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Shirley
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“Is he asleep?”
“I wish he could sleep. Come and speak to him, Shirley.”
“He would not like it.”
But the speaker stepped in, and Henry, seeing her hesitate on the threshold, took her hand and drew her to the couch.
The shaded light showed Miss Keeldar’s form but imperfectly; yet it revealed her in elegant attire. There was a party assembled below, including Sir Philip Nunnely; the ladies were now in the drawing room, and their hostess had stolen from them to visit Henry’s tutor. Her pure white dress, her fair arms and neck, the trembling chainlet of gold circling her throat and quivering on her breast, glistened strangely amid the obscurity of the sickroom. Her mien was chastened and pensive. She spoke gently.
“Mr. Moore, how are you tonight?”
“I have not been very ill, and am now better.”
“I heard that you complained of thirst. I have brought you some grapes; can you taste one?”
“No; but I thank you for remembering me.”
“Just one.”
From the rich cluster that filled a small basket held in her hand she severed a berry and offered it to his lips. He shook his head, and turned aside his flushed face.
“But what, then, can I bring you instead? You have no wish for fruit; yet I see that your lips are parched. What beverage do you prefer?”
“Mrs. Gill supplies me with toast-and-water. I like it best.”
Silence fell for some minutes.
“Do you suffer? – have you pain?”
“Very little.”
“What made you ill?”
Silence.
“I wonder what caused this fever? To what do you attribute it?”
“Miasma, perhaps – malaria. This is autumn, a season fertile in fevers.”
“I hear you often visit the sick in Briarfield, and Nunnely too, with Mr. Hall. You should be on your guard; temerity is not wise.”
“That reminds me, Miss Keeldar, that perhaps you had better not enter this chamber or come near this couch. I do not believe my illness is infectious. I scarcely fear”—with a sort of smile—“you will take it; but why should you run even the shadow of a risk? Leave me.”
“Patience, I will go soon; but I should like to do something for you before I depart – any little service.”
“They will miss you below.”
“No; the gentlemen are still at table.”
“They will not linger long. Sir Philip Nunnely is no wine-bibber, and I hear him just now pass from the dining room to the drawing room.”
“It is a servant.”
“It is Sir Philip; I know his step.”
“Your hearing is acute.”
“It is never dull, and the sense seems sharpened at present. Sir Philip was here to tea last night. I heard you sing to him some song which he had brought you. I heard him, when he took his departure at eleven o’clock, call you out on to the pavement, to look at the evening star.”
“You must be nervously sensitive.”
“I heard him kiss your hand.”
“Impossible!”
“No: my chamber is over the hall, the window just above the front door; the sash was a little raised, for I felt feverish. You stood ten minutes with him on the steps. I heard your discourse, every word, and I heard the salute. – Henry, give me some water.”
“Let me give it him.”
But he half rose to take the glass from young Sympson, and declined her attendance.
“And can I do nothing?”
“Nothing; for you cannot guarantee me a night’s peaceful rest, and it is all I at present want.”
“You do not sleep well?”
“Sleep has left me.”
“Yet you said you were not very ill?”
“I am often sleepless when in high health.”
“If I had power, I would lap you in the most placid slumber – quite deep and hushed, without a dream.”
“Blank annihilation! I do not ask that.”
“With dreams of all you most desire.”
“Monstrous delusions! The sleep would be delirium, the waking death.”
“Your wishes are not so chimerical; you are no visionary.”
“Miss Keeldar, I suppose you think so; but my character is not, perhaps, quite as legible to you as a page of the last new novel might be.”
“That is possible. But this sleep – I should like to woo it to your pillow, to win for you its favour. If I took a book and sat down and read some pages? I can well spare half an hour.”
“Thank you, but I will not detain you.”
“I wish he could sleep. Come and speak to him, Shirley.”
“He would not like it.”
But the speaker stepped in, and Henry, seeing her hesitate on the threshold, took her hand and drew her to the couch.
The shaded light showed Miss Keeldar’s form but imperfectly; yet it revealed her in elegant attire. There was a party assembled below, including Sir Philip Nunnely; the ladies were now in the drawing room, and their hostess had stolen from them to visit Henry’s tutor. Her pure white dress, her fair arms and neck, the trembling chainlet of gold circling her throat and quivering on her breast, glistened strangely amid the obscurity of the sickroom. Her mien was chastened and pensive. She spoke gently.
“Mr. Moore, how are you tonight?”
“I have not been very ill, and am now better.”
“I heard that you complained of thirst. I have brought you some grapes; can you taste one?”
“No; but I thank you for remembering me.”
“Just one.”
From the rich cluster that filled a small basket held in her hand she severed a berry and offered it to his lips. He shook his head, and turned aside his flushed face.
“But what, then, can I bring you instead? You have no wish for fruit; yet I see that your lips are parched. What beverage do you prefer?”
“Mrs. Gill supplies me with toast-and-water. I like it best.”
Silence fell for some minutes.
“Do you suffer? – have you pain?”
“Very little.”
“What made you ill?”
Silence.
“I wonder what caused this fever? To what do you attribute it?”
“Miasma, perhaps – malaria. This is autumn, a season fertile in fevers.”
“I hear you often visit the sick in Briarfield, and Nunnely too, with Mr. Hall. You should be on your guard; temerity is not wise.”
“That reminds me, Miss Keeldar, that perhaps you had better not enter this chamber or come near this couch. I do not believe my illness is infectious. I scarcely fear”—with a sort of smile—“you will take it; but why should you run even the shadow of a risk? Leave me.”
“Patience, I will go soon; but I should like to do something for you before I depart – any little service.”
“They will miss you below.”
“No; the gentlemen are still at table.”
“They will not linger long. Sir Philip Nunnely is no wine-bibber, and I hear him just now pass from the dining room to the drawing room.”
“It is a servant.”
“It is Sir Philip; I know his step.”
“Your hearing is acute.”
“It is never dull, and the sense seems sharpened at present. Sir Philip was here to tea last night. I heard you sing to him some song which he had brought you. I heard him, when he took his departure at eleven o’clock, call you out on to the pavement, to look at the evening star.”
“You must be nervously sensitive.”
“I heard him kiss your hand.”
“Impossible!”
“No: my chamber is over the hall, the window just above the front door; the sash was a little raised, for I felt feverish. You stood ten minutes with him on the steps. I heard your discourse, every word, and I heard the salute. – Henry, give me some water.”
“Let me give it him.”
But he half rose to take the glass from young Sympson, and declined her attendance.
“And can I do nothing?”
“Nothing; for you cannot guarantee me a night’s peaceful rest, and it is all I at present want.”
“You do not sleep well?”
“Sleep has left me.”
“Yet you said you were not very ill?”
“I am often sleepless when in high health.”
“If I had power, I would lap you in the most placid slumber – quite deep and hushed, without a dream.”
“Blank annihilation! I do not ask that.”
“With dreams of all you most desire.”
“Monstrous delusions! The sleep would be delirium, the waking death.”
“Your wishes are not so chimerical; you are no visionary.”
“Miss Keeldar, I suppose you think so; but my character is not, perhaps, quite as legible to you as a page of the last new novel might be.”
“That is possible. But this sleep – I should like to woo it to your pillow, to win for you its favour. If I took a book and sat down and read some pages? I can well spare half an hour.”
“Thank you, but I will not detain you.”
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Последний отзыв
В борьбе за власть есть первые; есть вторые; и есть 6ыдло (из канала BS "Без Слёз").
- Вторые всегда стремятся стать первыми. Но ресурсы власти – у п...
Далее