The Essential Julian Hawthorne Collection. Julian Hawthorne
and could not control a spasm of pain.
"Don't touch there--it's where the shaft struck me," said he, in a voice that was no more than a whisper, but as sullen as if he had been the victim of some unpardonable wrong. There was a trace of mortification in it, too, such as might have been caused by detection in a disgraceful act.
"Never saw any thing like this in him, before," said the professor to himself. "Badly injured, too, I'm afraid: collar-bone broken, at any rate. Ah! there's the wheelbarrow, and Neelie with some cushions. Now, Michael, take hold of him carefully, and help me lift him in." But Bressant, as he felt the first touch, opened wide his half-closed eyes, and looked around savagely.
"Keep your hands off me," whispered he, in a menacing tone; "if I must go into the house, I'll walk in myself."
"Nonsense! you're crazy! 'walk in?'" cried the professor.
Bressant said no more, but, with an effort that forced a groan, he rolled over on his face, and thence raised himself to a kneeling posture. He paused so a moment, and then, by another spasmodic movement, succeeded in gaining his feet. He had been twice kicked in his right leg, and the pain was wellnigh insupportable. He stood balancing himself unsteadily.
"Let me help you," said Cornelia, coming to his side. But he took no notice of her, not even turning his eyes upon her. He staggered blindly along the road to the gate; it gave way before him with a reluctant rattle, and closed with an ill-tempered clap as he passed through. Swaying from side to side of the marble walk, he at last reached the porch. In trying to ascend the steps, he stumbled, and pitched forward in a heavy fall.
"There!--confound his obstinacy! he's fainted," muttered the professor, with an awful frown, while the tears ran down his cheeks. "Here, Michael, help me carry him in before he comes to."
CHAPTER XIII.
A KEEPSAKE.
Bressant's collar-bone was broken; there were two severe bruises on his leg, though it had escaped fracture; his body in several places was marked with dark contusions, and there was a cut in the back of his head, where he had fallen against a stone. The professor set the collar-bone--a harrowing piece of work, there being no anesthetics at hand--and attended to the other hurts, the patient all the while preserving a dogged and moody silence, and avoiding the eyes of whoever looked at him.
"Can't understand it," said the old gentleman to himself; "the fellow acts like a wild-beast as regards his appreciation of human sympathy, in spite of his refined intellect and cultivation. A wounded animal has the same instinct to crawl away, and suffer in private."
When brought into the house, Bressant had been laid in the spare room adjoining the professor's study. After he had done all he could for his comfort, the warm-hearted old gentleman, being overcome with fatigue, retired to rest; the patient lay sullenly quiet, wishing it were day, and, again, wishing day would never come: at length the composing draught which had been given him took effect, and he sank heavily into sleep.
It was broad daylight when he awoke, and stared feverishly around him. The room was a pleasant one, facing the north and east, and the morning sun came cheerfully in through the open windows, slanting down the walls, and brightening on the carpet. It was a great improvement upon his rather gloomy room at the boarding-house, and he could not but feel it so. A small ormolu clock ticked rapidly upon the mantel-piece, the swing of the gilded pendulum being visible beneath. Bressant watched it with idle interest. He felt so weak, in mind and body, that the clock seemed company just fitted for his comprehension.
The door opened by-and-by, and Cornelia's smiling face peeped in, looking the sweeter for an expression of tender anxiety. Seeing that he was awake, her eyes took on an extra sparkle, and she advanced a step into the room, still clinging with one hand to the door-knob, however, as if afraid to lose its support.
"You feel a little better, don't you? Is that mattress comfortable? I'm going to bring you your breakfast in a few minutes."
Bressant only grew red and bit his mustache for answer. He would gladly have covered himself up out of sight, but he could not move hand or foot.
Cornelia had in her mind a little speech she meant to deliver to Bressant, on the subject of the previous night's event, but, at the critical moment, she felt her courage forsaking her. The topic was so weighty--and then she shrank from speaking out what was in her head, perhaps because her auditor was there as well as her sentiments. Still, she felt she ought to try.
"Mr. Bressant," began she, with a kindling look, "Mr. Bressant, I--" here her voice faltered; "oh! you don't know--I can never tell you--I can never forget what you did last night!" This was the end of the great speech.
Bressant became still more red and uncomfortable. "I made a fool of myself last night," said he, dejectedly. "I wish you hadn't been there; if I'd known what a piece of work--"
"But you saved my papa's life!" interrupted Cornelia, in a blaze.
The young man looked as if struck with a new idea. It seemed as if he had not before thought of looking upon the professor as an independent quantity in the affair. The whole episode had presented itself to him as a difficult problem which he was to solve. The accident to himself had been an imperfection in the solution, of which he was deeply ashamed. But he was somewhat consoled by the reflection that the old gentleman had really needed preservation on his own account.
"That does make it better," said he, half to himself, with the first approach to good-humor he had shown since his misfortune.
Cornelia still remained glowing in the door-way, turning the latch backward and forward, not knowing what more to say, and yet unwilling to say nothing more. She did not at all comprehend Bressant's attitude, and therefore admired him all the more. What she could not understand in him was, of course, beyond her scope.
"You may think nothing of it, but I know I--I know we do--I can't say what I want to, and I'm not going to try any more; but I'm sure you know--or, at least, you'll find out some time--in some other way, you know."
Bressant could not hear all this, nor would he have known what it meant, if he had; but he could see that Cornelia was kindly disposed toward him, and was conscious of great pleasure in looking at her, and thought, if she were to touch him, he would get well. He said nothing, however, and presently his bodily pain caused him to sigh and close his eyes wearily. Cornelia immediately kissed her soft fingers to him twice, and then vanished from the room, looking more like a blush than a tea rose. Before long she returned with the sick man's breakfast on a tray.
"Do you like to be nursed?" asked she, as she put the tray on a table, and moved it up to the bedside.
"No!" said Bressant, emphatically, and with an intonation of great surprise.
"Oh! why not?" faltered Cornelia, quite taken aback.
"I hate disabled people; they're monstrosities, and had better not be at all. I wouldn't nurse them."
"You think there's no pleasure in doing things for people who cannot help themselves?" demanded Cornelia, indignantly.
"There can be no pleasure in nursing," reiterated he. "It might be very pleasant to be nursed--by any one who is beautiful--if one did not need the nursing!"
Cornelia was becoming so accustomed to Bressant's undisguised manners that she forgot to be disturbed by this guileless compliment. Many hours afterward, when she was alone in her chamber, the words recurred to her, devoid of the version his manner had given them, and then they brought the blood gently to her cheeks.
"You're very foolish," said she, as she poured out some tea, and cut up a mutton-chop into mouthfuls. "Now, you have to drink this tea, though you wouldn't the last time I poured you out a cup; and I'll give you your chop. Open your mouth."
So the athlete of the day before was obliged to submit to having his tea-cup carried to his lips and tipped for