Florence Barclay - The Mistress of Shenstone стр 6.

Lady Ingleby noticed his intent gaze, and, leaning forward, also looked up at the picture. The firelight shone on her lovely face, and on the gleaming softness of her hair. Her lips parted in a tender smile; a pure radiance shone from her eyes.

Ah, he is so good! she said. In all the years, he has never once spoken harshly to me. And see how lovingly he looks at Peter, who really is a most unattractive little dog. Did you ever hear the duchesss bon mot about Michael? He and I once stayed together at Overdene; but she did not ask us again until he was abroad, fishing in Norway; so of course I went by myself. The duchess always does those things frankly, and explains them. Therefore on this occasion she said: My dear, I enjoy a visit from you; but you must only come, when you can come alone. I will never undertake again, to live up to your good Michael. It really was a case of St. Michael and All Angels. He was St. Michael, and we had to be all angels! Wasnt it like the duchess; and a beautiful testimony to Michaels consistent goodness? Oh, I wish you knew him better. And, for the matter of that, I wish I knew him better! But after all I am his wife. Nothing can rob me of that. And dont you think when Michael comes home this time somehow, all will be different; better than ever before?

The hall clock chimed three-quarters after the hour.

The clang of a bell resounded through the silent house.

Peter sat up, and barked once, sharply.

The doctor rose and stood with his back to the fire, facing the door.

Myras question remained unanswered.

Hurried steps approached.

A footman entered, with a telegram for Lady Ingleby.

She took it with calm fingers, and without the usual sinking of the heart from sudden apprehension. Her mind was full of the conversation of the moment, and the doctors presence made her feel so strong and safe; so sure of no approach of evil tidings.

She did not hear Sir Derycks quiet voice say to the man: You need not wait.

As the door closed, the doctor turned away, and stood looking into the fire.

The room was very still.

Lady Ingleby opened her telegram, unfolded it slowly, and read it through twice.

Afterwards she sat on, in such absolute silence that, at length, the doctor turned and looked at her.

She met his eyes, quietly.

Sir Deryck, she said, it is from the War Office. They tell me Michael has been killed. Do you think it is true?

She handed him the telegram. Taking it from her, he read it in silence. Then: Dear Lady Ingleby, he said, very gently, I fear there is no doubt. He has given his life for his country. You will be as brave in giving him, as he would wish his wife to be.

Myra smiled; but the doctor saw her face slowly whiten.

Yes, she said; oh, yes! I will not fail him. I will be adequate at last. Then, as if a sudden thought had struck her: Did you know of this? Is it why you came?

Yes, said the doctor, slowly. The duchess sent me. She was at the War Office this morning when the news came in, inquiring for Ronald Ingram, who has been wounded, and is down with fever. She telephoned for me, and insisted on the telegram being kept back until six oclock this evening, in order to give me time to get here, and to break the news to you first, if it seemed well.

Myra gazed at him, wide-eyed. And you let me say all that, about Michael and myself?

Dear lady, said the doctor, and few had ever heard that deep firm voice, so nearly tremulous, I could not stop you. But you did not say one word which was not absolutely loving and loyal.

How could I have? queried Myra, her face growing whiter, and her eyes wider and more bright. I have never had a thought which was not loyal and loving.

I know, said the doctor. Poor brave heart,  I know.

Myra took up the telegram, and read it again.

Killed, she said; killed. I wish I knew how.

The duchess is ready to come to you immediately, if you would like to have her, suggested the doctor.

No, said Myra, smiling vaguely. No; I think not. Not unless dear mamma comes. If that happens we must wire for the duchess, because now now Michael is away she is the only person who can cope with mamma. But please not, otherwise; because well, you see,  she said she could not live up to Michael; and it does not sound funny now.

Is there anybody you would wish sent for at once? inquired the doctor, wondering how much larger and brighter those big grey eyes could grow; and whether any living face had ever been so absolutely colourless.

Anybody I should wish sent for at once? I dont know. Oh, yes there is one person; if she could come. Jane you know? Jane Dalmain. I always say she is like the bass of a tune; so solid, and satisfactory, and beneath one. Nothing very bad could happen, if Jane were there. But of course this has happened; hasnt it?

The doctor sat down.

I wired to Gleneesh this morning, he said. Jane will be here early to-morrow.

Then lots of people knew before I did? said Lady Ingleby.

The doctor did not answer.

She rose, and stood looking down into the fire; her tall graceful figure drawn up to its full height, her back to the doctor, whose watchful eyes never left her for an instant.

Suddenly she looked across to Lord Inglebys chair.

And I believe Peter knew, she said, in a loud, high-pitched voice. Good heavens! Peter knew; and refused his food because Michael was dead. And I said he had dyspepsia! Michael, oh Michael! Your wife didnt know you were dead; but your dog knew! Oh Michael, Michael! Little Peter knew!

She lifted her arms toward the picture of the big man and the tiny dog.

Then she swayed backward.

The doctor caught her, as she fell.

CHAPTER IV

IN SAFE HANDS

All through the night Lady Ingleby lay gazing before her, with bright unseeing eyes.

The quiet woman from the Lodge, who had been, before her own marriage, a devoted maid-companion to Lady Ingleby, arrived in speechless sorrow, and helped the doctor tenderly with all there was to do.

But when consciousness returned, and realisation, they were accompanied by no natural expressions of grief; simply a settled stony silence; the white set face; the bright unseeing eyes.

Margaret OMara knelt, and wept, and prayed, kissing the folded hands upon the silken quilt. But Lady Ingleby merely smiled vaguely; and once she said: Hush, my dear Maggie. At last we will be adequate.

Several times during the night the doctor came, sitting silently beside the bed, with watchful eyes and quiet touch. Myra scarcely noticed him, and again he wondered how much larger the big grey eyes would grow, in the pale setting of that lovely face.

Once he signed to the other watcher to follow him into the corridor. Closing the door, he turned and faced her. He liked this quiet woman, in her simple black merino gown, linen collar and cuffs, and neatly braided hair. There was an air of refinement and gentle self-control about her, which pleased the doctor.

Mrs. OMara, he said; she must weep, and she must sleep.

She does not weep easily, sir, replied Margaret OMara, and I have known her to lie widely awake throughout an entire night with less cause for sorrow than this.

Ah, said the doctor; and he looked keenly at the woman from the Lodge. I wonder what else you have known? he thought. But he did not voice the conjecture. Deryck Brand rarely asked questions of a third person. His patients never had to find out that his knowledge of them came through the gossip or the breach of confidence of others.