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Isabel Leicester: A Romance, a novel by Maude Alma |
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Chapter 9 |
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_ CHAPTER IX The daylight was streaming in at the window when Emily awoke, and lay thinking of the party, and rejoicing in her kind little heart that Isabel had been so happy, and had enjoyed herself so much. Then she sighed as she thought Harry was gone, but smiled again at the bright prospect she had in view, for Harry had imparted to her the nice arrangement that he had made with his father, and she did so love the idea of travelling for a year. Then again she heaved a little sigh, and hoped he would not overwork himself; but there was no cause for uneasiness on that score, for Harry was too much accustomed to take things easy, and too wise to work himself to death: and Emmy was content to believe this. But she was that sociable disposition, that she could not half enjoy anything unless she could get some one to sympathise with her. She did so long to tell her news. Late as was the hour when the party broke up, she wanted to tell Isabel; but Isabel had refused their accustomed chat, saying that it was too late, and that Mrs. Arlington would be vexed. Then she wondered if Isabel was awake, she did so long to tell her about the year's travelling. She thought she would go and see. So she got up very quietly, partially dressed, and then threw on her dressing gown, and ran up to Isabel's room; but finding the door locked, she rattled the handle slightly, and called through the key-hole, "Isabel! Isabel! are you awake? open the door." Then as she drew back, something attracted her sight, and impelled her to apply her eye to the said key-hole. She did so; and horrified beyond description at what she beheld, she shrieked aloud with terror. Her frantic cries brought her father, mother, Everard, and several of the servants, to the rescue. "Open the door! oh, open the door!" was all that she could say, wringing her hands in anguish, and pointing to it. "Speak, child," said her father, "what is the matter?" But she only cried more wildly, "open the door! open the door!" without attempting to explain. But Everard, with his firm, quiet manner, and reassuring tone, calmed her almost instantly. Mrs. Arlington did as Emily had done before her. "There is something wrong," she exclaimed, "we must get the door open." The united efforts of Everard and his father forced the door, and a more distressing sight can scarcely be imagined than that they beheld. Stretched on the floor lay Isabel, in her ball dress, the blood pouring from her mouth in a crimson stream. As soon as Everard saw this, he waited for no more, but hastened to the stable, and was soon on the road, dashing at a reckless pace, towards Dr. Heathfield's. Mrs. Arlington quietly desired Norris to remove the children, who, alarmed by Emily's cries, had crowded into the room, along with the servants. Emily also was dismissed; and ordering two of the servants to remain, she told the rest to retire, and to send Norris back again. She then turned her attention to the suffering girl, whose face wore an expression of ineffable agony; but she was at a loss how to proceed, not knowing what ought to be done, and fearing that she might do harm by injudicious treatment. In less time than could have been imagined, Everard returned with the doctor, who had great difficulty in stopping the bleeding. She had broken a blood vessel, he said, and was in a very dangerous state. He ordered perfect quiet, as the least excitement would cause a return of the bleeding, and then nothing could save her. He questioned very sharply as to what had happened, and gave as his opinion that it had been caused by some great shock, and violent emotion struggled with and suppressed, by undue excitement. Mrs. Arlington repudiated the notion, and protested against such an assumption, saying "that Miss Leicester appeared quite well when she retired to rest." "These things do not happen without cause, madam," returned the doctor; "therefore in all probability something has occurred of which you know nothing." "I am convinced that you are mistaken, Dr. Heathfield; but I will take care that your orders are strictly attended to. No one but myself and Norris shall be allowed in the room. You have no doubt of her ultimate recovery, I trust," she added. "I couldn't pretend to give an opinion at present; I can only tell you that she is in a most precarious state," he replied gravely. "Everything depends upon the prevention of the hemorrhage, a return of which would be certain death. At the same time, that is not all that we have to fear." For a long time Isabel hovered between life and death, scarcely conscious of what was passing around her. Day after day the children would linger on the stairs, whenever the doctor came, to hear his account of Miss Leicester. But he only shook his head, and said "he could not have them there. Their governess was very ill, and they must be very good children." Then they would return to the school-room, and spend, as best they might, these joyless holidays. At last the longed for answer came--"She was certainly better," and they were delighted beyond measure; but their joy was considerably damped, when he told them that they could not be permitted to see her for some time yet. Isabel's recovery was very slow, though every care and attention was bestowed upon her, and each vied with the other in showing kindness to the orphan girl. Still Isabel felt her lonely, dependent condition, acutely. Life seemed a dreary, cheerless existence; and she experienced a shrinking from the future which seemed to be before her, which was at times almost insupportable. She longed to be at rest. The prostration and langour, both mental and bodily, that accompanied this depression, was so great as to seriously retard her recovery, and almost baffled the doctor's skill. She would lie for hours without speaking or moving, apparently asleep, but only in a sort of waking dream. She took no interest in anything, and appeared quite incapable of making any effort to overcome this apathy. Emily tried her best to amuse her; but after taking pains to relate everything that she thought of interest that had occurred, Isabel would smile and thank her, in a way that proved she had not been listening. Thus week after week of her convalescence passed, while, to the doctor's surprise and disappointment, she made no further progress. After visiting his patient one afternoon, he requested a few moments' conversation with Mrs. Arlington. "My dear madam," he said, when that lady had led the way into the morning-room, "has Miss Leicester no friends, with whom she could spend a few weeks? for if she is allowed to remain in this lethargic state, she will inevitably sink. An entire change of air and scene is absolutely necessary. She requires something to rouse her in a gentle way, without excitement." "She has friends, I believe; but really, I know so little about them, that any arrangement of that sort is out of the question. All those I do know, are at present in Europe," returned Mrs. Arlington. "But we are anxious to do everything in our power to promote her recovery. If you can suggest anything, I shall be most happy to carry out your plans. I proposed her going to the sea-side, but she wouldn't hear of it, and said that she hoped she should not trouble us much longer. I remonstrated, but to no purpose--she persisted that it was utterly impossible." "That was the very thing I was going to suggest," returned the doctor; "but I trusted that the proposal would have met with a better reception. But if you will allow me, I think I might persuade her to accompany the children, as if on their account. Have I your permission to do so?" "Full permission to make any arrangements that you think beneficial, doctor," replied Mrs. Arlington. Doctor Heathfield went back to his patient. He found her alone. "What do you think of making a start to the sea-side? I think it would do you good." "Oh, indeed I could not," returned Isabel languidly. "Mrs. Arlington is very kind, but it is quite impossible." "Don't decide so hastily," replied Dr. Heathfield, taking a seat by her side. "A thing which is impossible, requires no consideration." "But I am convinced that it is not impossible," he urged, "and by obliging others, you will also benefit yourself; it is such a very small thing that is required of you, just to accompany the children to D---- for a few weeks. Indeed I think that you can scarcely refuse after all the kindness that you have received during your long illness." "I am extremely sorry to have caused so much trouble, but I assure you that I am not ungrateful." "It don't seem like it when you won't do what little you might to please," returned the doctor. "Don't say will not," Dr. Heathfield. "Ay but I must say will not, and excuse me when I add, that you greatly mistake your duty to give way to this apathy, and thus retard your recovery," he said kindly. "I do not seek to fathom your trouble, but I do know that it was excessive mental anguish that caused you to break a blood-vessel, and I would remind you that this is not the right way to brood over and nurse your grief, refusing to make any effort to do your duty. "I know it is wrong faltered Isabel with quivering lips, but I cannot take an interest in anything or find comfort, save in the thought of early death." "But that is from the morbid state of mind induced by weakness." Isabel shook her head. "And will pass off as you get stronger," he continued. "I shall never be strong again," she said. "Pooh, nonsense, I can't have you talk in that way, if you only make an effort and go with the children to D----, I think you will soon alter your opinion." "Please don't say any more, my head aches dreadfully," pleaded Isabel. "One moment and I have done," he said, "I fear that you forget your position here, the family have behaved to you with the greatest generosity, but still you must be aware that they would not continue to keep an invalid governess, and as I understand that you are entirely dependant upon your own exertions, you must see the necessity of trying the benefit of sea air, when you have the opportunity, do not take it unkindly that I have used such freedom in pressing this matter, think over it quietly, and to-morrow let me know what answer I am to give Mrs. Arlington." Then he took his leave, and his kind heart smote him, for he heard the smothered sobs of his fair patient. _ |
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