CHAPTER VI

THE SISTER OF MERCY

For five days after that burning afternoon of the flower-show Juliet scarcely left Vera Fielding’s side.  During those five days Vera lay at the point of death, and though her husband was constantly with her it was to Juliet that she clung through all the terrible phases of weakness, breathlessness, and pain that she passed.  Through the dark nights—­though a trained nurse was in attendance—­it was Juliet’s hand that held her up, Juliet’s low calm voice that reassured her in the Valley of the Shadow through which she wandered.  Often too spent for speech, her eyes would rest with a piteous, child-like pleading upon Juliet’s quiet face, and—­for Juliet at least—­there was no resisting their entreaty.  She laid all else aside and devoted herself body and soul to the tender care of the sick woman.

Edward Fielding regarded her with reverence and a deep affection that grew with every day that passed.  She was always so gentle, so capable, so undismayed.  He knew that her whole strength was bent to the task of saving Vera’s life, and even when he most despaired he found himself leaning upon her, gathering courage from the resolute confidence with which she shouldered her burden.

“She never thinks of herself at all,” he said once to Saltash between whom and himself a friendship wholly unavoidable on his part and also curiously pleasant had sprung up.  “I suppose in her position of companion she has been more or less trained for this sort of thing.  But her devotion is amazing.  She is absolutely indispensable to my wife.”

“Juliette seems to have found her vocation,” observed Saltash with a lazy chuckle.  “But no, I should not say that she was specially trained for this sort of thing, though certainly it seems to suit her passing well.  All the same, you won’t let her carry it too far, will you?  Now that Mrs. Fielding is beginning to rally a little it might be a good opportunity to make her take a rest.”

“Yes, you’re right.  She must rest,” Fielding agreed.  “She is so marvellous that one is apt to forget she must be nearly worn out.”

It was the fifth day and Vera had certainly rallied.  She lay in the sombre old library, that had been turned into the most luxurious bedroom that Saltash’s and Juliet’s ingenuity could devise, listening to the tinkle of the water in the conservatory and watching Juliet who sat in a low chair by her side with a book in her lap ready to read her to sleep.

There was a couch in the conservatory itself on which sometimes on rare occasions Juliet would snatch a brief rest, leaving the nurse to watch.  Columbus regarded this couch as his own particular property, but he always gave his beloved mistress an ardent welcome and squeezed himself into as small a compass as possible at the foot for her benefit.  Otherwise, he occupied the middle with an arrogance of possession