AMONG the guests whom the rector met was a gentleman named Rambert, a single man of large fortune, well known in the neighborhood of Penliddy as the owner of a noble country-seat and the possessor of a magnificent library.
Mr.Rambert (with whom Mr.Carling was well acquainted) greeted him at the dinner-party with friendly expressions of regret at the time that had elapsed since they had last seen each other, and mentioned that he had recently been adding to his collection of books some rare old volumes of theology, which he thought the rector might find it useful to look over.Mr.Carling, with the necessity of finishing his pamphlet uppermost in his mind, replied, jestingly, that the species of literature which he was just then most interested in examining happened to be precisely of the sort which (excepting novels, perhaps) had least affinity to theological writing.The necessary explanation followed this avowal as a matter of course, and, to Mr.Carling's great delight, his friend turned on him gayly with the most surprising and satisfactory of answers:
"You don't know half the resources of my miles of bookshelves,"he said, "or you would never have thought of going to London for what you can get from me.A whole side of one of my rooms upstairs is devoted to periodical literature.I have reviews, magazines, and three weekly newspapers, bound, in each case, from the first number; and, what is just now more to your purpose, Ihave the _Times_ for the last fifteen years in huge half-yearly volumes.Give me the date to-night, and you shall have the volume you want by two o'clock to-morrow afternoon."The necessary information was given at once, and, with a great sense of relief, so far as his literary anxieties were concerned, Mr.Carling went home early to see what the quieting medicine had done for his wife.
She had dozed a little, but had not slept.However, she was evidently better, for she was able to take an interest in the sayings and doings at the dinner-party, and questioned her husband about the guests and the conversation with all a woman's curiosity about the minutest matters.She lay with her face turned toward him and her eyes meeting his, until the course of her inquiries drew an answer from him, which informed her of his fortunate discovery in relation to Mr.Rambert's library, and of the prospect it afforded of his resuming his labors the next day.
When he mentioned this circumstance, she suddenly turned her head on the pillow so that her face was hidden from him, and he cou ld see through the counterpane that the shivering, which he had observed when her illness had seized her in the morning, had returned again.
"I am only cold," she said, in a hurried way, with her face under the clothes.
He rang for the maid, and had a fresh covering placed on the bed.
Observing that she seemed unwilling to be disturbed, he did not remove the clothes from her face when he wished her goodnight, but pressed his lips on her head, and patted it gently with his hand.She shrank at the touch as if it hurt her, light as it was, and he went downstairs, resolved to send for the doctor again if she did not get to rest on being left quiet.In less than half an hour afterward the maid came down and relieved his anxiety by reporting that her mistress was asleep.
The next morning he found her in better spirits.Her eyes, she said, felt too weak to bear the light, so she kept the bedroom darkened.But in other respects she had little to complain of.
After answering her husband's first inquiries, she questioned him about his plans for the day.He had letters to write which would occupy him until twelve o'clock.At two o'clock he expected the volume of the _Times_ to arrive, and he should then devote the rest of the afternoon to his work.After hearing what his plans were, Mrs.Carling suggested that he should ride out after he had done his letters, so as to get some exercise at the fine part of the day; and she then reminded him that a longer time than usual had elapsed since he had been to see a certain old pensioner of his, who had nursed him as a child, and who was now bedridden, in a village at some distance, called Tringweighton.Although the rector saw no immediate necessity for making this charitable visit, the more especially as the ride to the village and back, and the intermediate time devoted to gossip, would occupy at least two hours and a half, he assented to his wife's proposal, perceiving that she urged it with unusual earnestness, and being unwilling to thwart her, even in a trifle, at a time when she was ill.
Accordingly, his horse was at the door at twelve precisely.
Impatient to get back to the precious volume of the _Times,_ he rode so much faster than usual, and so shortened his visit to the old woman, that he was home again by a quarter past two.
Ascertaining from the servant who opened the door that the volume had been left by Mr.Rambert's messenger punctually at two, he ran up to his wife's room to tell her about his visit before he secluded himself for the rest of the afternoon over his work.On entering the bedroom he found it still darkened, and he was struck by a smell of burned paper in it.
His wife (who was now dressed in her wrapper and lying on the sofa) accounted for the smell by telling him that she had fancied the room felt close, and that she had burned some paper--being afraid of the cold air if she opened the window--to fumigate it.
Her eyes were evidently still weak, for she kept her hand over them while she spoke.After remaining with her long enough to relate the few trivial events of his ride, Mr.Carling descended to his study to occupy himself at last with the volume of the _Times_.