'Ay, but that is cheering news,' returned Elspeth; and one of the rare
tears of old age stole down her withered cheek. 'My poor Mary! she is
patient, and never complains; but the good Lord is laying a heavy cross
on her.'
'That is true,' muttered Mr. Hamilton, and then he said, in a
business-like tone, 'Now for the patient, Miss Garston'; and as he led
the way across the narrow passage we could hear the hard, gasping cough
of the sick woman.
Peggy, with the baby still in her arms, was trying to stir a black,
cindery fire, that was filling the room with smoke. The child was crying,
and the poor invalid was sitting up in bed nearly suffocated by her
cough. The great four-post bed blocked up the little window. The remains
of a meal were still on the big round table. Some clothes were drying by
the hearth; a thin tortoise-shell cat was licking up a stream of milk
that was filtering slowly across the floor, in the midst of jugs, cans,
a broken broom, some children's toys, and two or three boots. The bed
looked as though it had not been made for days; the quilt and valance
were deplorably dirty; but the poor creature herself looked neat and
clean, and her hair was drawn off from her sunken cheeks and knotted
carefully at the back of her head. Mr. Hamilton uttered an exclamation
of impatience when he saw the smoke, and almost snatched the poker out
of Peggy's hands.
'Take the child away,' he said angrily. 'Miss Garston, if you can find
some paper and wood in this infernal confusion, I shall be obliged to
you: this smoke must be stopped.'
I found the broken lid of a box that split up like tinder, and Peggy
brought me an old newspaper, and then I stood by while Mr. Hamilton
skilfully manipulated the miserable fire.
'All these ashes must be removed,' he said curtly, as he rose with
blackened hands: 'the whole fireplace is blocked up with them.' And then
he went to the pump and washed his hands, while I sent Peggy after him
with a nice clean towel from my basket. While he was gone I stepped up
to the bed and said a word or two to poor Mrs. Marshall.
She must have been a comely creature in her days of health, but she was
fearfully wasted now. The disease was evidently running its course; as
she lay there exhausted and panting, I knew her lease of life would not
be long.
'It was the smoke,' she panted. 'Peggy is young: she muddles over the
fire. Last night it went out, and she was near an hour getting it to
light.'
'It is burning beautifully now,' I returned; and then Mr. Hamilton came
back and began to examine his patient, professionally. I was surprised
to find that his abrupt manner left him; he spoke to Mrs. Marshall so
gently, and with such evident sympathy, that I could hardly believe it
was the same person; her wan face seemed to light up with gratitude; but
when he turned to me to give some directions for her treatment he spoke
with his old dryness.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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