She was silent. I fancied there was something like distress apparent
in her countenance. I continued:-"There is one thing, Julia, about which I am not altogether
satisfied."
"Ah!" with much anxiety; "what is that?"
"I owe so much to his father, that, in his present condition, I
fancy we ought to receive him in our house. We should not let him
go among strangers, exposed to the noise and neglect of a hotel."
There was some abruptness in her answer:-"I do not see how you can bring him here. You forget that we are mere
lodgers ourselves; indebted for our accommodation to the kindness
of a lady upon whom we should have no right to press other lodgers.
Such an arrangement would crowd the house, and make all parties
uncomfortable. Besides, I suppose Mr. Edgerton will scarcely
remain long enough in M---to make it of much importance where he
lodges, and when he finds the tavern uncomfortable he will take
his departure."
"But should he get sick at the tavern?"
"Such a chance would follow him wherever he went. That is the risk
which every man incurs when he goes abroad. He has a servant with
him--no doubt a favorite servant."
"Should he get sick, Julia, even a favorite servant will not be
enough. It will be our duty to make other provision for him. I owe
his father much; the old man evidently expects much from me by his
last letter. I owe the son much. He has been a true friend to me.
I must do for him as if he were a brother, and should he get sick,
Julia, you must be his nurse."
"Impossible, Mr. Clifford!" she replied, with unwonted energy,
while a deep, dark flush settled over her otherwise placid features,
which were now not merely discomposed but ruffled. "It is impossible
that I should be what you require. Suffer me, in this case, to
determine my duties for myself. Do for YOUR FRIEND what you think
proper. You can provide a nurse, and secure by money, the best
attendance in the town. I do not think that I can do better service
than a hundred others whom you may procure; and you will permit me
to say, without seeking to displease you, that I will not attempt
it."
I was not displeased at what she said, but it was not my policy
to admit this. With an air almost of indignation, I replied: "And you would leave my friend to perish?"
"I trust he will not perish--I sincerely trust he will continue in
health while he remains here. I implore you, dear husband, to make
no requisition such as this. I can not serve your friend in this
capacity. I pray that he may not need it."