Canada -- Fiction; Frontier and pioneer life -- Ontario -- Fiction
Once more she sat down by the bunk, after she had given Maigan a big
feed of oats, with a small remnant of the bacon grease. She felt
humbled now, as if her accusations constituted some unforgivable,
despicable sin. This man had never intended to do her the slightest
harm. He really never knew that she was coming. And through her stupid
clumsiness his life was now ebbing. The doctor's long words sounded
dreadfully in her ears: general sepsis, blood poisoning, a system
overwhelmed by the toxines of virulent microbes; they reverberated in
her ears like so many sentences of death. Was there any hope that this
outflowing life would ever turn in its course and return like an
incoming tide? Would she again see him able to lift up his head, to
speak in words no longer dictated by the vagaries of delirium? She
would give anything to be able to ask his pardon humbly after his mind
cleared again. Oh, it was unthinkable that he should die, that the end
might be coming soon, and that she must go forth with that unspeakable
load of misery in her heart.
Maigan restlessly kept on coming to her and placing his head in her
lap, as if seeking comfort. Once she bent over and put her cheek
against his jaw and furry ear. He was a companion in misery.
When she lifted up her head again to stare once more at the sufferer,
with eyes heavily ringed with black, he slowly opened his own and
looked at her vaguely, for at first there was not the slightest sign
of recognition in them. Presently, however, the girl saw something
that looked like a faint smile.
"How--how long have I been asleep?" he asked, weakly. "And have--have
you been here all the time?"
She nodded, conscious that her heart was now beating with excitement,
and his eyes closed again. But his hand had sought the one she had
laid on the blanket and rested on it, for a few moments. It was the
ever-recurring call of the man for the comfort of a woman's touch, for
the protection his strength gathers from her weakness.
"You--you're ever so good and kind," he said again, in a low hoarse
voice, after which he kept still again, for the longest time.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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