"There!" she said. "There--look!"
"Well, my dear, what is it? I see nothing. It is a little dark!"
"Dark!" said the other. "You call that dark! Why, why, it is black--black!"
The nurse drew her softly backwards to the chair, turning her from the window. She recognised nervous fear; but no more than that. But Mabel tore herself free, and wheeled again.
"You call that a little dark," she said. "Why, look, sister, look!"
Yet there was nothing remarkable to be seen. In front rose up the feathery hand of an elm, then the shuttered windows across the court, the roof, and above that the morning sky, a little heavy and dusky as before a storm; but no more than that.
"Well, what is it, my dear? What do you see?"
"Why, why ... look! look!--There, listen to that."
A faint far-away rumble sounded as the rolling of a waggon--so faint that it might almost be an aural delusion. But the girl's hands were at her ears, and her face was one white wide-eyed mask of terror. The nurse threw her arms round her.
"My dear," she said, "you are not yourself. That is nothing but a little heat-thunder. Sit down quietly."
She could feel the girl's body shaking beneath her hands, but there was no resistance as she drew her to the chair.
"The lights! the lights!" sobbed Mabel.
"Will you promise me to sit quietly, then?"
She nodded; and the nurse went across to the door, smiling tenderly; she had seen such things before. A moment later the room was full of exquisite sunlight, as she switched the handle. As she turned, she saw that Mabel had wheeled herself round in the chair, and with clasped hands was still staring out at the sky above the roofs; but she was plainly quieter again now. The nurse came back, and put her hand on her shoulder.
"You are overwrought, my dear.... Now you must believe me. There is nothing to be frightened of. It is just nervous excitement.... Shall I pull down the blind?"
Mabel turned her face.... Yes, certainly the light had reassured her.
Her face was still white and bewildered, but the steady look was coming back to her eyes, though, even as she spoke, they wandered back more than once to the window.
"Nurse," she said more quietly, "please look again and tell me if you see nothing. If you say there is nothing I will believe that I am going mad. No; you must not touch the blind."
No; there was nothing. The sky was a little dark, as if a blight were coming on; but there was hardly more than a veil of cloud, and the light was scarcely more than tinged with gloom. It was just such a sky as precedes a spring thunderstorm. She said so, clearly and firmly.
Mabel's face steadied still more.
"Very well, nurse.... Then---"
She turned to the little table by the side on which Sister Anne had set down what she had brought into the room.
"Show me, please."
The nurse still hesitated.
"Are you sure you are not too frightened, my dear? Shall I get you anything?"
"I have no more to say," said Mabel firmly. "Show me, please."
Sister Anne turned resolutely to the table.
There rested upon it a white-enamelled box, delicately painted with flowers. From this box emerged a white flexible tube with a broad mouthpiece, fitted with two leather-covered steel clasps. From the side of the box nearest the chair protruded a little china handle.
"Now, my dear," began the nurse quietly, watching the other's eyes turn once again to the window, and then back--"now, my dear, you sit there, as you are now. Your head right back, please. When you are ready, you put this over your mouth, and clasp the springs behind your head....
So.... it works quite easily. Then you turn this handle, round that way, as far as it will go. And that is all."
Mabel nodded. She had regained her self-command, and understood plainly enough, though even as she spoke once again her eyes strayed away to the window.
"That is all," she said. "And what then?"
The nurse eyed her doubtfully for a moment.
"I understand perfectly," said Mabel. "And what then?"
"There is nothing more. Breathe naturally. You will feel sleepy almost directly. Then you close your eyes, and that is all."
Mabel laid the tube on the table and stood up. She was completely herself now.
"Give me a kiss, sister," she said.
The nurse nodded and smiled to her once more at the door. But Mabel hardly noticed it; again she was looking towards the window.
"I shall come back in half-an-hour," said Sister Anne.
Then her eyes caught a square of white upon the centre table. "Ah! that letter!" she said.
"Yes," said the girl absently. "Please take it."
The nurse took it up, glanced at the address, and again at Mabel. Still she hesitated.
"In half-an-hour," she repeated. "There is no hurry at all. It doesn't take five minutes.... Good-bye, my dear."
But Mabel was still looking out of the window, and made no answer.
III
Mabel stood perfectly still until she heard the locking of the door and the withdrawal of the key. Then once more she went to the window and clasped the sill.
From where she stood there was visible to her first the courtyard beneath, with its lawn in the centre, and a couple of trees growing there--all plain in the brilliant light that now streamed from her window, and secondly, above the roofs, a tremendous pall of ruddy black.
It was the more terrible from the contrast. Earth, it seemed, was capable of light; heaven had failed.
It appeared, too, that there was a curious stillness. The house was, usually, quiet enough at this hour: the inhabitants of that place were in no mood for bustle: but now it was more than quiet; it was deathly still: it was such a hush as precedes the sudden crash of the sky's artillery. But the moments went by, and there was no such crash: only once again there sounded a solemn rolling, as of some great wain far away; stupendously impressive, for with it to the girl's ears there seemed mingled a murmur of innumerable voices, ghostly crying and applause. Then again the hush settled down like wool.
She had begun to understand now. The darkness and the sounds were not for all eyes and ears. The nurse had seen and heard nothing extraordinary, and the rest of the world of men saw and heard nothing.
To them it was no more than the hint of a coming storm.