Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Heart and Science by Wilkie Collins (best new books to read TXT) 📖
- Author: Wilkie Collins
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After one dreadful moment of confusion, her mind realised the outrage implied in the stealing and reading of her letter.
In the earlier time of Carmina’s sojourn in the house, Mrs. Gallilee had accused her of deliberate deceit. She had instantly resented the insult by leaving the room. The same spirit in her—the finely-strung spirit that vibrates unfelt in gentle natures, while they live in peace—steadied those quivering nerves, roused that failing courage. She met the furious eyes fixed on her, without shrinking; she spoke gravely and firmly. “The letter is mine,” she said. “How did you come by it?”
“How dare you ask me?”
“How dare you steal my letter?”
Mrs. Gallilee tore open the fastening of her dress at the throat, to get breath. “You impudent bastard!” she burst out, in a frenzy of rage.
Waiting patiently at the window, Benjulia heard her. “Hold your damned tongue!” he cried. “She’s your niece.”
Mrs. Gallilee turned on him: her fury broke into a screaming laugh. “My niece?” she repeated. “You lie—and you know it! She’s the child of an adulteress! She’s the child of her mother’s lover!”
The door opened as those horrible words passed her lips. The nurse and her husband entered the room.
She was in no position to see them: she was incapable of hearing them. The demon in her urged her on: she attempted to reiterate the detestable falsehood. Her first word died away in silence. The lean brown fingers of the Italian woman had her by the throat—held her as the claws of a tigress might have held her. Her eyes rolled in the mute agony of an appeal for help. In vain! in vain! Not a cry, not a sound, had drawn attention to the attack. Her husband’s eyes were fixed, horror-struck, on the victim of her rage. Benjulia had crossed the room to the sofa, when Carmina heard the words spoken of her mother. From that moment, he was watching the case. Mr. Gallilee alone looked round—when the nurse tightened her hold in a last merciless grasp; dashed the insensible woman on the floor; and, turning back, fell on her knees at her darling’s feet.
She looked up in Carmina’s face.
A ghastly stare, through half-closed eyes, showed death in life, blankly returning her look. The shock had struck Carmina with a stony calm. She had not started, she had not swooned. Rigid, immovable, there she sat; voiceless and tearless; insensible even to touch; her arms hanging down; her clenched hands resting on either side of her.
Teresa grovelled and groaned at her feet. Those ferocious hands that had laid the slanderer prostrate on the floor, feebly beat her bosom and her gray head. “Oh, Saints beloved of God! Oh, blessed Virgin, mother of Christ, spare my child, my sweet child!” She rose in wild despair—she seized Benjulia, and madly shook him. “Who are you? How dare you touch her? Give her to me, or I’ll be the death of you. Oh, my Carmina, is it sleep that holds you? Wake! wake! wake!”
“Listen to me,” said Benjulia, sternly.
She dropped on the sofa by Carmina’s side, and lifted one of the cold clenched hands to her lips. The tears fell slowly over her haggard face. “I am very fond of her, sir,” she said humbly. “I’m only an old woman. See what a dreadful welcome my child gives to me. It’s hard on an old woman—hard on an old woman!”
His self-possession was not disturbed—even by this.
“Do you know what I am?” he asked. “I am a doctor. Leave her to me.”
“He’s a doctor. That’s good. A doctor’s good. Yes, yes. Does the old man know this doctor—the kind old man?” She looked vacantly for Mr. Gallilee. He was bending over his wife, sprinkling water on her deathly face.
Teresa got on her feet, and pointed to Mrs. Gallilee. “The breath of that She-Devil poisons the air,” she said. “I must take my child out of it. To my place, sir, if you please. Only to my place.”
She attempted to lift Carmina from the sofa—and drew back, breathlessly watching her. Her rigid face faintly relaxed; her eyelids closed, and quivered.
Mr. Gallilee looked up from his wife. “Will one of you help me?” he asked. His tone struck Benjulia. It was the hushed tone of sorrow—no more.
“I’ll see to it directly.” With that reply, Benjulia turned to Teresa. “Where is your place?” he said. “Far or near?”
“The message,” she answered confusedly. “The message says.” She signed to him to look in her hand-bag—dropped on the floor.
He found Carmina’s telegram, containing the address of the lodgings. The house was close by. After some consideration, he sent the nurse into the bedroom, with instructions to bring him the blankets off the bed. In the minute that followed, he examined Mrs. Gallilee. “There’s nothing to be frightened about. Let her maid attend to her.”
Mr. Gallilee again surprised Benjulia. He turned from his wife, and looked at Carmina. “For God’s sake, don’t leave her here!” he broke out. “After what she has heard, this house is no place for her. Give her to the old nurse!”
Benjulia only answered, as he had answered already—“I’ll see to it.” Mr. Gallilee persisted. “Is there any risk in moving her?” he asked.
“It’s the least of two risks. No more questions! Look to your wife.”
Mr. Gallilee obeyed in silence.
When he lifted his head again, and rose to ring the bell for the maid, the room was silent and lonely. A little pale frightened face peeped out through the bedroom door. Zo ventured in. Her father caught her in his arms, and kissed her as he had never kissed her yet. His eyes were wet with tears. Zo noticed that he never said a word about mamma. The child saw the change in her father, as Benjulia had seen it. She shared one human feeling with her big friend—she, too, was surprised.
CHAPTER XLVI.
THE first signs of reviving life had begun to appear, when Marceline answered the bell. In a few minutes more, it was possible to raise Mrs. Gallilee and to place her on the sofa. Having so far assisted the servant, Mr. Gallilee took Zo by the hand, and drew back. Daunted by the terrible scene which she had witnessed from her hiding-place, the child stood by her father’s side in silence. The two waited together, watching Mrs. Gallilee.
She looked wildly round the room. Discovering that she was alone with the members of her family, she became composed: her mind slowly recovered its balance. Her first thought was for herself.
“Has that woman disfigured me?” she said to the maid.
Knowing nothing of what had happened, Marceline was at a loss to understand her. “Bring me a glass,” she said. The maid found a hand-glass in the bedroom, and presented it to her. She looked at herself—and drew a long breath of relief. That first anxiety at an end, she spoke to her husband.
“Where is Carmina?”
“Out of the house—thank God!”
The answer seemed to bewilder her: she appealed to Marceline.
“Did he say, thank God?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Can you tell me nothing? Who knows where Carmina has gone?”
“Joseph knows, ma’am. He heard Dr. Benjulia give the address to the cabman.” With that answer, she turned anxiously to her master. “Is Miss Carmina seriously ill, sir?”
Her mistress spoke again, before Mr. Gallilee could reply. “Marceline! send Joseph up here.”
“No,” said Mr. Gallilee.
His wife eyed him with astonishment. “Why not?” she asked.
He said quietly, “I forbid it.”
Mrs. Gallilee addressed herself to the maid. “Go to my room, and bring me another bonnet and a veil. Stop!” She tried to rise, and sank back. “I must have something to strengthen me. Get the sal volatile.”
Marceline left the room. Mr. Gallilee followed her as far as the door—still leading his little daughter.
“Go back, my dear, to your sister in the schoolroom,” he said. “I am distressed, Zo; be a good girl, and you will console me. Say the same to Maria. It will be dull for you, I am afraid. Be patient, my child, and try to bear it for a while.”
“May I whisper something?” said Zo. “Will Carmina die?”
“God forbid!”
“Will they bring her back here?”
In her eagerness, the child spoke above a whisper. Mrs. Gallilee heard the question, and answered it.
“They will bring Carmina back,” she said, “the moment I can get out.”
Zo looked at her father. “Do you say that?” she asked.
He shook his head gravely, and told her again to go to the schoolroom. On the first landing she stopped, and looked back. “I’ll be good, papa,” she said—and went on up the stairs.
Having reached the schoolroom, she became the object of many questions—not one of which she answered. Followed by the dog, she sat down in a corner. “What are you thinking about?” her sister inquired. This time she was willing to reply. “I’m thinking about Carmina.”
Mr. Gallilee closed the door when Zo left him. He took a chair, without speaking to his wife or looking at her.
“What are you here for?” she asked.
“I must wait,” he said.
“What for?”
“To see what you do.”
Marceline returned, and administered a dose of sal volatile. Strengthened by the stimulant, Mrs. Gallilee was able to rise. “My head is giddy,” she said, as she took the maid’s arm; “but I think I can get downstairs with your help.”
Mr. Gallilee silently followed them out.
At the head of the stairs the giddiness increased. Firm as her resolution might be, it gave way before the bodily injury which Mrs. Gallilee had received. Her husband’s help was again needed to take her to her bedroom. She stopped them at the ante-chamber; still obstinately bent on following her own designs. “I shall be better directly,” she said; “put me on the sofa.” Marceline relieved her of her bonnet and veil, and asked respectfully if there was any other service required. She looked defiantly at her husband, and reiterated the order—“Send for Joseph.” Intelligent resolution is sometimes shaken; the inert obstinacy of a weak creature, man or animal, is immovable. Mr. Gallilee dismissed the maid with these words: “You needn’t wait, my good girl—I’ll speak to Joseph myself, downstairs.”
His wife heard him with amazement and contempt. “Are you in your right senses?” she asked.
He paused on his way out. “You were always hard and headstrong,” he said sadly; “I knew that. A cleverer man than I am might—I suppose it’s possible—a clear-headed man might have found out how wicked you are.” She lay, thinking; indifferent to anything he could say to her. “Are you not ashamed?” he asked wonderingly. “And not even sorry?” She paid no heed to him. He left her.
Descending to the hall, he was met by Joseph. “Doctor Benjulia has come back, sir. He wishes to see you.”
“Where is he?”
“In the library.”
“Wait, Joseph; I have something to say to you. If your mistress asks where they have taken Miss Carmina, you mustn’t—this is my order, Joseph—you mustn’t tell her. If you have mentioned it to any of the other servants—it’s quite likely they may have asked you, isn’t it?” he said, falling into his old habit for a moment. “If you have mentioned it to the others,” he resumed, “they mustn’t tell her. That’s all, my good man; that’s all.”
To his own surprise, Joseph found himself regarding his master with a feeling of respect. Mr. Gallilee entered the library.
“How is she?” he asked, eager for news of Carmina.
“The worse for being moved,” Benjulia replied. “What about your wife?”
Answering that question, Mr. Gallilee mentioned the precautions that he had taken to keep the secret of Teresa’s address.
“You need be under no anxiety about that,” said Benjulia. “I have left orders that Mrs. Gallilee is not to be admitted. There is a serious necessity for keeping her out. In these cases of partial catalepsy, there is no saying when the change may come. When it does come, I won’t answer for her niece’s reason, if those two
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