CHAPTER 21.

 

            THEN Margaret, perceiving by the moisture of his hand, and the drops that stood upon his forehead, that the fever had departed, and that Noel’s life was no longer in danger, rose from her seat, and saying, ‘You must have some food now,’ left the room.

 

            This was the moment for which she had watched, and was prepared. Summoning a trusty English servant, she bade him tend the invalid, who now, she said, had passed the dangerous crisis, and required some nourishment. Everything that could be needed was in readiness, for Margaret trusted in the saving power of her love, and could not believe that Edmund could be torn from her. And now, having done her part, and proved that love was stronger than death, she went to her own room and gave way to her long pent-up feelings in a flood of tears. These were followed by a silent prayer of thanksgiving; after which she arose and refreshed her face with water, and renewed her neglected toilet. Then she opened her door and listened, and having heard Edmund talking softly, but naturally, to his attendant, she closed it again, and opening a drawer, took out some sheets of paper, and sat down to read some lines which were written thereon. They were in her own handwriting; and yet, before returning them to their hiding-place, she kissed them fervently. After this she sat down and reveried.

 

            Soon she heard Noel’s door open, and some steps descending the stairs, and the well-known voice speaking feebly but cheerfully. Then she hastened into the sitting-room, and prepared the sofa for his reception.

 

            ‘Now, tell me all about it,’ he said, as soon as she had made

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him perfectly comfortable by arranging the cushions under his head, and perfectly happy by impressing a timid kiss upon his brow in response to the imploring look wherewith he entreated such consolation.

 

            They each had something to tell, for Margaret had to learn that it was the sight of James’s strange behaviour at the moment of parting that had set Edmund’s mind on the track where the fever had found him; and he had to learn how he had been taken ill, and how that his mule, which had made the journey before, had, of its own accord, followed the convoy, and taken him, soaking wet and in a state of delirium, to the encampment, whence he had been brought home next morning in a litter.

 

            ‘Poor James!’ said Margaret, after explaining all this. ‘He was so ashamed of himself afterwards, and would have gone out for another night into the forest, rain and all, if I had allowed it.’

 

            ‘And how did you prevent him?’

 

            ‘When you were fairly gone, and the rain was coming down in torrents, I said that it seemed very inhospitable to let a guest leave us in such weather, and that we ought to have delayed your start. And then he said, as if struck with remorse for his neglect in letting you go, that I was to blame in caring so much about your going as to make him angry. I returned, that he was himself very sorry at your leaving us.’

 

            ‘ “But I did not cry over it,” he answered.

 

            ‘ “Neither did I, that I was aware of,” I replied; “but that even if I had, it was only a woman’s way of exhibiting a regret that a man might equally feel, and express differently.”

 

            ‘He seemed struck by this, and said nothing; and, being somewhat desperate, I added, –

 

            ‘ “James, you have often said that you wished I would fall n love with somebody, as I should then understand your feelings and know how you suffer; and that if it was some one who did not care for me in return, it would be so much the better.”

 

            “Well?” he said.

 

            “Well. I wonder that it does not occur to you that such unreasonable conduct as you indulge in might have the very effect you pretend to wish. Now, I do not in the least believe that it would make you happier to see me miserable. But whatever your real feelings on the subject may be, I do trust, for your own sake, that their exhibition may be confined to

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myself, and that I may still have credit for a husband who is a sane man.” ’

 

            ‘And how is he now?’ asked Noel.

 

            ‘Oh, he has cared for you like a brother, and scolded me whenever he has seen me pass an hour away from your room. I did not give him many such occasions for scolding me, I can assure you,’ she added, with a playful and affectionate look. ‘You are really attached to him, I hope. Are you not?’

 

            ‘He has only one fault in my eyes,’ said Edmund; ‘that of having married you.’

 

            ‘Well, now I shall not let you talk any more,’ she said, placing her hand on his wrist. ‘Your pulse is going too fast again. Try and sleep a little. James will be in soon, and will be so pleased and surprised at the improvement. I am going to the nursery.’

 

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