CHAPTER LXI.
I FALL INTO A DISMAL SICKNESS, AND RECOVER THEREOF.
When we were got into our cavern, my dear lady, of her own hand and wit,cut some strips of bark to serve as splints, and some of that grasswhich she used to shred for threads; then ripping up the sleeve of mydoublet she, with her gentle, soft fingers, set the bone of my brokenarm, and bound it up in the bark as ably and well as any clever surgeoncould have served me. After that, seeing that the sweat of agony stoodon my face, despite the joy it gave me to feel the touch of her sweethand, and to note how admirably skillful she was in this business (as inall else), she would have me lie down awhile; and to this end she spreadone of our mats on the floor of our living-room, that I might get thebenefit of the air, and made up a pillow for my head with a bundle ofsoft herbs that we kept in store for the conies; and scarce had I laidmy head down with a look and a little murmur to express my heartfeltgratitude (for I had no power to speak) when the things about me seemedto swim round and round, and I lost consciousness.
I lay in a foolish dream some time (though what absurdity was in my mindI cannot recall), and waking at length to my proper senses, the firstthing I observed was that something cool and soft pressed my forehead,and looking up I perceived my little comrade kneeling beside me, withgrave wistfulness in her deep eyes.
"What o'clock is it?" says I, like any fool.
"Nay, never mind about the hour, dear Benet," says she tenderly; andwith that she shifts her hand, which was that I felt so gratefully coolon my forehead. But she shifted it only to set the other in its place,whereupon I sighed with comfort. Seeing I was pleased, she smiledsweetly, and says she:
"D'ye know me, Benet?"
"Ay, cousin," says I, "why should I not?"
"'Tis three days since you last called me 'cousin.' Your mind has beenwandering away from me."
"Is it possible?" says I.
"I feared you were going to leave me here alone for ever," says she, hervoice trembling, and her eyes twinkling with a tear. "But you've comeback to me after all," adds she with a faint laugh, and a little gulp asshe turned aside to dash the tears away with her unoccupied hand.
"God be praised!" says I.
"Amen, amen, amen!" says she with passion. "And now do you taste of thisbroth I have made."
So I quickly made a shift to sit up, with her help, and eagerly emptiedthe gourd of the broth she had prepared; for not only was I prodigioushungry, but a stout determination seized me that I would overcome myweakness, and give this dear, dear companion no further anxiety.
"Give me some more if you have it, cousin," says I.
"To be sure I have more," says she. "What sort of a housewife should Ibe if my larder were empty when I expected company?"
Watching her narrowly as she hurried herself to refill the gourd, Iobserved, with a keen pang of sorrow, that her sweet face was thin andworn with care, albeit her fair countenance was overspread with a glowof happy contentment.
She bade me lie down again when I had emptied the second bowl of broth;and then, to please me, she brought her breakfast (for 'twas earlymorning), and ate it sitting on the ground beside me, which was her willand not mine. And when I asked her what had been amiss with me, she toldme I had been light-headed, and would for ever be a-starting off to findmy uncle Sir Bartlemy, though too weak to rise, and obedient to herhand, though I knew her not. "But," says she, "since yesterday morningyou have had no strength even to speak, and I have heard no sound but--"She stopped, but I knew by the sound that rose from her tender bosom itwas her own sobs she had heard. "But all that is past," says shecheerily; "and now you will soon be well again, and strong, won't you?"
"Ay," says I, "I promise you I'll be master of those mountains in aweek."
"Benet," says she earnestly, "you must grant me a favor."
"With all my soul," says I.
"Then promise me you will never again essay to pass those terriblemountains. Promise!" says she. "And this also--that you will notapproach that pestilent marsh, for I do think 'tis the fetid mists fromthe corruption there which has thrown you into this sickness."
"You ask too much of me," says I, "for how, but by one of these ways,can I hope to carry you hence? You have not reflected on that."
"Yes, I have," says she quietly. "I know that I am asking you to staywith me in the captivity to which our fortunes have brought us. Have wenot sought by all the means in our power to escape? If Providence willedus to go hence, should we be thus cruelly rebuffed? Is it not better,Benet, to live here together than to perish singly? Oh, I cannot bearthe thought of that. To be left alone--no one to speak to--no voice tocheer me! Have we been unhappy? Can we ever be without comfort, strivingeach to make the other happy? We may yet improve our cabin: the summeris at hand."
"Say not another word," says I; "I ask no more than to continue as wehave lived." Indeed, I was like to have become light-headed again withthe prospect revealed to me and the overflow of joy in my heart; andthis tumult of emotion threw me back again, not yet being quit of myfever, so that I lay down exhausted in a kind of lethargy, from which Icould not arouse myself even to taste the food from my dear lady's hand,which she has prepared for me. Nay, towards evening I felt as if my lasthour had come for weakness, and when she, kneeling by my side, laid hersweet, cool hand upon my head as before, asking me how I did, 'twas withmuch ado I could open my eyes to reply by a look that I was very easy inmy mind, as indeed I was, suffering no sort of pain, but only a verysweet dreaminess to think she was to be my companion always. So I laywith my drowsiness growing on me, never moving a hand-stir till the moonrose and shone upon me through the mouth of the cavern, where doubtlessI looked like one dead, as I think, for my dear lady, still kneelingbeside me, began to weep softly, which, though I heard it, I could findno check by any hopeful sign, because of my heaviness. Then, taking myhand and bending low, she murmurs with a broken voice, and suchdisconsolate tones as were enough to move the heart of the dead:
"You won't leave me, Benet dear--you won't leave me!"
And at that I managed to open my eyes and say "No"; therewith makingbold to lift her hand a little. Then she, seeing what I would be at,aided me, so that I laid her lovely hand on my mouth and kissed it.
So, animated with a new vigor, and a sturdy determination that I wouldnot yield to this faintness, but would master it for her sake, Icontrived to ask her if she would make me a potion of those herbs theIngas had given us, which I thought would do me good.
"I have it here ready," says she, "if you can but raise your head todrink of it. Wait; let me slip my arm under your head and around yourneck--so."
In this tender fashion she helped me to rise, and set the gourd to mylips, from which I drank the brew to the bottom, which was as good asany apothecaries' drugs, and full as bitter.
This potion, together with my persevering resolution, did me a world ofgood, so that in a couple of hours I felt strong enough to get up on myfeet, if needs be; perceiving which, my lady acceded to my entreaty, andlaid herself down to take some repose, which she needed sorely, for Idoubt if she had closed an eye all through my sickness. For my own part,I had no longer inclination to sleep, but lay devising means forimproving our cavern as my lady had suggested, for one thing resolving Iwould try to make a partition to my lady's chamber that would let in thelight, and yet secure her privacy, which I proposed to do with a sash ofcanes stretched over with bladder-skin; "and thereon," thinks I, "mayshe paint some pretty devices with such juice-stains as we can get, thatit may have all the pleasant gay look of a painted glass window."
'Twas a great pleasure to me devising all this, but the telling of itthe next morning to my lady was yet greater joy, for the delight sheshowed in the scheme. She brought her chair up, and sitting beside melistened with sparkling eyes a whole hour to all I had to say on thistrumpery; but no matter seemed paltry to her which interested me, and Ido believe she would have given her serious thought to discourse on afiddlestick's end if my mind had been bent that way,
so entire was hersympathy.
"Benet," says she in the end, "I do think there is no man in the worldso ingenious as you in the service of a friend, nor so unselfishneither. For while you thought I wished to quit this place, naught couldexhaust your patience in seeking the means; and now that you find Iwould stay, your first moments of consciousness are devoted to making mylife here agreeable. Nay, it seems to me that you have overcome yoursickness because you saw that my happiness, my very life, depended onit."
"Why, so I have," said I; and therewith I told her how that I had takenthat resolution to live when I felt myself sinking into the heaviness ofdeath.
She looked at me with kind, wondering eyes as I spoke, and for somemoments sat in silence, her hands folded on her knees, and bendingtowards me. Then says she, "Oh! Benet, if we all strove to live for ourfriends as readily as we offer to die for them, how much more should wemerit their love!"
Soon after this she took her bow and arrows and went off in the canoe toseek food for our supper in the wooded slope; but the dear girl did sosteer her course that I might as long as possible see her from where Ilay by the mouth of the cavern.
The Admirable Lady Biddy Fane Page 61
