CHAPTER XVIII

THE SPIRIT OF THE ANCIENT WOOD

Agatha’s first thought on awakening late in the forenoon, was the memory of Sallie Kingsbury coaxing her to bed and tucking her in, in the purple light of the early morning.  She remembered the attention with pleasure and gratitude, as another blessing added to the greater one of James Hambleton’s turn toward recovery.  Sallie’s act was mute testimony that Agatha was, in truth, heir to Hercules Thayer’s estate, spiritual and material.

She summoned Lizzie, and while she was dressing, laid out directions for the day.  During her short stay in Ilion, Lizzie had been diligent enough in gathering items of information, but nevertheless she had remained oblivious of any impending crisis during the night.  Her pompadour was marcelled as accurately as if she were expecting a morning call from Mr. Straker.  No rustlings of the wings of the Angel of Death had disturbed her sleep.  In fact, Lizzie would have winked knowingly if his visit had been announced to her.  Her sophistication had banished such superstitions.  She noticed, however, that Agatha’s candles had burned to their sockets, and inquired if Miss Redmond had been wakeful.

“Mr. Hambleton was very ill.  Everybody in the house was up till near morning,” replied Agatha rather tartly.

“Oh, what a pity!  Could I have done anything?  I never heard a sound,” cried Lizzie effusively.

“No, there was nothing you could have done,” said Agatha.

“It’s very bad for your voice, Miss Redmond, staying up all night,” went on Lizzie solicitously.  “You’re quite pale this morning.  And with your western tour ahead of you!”

Agatha let these adjurations go unanswered.  It occurred to Lizzie that possibly she had allied herself with a mistress who was foolish enough to ruin her public career by private follies, such as worrying about sick people.  Heaven, in Lizzie’s eyes, was the glare of publicity; and since she was unable to shine in it herself, she loved to be attached to somebody who could.  Her fidelity was based on Agatha’s celebrity as a singer.  She would have preferred serving an actress who was all the rage, but considered a popular singer, who paid liberally, as the next best thing.

There was always enough common sense in Lizzie’s remarks to make some impression, even on a person capable of the folly of mourning at a death bed.  Agatha’s spirits, freshened by hope and the sleep of health, rose to a buoyancy which was well able to deal with practical questions.  She quickly formed a plan for the day, though she was wise enough to withhold the scheme from the maid.

Agatha drank her coffee, ate sparingly of Sallie’s toast, and, leaving Lizzie with a piece of sewing to do, went first to James Hambleton’s room.  After ten minutes or so, she slowly descended the stairs and went out the front way.  She circled the garden and came round to the open kitchen door.  Sallie was kneeling before her oven, inspecting bread.  Agatha, watched her while she tapped the bottom of the tin, held her face down close to the loaf, and finally took the whole baking out of the oven and tipped the tins on the table.