CHAPTER XIII

THE DOCTOR’S ORDERS

It was Wednesday morning, and the little Bermuda steamer had sailed away on her voyage back to New York, carrying a goodly number of passengers, and several bags of mail. From the hotel piazza many of the guests had watched her departure, waving farewells to friends and acquaintances on board, and now there was nothing more to be seen but a little cloud of smoke, rapidly disappearing on the horizon.

“Well, here we are cut off from the rest of the world till the boat comes back next week,” Nora heard the Campbells’ uncle, Mr. Allen, remark to another gentleman, and, oddly enough, the words caused her a scarcely understood feeling of satisfaction, even pleasure. Now that she was sure her letter was safely on its way to New York her principal cause for anxiety had been removed. There was nothing more that she could do, and, after all, Bermuda was very beautiful, and people were very kind. Even “playing a part” did not seem quite so difficult this lovely morning.

She stood leaning against the piazza railing, watching a party of guests start for a sail. It did not seem possible that anything unpleasant could happen on such a morning. Ever since their return from the beach the previous afternoon, Marjorie had been very kind and pleasant. She had spent a wonderful evening, watching the marvelous performances of a famous magician, and this afternoon Reggie’s father was to take them all to visit some interesting caves. Nora had never seen a cave, and her romantic little soul thrilled at the prospect. If only Mr. Crawford would stop watching her so intently, and with such a worried, puzzled look in his eyes, she felt she could really be almost happy. But that Kathleen’s father was worried about something it was easy to see, and Nora had a strong misgiving that his anxiety was caused by herself.

“Hello, Kathleen!” said Reggie, sauntering up to his friend’s side. “What are you going to do this morning?”

“Marjorie has asked me to go out with her in the donkey cart,” answered Nora. “Don’t you love donkeys?”

“Oh, they’re not bad,” Reggie admitted, “but of course they’re not exciting like camels. I rode a camel when I was in Egypt, and that really was great.”

“It must have been,” agreed Nora. “I hope I shall travel a lot when I grow up. I should like to see everything in the world, but of course I can’t; it would cost too much.”

“What are you people talking about?” inquired Marjorie, joining the others and slipping an arm affectionately about Nora’s waist. Marjorie was looking unusually serious and important that morning, and her manner to Nora was not without a touch of protecting tenderness.

“Kathleen was saying she would like to see every place in the world,” said Reggie, laughing.

“I thought I heard Kathleen talking about something costing too much,” said Marjorie, suspiciously.

“So I did,” said Nora, innocently. “I said of course I couldn’t travel, because it would cost too much.”

“This is the first time I ever heard you bothering about money,” said Marjorie. “I never knew any girl who could spend so much, and think as little about it as you can. I didn’t think you cared about traveling either. You always said you would rather spend the summer at Big Moose than go abroad. I’d give anything to go to Europe, but you always told me you were terribly bored that winter you spent in Rome.”

“Rome!” exclaimed Reggie, his eyes opening wide in astonishment; “why, you never told me you had been to Rome. I thought you said----” Reggie paused abruptly, warned by the agonized appeal in Nora’s eyes.

Marjorie gave a little excited gasp, and suddenly removing her arm from Nora’s waist, hurried away without another word, and a moment later was in earnest conversation with her aunt, who had just come out on the piazza. Nora gazed after her hopelessly.

“Now she’ll think I’ve told another fib,” she said, with a half suppressed sob, “and she was just beginning to act as if she liked me.”

“Well, you have, haven’t you?” said Reggie, bluntly. He had grown suddenly serious, and was looking rather disgusted as well.

Nora was silent. To deny the charge would only lead to more questions that she could not answer, and yet--Reggie had been so kind, and she liked him so much. Oh, why had she forgotten about that year Kathleen had spent abroad? It had all happened so long ago, before she had known of the existence of her twin sister, and she had quite forgotten it when she had told Reggie so confidently on the steamer that she had never been on a big ship before. She stood with crimson cheeks and downcast eyes, the picture of shame and humiliation. Reggie turned away abruptly.

“Well, I guess I’ll go and look up Father,” he said in a tone of would-be indifference. “Perhaps he’ll take me fishing.”

Nora opened her lips to speak, but before the words would come Reggie had left her, and, with a horrible foreboding that she was going to cry, she turned and hurried into the house.

She found Sarah in her room, arranging a great bowl of roses.

“Your papa brought them in,” the maid explained. “Did you ever see such beauties?”

“They’re very pretty,” said Nora, indifferently, and Sarah, noticing the tremor in her voice, looked at her sharply.

“What’s the matter?” she inquired. “Don’t you feel well?”

“Oh, yes, I’m very well indeed,” Nora assured her, “only--only I’m feeling a little unhappy about something. I’ll be all right in a few minutes.” And she went over to the window, and stood with her back to Sarah, while two big tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. Sarah went on arranging the roses in silence.

“I suppose you and Miss Marjorie have been quarreling again,” she observed at last. “Why two children should seem to enjoy quarreling, as you two seem to enjoy it, is more than I can make out. I don’t believe Miss Joy ever had a quarrel with any one in her life.”

“I don’t enjoy quarreling with people,” protested Nora, her voice still far from steady. “I hate it; I----” Nora checked herself abruptly, for at that moment the door opened, and Mr. Crawford entered, accompanied by a tall thin lady, whom she had never seen before.

“Well, Kathleen darling,” began Mr. Crawford, cheerfully, “isn’t this a pleasant surprise?”

Nora, feeling that something was evidently expected of her, came forward, and held out her hand to the stranger, but there was no expression of pleasure or recognition on her face.

“How do you do?” she said, politely.

The thin lady stood looking at her very intently, and Nora noticed that she had keen brown eyes, that seemed to see right through one. After a moment of silence, she suddenly inquired sharply--

“Who am I, Kathleen?”

At the unexpected question, Nora started back, and a look of actual terror came into her face.

“I--I don’t know,” she faltered; “at least I mean----”

“I thought so,” said the lady, quietly. Then turning to Mr. Crawford--who had grown very pale--she added in a low tone--

“Just what I feared from what you told me. I would consult Dr. Walker at once; he is considered the best here.”

Nora did not hear the words; she was too frightened to think of anything but the dreadful admission she had made. She never doubted for a moment but that she had been found out, and stood awaiting the torrent of reproaches which she fully expected to follow. She was conscious of the fact that Sarah had left off arranging the roses, and was staring at her in horrified amazement. Then Mr. Crawford spoke, but, to Nora’s surprise, there was no anger in his voice.

“Why, Kathleen,” he said, gently, “surely you must remember Miss Beck, who was so good to you last winter when you had bronchitis. Try and think, darling.”

But Nora only shook her head helplessly.

“Don’t worry her, Mr. Crawford,” said Miss Beck in a warning whisper. “Come and lie down on the sofa, Kathleen. There isn’t anything to be frightened about; you’ll be better in a little while.”

Nora had no objection to complying with this request. It was a great relief to close her eyes, and hide her burning face in the sofa pillow, but why should she be told to lie down? She could not imagine, unless this were some new mode of punishment. She lay still while the others talked in whispers. Then the door closed, and she realized that Mr. Crawford had left the room. A moment later, a hand was laid on her shoulder, and she opened her eyes to find Miss Beck standing over her.

“Open your mouth, dear,” Miss Beck commanded; “I want to take your temperature.”

“What for?” inquired Nora. She did not feel at all sure what form this strange new punishment was going to take.

“To see if you are feverish,” Miss Beck explained.

Then all at once Nora remembered something, and the recollection afforded her a great relief. When she had the measles the doctor had put a little tube under her tongue, and had made the same remark about taking her temperature. Was it possible, after all, that she had not been found out, but that they all thought she was ill? Nora nearly laughed out loud at the absurdness of the idea. Why in the world should people think her ill, just because she hadn’t been able to remember somebody she was supposed to know? But she reflected that anything was better than having her secret discovered, so she made no further objection, and sat patiently, with the little thermometer in her mouth, while Miss Beck looked at her watch, and Sarah moved softly about the room looking both shocked and worried.

In due time the thermometer was removed, and Miss Beck examined it carefully.

“She has no fever,” Nora heard her tell Sarah, and then the two women talked in low voices, and Nora could only catch an occasional sentence of their conversation.

“She hasn’t been a bit natural since she left New York,” Sarah affirmed. “She’s been much better-tempered, though, and easier to get on with, and I didn’t think much of it except to be thankful she was behaving so well.”

The voices dropped, and Nora could make out nothing more until Miss Beck said--

“He says he has been worried ever since you came, but he couldn’t make up his mind what the trouble was till this morning when a lady told him something the child had said to her niece yesterday that seemed to show there was something wrong with her brain. I’ve been down here with a patient for the past month, but she left this morning on the steamer, and I had just seen her off, when I met Mr. Crawford. You see, I’m pretty tired, for my old lady was a trying case, so I thought I might as well stay on here by myself for a week’s rest. Of course I couldn’t refuse Mr. Crawford, when he asked me to take this case.”

Again the voices were lowered, but Nora had learned all that was necessary. They thought she must be ill, because she couldn’t remember people, and Miss Beck was a nurse. It would be dreadful to go on pretending to be ill, and letting people worry about her. She could not forget the pain in Mr. Crawford’s face when he had asked her if she did not remember Miss Beck. But if she told the truth now, what might not happen to Mummy? Perhaps if she kept on pretending to be ill, they might go home sooner, and once in New York, she would surely be able to find some way of getting back to the studio, and changing places with Kathleen. Then, when Mr. Crawford found that his own Kathleen was quite well, he would be so happy, and perhaps things might go on just as they used to. She was too young to realize all the difficulties and complications of such a course; her one idea was to “play her part” to the end, and save her mother from trouble and possible disgrace.

But would she be able to go on pretending to be ill? That was the question. She knew very little about illness, and had no very clear idea how a person who was supposed to require the services of a trained nurse ought to act.

“I suppose Father had to play he was ill sometimes when he was acting,” she reflected. “There was that play Mummy read me where he had to die in a garret. I suppose I must lie still, and keep my eyes shut most of the time, and talk in a very low voice, and only speak when people ask me questions. Oh, I do wonder what they think is the matter with me.”

Nora’s reflections were interrupted by the return of Mr. Crawford, accompanied this time by a stout gentleman, who seemed to know Miss Beck, and whom she addressed as Dr. Walker. Dr. Walker--who appeared to be rather a pompous person--began at once putting Sarah through a cross-examination, as to everything her charge had said or done since leaving New York. They spoke in whispers, but Nora--who was eagerly listening to catch every word--was able to understand a good deal of what they said.

“She hadn’t seemed real well for two or three weeks,” Sarah explained. “She was nervous and fretful, and two or three times I found her crying, but she wouldn’t tell me what the matter was. The housekeeper sent for the doctor, but he didn’t seem to think it was anything worse than spring fever. He said a change would do her good, and I thought she would be all right when she got down here. But it was only after we were on the boat that----”

Here the doctor gave a warning cough, and glanced significantly at the little motionless figure on the sofa. Sarah dropped her voice, and Nora heard no more until Dr. Walker came over to her side, and took her hand.

“Not feeling quite up to the mark this morning, eh?” he remarked cheerfully. “Got a pretty bad headache, haven’t you?”

“No,” said Nora, truthfully; “I haven’t any headache at all.”

The doctor smiled indulgently, and shook his head.

“Well, now that’s very nice, isn’t it?” he said, but his voice did not sound as if he were altogether satisfied. “All we need, I think, is a good long rest, and we shall be as well as ever again. You are going to be so happy with kind Miss Beck to take care of you, that you won’t mind lying still for a few days.”

Nora sat up. This was rather more than she had bargained for.

“I think you are mistaken about my being ill,” she said, politely; “I am perfectly well, I really am.”

“There, there, that’s all right, my dear, we know all about it. Just lie down again, and don’t worry your little brain about anything.” And Nora was forced gently back among the sofa cushions.

“But you don’t know all about it; that’s just the trouble,” protested Nora. “I can’t explain--at least I’d much rather not--but I don’t want people to be unhappy about me, and think I am ill when I’m not.”

“My dear little girl, you will really have to stop talking, or we shall be obliged to scold you.” The doctor still spoke playfully, but there was decision in his tone as well, and Nora dared not disobey him. She noticed that both Miss Beck and Sarah were looking very grave, and that Mr. Crawford was pale and troubled. It was dreadful to see Kathleen’s daddy so unhappy, and suddenly Nora made a desperate resolution.

“I’m going to tell the truth,” she said, sitting up again, in spite of the doctor’s efforts to keep her quiet. “You all think I’m Kathleen Crawford, but----”

Nora got no farther, for the doctor laid a firm hand on her lips.

“Not another word, my little girl,” he said. “Everything is quite all right, and we understand, but we cannot let you talk just now.”

There was no use in trying to explain. No one would listen to her. Perhaps they would not believe her now, even if she told the whole story. They thought she was very ill; probably delirious. She had read in books of people who were delirious and talked nonsense for days and nights at a time. With a sob, Nora buried her face in the sofa cushions.

An hour later Nora was in bed; the room had been darkened, and Miss Beck, in her nurse’s uniform, was installed at the bedside. Nora had not been even allowed to undress herself. Miss Beck and Sarah had undressed her just as though she were a baby. As soon as she was in bed Miss Beck had brought her some medicine in a glass. It did not taste very good, but after she had swallowed it things did not seem quite so dreadful as they had before, for she grew drowsy and indifferent, and scarcely noticed when the doctor came back, and held another whispered conversation with Miss Beck and Sarah. She only woke up to a passing interest in things when her temperature was being taken, and when she heard the doctor say--

“She must be kept absolutely quiet for the next few days. It is a clear case of nervous breakdown, accompanied by asphasia. It has probably been caused by over-study.”

Nora wanted to tell him that she had not studied very hard, and that she was quite sure her nerves were not “broken down,” but she felt too sleepy to talk, and soon dropped off into a heavy, dreamless sleep, from which she did not wake till late in the afternoon.