  "I have been thinking of returning to London at once, if possible," shesaid. "Miss Gower's ill-health renders any further absence a neglect. IfI go, would it be possible for you to remain here, with Miss North?"

  "Pamela?" suggested Lady Throckmorton.

  "Theodora," was the calm reply.

  An odd silence of a moment, and then the eyes of the two women met eachother, in one long, steady look; Lady Throckmorton's profoundlysearching, wonderingly questioning; Priscilla Gower's steadfast, calm,almost defiant.

  Then Lady Throckmorton spoke.

  "I will stay," she said, "and she shall stay with me."

  "Thank you," with another slight bend of the handsome head. "I am goingnow to speak to Mr. Oglethorpe. When I open the door will you send MissNorth, Theodora, to me?"

  "Yes," answered her ladyship.

  So Priscilla Gower crossed the narrow landing, and went into thesick-room, and her ladyship summoned Theodora North, and bade her wait,not telling her why. What passed behind the closed doors only threepeople can tell, and those three people are Denis Oglethorpe, his wife,and the woman who, in spite of her coldness, was truer to him than hedared be to himself. There was no sound of raised or agitated voices,all was calm and seemingly silent. Fifteen minutes passed--half an hour;nearly an hour, and then Priscilla Gower stepped out upon the landing,and Lady Throckmorton spoke to Theo.

  "Go to her," was her command. "She wants you."

  The poor child arose mechanically and went out. She did not understandwhy she was wanted--she scarcely cared. She merely went because she wastold. But when she looked up at Priscilla Gower, she caught her breathand drew back. But Priscilla held out her hand to her.

  "Come," she commanded. And before Theo had time to utter a word, she wasdrawn into the chamber, and the door closed.

  Denis was lying upon a pile of pillows, and pale as he was, she saw, inone instant, that something had happened, and that he was not unhappy,whatever his fate was to be.

  "I have been telling Mr. Oglethorpe," Priscilla said to her, "all thatyou have done, Theodora. I have been telling him how you forgot theworld, and came to him when he was at the world's mercy. I have toldhim, too, that five years ago he made a great mistake which I sharedwith him. It was a great mistake, and it had better be wiped out anddone away with, and we have agreed what it shall be. So I have broughtyou here--"

  All the blood in Theodora North's heart surged into her face, in a greatrush of anguish and bewilderment.

  "No! no!" she cried out. "No! no! only forgive him, and let me go. Onlyforgive him, and let him begin again. He must love you--he does loveyou. It was my fault--not his. Oh--"

  Priscilla stopped her, smiling, in a half-sad way.

  "Hush!" she said, quietly. "You don't understand me. The fault was onlythe fault of the old blunder. Don't try to throw your happiness away,Theodora. You were not made to miss it. I have not been blind all thesemonths. How could I be? I only wanted to wait and make sure that thiswas not a blunder, too. I have known it from the first. Theo, I havedone now--the old tangle is unravelled. Go to him, Theo, he wants you."

  The next instant the door closed upon Priscilla, as she went out, andTheodora North understood clearly what she had before never dared todream of.

  There was one brief, breathless pause, and then Denis Oglethorpe heldout his arms.

  "My darling," he said. "Mine, my own."

  She slipped down by his side, beautiful, tremulous, with glowing cheeksand tear-wet eyes. She remembered Priscilla Gower then.

  "Oh, my love!" she cried. "She is better than I am, braver and morenoble; but she can never love you better, or be more faithful and truethan I will be. Only try me; only try me, my darling."

  * * * * *

  Three months subsequently, when Pamela and Priscilla had settled downagain to the routine of their old lives, there was a quiet weddingcelebrated at Paris--a quiet wedding, though it was under LadyThrockmorton's patronage.

  In their tender remembrance of Priscilla Gower, it was made a quietwedding--so quiet, indeed, that the people who made the young Englishbeauty's romance a topic of conversation and nine days' wonder, scarcelyknew it had ended.

  And in Broome street, Priscilla Gower read the announcement in thepaper, with only the ghost of a faint pang.

  "I suppose I am naturally a cold woman," she wrote to Pamela North, withwhom she sustained a faithful correspondence. "I will acknowledge, atleast, to a certain lack of enthusiasm. I can be faithful, but I cannotbe impassioned. It is impossible for me to suffer as your pretty Theocould, as it is equally impossible for me to love as she did. I havelost something, of course, but I have not lost all."

  Between these two women there arose a friendship which was neverdissolved. Perhaps the one thing they had in common, drew them towardeach other; at any rate, they were faithful; and even when, three yearslater, Prisci
lla Gower married a man who loved her, and having marriedhim, was a calmly happy woman, they were faithful to each other still.

  THE END.

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