# The Semi-attached Couple/Chapter 42

CHAPTER XLII
The house they had taken was quiet, and sequestered from the noise of the streets, and had a small garden attached to it. It had evidently been newly furnished, and Helen set about arranging the largest room in it for Lord Teviot, with better hopes than she had felt at the hotel. She dwelt again and again to Mary on the necessity of moving this sofa or that arm-chair to particular places, because Teviot might like to lie down near the fire, or to sit up near the window. The cook, who had been sent in by Lord Beaufort, was ordered to prepare a dinner that would suit a man in the strongest health, and with the same breath she ordered gruel, and arrow-root, and barley-water, and all the wretched slops that count for food when all wish for it is over. Tomkinson was so glad to get away from the uncomfortable attic into which she had been put at the hotel that she was quite condescending to Laurel Cottage, and with the help of Lord Beaufort's servant and Lord Teviot's footman collected a quantity of things from various tradesmen that could not possibly be of any use, further than the pleasure they gave her of passing herself off to herself as an excellent housekeeper. And as she was really good-hearted, she had great ideas of saving my lady trouble, now she was in such grief, and she magnanimously forgave Lord Teviot for calling her Tomkins, and, indeed, would have answered to "Tom," under present circumstances, without a murmur. Mary had ascertained from her aunt the name of the best medical man in the town; ​and now everything was prepared, and they sat down to another hour of painful thought and miserable expectation.
At last Lord Beaufort appeared. "Helen, the packet is in sight, and they have signalled for a litter."
"Then he is alive; I shall see him again. Oh! Beaufort, let us go; I am ready."
She shook from head to foot, but with a strong effort suddenly composed herself, and taking her brother's arm walked rapidly on. Neither of them spoke, and yet this miserable demand for a litter had given them hopes they had not felt before. It is a hard method of testing our degree of hope when we find that what should have brought terror now brings relief.
The packet was now lying close to the pier. Lord Beaufort persuaded his sister to remain with Mary for a few minutes while he went on board to ascertain more precisely the state in which Lord Teviot was. They saw him speaking to a grave-looking man, evidently the ship's surgeon, and he was soon joined by Mr. Le Geyt, the secretary, and the captain. Helen watched their looks in breathless suspense, and at last, seeing Dr. Grey shake his head as he eagerly addressed Lord Beaufort, she rushed from the pier and the next moment was standing at her brother's side.
"My sister. Lady Teviot," said Lord Beaufort, looking meaningly at Dr. Grey.
"I am glad her ladyship is here," said Dr. Grey, looking painfully embarrassed, but speaking in a calm monotonous voice. "As I was observing to your lordship. Lord Teviot has had a very severe attack of fever, very severe indeed, and of course we must expect—— You know we always expect after that sort of seizure——"
"He is better?" said Helen.
"Well, yes, of course, otherwise——"
Is he better?" she again repeated. "Do not look at ​my brother, but look at me, sir, and tell me the truth, the whole truth. I can bear it better than this suspense."
Dr. Grey did look at her, and saw that she was indeed wound up to know and to bear all, and at once he told her that the fever which had attacked Lord Teviot was one of a very violent kind, and which had proved fatal in many instances at Lisbon; that when first Lord Teviot came on board there was little hope, but that the fever itself had subsided, and that the danger that now existed was from the frightful state of weakness to which he was reduced. "But his age and naturally strong constitution gave us hopes; certainly we have hopes."
"Thank you; and now that I know all, let me go to him."
"I should recommend to your ladyship to defer seeing him; there is the difficulty of the removal still to be encountered, and——"
"I mean to be with him when he is moved," said Helen firmly.
"And," continued Dr. Grey, in the quietest tone, "I must apprise your ladyship that though it is most unlikely that Lord Teviot should recognize you, yet if he does, and your ladyship should show any great degree of emotion, I cannot answer for the consequences."
"I shall not show any emotion, and I must see him," said Helen, who felt as if Dr. Grey were a personal enemy, and hated him as a man totally without feeling. She was quite wrong; he was kind-hearted, and felt the greatest interest in Lord Teviot's case; but for thirty years he had been floating about the world, or cooped up in barracks with rough and hardy seamen; and he fought the battle between life and death daily waged by the men of his profession with none of the amenities which he would have acquired in more polished society.
"Had you not better wait, dearest," said Lord Beaufort, ​"till Teviot has been moved home? I will stay and assist Dr. Grey."
"No, no," she said, with tears in her eyes. "Beaufort, I should naturally have been with him if I had done my duty, and had gone out to Lisbon. I feel I can be quite composed; and now. Dr. Grey, show me to his cabin."
They saw that further opposition was useless, and Dr. Grey led her immediately down the ladder that led to Lord Teviot's cabin.
It was nearly dark; light was oppressive to that weary brain and those sunken eyes; and at first Helen could only dimly discern a figure lying motionless in a cot watched by a servant, who withdrew on seeing Dr. Grey.
"We have been obliged to exclude the light very much," Dr. Grey said; "it produced too much excitement, but now it might be as well to accustom him to it gradually before we move him." He withdrew one of the shutters as he spoke, and then Helen saw her husband. But how fearfully changed! She could hardly bear to look on the livid face, the closed eyes, the thin dilated nostrils, and the painful expression of powerlessness that met her sight. One bitter fixed glance she gave, and then sinking on her knees she seized the emaciated hand that rested on the bed, and covered it with kisses. But quickly rising, she turned to Dr. Grey and whispered, "You see I can restrain myself, and now tell me what is next to be done, and how you can make me of use." He saw that she had power over herself, and said kindly, "I see you will make a good nurse. The first step is to get him moved into some very quiet room."
"That is all ready."
"I should like further advice. I have other duties to attend to, and this is a case that requires unceasing care."
"Dr. Morant is already warned, and will meet you at any moment."
"Then now let me ask you to return to your brother, ​and the bearers who are in waiting will take up Lord Teviot in his cot, and you shall direct us to your house."
He opened the cabin-door as he spoke, and a flood of light streamed in and fell on Helen as she stood by her husband's bedside. The light seemed to pain him, for his brow contracted into rigid furrows, and then the dim, filmy eyes opened and turned upon her. For one moment there was a ray of intelligence in them, but as Helen stooped to kiss the pale lips which she fancied had almost smiled on her, the feeble gaze turned away, and with a slight moan Lord Teviot relapsed into unconsciousness.
"Now, my good lady," said Dr. Grey, "the less we have of this sort of thing the better. Come away." He led her to the foot of the stairs, where she turned and said in a beseeching voice, "He knew me. Dr. Grey; say that you think he did."
"Well, perhaps so," said the doctor, who was moved by her youth and loveliness; "but don't try experiments, we have not strength for them. Here she is, my lord," he added, addressing Lord Beaufort. "Take her on deck, and we shall get under weigh directly."
Lord Beaufort looked at his sister with painful astonishment. She was quite colourless. Years seemed to have passed over her head in those few minutes that had been passed in that cabin. The girl whose short life had been spent in gay and young frivolity had now looked one of the sternest and hardest realities of life in the face; and that one look had changed her to the anxious, doubting woman. "The golden exhalations of the dawn" had passed away, and by the light of open day she saw the battle of life lying before her, and she roused herself for the encounter.
Dr. Grey soon reappeared with his charge. A curtain was thrown over the cot, by the side of which Helen walked, heedless, indeed unaware, of the compassionate looks of the bystanders, and they reached their home; and Lord Teviot ​was conveyed to his bed, showing no sign of consciousness of the change made in his position.
And now began for Helen the life of a nurse. Oh! who is there fortunate enough not to know the routine of those painful days and nights of anxiety, which seem never to have had a beginning, and never to know an end—so long, if measured by the intensity of the feelings—so short, if reckoned by the progress that has been made? Fallacious hopes followed by groundless despair; the promise of recovery that had shown itself in the morning, succeeded by the sudden relapse in the evening; the medical visits bringing with them hope, and leaving behind them a sensation of blank disappointment; letters of inquiry which seem cold or importunate, and full of advice that only perplexes the anxious watcher, and requesting answers for which there is neither time nor inclination. These are the minor troubles of the day; but who can describe the faint sickening of the heart of the young wife who had hitherto seen but little illness, and who now saw it in its most fearful form? The removal from the ship brought on a return of fever, and the voice which Helen had feared she would hear no more now rang in her ears with all the harshness of delirium; but it was harshness of tone only. She heard her own name repeated again and again with words of the fondest endearment; and when the silence of weakness followed, she almost regretted the terrors of the active paroxysm.
During that night, and several that followed it, she never quitted his room: there were hired nurses in attendance, medical men always at hand, and her brother ready and anxious to take her place, but she steadfastly refused to leave her husband. She slept on a mattress placed on the floor at the side of his bed; sometimes the short sleep ended with a start, and with a vague feeling that something dreadful was taking place; sometimes with the sound sleep ​of youth, but there she was, able to rouse herself and be of use on the slightest notice.
Lord Beaufort watched her with the tenderest care. He could not bear the sights and sounds of the sick-room with the quiet fortitude which she evinced. Lord Teviot's wanderings, and the death-like weakness that followed, completely overcame him; and after one peculiarly bad night, when the nurse had called him up to assist his sister, he came down into the breakfast-room quite worn out, and laying his head on the table, burst into a passion of tears.
Mary, who was writing letters to the various members of the family, looked at him with the warmest pity. The few last days had given her a new view of his character. She had once thought him cold and worldly; but his tenderness to his sister, his thoughtfulness and consideration for all about him, the confidence he showed to herself, and the deep interest they both took in Lord Teviot's illness, had brought them to a new understanding, and had entirely done away with the reserve that had once subsisted between them.
"What is it, dear Lord Beaufort?" she said, going to him and taking his hand as if he had been her brother. "Is he worse?"
"Yes, I fear he is; it has been a dreadful night. I cannot bear to see that fine fellow so utterly prostrated. And Helen, my darling Helen! it kills me to look at that angel; she will wear herself out, and she looks so miserable, and yet is so calm and self-possessed. She soothes him when no one else can. Sometimes I fancy he knows her, and yet he talks of her always as absent. Miss Forrester, it is hard upon you to be brought into all our distress."
"It would be far harder if I were kept away from it," she said; and she, too, had tears in her eyes; "but I am more sanguine than you. The doctor seemed more hopeful yesterday evening, and they told us we might expect a ​return of fever. I think I had better say nothing about the night to dear Lady Eskdale; do not you? Perhaps in the afternoon I shall be able to write word he is better; and now I will make your breakfast."
He kissed the hand that had held his, and said, "I think you are right not to alarm my mother more than can be helped; but if he is not better to-morrow, my father and she will certainly come."
However, the next day there was certainly some improvement; and in the evening there was less fever, and a greater disposition to sleep. The doctors recommended that food should be given every two hours, and Helen rose from her mattress each time to administer it herself Once he seemed to sink back as if he were fainting; and she was about to call the nurse, when she heard the longed-for whisper—"Helen, my darling." She saw that she was recognized, and, stooping down, fondly caressed him. "Where am I?" were the next faint words. "You are with me, dearest, at Southampton; you have been very ill, but you are spared to me. Now you must not speak another word."
She kissed his forehead, and, sinking on her knees, she poured forth, in a low tone, those eloquent words which gratitude wrings from the full heart that had seemed dead and cold, when all that it had at stake was to be wrestled for. The prayers had been faint and doubting, but the praise was full and fervent. Lord Teviot was too weak even to understand the thanksgiving offered by his wife, but the sound seemed to soothe him; and once more looking at her, he murmured, "Thank you, my own," and again sank into a quiet sleep.
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