Shirley

Mr. Moore leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. Miss Keeldar resumed her square of silk canvas, and continued the creation of a wreath of Parmese violets.

“And you told no one, sought no help, no cure? You would not come to me?”

“I got as far as the schoolroom door; there my courage failed. I preferred to cushion the matter.”

“Why? What can I demand better in this world than to be of use to you?”

“I had no claim.”

“Monstrous! And you did nothing?”

“Yes. I walked straight into the laundry, where they are ironing most of the week, now that I have so many guests in the house. While the maid was busy crimping or starching, I took an Italian iron from the fire, and applied the light scarlet glowing tip to my arm. I bored it well in. It cauterized the little wound. Then I went upstairs.”

“I dare say you never once groaned?”

“I am sure I don’t know. I was very miserable – not firm or tranquil at all, I think. There was no calm in my mind.”

“There was calm in your person. I remember listening the whole time we sat at luncheon, to hear if you moved in the room above. All was quiet.”

“I was sitting at the foot of the bed, wishing Phoebe had not bitten me.”

“And alone. You like solitude.”

“Pardon me.”

“You disdain sympathy.”

“Do I, Mr. Moore?”

“With your powerful mind you must feel independent of help, of advice, of society.”

“So be it, since it pleases you.”

She smiled. She pursued her embroidery carefully and quickly, but her eyelash twinkled, and then it glittered, and then a drop fell.

Mr. Moore leaned forward on his desk, moved his chair, altered his attitude.

“If it is not so,” he asked, with a peculiar, mellow change in his voice, “how is it, then?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do know, but you won’t speak. All must be locked up in yourself.”

“Because it is not worth sharing.”

“Because nobody can give the high price you require for your confidence. Nobody is rich enough to purchase it. Nobody has the honour, the intellect, the power you demand in your adviser. There is not a shoulder in England on which you would rest your hand for support, far less a bosom which you would permit to pillow your head. Of course you must live alone.”

“I can live alone, if need be. But the question is not how to live, but how to die alone. That strikes me in a more grisly light.”

“You apprehend the effects of the virus? You anticipate an indefinitely threatening, dreadful doom?”

She bowed.

“You are very nervous and womanish.”

“You complimented me two minutes since on my powerful mind.”

“You are very womanish. If the whole affair were coolly examined and discussed, I feel assured it would turn out that there is no danger of your dying at all.”

“Amen! I am very willing to live, if it please God. I have felt life sweet.”

“How can it be otherwise than sweet with your endowments and nature? Do you truly expect that you will be seized with hydrophobia, and die raving mad?”

“I expect it, and have feared it. Just now I fear nothing.”

“Nor do I, on your account. I doubt whether the smallest particle of virus mingled with your blood; and if it did, let me assure you that, young, healthy, faultlessly sound as you are, no harm will ensue. For the rest, I shall inquire whether the dog was really mad. I hold she was not mad.”

“Tell nobody that she bit me.”

“Why should I, when I believe the bite innocuous as a cut of this penknife? Make yourself easy. I am easy, though I value your life as much as I do my own chance of happiness in eternity. Look up.”

“Why, Mr. Moore?”

“I wish to see if you are cheered. Put your work down; raise your head.”

“There”

“Look at me. Thank you. And is the cloud broken?”

“I fear nothing.”

“Is your mind restored to its own natural sunny clime?”

“I am very content; but I want your promise.”

“Dictate.”

“You know, in case the worst I have feared should happen, they will smother me. You need not smile. They will; they always do. My uncle will be full of horror, weakness, precipitation; and that is the only expedient which will suggest itself to him. Nobody in the house will be self-possessed but you. Now promise to befriend me – to keep Mr. Sympson away from me, not to let Henry come near, lest I should hurt him. Mind – mind that you take care of yourself too. But I shall not injure you; I know I shall not. Lock the chamber door against the surgeons; turn them out if they get in. Let neither the young nor the old MacTurk lay a finger on me; nor Mr. Greaves, their colleague; and lastly, if I give trouble, with your own hand administer to me a strong narcotic – such a sure dose of laudanum as shall leave no mistake. Promise to do this.”

Moore left his desk, and permitted himself the recreation of one or two turns through the room. Stopping behind Shirley’s chair, he bent over her, and said, in a low, emphatic voice, “I promise all you ask – without comment, without reservation.”

“If female help is needed, call in my housekeeper, Mrs. Gill. Let her lay me out if I die. She is attached to me. She wronged me again and again, and again and again I forgave her. She now loves me, and would not defraud me of a pin. Confidence has made her honest; forbearance has made her kind-hearted. At this day I can trust both her integrity, her courage, and her affection. Call her; but keep my good aunt and my timid cousins away. Once more, promise.”

“I promise.”

“That is good in you,” she said, looking up at him as he bent over her, and smiling.

“Is it good? Does it comfort?”