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Doctor Luttrell's First Patient

<h3> CHAPTER XXIII. </h3> <h3> "I HAVE COME TO STAY." </h3> "The dear Lord's best interpreters Are humble human souls; The gospel of a life Is more than books or scrolls."—Whittier. "Deb, I have come to stay," were Olivia's first words, as the woman met her on the top of the stairs; but Deborah's only answer was to lift her hands in dumb protest and lead the way into the kitchen. Deb's strong, hard-featured face was haggard and drawn with fatigue and anxiety, and she looked more gaunt and angular than ever: her reddened, swollen eyelids told their own tale. "I am come to stay," repeated Olivia, firmly; but Deborah only shrugged her shoulders and walked over to the fireplace. "You won't need to stay long, Miss Olive," she said, in a choked voice—at moments of excitement it was still "Miss Olive" with Deb—"she is failing fast, dear soul; the fever's gone and left her as weak as a new-born babe. I always said my mistress was only fit to be among the angels!" and Deb gave an expressive sniff as she filled her kettle. Olivia felt a dull pain at her heart at this speech, but she would not let herself give way. Deborah, as she knew, always took a gloomy view of her mistress's illnesses. "Dr. Randolph is coming again to-night," she observed; "my husband told me so;" but Olivia's hand shook as she took off her hat and jacket. "Yes, Miss Olive, the doctor is coming again, and that speaks for itself, to my mind. I knew what it was four days ago, for she was taken ill the very night after you drove round to see her, but I dare not let you know. 'We won't tell Mrs. Luttrell, or she will be anxious, and will insist on coming to nurse me. Promise me that you will not send to Galvaston Terrace, Deb;' and what was a poor servant to do? I suppose if Dr. Luttrell has sent you you will have to stop, but I won't give up nursing my mistress even to you, Miss Olive," and Deb sniffed defiantly. "There, you may go in while I warm her milk, but she will not take any notice of you. She is too weak to speak." The folding-doors were open, and the little sitting-room, with its cheery fire, had a cosy aspect, the sick-room was dimly lighted. As Olivia bent over the invalid her heart contracted with anguish. Could only four days have wrought such deadly havoc? Aunt Madge's face looked pinched and sunken, and so changed that Olivia could hardly recognise it, but, as she hung over her in speechless grief, the heavy eyelids unclosed, and something like a smile passed over the features. "My little Livy" was all she whispered, but it was the old caressing tone. When Dr. Randolph paid his last visit Olivia begged him to use his influence with Deborah. "She has been up three nights and is utterly worn out," she went on. "I want her to let me watch while she has a good sleep on that couch. I would promise to wake her if I saw the least change. Indeed, I know something of nursing, Dr. Randolph. I was with my dear mother when she died, and I will carry out all your instructions." "Well, you heard what I said to Mrs. Higgins," returned Dr. Randolph, "that everything depends on frequent nourishment. The fever is down, but there is a state of collapse that makes me uneasy. Mrs. Broderick has a good constitution or she would not have got through her last illness, so I still hope we may pull her through;" but Dr. Randolph's voice was not sanguine as he said this. "Now I will go and have a talk with Mrs. Higgins. I shall tell her that unless she does as she is told to-night I shall bring round a nurse with me to-morrow. I think that will fetch her," and Dr. Randolph was right. Possibly Deb felt herself on the verge of breaking down, for she consented at last to lie down on her mistress's couch for an hour or two, but it was midnight before Olivia found herself in sole charge. There was very little to be done except to give medicine and nourishment at stated intervals and to make up the two fires as noiselessly as possible, but Olivia felt her responsibilities too acutely to be overcome by drowsiness, though Deborah lay hour after hour in the heavy sleep of utter exhaustion. Olivia's thoughts went back to her childhood as she sat there. A hundred instances of Aunt Madge's affection and devotion recurred to her. She remembered how the sprightly young aunt used to run up to the nursery with some new toy or gaily-dressed doll that she had purchased out of her scanty savings, for Aunt Madge had been a daily governess, too. She could recall the Sunday afternoons when she sat in her lap and the beautiful voice sang to her or told her stories,—Joseph and his brethren and Daniel in the lions' den,—or on other days dear old fairy stories such as children love. She had been her bridesmaid, too, and had grown very fond of the honest, sturdy Scotchman whom his wife so tenderly idealised. "Uncle Fergus was a good, kind man," she thought, "but he was not all that Aunt Madge imagined him. Most people would not have called him interesting, but he was devoted to her. What a bright creature she was until little Malcolm died. That was the first of her troubles. What a happy home theirs had been, but it was Aunt Madge who had been the heart of the house, who had organised and planned. Uncle Fergus had never originated anything. "And she loved him as dearly as I love Marcus," she went on. "And yet when she lost him there was not a murmuring word. "'I thought it was too good to last,' she once said to me, 'but my widow's cruse will never be empty. I have the sweetest memories, and by-and-by I shall have my treasures again. Do you know I often pray, Livy, that I may not long so much to die? God's will, not mine, even in this.' "Oh, Aunt Madge, dear Aunt Madge, I cannot spare you yet," murmured Olivia more than once that night, for it is hard for human affection to rid itself of selfishness. When Olivia brought Deb a cup of tea at seven o'clock, the good creature seemed quite shocked. "To think I have slept all these hours," she said, in a dazed voice. "Miss Olive, why did you not wake me long ago? You are fit to drop, and what will Dr. Luttrell say?" but Olivia shook her head with a faint smile. "I will lie down now and get a nap. Deb, I am sure she is no worse; she has taken all Dr. Randolph ordered, and though she has not spoken, she seemed to me a shade less exhausted;" but, though Deb would not endorse this, Olivia felt certain that she was right. She was sitting at her late breakfast, when Marcus called to see how they had spent the night. And her account evidently relieved him. He waited to hear Dr. Randolph's opinion. Olivia came back to him as soon as possible. "Oh, Marcus," she said, the tears rushing to her eyes, "Dr. Randolph says that the exhaustion is not quite so great, and he owned frankly that he was afraid last night how he should find her this morning. We are to go on just the same. Everything depends on frequent nourishment; he thinks the heart is a little stronger, but she must not be moved at all. 'We must see what nature and rest will do,' he said to me; 'do not relax your efforts, we are not out of the woods yet.' He is coming again about four." "Yes, I should not be surprised if she weathered it after all," returned Marcus; "she must have a tough constitution to have gone through all she has. Yesterday I certainly felt anxious, and so did Randolph. We both feared sudden collapse. I worried myself for a long time because I had not offered to sit up with you, Livy, but I have been up two nights already this week, and one has one's work to do;" but Olivia looked quite shocked at this. "My dear boy, how could you think of such a thing? It would have made me more miserable than I was already; besides, there would have been no room for you, this is such a tiny place. Oh, how I wish Aunt Madge could move into better lodgings; her bedroom is far too small, and that wardrobe quite fills it up. By-the-bye, Marcus, I wish you would tell me what I had better do. May I come home for an hour or two and see baby?" "I don't know that there would be any risk," he replied, slowly; "you cannot give influenza unless you have it yourself; but, all the same, I would keep away from Dot. She is perfectly well, and sat up in her high-chair pouring out imaginary tea in her wooden set while I had my breakfast, and Martha begged me to tell you 'that the butcher had called, and she had ordered a steak for master, and would make a rice-pudding for Miss Baby.'" "Very well, then, I will stay; but, Marcus, I shall see you again this evening, shall I not?" and Marcus returned in an emphatic voice that he certainly intended to keep an eye on her. "I won't have you getting into mischief and knocking yourself up," he remarked, severely. "So be a wise woman, or you will have to reckon with me!" There was plenty to do that morning, putting things tidy in the sick-room and straightening the sitting-room. In the course of the day some choice flowers came from Galvaston House with Mr. Gaythorne's compliments, and at tea-time Marcus dropped in unexpectedly, and they had a cosy half-hour together in Deb's spotless little kitchen; to her surprise he told Olivia that Dot was at Galvaston House. "Mrs. Crampton begged to have her, and Mr. Gaythorne thought it would be a good plan, so she fetched her this afternoon. I hope I have done right, Livy;" and Marcus spoke in an apologetic tone, as though he felt that he had trenched on the mother's prerogative; "but, you see, I am so much out, and Martha is so busy, that I thought that we should both be less anxious to know that Mrs. Crampton was looking after her," and Olivia agreed to this. Olivia had already arranged to take the earlier part of the night in the sick-room, and when Dr. Randolph had paid his evening visit, Deb took possession of the couch again. Olivia had promised faithfully to wake her at three o'clock. A long afternoon nap had refreshed Olivia, and a few hopeful words from the doctor had cheered her immensely. A little after midnight she was sitting down by the bedside with some knitting to keep her awake, when a movement from the bed made her look up. Aunt Madge's eyes were fixed on her; there was a strange solemnity and deep sadness in their expression, and as Olivia rose hastily and bent over her with a tender inquiry, the feeble voice whispered: "Don't fret any more, Livy, the Master does not need me yet—not yet," and then scarcely audibly, "I shall not die, but live and declare the works of the Lord," and then it seemed to Olivia that the weary eyelids closed in sleep again. When her turn for rest came, Olivia felt almost too agitated to sleep; the sad yearning in the sunken eyes haunted her; too well she knew that the fresh gift of life would only be an additional cross laid on the weary shoulders. What was life to Aunt Madge now but suffering and deprivation, a daily stumbling among shadows, as she had once called it. There was no reserve and hesitation in Dr. Randolph's manner when he came out of the sick-room the next day. "She has turned the corner now, but it was a narrow squeak," he said, rubbing his hands. "Now, all we have to do is to build up her strength. Your aunt is a wonderful woman, Mrs. Luttrell. I should not wonder if she is good for twenty years yet, but we must be careful still. I suppose you will be here for another day or two? Oh, that's all right," as Olivia gave a decided assent to this. "It would be a pity to knock Mrs. Higgins up. There are not many women like her; she is simply invaluable." As the days went on the tension of anxiety was visibly relaxed. The invalid's progress was slow but sure. In another day or two Olivia was able to go home for an hour or two to have dinner with Marcus and give Martha directions; but while the night-work continued it was impossible for her to leave. And it was arranged that Dot was to remain at Galvaston House for the present. Greta had written to beg for an extension of her visit. "She is such a darling, and I shall be so delighted to have her," she wrote. "She will not be at all in the way," and indeed Dot ruled royally over the household. She and Mr. Gaythorne became great friends. "Great dada," as she called him, took a good deal of notice of the pretty, golden-haired child who played at his feet for hours, and Eros was devoted to her. Alwyn's first work when he returned was to paint a large picture of Dot in her cream-coloured smock, hanging a withered garland round the neck of the blind hound. "Friends" he called it. Olivia was able to spend an hour or two at Galvaston House the day after the young couple returned. She found them in the studio with Dot and Eros. Alwyn was looking well and handsome, and Greta's sweet face wore an expression of gentle content. She carried Olivia off at once to the morning-room to have a chat, as she said, looking archly at her husband. And though Alwyn professed to grumble at the desertion, he was too busy stretching his canvas for the new picture to resent it. "Let me know when tea is ready," he called after them, and then they heard him whistling in his usual light-hearted fashion. "I need not ask you if you are happy, Greta," were Olivia's first words, and then a charming blush crossed the young bride's face. "No, indeed! Oh, Olive, he is so good to me; if you only knew how he studies all my wishes. It was like a dream yesterday coming to this beautiful home. And then Mr. Gaythorne's delight at getting his son back. Oh, it was so touching to see them together. Alwyn wants me to call him 'Father,'" she continued, shyly. "He says it will please him so, so I must try to do it. You know I always called my own father dad. Now tell me about dear Mrs. Broderick. Poor Olive, what a time you have had; and you are looking so pale and tired." And then Olive poured out her anxieties and past troubles into Greta's sympathising ears. "She is very weak still," she finished. "Dr. Randolph thinks it will be some time before she will be able to leave her bed. I have found such a nice woman who will come in and help Deb, for of course I cannot leave Marcus any longer. I am to go home the day after to-morrow. Deb will sleep on the couch in the sitting-room. She will have to give nourishment every two hours, but Deb manages to sleep with one eye open, as I tell her. I am to go for a couple of hours every afternoon, that will allow her to have a little rest. Marcus thinks this will work excellently. Oh, how glad I shall be to be at home again and look after him!" "You want looking after yourself, dear," returned Greta, affectionately. And then Alwyn came into the room with Dot on his shoulder, but she clamoured to go to her mammy. "How do you think Mrs. Alwyn Gaythorne looks?" asked Alwyn, mischievously. "She does me credit, does she not? By-the-bye, Greta, do you think father will like us to have coffee with him in the library this afternoon?" "I told Phoebe that we would have it up here; shall I go and ask him, Alwyn?" "Do, love; the attention will please him, and I am sure Mrs. Luttrell will not mind." Then as Greta left the room, he turned to Olivia and said in a tone of deep feeling,— "She looks well and happy, don't you think so? Oh, Mrs. Luttrell, every day I feel more what a treasure I have. She is an embodied sunbeam. I never knew anyone so gentle and yet so bright. How my father will love her when he knows her better." And then, as his wife's step sounded in the corridor, he sprang from his seat to open the door. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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