Ghosts -- Fiction; Invalids -- Fiction; Women authors -- Fiction
“I say, don’t you play too long tonight. Don’t you go overdoing it.” Her
chaff made no impression upon him, he was used to it. But he was struck
by some alteration or intensification of her brilliancy. How could he
know the secret of it? The love of which he was capable gave him no key
to the spell that was on those two tonight.
Anne slipped off to bed presently, at Gabriel’s whispered encouragement,
and Margaret went on playing to the two men. Peter commented sometimes,
asked for this or the other, went over and stood by her side, turning
over the music, sat down beside her now and again. Gabriel remained on
the corner of the sofa Anne had vacated, and listened. Therefore it was
Peter who caught her when she fell forward with a little sigh or moan,
Peter who caught her up in his arms and strode over with her to the
sofa. Gabriel would have taken her from him, but Peter issued impatient
orders.
“Open the window, pull the blind up, let us have as much air as
possible. Ring for her maid, ring like blazes ... she has only fainted.”
Within a minute she was sitting up, radiantly white, but with shadows
round her pale mouth and deep under her eyes.
“It is nothing, it is only a touch of faintness. Not an attack. Gabriel,
you were not frightened?” she asked, and put out her hand to him.
Peter said something inarticulate and got up from where he had been
kneeling beside her.
“I’ll get you some brandy.”
“Shall I go?” Gabriel asked, but was holding her hand.
“No, no. You stay. Dr. Kennedy knows where it is.”
Gabriel knelt beside her now.
“Were you frightened?” she asked, still a little faintly.
“Love, lover, sweet, my heart was shaken with terror.”
“It is really nothing. We have had such a wonderful day I was trying to
play it all to you. Then the glory spread, brightened, overwhelmed
me....”
“Beloved!”
“Hush! he is coming back. You won’t believe anything he tells you?”
“Not if you tell me you are not really ill? Oh! my darling! I could not
bear it if you were to suffer. Let me get some one else....”
Peter was back with the brandy, a measured dose, he brushed Gabriel
aside as if now at least he had the mastery of the position. For all
Gabriel’s preoccupation with Margaret, Dr. Kennedy managed to attract
from him a wondering moment of attention. Need he have knelt to
administer the draught? What was it he was murmuring? Whatever it was
Margaret was unwilling to hear. She leaned back, closing her eyes. When
the maid came, torn reluctantly from her supper, she was able,
nevertheless, to reassure her.
“Nothing of consequence, Stevens, not an attack. I am going across to my
bedroom. One of you will lend me an arm,” they were both in readiness,
“or both.” She took an arm of one and an arm of the other, smiled in
both their faces. “What a way to wind up our little evening! You will
have to forgive me, entertain each other.”
“I’ll come in again and see you when you are comfortable,” the doctor
said, a little defiantly, Gabriel thought.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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