INA KLOSKING recovered her senses that evening, and asked Miss Gale where she was. Miss Gale told her she was in the house of a friend.
"What friend?"
"That," said Miss Gale, "I will tell you by-and-by. You are in good hands, and I am your physician.""I have heard your voice before," said Ina, "but I know not where; and it is so dark! Why is it so dark?""Because too much light is not good for you. You have met with an accident.""What accident, madam?"
"You fell and hurt your poor forehead. See, I have bandaged it, and now you must let me wet the bandage--to keep your brow cool.""Thank you, madam," said Ina, in her own sweet but queenly way. "You are very good to me. I wish I could see your face more clearly. I know your voice." Then, after a silence, during which Miss Gale eyed her with anxiety, she said, like one groping her way to the truth, "I--fell--and--hurt--my forehead?--_Ah!"_Then it was she uttered the cry that made Vizard quake at the door, and shook for a moment even Rhoda's nerves, though, as a rule, they were iron in a situation of this kind.
It had all come back to Ina Klosking.
After that piteous cry she never said a word. She did nothing but think, and put her hand to her head.
And soon after midnight she began to talk incoherently.
The physician could only proceed by physical means. She attacked the coming fever at once, with the remedies of the day, and also with an infusion of monk's-hood. That poison, promptly administered, did not deceive her. She obtained a slight perspiration, which was so much gained in the battle.
In the morning she got the patient shifted into another bed, and she slept a little after that. But soon she was awake, restless, and raving:
still her character pervaded her delirium. No violence. Nothing any sore injured woman need be ashamed to have said: only it was all disconnected.
One moment she was speaking to the leader of the orchestra, at another to Mr. Ashmead, at another, with divine tenderness, to her still faithful Severne. And though not hurried, as usual in these cases, it was almost incessant and pitiable to hear, each observation was so wise and good;yet, all being disconnected, the hearer could not but feel that a noble mind lay before him, overthrown and broken into fragments like some Attic column.
In the middle of this the handle was softly turned, and Zoe Vizard came in, pale and somber.
Long before this she had said to Fanny several times, "I ought to go and see her;" and Fanny had said, "Of course you ought."So now she came. She folded her arms and stood at the foot of the bed, and looked at her unhappy rival, unhappy as possible herself.
What contrary feelings fought in that young breast! Pity and hatred. She must hate the rival who had come between her and him she loved; she must pity the woman who lay there, pale, wounded, and little likely to recover.
And, with all this, a great desire to know whether this sufferer had any right to come and seize Edward Severne by the arm, and so draw down calamity on both the women who loved him.
She looked and listened, and Rhoda Gale thought it hard upon her patient.
But it was not in human nature the girl should do otherwise; so Rhoda said nothing.
What fell from Ina's lips was not of a kind to make Zoe more her friend.
Her mind seemed now like a bird tied by a long silken thread. It made large excursions, but constantly came back to her love. Sometimes that love was happy, sometimes unhappy. Often she said "Edward!" in the exquisite tone of a loving woman; and whenever she did, Zoe received it with a sort of shiver, as if a dagger, fine as a needle, had passed through her whole body.
At last, after telling some tenor that he had sung F natural instead of Fsharp, and praised somebody's rendering of a song in "Il Flauto Magico,"and told Ashmead to make no more engagements for her at present, for she was going to Vizard Court, the poor soul paused a minute, and uttered a deep moan.
_"Struck down by the very hand that was vowed to protect me!"_ said she.
Then was silent again. Then began to cry, and sob, and wring her hands.
Zoe put her hand to her heart and moved feebly toward the door. However, she stopped a moment to say, "I am no use here. You would soon have me raving in the next bed. I will send Fanny." Then she drew herself up.
"Miss Gale, everybody here is at your command. Pray spare nothing you can think of to save--_my brother's guest."_There came out the bitter drop.
When she had said that, she stalked from the room like some red Indian bearing a mortal arrow in him, but too proud to show it.
But when she got to her own room she flung herself on her sofa, and writhed and sobbed in agony.
Fanny Dover came in and found her so, and flew to her.
But she ordered her out quite wildly. "No, no; go to _her,_ like all the rest, and leave poor Zoe all alone. She _is_ alone."Then Fanny clung to her, and tried hard to comfort her.
This young lady now became very zealous and active. She divided her time between the two sufferers, and was indefatigable in their service. When she was not supporting Zoe, she was always at Miss Gale's elbow offering her services. "Do let me help you," she said. "Do pray let me help. We are poor at home, and there is nothing I cannot do. I'm worth any three servants."She always helped shift the patient into a fresh bed, and that was done very often. She would run to the cook or the butler for anything that was wanted in a hurry. She flung gentility and humbug to the winds. Then she dressed in ten minutes, and went and dined with Vizard, and made excuses for Zoe's absence, to keep everything smooth; and finally she insisted on sitting up with Ina Klosking till three in the morning, and made Miss Gale go to bed in the room. "Paid nurses!" said she; "they are no use except to snore and drink the patient's wine. You and I will watch her every moment of the night; and if I'm ever at a loss what to do, I will call you."Miss Gale stared at her once, and then accepted this new phase of her character.