Sea and Shore: A Sequel to "Miriam's Memoirs"Warfield, Catherine A. (Catherine Ann)
General
Sea and Shore: A Sequel to "Miriam's Memoirs"
Warfield, Catherine A. (Catherine Ann)
Fiction
"Yes, he was my principal care on the raft, and I do not wish to lose
sight of him. When I am better, you must let him share my room until we
reach our friends."
"Oh, certainly!" and again she smiled her evil smile. "No one, so far as
I know of, has any right or wish to separate you; but, for the present,
you are better alone."
"Yes, I am strangely weak--confused, even," and I passed my hand over my
blistered face and dishevelled hair with something of the feeling of the
little woman in the story who doubted her own identity. Alas! there was
not even a familiar dog to bark and determine the vexed question, "Is
this I?"
Helpless as an infant, flaccid as the sea-weed when taken from its
native element, feeble in mind from recent suffering, broken in body, I
was cast on the mercies of strangers, ignorant, until they saw me, of my
existence, yet not indifferent to it, as their care testified.
"You will take some food now," said the woman, kindly. "Your weakness is
not unfavorable, since it proves the fierce fever broken; but you must
hasten to gather strength for what lies before you. We shall be in port
to-morrow."
I put away the spoon with an impatient gesture. "I cannot; it nauseates
me but to see it, to think of it. Strength will come of itself."
"Oh, no; that is impossible. Besides, the doctor has ordered panada, and
I am responsible to him for your safety. Come, now, be reasonable. This
is very nice, seasoned with madeira and nutmeg."
Making a strong effort to overcome my repugnance, I received one
spoonful of the proffered aliment, then sank back on my pillow, soothed
and comforted, not more by the unexpectedly good effects of the
compound, than the associations it conjured up, of my sick childhood, of
Mrs. Austin, and of Dr. Pemberton.
"Ah! you smile; that is a good sign," said the woman; "favorable every
way. We shall have no more delirium now, I hope; no more 'bears and
serpents' about the berth; no more calls for 'Bertie' and 'Captain
Wentworth,' and you will soon be able to tell us all about yourself and
your people--all we want to know."
I most have lapsed again into reverie rather than slumber, from which I
was partly aroused by whispering voices at the door, one of which seemed
familiar to me. Yet this fact or fancy made little impression on me at
the moment, feeble and wretched as was my will, undiscriminating as were
my faculties.
And when the door opened, and a lady entered, I did not seek to inquire
about her interlocutor. Respectfully rising from her seat beside me, my
companion left it vacant for her, to whom she introduced me as her
mistress, and stood, work in hand, sewing beneath the skylight, while
the new-comer remained in the state-room.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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