The Elect Lady | Page 5

the help of her one domestic, and instructed by the doctor, she
soon had a bed prepared for him. Then away rode the doctor at full
speed to fetch the appliances necessary, leaving the laird standing by
the bed, with a look of mild dissatisfaction, but not a whisper of
opposition.
It was the guest-chamber to which George Crawford had been carried,
a room far more comfortable than a stranger might, from the aspect of
the house, have believed possible. Everything in it was old-fashioned,
and, having been dismantled, it was not in apple-pie order; but it was
rapidly and silently restored to its humble ideal; and when the doctor,
after an incredibly brief absence, returned with his assistant, he seemed
both surprised and pleased at the change.
"He must have some one to sit up with him, Miss Fordyce," he said,
when all was done.
"I will myself," she answered. "But you must give me exact directions,
for I have done no nursing."
"If you will walk a little way with me, I will tell you all you need know.
He will sleep now, I think--at least till you get back: I shall not keep
you beyond a few minutes. It is not a very awkward fracture," he
continued, as they went. "It might have been much worse! We shall
have him about in a few weeks. But he will want the greatest care while
the bones are uniting."

The laird turned from the bed, and went to his study, where he walked
up and down, lost and old and pale, the very Bibliad of the room with
its ancient volumes all around. Whatever his eyes fell upon, he turned
from, as if he had no longer any pleasure in it, and presently stole back
to the room where the sufferer lay. On tiptoe, with a caution suggestive
of a wild beast asleep, he crept to the bed, looked down on his
unwelcome guest with an expression of sympathy crossed with dislike,
and shook his head slowly and solemnly, like one injured but forgiving.
His eye fell on the young man's pocket-book. It had fallen from his coat
as they undressed him, and was on a table by the bedside. He caught it
up just ere Alexa reentered.
"How is he, father?" she asked.
"He is fast asleep," answered the laid. "How long does the doctor think
he will have to be here?"
"I did not ask him," she replied.
"That was an oversight, my child," he returned. "It is of consequence
we should know the moment of his removal."
"We shall know it in good time. The doctor called it an affair of
weeks--or months--I forget. But you shall not be troubled, father. I will
attend to him."
"But I am troubled, Alexa! You do not know how little money I have!"
Again he retired--slowly, shut his door, locked it, and began to search
the pocket-book. He found certain banknotes, and made a discovery
concerning its owner.
With the help of her old woman, and noiselessly, while Crawford lay in
a half slumber, Alexa continued making the chamber more comfortable.
Chintz curtains veiled the windows, which, for all their narrowness,
had admitted too much light; and an old carpet deadened the sound of
footsteps on the creaking boards--for the bones of a house do not grow

silent with age; a fire burned in the antique grate, and was a soul to the
chamber, which was chilly, looking to the north, with walls so thick
that it took half the summer to warm them through. Old Meg, moving
to and fro, kept shaking her head like her master, as if she also were in
the secret of some house-misery; but she was only indulging the
funereal temperament of an ancient woman. As Alexa ran through the
heather in the morning, she looked not altogether unlike a peasant; her
shoes were strong, her dress was short; but now she came and went in a
soft-colored gown, neither ill-made nor unbecoming. She did not seem
to belong to what is called society, but she looked dignified, at times
almost stately, with an expression of superiority, not strong enough to
make her handsome face unpleasing. It resembled her father's, but, for a
woman's, was cast in a larger mold.
The day crept on. The invalid was feverish. His nurse obeyed the
doctor minutely, to a single drop. She had her tea brought her, but when
the supper hour arrived went to join her father in the kitchen.

CHAPTER V.
AFTER SUPPER.
They always eat in the kitchen. Strange to say, there was no
dining-room in the house, though there was a sweetly old-fashioned
drawing-room. The servant was with the sufferer, but Alexa was too
much in the sick-room, notwithstanding, to know that she