by Emma Wolf
Chapter XXIV
The sun shone with its usual winter favoritism upon San Francisco thisThursday morning. After the rain the air felt as exhilarating as a dayin spring. Young girls tripped forth "in their figures," as the Frenchhave it; and even the matrons unfastened their wraps under the genialwooing of sunbeams.
Everything was quiet about the Levice mansion. Neither Ruth nor hermother felt inclined to talk; so when Mrs. Levice took up her positionin her husband's room, Ruth wandered downstairs. The silence seemedvocal with her fears.
"So I tell ye's two," remarked the cook as her young mistress passedfrom the kitchen, "that darter and father is more than kin, they issoul-kin, if ye know what that means; an' the boss's girl do love himmore'n seven times seven children which such a man-angel should 'a'had." For the "boss" was to those who served him "little lower than theangels;" and their prayers the night before had held an eloquent appealfor his welfare.
Ruth, with her face against the window, watched in sickening anxiety.She knew they were not to be expected for some time, but it was betterto stand here than in the fear-haunted background.
Suddenly and almost miraculously, it seemed to her, a carriage stoodbefore the gate. She flew to the door, and as she opened it leaned forone second blindly against the wall.
"Tell my mother they have come," she gasped to the maid, who had enteredthe hall.
Then she looked out. Two men were carrying one between them up the walk.As they came nearer, she saw how it was. That bundled-up figure was herfather's; that emaciated, dark, furrowed face was her father's; but asthey carefully helped him up the steps, and the loud, painful, pantingbreaths came to her, were they her father's too? No need, Ruth, torush forward and vainly implore some power to tear from yourself therespiration withheld from him. Air, air! So, man, so; one step more andthen relief. Ah!
She paused in agony at the foot of the stairs as the closing door shutout the dreadful sound. We never value our blessings till we have lostthem; who thinks it a boon to be able to breathe without thinking of theaction?
He had not seen her; his eyes had been closed as if in exhaustion asthey gently helped him along, and she had understood at once that theonly thing to be thought of was, by some manner of means, to remove thechoking obstacle from his lungs. Oh, to be able in her young strengthto hold the weak, loved form in her arms and breathe into him heroverflowing life-breath! She walked upstairs presently; he would beexpecting her. As she reached the upper landing, Kemp came from theroom, closing the door behind him. His bearing revealed a gravity shehad never witnessed before. In his tightly buttoned morning-suit, withthe small white tie at his throat, he might have been officiating atsome solemn ceremonial. He stood still as Ruth confronted him at thehead of the stairs, and met her lovely, miserable eyes with a look ofsympathy. She essayed to speak, but succeeded only in gazing at him inspeechless entreaty.
"Yes, I know," he responded to her silent appeal; "you were shocked atwhat you heard: it was the asthma that has completely overpowered him.His illness has made him extremely weak."
"And you think--"
"We must wait till he has rested; the trip was severe for one in hiscondition."
"Tell me the truth, please, with no reservations; is there danger?"
Her eager, abrupt questions told clearly what she suffered.
"He has never had any serious illness; if the asthma has not overleapeditself, we have much to hope for."
The intended consolation conveyed a contrary admission which sheimmediately grasped.
"That means--the worst," she said, her clasped fingers speaking thelanguage of despair. "Oh, Doctor, you who know so much, can't you helphim? Think, think of everything; there must be something! Only do yourbest, do your utmost; you will, won't you?"
His deep, grave eyes answered her silently as he took both her littleclasped hands in his one strong one, saying simply,--
"Trust me, but only so far as lies within my human power. He is somewhateased, and asks for you. Look at your mother: she is surpassing herself;if your love for him can achieve one half such a conquest, you will butbe making good your inheritance. I shall be in again at one, and willsend some medicines up at once." He ended in his usual businessliketone, and walked hastily downstairs.
There was perfect quiet in the room as Ruth entered. Propped high bymany pillows, Jules Levice lay in his bed; his wife's arm was about him;his head rested on her bosom; with her one disengaged hand she smoothedhis white hair. Never was the difference between them more marked thannow, when her beautiful face shone above his, which had the touch of thedestroyer already upon it; never was the love between them more markedthan now, when he leaned in his weakness upon her who had never failedhim in all their wedded years.
His eyes were half closed as if in rest; but he heard her enter, andMrs. Levice felt the tremor that thrilled him as Ruth approached.
"My child."
The softly whispered love-name of old made her tremble; she smiledthrough her tears, but when his feeble arms strove to draw her to him,she stooped, and laying them about her neck, placed her cheek upon his.For some minutes these three remained knit in a close embrace; love,strong and tender, spoke and answered in that silence.
"It is good to be at home," he said, speaking with difficulty.
"It was not home without you, dear," murmured his wife, laying her lipssoftly upon his forehead. Ruth, kneeling beside the bed, noticed howloosely the dark signet-ring he wore hung upon his slender finger.
"You look ill, my Ruth," he said, after a pause. "Lay my head down,Esther love; you must be tired. Sit before me, dear, I want to see yourtwo faces together."
His gaunt eyes flitted from one to the other.
"It is a fair picture to take with one," he whispered.
"To keep with one," softly trembled his wife's voice; his eyes met hersin a commiserating smile.
Suddenly he started up.
"Ruth," he gasped, "will you go to Louis? He must be worn out."
She left the room hurriedly. Her faint knock was not immediatelyanswered, and she called softly; receiving no reply, she turned theknob, which yielded to her hand. Sunbeams danced merrily about the roomof the young man, who sat in their light in a dejected attitude. Heevidently had made no change in his toilet; and as Ruth stoodunnoticed beside him, her eyes wandered over his gray, unshaven face,travel-stained and weary to a degree. She laid her hand upon hisshoulder.
"Louis," she called gently.
He shook under her touch, but made no further sign that he knew of herpresence.
"You must be so tired, Louis," she continued sympathetically.
It may have been the words, it may have been the tone, it may have beenthat she touched some hidden thought, for suddenly, without premonition,his breast heaved, and he sobbed heavily as only a man can sob.
She started back in pain. That such emotion could so unstring LouisArnold was a marvel. It did not last long; and as he rose from his chairhe spoke in his accustomed, quiet tone.
"Forgive my unmanliness," he said; "it was kind of you to come to me."
"You look very ill, Louis; can't I bring you something to refresh you,or will you lie down?"
"We shall see; is there anything you wish to ask me?
"Nothing."
After a pause he said,--
"You must not be hopeless; he is in good hands, and everything that canbe done will be done. Is he resting now?"
"Yes; if to breathe like that is to rest. Oh, Louis, when I think howfor months he has suffered alone, it almost drives me crazy."
"Why think of it, then? Or, if you must, remember that in his surpassingunselfishness he saved you much anxiety; for you could not have helpedhim."
"Not with our sympathy?"
"Not him, Ruth; to know that you suffered for him was--would have beenhis crowning sorrow. Is there anything I can do now?"
"No, only think of yourself for a moment; perhaps you can rest a little,for you need it, dear."
A fl
ame of color burned in his cheek at the unusual endearment.
"I shall bring you a cup of tea presently," she said as she left him.
The morning passed into afternoon. Silence hung upon the house. A cardhad been pinned under the door-bell; and the many friends, who inthe short time since the sick man's arrival had heard of his illness,dropped in quietly and left as they came.
Dr. Kemp came in after luncheon. Mr. Levice was sleeping,--in all truth,one could say easily, but the doctor counted much from the rest. Heexpected Dr. H----- for a consultation. This he had done as a voucherand a sort of comforting assurance that nothing would be left undone.Dr. H----- came in blandly; he went out gravely. There was little to besaid.
Kemp walked thoughtfully upstairs after his colleague had left, and wentstraight to Arnold's room. The freedom of the house was his; he seemedto have established himself here simply through his earnestness anddevotion.
"Mr. Arnold," he said to the Frenchman, who quickly rose from his desk,"I want you to prepare your aunt and your cousin for the worst. Youknow this; but if he should have a spell of coughing, the end might besudden."
A cold pallor overspread Louis's face at the confirmation of his secretfears.
He bowed slightly and cleared his throat before answering.
"There will be no necessity," he said; "my uncle intends doing sohimself."
"He must not hasten it by excitement," said Kemp, moving toward thedoor.
"That is unavoidable," returned Arnold. "You must know he had an objectin hurrying home."
"I did not know; but I shall prevent any unnecessary effort to speak. Ifyou can do this for him, will you not?"
"I cannot."
"And you know what it is in detail?"
"I do."
"Then for his sake--"
"And for the others, he must be allowed to speak."
Kemp regarded him steadily, wondering wherein lay the impression ofconcealed power which emanated from him. He left the room withoutanother word.
"Dr. H----- must have gone to school with you," panted Levice, as Dr.Kemp entered; "even his eyes have been educated to express the samefeeling; except for a little--"
"There, there," quieted Kemp; "don't exhaust yourself. Miss Levice, thatfan, please. A little higher? How's that?"
"Do not go, Doctor," he said feebly; "I have something to say, to do,and you--I want you--give me something--I must say it now. Esther, whereare you?"
"Here, love."
"Mr. Levice, you must not talk now," put in Kemp, authoritatively;"whatever you have to say will last till morning."
"And I?"
"And you. Now go to sleep."
Mrs. Levice followed him to the door.
"You spoke just now of a nurse," she said through her pale lips; "Ishall not want one: I alone can nurse him."
"There is much required; I doubt if you are strong enough."
"I am strong."
He clasped her hand in assent; he could not deny her.
"I shall come in and stay with you to-night," he said simply.
"You. Why should you?"
"Because I too love him."
Her mouth trembled and the lines of her face quivered, but she drew herhand quickly over it.
Kemp gave one sharp glance over to the bed; Ruth had laid her headbeside her father's and held his hand. In such a house, in every Jewishhouse, one finds the best nurses in the family.