Chapter Twenty Five.

Chapter Twenty Five.A Counterplot.Neil Elthorne’s absence from the hospital was rapidly extending to a term of months, broken only by a weekly visit, during the last of which Sir Denton, after hearing the report upon Ralph Elthorne’s health, had said quietly:“Never mind if you have to be away from here another month, my dear boy. You are not right yet yourself. You look careworn and anxious. I am managing very well, and I want you to be quite strong before you return. By the way, I have not filled up that post yet. I have had three men engaged one after the other, but they have all turned tail—backed out of it. You will not alter your mind? Fine opportunity for a brave man, Elthorne.”“No, I cannot leave England,” replied Neil firmly. “There are reasons why I must stay.”“A lady, of course,” said Sir Denton to himself. “I did once think—but never mind. He knows his own affairs best.”Neil was back at Hightoft after his last visit to town. His father was very slowly mending, and the nurse, as he could see, was indefatigable, her actions in the sick room disarming to some extent the young surgeon’s resentment as he brooded over the fact that Alison was constantly watching, and obtained interviews with her, he felt convinced, from time to time.He used to muse over these matters in the library, where he had surrounded himself with various works into which he plunged deeply, trying hard to forget his troubles in hard study of his profession, but too often in vain, for he was haunted by Nurse Elisia’s calm, grave face in all his waking hours.“She has a right to prefer him,” he would say, “and I have none to complain; but it is hard, very hard.”He visited the sick room regularly four times a day, and his behaviour there was that of a surgeon who was a stranger. The nurse was always present, and she received his orders in the same spirit, a coldness having sprung up between them that was very nearly resentment on his part, but always on hers the respect of nurse to the doctor who had the patient in charge.Several little things had made Neil satisfied that there was a quiet understanding between his brother and Elisia, trifles in themselves, the most important being Alison’s manner when they met at meals. For there was always a quiet, self-satisfied look in the young man’s eyes which indicated triumph, a look that roused a feeling of rage in his breast that he found it hard to control.Neil felt that if they were together a quarrel must ensue, an encounter the very thought of which made him shudder, and after visiting his father he would hurry back to the library, and try to forget everything in his books.It was with affairs in this condition that the day on which Sir Cheltnam was to dine there came. Neil had paid his customary morning visit, and paused at the door as he entered quietly, feeling almost lighthearted as he saw the look of returning vigour in his father’s face.The old man was talking eagerly to the nurse, whose back was toward Neil, and there was a glow of satisfaction in the young surgeon’s heart as he owned to himself that it was almost entirely Elisia’s work, her devotion to his father, which had wrought this change.The group, too, at which he gazed pleased his eye: the invalid looking up, full of trust, in his graceful attendant’s face; and the crushed-down love in Neil’s breast began to revive again, as he thought that if he could win her his father would be ready to take her as a daughter to his heart.Then all came over black. The scene before him was clouded, and a sense of despairing misery filled his breast.They were talking about Alison, for his father mentioned the young man’s name, and Elisia was evidently listening with attention to his words.Neil drew back quickly to hide his emotion, for he felt that he could not face them then; but the door clicked as he closed it, and before he was at the head of the stairs it was reopened by Nurse Elisia, who said quickly:“You need not go back, sir. Mr Elthorne is quite ready to see you.”He turned once more, and as he gazed sharply in the nurse’s face, he detected a faint flush in her generally pale cheeks and a suffused look in her eyes which strengthened him now in his belief.“Even my father is working against me,” he thought to himself, as he passed on and took the chair by the side of the couch.“Yes, boy, my yes,” said his patient with some display of animation, “I certainly am better this morning. Helpless as ever, of course—I am getting resigned to that. I feel more myself, and I shall soon be asking for my invalid chair or a carriage ride.”“Have them as soon as you can bear them, sir,” said Neil, laying his father’s hand back upon the couch. “Yes, you are decidedly stronger this morning, and I think you can now begin to do without me.”“Without you, my boy? Yes, I think so, but not without nurse. I am very weak yet, my boy.”“But that will soon pass off,” said Neil coldly. “You must keep your attendant, of course.”“Yes. Yes, of course, Neil, of course.”“Then to-morrow or next day I shall go back, and come again, say from Saturday to Monday, and then give you a fortnight’s rest, so as to break off by degrees.”“You want to go back, then, Neil?”“Yes, sir. The hospital has hardly known me lately. I ought to go now.”“True; yes, I ought not to keep you longer, my boy,” said his father thoughtfully. “But you ’ve done a wonderful deal for me, Neil.”“The best I could, father; and, thank God, we have saved your life.”“Thank God, my life has been spared!” said the old man fervently; and he closed his eyes.Neil left them soon after to return to the library, but not to resume his studies. His heart burned with anger against everyone in the place, and he paced the room thinking bitterly.“Yes,” he said to himself, “my work is done, and I may go. He said nothing, but his manner betrayed the whole wretched story. They have prevailed upon him. Dana is away and forgotten. Yes; of course. Alison was with him two hours yesterday. There: the dream is past, and I am fully awake again.”He stood with his teeth set, and his hands clenched for a few moments, and the muscles of his face worked painfully. Then, drawing a long, deep breath, he suddenly seemed to grow calm.“Well, why should I repine? Only one can win the race. I ought to say, ‘Heaven bless them!’ She has won her way to my father’s heart, and yes, Heaven bless her! I will try and take her hand by and by, and kiss her, and say, ‘Dearest sister, may you be very happy with the man of your choice!’ Yes; we must be brothers once again. But I must go soon. I am too weak to bear it now.”There was a tap at the door.“Yes. Come in.”The door opened, and Aunt Anne entered cautiously.“Ah!” she cried, “not reading. I was so afraid of disturbing you, my dear. You have grown such a learned man I’m quite afraid of you.”“Nonsense, Aunt dear. A surgeon must keep himselfau courantwith what is going on in his profession abroad.”“Of course he must, my dear, but he must not starve himself to death.”“No fear, Aunt,” said Neil pleasantly. “I have no intention of trying any such experiment.”“Oh, but you are always trying to live without food, my dear, and you look pale, and your hair is beginning to show grey. Why, you look fifteen years older than Alison, and you are only four.”Neil winced.“He looks brown, and hearty, and handsome, while you—”“Look like an old professional man, Aunt,” he said, laughing, but with a touch of bitterness in his tone. “So much the better for me. The world goes by appearances. It does not like boyish looking surgeons.”“Ah! it’s a very foolish world, my dear. But now, look here. I am going to have a little extra dinner to-day because Sir Cheltnam is coming, and I want you to promise to come and take your father’s place.”“Ask Alison.”“No, my dear; you are the elder, and I ask you. Time after time I’ve had nice things got ready, and you have refused to dine with us. Now promise me you will come this evening.”“Oh, very well, Aunt, if it will please you.”“Thank you, my dear; that’s very good of you. It will please me very much.”“That’s right, then. And, by the way, Aunt, I shall be going back in a few days.”“Going back, my dear?”“Yes; my father can be left now.”“Then the nurse will go with you?” she said, with a look of suspicion in her eyes.“No, Aunt,” he said coldly. “Nurse Elisia will stay here as long as my father desires to have her at his side.”“Oh, very well,” said Aunt Anne, rustling her dress; “it is just as your father likes. You are a terribly headstrong race, you Elthornes.”“Including yourself, Aunt?”“Oh, no, my dear. I take after my mother’s family. But it is nothing to me. I am not going to interfere. All I say is that I hope everything is for the best.”“And I hope the same, Aunt,” said Neil cheerfully. “It’s all self-denial through life, eh?”“Always, my dear. Then you will dress to-night, and come?”“Oh, yes, Aunt; I’ll come.”“Then we shall have a decent dinner,” thought Aunt Anne, as she went back to the drawing room. “I’m sorry that woman is not going, but I’m glad she is not going up with Neil. Now suppose, after all, he is giving her up! Oh, if I could only get poor Alison to be as sensible, instead of growing more infatuated by that creature every day!”Neil settled down to his books at once, seeking in study for the cure of his mental pains, but he had hardly begun to forget the events of the morning in an abstruse theory of muscular disease, when there was another tap on the panel, and in obedience to the cry, “Come in!” Isabel hurriedly entered and closed the door.“Ah, my dear!” he said; and she looked at him wonderingly, his tone and manner were so different to their wont. This gave her encouragement, and begat her confidence, so that she ran to him, sank on her knees by his chair, and took his hands.“Why, what’s this?” he cried. “Anything the matter?”“Yes, Neil, dear,” she said. “I’m in trouble, and I want you to help me.”“Trouble? Help? Well, what is it, baby?”“Don’t laugh at me, Neil,” she whispered in a broken voice. “Sir Cheltnam Burwood is coming to dinner.”“Yes. Aunt has just been to tell me. What of that?”“What of that?” she cried piteously. “Oh, Neil, dear, you don’t see all this as I do. It is so that he may see and talk to me. It is Aunt’s doing, and she says it is only carrying out poor papa’s wishes.”“Ah, yes,” he said thoughtfully. “I had almost forgotten that.”“Forgotten it?” she cried reproachfully. “Oh, Neil!”“I’m a selfish fellow, little one,” he said, bending down to kiss her, when her arms were flung round his neck, and she buried her face in his breast and burst into tears.“Come, come, come!” he whispered soothingly; “what is it, Bel darling? There, wipe your eyes and tell me all about it, and let’s see if something cannot be done.”“Yes, Neil, dear. It’s very weak and foolish of me, but Sir Cheltnam’s coming, and he quite persecutes me with his addresses, and if I am angry he only laughs. He talks to me as if I quite belonged to him now.”“Does he? Well, we must stop that, Bel. You are not his wife yet.”“No, dear; and I’ve no one to come to but you and Nurse Elisia. She is so kind, but what can she do?” Neil frowned.“Ah, yes,” he said huskily, “what can she do?”“I believe I should have broken my heart if she had not been so loving and kind to me.”“Loving and kind?”“Yes; I used to hate her, Neil, but she is so good and dear.”Neil half turned away his head.“Neil, darling, you can help me to-night. When papa is quite strong enough I am going to beg and pray of him to let me stay at home and be his nurse and attendant. I love Tom, but I won’t ask to marry him if papa says no. But I can’t marry anyone else. I don’t want to, and it would kill me to have to say ‘I will’ to that dreadful man.”“Poor little darling!” he said tenderly. “Then you shall not. Father must listen to reason by and by. I can think about you now, and I will.”“Oh, Neil, you have made me so happy,” she cried ecstatically. Then, changing her manner directly, “But he’s coming to-night.”“Well, what of that? You must be cool to him.”“But he does not mind that, and Aunt is sure to arrange to leave us alone. I know she has planned it all with him.”“Ah!”“Yes, I am sure of it; and if you would watch for me, and as soon as Aunt has left us alone come and put a stop to it by staying with me, I should be so grateful.”“What a duty for a surgeon, Bel!”“It is to heal a sore heart, Neil,” she said, smiling through her tears.“Is it, pet? Well, then, I will try what I can do. Some people ought to be made happy in this weary world.”“But it isn’t a weary world, Neil,” she cried enthusiastically. “It’s a lovely world, and I could be so happy in it, if—”“Yes, Bel,” he said sadly; “and I could be so happy in it too, if—”“People did not make it a miserable world,” cried Isabel.They were silent for a few minutes, and then the girl continued:“You will help me, Neil?”“By not letting you be alone with our gallant, foxhunting baronet?”“Yes, dear.”“I promise you,” said Neil half sadly, half playfully. “I will watch over you while I stay down here like a lynx.”“Oh, my darling brother! But you are not going soon, Neil?” she cried, as she kissed him.“Yes, very soon, dear. I must get back to my poor people and work. But I will work, too, to try and make my little sister happy.”“Thank you—thank you—thank you, dear Neil!” cried the girl. “You’ve made the world seem so bright and happy again; and—and I’m not afraid to meet Sir Cheltnam now—and—and—oh, Neil, Neil, I must go upstairs and have a good cry!”She ran out of the room before he could stop her. “Poor little sis!” he said, as he looked at the door through which she had passed. “Well, I can make someone happy if happiness is not to come to me.” He looked sadly about him for a few moments, and then half aloud he whispered, as he formed a mental future:“And I could be so happy, too—if—”

Neil Elthorne’s absence from the hospital was rapidly extending to a term of months, broken only by a weekly visit, during the last of which Sir Denton, after hearing the report upon Ralph Elthorne’s health, had said quietly:

“Never mind if you have to be away from here another month, my dear boy. You are not right yet yourself. You look careworn and anxious. I am managing very well, and I want you to be quite strong before you return. By the way, I have not filled up that post yet. I have had three men engaged one after the other, but they have all turned tail—backed out of it. You will not alter your mind? Fine opportunity for a brave man, Elthorne.”

“No, I cannot leave England,” replied Neil firmly. “There are reasons why I must stay.”

“A lady, of course,” said Sir Denton to himself. “I did once think—but never mind. He knows his own affairs best.”

Neil was back at Hightoft after his last visit to town. His father was very slowly mending, and the nurse, as he could see, was indefatigable, her actions in the sick room disarming to some extent the young surgeon’s resentment as he brooded over the fact that Alison was constantly watching, and obtained interviews with her, he felt convinced, from time to time.

He used to muse over these matters in the library, where he had surrounded himself with various works into which he plunged deeply, trying hard to forget his troubles in hard study of his profession, but too often in vain, for he was haunted by Nurse Elisia’s calm, grave face in all his waking hours.

“She has a right to prefer him,” he would say, “and I have none to complain; but it is hard, very hard.”

He visited the sick room regularly four times a day, and his behaviour there was that of a surgeon who was a stranger. The nurse was always present, and she received his orders in the same spirit, a coldness having sprung up between them that was very nearly resentment on his part, but always on hers the respect of nurse to the doctor who had the patient in charge.

Several little things had made Neil satisfied that there was a quiet understanding between his brother and Elisia, trifles in themselves, the most important being Alison’s manner when they met at meals. For there was always a quiet, self-satisfied look in the young man’s eyes which indicated triumph, a look that roused a feeling of rage in his breast that he found it hard to control.

Neil felt that if they were together a quarrel must ensue, an encounter the very thought of which made him shudder, and after visiting his father he would hurry back to the library, and try to forget everything in his books.

It was with affairs in this condition that the day on which Sir Cheltnam was to dine there came. Neil had paid his customary morning visit, and paused at the door as he entered quietly, feeling almost lighthearted as he saw the look of returning vigour in his father’s face.

The old man was talking eagerly to the nurse, whose back was toward Neil, and there was a glow of satisfaction in the young surgeon’s heart as he owned to himself that it was almost entirely Elisia’s work, her devotion to his father, which had wrought this change.

The group, too, at which he gazed pleased his eye: the invalid looking up, full of trust, in his graceful attendant’s face; and the crushed-down love in Neil’s breast began to revive again, as he thought that if he could win her his father would be ready to take her as a daughter to his heart.

Then all came over black. The scene before him was clouded, and a sense of despairing misery filled his breast.

They were talking about Alison, for his father mentioned the young man’s name, and Elisia was evidently listening with attention to his words.

Neil drew back quickly to hide his emotion, for he felt that he could not face them then; but the door clicked as he closed it, and before he was at the head of the stairs it was reopened by Nurse Elisia, who said quickly:

“You need not go back, sir. Mr Elthorne is quite ready to see you.”

He turned once more, and as he gazed sharply in the nurse’s face, he detected a faint flush in her generally pale cheeks and a suffused look in her eyes which strengthened him now in his belief.

“Even my father is working against me,” he thought to himself, as he passed on and took the chair by the side of the couch.

“Yes, boy, my yes,” said his patient with some display of animation, “I certainly am better this morning. Helpless as ever, of course—I am getting resigned to that. I feel more myself, and I shall soon be asking for my invalid chair or a carriage ride.”

“Have them as soon as you can bear them, sir,” said Neil, laying his father’s hand back upon the couch. “Yes, you are decidedly stronger this morning, and I think you can now begin to do without me.”

“Without you, my boy? Yes, I think so, but not without nurse. I am very weak yet, my boy.”

“But that will soon pass off,” said Neil coldly. “You must keep your attendant, of course.”

“Yes. Yes, of course, Neil, of course.”

“Then to-morrow or next day I shall go back, and come again, say from Saturday to Monday, and then give you a fortnight’s rest, so as to break off by degrees.”

“You want to go back, then, Neil?”

“Yes, sir. The hospital has hardly known me lately. I ought to go now.”

“True; yes, I ought not to keep you longer, my boy,” said his father thoughtfully. “But you ’ve done a wonderful deal for me, Neil.”

“The best I could, father; and, thank God, we have saved your life.”

“Thank God, my life has been spared!” said the old man fervently; and he closed his eyes.

Neil left them soon after to return to the library, but not to resume his studies. His heart burned with anger against everyone in the place, and he paced the room thinking bitterly.

“Yes,” he said to himself, “my work is done, and I may go. He said nothing, but his manner betrayed the whole wretched story. They have prevailed upon him. Dana is away and forgotten. Yes; of course. Alison was with him two hours yesterday. There: the dream is past, and I am fully awake again.”

He stood with his teeth set, and his hands clenched for a few moments, and the muscles of his face worked painfully. Then, drawing a long, deep breath, he suddenly seemed to grow calm.

“Well, why should I repine? Only one can win the race. I ought to say, ‘Heaven bless them!’ She has won her way to my father’s heart, and yes, Heaven bless her! I will try and take her hand by and by, and kiss her, and say, ‘Dearest sister, may you be very happy with the man of your choice!’ Yes; we must be brothers once again. But I must go soon. I am too weak to bear it now.”

There was a tap at the door.

“Yes. Come in.”

The door opened, and Aunt Anne entered cautiously.

“Ah!” she cried, “not reading. I was so afraid of disturbing you, my dear. You have grown such a learned man I’m quite afraid of you.”

“Nonsense, Aunt dear. A surgeon must keep himselfau courantwith what is going on in his profession abroad.”

“Of course he must, my dear, but he must not starve himself to death.”

“No fear, Aunt,” said Neil pleasantly. “I have no intention of trying any such experiment.”

“Oh, but you are always trying to live without food, my dear, and you look pale, and your hair is beginning to show grey. Why, you look fifteen years older than Alison, and you are only four.”

Neil winced.

“He looks brown, and hearty, and handsome, while you—”

“Look like an old professional man, Aunt,” he said, laughing, but with a touch of bitterness in his tone. “So much the better for me. The world goes by appearances. It does not like boyish looking surgeons.”

“Ah! it’s a very foolish world, my dear. But now, look here. I am going to have a little extra dinner to-day because Sir Cheltnam is coming, and I want you to promise to come and take your father’s place.”

“Ask Alison.”

“No, my dear; you are the elder, and I ask you. Time after time I’ve had nice things got ready, and you have refused to dine with us. Now promise me you will come this evening.”

“Oh, very well, Aunt, if it will please you.”

“Thank you, my dear; that’s very good of you. It will please me very much.”

“That’s right, then. And, by the way, Aunt, I shall be going back in a few days.”

“Going back, my dear?”

“Yes; my father can be left now.”

“Then the nurse will go with you?” she said, with a look of suspicion in her eyes.

“No, Aunt,” he said coldly. “Nurse Elisia will stay here as long as my father desires to have her at his side.”

“Oh, very well,” said Aunt Anne, rustling her dress; “it is just as your father likes. You are a terribly headstrong race, you Elthornes.”

“Including yourself, Aunt?”

“Oh, no, my dear. I take after my mother’s family. But it is nothing to me. I am not going to interfere. All I say is that I hope everything is for the best.”

“And I hope the same, Aunt,” said Neil cheerfully. “It’s all self-denial through life, eh?”

“Always, my dear. Then you will dress to-night, and come?”

“Oh, yes, Aunt; I’ll come.”

“Then we shall have a decent dinner,” thought Aunt Anne, as she went back to the drawing room. “I’m sorry that woman is not going, but I’m glad she is not going up with Neil. Now suppose, after all, he is giving her up! Oh, if I could only get poor Alison to be as sensible, instead of growing more infatuated by that creature every day!”

Neil settled down to his books at once, seeking in study for the cure of his mental pains, but he had hardly begun to forget the events of the morning in an abstruse theory of muscular disease, when there was another tap on the panel, and in obedience to the cry, “Come in!” Isabel hurriedly entered and closed the door.

“Ah, my dear!” he said; and she looked at him wonderingly, his tone and manner were so different to their wont. This gave her encouragement, and begat her confidence, so that she ran to him, sank on her knees by his chair, and took his hands.

“Why, what’s this?” he cried. “Anything the matter?”

“Yes, Neil, dear,” she said. “I’m in trouble, and I want you to help me.”

“Trouble? Help? Well, what is it, baby?”

“Don’t laugh at me, Neil,” she whispered in a broken voice. “Sir Cheltnam Burwood is coming to dinner.”

“Yes. Aunt has just been to tell me. What of that?”

“What of that?” she cried piteously. “Oh, Neil, dear, you don’t see all this as I do. It is so that he may see and talk to me. It is Aunt’s doing, and she says it is only carrying out poor papa’s wishes.”

“Ah, yes,” he said thoughtfully. “I had almost forgotten that.”

“Forgotten it?” she cried reproachfully. “Oh, Neil!”

“I’m a selfish fellow, little one,” he said, bending down to kiss her, when her arms were flung round his neck, and she buried her face in his breast and burst into tears.

“Come, come, come!” he whispered soothingly; “what is it, Bel darling? There, wipe your eyes and tell me all about it, and let’s see if something cannot be done.”

“Yes, Neil, dear. It’s very weak and foolish of me, but Sir Cheltnam’s coming, and he quite persecutes me with his addresses, and if I am angry he only laughs. He talks to me as if I quite belonged to him now.”

“Does he? Well, we must stop that, Bel. You are not his wife yet.”

“No, dear; and I’ve no one to come to but you and Nurse Elisia. She is so kind, but what can she do?” Neil frowned.

“Ah, yes,” he said huskily, “what can she do?”

“I believe I should have broken my heart if she had not been so loving and kind to me.”

“Loving and kind?”

“Yes; I used to hate her, Neil, but she is so good and dear.”

Neil half turned away his head.

“Neil, darling, you can help me to-night. When papa is quite strong enough I am going to beg and pray of him to let me stay at home and be his nurse and attendant. I love Tom, but I won’t ask to marry him if papa says no. But I can’t marry anyone else. I don’t want to, and it would kill me to have to say ‘I will’ to that dreadful man.”

“Poor little darling!” he said tenderly. “Then you shall not. Father must listen to reason by and by. I can think about you now, and I will.”

“Oh, Neil, you have made me so happy,” she cried ecstatically. Then, changing her manner directly, “But he’s coming to-night.”

“Well, what of that? You must be cool to him.”

“But he does not mind that, and Aunt is sure to arrange to leave us alone. I know she has planned it all with him.”

“Ah!”

“Yes, I am sure of it; and if you would watch for me, and as soon as Aunt has left us alone come and put a stop to it by staying with me, I should be so grateful.”

“What a duty for a surgeon, Bel!”

“It is to heal a sore heart, Neil,” she said, smiling through her tears.

“Is it, pet? Well, then, I will try what I can do. Some people ought to be made happy in this weary world.”

“But it isn’t a weary world, Neil,” she cried enthusiastically. “It’s a lovely world, and I could be so happy in it, if—”

“Yes, Bel,” he said sadly; “and I could be so happy in it too, if—”

“People did not make it a miserable world,” cried Isabel.

They were silent for a few minutes, and then the girl continued:

“You will help me, Neil?”

“By not letting you be alone with our gallant, foxhunting baronet?”

“Yes, dear.”

“I promise you,” said Neil half sadly, half playfully. “I will watch over you while I stay down here like a lynx.”

“Oh, my darling brother! But you are not going soon, Neil?” she cried, as she kissed him.

“Yes, very soon, dear. I must get back to my poor people and work. But I will work, too, to try and make my little sister happy.”

“Thank you—thank you—thank you, dear Neil!” cried the girl. “You’ve made the world seem so bright and happy again; and—and I’m not afraid to meet Sir Cheltnam now—and—and—oh, Neil, Neil, I must go upstairs and have a good cry!”

She ran out of the room before he could stop her. “Poor little sis!” he said, as he looked at the door through which she had passed. “Well, I can make someone happy if happiness is not to come to me.” He looked sadly about him for a few moments, and then half aloud he whispered, as he formed a mental future:

“And I could be so happy, too—if—”

Chapter Twenty Six.Neil Breaks his Promise.“Just going down to dinner?” said Ralph Elthorne, as his son came into his room the same evening. “That’s right, Neil. It looks like old times. It does me good. Wait a bit, and I’ll join you—as of old. Not quite,” he added, and his lip quivered—“not quite, my boy. But I can be carried down, and I shall not be an invalid.”“No, sir,” said Neil, “no invalid, and you will soon forget your lameness.”“Yes, yes, Neil, I shall try hard to do that. There, I will not keep you. I’m getting independent, you see. Ask nurse to come and sit with me as you go out.”There was no need, for as Neil rose to go down, the nurse entered, book in hand, but drew back till the young surgeon had left the room to go thoughtfully downstairs, for he was forcing himself to think out what it would be best to do respecting his sister. He shrank from disturbing his father’s mind, now that he was so much better and free from disturbing elements. A subject like that might bring on a fresh attack, or at least retard his progress, and by the time Neil had reached the drawing room he had planned that he would speak firmly to Burwood; but he paused at the door, for he foresaw that such a proceeding would very likely drive the baronet to speak to his father, when the agitation would only be coming from another source.“Bel must fight her own battle,” he said to himself. “A woman ought to be able to cool a lover’s courage. There the matter must wait. Like many more of the kind, give it time and it will settle itself.”He entered the room, to find the objects of his thoughts all there and waiting his coming. Aunt Anne was radiant, and Burwood, who was chatting with Alison upon the everlasting theme of the horse, came and shook hands in the warmest manner.“I can’t quarrel with him,” thought Neil. “It must be done by diplomacy or scheming.”The dinner was announced directly after, and as Neil took in his sister, she pressed his arm.“Please, please, dear, don’t let me be out of your sight all the evening,” she whispered.“Impossible to do that, little one,” he said quietly. “You ladies will leave the room, you see. Suppose I keep Burwood in sight all the evening, will not that do as well?”“Oh, yes,” she whispered eagerly. “Of course.” The dinner passed off wonderfully well, everyone seeming to be on thequi viveto keep off anything likely to trench upon the past and the troubles in the house. Aunt Anne did scarcely anything but beam; Sir Cheltnam related anecdotes; and Alison entered into conversation with his brother.In due time the ladies rose, and the three men were left together over their wine, when the conversation went on as easily as if there had been no undercurrent of thought in either breast.“It will be easy enough to keep them apart,” thought Neil, as he sipped his coffee. “When we go into the drawing room Bel shall sing some of the old ballads.”A calm feeling of restfulness had come over Neil Elthorne, and it was as if his efforts at self-mastery were already bearing fruit, when after a quick glance had passed between Burwood and Alison, the latter rose, went to the window, and looked out, taking the opportunity to glance at his watch.“Very dark,” he said. “Nasty drive back for you, Burwood. Want your lamps.”“Oh, the mare would find her way home if it were ten times as dark,” said Burwood laughingly. “I think I could get safely back without reins. She always turns aside if we meet anything.”“Nothing like a good, well-broken horse,” said Alison, looking furtively at his watch. “What do you say to joining them in the drawing room?”“By all means,” cried Burwood, rising.At that moment the butler entered, and went straight to Neil’s chair.“Beg pardon, sir,” he whispered. “You are wanted in master’s room.”Neil started to his feet, and turned to their guest. “You’ll excuse me for a few minutes?” he said hurriedly.“Doctors need no excuse,” replied the baronet, and Neil hurried out and upstairs to his father’s room, expecting and dreading some fresh seizure, but, to his surprise, he found his senior lying back calmly on his couch, ready to salute him with a smile.“I was afraid you were unwell,” cried Neil.“No, my boy, no; I’ve been lying very comfortably. In less pain than usual.”“But you are alone.”“Yes. Nurse has just gone. You might have met her on the stairs. A message came for her—from Isabel, I suppose. I don’t mind. I told her not to hurry; I want to inure myself to being more alone.”“And you wanted me, sir?”“Yes, my boy,” said Elthorne. “Not particularly; but I knew that you had been seated over your wine for some time, and I thought you would not mind coming up to me for a little while. I get very dull sometimes, my dear boy. You do not mind?”“No, sir, of course not.”“Well, don’t look at me like that, Neil. It is the doctor examining me to see how I am. I want you to look like my son.”Neil smiled.“Ah, that’s better. Sit down close up here for a while. Burwood and Alison will have a cigar together, and not miss you.”“Oh, no,” said Neil rather bitterly. “They do not care much for my society.”“Why not?” cried his father sharply. “You are an able, cultured man—a clever surgeon.”“But not a veterinary surgeon, father,” said Neil, smiling.Ralph Elthorne nodded and smiled.“No,” he said; “you are right. They do seem to think of nothing but horses. I was the same once, I’m afraid, my boy. Perhaps I shall think a good deal of horses still; but,” he continued sadly, “from a very different point of view to that of the past.”“Never mind the past, father,” said Neil quickly. “Think of the future.”“A poor future for me, Neil,” said Elthorne, shaking his head.“By no means, my dear father. There is nothing to prevent your living another fifteen or twenty years.”“Like this?” replied Elthorne despairingly, as he glanced down at his helpless limbs.“Like this, sir. You are a wealthy man, and can soften the hardships of your state in a hundred ways.”“Ah, well, we shall see, my boy, we shall see.”“Have you been reading?” asked Neil, glancing at a book on the little table by the side of the couch.“No. Nurse Elisia was reading to me when Maria brought her a message.”“Shall I go on reading where she left off?” said Neil, taking up the book and feeling a kind of pleasure in holding the little volume so lately in her hands.“No, no, I am tired of poetry and history. What are you writing now?”“Only some notes on a case that is taking up a good deal of attention just now.”“Ah!” said the elder man eagerly. “I should like to hear that.”“It is very dry and tedious, I’m afraid; only of interest to the professional man.”“But I take an interest in such things now. Will you read it to me, Neil?”“Of course, sir. I’ll fetch it,” said Neil, smiling at his father’s eagerness about matters that he would be unable to comprehend.“That’s right, my boy. But you are sure that you will not think it a trouble?”“My dear father,” cried Neil, taking his hand, “I wish you would try to understand me better. I’m afraid you do not.”“Yes, yes, my boy. I do understand you, indeed I do. Don’t think because I have lain here, querulous and complaining, that I have been blind as well as helpless. God bless you, my boy, for all you have done!”“Only my duty, sir,” said Neil gravely, “and I only wish that—”He stopped short.“Yes—yes—what?” said his father eagerly.“That I could have followed out your wishes in another way.”He rose and went out of the room, leaving the helpless man gazing sadly after him.“The tyrant’s reign is over,” he said sadly, “and I must be resigned to all that comes.”Neil went hurriedly down to the library, to stop short as he reached the door, for there was the low murmur of a man’s voice within, speaking in appealing tones.“Poor Bel!” muttered Neil, as the recollection of all that had passed that day came back, and his promise—entirely forgotten—to keep Burwood with him, came like a flash.It was only a dozen steps to the dining room, and he hurried there to throw open the door, and, as he feared, find it empty.Angry with himself for his carelessness, though hardly at the moment seeing how he could have acted differently, he hurried back to the library, entered suddenly, and then stopped, as if paralysed by the pang which shot through him.For he had entered angrily, feeling ready to interrupt atête-à-tête, which Burwood must have contrived to obtain with his sister; and he found himself in presence of Alison, who was tightly holding Nurse Elisia’s hands, which she now seemed to wrest away, as she turned suddenly, looked wildly in Neil’s face, rushed by him, and hurried out of the room.“Well?” said Alison, as soon as he could recover from the startling effect of his brother’s interruption. “You might have knocked.”Neil made no reply, but stood there pressing his nails into the palms of his hands, as he fought hard to keep down the sensation of mad, jealous hatred gathering in his breast. Then, turning upon his heel, he staggered more than walked out of the room, across the hall and upstairs to his father’s chamber, but only to pause at the door.“I have no right—I have no right,” he said; and going down once more, forgetful of everything but his own agony of spirit, he took his hat from the stand, passed out through the hall door, and walked swiftly away into the black darkness of the night—onward at a rapidly increasing pace—onward—anywhere so that he might find rest. For the feeling was strong upon him that he and his brother must not meet while this mad sensation of passion was surging in his breast.

“Just going down to dinner?” said Ralph Elthorne, as his son came into his room the same evening. “That’s right, Neil. It looks like old times. It does me good. Wait a bit, and I’ll join you—as of old. Not quite,” he added, and his lip quivered—“not quite, my boy. But I can be carried down, and I shall not be an invalid.”

“No, sir,” said Neil, “no invalid, and you will soon forget your lameness.”

“Yes, yes, Neil, I shall try hard to do that. There, I will not keep you. I’m getting independent, you see. Ask nurse to come and sit with me as you go out.”

There was no need, for as Neil rose to go down, the nurse entered, book in hand, but drew back till the young surgeon had left the room to go thoughtfully downstairs, for he was forcing himself to think out what it would be best to do respecting his sister. He shrank from disturbing his father’s mind, now that he was so much better and free from disturbing elements. A subject like that might bring on a fresh attack, or at least retard his progress, and by the time Neil had reached the drawing room he had planned that he would speak firmly to Burwood; but he paused at the door, for he foresaw that such a proceeding would very likely drive the baronet to speak to his father, when the agitation would only be coming from another source.

“Bel must fight her own battle,” he said to himself. “A woman ought to be able to cool a lover’s courage. There the matter must wait. Like many more of the kind, give it time and it will settle itself.”

He entered the room, to find the objects of his thoughts all there and waiting his coming. Aunt Anne was radiant, and Burwood, who was chatting with Alison upon the everlasting theme of the horse, came and shook hands in the warmest manner.

“I can’t quarrel with him,” thought Neil. “It must be done by diplomacy or scheming.”

The dinner was announced directly after, and as Neil took in his sister, she pressed his arm.

“Please, please, dear, don’t let me be out of your sight all the evening,” she whispered.

“Impossible to do that, little one,” he said quietly. “You ladies will leave the room, you see. Suppose I keep Burwood in sight all the evening, will not that do as well?”

“Oh, yes,” she whispered eagerly. “Of course.” The dinner passed off wonderfully well, everyone seeming to be on thequi viveto keep off anything likely to trench upon the past and the troubles in the house. Aunt Anne did scarcely anything but beam; Sir Cheltnam related anecdotes; and Alison entered into conversation with his brother.

In due time the ladies rose, and the three men were left together over their wine, when the conversation went on as easily as if there had been no undercurrent of thought in either breast.

“It will be easy enough to keep them apart,” thought Neil, as he sipped his coffee. “When we go into the drawing room Bel shall sing some of the old ballads.”

A calm feeling of restfulness had come over Neil Elthorne, and it was as if his efforts at self-mastery were already bearing fruit, when after a quick glance had passed between Burwood and Alison, the latter rose, went to the window, and looked out, taking the opportunity to glance at his watch.

“Very dark,” he said. “Nasty drive back for you, Burwood. Want your lamps.”

“Oh, the mare would find her way home if it were ten times as dark,” said Burwood laughingly. “I think I could get safely back without reins. She always turns aside if we meet anything.”

“Nothing like a good, well-broken horse,” said Alison, looking furtively at his watch. “What do you say to joining them in the drawing room?”

“By all means,” cried Burwood, rising.

At that moment the butler entered, and went straight to Neil’s chair.

“Beg pardon, sir,” he whispered. “You are wanted in master’s room.”

Neil started to his feet, and turned to their guest. “You’ll excuse me for a few minutes?” he said hurriedly.

“Doctors need no excuse,” replied the baronet, and Neil hurried out and upstairs to his father’s room, expecting and dreading some fresh seizure, but, to his surprise, he found his senior lying back calmly on his couch, ready to salute him with a smile.

“I was afraid you were unwell,” cried Neil.

“No, my boy, no; I’ve been lying very comfortably. In less pain than usual.”

“But you are alone.”

“Yes. Nurse has just gone. You might have met her on the stairs. A message came for her—from Isabel, I suppose. I don’t mind. I told her not to hurry; I want to inure myself to being more alone.”

“And you wanted me, sir?”

“Yes, my boy,” said Elthorne. “Not particularly; but I knew that you had been seated over your wine for some time, and I thought you would not mind coming up to me for a little while. I get very dull sometimes, my dear boy. You do not mind?”

“No, sir, of course not.”

“Well, don’t look at me like that, Neil. It is the doctor examining me to see how I am. I want you to look like my son.”

Neil smiled.

“Ah, that’s better. Sit down close up here for a while. Burwood and Alison will have a cigar together, and not miss you.”

“Oh, no,” said Neil rather bitterly. “They do not care much for my society.”

“Why not?” cried his father sharply. “You are an able, cultured man—a clever surgeon.”

“But not a veterinary surgeon, father,” said Neil, smiling.

Ralph Elthorne nodded and smiled.

“No,” he said; “you are right. They do seem to think of nothing but horses. I was the same once, I’m afraid, my boy. Perhaps I shall think a good deal of horses still; but,” he continued sadly, “from a very different point of view to that of the past.”

“Never mind the past, father,” said Neil quickly. “Think of the future.”

“A poor future for me, Neil,” said Elthorne, shaking his head.

“By no means, my dear father. There is nothing to prevent your living another fifteen or twenty years.”

“Like this?” replied Elthorne despairingly, as he glanced down at his helpless limbs.

“Like this, sir. You are a wealthy man, and can soften the hardships of your state in a hundred ways.”

“Ah, well, we shall see, my boy, we shall see.”

“Have you been reading?” asked Neil, glancing at a book on the little table by the side of the couch.

“No. Nurse Elisia was reading to me when Maria brought her a message.”

“Shall I go on reading where she left off?” said Neil, taking up the book and feeling a kind of pleasure in holding the little volume so lately in her hands.

“No, no, I am tired of poetry and history. What are you writing now?”

“Only some notes on a case that is taking up a good deal of attention just now.”

“Ah!” said the elder man eagerly. “I should like to hear that.”

“It is very dry and tedious, I’m afraid; only of interest to the professional man.”

“But I take an interest in such things now. Will you read it to me, Neil?”

“Of course, sir. I’ll fetch it,” said Neil, smiling at his father’s eagerness about matters that he would be unable to comprehend.

“That’s right, my boy. But you are sure that you will not think it a trouble?”

“My dear father,” cried Neil, taking his hand, “I wish you would try to understand me better. I’m afraid you do not.”

“Yes, yes, my boy. I do understand you, indeed I do. Don’t think because I have lain here, querulous and complaining, that I have been blind as well as helpless. God bless you, my boy, for all you have done!”

“Only my duty, sir,” said Neil gravely, “and I only wish that—”

He stopped short.

“Yes—yes—what?” said his father eagerly.

“That I could have followed out your wishes in another way.”

He rose and went out of the room, leaving the helpless man gazing sadly after him.

“The tyrant’s reign is over,” he said sadly, “and I must be resigned to all that comes.”

Neil went hurriedly down to the library, to stop short as he reached the door, for there was the low murmur of a man’s voice within, speaking in appealing tones.

“Poor Bel!” muttered Neil, as the recollection of all that had passed that day came back, and his promise—entirely forgotten—to keep Burwood with him, came like a flash.

It was only a dozen steps to the dining room, and he hurried there to throw open the door, and, as he feared, find it empty.

Angry with himself for his carelessness, though hardly at the moment seeing how he could have acted differently, he hurried back to the library, entered suddenly, and then stopped, as if paralysed by the pang which shot through him.

For he had entered angrily, feeling ready to interrupt atête-à-tête, which Burwood must have contrived to obtain with his sister; and he found himself in presence of Alison, who was tightly holding Nurse Elisia’s hands, which she now seemed to wrest away, as she turned suddenly, looked wildly in Neil’s face, rushed by him, and hurried out of the room.

“Well?” said Alison, as soon as he could recover from the startling effect of his brother’s interruption. “You might have knocked.”

Neil made no reply, but stood there pressing his nails into the palms of his hands, as he fought hard to keep down the sensation of mad, jealous hatred gathering in his breast. Then, turning upon his heel, he staggered more than walked out of the room, across the hall and upstairs to his father’s chamber, but only to pause at the door.

“I have no right—I have no right,” he said; and going down once more, forgetful of everything but his own agony of spirit, he took his hat from the stand, passed out through the hall door, and walked swiftly away into the black darkness of the night—onward at a rapidly increasing pace—onward—anywhere so that he might find rest. For the feeling was strong upon him that he and his brother must not meet while this mad sensation of passion was surging in his breast.

Chapter Twenty Seven.Maria’s Deceptive Message.“Don’t read any more, my dear,” said Ralph Elthorne gently.Nurse Elisia looked up from her book and found that the patient was gazing at her.“Ah,” he said, with a faint smile on his pinched lips, “I said ‘my dear.’ Yes; not the way to address one’s nurse. It was to the sweet, gentle woman who has tended me with all the patient affection of a daughter.”“Oh, Mr Elthorne!” she cried, her eyes brimming with tears, “I have only tried to do my duty as your attendant.”“And you have done much more,” he said, as he still gazed at her thoughtfully. “You have set me thinking a great deal, my child—a great deal, and—no, you must not talk of leaving here again for a long time—a very long time.”She shook her head.“I have duties in London, sir, which call me away.”“And a duty here which keeps you,” he said, smiling. “You would not be so hard-hearted as to leave such a broken old fellow as I am—helpless.”“But you will not be so helpless soon, sir.”“Ah, well,” he replied, “there is time enough for that. We shall see—we shall see. Yes. Come in!” he cried querulously, for there was a tap at the door. “No, do; don’t come in. See who it is, my child. If it is Isabel, she may come. If it is my sister, tell her I cannot see her to-night, and that she must stay with her visitor.”“And it will make her more bitter against me,” thought Elisia, as she crossed the room, to find that it was Maria Bell.“Miss Isabel wants you in the lib’ry, nurse, in a quarter of an hour,” said the woman shortly; and she turned her back and went down.“What is it? what is it?” said Elthorne sharply.She told him.“Now what can she want that she could not have come and said to you herself? In a quarter of an hour, eh?” he continued, turning his eyes to the little carriage clock standing on the table. “Yes: they will be out of the dining room then, and the gentlemen will be sitting over their claret—as I used to be over my glass of port—as I used to be over my glass of port.”“Shall I read to you again for a while, sir?” said the nurse, to divert his thoughts from the past.“No, not now,” he said shortly. “Hah! How little we know of what is in store for us. Such a hale, strong man as I was, nurse. And now, a helpless baby—nothing more.”“Nothing more, sir? With mental powers such as yours?”“Hah! yes. A good reproof, but it is impossible not to lie here and repine. Mental powers such as mine! That was not meant as flattery, eh?”“I think you know I would not be so contemptible, sir,” she said.“Yes, I do know. Thank you. Another reproof. Why, nurse, my accident must have done me good. I should have resented reproofs once upon a time. But I’ve paid dearly for my lesson—very dearly indeed, and there is so much more to pay—all my life. Yes, all my life.”He closed his eyes and lay thinking for some time, not opening them till the quarter of an hour had nearly sped, when he looked sharply at the little clock.“Time you went down,” he said sharply. “Tell Isabel to come and see me a little sooner to-night, to sit a quarter of an hour before she goes to bed.”Elisia placed a glass close to her patient’s head; saw that the cord was within reach, in case he should want to ring; and then, conscious that he was attentively watching her every act with a satisfied look in his eyes, she passed out into the corridor, and then drew back slightly, for Aunt Anne had just passed the door, and was going on to her own chamber with her dress rustling loudly as it swung from side to side, and threatened to sweep some of the valuable ornaments from the side tables and brackets arranged here and here. Then, turning into her room, the door was closed and Elisia went on down.As she reached the hall, voices could be heard plainly in the dining room, where she judged that the gentlemen would still be sitting over their wine. She half stopped as one voice rose louder and sounded deep and hoarse, and for the moment it seemed as if, in dread lest the door should be opened and the occupants of the room appear, she was about to retreat upstairs; but, recovering her confidence, she passed on toward the library, the softly subdued notes of a piano reaching her ear from the drawing room, so that she was in no wise surprised, on turning the handle, to find that the library was lit up but vacant.The door swung to as she entered and glanced around the massively furnished room with its heavy bronze figures on the mantelpiece, each bearing a globe lamp which threw a subdued light around, while a broad, green shade spread a circle of light on the book covered table.Elisia took a few steps forward into the room, rested her hand upon the back of one of the heavy leather-covered chairs, and sighed as she stood thinking. For the place, with its calm silence and softened light, evoked thought, and the disposition to recall the days when life seemed opening out before her in one long vista of joy. At that time it was as if there were no such element in existence as sorrow; and yet of late hers had been permeated by incessant grief, and a despondency so great that there were hours when she lay sleepless, thinking that death when it came would be no trouble, only a great and welcome rest.She sighed again as she stood there crossing one hand over the other, and half resting on the great chair back. And now a smile faintly dawned upon her lip, as she began to think of her mission there, and of how long it would be before Isabel came. For it was pleasant to think of the fresh, innocent, young face, which had now grown to light up when they met, as its owner became more trusting and affectionate day by day.Then, as she thought that the girl would come as soon as the piece she played was finished, the tears rose to her eyes. For the melody she heard, like every air that has once made its way to the heart, evoked old memories of scenes years before, when she had played that old air. It had been a favourite of hers, and used to sound bright and joyous, but now it was full of sadness.“Why is it,” she thought, “that as time glides on, all these old airs grow more mournful in their tones?”The answer to this has never come, but the fact remains the same; and why should they not sound more sad to us who heard them in our youth, and love them better in our riper years when they are blended with memories, and softened by time, even if the hearing of the strain does produce a mistiness of vision and a disposition to sigh?Even as Elisia stood and listened, the tones of the piano seemed to float to her, and it was not until there was the faint sound of a closing door that she awoke to the fact that there was no other sound vibrating in the air, and that all was very still where she waited. But her heart beat more quickly, and her hand was raised to her breast in the fancy that she might stay its throbbing, for the step she heard was familiar—that hasty, decided pace, crossing the marble floor, as if bound on some important mission.Her lips parted and there was a hunted look in her eyes as she looked sharply round for a way of retreat.“He is coming here,” she said in a hurried whisper, and she glided toward a folding screen between her and one of the great book cases; but before she reached it the plainly heard steps ceased, and she knew that they were hushed on the thickly carpeted stairs.“Gone to his father’s room,” she said with a sigh of relief, and walking back to the chair, she rested one elbow upon it and let her face drop down upon her hand, her tears welling forth, and one glistening between her white fingers in the soft light.“No—no—no,” she said quietly. “It cannot be now. It is all a painful dream. All that is dead.”She tried to picture in her mind Isabel in the drawing room playing the last chords of the familiar old air, and then leaving the music stool to join her there, but another figure forced itself to the front, and she saw the dark form of Neil Elthorne as vividly as if she were watching him from close at hand. She could picture him passing along the corridor, then opening the chamber door, to see him more plainly as the soft light from the room shone out like a golden glow, and lit up his pale, thoughtful face. Then she seemed to see him close the door, cross the room, and go to his old seat beside the couch. And how familiar that attitude had become, as he bent forward to take and hold his father’s hand.She was mentally gazing on father and son when the scene changed, and once more there was the old man’s flushed and distorted face, with the veins starting and eyes wild with anger as he realised that his long cherished plans had been so rudely overset.The scene was very plain to her imagination. There, too, were the handsome, masculine looking sisters, whose eyes flashed at her scornfully, as she saw herself standing there, pale and shrinking, in her plain black dress, and then meeting Ralph Elthorne’s searching gaze. She remembered her effort to be firm and yet how she had trembled in dread of the man’s fierce anger. And without cause, for from that moment he had spoken differently to her, he had grown more kind and gentle; in fact, there had been times when she had fancied in her dread and shrinking that his words even sounded fatherly.It might be imagination, she knew, but his manner had ended in evoking thoughts which had grown stronger than ever that night, and over which she brooded now.Minute after minute passed unnoticed as she stood in the old library, and she gave quite a start, and her hand fell to her side, as a door opened again, and this time she heard voices.“Has Isabel forgotten me?” she said to herself, as steps crossed the marble floor again, another door was opened and closed, and she stood listening and expectant.Then there was a quick, light step, the library door was thrust open, and she turned eagerly to greet Isabel, but started back in alarm on finding herself face to face with Alison, who quickly shut the door and advanced toward her with a meaning smile upon his countenance, which she could see was slightly flushed by the wine of which he had partaken freely.A minute later Neil entered the room and seemed blinded by the passion which surged up in his labouring breast.

“Don’t read any more, my dear,” said Ralph Elthorne gently.

Nurse Elisia looked up from her book and found that the patient was gazing at her.

“Ah,” he said, with a faint smile on his pinched lips, “I said ‘my dear.’ Yes; not the way to address one’s nurse. It was to the sweet, gentle woman who has tended me with all the patient affection of a daughter.”

“Oh, Mr Elthorne!” she cried, her eyes brimming with tears, “I have only tried to do my duty as your attendant.”

“And you have done much more,” he said, as he still gazed at her thoughtfully. “You have set me thinking a great deal, my child—a great deal, and—no, you must not talk of leaving here again for a long time—a very long time.”

She shook her head.

“I have duties in London, sir, which call me away.”

“And a duty here which keeps you,” he said, smiling. “You would not be so hard-hearted as to leave such a broken old fellow as I am—helpless.”

“But you will not be so helpless soon, sir.”

“Ah, well,” he replied, “there is time enough for that. We shall see—we shall see. Yes. Come in!” he cried querulously, for there was a tap at the door. “No, do; don’t come in. See who it is, my child. If it is Isabel, she may come. If it is my sister, tell her I cannot see her to-night, and that she must stay with her visitor.”

“And it will make her more bitter against me,” thought Elisia, as she crossed the room, to find that it was Maria Bell.

“Miss Isabel wants you in the lib’ry, nurse, in a quarter of an hour,” said the woman shortly; and she turned her back and went down.

“What is it? what is it?” said Elthorne sharply.

She told him.

“Now what can she want that she could not have come and said to you herself? In a quarter of an hour, eh?” he continued, turning his eyes to the little carriage clock standing on the table. “Yes: they will be out of the dining room then, and the gentlemen will be sitting over their claret—as I used to be over my glass of port—as I used to be over my glass of port.”

“Shall I read to you again for a while, sir?” said the nurse, to divert his thoughts from the past.

“No, not now,” he said shortly. “Hah! How little we know of what is in store for us. Such a hale, strong man as I was, nurse. And now, a helpless baby—nothing more.”

“Nothing more, sir? With mental powers such as yours?”

“Hah! yes. A good reproof, but it is impossible not to lie here and repine. Mental powers such as mine! That was not meant as flattery, eh?”

“I think you know I would not be so contemptible, sir,” she said.

“Yes, I do know. Thank you. Another reproof. Why, nurse, my accident must have done me good. I should have resented reproofs once upon a time. But I’ve paid dearly for my lesson—very dearly indeed, and there is so much more to pay—all my life. Yes, all my life.”

He closed his eyes and lay thinking for some time, not opening them till the quarter of an hour had nearly sped, when he looked sharply at the little clock.

“Time you went down,” he said sharply. “Tell Isabel to come and see me a little sooner to-night, to sit a quarter of an hour before she goes to bed.”

Elisia placed a glass close to her patient’s head; saw that the cord was within reach, in case he should want to ring; and then, conscious that he was attentively watching her every act with a satisfied look in his eyes, she passed out into the corridor, and then drew back slightly, for Aunt Anne had just passed the door, and was going on to her own chamber with her dress rustling loudly as it swung from side to side, and threatened to sweep some of the valuable ornaments from the side tables and brackets arranged here and here. Then, turning into her room, the door was closed and Elisia went on down.

As she reached the hall, voices could be heard plainly in the dining room, where she judged that the gentlemen would still be sitting over their wine. She half stopped as one voice rose louder and sounded deep and hoarse, and for the moment it seemed as if, in dread lest the door should be opened and the occupants of the room appear, she was about to retreat upstairs; but, recovering her confidence, she passed on toward the library, the softly subdued notes of a piano reaching her ear from the drawing room, so that she was in no wise surprised, on turning the handle, to find that the library was lit up but vacant.

The door swung to as she entered and glanced around the massively furnished room with its heavy bronze figures on the mantelpiece, each bearing a globe lamp which threw a subdued light around, while a broad, green shade spread a circle of light on the book covered table.

Elisia took a few steps forward into the room, rested her hand upon the back of one of the heavy leather-covered chairs, and sighed as she stood thinking. For the place, with its calm silence and softened light, evoked thought, and the disposition to recall the days when life seemed opening out before her in one long vista of joy. At that time it was as if there were no such element in existence as sorrow; and yet of late hers had been permeated by incessant grief, and a despondency so great that there were hours when she lay sleepless, thinking that death when it came would be no trouble, only a great and welcome rest.

She sighed again as she stood there crossing one hand over the other, and half resting on the great chair back. And now a smile faintly dawned upon her lip, as she began to think of her mission there, and of how long it would be before Isabel came. For it was pleasant to think of the fresh, innocent, young face, which had now grown to light up when they met, as its owner became more trusting and affectionate day by day.

Then, as she thought that the girl would come as soon as the piece she played was finished, the tears rose to her eyes. For the melody she heard, like every air that has once made its way to the heart, evoked old memories of scenes years before, when she had played that old air. It had been a favourite of hers, and used to sound bright and joyous, but now it was full of sadness.

“Why is it,” she thought, “that as time glides on, all these old airs grow more mournful in their tones?”

The answer to this has never come, but the fact remains the same; and why should they not sound more sad to us who heard them in our youth, and love them better in our riper years when they are blended with memories, and softened by time, even if the hearing of the strain does produce a mistiness of vision and a disposition to sigh?

Even as Elisia stood and listened, the tones of the piano seemed to float to her, and it was not until there was the faint sound of a closing door that she awoke to the fact that there was no other sound vibrating in the air, and that all was very still where she waited. But her heart beat more quickly, and her hand was raised to her breast in the fancy that she might stay its throbbing, for the step she heard was familiar—that hasty, decided pace, crossing the marble floor, as if bound on some important mission.

Her lips parted and there was a hunted look in her eyes as she looked sharply round for a way of retreat.

“He is coming here,” she said in a hurried whisper, and she glided toward a folding screen between her and one of the great book cases; but before she reached it the plainly heard steps ceased, and she knew that they were hushed on the thickly carpeted stairs.

“Gone to his father’s room,” she said with a sigh of relief, and walking back to the chair, she rested one elbow upon it and let her face drop down upon her hand, her tears welling forth, and one glistening between her white fingers in the soft light.

“No—no—no,” she said quietly. “It cannot be now. It is all a painful dream. All that is dead.”

She tried to picture in her mind Isabel in the drawing room playing the last chords of the familiar old air, and then leaving the music stool to join her there, but another figure forced itself to the front, and she saw the dark form of Neil Elthorne as vividly as if she were watching him from close at hand. She could picture him passing along the corridor, then opening the chamber door, to see him more plainly as the soft light from the room shone out like a golden glow, and lit up his pale, thoughtful face. Then she seemed to see him close the door, cross the room, and go to his old seat beside the couch. And how familiar that attitude had become, as he bent forward to take and hold his father’s hand.

She was mentally gazing on father and son when the scene changed, and once more there was the old man’s flushed and distorted face, with the veins starting and eyes wild with anger as he realised that his long cherished plans had been so rudely overset.

The scene was very plain to her imagination. There, too, were the handsome, masculine looking sisters, whose eyes flashed at her scornfully, as she saw herself standing there, pale and shrinking, in her plain black dress, and then meeting Ralph Elthorne’s searching gaze. She remembered her effort to be firm and yet how she had trembled in dread of the man’s fierce anger. And without cause, for from that moment he had spoken differently to her, he had grown more kind and gentle; in fact, there had been times when she had fancied in her dread and shrinking that his words even sounded fatherly.

It might be imagination, she knew, but his manner had ended in evoking thoughts which had grown stronger than ever that night, and over which she brooded now.

Minute after minute passed unnoticed as she stood in the old library, and she gave quite a start, and her hand fell to her side, as a door opened again, and this time she heard voices.

“Has Isabel forgotten me?” she said to herself, as steps crossed the marble floor again, another door was opened and closed, and she stood listening and expectant.

Then there was a quick, light step, the library door was thrust open, and she turned eagerly to greet Isabel, but started back in alarm on finding herself face to face with Alison, who quickly shut the door and advanced toward her with a meaning smile upon his countenance, which she could see was slightly flushed by the wine of which he had partaken freely.

A minute later Neil entered the room and seemed blinded by the passion which surged up in his labouring breast.

Chapter Twenty Eight.Sir Cheltnam Exposed.“What will he do? what will he say?” panted Elisia, as she hurried across the hall to reach the stairs. Her customary calmness was gone, and one moment she was wild with excitement, the next her heart was sinking in despair.“I’ll run back,” she thought, as she stopped short. “It was cowardly to go and leave him.”She took a couple of steps back, for a great dread had assailed her; those two brothers were face to face! What might not happen! and she the cause. She was half way back to the library, when a hand was laid upon the door, and in her dread she stopped short, turned, and was making for the stairs, but, feeling that she would be in full view of whoever left the room, she ran swiftly over the marble floor to the largeportièreat the end of the hall, and entered the great conservatory which ran all along that side of the house, library and drawing room opening into it as well.With her heart beating heavily, she had hardly found refuge among the broad leaves of the great exotics when she heard a quick step crossing the hall, and she shrank farther away.“Neil,” she said to herself; “and he is coming to drag me back to face his brother.”But even as she thought thus the sound ceased, and she knew that he had once more ascended the stairs. She stood there in the semi-darkness, hardly daring to breathe, till she felt that Neil must have reached his room; and then, with a feeling of utter desolation oppressing her,—a misery greater than she could bear,—she turned toward the hall, dimly conscious that someone was speaking in the drawing room, for the voice came through the open window at the far end of the conservatory.But it was nothing to her; only someone to avoid. Neil had surprised her with his brother—that was all her brain would bear; and, trying to think what she should do next, she had nearly reached the hall when she stopped short, with her cheeks flushing, and a sensation of anger which mastered everything else rising in her breast.There was no hesitation now in her movements. She walked sharply along the tiled floor, with the great-leaved plants brushing her arm, straight for the open doorway through which a subdued light showed the form of leaf and spray, and stepped at once into the dimly lighted drawing room, where a similar scene was being enacted to that in which she had so lately taken part.Here seemed to her to be the reason why Isabel had not kept her appointment, for, as she entered, Sir Cheltnam was standing half way down the room, his back toward her, and holding Isabel’s hands tightly in his, as, half banteringly, he put aside as folly every appeal and protest uttered by the now frightened girl.Isabel was striving vainly to release herself when she caught sight of the dark figure of the nurse, framed, as it were, in the conservatory doorway, and, uttering a cry of joy, she now wrenched her hands away from their visitor’s grasp, and before Burwood could check her she ran to Elisia’s side, clung to her, and panted excitedly:“Nurse—nurse—don’t leave me—pray, pray stay here!”“My poor child!” whispered Elisia, as she bent over the hysterical girl, and drew her tightly to her breast. “Hush! hush! for everyone’s sake try and master it. You are quite safe now.”“Yes—yes; quite safe now,” sobbed Isabel. “Don’t—don’t leave me here.”Sir Cheltnam, meanwhile, had stood in the middle of the room speechless with fury, for the interruption had been completely unforeseen. It was understood with Aunt Anne and Alison that he was to win from Isabel her consent to an early marriage that very night, and those who had promised their help had carefully arranged that thetête-à-têteshould have no one to mar its course.But the little bit of grit had, as is often the case, made its way into the mechanism, and the wheels had so suddenly come to a stoppage that the baronet was for the moment utterly confounded.It was only a few minutes before that, in the dining room, Alison had for about the fifth time consulted his watch, and then said quickly:“There, old chap, it’s all right now. She will be alone in the drawing room, so off with you, and say all you like.”“You think the old man will not make any objection—on account of his illness, you know?”“Not an objection. Never fear. There, quick; be off.”“What a hurry you are in!”“Well, you wished me to be,” said Alison sharply, and hardly able to keep from referring again to his watch.“Humph! Yes,” said the baronet; and they parted, each to follow out his plans, which seemed too well made to fail.“Take me to my room now,” whispered Isabel, as she clung tightly to her protectress, whose face was bent down so that her lips rested upon the girl’s wavy hair. “I will not stay here to be insulted,” she cried, as indignation was beginning fast to take the place of fear. “It is shameful. It is too cruel of Aunt Anne. She left me on purpose.”“Hush! hush, my child! be calm,” whispered Elisia, in whom a strange sense of elation was growing fast, as she felt the ever tightening clutch of the agitated girl. “There is no need to let others know. You are quite safe now.”“Yes, I know,” cried Isabel hysterically; “but where is Neil? where is my brother? He promised so faithfully to stay—to keep by me—to—oh, nurse, nurse,” she sobbed, as she gave way now to a fit of weeping that was almost childlike in its intensity, “pray, pray go with me to my room.”“Directly, dear; but try and be calm first. Think of the servants. For your father’s sake.”“Yes; I’m better now,” sighed Isabel with childlike simplicity, as she turned to dart a defiant look at Sir Cheltnam, who had been fuming with rage and surprise at the interruption, and who had made several attempts to gain a hearing, but had been till now completely ignored.As he saw Isabel’s eyes directed toward him at last, he took a step or two forward.“You foolish girl,” he said, with a forced laugh; “how can you be so absurd? Here,” he continued; “you are the nurse, I suppose—Mr Elthorne’s attendant?”A thrill ran through Elisia’s frame, and she started slightly, but she did not change her position—keeping her lips pressed on the girl’s soft hair, as she held her tightly to her breast.“Do you hear, woman?” cried Sir Cheltnam. “I am speaking to you. How dare you force your way into the drawing room like this?”She made no answer, but drew a long, deep breath, while Isabel clung more tightly.“Don’t—don’t take any notice,” she whispered. “How dare he! He has no right to speak to you. Don’t—don’t leave me.”A gentle pressure of the arm about her made Isabel utter a sigh of relief.“Isabel!” cried Sir Cheltnam. “How can you be so foolish, dear? Send this woman away. It is too absurd.”“Come,” said Elisia in a low voice; and then, as if to herself, “I cannot speak to him. Come, my dear; I will take you to your room.”“Ridiculous!” cried Sir Cheltnam angrily, for he caught her last words. “Isabel, my child, how can you be so silly? For Heaven’s sake, have some self-respect—some for me, your affianced husband.”He spoke in a low, earnest tone, now, and tried to take one of her hands.“Do you hear me?” he continued, with a touch of anger in his tones. “Can you not see that this woman is bound to go and repeat all she has seen? You are behaving like a little schoolgirl. This will be the talk of the servants’ hall. For your father’s sake, do try and be sensible. There, my good woman, you see that you are not wanted here; have the goodness to go.”To his rage and astonishment, Elisia averted her face more from him, and, utterly ignoring his presence, led Isabel toward the door; but, before they could reach it, he interposed, and placed his back against the panel.“Stop!” he cried angrily. “Isabel, my child, this wretched scene must come to an end. You are making us both too ridiculous. Leave this woman, and order her to go. Tell her it was all a wretched mistake, and that she had no business to intrude.”“No, no,” said Isabel huskily. “It is not a mistake.” Then, in a whisper to Elisia, “Pray, pray don’t listen to what he says. Why is not Neil here?”“Am I to ring for the servants, and have you turned out of the room?” cried Sir Cheltnam furiously. “Do you hear me? Miss Elthorne does not require your presence, and I order you to go.”No answer, but the face kept resolutely averted.“You are a stranger here, and I suppose Miss Elthorne’s cry startled you. I now tell you that your interference was uncalled for. I am Sir Cheltnam Burwood, and this lady is to be my wife.”“No, no!” cried Isabel excitedly. “Never, never! This way, nurse. Come through the conservatory.” She was full of eagerness now, and seemed to have cast off her girlish timidity as she tried to drag her protectress toward the open door. But Sir Cheltnam was too quick for her.“You foolish girl!” he cried, as he caught her by the wrist, and, by a quick, sharp movement, literally plucked her away from Elisia, and stood between them, pointing to the door.“There has been enough of this,” he cried angrily. “Now, my good woman, go!”Up to this moment Elisia had not looked him full in the face, but had kept her eyes bent down as at first, and turned away from where the shaded lamps shed their subdued light.Sir Cheltnam had attributed this to fear, and, blaming himself for want of decision, he now stood in a commanding attitude, expecting that he would be obeyed; but to his astonishment, he saw the nurse slowly raise her head, draw herself up proudly, and step toward him. As her face came now into the light, and he met a pair of flashing, indignant eyes fixed on his, he started violently and loosed his grasp on Isabel’s wrists, leaving her free to take refuge once more half behind Elisia, as she clung to her arm. “You!” he said hoarsely, as he took a step back. “You ordermeto go, Cheltnam Burwood!” said Elisia sternly. “You, whose presence in this room is an outrage—an insult to an English lady.”“You—here?” he faltered.“Yes—I—here,” she said coldly, as she passed her arm round Isabel and drew her close—“here to protect this poor motherless girl from such a man as you. Mr Elthorne must have been ignorant of your true character when he admitted you to his house, doubly ignorant when he allowed you to address his child.”There was a look of tenderness that was almost maternal in her eye as she looked down at Isabel, whose eyes sought hers wonderingly.Sir Cheltnam made a desperate effort to recover himself, but it was so feeble that Elisia laughed contemptuously.“Who is this woman, Isabel, that she dares—”But he did not finish his sentence. The mocking laugh froze the words on his lips, and he gave an impatient stamp upon the floor as Elisia went on, with every word she uttered stinging him by its contemptuous tone.“Mr Elthorne lies upstairs perfectly helpless, but at a word from me he has those who will obey his wishes, and Sir Cheltnam Burwood will be thrust from the door with the disgrace that is his due. Go, sir, before I am compelled to speak and tell Mr Elthorne the full story of your life—of your conduct toward the trusting girl who was to have been your wife. You have no doubt as to Mr Elthorne’s judgment, and what his decision will be.”Burwood stood glaring at her, with teeth and hands clenched, as if utterly cowed by the eyes which gazed firmly into his. He tried to speak again and again, and his lips parted, but no words came. There were moments when the whole scene appeared to him like a nightmare which, after a time, he would shake off, for it was impossible, he told himself, that he could be awake, face to face with her. Her presence was a myth; she could not, he said to himself, be present there in Ralph Elthorne’s house, and in the guise of a hospital nurse. It was all a dream. In his excitement since dinner, as he sat with Alison, waiting for the time when he should find Isabel alone, he must have unknowingly drunk too much wine, and this was the result—this waking dream—this strange mental aberration which would soon pass away.And as these thoughts crowded through his disordered brain, he threw back and shook his head, as if expecting that this act would clear away the mist which troubled him. But no: there she stood—that woman whom he had sworn to love—fixing his eyes, so that he could not tear them away; and, after vainly and silently fighting for the mastery, striving to beat down that firm, accusing gaze, he muttered an imprecation, turned hastily, and seized the handle of the door. But he snatched his hand away instantly and strove to make another effort as he swung sharply round.“Isabel,” he cried, “I swear to you—pray listen to me—I vow and declare, dear—this woman—this—”He faltered in his speech, his words trailed off, becoming more and more disconnected, and he stopped short, for the stern, fixed gaze never left him, the beautiful eyes literally mastered him, and after trying to coin some excuse, utter some words which should bring Isabel to his side, he ground his teeth savagely, turned, and literally rushed from the room.For a time no sound was heard in the drawing room where Elisia stood, clasping Isabel more tightly than ever to her breast; and, as they listened, they heard the hurried steps of Sir Cheltnam crossing the hall, then the great door closed heavily, and the hurried steps were heard again upon the gravel of the drive, growing more and more faint, till finally they died away, and Isabel uttered a low, catching sigh of relief.“Oh, nurse—Nurse Elisia!” cried the girl at last, as she looked wonderingly in the proud, stern face whose gaze was still directed at the closed door, “what can I do to thank you?”“Thank me with your love.”“Oh, I will, I will; but,” she continued timidly, as if hardly daring to ask—“but you knew him—you knew this man—before—you came here?”“Yes, dear, when I was a girl like you, as trusting and as loving. Before I became old and hard and stern as I am now. I met him at a famous party; we were introduced, and, in my girlish folly, I thought him all that was chivalrous and noble. He told me he loved me as time went on, and I believed him. We became engaged. The time drew near when he was to have been my husband.”“To have been your husband?” said Isabel, looking at the speaker wonderingly.“Yes; to have been my husband, dear, and the wedding gifts came fast. Life seemed so joyous to me then; and in another week I should have been his wife, but I was stayed from that—in time.”“From that? In time?”“Yes. I say in my blindness I thought him everything that was noble and good, and when the truth was brought home to me I would not believe it then. I defended him against all who attacked him, for I said, ‘It is impossible—he loves me too well, and I love him. No man could be so base.’”“And you found out—was it true—true?”“You saw him leave us, my child. He wrecked my life. Would he have gone like that if my words had not been just?”“Nurse Elisia!”“No; don’t call me that again.”“Not call you that? What does it all mean?”“I cannot tell you now, dear. Think of me always as a very dear friend. I am worthy to be called so, and some day I will tell you all my past.”“But—”“No, no; not now. Let us go up to your room.”“Yes, before Aunt comes. I cannot meet her now.”“No; and to-morrow, if your father can bear it, go to him and tell him what took place to-night—all that I have said. He can easily find out the truth, and he will not allow Sir Cheltnam Burwood to speak to you again.”“You think so?” cried the girl excitedly.“I know it, dear. Your father has been hard and obstinate of will, but he loves his children as an English gentleman should; and, as a man of honour, when he knows all, he will never sanction that man’s presence here.”“And—when I tell him, you will speak? It is so terrible. He will want to know all the past.”“No: I cannot be Sir Cheltnam Burwood’s accuser, even now.”“You will not speak?”“My mission is at an end, dear. It is impossible for me to stay. I shall not be here.”Isabel looked up wonderingly, and then raised her face to kiss Elisia’s lips as she slowly clasped her neck.The next moment she was passionately clasped to the nurse’s heart.“God bless you, darling! Good-bye!” was sobbed in Isabel’s ear, and the next minute she was alone.

“What will he do? what will he say?” panted Elisia, as she hurried across the hall to reach the stairs. Her customary calmness was gone, and one moment she was wild with excitement, the next her heart was sinking in despair.

“I’ll run back,” she thought, as she stopped short. “It was cowardly to go and leave him.”

She took a couple of steps back, for a great dread had assailed her; those two brothers were face to face! What might not happen! and she the cause. She was half way back to the library, when a hand was laid upon the door, and in her dread she stopped short, turned, and was making for the stairs, but, feeling that she would be in full view of whoever left the room, she ran swiftly over the marble floor to the largeportièreat the end of the hall, and entered the great conservatory which ran all along that side of the house, library and drawing room opening into it as well.

With her heart beating heavily, she had hardly found refuge among the broad leaves of the great exotics when she heard a quick step crossing the hall, and she shrank farther away.

“Neil,” she said to herself; “and he is coming to drag me back to face his brother.”

But even as she thought thus the sound ceased, and she knew that he had once more ascended the stairs. She stood there in the semi-darkness, hardly daring to breathe, till she felt that Neil must have reached his room; and then, with a feeling of utter desolation oppressing her,—a misery greater than she could bear,—she turned toward the hall, dimly conscious that someone was speaking in the drawing room, for the voice came through the open window at the far end of the conservatory.

But it was nothing to her; only someone to avoid. Neil had surprised her with his brother—that was all her brain would bear; and, trying to think what she should do next, she had nearly reached the hall when she stopped short, with her cheeks flushing, and a sensation of anger which mastered everything else rising in her breast.

There was no hesitation now in her movements. She walked sharply along the tiled floor, with the great-leaved plants brushing her arm, straight for the open doorway through which a subdued light showed the form of leaf and spray, and stepped at once into the dimly lighted drawing room, where a similar scene was being enacted to that in which she had so lately taken part.

Here seemed to her to be the reason why Isabel had not kept her appointment, for, as she entered, Sir Cheltnam was standing half way down the room, his back toward her, and holding Isabel’s hands tightly in his, as, half banteringly, he put aside as folly every appeal and protest uttered by the now frightened girl.

Isabel was striving vainly to release herself when she caught sight of the dark figure of the nurse, framed, as it were, in the conservatory doorway, and, uttering a cry of joy, she now wrenched her hands away from their visitor’s grasp, and before Burwood could check her she ran to Elisia’s side, clung to her, and panted excitedly:

“Nurse—nurse—don’t leave me—pray, pray stay here!”

“My poor child!” whispered Elisia, as she bent over the hysterical girl, and drew her tightly to her breast. “Hush! hush! for everyone’s sake try and master it. You are quite safe now.”

“Yes—yes; quite safe now,” sobbed Isabel. “Don’t—don’t leave me here.”

Sir Cheltnam, meanwhile, had stood in the middle of the room speechless with fury, for the interruption had been completely unforeseen. It was understood with Aunt Anne and Alison that he was to win from Isabel her consent to an early marriage that very night, and those who had promised their help had carefully arranged that thetête-à-têteshould have no one to mar its course.

But the little bit of grit had, as is often the case, made its way into the mechanism, and the wheels had so suddenly come to a stoppage that the baronet was for the moment utterly confounded.

It was only a few minutes before that, in the dining room, Alison had for about the fifth time consulted his watch, and then said quickly:

“There, old chap, it’s all right now. She will be alone in the drawing room, so off with you, and say all you like.”

“You think the old man will not make any objection—on account of his illness, you know?”

“Not an objection. Never fear. There, quick; be off.”

“What a hurry you are in!”

“Well, you wished me to be,” said Alison sharply, and hardly able to keep from referring again to his watch.

“Humph! Yes,” said the baronet; and they parted, each to follow out his plans, which seemed too well made to fail.

“Take me to my room now,” whispered Isabel, as she clung tightly to her protectress, whose face was bent down so that her lips rested upon the girl’s wavy hair. “I will not stay here to be insulted,” she cried, as indignation was beginning fast to take the place of fear. “It is shameful. It is too cruel of Aunt Anne. She left me on purpose.”

“Hush! hush, my child! be calm,” whispered Elisia, in whom a strange sense of elation was growing fast, as she felt the ever tightening clutch of the agitated girl. “There is no need to let others know. You are quite safe now.”

“Yes, I know,” cried Isabel hysterically; “but where is Neil? where is my brother? He promised so faithfully to stay—to keep by me—to—oh, nurse, nurse,” she sobbed, as she gave way now to a fit of weeping that was almost childlike in its intensity, “pray, pray go with me to my room.”

“Directly, dear; but try and be calm first. Think of the servants. For your father’s sake.”

“Yes; I’m better now,” sighed Isabel with childlike simplicity, as she turned to dart a defiant look at Sir Cheltnam, who had been fuming with rage and surprise at the interruption, and who had made several attempts to gain a hearing, but had been till now completely ignored.

As he saw Isabel’s eyes directed toward him at last, he took a step or two forward.

“You foolish girl,” he said, with a forced laugh; “how can you be so absurd? Here,” he continued; “you are the nurse, I suppose—Mr Elthorne’s attendant?”

A thrill ran through Elisia’s frame, and she started slightly, but she did not change her position—keeping her lips pressed on the girl’s soft hair, as she held her tightly to her breast.

“Do you hear, woman?” cried Sir Cheltnam. “I am speaking to you. How dare you force your way into the drawing room like this?”

She made no answer, but drew a long, deep breath, while Isabel clung more tightly.

“Don’t—don’t take any notice,” she whispered. “How dare he! He has no right to speak to you. Don’t—don’t leave me.”

A gentle pressure of the arm about her made Isabel utter a sigh of relief.

“Isabel!” cried Sir Cheltnam. “How can you be so foolish, dear? Send this woman away. It is too absurd.”

“Come,” said Elisia in a low voice; and then, as if to herself, “I cannot speak to him. Come, my dear; I will take you to your room.”

“Ridiculous!” cried Sir Cheltnam angrily, for he caught her last words. “Isabel, my child, how can you be so silly? For Heaven’s sake, have some self-respect—some for me, your affianced husband.”

He spoke in a low, earnest tone, now, and tried to take one of her hands.

“Do you hear me?” he continued, with a touch of anger in his tones. “Can you not see that this woman is bound to go and repeat all she has seen? You are behaving like a little schoolgirl. This will be the talk of the servants’ hall. For your father’s sake, do try and be sensible. There, my good woman, you see that you are not wanted here; have the goodness to go.”

To his rage and astonishment, Elisia averted her face more from him, and, utterly ignoring his presence, led Isabel toward the door; but, before they could reach it, he interposed, and placed his back against the panel.

“Stop!” he cried angrily. “Isabel, my child, this wretched scene must come to an end. You are making us both too ridiculous. Leave this woman, and order her to go. Tell her it was all a wretched mistake, and that she had no business to intrude.”

“No, no,” said Isabel huskily. “It is not a mistake.” Then, in a whisper to Elisia, “Pray, pray don’t listen to what he says. Why is not Neil here?”

“Am I to ring for the servants, and have you turned out of the room?” cried Sir Cheltnam furiously. “Do you hear me? Miss Elthorne does not require your presence, and I order you to go.”

No answer, but the face kept resolutely averted.

“You are a stranger here, and I suppose Miss Elthorne’s cry startled you. I now tell you that your interference was uncalled for. I am Sir Cheltnam Burwood, and this lady is to be my wife.”

“No, no!” cried Isabel excitedly. “Never, never! This way, nurse. Come through the conservatory.” She was full of eagerness now, and seemed to have cast off her girlish timidity as she tried to drag her protectress toward the open door. But Sir Cheltnam was too quick for her.

“You foolish girl!” he cried, as he caught her by the wrist, and, by a quick, sharp movement, literally plucked her away from Elisia, and stood between them, pointing to the door.

“There has been enough of this,” he cried angrily. “Now, my good woman, go!”

Up to this moment Elisia had not looked him full in the face, but had kept her eyes bent down as at first, and turned away from where the shaded lamps shed their subdued light.

Sir Cheltnam had attributed this to fear, and, blaming himself for want of decision, he now stood in a commanding attitude, expecting that he would be obeyed; but to his astonishment, he saw the nurse slowly raise her head, draw herself up proudly, and step toward him. As her face came now into the light, and he met a pair of flashing, indignant eyes fixed on his, he started violently and loosed his grasp on Isabel’s wrists, leaving her free to take refuge once more half behind Elisia, as she clung to her arm. “You!” he said hoarsely, as he took a step back. “You ordermeto go, Cheltnam Burwood!” said Elisia sternly. “You, whose presence in this room is an outrage—an insult to an English lady.”

“You—here?” he faltered.

“Yes—I—here,” she said coldly, as she passed her arm round Isabel and drew her close—“here to protect this poor motherless girl from such a man as you. Mr Elthorne must have been ignorant of your true character when he admitted you to his house, doubly ignorant when he allowed you to address his child.”

There was a look of tenderness that was almost maternal in her eye as she looked down at Isabel, whose eyes sought hers wonderingly.

Sir Cheltnam made a desperate effort to recover himself, but it was so feeble that Elisia laughed contemptuously.

“Who is this woman, Isabel, that she dares—”

But he did not finish his sentence. The mocking laugh froze the words on his lips, and he gave an impatient stamp upon the floor as Elisia went on, with every word she uttered stinging him by its contemptuous tone.

“Mr Elthorne lies upstairs perfectly helpless, but at a word from me he has those who will obey his wishes, and Sir Cheltnam Burwood will be thrust from the door with the disgrace that is his due. Go, sir, before I am compelled to speak and tell Mr Elthorne the full story of your life—of your conduct toward the trusting girl who was to have been your wife. You have no doubt as to Mr Elthorne’s judgment, and what his decision will be.”

Burwood stood glaring at her, with teeth and hands clenched, as if utterly cowed by the eyes which gazed firmly into his. He tried to speak again and again, and his lips parted, but no words came. There were moments when the whole scene appeared to him like a nightmare which, after a time, he would shake off, for it was impossible, he told himself, that he could be awake, face to face with her. Her presence was a myth; she could not, he said to himself, be present there in Ralph Elthorne’s house, and in the guise of a hospital nurse. It was all a dream. In his excitement since dinner, as he sat with Alison, waiting for the time when he should find Isabel alone, he must have unknowingly drunk too much wine, and this was the result—this waking dream—this strange mental aberration which would soon pass away.

And as these thoughts crowded through his disordered brain, he threw back and shook his head, as if expecting that this act would clear away the mist which troubled him. But no: there she stood—that woman whom he had sworn to love—fixing his eyes, so that he could not tear them away; and, after vainly and silently fighting for the mastery, striving to beat down that firm, accusing gaze, he muttered an imprecation, turned hastily, and seized the handle of the door. But he snatched his hand away instantly and strove to make another effort as he swung sharply round.

“Isabel,” he cried, “I swear to you—pray listen to me—I vow and declare, dear—this woman—this—”

He faltered in his speech, his words trailed off, becoming more and more disconnected, and he stopped short, for the stern, fixed gaze never left him, the beautiful eyes literally mastered him, and after trying to coin some excuse, utter some words which should bring Isabel to his side, he ground his teeth savagely, turned, and literally rushed from the room.

For a time no sound was heard in the drawing room where Elisia stood, clasping Isabel more tightly than ever to her breast; and, as they listened, they heard the hurried steps of Sir Cheltnam crossing the hall, then the great door closed heavily, and the hurried steps were heard again upon the gravel of the drive, growing more and more faint, till finally they died away, and Isabel uttered a low, catching sigh of relief.

“Oh, nurse—Nurse Elisia!” cried the girl at last, as she looked wonderingly in the proud, stern face whose gaze was still directed at the closed door, “what can I do to thank you?”

“Thank me with your love.”

“Oh, I will, I will; but,” she continued timidly, as if hardly daring to ask—“but you knew him—you knew this man—before—you came here?”

“Yes, dear, when I was a girl like you, as trusting and as loving. Before I became old and hard and stern as I am now. I met him at a famous party; we were introduced, and, in my girlish folly, I thought him all that was chivalrous and noble. He told me he loved me as time went on, and I believed him. We became engaged. The time drew near when he was to have been my husband.”

“To have been your husband?” said Isabel, looking at the speaker wonderingly.

“Yes; to have been my husband, dear, and the wedding gifts came fast. Life seemed so joyous to me then; and in another week I should have been his wife, but I was stayed from that—in time.”

“From that? In time?”

“Yes. I say in my blindness I thought him everything that was noble and good, and when the truth was brought home to me I would not believe it then. I defended him against all who attacked him, for I said, ‘It is impossible—he loves me too well, and I love him. No man could be so base.’”

“And you found out—was it true—true?”

“You saw him leave us, my child. He wrecked my life. Would he have gone like that if my words had not been just?”

“Nurse Elisia!”

“No; don’t call me that again.”

“Not call you that? What does it all mean?”

“I cannot tell you now, dear. Think of me always as a very dear friend. I am worthy to be called so, and some day I will tell you all my past.”

“But—”

“No, no; not now. Let us go up to your room.”

“Yes, before Aunt comes. I cannot meet her now.”

“No; and to-morrow, if your father can bear it, go to him and tell him what took place to-night—all that I have said. He can easily find out the truth, and he will not allow Sir Cheltnam Burwood to speak to you again.”

“You think so?” cried the girl excitedly.

“I know it, dear. Your father has been hard and obstinate of will, but he loves his children as an English gentleman should; and, as a man of honour, when he knows all, he will never sanction that man’s presence here.”

“And—when I tell him, you will speak? It is so terrible. He will want to know all the past.”

“No: I cannot be Sir Cheltnam Burwood’s accuser, even now.”

“You will not speak?”

“My mission is at an end, dear. It is impossible for me to stay. I shall not be here.”

Isabel looked up wonderingly, and then raised her face to kiss Elisia’s lips as she slowly clasped her neck.

The next moment she was passionately clasped to the nurse’s heart.

“God bless you, darling! Good-bye!” was sobbed in Isabel’s ear, and the next minute she was alone.

Back to IndexNext