Dick stared, and emitted a low whistle.
"'Pon my word, you've been a-going of it, Nell! Sounds like a play: 'The
Mysterious Stranger and the Village Maiden.' Scene one. Enter the
stranger: 'My horse is weary; no human habitation nigh. Where to find a
resting place for my tired steed and my aching head! Ah! what is this? A
simple child of Nature. I will seek direction at her hands.' Horse takes
fright; mysterious stranger is thrown. Maiden falls on her knees: 'Ah,
Heaven! 'tis he! 'tis he!'"
Nell laughed, but her face crimsoned.
"Dick, don't be an idiot, if you can help it. I know it is
difficult----"
"Spare your blushes, my child," he retorted blandly. "The Mysterious S.
will turn out to be a commercial traveler with a wife and seven
children. But, Nell, what does mamma say?"
"She likes it," said Nell, with a smile. "She is happier and more
interested than I have ever seen her."
Dick struck an attitude and his forehead.
"Can it be--oh, can it be that the romance will end another way? Are we
going to lose our dear mamma? Grateful stranger--love at first
sight----"
"Dick, you are the worst kind of imbecile! He is years younger than
mamma--young enough to be her son. Now, Dick, dry up, and don't make a
noise. He is really ill. I know it by the way the old doctor smiles. He
always smiles and grins when the case is serious. You'll be quiet, Dick,
dear?"
"This tender solicitude for the sufferer touches me deeply," he
whimpered, mopping his eyes. "Oh, yes, I'll be quiet, Nell. Much as I
love excitement, I'm not anxious for a funeral, and a bereaved and
heartbroken sister. Shall I take my boots off before entering the abode
of sickness, or shall I walk in on my head?"
The day passed. Dick, driven almost mad by the enforced quietude, and
the incessant "Hushes!" of Mrs. Lorton, betook himself to his tool shed
to mend his fishing rod--and cut his fingers--and then to bed. Molly
went to the sick room in the capacity of nurse, and Mrs. Lorton, after
desiring everybody that she should be called if "a change took place,"
retired to the rest earned by pleasurable excitement; and Nell stole
past the spare-room door to her nest under the roof.
As she undressed slowly, she paused now and again to listen. All was
quiet; the injured man was still sleeping. She went to the open window
and looked out seaward. Something was stirring within her, something
that was like the faint motion of the air before a storm. Is it possible
that we have some premonition of the first change in our lives; the
change which is to alter the course of every feeling, every action? She
knew too little of life or the world to ask herself the question; but
she was conscious of a sensation of unrest, of disquietude. She could
not free herself from the haunting presence of the handsome face, of the
dark and weary, wistful eyes. The few sentences he had spoken kept
repeating themselves in her ear, striking on her brain with soft
persistence. The very name filled her thoughts. "Drake Vernon, Drake
Vernon!"