CHAPTER X.THE RIVER.
The next day was excessively hot and sultry, confining the young people to the cool, dark parlor where Lilian fanned herself furiously, while Lawrence turned the pages of a book, and Mildred drummed listlessly upon the piano. Oliver did not join them, and Luce, who, before dinner went down to the Cold Spring for water, brought back the news that he was suffering from one of his nervous headaches.
“He needs more exercise,” said Lawrence. “I mean to take him with me this afternoon when I go down to bathe in the river.”
Accordingly, about four o’clock, he called upon Oliver, who looked pale and haggard, as if years of suffering had passed over him since the previous night. Still, he was so much better, that Lawrence ventured to propose his going to the river.
“No matter if you can’t swim,” he said; “you can sit upon the grass and look at me.”
Oliver knew that the fresh air would do him good, and he went at last with Lawrence to the quiet spot which the latter had selected, partly because it was remote from any dwelling, and partly because the water was deeper there than at the points higher up. Sitting down beneath a tree, which grew near to the bank, Oliver watched his companion, as he plunged boldly into the stream, and struck out for the opposite shore.
“Why am I not like him, instead of being thus feminine and weak?” was the bitter thought creeping into Oliver’s heart, when suddenly a fearful cry rose on the air,—a cry of “Help! I’m cramped! oh, help me, Clubs!” and turning in the direction whence it came, Oliver saw a frightened face disappearing beneath the water, while the outstretched hand, which went down last, seemed imploring him for aid.
In an instant Oliver stood by the river bank, and when the face came up again, he saw that it was whiter than before, and the voice was fainter which uttered another name than that of Clubs. At first Oliver thought he was mistaken, but when it came a second time, he reeled as if smitten by a heavy blow, for he knew then that the drowning man had cried out:
“Milly! dear Milly!” as if he thus would bid her farewell.
For a second Oliver stood spell-bound, while thought after thought traversed his whirling brain. Lawrence washis rival, and yet not his rival, for, even had he never been, such as Oliver Hawkins could not hope to win the queenly Mildred, whose heart would break when they told her Lawrence was dead. She would come to him for comfort, as she always did, and how could he tell her he had looked silently on and seen him die? There would be bitter reproach in the eyes which never yet had rested upon him save in love, and rather than meet that glance Oliver resolved at last to save Lawrence Thornton, even if he perished in the attempt.
“Nobody will mourn for the cripple,” he said. “Nobody miss me but Mildred, and Lawrence will comfort her;” and with one last, hurried glance at the world which had never seemed so bright as on that July afternoon, the heroic Oliver sprang into the river, and struck out for the spot where Lawrence last went down.
He forgot that he had never learned to swim,—nor knew that he was swimming,—for one thought alone was uppermost in his mind, and that a thought of Mildred. Hers was the name upon his lip,—hers the image before his mind as he struggled in the rolling river,—for her he ran that fearful risk,—and the mighty love he bore her buoyed him up, until he reached the spot where the waters were still in wild commotion. By what means he grasped the tangled hair,—held up the rigid form and took it back to the shore, he never knew, it passed so like a dream. With an almost superhuman effort, hedragged the body up the bank, laid it upon the grass, and then his feeble voice, raised to its highest pitch, went echoing up the hill, but brought back no response. Through the soft summer haze he saw the chimneys of the Beechwood mansion, and the cupola on the roof where Mildred often sat, and where she was sitting now. But his voice did not reach her, or if it did she thought it was some insect’s hum, and turned again to her book, unmindful of the dying Lawrence beneath the maple tree, or of the distracted Oliver, who knelt above him, feeling for his pulse, and dropping tears like rain upon his face.
“I must go for help, and leave him here alone,” he said, at last, and he started on his way, slowly, painfully, for ere plunging into the river he had thrown aside his shoes, and his poor, tender feet had been cut upon a sharp-pointed rock.
But he kept on his way, while his knees shook beneath him, and in his ears there was a buzzing sound like the rush of many waters. Human strength could not endure much more, and by the time he reached his grandmother’s gate he sunk to the ground, and crawled slowly to the door. In wild affright old Hepsy came out, asking what was the matter.
“Lawrence!” he gasped;—“he’s drowned,—he’s dead!”
Then from his mouth and nose the crimson bloodgushed out, and Hepsy had just cause for screaming as she did:
“Help! Murder! Fire! Mildred Howell! Oliver is dead, and Lawrence too!”
From her seat in the cupola Mildred heard the cry, for Hepsy’s voice was shrill and clear, and it rang out like an alarm-bell. Mildred heard her name and that Oliver was dead, and bounding down the stairs she went flying down the Cold Spring path, while close behind her came the wheezing Judge, with Lilian following slowly in the rear.
On the floor, just where he had fainted, Oliver was lying, and Mildred’s heart stood still when she saw his dripping garments and the blood stains round his pallid lips.
“Poor, poor Oliver,” she said, kneeling down beside him, and wringing his wet hair. “Where has he been?”
At the sound of her voice his eyes unclosed, and he whispered faintly:
“Lawrence, Milly. Lawrence is dead under that tree.”
Then, for one brief instant, Mildred fancied herself dying, but the sight of Lilian, who had just come in, brought back her benumbed faculties, and going up to her, she said:
“Did you hear, Lily? Lawrence is dead,—drowned. Let us go to him together. He is mine, now, as much as yours.”
“Oh, I carn’t, I carn’t!” sobbed Lilian, cowering back into a corner. “I’m afraid of dead folks! I’d rather stay here.”
“Fool! dough-head!” thundered the Judge, who thoroughly disliked her, and was now out of all kind of patience. “Go to the house, then, and see that his chamber is ready for the body,” and without waiting to see if his orders were obeyed, he hastened after Mildred, who was flying over the distant fields as if she sported a pair of unseen wings.
She saw the stains from Oliver’s wounded feet, and knowing that she was right she ran on, and on until she reached the spot, whither other aid had preceded her, else Lawrence Thornton had surely floated down the deep, dark river of death.
Two villagers, returning from a neighboring wood, had found him lying there, and were doing for him what they could when Mildred came up begging of them to say if he were dead.
“Speak to him, Miss Howell,” said one of the men. “That may bring him back—it sometimes does;” but Mildred’s voice, though all powerful to unlock Oliver’s scattered senses, could not penetrate the lethargy which had stolen over Lawrence, and, with an ominous shake of their heads, the two men lifted him between them, and bore him back to the house, where Lilian, in her own room, was sobbing as if her heart would break, and sayingto Rachel’s grandchild, who had toddled in and asked what was the matter:
“Oh, I don’t know; I want to go home and see Geraldine.”
“Go home, then, and be——hanged,” the Judge finally added, speaking the last word very naturally, as if that were what he had all the time intended to say.
With one scornful glance at Lilian, who, as Lawrence was borne past her door, covered her face with her hands and moaned: “Oh, I carn’t look at him,” Mildred saw that everything was made comfortable, and then all through the anxious, exciting hour which followed, she stood bravely by, doing whatever was necessary for her to do, and once, at her own request, placing her warm lips next to the cold ones of the unconscious man, and sending her life-breath far down into the lungs, which gave back only a gurgling sound, and Mildred, when she heard it, turned away, whispering:
“He is dead!”
But Lawrence was not dead; and when the night shadows were stealing into the room, he gave signs that life was not extinct. Mildred was the first to discover it, and her cry of joy went ringing through the house, and penetrated to the room where Lilian still cowered upon the floor. But Lilian mistook the cry, and grasping the dress of the little child, who had started to leave her, she sobbed:
“Don’t go,—don’t leave me alone,—it’s getting dark, and I’m afraid of ghosts!”
“Confounded fool!” muttered the Judge, who passed the door in time to hear the remark, and who felt strongly tempted to hurl at her head the brandy bottle he carried in his hand. “It wouldn’t make any more impression though, than on a bat of cotton wool,” he said, and he hurried on to the chamber where Lawrence Thornton was enduring all the pangs of a painful death.
But he was saved, and when at last the fierce struggle was over, and the throes of agony had ceased, he fell away to sleep, and the physician bade all leave the room except Mildred, who must watch him while he slept.
“Will he live? Is he past all danger?” she asked, and when the physician answered, “Yes,” she said: “Then I must go to Oliver. Lilian will sit with Mr. Thornton.”
“But is her face a familiar one? Will he be pleased to see her here when he wakes?” the doctor asked, and Mildred answered sadly:
“Yes, far more pleased than to see me.”
“Let her come, then,” was the reply, and hurrying to Lilian, Mildred told her what was wanted.
“Oh, I carn’t, I carn’t!” and Lilian drew back. “I ain’t used to sick folks! I don’t know what to do. You stay, Milly, that’s a dear, good girl.”
“But I can’t,” answered Mildred. “I must go to Oliver, I’ve neglected him too long,” and seeing thatLilian showed no signs of yielding, she took her by the arm, and led her into Lawrence’s chamber.
“Sit there,” she said, placing her in a chair by the bedside, “and when he wakes, give him this,” pointing to something in a cup, which the doctor had prepared.
“Oh, it’s so dark, and his face so white,” sobbed Lilian, while Mildred, feeling strongly inclined to box her ears, bade her once more sit still, and then hurried away.
“There’s grit for you,” muttered the Judge, who in the next room had overheard the whole. “There’s a girl worth having. Why, I’d give more for Milly’s little finger than for that gutta percha’s whole body. Afraid of the dark,—little fool! How can he coo round her as he does! But I’ll put a flea in his ear. I’ll tell him that in Mildred Howell’s face, when she thought that he was dead, I saw who it was she loved. I ain’t blind,” and the Judge paced up and down the room, while Mildred kept on her way, and soon reached the gable-roof.
“A pretty time of day to get here,” growled old Hepsy; “after the worst is over, and he got well to bed. I’d save that city sprig for you again if I was Clubs.”
“Grandmother, please go down,” said Oliver, while Mildred, unmindful of old Hepsy’s presence, wound her arms around his neck, and he could feel her hot tears dropping like rain upon his face, as she whispered:
“Darling Oliver, heaven bless you, even as I do. Iknew it must have been so; but why did you risk your life for him? Say, did you?”
“Grandmother, will you go down?” Oliver said again; and muttering something about “being glad to get rid of such sickishness,” old Hepsy hobbled off.
When sure that she was gone, Oliver placed a hand on each side of the face bending over him, and said:
“Don’t thank me, Mildred; I don’t deserve it, for my first wicked thought was to let him drown, but when I remembered how much you loved him, I said I’ll save him for Milly, even though I die. It is far better that the poor cripple should be drowned than the handsome Lawrence. Do you love me more for saving him, Milly?”
“Yes, yes,” answered Mildred; “and so does Lilian, or she will when I tell her, for you know you saved him for her, not for me.”
“Mildred,” said Oliver, laying his clammy hand upon her hair, “When Lawrence Thornton was sinking in the river, whose name do you think he called?”
“Lilian’s!” and by the dim light of the candle burning on the stand, Oliver could see the quivering of her lips.
“No, darling, not Lilian, but ‘Milly, dear Milly.’ That was what he said; and there was a world of love in the way he said it.”
Mildred’s eyes were bright as diamonds, but Oliver’s were dim with tears, and he could not see how they sparkled and flashed, while a smile of joy broke over theface. He only knew that both Mildred’s hands were laid upon his forehead as if she would doubly bless him for the words which he had spoken. There was silence a moment, and then Mildred’s face came so near to his that he felt her breath and Mildred whispered timidly:
“Are you certain, Oliver, that you heard aright? Wasn’t it Lilian? Tell me again just what he said.”
“Milly, dear Milly,” and Oliver’s voice was full of yearning tenderness, as if the words welled up from the very depths of his own heart.
She looked so bright, so beautiful, sitting there beside him, that he would willingly have given his life, could he once have put his arms around her and told her how he loved her. But it must not be and with a mighty effort, which filled the blue veins on his forehead and forced out the drops of perspiration, he conquered the desire, but not until he closed his eyes to shut out her glowing beauty.
“You are tired,” she said. “I am wearing you out,” and arranging his pillows more comfortably, she made a movement to go.
He let her think he was tired, for he would rather she should leave him, and with a whispered “good-by, dear Oliver,” she glided from the room.