Chapter XVII: Afterwards

"THAT'S over!" said the Colonel, with an air of relief, when the bandaging was complete. The setting of the dislocated shoulder he had borne in a manner worthy of his profession; and though rather yellow-white still about the lips with pain, he was disposed to self-congratulation. "I see you inherit your father's fingers."

"A good inheritance," responded Mr. Wynne. "You will have to take things quietly for a few days."

"Well, yes, so I suppose,—as far as possible. You used to live in Burton Square, if I remember rightly?"

"We live there still. I do not recall your face, Colonel Smyth,—or your name."

"I dare say not. 'Smyth' is no very distinctive cognomen," said the Colonel, with an odd dry laugh. "And you were a mere boy in those days, a nice little lad with curly hair. Thanks, that is much more comfortable. I must get a ready-made coat in the morning, somehow, to go about in. By-the-by, I should wish you to consider me 'your' patient,—exclusively."

"And not my father's? What! Did he and you fall out in past days?"

"No, no—not at all, quite the reverse. I had a marked admiration for his skill,—always used to declare he was the only medical man living whose opinion I valued a rap. But I have found a second; and the hands that begin a job may as well finish it."

Mr. Wynne was aware from Colonel Smyth's face that some other reason lay beneath. "Very well," he said. "You shall be my patient strictly. I must see you again to-morrow."

"I can't give you any address for to-morrow. Rhona and I are houseless wanderers. I must take her to some hotel for two or three days, and decide on future plans."

"We shall see in the morning. I am not sure that it will do to remove Rhona so soon. The child is a good deal shaken."

"No wonder, poor mite. She kept up splendidly at the time, but that tells upon one afterward."

"She is a winning little maid," the doctor said.

"You would think so, if you knew her! The most extraordinary child I ever saw,—like a grown person in her feelings and ways. There's something about her, positively, which almost seems to belong to another world."

Mr. Wynne's eyes said plainly, "Perhaps it does."

After a pause, he remarked, "I have seen a face very like hers."

"Where? When?" asked Colonel Smyth.

"I cannot tell you. I don't possess my father's memory in respect of faces. When I have seen the same before, it comes back to me, but not always with the name attached."

"You don't think you may have come across Rhona herself before? It is not a common type of face."

"Too far back for that. I have merely a vague impression of such a face years ago, in my young days."

"Your young days!" repeated the Colonel. "Why, you are hardly out of boyhood yet."

"Twenty-seven to-morrow,—to-day, I mean. I forgot that 'to-morrow' had come," Mr. Wynne said quaintly.

"I wish you many happy returns," responded the Colonel, with promptitude. "Now I must take another look at my little girl, and then see what they are doing at Number Three."

"I am afraid nothing can be done there, beyond preventing the spread of the fire. As for Rhona, I must forbid you her room to-night. She does not know you are hurt, and we must avoid any increase of excitement. It is a frail little being, and I am afraid she may suffer more than any one from this night's work. For yourself, I prescribe quiet. Mrs. Montague's spare room is ready for you, and,—No, of course you can't sleep,—" with a smile. "But you must have bodily rest."

"What will your friend think of this midnight invasion!" asked the Colonel.

"She will thank me for acting as I have done. Now, Colonel, I will show you to your room; and for ten minutes, you may count me your valet."

Colonel Smyth "pshawed" and apologised, laughed, and disclaimed the need of help, but finally had to submit.

Mr. Wynne then went out to make inquiry as to the fire, and brought back such tidings as he had expected to bring. The condition of Number Three was hopeless,—the house being completely gutted, and promising to become a mere shell. The efforts of the firemen were chiefly directed towards the protection of neighbouring houses. A few pieces of furniture and two or three pictures had been rescued, but the contents of the house generally were lost.

"Well, Rhona is safe," Colonel Smyth made answer. "I am not ruined, happily, though I should have liked to save my books."

A few minutes later, Mr. Wynne was by the side of Rhona. She lay tossing to and fro with wide-open eyes, watchfully guarded by the little old lady in flowered wrapper and creamy shawl.

"I don't feel the very least inclined to sleep," Rhona said, looking up at Mr. Wynne. "I can't forget those dreadful flames, creep—creeping up after us. Mayn't I get up and go to uncle? Oh, but I haven't any frock."

"No; so you must be content to stay in bed," said Mr. Wynne.

"Must I stay in bed all to-morrow, and next day? It takes such a time to get a frock made."

"Perhaps we may find a frock somewhere ready-made, that will fit you. But you have to lie quiet now."

"I wish uncle would come. Why doesn't he?" asked Rhona.

"You forget that it is the middle of the night. I have sent him to bed; and now I am going to send Mrs. Montague to lie down, while I stay here."

Mrs. Montague rose at once.

"But I have got her bed," said Rhona.

"There are other beds and sofas in the house, my dear," Mrs. Montague said. "You will call me when you want me, Mr. Wynne."

Then she kissed Rhona and went away.

"You are sure uncle isn't ill?" said Rhona suspiciously. "Quite perfectly sure."

"No, not ill," said Mr. Wynne. "But he has hurt his shoulder, and I want him to have a few hours' rest."

"Oh, I 'do' want to see him again," exclaimed Rhona tearfully. "Mayn't I get up and sit by him? I'll be so good. Please do let me."

"No, Rhona."

"It isn't as if I were tired," pursued the child with unwonted wilfulness. "I'm not tired a bit, only everything seems so funny. Oh!" And she gave a violent start. "Oh! I never thought till this moment! Fay,—poor little Fay; oh, how could I be so cruel, so wicked?"

"I don't understand," said Mr. Wynne.

"Fay,—my own dear little bird,—I never never thought of him," Rhona said passionately, tears streaming down her cheeks. "So cruel, so horrid of me. Oh, do, do please send somebody quick to save him! Please do."

Mr. Wynne did not move. "Somebody else may have remembered the bird," he said.

"Oh no, I'm sure they wouldn't. He was in my room, and nobody else went there. And I never thought of him, nor Bertha either. And father gave him to me. What shall I do?" Rhona sobbed, even wildly. "Oh, please, can't something be done? Can't they get him out?"

"If he has not been taken out already, nothing can be done now. The floor of your room has fallen in. It is just possible that the bird may be among the few things saved, but I do not expect it," Mr. Wynne said thoughtfully. "The little creature would very early be stifled by the smoke."

"And my own father gave him to me," moaned Rhona.

Mr. Wynne allowed her to sob freely for two or three minutes. Then his hand came on hers, and his voice said gravely—

"Rhona, I think you are wrong."

She looked up suddenly, as if in surprise.

"Yes, wrong," he repeated. "I do not think you ought to grieve so much for the bird, instead of being thankful for the many lives spared. Think how terrible it would have been if the fire-escape had arrived too late; or if Colonel Smyth had not been able to get down in time. The loss of your pet is a small matter in comparison."

"Oh yes, yes,—only I did love him so," Rhona answered sadly. "I think I should not mind so very very much, if only I had not forgotten him."

"You could not help forgetting him. When Colonel Smyth carried you out of your room, you were unconscious, or nearly so."

"Was I?" asked Rhona, in surprise. "I don't remember. It all seemed so dreadful. Then it wasn't really cruel of me to forget Fay."

"No, not at all. And your maid too was so stupefied by the smoke and heat that though she was just able to walk, she had not power to think. Besides, the little creature was probably dead, even then. It does not take much to kill a bird."

Rhona sighed heavily. "And all mother's things are gone," she said. "But I'll try to be good and not grumble. I 'am' glad nobody was burnt. And I suppose Mrs. Burrell is worse off, because she has lost her house and everything. Poor Bertha too, Bertha has nobody belonging to her, and Mrs. Burrell always seems vexed because she has to keep Bertha. Do tell me how Bertha is."

"Quite herself, I am told, and really very little hurt. You will see her no doubt in the morning."

"It was like being 'brands plucked out of the fire,'" murmured Rhona. "I couldn't help thinking of those words when we were up at the window. Somehow I didn't feel so frightened then as I do now. I do want mother to-night."

"But you have a kind uncle," said Mr. Wynne.

"Yes, very very kind, only of course, he isn't my mother," Rhona answered sorrowfully. Then with a sudden change of mood, she burst out laughing. "And he isn't my real uncle either. How funny that seems! He only makes me call him 'uncle,' and I love him dearly. There was somebody else once who loved him, and she used to mend his gloves. But that person got tired of him. 'I' shall never grow tired of my dear dear uncle. I shall always love him—always—all my life long,—and I'll always always mend his gloves."

"Rhona, you have talked enough," said Mr. Wynne, rising and going to the dressing-table, whence he brought a small tumbler. "You are to drink this, and then you are to say nothing more for half-an-hour."

"But I don't want medicine. What is it?" asked the child.

"Never mind. You must take it."

Rhona obeyed. "But I can't go to sleep," she said.

"Then keep awake; only do not talk."

"Must I be left alone?"

"Not if you are a good child, and do as you are told. If you go to sleep, you shall find me here when you wake."

"And may I get up then? Oh, but I haven't a frock."

"I think we shall be able to manage. My little cousin is about your size, and she has plenty of frocks."

"Does your little cousin live with you?" asked Rhona eagerly.

Mr. Wynne answered "Yes," and held up a silencing finger.

Rhona smiled, then shut her eyes, and settled into an attitude of repose, exercising an amount of control over her nervous excitement which he had hardly expected.

He sat motionless, watching the sweet face, with its tense brow and quivering lashes. "Where have I seen that look before?" he questioned with himself.