The Essential W. Somerset Maugham Collection. W. Somerset Maugham

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СКАЧАТЬ tearing at his heart, towards the house in which lodged Mrs. Wallace. One window was still lit, and he wondered whether it was hers; it would have been an exquisite pleasure if he could but have seen her form pass the drawn blind. Ah, he could not have mistaken it! Presently the light was put out, and the whole house was in darkness. He waited on, for no reason--pleased to be near her. He waited half the night, till he was so tired he could scarcely drag himself home.

      In the morning James was ill and tired, and disillusioned; his head ached so that he could hardly bear the pain, and in all his limbs he felt a strange and heavy lassitude. He wondered why he had troubled himself about the woman who cared nothing--nothing whatever for him. He repeated about her the bitter, scornful things he had said so often. He fancied he had suddenly grown indifferent.

      "I shall go back to Primpton," he said; "London is too horrible."

      XVIII

      The lassitude and the headache explained themselves, for the day after Jamie's arrival at Little Primpton he fell ill, and the doctor announced that he had enteric fever. He explained that it was not uncommon for persons to develop the disease after their return from the Cape. In their distress, the first thought of Mrs. Parsons and the Colonel was to send for Mary; they knew her to be quick and resourceful.

      "Dr. Radley says we must have a nurse down. Jamie is never to be left alone, and I couldn't manage by myself."

      Mary hesitated and reddened:

      "Oh, I wish Jamie would let me nurse him! You and I could do everything much better than a strange woman. D'you think he'd mind?"

      Mrs. Parsons looked at her doubtfully.

      "It's very kind of you, Mary. I'm afraid he's not treated you so as to deserve that. And it would exhaust you dreadfully."

      "I'm very strong; I should like it so much. Won't you ask Jamie? He can only refuse."

      "Very well."

      Mrs. Parsons went up to her son, by whom sat the Colonel, looking at him wistfully. James lay on his back, breathing quickly, dull, listless, and apathetic. Every now and then his dark dry lips contracted as the unceasing pain of his head became suddenly almost insufferable.

      "Jamie, dear," said Mrs. Parsons, "Dr. Radley says you must have a second nurse, and we thought of getting one from Tunbridge Wells. Would you mind if Mary came instead?"

      James opened his eyes, bright and unnatural, and the dilated pupils gave them a strangely piercing expression.

      "Does she want to?"

      "It would make her very happy."

      "Does she know that enteric is horrid to nurse?"

      "For your sake she will do everything willingly."

      "Then let her." He smiled faintly. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good. That's what the curate said."

      He had sufficient strength to smile to Mary when she came up, and to stretch out his hand.

      "It's very good of you, Mary."

      "Nonsense!" she said, cheerily. "You mustn't talk. And you must do whatever I tell you, and let yourself be treated like a little boy."

      For days James remained in the same condition, with aching head, his face livid in its pallor, except for the bright, the terrifying flush of the cheeks; and the lips were dark with the sickly darkness of death. He lay on his back continually, apathetic and listless, his eyes closed. Now and again he opened them, and their vacant brilliancy was almost unearthly. He seemed to see horrible things, impossible to prevent, staring in front of him with the ghastly intensity of the blind.

      Meanwhile, Mrs. Parsons and Mary nursed him devotedly. Mary was quite splendid. In her loving quickness she forestalled all Jamie's wants, so that they were satisfied almost before he had realised them. She was always bright and good-tempered and fresh; she performed with constant cheerfulness the little revolting services which the disease necessitates; nothing was too difficult, or too harassing, or too unpleasant for her to do. She sacrificed herself with delight, taking upon her shoulders the major part of the work, leaving James only when Mrs. Parsons forced her to rest. She sat up night after night uncomplainingly; having sent for her clothes, and, notwithstanding Mrs. Clibborn's protests, taken up her abode altogether at Primpton House.

      Mrs. Clibborn said it was a most improper proceeding; that a trained nurse would be more capable, and the Parsons could well afford it; and also that it was indelicate for Mary to force herself upon James when he was too ill to defend himself.

      "I don't know what we should do without you, Mary," said Colonel Parsons, with tears in his eyes. "If we save him it will be your doing."

      "Of course we shall save him! All I ask you is to say nothing of what I've done. It's been a pleasure to me to serve him, and I don't deserve, and I don't want, gratitude."

      But it became more than doubtful whether it would be possible to save James, weakened by his wound and by the privations of the campaign. The disease grew worse. He was constantly delirious, and his prostration extreme. His cheeks sank in, and he seemed to have lost all power of holding himself together; he lay low down in the bed, as if he had given up trying to save himself. His face became dusky, so that it was terrifying to look upon.

      The doctor could no longer conceal his anxiety, and at last Mrs. Parsons, alone with him, insisted upon knowing the truth.

      "Is there any chance?" she asked, tremulously. "I would much rather know the worst."

      "I'm afraid very, very little."

      Mrs. Parsons shook hands silently with Dr. Radley and returned to the sick room, where Mary and the Colonel were sitting at the bedside.

      "Well?"

      Mrs. Parsons bent her head, and the silent tears rolled down her cheeks. The others understood only too well.

      "The Lord's will be done," whispered the father. "Blessed be the name of the Lord!"

      They looked at James with aching hearts. All their bitterness had long gone, and they loved him again with the old devotion of past time.

      "D'you think I was hard on him, dear?" said the Colonel.

      Mary took his hand and held it affectionately.

      "Don't worry about that," she said. "I'm sure he never felt any bitterness towards you."

      James now was comatose. But sometimes a reflex movement would pass through him, a sort of quiver, which seemed horribly as though the soul were parting from his body; and feebly he clutched at the bed-clothes.

      "Was it for this that he was saved from war and pestilence?" muttered the Colonel, hopelessly.

      * * *

      But the Fates love nothing better than to mock the poor little creatures whose destinies ceaselessly they weave, refusing the wretched heart's desire СКАЧАТЬ