Verner's Pride. Henry Wood
consigned to Decima and Lucy Tempest. Lucy was pleased to take her share of helping the time to pass; would read to him, or talk to him; or sit down on her low stool on the hearth-rug and only look at him, waiting until he should want something done. Dangerous moments, Miss Lucy! Unless your heart is cased in adamant, you can scarcely be with that attractive man—ten times more attractive now, in his sickness—and not get your wings singed.
Jan came in one day when Lionel was sitting on the sofa, having propped the cushion up at the back of his head. Decima was winding some silk, and Lucy was holding the skein for her. Lucy wore a summer dress of white muslin, a blue sprig raised upon it in tambour-stitch, with blue and white ribbons at its waist and neck. Very pretty, very simple it looked, but wonderfully according with Lucy Tempest. Jan looked round, saw a tolerably strong table, and took up his seat upon it.
"How d'ye get on, Lionel?" asked he.
It was Dr. West who attended Lionel, and Jan was chary of interfering with the doctor's proper patients—or, rather, the doctor was chary of his doing so—therefore Jan's visits were entirely unprofessional.
"I don't get on at all—as it seems to me," replied Lionel. "I'm sure I am weaker than I was a week ago."
"I dare say," said Jan.
"You dare say!" echoed Lionel. "When a man has turned the point of an illness, he expects to get stronger, instead of weaker."
"That depends," said Jan. "I beg your pardon, Miss Lucy; that's my foot caught in your dress, isn't it?"
Lucy turned to disentangle her dress from Jan's great feet. "You should not sway your feet about so, Jan," said she pleasantly.
"It hasn't hurt it, has it?" asked Jan.
"Oh, no. Is there another skein to hold, Decima?"
Decima replied in the negative. She rose, put the paper of silk upon the table, and then turned to Jan.
"Mamma and I had quite a contention yesterday," she said to him. "I say that Lionel is not being treated properly."
"That's just my opinion," laconically replied Jan. "Only West flares up so, if his treatment is called in question. I'd get him well in half the time."
Lionel wearily changed his position on the sofa. The getting well, or the keeping ill, did not appear to interest him greatly.
"Let's look at his medicine, Decima," continued Jan. "I have not seen what has come round lately."
Decima left the room and brought back a bottle with some medicine in it.
"There's only one dose left," she remarked to Jan.
Jan took the cork out and smelt it; then he tasted it, apparently with great gusto, as anybody else might taste port wine; while Lucy watched him, drawing her lips away from her pretty teeth in distaste at the proceeding.
"Psha!" cried Jan.
"Is it not proper medicine for him?" asked Decima.
"It's as innocent as water," said Jan. "It'll do him neither good nor harm."
And finally Jan poured the lot down his own throat.
Lucy shuddered.
"Oh, Jan, how could you take it?"
"It won't hurt me," said literal Jan.
"But it must be so nasty! I never could have believed any one would willingly drink medicine. It is bad enough to do it when compelled by sickness."
"Law!" returned Jan. "If you call this nasty, Miss Lucy, you should taste some of our physic. The smell would about knock you down."
"I think nothing is worse than the smell of drugs," resumed Lucy. "The other day, when Lady Verner called in at your surgery to speak to you, and took me with her, I was glad to get into the open air again."
"Don't you ever marry a doctor, then, Miss Lucy."
"I am not going to marry one," returned Lucy.
"Well, you need not look so fierce," cried Jan. "I didn't ask you."
Lucy laughed. "Did I look fierce, Jan? I suppose I was thinking of the drugs. I'd never, never be a surgeon, of all things in the world."
"If everybody was of your mind, Miss Lucy, how would people get doctored?"
"Very true," answered Lucy. "But I don't envy them."
"The doctors or the people?" asked Jan.
"I meant the doctors. But I envy the patients less," glancing involuntarily towards Lionel as she spoke.
Jan glanced at him too. "Lionel, I'll bring you round some better stuff than this," said he. "What are you eating?"
"Nothing," put in Decima. "Dr. West keeps him upon arrowroot and beef-tea, and such things."
"Slops," said Jan contemptuously. "Have a fowl cooked every day, Lionel, and eat it all, if you like, bones and all; or a mutton—chop or two; or some good eels. And have the window open and sit at it; don't lounge on that sofa, fancying you can't leave it; and to-morrow or the next day, borrow Mrs. Verner's carriage—"
"No, thank you," interposed Lionel.
"Have a fly, then," composedly went on Jan. "Rouse yourself, and eat and drink, and go into the air, and you'll soon be as well as I am. It's the stewing and fretting indoors, fancying themselves ill, that keeps folks back."
Something like a sickly smile crossed Lionel's wan lips. "Do you remember how you offended your mother, Jan, by telling her she only wanted to rouse herself?"
"Well," said Jan, "it was the truth. West keeps his patients dilly-dallying on, when he might have them well in no time. If he says anything about them to me, I always tell him so; otherwise I don't interfere; it's no business of mine. But you are my brother, you know."
"Don't quarrel with West on my account, Jan. Only settle it amicably between you, what I am to do, and what I am to take. I don't care."
"Quarrel!" said Jan. "You never knew me to quarrel in your life. West can come and see you as usual, and charge you, if you please; and you can just pour his physic down the sink. I'll send you some bark: but it's not of much consequence whether you take it or not; it's good kitchen physic you want now. Is there anything on your mind that's keeping you back?" added plain Jan.
A streak of scarlet rose to Lionel's white cheek.
"Anything on my mind, Jan! I do not understand you."
"Look here," said Jan, "if there is nothing, you ought to be better than this by now, in spite of old West. What you have got to do is to rouse yourself, and believe you are well, instead of lying by, here. My mother was angry with me for telling her that, but didn't she get well all one way after it? And look at the poor! They have their illnesses that bring 'em down to skeletons; but when did you ever find them lie by, after they got better? They can't; they are obliged to go out and turn to at work again; and the consequence is they are well in no time. You have your fowl to-day," continued Jan, taking himself off the table to depart; "or a duck, if you fancy it's more savoury; and if West comes in while you are eating it, tell him I ordered it. He can't grumble at me for doctoring you."
Decima left the room with Jan. Lucy Tempest went to the window, threw it open, drew an easy-chair, with its cushions, near to it, and then returned to the sofa.
"Will you come to the window?" said she to Lionel. "Jan said you were to sit there, and I have put your chair ready."
Lionel unclosed his eyelids. "I am better here, child, thank you."
"But you heard what Jan said—that you were not going the right way to get well."
"It does not much matter, Lucy, whether I get well, or whether I don't," he answered wearily.
Lucy sat down; not on her favourite stool, but on a low chair, and fixed her eyes upon him gravely.
"Do you know what Mr. Cust would say to that?" she asked. "He would tell you that you were ungrateful to God. You are already half-way towards getting well."
"I know I am, Lucy. But I am nearly tired of life."
"It