Adela Cathcart, vol 1 | Page 6

must have been nearly twenty years ago.
I stood and looked at her. Her face was pale and thin, and her eyes were
large, and yet sleepy. I may say at once that she had dark eyes and a
sweet face; and that is all the description I mean to give of her. I had
been accustomed to see that face, if not rosy, yet plump and healthy;
and those eyes with plenty of light for themselves, and some to spare
for other people. But it was neither her wan look nor her dull eyes that
distressed me: it was the expression of her face. It was very sad to look
at; but it was not so much sadness as utter and careless hopelessness
that it expressed.
"Have you any pain, Adela?" I asked.
"No," she answered.
"But you feel ill?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"I don't know."
And as she spoke, she tapped with one finger on the edge of the
couvre-pied which was thrown over her, and gave a sigh as if her very
heart was weary of everything.
"Shall you come down to dinner with us?"

"Yes, uncle; I suppose I must."
"If you would rather have your dinner sent up, my love--" began her
father.
"Oh! no. It is all the same to me. I may as well go down."
My young companion of the carriage now entered, got up expensively.
He, too, looked shocked when he saw her.
"Why, Addie!" he said.
But she received him with perfect indifference, just lifting one cold
hand towards his, and then letting it fall again where it had lain before.
Percy looked a little mortified; in fact, more mortified now than sorry;
turned away, and stared at the fire.
Every time I open my mouth in a drawing-room before dinner, I am
aware of an amount of self-denial worthy of a forlorn hope. Yet the
silence was so awkward now, that I felt I must make an effort to say
something; and the more original the remark the better I felt it would be
for us all. But, with the best intentions, all I could effect was to turn
towards Mr. Percy and say,
"Rather cold for travelling, is it not?"
"Those foot-warmers are capital things, though," he answered. "Mine
was jolly hot. Might have roasted a potato on it, by Jove!"
"I came in a second-class carriage," I replied; "and they are too cold to
need a foot-warmer."
He gave a shrug with his shoulders, as if he had suddenly found himself
in low company, and must make the best of it. But he offered no further
remark.
Beeves announced dinner.
"Will you take Adela, Mr. Smith?" said the colonel.

"I think I won't go, after all, papa, if you don't mind. I don't want any
dinner."
"Very well, my dear," began her father, but could not help showing his
distress; perceiving which, Adela rose instantly from her couch, put her
arm in his, and led the way to the dining-room. Percy and I followed.
"What can be the matter with the girl?" thought I. "She used to be
merry enough. Some love affair, I shouldn't wonder. I've never heard of
any. I know her father favours that puppy Percy; but I don't think she is
dying for him."
It was the dreariest Christmas Eve I had ever spent. The fire was bright;
the dishes were excellent; the wine was thorough; the host was
hospitable; the servants were attentive; and yet the dinner was as
gloomy as if we had all known it to be the last we should ever eat
together. If a ghost had been sitting in its shroud at the head of the table,
instead of Adela, it could hardly have cast a greater chill over the
guests. She did her duty well enough; but she did not look it; and the
charities which occasioned her no pleasure in the administration, could
hardly occasion us much in the reception.
As soon as she had left the room, Percy broke out, with more emphasis
than politeness:
"What the devil's the matter with Adela, uncle?"
"Indeed, I can't tell, my boy," answered the colonel, with more kindness
than the form of the question deserved.
"Have you no conjecture on the subject?" I asked.
"None. I have tried hard to find out; but I have altogether failed. She
tells me there is nothing the matter with her, only she is so tired. What
has she to tire her?"
"If she is tired inside first, everything will tire her."

"I wish you would try to find out, Smith."
"I will."
"Her mother died of a decline."
"I know. Have you had no advice?"
"Oh, yes! Dr. Wade is giving her steel-wine, and quinine, and all that
sort of thing. For my part, I