CHAPTER IV.
L
LIZ stood where he had left her, awestruck and bewildered. All her private trouble of that evening—the sickening doubts she had conceived of her lover’s fidelity, and her fears for Maraquita’s safety—faded before the humbling truths she had just heard.This, then, was the solution of the riddle which had so long puzzled her—the meaning of her father’s secret anxiety and depression. He was a criminal, whose crime was known to the law, and who had onlyescaped justice by yielding up his birthright and hiding on the plantation of his benefactor, Mr Courtney. It was averybitter truth to swallow.
Liz wondered how much Mrs Courtney and Maraquita knew of their disgrace, and what revulsion of feeling it might not cause in the breast of Henri de Courcelles. The thought of her lover caused a sharp pang to Lizzie. What terrible thing was about to happen in the future for her with regard to him? Her father’s revelation had raised a new barrier between them—one which honour compelled her to feel could never be surmounted until she was permitted to reveal it; and what consequences might not follow such a confession. As Liz pondered on the difficulties in her path, she shivered to hear the keening of the night breeze as it sighed through thebranches of the coffee trees, and the far-off wailing which could occasionally be heard from the negroes’ huts. They seemed like a requiem over the ashes of her love and blighted hope.
The tears were standing on her cheeks when she was roused from her reverie by the opening of the door, and her father stood before her again.
‘Do you want me?’ she said quickly.
Dr Fellows answered her in a tone of portentous gravity,—
‘Yes, Liz, though not in the way you imagine. Set your mind at rest concerning Maraquita. There is nothing to be alarmed at about her. But you must execute a commission at once for me. You must carry this basket to Mammy Lila on the Shanty Hill.’
Liz glanced at the large basket whichher father carried in his hand, with astonishment.
‘I am to go to the Shanty Hill to-night, father? Do you know that it is five miles away, and it is just two o’clock? Cannot it wait until the morning?’
‘If it could have waited till the morning I should not have told you to take it now,’ replied the Doctor sternly. ‘Have you already forgotten your own acknowledgment that we owe (if necessary) our very lives to Edward Courtney.’
‘But what has this to do with Mr Courtney?’
‘Ask no questions, but do as I bid you. If any one else could do the work as well as yourself, I should not trouble you, Liz. But I can trust no one but you. Carry the basket to Mammy Lila’s hut, and leave it there. Tell her it comes fromme, and my message to her is “Silence and secrecy.”’
‘I will go,’ said Lizzie shortly, as she took the basket from her father’s hand.
‘Go by the path that skirts the outer plantation, and cross the ravine by Dorrian’s glen; it is the shorter way,’ continued Dr Fellows; and then suddenly twisting his daughter round so as to look into her face, he asked her,—‘Have you any fear? It is dangerous traversing these roads by night, and alone. There may be snakes across the path, or panthers lurking in the thickets. Are you sure you are not afraid?’
The contemptuous curl of Liz’s lip showed him the futility of the question.
‘Afraid!’ she echoed. ‘When have you ever known me afraid yet? Besides, if this is to be done forMr Courtney, my life is at his service.’
‘More than your life, Lizzie—your sacred honour. Remember your oath, never to reveal what you may hear, see, or suspect this night.’
‘I have not forgotten it,’ said his daughter briefly, as she threw a mantle over her shoulders, and left the cottage with her burden.
It was with strange feelings that she set out to accomplish her errand. The tropical night could hardly be called dark, for the deep blue firmament was set with myriads of stars, but the dusky glens and leafy coverts were full of shadows, sufficient to mask the unexpected spring of wild cat or panther, or to conceal the poisonous asp wriggling through the grass on which she trod.
Yet she went bravely on, her only means of defence a stout stick with which she stirred the leaves in herpath, in order to unearth a hidden enemy.
The covered basket she bore was rather heavy, and she had no knowledge what it contained. Most women would have asked the question before they started—many would have untied and opened it as soon as they were out of sight. Liz did neither. A horrible suspicion had entered her mind, which she was fighting against with all her might, and it left no room for idle curiosity. On the contrary, she dreaded lest some accident should reveal the contents of the basket to her. She did not wish to ascertain them. She felt intuitively that the knowledge would be the cause of fresh unhappiness. So she walked rapidly and without a pause to Shanty Hill, though the five miles seemed very long without the landmarks familiar to her by daylight, andher feet were very weary before she got there.
Mammy Lila was an old negress who had acquired some repute as a herbalist, and was much sought after by the Coolie population to doctor their children. She was thesage-femmeof Beauregard, and had helped Liz on many an occasion to usher the poor little dusky mites of humanity into a world which waited to welcome them with stripes and hard work. Mammy Lila was a seer into the bargain, and expectant brides and mothers were wont to go to her to read what fortune lay in the future for them. She was an old woman now, and rather infirm, but Dr Fellows had faith in her good sense and discretion, as he evinced on this occasion. The immediate approach to her hut was up a steep bit of hill, covered with loose stones, and as Lizzie, weary with mentaland physical fatigue, toiled up it, she stumbled against an obstacle in her path, and shook the basket in her hand, from which issued in another second the feeble wailing cry of a new-born infant. Liz almost dropped the basket in her surprise. She had feared it, but she had resolvednotto believe it, and now her worst suspicions were confirmed. She stood still for a moment, trembling at the discovery she had made, and then recommenced almost torunup the rocky hill, as though she would run from the horror that assailed her. Panting with the exertions she had made, and almost speechless with dismay, she entered the negress’s hut, white, scared, and hardly able to express herself. Mammy Lila was in bed, and had to be roused by repeated attacks upon her door, and when she answered the summons shewas scarcely awake enough to understand what was said to her.
‘Missy Liz!’ she exclaimed in her surprise; ‘who bad now? Not little Cora, sure! Dat chile not due for three week yet.’
‘No, no, Mammy! I have not come for that,’ said Lizzie, in a faint voice. ‘The Doctor sent me. He said I was to give youthis,’ placing the basket on the floor, ‘and to say his message to you is “Silence and secrecy.”’
‘Ah! good Doctor know he can trust Mammy Lila,’ replied the old negress, as she began to untie the basket lid. ‘And what is this, Missy Liz—a baby?’
‘I don’t know—I don’t want to know—don’t ask me!’ cried Liz Fellows, as she turned quickly away. ‘Only remember father’s message, “Silence and secrecy,”’and with that she ran quickly down the uneven rocky path again.
The loose stones rolled away from under her feet, and hurt them in her rapid descent, but she cared nothing at that moment for pain or inconvenience. All her desire was to get out of sight and out of hearing, and forget if possible the horrid task that had been imposed upon her. Maraquita—whom she had known from babyhood, and believed to be so innocent and pure, to have subjected herself to this penalty of shame. It seemed too awful and incredible a thought to be dwelt upon. Liz remembered, as she ran hurriedly homewards, how she had blamed poor heedless Rosa for the same fault,—how sternly she had reproved the ignorant yellow girl, who knew no better than to follow the instincts of her fallen nature, for herdepravity, and told her she ought to have had more principle, and a better sense of right and wrong, than to yield to such a temptation. But Maraquita, so much beloved, so tenderly watched, so closely guarded, how couldshehave so deceived her friends and lowered herself; andwhocould have been so base as to lead her astray? This discovery, terribly as it affected Liz, cleared her lover’s character at once in her eyes; and even in the midst of her pain, she could not help breathing a sigh of thankfulness to think that Henri de Courcelles was innocent of the charge imputed to him. He could never have been flirting with the planter’s daughter whilst she had conceived a serious affection for some one else. Liz recalled the fervour of his oath with secret satisfaction; it was no wonder indeed that he feltjustified in taking it, and she felt ashamed of the jealous spirit that had forced it from him.
But her thoughts soon reverted to her adopted sister, and she burned with resentment against her unknown betrayer. Her vow to Dr Fellows—which she felt to be as sacred as though uttered before God’s throne; the revelation which had been made to her that evening of their own disgrace; pity for her friend’s misfortune, and love for Henri de Courcelles, were all warring in her breast, and making her mind a chaos, as, wearied and panting, she stumbled over the threshold of her father’s bungalow. She expected to find him alone with Quita,—to be able to tell him of her hopes and fears,—but, to her consternation, the room was full, and as she paused in the open doorway, her white and anxious face made her look like aguilty person. Mr and Mrs Courtney, with the old black nurse Jessica, were all there, and Dr Fellows was talking earnestly to them. As he caught sight of his daughter, he turned to meet her.
‘You know all,’ he whispered sternly, as he looked into her sad eyes, and squeezed her hand as in a vice. ‘Remember your oath.’
‘Why, is that Lizzie?’ exclaimed Mrs Courtney from the sofa, where she lay extended. ‘I thought she was nursing our poor Quita. Whatever has she been doing out of doors at this time of night?’
‘She has been to fetch me some necessary drugs,’ replied the Doctor quickly.
Mrs Courtney had been a beautiful creature in her youth, but though not forty years of age, she had already lost all pretensions to good looks. She was corpulent and ungainly. Her large sleepyblack eyes were sunk in a round face, with a yellow complexion, and triple chins. Her waving black hair was twisted untidily at the back of her head, and her abundant figure, unrestrained by belt or corset, was enveloped in a loose dressing-gown. But she rolled off the sofa nimbly enough when she heard the voice of Liz Fellows.
‘Oh, Liz!’ she exclaimed, grasping her hand, ‘this is terrible news the Doctor has to give us; our darling Quita down with the fever. Fancy the dear child rambling to your house in her delirium! What a mercy she had sufficient sense left to guide her. She might have walked into the river. You may fancy what we felt when we heard that she was gone. Jessica found it out first when she went into her room with some iced sherbet, for Quita has been very restless at night lately. I suppose it was this horrid fever coming on, but shehas been quite out of sorts for some weeks past. But oh! Lizzie, howcanshe have caught it?’
This long harangue had given Lizzie an opportunity to recover her equanimity, and she was able to reply quite calmly,—
‘It is quite impossible to say, dear Mrs Courtney; but father does not think seriously of the case, and so you must not be too anxious about her.’
‘But he will not let us evenlookat the dear child. Dr Fellows, I really think you aretooparticular. Surely her parents have therightto see her.’
‘Certainly, my dear madam, if you insist upon it; but I think Mr Courtney will uphold my decision. I have not been able to determine if this fever which is decimating your plantation is contagious or not. I rather fancy it is epidemic, butit is impossible to say, because it is of no known character. It is surely more prudent, however, to keep on the right side. If Maraquita were in the slightest danger—if she were even seriously ill, I should be the first to entreat you to see her, but as it is, your presence would only do her harm. She is weak and exhausted, and everything depends on her gaining strength from sleep. Would you be so selfish as to excite and throw her back again, by disturbing her, or run the risk of contracting the disease yourself?’
‘Certainlynot,’ interrupted Mr Courtney decisively. ‘You are right, Fellows, as you always are—’
(‘Don’t say that,’ interpolated the Doctor, in a pained voice.)
‘——and I forbid my wife going near the room where Maraquita lies. I can trust her to you, Fellows—implicitly, andwith the most perfect confidence. I know you will do your very best for my dear child, and treat her as if she were your own.’
‘Indeed—indeed I will, Courtney! If a sense of all I owe to you—’
‘Hush! I will not hear you mention it. If such were ever the case, you have repaid it a thousand fold. And here I give you the best proof I could, of my friendship and affection. I leave with you my dearest possession—my only child. Fellows, my dear old chum, I know there is no need for me to recommend her to your care. You can remember how long it was before she came to us, how gladly I received the gift, and how precious it has been to me ever since. My very life is bound up in my little Quita. You will guard it—’
‘With my own,’ interrupted the Doctor solemnly. ‘I would lay down my life to-morrow,Courtney, to save that of any one who is dear to you.’
‘I believe it, my dear fellow, and, thank God, there is no necessity for such a sacrifice. You can assure us that Maraquita is in no danger.’
‘On my word of honour, she is in no danger whatever, and in a few days she will be quite well again. All she needs is rest and quiet, and if you will trust her to Liz and me, we will see that she gets it.’
‘We do trust her with you; and Liz, we know, will make the most devoted nurse,’ said Mr Courtney, smiling; but as he caught sight of Lizzie’s face, the smile faded. ‘Holloa! what is this? Are you going to have the fever too? You are as white as a sheet.’
‘It is the heat,’ murmured Liz, in a low voice, as she turned away; ‘and I havehad a great deal of nursing lately into the bargain, Mr Courtney. Father and I have the heartache all day long, to see the ravages made by the fever amongst the coolies.’
‘Yes, it is sad enough,’ said the planter, ‘even for those who have not to count the loss as I have, by pounds, shillings, and pence. Do what we will to improve the condition of these people, their natural love of dirt and over feeding makes them fall an easy prey to any disease. We are quite sensible of what you and your father have done for us, Lizzie. It is through your means alone, that we have not lost many more. You must not be disheartened on that account.’
‘The distress seems universal,’ continued Liz; ‘the same floods that rotted the vegetation, and caused this malarious fever, have destroyed the rice-fields, andspread a famine amongst the negro population. The cases of starvation that reach us every day are heartrending, because it is so impossible to relieve them all. Have there been any more riots in the town, Mr Courtney?’
‘No, Liz. I have heard of none since the military were called out to quell them. But we must keep you up no longer. It is already morning. Come, my dear Nita, let us leave Dr Fellows and his daughter to get some rest for themselves.’
But Mrs Courtney was still unwilling to assent entirely to the Doctor’s wishes. She had no suspicion of the truth, but she felt intuitively that something had been kept back from them, and she was curious to find out what it was.
‘Let Jessica stay, at all events,’ she said; ‘she has been Quita’s nurse since she was a baby, and has attended herthrough all her illnesses. She will break her heart if you do not let her stay; and she can watch Maraquita when Lizzie is absent or engaged.’
‘That sounds reasonable,’ acquiesced Mr Courtney; ‘and perhaps Jessica had better remain at the bungalow.’
But Dr Fellows was firm in resisting the proposal.
‘Jessica can remain here if you desire it,’ he answered, ‘but she does not enter Quita’s room. I am not even sure that Lizzie will do so. You have confided your daughter to my care, Mr Courtney, and you will not find me unworthy of the trust. I shall be both nurse and doctor to Maraquita, until I can bring her to the White House again.’
‘You are a good fellow,’ said Mr Courtney, wringing the Doctor’s hand, ‘and I do not limit the confidence Iplace in you. Jessica shall return with us, and we will leave Quita entirely in your care.’
‘You shall have no cause to regret it,’ replied Dr Fellows, as he accompanied them to the door of the bungalow. ‘You can send down as often as you like for news of her, and I shall be found at my post, ready to report on her progress. But I honestly anticipate restoring her to you in a very short time.’
As he returned from seeing them off, and met his daughter’s eye, his face changed, and his expression became very grave.
‘That is well over,’ he ejaculated, with a sigh, ‘and the rest remains, Lizzie, with you and me.’
‘Which means, father, that she is safe as far asweare concerned. Am I to go into her room?’
‘No; I should prefer you should not. There is no necessity for your presence there, and I wish to leave you as unfettered as I possibly can. You have no notion how this calamity happened, Liz?’
‘Not the slightest. I know so few of her friends. I have not even heard that she had an attachment for any one.’
‘Well, it is a terrible business, but we must stand her friends, and see her through with it. She has told me nothing, poor child; but she has thrown herself upon my mercy, and entreated me to save her from the wrath and reproaches of her parents, and for their sakes I have promised to do so. She implores that evenyoushall not be told of her misfortune, and I have been obliged to humour her. We must keep up the deception of the fever, and as soon as she is sufficiently recovered to return home, the danger will be over.’
‘But—Mammy Lila!’ gasped Liz.
‘Mammy Lila will do as I tell her, my dear, and at all risks this child’s reputation must be saved. Everything else is an after consideration,’ replied the Doctor, as he stumbled slightly, and saved himself by catching at the back of a chair.
‘Father, are you ill?’ cried Lizzie quickly, as she sprang to his assistance.
‘No, I think not; but I will take a cordial, if you will mix it for me. Imustnot be ill until this business is settled, and Maraquita is safe under her parents’ roof again.’
‘But your hands are very cold, and you are trembling all over. Surely you are unfit for further work, and should go to bed and rest. Father, trust her to me. Don’t overtax your strength, for her sake. You know that I am a careful and trustworthy nurse.’
‘If Idiein the effort, I will watch over her myself, and without assistance!’ cried the Doctor excitedly, as he drank the draught she tendered him, and tottered back to the sleeping-chamber.
Lizzie looked after him with the deepest anxiety.
‘I amsurehe is ill,’ she said to herself, and if I am not very much mistaken, he has the symptoms of the fever strongly upon him. Oh, my poor father! is it possible that when you need the attention and skill you have bestowed on others, you will sacrifice yourself for the sake of this frail girl? Yes, I feel you will, even should it result in your own death. And I would have it so, though Heaven only knows what I should do without you—sooner than see you shrink from paying off one tithe of the heavy debt you owe to Maraquita’s father. But the bearingof this heavy burden laid upon us! Did Mr Courtney but know the weight of it, he would surely acknowledge his forbearance has not been in vain.’