Eustace Marchmont: A friend of the peopleEverett-Green, Evelyn
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Eustace Marchmont: A friend of the people
Everett-Green, Evelyn
West Country (England) -- Fiction
“Oh, my lady, I think he is asking for you. We can’t quite make out his
words. He has no voice, and scarce any breath; but I saw his lips move,
and I’m almost sure he’s saying your name. We can’t tell whether he
knows us yet--whether his mind is there. But I think if you would go in
to him we might be able to tell.”
Bride looked at her companion.
“Let us go in together,” she said, feeling a strange desire for the
support of another presence. She hardly knew what it was that she
would be called upon to witness in that room; but at least Eustace was
there--Eustace was still living; and if he wanted her, was not that
enough?
Her face was very pale, but her manner was quite composed as she walked
forward, passed the screen, and stood beside the bed.
Upon the bed, perfectly flat, with only one thin pillow beneath his
head, lay Eustace, as motionless and almost as rigid as though life
were extinct. His arms lay passively outside the bed-clothing just
as they had been placed. The left arm was bound up in a splint, but
the right lay almost as helpless and powerless beside him. There was
a white bandage about his head, and his face was almost as white as
the linen. The lips were ashen grey, and a shadow seemed to rest upon
the face, robbing it of almost all semblance of life. Only the eyes
retained any of their colour. They were sunken and dim, but there was
life in their glance yet; and as Bride stood beside him, and softly
spoke his name, a sudden gleam of joyous recognition flashed from them,
and the white lips curved to the faint semblance of a smile.
“Bride,” he said, in the lowest whisper.
She took the powerless hand in his, and then bent down and kissed him.
“I am here, Eustace, I am with you. You will live for my sake,” she
said, in soft clear tones, which seemed to penetrate the mists of
weakness closing him in. The dim eyes brightened more and more, and
fixed themselves upon her fair, sweet face. She felt a very slight
answering pressure of the fingers she held, and again she heard the
whisper of her name.
The doctor was standing a little distance off. He had known Bride from
her infancy, and was watching the little scene with extreme interest,
both professional and personal. Now he came forward and stood on the
other side of the bed; his kind old face was beaming with satisfaction.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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