He took up one of the books and read a page or two; but the simple story could not hold him, and he dropped the volume, and, leaning his head on his sound arm, stared listlessly at the old-fashioned wall paper. But he did not see the pattern; the panorama of his own life's story was passing before him, and it was not at all a pleasing panorama. A life of pleasure, of absolute uselessness, of unthinking selfishness. What a dreary pilgrimage it seemed to him, as he lay in the little bedroom, with the scent of Nell's flowers floating up to him from the garden beneath, with the sound of the sea, flinging itself against the cliffs, burring like a giant bumble bee in his ears. If any one had asked him whether his life had been worth living, he would have answered with a decided negative; and yet he was young, the gods had been exceeding good to him in many ways, almost every way, and there was no great sorrow to cast its shadow over him.
"Pity I didn't break my neck," he muttered. "No one would have cared—unless it were Luce, and perhaps even she, now——"
He broke off the reverie with a short laugh that was more bitter than a sigh, and turned his face to the wall.
Doctor Spence, when he paid his visit later in the day, found him thus, and eyed him curiously.
"Arm's getting on all right, Mr. Vernon," he said; "but the rest of you isn't improving. I think you'd better get up to-morrow and go downstairs. I'd keep you here, of course; but lying in bed isn't a bracing operation, especially when you think; and you think, don't you?"
"When I can't help it," replied Vernon, rather grimly. "I'm glad you have given me permission to get up; though I dare say I should have got up without it."
"I dare say," commented the old doctor. "Always have your own way, as a rule, don't you?"
"Always," assented the patient listlessly.
"Ye-s; it's a bad thing for most men; a very bad thing for you, I should say. By the way, if you should go downstairs, you must keep quiet——"
"Good heavens, you don't suppose I intend to dance or sing!" broke in Vernon, with a smile, of irritation.
"No; I mean that you must sit still and avoid any exertion. You'll find that you are not capable of much in the way of dancing or singing," he added, with a short laugh. "Try and amuse yourself, and don't—worry."
"Thanks," said Mr. Vernon.
Then, after a pause, he added:
"I must seem an ill-conditioned beast, I'm afraid, doctor; but the fact is—well, I have been worried lately, and this ridiculous accident hasn't tended to soothe me."
The doctor nodded.
"Life's too short for worry," he said, with the wisdom of age.
"No, you're right; nothing matters!" assented Mr. Vernon. "Well, I'm glad I can get up to-morrow. I'll clear out of here as soon as possible."
"I shouldn't hurry," remarked Doctor Spence. "They're glad enough to have you."
Vernon nodded impatiently.
"So they say—the boy's been in here this morning—but that's nonsense, of course."
On his way down the steep village street the doctor met Nell coming up, with her quick, bright step, and he stopped the gray cob to speak to her.
"Well, Miss Nell," he said, with a smile twinkling in his keen eyes as they scanned the beautiful face with the dark tendrils of hair blown across her brow, beneath her old sailor hat, the clear gray eyes shining like crystal, the red lips parted slightly with the climb. "Just left your interesting patient. He'll come down to-morrow. Don't let him fag himself; and, see here, Nell, try and amuse him."
The gray eyes opened still wider, then grew thoughtful and doubtful, and the doctor laughed.
"Rather difficult, eh?" he said, reading her thoughts. "Well, I should say it was somewhat of a large order. But you can play draughts or cat's-cradle with him, or read, or play the piano. That's the kind of thing he wants. There's something on his mind, and that's worse than having a splint on his arm, believe me, Nell."
Nell nodded.
"I thought—that is, I fancied—he looked as if he were in trouble," she said musingly. "Poor man!"
"Oh, I don't know that he wants your pity," remarked the doctor dryly. "As a rule, when a man's got something on his mind, he has put it there himself."
"That does not make it any the better to have," said Nell absently.
"True, Queen Solomon!" he returned banteringly. "There's not much on your mind, I should imagine?"
Nell laughed, and her frank eyes laughed, too, as she met the quizzical, admiring gaze of the sharp old eyes.
"What should there be, Doctor Spence?" she responded.
"What, indeed?" he said. "May it be many a day before the black ox treads on your foot, my dear!"
With a nod, he sent the cob on again, and Nell continued her climb.
Something on his mind! She wondered what it was. Had some one he cared for died? But if that were so, he would be in mourning. Perhaps he had lost his money, as her father had done? Well, anyway, she was sorry for him.
It need scarcely be said that Mrs. Lorton did not permit the interesting stranger to move from bed to sitting room without a fuss. The most elaborate preparations were made by Molly, under her mistress' supervision. The sofa was wheeled to the window, a blanket was warmed and placed over the sofa, so that the patient might be infolded in it; a glass of brandy and water was placed on a small table, in case he should feel faint, and a couple of huge walking sticks were ready for the support of the patient—as if he had broken his leg as well as his arm.
"No, remember, please, Eleanor, that there must be no noise; absolute quiet, Doctor Spence insisted on. He was most emphatic about the 'absolute.' Pull down that blind, Molly; nothing is so trying to an invalid as a glare of sunlight—and close the window first. There must be no draft, for a chill in such a case as this might prove fatal. Fatal! I wonder whether it would be better to light a fire?"
"It is very hot, mamma," ventured Nell, who had viewed the closing of the window with dismay.
"It may seem hot to you, who are in robust, not to say vulgar, health; but to one in Mr. Vernon's condition——"
At this moment he was heard coming down the stairs. He walked firmly though slowly, and it was evident to Nell that he was trying to look as little like an invalid as possible. He had dressed himself with the assistance of Dick, who walked behind with a pillow—which he made as if to throw at Nell, who passed quickly through the hall as they descended—and, though he looked pale and wan, Mr. Drake Vernon held himself erect, like a soldier, and began to make light of his accident, and succeeded in concealing any sign of the irritation which he felt when Mrs. Lorton fluttered forward with the two sticks and the blanket.
"Thank you—thank you very much; but I don't need them. Put it on? No, I think I'd better not. I'm quite warm." He looked round the carefully closed room—Dick's complaining "phew!" was almost audible behind him. "No, I won't have any brandy, thanks."
"Are you sure, quite sure, you do not feel faint? I know what it is to rise from a sick bed for the first time, Mr. Vernon, and I can enter into your feelings perfectly."
"Not at all—not at all; I mean that I'm not at all faint," he said hastily; "and I'm quite strong, quite."
"Let me see you comfortably rangé," said Mrs. Lorton, who was persuaded that she had hit upon a French word for "arranged." "Then I will get you some beef tea. I have made it with my own hands."
"It's to be hoped not!" said Dick devoutly, as she fluttered out. "Molly's beef tea is bad enough; but mamma's——What shall I do with the pillow?"
"Well, you might swallow it, my dear boy," said Mr. Vernon, with a short laugh. "Anything but put it under me. Good heavens!