The Two Wives | Page 5

frequented tavern.
"No, no; I must go home." And Wilkinson tried to extricate himself
from the firm grasp of his friend. But the latter tightened his hold, as he
said--

"It's of no use. I shall not let you go. So come along with me to Parker's.
Over a couple of brandy toddies we will discuss this matter of Cara's."
A vigorous jerk from the hand of Ellis gave the body of Wilkinson a
motion in the direction of the tavern. Had his mind been perfectly
clear--had none of the effects of his wine-drinking at Elbridge's
remained, he would have resisted to the end this solicitation, at the hour
and under the circumstances. But his mind was not perfectly clear. And
so, a few steps being taken by compulsion, he moved on by a sort of
constrained volition.
As mentioned above, Wilkinson had nearly reached his own door when
he encountered Ellis; was, in fact, so near, that he could see the light
shining from the chamber-window through which, some hours before,
he had marked on the wall the flitting shadow of his wife, as she
walked to and fro, seeking to soothe into slumber her sick and grieving
child. For nearly five minutes, he had stood talking with his friend, and
the sound of their voices might easily have been heard in his dwelling,
if one had been listening intently there. And one was listening with
every sense strung to the acutest perception. Just as Wilkinson moved
away, an observer would have seen the door of his house open, and a
slender female form bend forth, and look earnestly into the darkness. A
moment or two, she stood thus, and then stepped forth quickly, and
leaning upon the iron railing of the door steps, fixed eagerly her eyes
upon the slowly receding forms of the two men.
"John! John!" she called, in half suppressed tones.
But her voice did not reach the ear of her husband, whose form she well
knew, even in the obscurity of night.
Gliding down the steps, Mrs. Wilkinson ran a few paces along the
pavement, but suddenly stopped as some thought passed through her
mind; and, turning, went back to the door she had left. There she stood
gazing after her husband, until she saw him enter the tavern mentioned
as being kept by a man named Parker, when, with a heavy, fluttering
sigh, she passed into the house, and ascended to the chamber from
which she had, a few minutes before, come down.

It was past eleven o'clock. The two domestics had retired, and Mrs.
Wilkinson was alone with her sick child. Ella's moan of suffering came
on her ear the instant she re-entered the room, and she stepped quickly
to the crib, and bent over to look into its face. The cheeks of the child
were flushed with fever to a bright crimson, and she was moving her
head from side to side, and working her lips as if there was something
in her mouth. Slight twitching motions of the arms and hands were also
noticed by the mother. Her eyes were partly open.
"Will Ella have a drink of water?" said Mrs. Wilkinson, placing her
hand under the child's head, and slightly raising it from the pillow.
But Ella did not seem to hear.
"Say--love, will you have some water?"
There was no sign that her words reached the child's ears.
A deeper shade of trouble than that which already rested on the
mother's face glanced over it.
"Ella! Ella!" Mrs. Wilkinson slightly shook the child.
The only response was the muttering of some incoherent words, and a
continued moaning as if pain were disturbing her sleep.
The mother now bent low over her child, and eagerly marked the
expression of her face and the character of her breathing. Then she laid
a hand upon her cheek. Instantly it was withdrawn with a quick start,
but as quickly replaced again.
"What a burning fever!" she murmured. Then she added, in a tone of
anxiety,
"How strangely she works her mouth! I don't like this constant rolling
of her head. What can it mean? Ella! Ella!"
And she shook the child again.

"Want some water, love?"
The mother's voice did not appear to reach the locked sense of hearing.
Mrs. Wilkinson now lifted a glass of water from the bureau near by,
and raising the head of Ella with one hand, applied, with the other, the
water to her lips. About a table-spoonful was poured into her mouth. It
was not swallowed, but ran out upon the pillow.
"Mercy! mercy! what can ail the child!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilkinson, a
look of fear coming into her face.
A little while she stood over her, and then leaving her place beside the
crib, she hurried out into