"I hope so," said Margaret, gently; "but sickness is a great trial to every body, Mr. Humphries."
"I don't think," began Mr. Humphries, looking fixedly at the beautiful fingers that were engaged in folding the note:--"that is, I think--if you were to nurse people, they would not need to be much pitied."
This sentence, which was spoken very fast, and accompanied by strong signs of bashfulness, was received by Margaret as one of the ordinary civilities which young men are in the habit of paying. She carefully traced the direction, and, pausing at the last word, said calmly:--
"Let me see, is Lockwood in Worcestershire or Somersetshire, Mr.
Humphries?"
"In Worcestershire," said Mr. Humphries, relieved by finding that his speech had produced no greater effect,--for he had grown extremely red in the face, and felt like a person who had fired a train, and expected some terrible explosion to take place.
However, he had composure enough left to light her a taper, and find the sealing wax, but before Margaret could make use of it, Harriet's maid rushed into the room, and with signs of great agitation informed her that her mistress was much worse, and as she thought, light-headed.
Margaret hastily left the note for Mr. Humphries to seal and dispatch, and ran up stairs. Harriet was much worse; quite delirious, and holding forth to Mrs. Singleton with great eagerness; while she, poor lady, perfectly unable to hear a word she uttered, had no idea of the real state of the case. Margaret saw it directly, took Mrs. Singleton aside, and informed her of Harriet's condition, sent off a servant for a medical man, and took her place firmly by her friend's bedside.
Before night, Harriet was very ill,--was worse--was in danger. Margaret would not go down to dinner; but the kind Mrs. Singleton would not allow her to remain in the room all the evening. She sent her into the drawing-room to make tea, and begged her to remain there till bed time.
Mr. Singleton was walking up and down the room, whistling discordantly.
He came up to Margaret, thanked her repeatedly for her kindness to Harriet, and rang the bell for the urn.
Mr. Gage and Mr. Humphries joined her at the tea-table.
"I have not seen you since breakfast," said Mr. Gage, bending across the teacups, "how much I have regretted your absence."
Now Margaret was in very low spirits, feeling solitary and frightened, and perhaps his being a Gage inspired her with confidence, and made her feel a claim upon his sympathy, for she turned her eyes, filled with tears, upon him, and said:--
"Harriet is so ill, Mr. Gage!"
"I am sorry to hear it," he replied coldly.
This sudden check did not produce the effect upon Margaret that it might upon some people. She never cried upon such occasions: she forced back her tears, at once, and sat cold and silent.
Mr. Humphries handed her toast and cakes in vain.
Mr. Gage rose, and employed himself in altering the lamp.
"Does the doctor come again this evening, Miss Capel?" asked Mr.
Singleton.
"Yes, Sir, the last thing," replied Margaret, "he asked when the house would be shut up, but Mrs. Singleton desired him to name his own time, and he appointed eleven."
"It is just ten now," said Mr. Singleton, looking at his watch.
Mr. Gage looked at his watch too, which did not seem at all necessary, and then altered the lamp again.
"Who sits up with Harriet to-night?" asked Mr. Singleton.
"Her maid, Sir; Mrs. Singleton would not hear of my sitting up."
"Perfectly right," said Mr. Gage, "if I were Mrs. Singleton, I should be inclined to forbid you the room altogether; you run a great risk of infection."
"I am sure," said Mr. Humphries, "I wish I could be of use; I only wish I could sit up, that's all."
Mr. Gage remarked with much disdain, "that his sitting up with a young lady would possess, at least, the charm of novelty;" and then he turned away and loitered to the fire-place.
Mr. Humphries drew his chair closer to Margaret.
"This is very dull for you, Miss Capel," he began.
"Very sad for me," said Margaret.
"You are not afraid of being with Miss Conway?"
"Not at all; I never was timid about infection."
"I think--(_a long pause_)--I think you are an angel, Miss Capel."
"Do you, Mr. Humphries," said Margaret unconsciously; her whole mind occupied with Harriet's illness, and the unkind indifference displayed by Mr. Gage.
For a little while Mr. Humphries had to endure a paroxysm of bashfulness; when he recovered, the first words he uttered were: "I like you very much!"
Margaret, who was fitting a steel pen into a mother of pearl handle, replied: "you are very good, Mr. Humphries. Is not this a pretty pen?"
He took it in his clumsy way, and then began to laugh.
"I--I meant," he began; but here his courage failed him, and he gave her back the pen, looking suspiciously at Mr. Singleton and George Gage, who were conversing in whispers at the other end of the room.
"Can you tell me what o'clock it is, Mr. Humphries?" asked Margaret.
"Twenty minutes to eleven."
"Thank you."
"I shall not hunt to-morrow, Miss Capel," said Mr. Humphries, "somehow--"
He wanted an interpreter; "somehow," meant that while Harriet was ill, he did not think he should quite enjoy a run with the hounds. Margaret understood his meaning and smiled.
Mr. Humphries returned her smile with his usual breadth of expression, revealing a perfect semicircle of dazzling teeth, and then said: "Coming home from hunting, last time--"
"Yes, Mr. Humphries."
"Gage, and I--"
"Yes, Mr. Humphries."
"I wish you would say yes always!"
Here a prodigious smile, and the usual symptoms of vanishing under the table.
"But it would not make sense always, Mr. Humphries," replied Margaret.