"Take this, my good fellow," and the doctor held a gla.s.s of cordial to his lips.

He was perfectly lucid now, and his voice natural. Dr. Selden, antic.i.p.ating questions from him, answered them all; told him I had come to stay until he could go back to the old home with me, and of Mr.

Hanson's kind tender of hospitality to both Louis and myself, and settled every vexing question for the patient, who looked a world of thanks, and with "G.o.d be praised" on his lips pa.s.sed again into unconsciousness, with Louis' hand still pa.s.sing over his head. I thought then if Louis should ask me to jump into the crater of Vesuvius for him I could do it out of sheer thankfulness; and I marvelled at him, the child of wealth and ease, only a boy in years, here in this miserable room a strong comforting man, seeming as perfectly at home as if always here. Then the thought of the artist came back to me and I leaned forward to ask Dr. Selden what it all meant.

"Why, little girl, your brother is a sculptor born. He has sat up nights working hard to accomplish his work, and has succeeded too well in his art, for unconsciously he has worn his nervous power threadbare. You will see one of his little pieces in Mr. Hanson's library when you go down there. He has a friend here who--Ah!" said the doctor, turning at that very moment toward the slowly-opening door and grasping the hand of a tall stately man with dreamy eyes, who seemed to be looking the question, "May I come in."

"Yes, yes; come in, professor," whispered the doctor, and he introduced me to Hal's teacher and friend, Wilmur Benton. Then offered him the only remaining chair.

The professor seated himself quietly, and raising his dreamy brown eyes said, "Will he live?"

The doctor smiled and bowed a positive "yes" as he said:

"The crisis is past, care and patience now."

At this moment Hal awoke, and this time more naturally than before. He was quiet, looked upon us all with the clear light of reason in his eyes, and would have talked if it had been allowed. He wanted us all close to him, and smiled as he held tightly Louis' hand in one of his, and with the other grasped that of Professor Benton, to lay both together in a silent introduction. I think Hal felt that Louis had saved his life, and he clung to his hand as a drowning man would to a life preserver. One sweet full hour pa.s.sed over us, and the doctor made preparation to leave him, whispering to me:

"The young man you brought to your brother is giving him wonderful strength, and he must leave him only long enough to rest a little. The crisis is past and the victory won."

And here began and ended a wonderful lesson in life.

CHAPTER VI.

A QUESTION AND A PROBLEM.

The details of our stay in Chicago as a whole would be uninteresting, and I would not weary the reader with them. Hal improved so rapidly that on the fourth day after our arrival, he was carried in comparative comfort to Mr. Hanson's residence, and placed for a few days in a pleasant chamber to gather strength for our journey home. One little incident I must tell you, connected with my introduction to Mr. Hanson's family. We were seated at the supper table, talking of Hal, his sickness and the cause of it, when Daisy, a five-year-old daughter, spoke quickly, "Mamma, mamma, she looks just like the 'tree lady,' only she don't have her sewing."

I did not realize it as the child spoke, but when Mrs. Hanson chided the little one, saying, "Daisy must learn not to tell all her little thoughts," it all came so clearly, and I trembled visibly; yes, I guess it was rather more than visible, since an unfortunate tilt in my chair, an involuntary effort of trying to poise brain and body at once, upset cup and saucer and plate, and before I knew it Mrs. Hanson had deluged me with bay rum. They said I nearly fainted, but I realized nothing save the ludicrous figure I presented, and I thought desparingly "Emily did it." After supper I went to the library, and there it was--this piece of work which Hal had done, representing me sitting under that old apple tree, hemming and thinking. It was so perfectly done, even to the plain ring on my middle finger, a wide old-fashioned ring which had been my grandmother Minot's, and bore the initials "E.M." I could not speak when I saw it, and if I could I should not have dared to for fear of some unfortunate expression. I wished in my heart it had been any one else but me.

"If my face had been like Hal's," I thought, and I stood as one covered with a mantle and bound by its heavy folds, until the gentle voice of Mrs. Hanson roused me, saying:

"Take a seat, Miss Minot, you are very tired." Yes, I was tired, though I did not know it, and taking the chair she proffered, I covered my face with both my hands and drew long breaths, as if to deliver myself from the thoughts which overwhelmed me. Mrs. Hanson's womanly nature divined my feelings, and she left me to myself, but after a while Daisy drew an Ottoman near, and seating herself on it put her little hands in mine and whispered:

"I think you're awful pretty. Don't you?"

I drew her into my lap and kissed her, and my dreams that night were hope and peace. Louis was with me there, and although constantly attentive to Hal, he gave no signs of weariness, and Hal would look into his eyes, as he sat beside him, with a look of perfect devotion. I thought so many times, as he lay back among his pillows looking at Louis, he was mentally casting his features, and how nice it would be when his deft hands moulded the clay with face and form like that of our beautiful Louis Desmonde. What a joy to Clara's heart, and my own would beat like a bird in its cage, thrilled with rapture at the prospect of deliverance! Had he not saved the life of my darling brother, and in my heart down deep, so deep I could bring no light of words upon the thought, I felt that I loved them both. The tenth day (since our removal to Mr. Hanson's) arrived, and then came our departure. I cried every minute, and only because I was glad. Mr. and Mrs. Hanson and Louis thought it due to over-exertion, and when I tried to explain I made an unintelligible murmur, and only succeeded in bringing out one thought--my grat.i.tude to them and the hope that I might one day repay it. Oh, how kind they were! Everything to make the transit easy for Hal was cared for, even to the beautiful blanket Mrs. Hanson gave him, which was doubly precious since her grandmother span the wool and colored and wove it with her own hands. It was a happy party which left Chicago on that memorable morning, and our journey was delightful. Father was waiting for us at the old home station, and instead of the old stage we rode home in an easy carry-all behind our own horses. Mother and Clara met us with outstretched hands, and the latter, as she stood in the doorway, looked a perfect picture.

Hal was very tired, and for days after our return was threatened with a relapse, which was averted only by the unvarying care and strength of Louis. When this risk was over and he was fairly started on the road of recovery, came the departure of our friend and his return to his studies. Oh, how we dreaded it! Hal said afterward the thought of his going sent a chill to his head. The evening before his departure we walked over the hill through the pleasant path his mother and myself always chose when we walked and talked together. I said:

"Go with us, Clara," as we sauntered along the yard path toward the gate, but Louis looked at her and she turned gaily from us with the words:

"I will look after the invalid."

It seemed to me I was made of stone that evening, and we walked long before the silence was broken. At last Louis stopped, and taking both my hands looked into my heart (it seemed so to me) and said:

"I leave to-morrow."

My eyes grew moist, but only a sigh escaped my lips. I did not even say I was sorry.

Then we sat down on the mossy trunk of our favorite tree, and he said:

"Are you sorry, Emily? Will you miss me, and will you write to me, and will your dark eyes read the words I send to you?"

Dumb, more dumb than before, I sighed and bowed my head, and again he spoke, this time with that strange, terribly earnest look in his eyes I had seen before.

"Oh, Emily! my dear Emily! I am only a boy in years, but I love you with the strength of a man. I have saved the life of your brother because I loved his sister; and," he added in a low tone, "I love him too, but not as I do the dark eyes of his sister. Oh! Emily, do you love me? Can you and will you love me, and me only?"

And he drew me to him almost fiercely, while I quivered in every nerve, and answered:

"Louis, do you know me well? Can you not understand my heart? How can I help loving you?"

He loosened his grasp about me, and as his arm fell from my waist, tears fell at his feet. Oh, what a nature was his! Then turning again to me--"Will you wear this?" and a ring of turquoise and pearls was slipped on my finger, while in his hand he held a richly-carved sh.e.l.l comb.

"This is for your midnight hair Emily, wear it always," and he placed it among the coils of my hair.

Silence followed for a little time, and then Louis with his soulful eyes fixed on something afar off, spoke with great fervor of the life he longed for.

"Emily, you do not know me yet," he said.

"I know you better than you know yourself, but I am to you a puzzle, and oh, if I could skip the years that lie between to-day and the day when you and I shall really understand each other! Perfect in peace that day I know will come, but there are clouds between. My father willed that I should have this education I am getting. I need it, I suppose, but I have greater needs, and cannot tell you about them till I am free."

"Two years--twenty-four months;" and his eyes fell, as he added despairingly, "What a long time to wait." Then turning to me, "But you will love me, you have said so?"

I looked my thoughts, and he answered them.

"Do not ever think so of me, I am only too sane, I have found my life before the time."

"Oh! Louis," I cried, and then he answered with the words,

"My little mother knows it--she knows I love you. She knows my inmost soul, and answers me with her pure eyes. But ah! her eyes have not the light of yours; I want you to myself, to help me, and I will love you all my life."

I was amazed, and wondered why it was--this strange boy had been much in society, and why should I, an unsophisticated, homely girl, bring such a shower of feeling on myself.

"Could it be real and would it last?"

He comprehended my thought again and replied:

"You are not homely; I see your soul in your eyes; you are younger than I am; I have never seen your equal, and I know years will tell you I am only true to my heart, and we will work together--ah! we will work for something good, we will not be all for ourselves, _ma belle_," and on my forehead he left a kiss that burned with the great thoughts of his heart.

I could only feel that I was in the presence of a wonderful power, and at that moment he seemed a divinity. The moon came over the hill, and with his arm in mine we turned our steps homeward, and Clara met us half-way, and putting her hand fondly in Louis' said:

"My boy is out under the moon. I feared he was lost."

"My little mother!" and he gathered her under his wing, as it seemed, and we were soon at the gate of home. Louis and his mother pa.s.sed in at the side door. As they did so, I fell back a step or two, turned my steps toward the old apple tree, and there, sitting against its old trunk, I talked aloud and cried and said:

"Have I done wrong, or is it right?"