CHAPTER III
RETURNING CONSCIOUSNESS
I seemed to waken as if from a long, troubled sleep. At first I wasmerely conscious that I was awake, and I wondered how long I had slept.Then I was glad I was awake, and that my confused and hateful dreams,of which no distinct memory remained, had vanished. The only thing Icould recall concerning them was an indefinite and oppressive sense ofloss of some kind, at which I had vaguely and impotently protested.
I knew I was awake, and yet I felt too languid to open my eyes. I waslittle more than barely conscious of existence, and I rather enjoyedthis negative condition of complete inertia. The thought floatedthrough my mind that I was like a new-born child, that knows nothing,fears nothing, thinks nothing, but simply breathes, and I felt so tiredand "gone" that I coveted an age of mere respiration.
But thought slowly kindled in a weak, fitful fashion. I first becameslightly curious about myself. Why had I slept so profoundly? Why was Iso nerveless and stupid after such a sleep?
Instead of answering these questions, I weakly wandered off intoanother train of thought. "My mind seems a perfect blank," I said tomyself. "I don't remember anything; I don't know where I am, and don'tmuch care; nor do I know what my experience will be when I fully rousemyself. This is like beginning a new existence. What shall be the firstentry on the blank page of my wakening mind? Perhaps I had better rouseup and see whether I am truly alive."
And yet I did not rise, but just lay still, heavy with a strange,painless inertia, over which I puzzled in a vague, weak way.
At last I was sure I heard a child crying. Then there was a voice, thatI thought I had heard before, trying to hush and reassure the child,and I began to think who they were, and yet I did not seem to careenough to open my eyes to see.
I next heard something like a low sob near me, and it caused a faintthrill among my sluggish nerves. Surely I had heard that sound before,and curiosity so far asserted itself that I opened my eyes and lookedwonderingly around.
The room was unfamiliar, and yet I was certain I had seen it on someprevious occasion. Seated at a window, however, was a lady who soonabsorbed my whole weak and wavering attention. My first thought was:"How very pretty she is!" Then, "What is she looking at so steadfastlyfrom the window?" After a moment I mentally laughed at my stupidity."She's looking at the sunset. What else should she be looking at? Can Ihave slept all day?"
I saw her bosom heave with another convulsive sob, and that tears fastfollowed each other down her cheeks. I seemed to have the power ofnoting everything distinctly, but I couldn't understand or account forwhat I saw. Who was that sweet-faced girl? Beyond a doubt I had seenher before, but where? Why was she crying? Why was she in my room?
Then I thought, "It must be all imaginary; I doubt whether I am awakeyet. If she were only smiling instead of crying, I would like to dreamon forever. How strangely familiar her face is! I must have seen itdaily for years, and yet I can't recognize it."
The loud whinny of a horse seemed to give my paralyzed memory animpetus and suggestion, by means of which I began to reconstruct thepast.
"That's Old Plod!" I exclaimed mentally. "And--and--why, that's MissWarren sitting by the window. I remember now. We were in the barntogether, and I was jealous of the old horse--how absurd! Then we werein the garden, and she was laughing at me. How like a dream it all is!It seemed as if she were always laughing, and that the birds might wellstop singing to listen. Now she is crying here in my room. I halfbelieve it's an apparition, and that if I speak it will vanish. Perhapsit is a warning that she's in trouble somewhere, and that I ought to goto her help. How lovely she looks, with her hands lying in her lap,forgetful of the work they hold, and her tearful eyes fixed on theglowing west! Her face is very pale in contrast. Surely she's only ashadow, and the real maiden is in need of my aid;" and I made an effortto rise.
It seemed exceedingly strange that I could scarcely lift my hand; butmy slight movement caused her to look around, and in answer to my gazeof eager inquiry she came softly and hesitatingly toward me.
"Miss Warren," I said, "can it be you in very truth?"
"Yes," she replied, with a sudden and glad lighting up of her face,"but please don't talk."
"How you relieve me," I tried to say joyfully, but I found I could onlywhisper. "What the mischief--makes my voice--so weak? Do you know--thatI had the odd--impression--that you were an apparition--and had come tome--as a token--that--you were in trouble--and I tried to rise--to goto your aid--then it seemed yourself--that looked around. But you _are_in trouble--why can't I get up and help you?"
She trembled, and by her gesture tried to stop my words.
"Will you do what I ask?" she said, in a low, eager tone.
I smiled as I replied, "Little need of your asking that question."
"Then please try to get well speedily; don't talk, but just keep everylittle grain of strength. Oh, I'm so glad you are in your right mind.You have been very ill, but will soon get well now if only careful.I'll call Mrs. Yocomb."
"Please don't go," I whispered. "Now that I know you--it seems sonatural--that you should be here. So I've been ill--and you have takencare of me;" and I gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. "I did not knowyou at first--idiot!--but Old Plod whinnied--and then it all began tocome back."
At the word "Old Plod" she turned hastily toward the door. Then, as ifmastered by an impulse, she returned, and said, in a tone that thrilledeven my feeble pulse:
"Oh, live! in mercy live, or else I can never forgive myself."
"I'll live--never fear," I replied, with a low laugh. "I'm not such afool as to leave a world containing you."
A rich glow overspread her face, she smiled, then suddenly her facebecame very pale, and she even seemed frightened as she hastily leftthe room.
A moment later Mrs. Yocomb came in, full of motherly solicitude.
"Kind Mrs. Yocomb," I murmured, "I am glad I'm in such good hands."
"Thank God, Richard Morton," she said, in low, fervent tones, "thee'sgoing to get well. But don't speak a word."
"Wasn't that Zillah crying?"
"Yes, she was heart-broken about thee being so sick, but she'll laughnow when I tell her thee's better. Take this, and sleep again."
"Bless her kind heart!" I said.
Mrs. Yocomb laid her finger on my lips. I saw her pour out something,which I swallowed unquestioningly, and after a moment sank into a quietsleep.
A Day of Fate Page 18