"How do you come here? I don't know you. Who does know you?"
"I have been a friend of your friends, Mr. and Mrs. Thayer, for many years."
"Humph. Ah! Well. About breakfast, I don't know what they have got for me downstairs; some lolypop or other."
"We'll do better for you than that," said Mr. Shubrick.
The morning meanwhile had come to the other inmates of the house. Dolly had left the sofa where she had spent the night, with a glad consciousness that the night was over and there had been no disturbance. Her mother had slept all the night through and was sleeping yet. What refreshment and comfort it was. What strength and rest, to think of that kind, calm, strong, resolute man in her father's room; somebody that could be depended upon. Dolly thought Christina ought to be a happy woman, with always such a hand to support her all her life long. "And he drinks no wine," thought Dolly; "that temptation will never overtake him; she will never have to be ashamed of him. He will hold her up, and not she him. She is happy."
The worst thing about Mr. Shubrick's coming was, that he must go away again! However, not yet; he would be seen at breakfast first; and to prepare breakfast was now Dolly's next care. Then she got her mother up and persuaded her to make herself nice and appear at the meal.
"You are never going to bring him down into the kitchen?" said Mrs.
Copley, horrified, when she got there.
"Certainly, mother; it is no use trying to make a fuss. I cannot give him breakfast anywhere else."
"Then I would let him go to the village, Dolly, and get his breakfast there."
"But that would be very inhospitable. He was here at supper, mother; I don't think he was frightened. He knows just how we are situated."
"He doesn't know you have nobody to help you, I hope?"
"How could he help knowing it? The thing is patent. Never mind, mother; the breakfast will be good, if the breakfast-room is only so so. If you do not mind, nobody else will."
"That you should come to this!" said Mrs. Copley, sinking into a chair.
"My Dolly! Doing a servant's work, and for strangers, and nobody to help or care! And what are we coming to? I don't see, for my part. You are ruined."
"Not yet," said Dolly cheerfully. "If I am, I do not feel like it. Now, mother, see if you can get Mr. Shubrick down here before my omelette is ruined; for that is the greatest danger just at present."
It was not quite easy to get Mr. Shubrick down there, however; he demurred very seriously; and I am afraid the omelette was something the worse before he came. But then the breakfast was rather gay. The watcher reported a quiet night, and as he was much inclined to think, an amended patient.
"Quiet!" echoed Mrs. Copley. "How could you keep him quiet?"
"I suppose I imagined myself on board ship," said the young man, smiling, "and gave orders, as I am accustomed to do there. Habit is a great thing."
"And Mr. Copley minded your orders?"
"That is understood."
"Well!" ejaculated Mrs. Copley. "He never would do the least thing I or Dolly wanted him to do; not the least thing. _He_ has been giving the orders all along; and as fidgetty as ever he could be. Fidgetty and nervous. Wasn't he fidgetty?"
"No; very docile and peaceable."
"You must be a wonderful man," said Mrs. Copley.
"Habit," said Mr. Shubrick. "As I said, it is a great thing."
"He has been having his own way all along," said Mrs. Copley; "and ordering us about, and doing just the things he ought not to do. He was always that way."
"Not the proper way for a sick room," said Mr. Shubrick. "You had better install me as head nurse."
How Dolly wished they could do that! As she saw him there at the table, with his quiet air of efficiency and strength, Dolly thought what a treasure he was in a sick house; how strong she felt while she knew he was near. Perhaps Mrs. Copley's thoughts took the same turn; she sighed a little as she spoke.
"You have been very kind, Mr. Shubrick. We shall never forget it. You have been a great help. If Mr. Copley would only get better now"----
"I am going to see him better before I go."
"We could not ask any _more_ help of you."
"You need not," and Mr. Shubrick smiled. "Mr. Copley has done me the honour to ask me."
"Mr. Copley has asked you!" repeated Mrs. Copley in bewilderment.
"What?"
"Asked me to stay."
"To stay and nurse him?"
"Yes. And I said I would. You cannot turn me away after that."
"But you have your own business in England," Dolly here put in.
"This is it, I think."
"Your own pleasure, then. You did not come to England for this."
"It seems I did," he said. "I am off duty, Miss Dolly, I told you; here on furlough, to do what I like; and there is nothing else at present that I should like half so well."
Dolly scored another private mark here to the account of Mr. Shubrick's goodness; and in the ease which suddenly came to her own mind, felt as if her head were growing light and giddy. But it was no illusion or dream. Mr. Shubrick was really there, finishing his breakfast, and really going to stay and take care of her father; and Dolly felt as if the tide of their affairs had turned.
So indeed it proved. From that time Mr. Shubrick assumed the charge of the sick-room, by night and also by day. He went for a walk to the village sometimes, and always got his dinner there; the rest of the time he was at the cottage, attending to everything that concerned Mr.
Copley. Dolly and her mother were quite put away from that care. And whether it were the moral force of character, which acted upon Mr.
Copley, or whether it were that his disorder had really run its length and that a returning tide of health was coming back to its channels, the sick man certainly was better. He grew better from day to day. He had been quiet and manageable from the first in his new nurse's hands; now he began to take pleasure in his society, holding long talks with him on all possible subjects. Appetite mended also, and strength was gradually replacing weakness, which had been very great. Anxiety on the one score of her father's recovery was taken away from Dolly.
Other anxieties remained, and even pressed harder, when the more immediately engrossing care was removed. In spite of Mr. Shubrick's lecture about casting off care, Dolly found it difficult to act upon the truth she knew. Her little fund of money was much reduced; she could not help asking herself how they were going to live? Would her father, as soon as he was strong enough, go back to his former ways and be taken up with his old companions? and if he did, how much longer could the little household at Brierley struggle on alone? What had become of all her father's property in America, from which in old time the income had always been more than sufficient for all their wants and desires? Was it gone irrevocably? or had only the ready money accruing from it been swallowed up in speculation or pleasure? And whence could Dolly get light on these points, or how know what steps she ought to take? Could her weakness do anything, in view of that fact to which her mother had alluded, that Mr. Copley always took his own way? It was all utter and dark confusion as she looked forward. Could Dolly trust and be quiet?
In her meditations another subject occupied her a good deal. The presence of Sandie Shubrick was such a comfort that it was impossible not to think what she would do without him when he was gone. He was a universal comfort. Since he had taken charge of the sick-room, the sickness was disappearing; while he was in command, there was no rebellion; the affairs of the household worked smoothly, and Dolly had no need to draw a single long breath of perplexity or anxiety. The sound of that even, firm step on the gravel walk or in the hall, was a token of security; the sight of Mr. Shubrick's upright, alert figure anywhere was good for courage and hope. His resolute, calm face was a light in the house. Dolly's thoughts were much busied with him and with involuntary speculations about him and Christina. It was almost unavoidable. She thought, as indeed she had thought before, that Miss Thayer was a happy woman, to have so much strength and goodness belonging to her. What a shielded life hers would be, by this man's side. He would never neglect her or prefer his interests to hers; he would never give her cause to be ashamed of him; and here Dolly's lips sometimes quivered and a hot tear or two forced their way out from under her eyelids. And how could possibly Christina so play fast and loose with him, do dishonour to so much goodness, and put off her consent to his wishes until all grace was gone out of it? Mr. Shubrick apparently had made up his mind to this treatment and was not cast down by it; or perhaps would he, so self-reliant as he was, be cast down utterly by anything?
I think perhaps Dolly thought too much about Mr. Shubrick. It was difficult to help it. He had brought such a change into her life; he was doing such a work in the house; he was so very pleasant a companion at those breakfasts and suppers in the kitchen. For his dinner Mr.
Shubrick persisted in going to the village inn. He said the walk did him good. He had become in these few days quite as one of themselves.
And now he would go. Mr. Copley was fast getting well, and his nurse would go. Dolly could not bear to think of it.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
UNDER AN OAK TREE.