"Please, sir, do gimme a troy — I kin dawns — thet I can ! "
A voice hoarse with shouting about the streets, talking the vilest Cockney. A little, slender, half-starved girl, with a pinched white dirty face, masses of magnificent yellow -brown hair tumbling in tangled masses of unkempt curls about her shoulders, great luminous dark eyes, with long, upward-curling lashes, The creature's face looked all eyes, as she pressed eagerly forward among the crowd of children besieging the stage-manager of the great Parthenon Theatre for engagements in the Christmas pantomime. The man addressed, who was not the stage-manager, but had made his way through the crowd to speak to that personage, hardly heard the earnest pleading ; one of the more experienced hands — a child no older than this waif, who was quite a ragamuffin, without even shoes on her feet, said contemptuously :
"Go on ! that ain't Mr. B'mont — you ain't bin in the panto afore!"
"But I kin dawns!" persisted the little outcast, with an effrontery which quite disgusted some of the others. She pushed up nearer to the stage-manager and his companion. The latter was a tall, handsome man, of perhaps thirty. Maybe, his good looks attracted the child ; she could not be expected to divine that it was not a good face.
"Please sir ! " she said again, "I kin dawns ! "
"Get out, you limb ! " said Belmont, harshly. He was not an unkind man, but engaging children for the pantomime would try the temper of an angel. The other man, however, turned round, and looked down from his altitude of six-feet-two upon the dirty mite who could "dawns." his keen dark eyes discerned the beauty through the mists of grime and starvation which obscured it ; he said laughingly :
"Who taught you to 'dawns,' younker ? "
"Nobody didn't teach me, sir," said she, with increasing eagerness, encouraged by the smile on the man's lips."I learned myself, a dawnsin' to the orgins — you see me, sir."
"Lord ! she's no good, Mr. Derval," said Belmont.
"I don't know. She's an uncommon beauty, by Jove ! and as prettily made as a fairy. Give her a chance in the back row ! "
"They're demons — those ragamuffins — you can't do anything with them."
But Claude Derval was nothing if not eccentric ; besides, his finer, more critical, sense was struck by the something unique in the child which entirely escaped the stage-manager.
"Look here ! " he said, laughing, "I'll see what this little imp can do, and if she's fit for anything, you might give her a 'chawns,' as she'd call it. Come here, younker. Look out where you're going i " he led the way to the stage, the Arab following with alacrity. The huge stage looked dreary enough, with just a flaring "T piece " struggling with dull streaks of winter daylight, showing gaunt bits of scenery, ropes, odd "properties,"and such paraphernalia ; but the waif gazed around her, awe-struck, while Derval pulled a rattletrap piano a little out of the wings. "Now then," said he seating himself on a kitchen chair without a back, "let's see how you can 'dawns.' Start there — so that I can see you. That's right."
Instantly the creature was alert, all attention. As Derval ran his long fingers over the keys, the waif struck \ pose that startled him — for it was full of a wild, unconscious grace ; she could not have seen that pose ; this was nature, and perfect Derval struck up a lively tune, and away went the ragamuffin — with extraordinary nimbleness and grace, and faultless time. It was evident, too, that she thoroughly enjoyed the exercise ; her pallid cheeks flushed, her superb eyes glowed, her pale lips parted over the pretty, white teeth ; her bare feet touched the boards as lightly as a fairy's ; the steps were not technical, but the child was a born and practised dancer. Derval stopped the piano, and she stopped too, throwing herself into another exquisite pose.
Derval called to one of the scene shifters, who was hovering near, to tell Mr. Belmont to step round for a minute or two. Claude Derval was a critic who had already made his position ; he wrote for two or three leading papers, and was a power. Belmont came at once.
"I've found you an acquisition, Belmont," said DervaL "Go it again, rags and tatters."
Once more he played, and once more the girl danced. Belmont was astonished, delighted.
« Who taught her ? " he exclaimed.
"Nature. That thing danced as soon as she could walk. Take her on, Belmont ; you won't repent it. If you don't I'll get her somewhere else."
"Oh! I'll take her on," said Belmont "What's your name, child?"
"V'ronica Mary, sir."
"Veronica?"repeated Derval, surprised. "Where did you get that name ? "
"Dunno, sir. Mother called me V'ronica."
"Is she living?"
"No, sir, mother died when I were three year old, she did, an' I didn't 'ave no father, sir."
"Very likely ! " said the critic, drily, in an aside to Belmont, who asked :
"But your other name ? "
"Nothin'— only V'ronica Mary, sir ! "
"What was your mother called ?"It was Derval's soft voice that spoke.
"Dunno, sir."
"Who takes care of you now ? "
V'ronica Mary looked surprised.
"No one, sir."
"Where do you live ? "
"Nowheres, sir."
"You poor little mortal ! You must be half-starved."
"I gits 'ungry, sir — sometoimes."
"Most times, I should say. Well, Belmont, I'll leave you to settle with that mite — you'll have to get one of the charwomen to wash her down. Here, V'ronica Mary — " he held out a shilling, "go and get a tuck-out, for once in your life."
"Thankye, sir;"the great eyes shone like stars. Probably V'ronica Mary had never possessed a silver piece of even the lowest value in all her previous deplorable existence. She was taken on at the, to her almost fabulous, "screw "of three-and- sixpence per week. Belmont did not think it necessary to tell her that she was worth much more than that, and of course the poor little ignoramus had no idea of her own value. She was simply wild with delight at being in the pantomime, and would have come for nothing a week, and thought herself well paid.
V'ronica Mary — some pious mother had perhaps bestowed upon her those saintly names — proved the aptest and most obedient of pupils, and, when washed, and better fed, and clothed in decent garments instead of rags, she fully justified Claude Derval's perceptions as to her beauty. As for her, her cup of happiness was full when, on Boxing Night, she sprang on to the gorgeous stage, in silver spangles and pale pink tights, with a crown : of stars on her auburn curls, and a glittering wand in her hand. She only danced in an ensemble dance, but Claude Derval, who was in front, noticed her, and gave her a special line in his notice, remarking on her beauty, and perfectly graceful and unaffected dancing.
After a few nights V'ronica Mary was put to dance in a pas de quatre, and by-and-by, after a course of lessons from the ballet mistress, she was promoted to a pas seul in which she fairly brought down the house. Then Madame Catherine, seeing that there was "money"in the girl, took her into her own house, and trained her thoroughly, paying herself out of the child's engagements. She was a kind woman, too, and treated V'ronica Mary well, affording her a good general education, and taking care of her morals also. She was, perhaps, not particularly strait-laced, but she did not see, she said, why a dancer shouldn't be an honest girl. If V'ronica Mary "went wrong,"it shouldn't be for lack of a good home.
By-and-bye, Madame Catherine took her pupil to America, and then to Russia and other continental countries, where the sometime street arab was a première danseuse and turned the heads of all the gilded youth, but never had her own head turned — not even when Madame Catherine died, and the girl was left alone in the world. She might have won the diamonds of princes ; she might have "married well,"but she would do neither. She tore up amorous letters without reading them, sent back presents, and lived a blameless life in the midst of temptations. There are women who seem to be incorruptible, and V'ronica Mary — Mile. Vera Mendez, as she was now called — was apparently one of them.
And while she was mounting the hill, the man who obtained for her her first "chawns,"was descending it. Claude Derval had always been a gambler, but at the time he saw V'ronica Mary, he might have been reformed, if the woman he loved had been made of different stuff; but while he was infatuated, she was cool and calculating ; she upbraided him for his vice, instead of persuading and influencing. He was a man whom love could lead as one leads a child, but who could not be driven to anything; ructions came, then rupture, and finally Elinor Moulton threw over her lover for a richer, and safer, man. The result of this was to send him on that road known as "going to the devil." he gambled wildly, neglected his work, was at Monte Carlo when he should have been in London, made enemies and alienated friends by his bitter mood, and, in short, did his level best to run through the gamut of ruin. He didn't drink; that was, perhaps, a saving grace; but an inveterate gambler is almost as hard to reform as a drunkard ; and Derval was a "plunger "who made sufficiently reckless gamblers draw in their breath.
Things had come to a very bad pass with him when Mile. Vera Mendez came to London, engaged at a leading Palace of Varieties, with a large salary. He was lying ill in his rooms, attended to by his landlady, after a fashion, and that fashion was of a kind which left him pretty well to himself Of friends he had few enough ; some he had alienated ; friends, too, are apt to fall off when a man is "down in his luck,"and the male half of creation has an aversion to a sick room. So Claude Derval lay neglected, drifting on towards the "sea-less shore,"babbling of many things in his wanderings — sometimes even of "Veronica Mary," though that episode with which she was connected was only one of many that were half-forgotten.
"Claude Derval ! Did you know him ? " said a fellow artist of Veronica's, when the latter asked — the first evening she appeared — for news of the well-known critic
"I owe my first chance to him,"the dancer replied. "I was only a little child then."
"Well, he's in a bad way now," said the other ; "brought himself to it by gambling — they say he was a champion plunger. He's dying!"
« Dying ? "
"Awfully ill, anyhow."
"Who nurses him ? "
"Oh! no one ; he's not married, you see. I suppose his landlady does something for him ; but you know what that comes to."
Vera said nothing. She finished her dressing and went on the stage, and the audience shouted themselves hoarse over her beauty and her dancing.
The next morning, about twelve, a hansom stopped outside the house where Derval lived, and a lady, very quietly dressed, but remarkably good-looking, alighted and rang the bell.
"Mr. Derval lives here ? " she asked the landlady, who opened the door.
"Yes, miss,"eyeing her over, "but he's ill in bed.'"
"I know. I want to see him. I am a friend of his."
Something put into the landlady's hand made that person exceedingly pliable in regard to admitting a stranger, unquestioned ; but she was loquacious concerning her own virtues. She'd done all she could for Mr. Derval ; the doctor said he was in a bad way ; she (the landlady) would feel very thankful if his friends would take care of him. Vera followed in silence to the sick man's room.
There he lay, half awake, half asleep, muttering incoherently. The handsome face the dancer remembered so well, looked older, the delicate features now seemed hewn in marble ; the curly hair was thickly sown with grey. As the girl paused, with swelling heart, looking down on the sorrowful picture, she heard scraps of talk about the theatre — plays — actors — cards — horse-races — all mixed up together. Then he opened his eyes and looked at her.
"Who are you ? " he asked.
"A friend," she said, quietly.
"Friend ? " he laughed. "I have none. I'm a poor devil now — and ill. Friends like money ! "
"I am not a sunshine friend."
"You're a deuced pretty one ! " he said, gazing at her intently. "I don't know you." he put out his hand, and she gave him hers. His thin fingers closed over it tightly.
"It's very, very good of you to come," he said, slowly. "But I'm done for — don't you bother."
"' Done for ' is a long lane," said Vera, smiling. She drew the landlady out of the room, and questioned her. She found, as she expected, that Derval was practically dying for lack of proper care ; he had neither medicine nor food regularly, or as required, and it was easy to see that the latter was not prepared or served in a manner fit for a sick man ; no one sat up with him at night, and the few friends who called did more harm than good if they saw him. The doctor would call in about an hour's time, so Vera said she would wait and see him, and, dismissing the landlady, she returned to the sick-room. The man's dark eyes lighted up as she approached the bed.
"I thought you weren't coming back," he said, stretching out his hand eagerly. " 'Don't leave me — don't ! I get parched with thirst — and they won't give me anything to drink — and the nights I they're horrible ! "
"Are you thirsty now ? "Vera asked, gently.
"No, not now ! " he was still holding her hand. "Promise you won't leave me I "
"I am going to send a nurse to take care of you," she said ; "hat will be better than my staying."
"No, no ! I've seen you before, you know — I've seen your eyes .... I've never seen so sweet a look as yours . . not Ellie's. Bah ! she didn't love me — if she had I shouldn't have come to this ! Promise you won't leave me ? "
"I promise ! "Vera said. After all, she thought, what did it matter what people said or thought of her? They wouldn't -allow, as it was, that she was blameless, and she could not refuse this man's prayer, even though he did not know — how should he, being light-headed ? — what he was asking. Derval's clasp tightened, his eyes smiled, then grew wistful. "What made you come ? " he asked, suddenly.
"I am very grateful to you."
"Grateful? What for?"
"For a great kindness you did me years ago."
"I never did a kindness to anyone — I'm a bad lot — always have been. What's your name ?"
"Vera."
" Pretty ! eh ? . . . your eyes make me think . . . poor little devil. I wonder what became of her . . . she made a hit ... by Jove ! that chit was a beauty . ."
"Hush I don't talk any more ; it excites you too much."
"Sit down, then, and give me your hand again. I'll do anything you tell me, Vera, if you won't leave me ! "
She sat down, and let him take her hand in his ; and he lay quiet, closing his eyes. ,He seemed quite contented, and might presently have slept, but the coming of the doctor disturbed him. Dr. Bennett looked surprised to see Vera, but she simply said that she was a friend of Mr. Derval's, and was going to nurse him, and whatever the physician might think as to the possible relations between nurse and patient, it was no concern of his ; he was only too pleased that the latter would have proper care.
After giving certain directions the doctor departed, and Vera then proceeded to set things in order. Her own lodging, fortunately, was not far off. She left Derval for a time to make certain necessary arrangements there, and then returned to her patient. She gave the landlady orders that no one was to be admitted to see Mr. Derval without her — Miss Mendez' — permission, and she explained that she was engaged at a theatre ; this she was, of course, obliged to do, as she would have to be absent during part of the evening. Her "turn "was at half-past nine, and was over in five or six minutes, so that she was not long absent from Derval's bedside. The landlady, like the doctor, considered that it was none of her business to regulate Mr. Derval's morals, and was glad to have trouble taken off her hands ; moreover. Mile. Mendez was free-handed, and paid for the cooking she had done for the invalid.
Mrs. Gale, fortunately, was an excellent cook, or Vera would have had to engage someone for this work ; her training had not included cookery, but she was a capital nurse ; not only tender and sympathetic, light of hand and foot, quick in intuition ; one may have all these qualities and be a bad or indifferent nurse. "V'ronica Mary"was also orderly, attentive, careful ; strictly adherent to doctor's orders, judicious, and with a fine taste, which fully comprehended and met the needs of an invalid fastidious in health, and, of course, still more so in sickness. And she was not officious ; she gave the patient what help he needed, but never hurt his sensitive pride of manhood by offering unnecessary assistance. Backed by the doctor's authority, she refused to let anyone see him. "While he is light-headed," said the physician, " he must not be excited. I won't answer for him if he is. He'll pull through with care ; but you came in time, young lady. A doctor can't do much if there's no nursing."
"You are satisfied with me ? " she said, wistfully.
' Quite ! You do famously — couldn't be better. Besides -
He paused."Well," he added, "you evidently have an influence over him." he did not look at her as he said this. The girl flushed painfully. Dr. Bennett was a kind, elderly man. She spoke impulsively.
"Doctor," she said, "don't misjudge him, or me. I don't wonder ; but I've never seen Mr. Derval from the time I was about eight years old till the day I came here. I was a London waif— and I loved dancing, and tried to get into the pantomime. Mr. Derval made the stage-manager see me dance, and got me taken on. I never spoke to him again. I've been abroad for years, and when I came over again I heard he was ill, and neglected ... I may be wrong to come here, doctor "— the large eyes filled with tears — "but there's no other wrong — do believe that ! "
The doctor took the little white hands in his, and held them dose. There were tears in his own eyes. "I do believe you," he said. "You're a heroine, my dear — that's what I think."
"Oh ! there's nothing heroic," said Vera, smiling. "You see, I didn't get much kindness in those days, so I thought the more of it."
She went back to her patient The doctor mused, as he went downstairs — "That girl's a rare gem — too good for him. I don't know ! There's plenty of gold there — it wants a woman to bring it out"
Derval turned his head as the girl entered the room, and stretched out his hand to her. She had been nursing him nearly a week now, and it seemed as if the longer she was with him, the more he needed her. She sat down by the bed-side, and put her hand in his ; he folded it in both his own.
"My guardian angel," he said, softly,"What a time you have been away ! "
"Only a few minutes. I was talking to the doctor."
"I'm selfish, I know. What made you come to me, Vera ? "
"Never mind that now. I'll tell you another time."
He looked down at the hand he held, and began stroking it tenderly.
"Dear little hand ! " he said ; "it seems so strange. Vera — I can't understand — but then, I'm weak, and light-headed, eh ? — I never knew you, did I ? — But I've seen eyes like yours — somewhere " he looked up suddenly, searchingly.
"Very likely," she said. « Don't worry about it."
"A saint like you to come to me I " he went on, slowly. "I'm a bad lot, you know. I was never a good man — but I might have been better, if she'd been different . . . The love I
wasted on that woman! Pouf! it wasn't love What do
they call it ? Infatuation I That's the word. . . . You won't leave me yet, will you ? "
"I won't leave you while you need me,"Vera said, gently,
Derval sighed.
"I shall always need you ! " he said. Then he half lifted himself. "Look here, child ! " he began, in a rather excited way ; "I don't believe there's any money — I haven't any — I've wasted it — gambled it "
"Sit down ! " said Vera, getting up, "and keep quiet The money is all right"
He gripped her wrist with a strength that hurt her, but she was glad to find he was so strong.
"Are you spending your money on me ? " he demanded.
"I won't answer questions now. Please don't hold me so tight — you hurt me I "That diplomatic stroke completely turned aside Derval's thoughts ; his whole face changed to a sudden passion of tenderness ; he bent his head, and pressed his lips to her wrist
"Vera, dear — forgive. I was cruel ! " he pleaded.
"No— not cruel ! " said she, softly, and inwardly trembling a little. "You didn't know how strong you were ; it shows how much better you are getting. Now be obedient, and lie down again."
He obeyed like a child. "I'd do anything you tell me," he said. "I'd never touch a card again, if you forbade them — I wouldn't, by Heaven I Just one look of yours would rule me, Vera ! "
"Hush ! — don't talk any more — try to sleep. You have been awake so long."
"I'll try. I am better — and when I'm well, you'll be leaving me?"
"We'll talk of that another time."
"Ah! yes, yes — always another time ! . . . . Has anyone been to see me, Vera ? "
"Yes — several have called. I would not let them come up ; the doctor said it was bad for you."
"That's right I only want you." he took her hand in his again. " how is it ? Have I known you a long time ? " "No." she sat down again. "Only a few days." "Is that all ? My brain isn't clear yet — I shall understand by-and-bye."
"Yes, by-and-bye ; now, sleep."
She laid her cool soft hand on his forehead. He looked into her face and smiled, and the girl held her breath. He was not in his right senses now, and would forget later on, but there was passionate love in his eyes just then. A sharp fear gripped her heart. She must not let herself care for Claude Derval ! But had that warning note come too late ?
She moved her hand quite easily from his brow, and he closed his eyes, and presently slept.
So he struggled through weakness, and two days later, when Veronica returned from the theatre, she found her patient restored to his senses. She had expected this — the dawn was so much nearer when she left him. He was half sitting up, reclining against the pillows, and the moment he turned, as she entered the room, she saw the change in him. "Thank God! " she cried out, in her heart ; yet she shrank and trembled inwardly. What would he, what might he, think of her coming to him as she had done, when he could look at things from the standpoint of a clear and reasoning brain, when the mists of weakness were gone, and he knew who she was, and that in being by his bed-side, she had defied the world, and so might seem to have made — wilfully — an appeal to his honour ? True that, in a worldly point of view, she had nothing to gain. He was poor now; but she might — if not quite at first — have afterwards cared for him. She came forward however, outwardly quite herself.
"I am so glad," she said, "so glad, Mr. Derval." He took her hand in a strangely reverent way, as if it were a sort of boldness in him to touch it at all ; his eyes searched her face, not frankly and openly as heretofore, when his mind was unhinged, but furtively ; his colour went and came. He was still very weak, and could not hide that he was deeply moved.
"What does it all mean ? " he said, falteringly — the wandering tone was gone from the soft voice. "You must tell me now. Who are you ?
"Yes,"the girl said, "once — but you wouldn't remember."
Again he looked at her, in a sort of veiled way ; his hand held hers still, but there was a kind of restraint in the touch ; the sense of proportion had returned to him ; he was a man, and she a woman, young, unprotected, who had no admitted conventional place here ; and, whatever his sins, he was always gentleman to the core.
"Your eyes always reminded me " he began, and stopped.
"You said so— more than once. Do you remember — years ago — you were at the Parthenon Theatre one day, when they were engaging children for the pantomime, and a little ragamuffin came up to you "
"Good Heaven !"Derval cried out, "V'ronica Mary — are you V'ronica Mary ? "
"Yes," she said, flushing, and bending her head down, "and you were kind to me — and gave me my first chance "
"Kind to you ? " he stopped, choking.
"Ah ! You don't know,"Vera went on, hurriedly, "how precious kindness was to me in those days. I went abroad afterwards. I am Vera Mendez.".
He was drawing his breath heavily ; he could not speak.
"Let me tell you. When I came back, I heard, one night, at the Cambria, that you were ill, and had no friends, and no one to nurse you, and I came to see if I could help you. I was going to send a nurse — I wouldn't have stayed — only — I suppose you took me for someone you knew ; you made me promise not to leave you."
Her face was almost hidden from him ; she was struggling for self-control ; instinctively she had drawn her hand from his, and he let her do so. Now, he lifted himself a little, and bent towards her.
"You were grateful," he said, huskily, "for a few kind words, easily spoken, a helping hand — easy to give ; you remembered all those years, and for that — for that — you came to me, a ruined gambler ; and you knew what you did — my God ! you knew what foul tongues would say of you ! What had I done to have my worthless life saved at such a cost ? "
"Oh! don't talk like that!"cried the girl, almost sobbing. "You know what people always think of a dancer ; it won't hurt me ! I couldn't let you die for that ! "
"Why not? Vera, I can't speak of it, I can't. "
His voice broke. He caught her hands in his, as she turned to him, and bowed his face down on them ; she felt his hot tears, and her own tears fell too ; but ah ! her heart was full of sunshine. He did not doubt her ! she did not care who misjudged her, if he understood ; but she trembled for what must come next ; it was inevitable ; she must face it as best she could.
Derval lifted his head presently. If she had seen his face at that moment she must have known what was in his heart ; but he mastered himself, at least in some degree, though the burning colour rose to his brow, as he said, slowly : "There's something more, Vera. I am all but beggared, through my own accursed vide and folly — I've wanted for nothing ; that's your doing."
"I couldn't let a sick man want, could I ? " said she. "Why, that's nothing. I am earning a big salary, and I've only myself to keep. You can pay it all back if you like "— she smiled now — "when you are well and strong."
"Pay it all back ! " he said, passionately. "Yes, I can pay back money, but not the rest. Nothing can repay that — nothing — nothing ! "
"There's no debt."
"That's the old cry of saints to sinners — no debt ! the divine plea — all given — self-emptied — and the gift is free. If I were only worth a tenth part of all that waste of divine goodness . . . . Vera, did you know how bad a man I was ? "
"Oh ! one doesn't help people because they're good, but because they suffer ; and you had been good to me ! And you're not bad."
"I am, child ! but — yes — one helps people because they need help, not because they deserve it ; at least, such women as you do. Good God ! I don't understand it yet ! "
He turned and looked at her again ; his eyes spoke only pure worship this time ; he might have been a devotee at the feet of the Madonna. He took her hand again, and laid his free hand reverently over it.
"Little V'ronica Mary," he said, softly. "I knew I had seen your eyes before. I remember how you looked up through your tangled hair — what glorious hair it was, and it's far lovelier now — and begged me to give you a 'chawns.' You were a born dancer, a born angel, too."
"I don't know about the angel," she said ; she was getting back something of the lost ease, "but I do know that you have talked too much,"
" No, I am so much stronger ; but you must be tired. You have come from the Cambria ? "
"Yes. I am not tired."
"But you mustn't stay here, Vera — I can't let you. God knows I would like you to stay ; but I must think of you."
"I can't go to-night,"the girl said, "you cannot be left alone yet ; you're not out of the wood— only at the edge. It's time to take your medicine now. After all," she went on quietly, as she turned to the bed-table, "whatever harm there was to do has been already done, and one can't be in my profession and care so much, as private ladies do, what people say ; you'd never have a minute's peace if you did."
Yes, he knew she was right ; it was too late now to shut the door on slander ; and his heart throbbed with the thought ; yet it stabbed him that the bitter truth held also such sweetness for him. He drank the medicine she gave him, without looking at her ; then he leaned back on the pillow with a look of unutterable pain on his handsome face. Vera glanced at him, and turning away moved noiselessly about the room, putting things ready for the night, the man's dark eyes following her in everything she did. By-and-bye, she turned the light lower ; then came up to the bed. He looked up. She had already lowered the pillows, and he was lying down.
"It's past eleven," she said. "Good night."
"Can't you go to sleep ? "Derval said.
"Not yet I mustn't, and I don't feel sleepy."
"Sit by me then, will you ? Wheel that little arm-chair up in place of the other chair — it's more comfortable."
Vera did as he asked, and sat down in the arm-chair.
« Will that do ? " she said smiling.
"Much better, thanks — and let me hold your hand."
She gave him her hand frankly, though her heart -beats quickened. It is to be feared that, in spite of her self-prohibition, V'ronica Mary had grown to care a great deal too much for this reckless sinner whom she had nursed back to life. His fingers closed with a clinging clasp over hers ; he drew a long, deep breath, and closed his eyes. He was a good deal exhausted by all he had just gone through, and too weak, therefore, at present, to forecast, or think of things as he would do by-and-bye. He could only feel an exquisite sense of happiness — a dream which was yet a reality, for it was a woman of flesh and blood who sat by his side, a warm, living hand he held in his ; even in his sleep he would be conscious of that contact, conscious of Vera's near presence.
The girl looked at him now and then, a little anxiously, at first ; but after all, this exhaustion was only temporary, and could not have been averted. He would never have rested — once having his senses — without knowing the truth, and his sleep would be the more beneficial that his mind was, in some sort, relieved. In her heart the girl prayed that he would let her stay with him until he needed no more actual nursing ; it was paradise for her as for him, and very soon she must leave it — she clung the more tenaciously for that reason to what was left to her. Of course, if he insisted, she could not gainsay him. It was impossible for her to be urgent about remaining, but she knew he would be happier, and get well more quickly, if she were with him
Presently, it was long after midnight, seeing that her patient was in a deep sleep, and knowing that the slightest movement from him would wake her. Vera laid her head down on her arm, as it rested on the bed, her. hand lying in his clasp, which, even in sleep, only relaxed a little ; and, in a few minutes, she, too, slept, her beautiful hair falling loosely about her neck and shoulders, glittering like gold, where the softened light caught it. And an hour before the dawn, Claude Derval opened his eyes on that picture. For a moment it seemed like the vision of his dream ; but the dear hand was in his still, and she slept like a beautiful weary child, with her head lying on her arm, so close to his hand, that a curl of her hair touched him. He scarcely breathed lest he should break the spell. His darling ! his saint !
— Ah! with that last thought came a sting. What a gulf between the two who were now so near — hand within hand, her head almost resting on his hand — he could hear her light breathing ; but she — so pure, so far away from him — gamester, who had gambled away his fortune, health, reputation, lying here, victim of himself, beholden to this stripling girl for the life he had Sung away — for the very food and medicine which he, beggared by his own hand, could not have procured. Bankruptcy, moral and social, to be linked with all the wealth of youth, purity, nobility of soul ! — a monstrous union ! The very thought of it was sacrilege.
Yet, he loved her ! but also, he worshipped her, and so saw himself as he was.
' He had not moved, but she suddenly lifted her head — and met his eyes. "Have you been awake long ? " she said. "I wish I had. Only a little while. What woke you ? " "I don't know. I think because I ought to wake. I am going to get you some beef-tea ! "
She rose up. So the spell was broken by a prosaic necessity — yet not quite broken. Love, and pity, and tenderness make poetry out of the commonplace.
The next day Dr. Bennett allowed his patient to get up during part of the day, and in a few days he would be able to get into the sitting-room. Derval had not spoken to Vera again about having someone else to look after him ; but he did speak to the doctor ; the latter, however, shook his head over it. "In a little while," he said, "you won't want anybody. You'll be able to get away to the sea in a fortnight. Mile. Mendez knows exactly what she's about, and — understands you. You see, if there's any harm done, it's done already ! "
"That maddens me ! " said Derval, setting his teeth hard, "that anyone should misjudge her. She's as spotless as snow — always has been — do you think I don't know a good woman when I see her ? "
"And so do I, Mr. Derval," said the physician, quietly ; "don't be afraid that I shall think any wrong of her. Let her stay — of course I want the best nurse for my patient ; but she'll be happier, and so will you."
Derval's pale face flushed ; he drew in his breath sharply. "Doctor," he said, "I shall be fit for work before a fortnight ! "
"Hoity-toity ! what an idea ! Not you ! — you won't work a day before you're fit — mind that ! You've been jolly near slipping your leash — you would have slipped it but for that girl!"
"I know it! Better if I had ! "
"Don't say that ! You're a young man still. Turn your back on the paste-board, Mr. Derval, and you'll gain back all you've lost!"
"Do you think a man ever does that, doctor ? I don't mean about giving up the vice — though we all know the worth of sick men's resolves — but you've done the wrong, you've been through the mire — it clings to you."
"You're in a pessimistic mood to-day," said Dr. Bennett, who, of course, perfectly understood that Claude Derval was measuring himself against Vera Mendez. "No men would have much chance if you were right"
Derval was silent. He was a proud, reserved man, and had already said more than he would to any man but Dn Bennett. The physician took leave, and the patient was alone for two or three hours. Vera was obliged to go to the Cambria to rehearse a new dance, and she had also to see about the requisite dress for it, but she had made arrangements for her patient to be attended to as much as was possible in her absence, and though Derval told her she was not to hurry back, she did return as quickly as she could.
He was sitting in a low arm-chair, and looking particularly handsome, she thought, in that scarlet dressing-gown, contrasting with his dark hues. She had laid aside her out-door things in a room which she had hired in the house, for greater convenience while she waited on Derval, and she came in quite noiselessly, lest he should be asleep ; but he wasn't, and a vivid light flashed over his face as he saw her. Involuntarily he stretched out his hand to her. She went to him, and knelt down by the chair.
"My guardian angel !" he said, his hand closing fast over hers.
"It's good to see you sitting up," she said. "You're not tired?"
"No — not yet ; you have been hurrying. Vera ? "
"You mustn't scold me for that. I know you hate to have Mrs. Gale come in, and you can't take care of yourself just yet. What did Dr. Bennett say ? "
"He found me much better. I can go into the sitting-room — even to-morrow, perhaps."
"Was that all ? Didn't he say you were to go to the seaside, or away somewhere ? "
Derval's cheek burned ; he turned aside.
"I can't do that ! " he said, in a suppressed way, and he loosed her hand from his. "I can get well without it."
Vera rose to her feet "But you'll get better more quickly with it/' she said. She felt afraid to speak more about the matter now, it seemed hardly fair to him, too, to put upon him such a burden of self-command ; but she had made up her mind before this, and was not to be gainsaid.
"Maybe, but it's impossible. Please don't speak of it, child."
The girl made no answer, but went outside to get some flowers she had brought, and returning, began to arrange them in the best position for him to see. Derval had an artist's eye for all beautiful things, and loved flowers as men rarely do.
"How sweet of you to bring those flowers for me ! " he said
"Isn't it ? " said she, with demure gravity, and drew back to see the effect Derval's eyes went, with a passion of pain and yearning, to her, then to the flowers, and back again.
"I've had some fresh luck to-day," she remarked.
"What is that ? Tell me about it."
"You see, I was engaged exclusively at the Cambria ; my engagement will be up in a fortnight Old Harrison — you know him, of course — offered me splendid terms for a single turn. I didn't accept at once, and to-day Thomson — the Cambria man — trebled on Harrison for exclusive services for six weeks — and I only do one dance — sometimes a short encore, but that is as I choose."
"I am very, very glad, Veronica ! "
"Thanks, so much. When you are well, you must come and give me a good notice."
He did not answer that ; his heart seemed to swoon within him. When he was well ! When they were parted ! How was he to live without her ? Yet how could he dare offer to her — even after probation — his bankrupt life? Vera could not but notice his silence ; did she also understand it ? She herself did not speak for two or three minutes, busying herself about the room ; then she said she must look after the tea, and went out for that purpose. Derval had recovered his self-command meanwhile, and asked the girl about her future arrangements. She was not sure, she said ; she would probably get some good continental offers — and would wait for them. Derval caught his breath at that, but his comment gave no index to his feelings.
During the next few days Vera made no further allusion to the seaside, and Derval — man-like — thought that the matter was settled. He could sit up now the best part of the day, or lie on the sofa if he felt tired ; and Vera went home at night, as he required no more constant attendance. She was still with him a good deal in the daytime, sometimes writing letters for him, and otherwise assisting him, for he still found any mental exertion an effort, and the more so, in truth, for that other trouble which, in fact, retarded his progress.
The doctor, making his last call, said he could do no more. "It's no use my running you up expense for nothing, Mr. Derval ; a few weeks of change of air will do for you what no doctor under the sun can do. And if his heart were at rest," the physician added to himself, "that would be better still." But he did not feel at liberty to say this. Derval had given him no hint in the matter, and was clearly resolved to keep his own counsel. He said now, "All right, doctor,"thanked the physician for his care and kindness, and let him depart Dr. Bennett saw there was some reluctance, but, knowing nothing of his patient's means, naturally attributed that reluctance to the idea of parting with the too attractive nurse.
Derval, left alone — for Vera had not come yet — paced the room till he was tired, and flung himself in sheer exhaustion into a chair. It was maddening. He knew he wasn't getting well as fast as he ought to, having reached this point; but what could he do ? He wanted to work — he must work — work was waiting for him — letters lay on the table yonder, offering it, and he couldn't do it He had tried, and failed ; the thoughts which used to outrun the pen, now refused to come! He couldn't go away, and what use if he could ? By-and-bye he rose, and went back to the table again ; he had torn up his first attempt; it was not likely the second would be more successful. He had laboured out a few lines when the door opened, and Vera came in, having, as usual, left her out-door things in another room. Derval flung down the pen, and rose ; her eyes went quickly from him to the writing-table, as she advanced.
"You shouldn't try," she began.
But he interrupted, taking her hand in his, clasping it for a moment almost convulsively. "Don't scold me. Vera — I must try — I have tried before "
"Yes, I see the torn pieces of paper," she rejoined, quickly" You see — you can't manage it ! "
"God help me — no ! " he turned from her abruptly, and dropped into the chair again. The girl stood still a moment looking at him. Her heart was straitened ; if she could only have gone to him, and taken the loved hand in her own, and comforted him ; but that was impossible She turned to the table where the letters lay open.
"Did these offer you work ? " she asked, gently, when she felt that she could command her voice.
"Yes," he said, without moving. "My brain won't work ; I must make it"
"You can't do that ; you will only break down again." she moved a step nearer. "Dr. Bennett came to-day."
"For the last time — yes."
"What did he say?"
"That there was no more need for him. I knew that as well as he did."
"But that wasn't all — was it ? He spoke again about your going away, didn't he ? " she paused, but Derval was silent " I can ask him," she said, "if you won't tell me."
"Vera "— he got up and crossed the room — "I thought that matter was settled. Why speak of it again ? " he did not look at her ; he dared not trust himself ; he flung himself into the arm-chair, where he used to sit in his first days of weakness. Vera remained standing near the table.
"It wasn't settled," she said, in a low voice. "I was only waiting till you got better."
"Haven't you done enough for me, Vera ? "
"No ! you won't let me finish my work."
He turned aside, setting his teeth ; clenching his hand till the blood came. There was only one way she could finish her work!
As he did not answer her. Vera came a little nearer, but then she paused ; the words she wanted to speak would not come ; she felt in her heart what was in his. He had grown to care too much for her ; he could not dream of wrong, but she was, after all a nameless waif, and he was gently born. It was impossible for him, wilfully, and in excess of what seemed a matter of life and death to accept — though put as a loan — any more money help from her. What could she say? What do? She must not tempt him to forget, even for a moment, his' honour and hers. Besides, her womanhood, and the fact that he must needs feel a profound sense of obligation to her, would seal her lips.
Derval broke the strained silence, speaking in a hard, dry way — his only refuge from self-betrayaL "I shall get well in time," he said. "I must refuse that work, and rest — a little longer. Don't let me take up any more of your time. Vera ; it must be good-bye to-day."
"There's nothing I can do for you ? "It must have been sheer agony made her speak so calmly.
"No ; nothing ! I can write those two letters myself. You are going — now ? "
He looked up for a second, catching his breath silently.
"If I can't help you in any way .? "
"How can I ? how can I ? "the man whispered with livid lips. Vera came up to -him, holding out her hand — the hand that had succoured him, saved him, soothed him, lain many a time in his while he lay wakeful or sleeping. Was it heart-break to her, this parting, or only a pain that would pass ? He dared not look in her face. He caught the little hand in his in a blind sort of way ; the touch turned his blood to fire — broke the last remnant of self-control left to him. With a sudden movement he drew her to his feet ; she was in his arms, wrapped to his heart in a passionate, strained clasp. "I can't part from you — I can't ! " he broke out, hoarsely. "Vera, have pity — don't leave me ; put me to any probation you will, but give me the hope of winning you at last ! "
Bewildered — half dazed — the girl yielded to her lover, clung to him ; this was not gratitude, a reparation made by a sense of honour ; but love — passion ; love, too, that meant no shame ; in those broken words Vera understood ; not her unknown, perhaps shameful, birth, but his own sins had held him silent. He counted himself unworthy. He asked, not her love, but only the hope of winning it when he should have proved himself, in some . measure, worthy of it Knowing all this, she was strong and brave ; yet half shrinking, too, while she clung. She lifted her arms and clasped them about Derval's neck, pressing her flushed face against him. He bent his head — his lips sought hers.
"Darling ! " he whispered, passionately, "you love me!" The soft lips answered in their surrender ; he kissed them at his will, forgetting everything but that she was his own, giving herself to him in perfect, unquestioning love. But by-and-bye conscience spoke again. He lifted his head, but at first he could not dash this sunshine with shadow. With tremulous, tender fingers he put back the bright curls from her brow, and drank deep of the sweetness her eyes held for him. "My love, my heart ! " he said, under breath, "I know you love me, but say it, Vera ; let me hear it."
"I love you ! " she said, with passion, "I love you ! "
And again his lips met hers.
"You make me weak ! " he said, brokenly, when at last he could speak at all ; "you tempt me. You don't know what I am ; I dared not seek your love, darling. I am not worth a thought of yours. I have been a desperate gambler ; my own hand has brought me to this ruin. I may be tempted again."
"But you will conquer, if your word is pledged to me,"Vera interrupted, laying her soft cheek to his.
"How can you trust me, dearest ? God knows I am striving against myself. I want you every hour — every minute ; the anguish of losing you broke up, in one moment, all the long tension ; but, oh ! Vera, dearest, try my faith, let me prove that, for your sake, I can resist temptation."
"You will be stronger to resist when I am near to help you " she said, softly. "I will trust you — now ! "
"Vera ! No, no ! Ah ! how hard you make it for me ; t0 claim you now sinner as I am ? Darling! take time to thinks In your sublime love, you give such perfect trust. Answer me to-morrow — in a week — when you will."
"But you will not fail,"Vera said, putting her lips caressingly to his hand. " I think I know you, and you know that you would keep your word— only you speak for me. You would do anything for love."
"Aye," he said, straining her to him, "and for such love as yours, what might not any man do ? I swear to you, by my love and worship for you, by your love for me, that I will never touch card or dice again. I may be tempted — vices die hard — but I think I could not yield ; my honour is bound ; and how could I meet your eyes, Vera, if I had broken faith with you?" She smiled up into his face.
"I am not afraid," she said. And there was even more of reverence than of passion in the kiss he laid on her lips.
"V'ronica Mary," he said, presently, softly repeating the name the little Arab had given him ; "for a passing kindness, if it deserved even that name, I have reaped ten thousandfold. Why do sinners reap what saints have sown ? "
"But I am no saint," said V'ronica Mary, "and I have reaped too, for you love me! "
"Darling ! my wife! "
He held her to him for a long time in silence ; then he spoke again of the future.
"I shall soon be strong and well now. Vera ; happiness is better than even mountain air ; and nothing would have done me good that parted me from you. When I am able to work you will come to me, to be my own indeed! No, I won't refuse that work ; in a few days I shall be able to do it. Hammond can wait till then. I was tortured to-day, half mad. I could only think of you. Even to-day — sit by me while I write ! "
"No, dearest, not to-day. I haven't quite given up my office of nurse, you know ; besides," she added, with a soft little laugh, and flash of colour in her face, "I think you would do more petting than writing."
"I'm afraid you are right there, V'ronica Mary. Well, then, I must wait, but I have a hope that would spur the most laggard and quickly change sickness for health."
"Ah ! but you will try too much — and — you still want taking care of "
She stopped, and bent her face down ; the blood rose in it again.
"Well, my treasure?"
"Oh ! " she almost whispered, "when I was a little bare-footed outcast, you gave me my first 'chawns' you don't give me one now ! "
"What do you mean, darling? " his voice trembled, he laid his hand tenderly on the bowed head.
"Don't you understand ? Oh ! Claude ! " hiding her face against him, "don't make me say it."
She felt the heavy throbbing of his heart, as he pressed her closer.
"Vera," he said, under breath, "you want me not to wait for you — to claim you — now, while I am penniless ? " her silence answered him. "I can't do that, darling."
"I should be happier,"the girl said, as he faltered, "so much happier. Oh ! it's cruel to make me plead ! "
She was almost sobbing. He stooped and kissed her passionately, holding her to him in a new rapture.
"My heart ! you have conquered. You shall plead no more ; but I will plead, as your lover should. Come to me, then, soon — very soon — in a week, if you will. We trust each other with a perfect trust Let me kiss the sunshine back again, and tell me, with your lips on mine — how soon ? "
No one knew of the marriage till it was over.
Early one morning, in a church in an unfashionable street, Veronica Mary knelt by Claude Derval's side at the altar ; and perhaps not often are marriage vows so felt and meant as those exchanged to-day between the famous dancer and the gamester.
" He'll gamble away all she earns," sneered some, when they heard what had taken place. "She'll leave him when he does, if not before," said others. But they were all false prophets. Claude Derval kept his promise to his young wife ; he never once failed ; he was tempted — more than once — how could it be otherwise? but he was not mastered ; and he confessed to her, kneeling at her feet, his head bowed on her breast, that he had been tempted. She only pressed the dear head closer to her heart, and whispered "I am not afraid. I knew you must be tempted ; but I knew also that you could not fail." he won back the place he had lost, and gained a still higher place ; and still, to both, love was the beginning and the end, the first and the last. Success, fame, only made Claude Derval cling the closer to the woman he loved with a quite ideal worship ; his whole nature was purified, ennobled, by contact with the beautiful nature he had linked with his own. Certainly he had reaped a hundred thousand fold when he gave, in a kindly impulse, her "first chawns" to V'ronica Mary.
[Original]