'Not particularly,' said Lance, without a particle of blush, even if he had had cheeks to blush with.
'What does that mean? Generally?'
'I never let myself go in for it. It was of no use.'
'Without letting yourself, then?'
'No, indeed!' returned Lance, almost petulantly; 'I never had the chance. How should I? It would have been something to care about.'
'This fellow does not half believe in me,' muttered the Doctor.
'Lance, do you remember consulting me before, when you thought your brains were addled by the sun-stroke?'
'They might as well have been, for any good I have done with them.'
'I thought you were one of the lights of Bexley.'
'A nice sort of light, and place too,' muttered he, with scant courtesy; but the Doctor caught an idea from the dull weary tone.
'It must be a dullish sort of life,' he threw out.
'Can't be helped,' in the same tone, almost conveying that it was merely his own affair. 'It was my own doing; and I've been like this before, and come round.'
'Your chest has been as sound as a bell before!' said the Doctor, with a little wilful misunderstanding.
'My chest,' with a sound of contempt.
'If not your chest, what?'
'My—myself. The Everlasting Everything,' said Lance, with a sort of impatience, covering his face with his hands, as though—had twenty years been subtracted from his age—he would have begun to cry.
'My dear boy,' said the Doctor, 'never mind me. Have it out. You don't like to complain to your brother, and you can't stand the life you are leading?'
'No use to saycan't,' said Lance, looking up, with his brow contracted; 'I must and I will, if I am to get well. I got over it before, and I shall again, I suppose, when my strength comes back. I made my bed, and must lie on it.'
'You mean that you chose your present business?' said the Doctor, trying another leading question.
'Ay. My brothers, as soon as they could, both offered me to go to the University and take Holy Orders! but, as Clem said, my hurdy-gurdy was a new toy, and I was as proud as Punch of it, and thought life offered nothing better; besides, I was always a dolt at classics, and thought they would split my head.'
'Are you ever reminded of that sun-stroke?'
'Less every year; but summer sunshine still makes me sick and giddy, and now and then extra work brings on a racking headache.'
'Take my word, your instinct was right. You could not have stood college work.'
'So I thought; but if I had scraped through, it would all have been over now.'
'Very likely,' was the dry answer.
'Well, it would have been worth dying for. I did not know what I was giving up.'
'In position?'
'Partly. I was a mere boy, and did not see the difference as I do now I have been with Will Harewood at Oxford, or when I come here. I keep out of it as much as I can, for it's just a mockery to go and mix with their friends here, and talk to a pretty girl, when I know she would not touch me with a pair of tongs at home.'
'More shame for her, then. Have you no society at home?
'Oh yes, plenty of nice fellows—professionals, I mean, and a dinner with the upper-crust now and then,' said Lance, laughing; 'not much in itself, but making me cock of the walk in our own line—trade, I mean. Nice girls there are, too—if one had seen nothing else—but then, they keep out of the way, and the others make themselves such fools. It was good fun once; but one gets sick of it, as one does of everything else.'
The vein of confidence had been found at last, and a mere demonstration of sympathy was enough to draw him on. 'I seem to have got to the end of my tether with everything—Pursuivant and all. Even the organ, I can do no more with it as it is; and it is no good crying out for more stops, for nobody cares. I have worked at the science as far as Miles or my own study can take me with my present means; and as it is, I know more than there is any power to use in my squirrel's cage, yet I can't go on into what there is beyond without giving my whole self to that and nothing else.'
'Is that out of the question?'
'It would bring in no return; and I am not a gentleman at large, nor am I sure of the right and expedience of it after all, nor whether the craving is to praise God or please myself. What I have seen behind the scenes at musical festivals—ay, and before them too—has made me doubt whether the most perfect music gets put to its full use.'
'Or ever can be here.'
'Ay. Practically, the anthem, chant, and hymn, have the direct devotional use; and that they may serve it, they must not too much go beyond the average musical capacity of your congregation.'
'Quite true. You have thought it all out,' said Dr. May. 'I wish more organists saw it so.'
'That's just what the St. Oswald's people say I don't! Well, you see what it is. My poor brother Edgar told me how it would be when I would not be a regular professional.'
'How what would be?'
'Why, that it would all get intolerably slow and flat, and that I should not be able to bear it. It is true enough, but I got over it once.'
'And as you say, you will do so again. The life you embraced upon principle may for a time be distasteful, but the restlessness under it can only be a trail. If I understand you right, Lance, your motto has been
"If I forget thee, O Jerusalem,Let my right hand forget her cunning."'
'Stay, stay, Dr. May. I don't regret that first decision—not at all—but the other—when they offered me to study for Holy Orders. I find I was like a soldier, who thought playing in the band was fighting in the ranks!' And Lance lay back in his chair, and shaded his face with his thin hand.
'And that has been preying on you all this time?'
'Perhaps. I am for ever coming on facts about crime, misery, ignorance—here, there, everywhere; and I know that with a little perseverance and resolution I might have been a priest, doing the only work worth doing—and behold, all I have done—has been—to gratify my passion—for music—and call it—dedicating—' He had begun to cough distressingly, and could not go on.
'If I had not known it was more spirits than lungs, I would not have let you go on,' said Dr. May, when Lance could hear again. 'Your present life is irksome, and you think you may have done wrong in not making an effort for the higher service?' Lance nodded assent. 'But remember, non-commissioned officers are as much needed as commissioned ones, and your Pursuivant is no mean weapon. It is really easier to find clergy than thorough-going lay-men in a position like yours; and from all I can gather, if you had tried to fight your way to Ordination, you would only have broken down, and done nothing. So be content, my boy. You have honestly put the higher duty foremost, and it will come right somehow.'
'Only—'
'Hush! If the thermometer gets above 50 degrees, take a turn in the cloister. Fresh air will do sleep and spirits the most good; only lay up entirely, and blister on any symptom of return of pain. But go about the house, and get back to family habits as you feel up to them, not troubling yourself as to what is to come after. I'm wrong! You areneverto ride outside a velocipede in the rain again. That pleasure is for ever forbidden! Somewhere about the end of the east winds you may go into questions of the future, though to me it seems that your post is one of rare value and influence. While—as for the "not impossible she," for whom it is worth while to go in in particular—depend upon it, she is waiting for you, and will fall in your way yet, even if, as Captain M'Intyre felicitously expresses it, your veins were filled with printers' ink! I should be ashamed to think it could be otherwise. Now rest. Don't speak.'
'Only one thing. My voice—will it come again?'
'Your voice? Of course. You spoke very well before I let you wear it out.'
'For speaking—oh yes—but singing?'
'Singing? Your throat was a good deal affected. Your voice—what kind? High tenor, did you say? Ah! those are very soon damaged; but one can't tell; don't go trying experiments on it too soon. Happily, it is not a vital question with you.' And as he saw the lip tremble, and a tear in the eye, 'Don't fancy I meant to prepare you for its loss; I dare say you would rather lose a good deal besides.'
'I believe I had.'
'Let it alone then, and guard your throat.' And with a few more counsels as to the treatment, Dr. May left him, and much consoled Felix and Cherry by assurances that the lungs were fast recovering, and that the spirits would probably follow them. And he then proceeded to give a message that he was to deliver contingently upon his patient's state—namely, the offer of a visit from Gertrude. His little granddaughter, Margaret Rivers, was at Dawlish, in so sad a state of suffering, that he and Ethel were to go and be with the parents; but Gertrude was not wanted, and would gladly bestow herself upon Geraldine.
'You'll take care of her,' he said, with the solicitude that fathers never lose for their youngest daughter. 'You have no young lords nor precipices to put in her way, I trust.'
'Lords, precipices, and thunder-storms, are equally improbable just now,' said Cherry; 'the tithe-dinner and school-treat are the most brilliant entertainments in prospect.'
'I shall tell her to mind you like an Ethel the second. By-the-by, Ethel says she never saw any one so good for the child. She was our spoilt one—at least, so Ethel says; though I'm an old fool of a father, and never saw it, and you are said to have put the womanliness into her.'
'I'm afraid I don't deserve the compliment. "I speks it growed."'
'To tell the truth, so do I,' laughed the Doctor.
Geraldine in her secret soul thought the development in maidenliness due to something besides age, for she knew what was the great bond between herself and Gertrude May; and bethinking herself of the entire extinction of all remaining sentiment for Alice Knevett, she could not but speculate on the possible results of the coming visit, and recollect that to shrink from them would have no such excuse as in the former case.
The announcement was not received with acclamation. Angela did not like Gertrude May. Both were high-spirited free-spoken unconventional girls, in whom something of womanly grace was as yet slow in coming; but Gertrude was more essentially a lady, though louder voiced and less naturally graceful; nor had she a particle of flirtation, but disliked young men, and was unpopular from irony and exclusiveness; whereas Angela was thoroughly the girl of the period in a highly stimulated state.
'Bother!' she exclaimed. 'She is nearly as bad as Miss May herself.'
'Indeed!' said Felix, in a much offended voice.
'As good then, and that's as bad!'
'Stuck-up, like all the Mays,' put in Bernard.
'They have been very good-natured to you,' said Felix again, in a tone of reproof.
'Soup tickets,' muttered Bernard.
'Take care, Bear,' said Cherry. 'Small minds repudiate gratitude.'
'Then Bernard's bound to entertain her,' said Lance.
'Catch me,' quoth Bernard.
'Perhaps she may alleviate his pangs for the faithless Countess,' suggested Angela.
'She!' The unutterable contempt of that monosyllable set all laughing, and he indignantly reiterated, 'She is stuck-up enough for ten countesses and duchesses to boot.'
'The monotony of Bear's ideas was always striking,' said Felix.
'He's got but one pole to run up, poor Bruin!' said Angela. 'Now, I could have found ever so many objections.'
'Only that it would be a queer way to welcome Cherry's guest,' said Clement, in reprobation.
'As if you liked her yourself, Clem!' exclaimed Angela, 'when Stoneborough is altogether in the rear, and not one of the whole crew belongs to the E.C.U.'
'Is it impossible to be courteous to any one out of the E.C.U.?' said Clement so gravely, that the laughter was renewed; but Cherry had the uncomfortable certainty that if there had been a show of hands it would have been on Bernard's side. Clement and the Mays had never harmonized; and Lance, who was always reluctant to face his sister's young-lady associates, now had no escape, and was ready to feel everything an oppression, so that his silence was an act of forbearance.
It was a good sign, that when Clement came in unobserved from Evensong, he found Lance at the piano, making twilight beautiful with something wonderfully yearning and mournful, but with a deep underkey of resolution ever waxing stronger and stronger. Clement leant on the settee, listening till his eyes grew moist; and when the cough forced the musician to desist, and come back exhausted to the sofa, he asked, 'Where did that come from?'
'It is a Largo of Beethoven's in C Major. I fell in love with it when we had C—— at Minsterham.'
'Dr. May has done you good.'
'I don't know. I see he thinks my voice done for.'
'I would sooner have your fingers than your voice, Lance,' said Clement, appreciating the grief as Dr. May could not, never having heard those notes.
Lance shook his head. The trouble was too deep and real for speech.
'Sooner or later we shall have our voices in perfection,' said Clement. 'Meantime, who knows how good it may be for you to be parted from that beautiful thing!'
'My golden idol!' Lance broke out in a sort of laughing coughing sob.
'At least, you have the comfort of knowing you never prostituted it to any ungodly purpose,' said Clement. 'You always treated it as His goodly gift.'
Lance made no answer. Perhaps he felt at that moment that his voice had been the chief thing that made his dull life pleasant to him, and that to be either dumb or an offence to his own delicate ear was a lot to which he could hardly resign himself. Clement went to the piano, and softly sung 'Angels brightly shine forth.'
Angela came into the room with a light as he ended; Lance started up, and hastened out of the room.
He was rather worse than better for the next day or two, and shuddered with annoyance when Gertrude May's wheels approached. He would not, however, vex Cherry by shirking the early dinner, where Gertrude, a bright mixture of blue merino and swans' down, was making fun of her precise brother Tom's inclination to escort her on this her first solitary journey, when she knew it was only 'because of his friend at Ewmouth, who is equally crazy about microscopes and such unpleasant things.'
'As microscopes?' said Felix.
'That depends on what you look at. Now Tom is making perquisitions into the germs of all kinds of diseases and infections, and is never so happy as when he gets an excuse for driving over to Ewmouth.'
'Is there anything so scientific there?'
'Mr. Elsted, the chemist. He was a fellow-student of Tom's, but he hasn't nerve enough to practise; so he is a kind of stickit doctor, though he has science at his fingers' ends—the right place for a chemist, you'll say—so very sensibly he took to that line.'
'We must make friends with him,' said Felix.
'Do! It would be a great kindness. He is really very much of a gentle—' where she awkwardly stopped, and caught herself up, colouring to the ears.
'Which cannot be said of all medical students,' said Felix, greatly helping her out.
'No! And as Tom could not come himself, he has given me a precious little box to carry, which the post would squash. Don't be afraid; it isn't the plague, or the small-pox, or anything—'
'I thought of going to Ewmouth this afternoon if you like the drive,' said Cherry.
'You don't trust me! You want to be rid of Pandora's box.'
Of course there was more fun about it, resulting in the timid being only half certified that it contained only some slides of glass; but Lance took his part in the teasing, nor did he forget—what Cherry took care to tell him on her return—that Gertrude had shaken hands cordially with the chemist under the very shadow of his purple jars.
Gertrude's spirits were not much affected by her niece's illness; and she had been so seldom from home, that this was a new experience, from which she derived as much freshness as she brought. The Squire was always her hero, and with him she was always on her best behaviour, as if trying to redeem her performance on the Kitten's Tail; while he treated her—like all his sisters' friends—with the gentle playful courtesy that had first begun with Alice Knevett. A musical evening seemed to have thoroughly fitted her in among the inhabitants, and in the forenoon she repaired quite naturally to Cherry's painting-room.
'That's right, I have designs on you.'
'Me, myself me, or in character?'
'In character. I catch every one. One gets so tame and unreal without fact.'
'But you'll let me write to Ethel. It feels so queer without the old thing. I'm not sure that my head is on the right way.'
'Pray write. You ought to be doing something.'
Just then a pair of slippered feet came noiselessly to the door, and with 'Good morning, Miss May,' Lance came in, his sister exclaiming, 'How early! You have not had your sleep after breakfast.'
'No, but I slept a good deal later this morning, which is a better thing,' he said, advancing to a big arm-chair. Gertrude had hoped for a snug morning with Cherry; but he looked so wan, pinched, and shadowy in the morning light, that there was no grudging him the content with which he sank into his place, nor the anxiety with which Stella was sent down to hasten his beef-tea.
'Have you made your capture, Cherry?' he asked.
'I was beginning when you came.'
'Then Miss May has not seen your contribution to the "Rights of Woman."'
'I have only escaped from the subject at home. Mrs. Harvey Anderson has been getting up a meeting for the Ladies' Suffrage, and wanted Ethel to come to it.'
'O for her likeness!'
'What can you want of it?'
In answer, Cherry produced two cartoons. One was a kind of parody of Raphael's School of Athens, all the figures female, not caricatures, but with a vein of satire throughout. The demonstration on the floor was an endeavour to square the circle; some of the elder ladies were squabbling, some of the younger furtively peeping at themselves in pocket-mirrors, or comparing ornaments; some in postures of weariness, one gazing eagerly as if responding to some signal, another mimicking her teacher, a third frowning at her rival's success. There was no air of union or harmony, but something of vanity and vexation of spirit pervaded all.
The companion was arranged on the same lines, but the portico was a cloister, and the aisle of a church was dimly indicated through a door-way. The figures and occupations were the same, but all was in harmony. The maidens, though mostly in secular garb, wore the cross; the central figure, in matronly beauty, was portioning out the household tasks, while in the place of the harsh or sour or tyrannizing disputatious ladies were women, some in hood and veil, but others in ordinary dress, all dignified and sweet, while the damsels were smiling happily over their employments, for the most part the same as before, but in a different spirit. The demonstration on the floor was no longer impossible. It was the circle of eternity spanned by the Cross; the quizzing and teasing had ceased, the loiterers were at their needlework; the rivals were united; the girl, whose glance down the grove had been furtive, was now standing in the door-way, openly watching for the little male figure in the distance. Both were in rough bold outline, almost scrawled, and here and there dashed with pen or Indian ink; but Geraldine's masterly hand showed wonderfully in the grace and expression.
'I don't know whether I shall make anything of it,' she said. 'I sketched it in a kind of frenzy; and Felix is bent on my going on with it.'
'It would do for Punch, if for nothing else,' said Lance.
'For shame!' exclaimed Gertrude.
'No, it is a great compliment,' said Cherry; 'but what the Squire wants is to have them in the Exhibition. Now I mean No. 1 to bring out—'
'The lesson of Tennyson's Princess,' interrupted Gertrude.
'In part, but going further into life. I mean that while woman works merely for the sake of self-cultivation, the clever grow conceited and emulous, the practical harsh and rigid, the light or dull, vain, frivolous, deceitful, by way of escape, and it all gets absurd. But the being handmaids of the Church brings all right; and the School of St. Sophia develops even the intellect.'
'You'll have to write a key,' said Lance.
'I leave that to you gentlemen of the press. I don't expect that many will enter into it, but if only a few do it will answer its purpose, and be worth doing. I want to know whether it conveys its meaning to a fresh eye.'
'Let me see,' said Gertrude. 'Woman working every one for her own hand, is all nohow, either grim or silly, the laughing-stock of gods and men; while working for the Church makes all harmonious, and sets each in her place.'
'It might as well be man as woman,' said Lance.
'More so, I believe,' said Cherry; 'because marriage gives woman a head; so I think the married ones at least do not suffer so much in character from misbelief. Family life affords a sort of religion to those who do not know the truth; and so while man kept them in subjection, they did not need to think it out, as the single ones must do now.'
'The Church provides ties and object for them,' said Gertrude. 'Ethel would like that.'
'Clan Hepburn would more than ever warn one against making an idol of an abstraction,' said Lance. 'I couldn't help asking them what they thought of the Bride in the Revelation, and they warned me against taking the figurative literally; but they are deeply good old girls, though your St. Sophia has not had the training of them.'
'Not consciously,' said Cherry. 'They did her work, though, in the dark times; and if she had thorough hold of them, they would not be meddling with the clergyman's province.'
So saying, she produced two more finished copies, the building elaborately put in, and some of the faces and figures worked up evidently from the life. Wilmet was the lovely matronly presiding spirit; Stella, the damsel in the place of one of the beautiful boys in the foreground of the School of Athens, though it had been hard to make her look naughty enough for the first. Gertrude, to her great amusement, recognised Lady Caergwent: 'So that's the use you make of your countesses?'
'It arose a good deal out of a talk with her about the dedication of our powers; and she sent me a horrible photograph to do her bad self by.'
'I declare you must have got Ethel's nut-cracker photograph for the original of that forbidding astronomical female with the compasses. Why! her improved state is Ethel herself, only not quite sweetly odd enough. Did you mean it?'
'No; I only found it coming like Dr. May.'
'She shall sit! And I'll be one of the wicked ones, whenever you please.'
'Then you must be a good one too.'
'Oh! I don't promise that. It is much flatter. Let me be the one who is taking off Urania Ethel's gestures. I declare you are too clever; the constellation you've turned up on the globe isvulpecula et anser.'
'No, you fancied that, Gertrude.'
'No such thing! See the stars really make a little W just like it in the sky, and observe the moral. Instead of a he-fox running off with the goose, the vixen will thus run away with the gander.'
Cherry had not laughed so much for weeks, Lance not for a year. Stella's shoulders shook over her German exercise, and her voice suggested: 'It ought to have been in the Southern Hemisphere, for the world turned topsy-turvy.'
'The Southern Hemisphere is stupid, where it got out of sight of the dear old funny folks that named the stars. What shall we have in the world set right?'
'Andromeda on the rock,' said Stella, 'and Perseus coming to let her out!'
'There's Perseus then coming down the walk,' said Gertrude.
'I hope that's me!' said Lance.
'Then you must beAnser!'
'Anser!' said Cherry. 'If he appears at all, it must be as Athene's Owl.—What great eyes you have, my dear!'
In a moment she dashed into her first draught an owl, comically resembling Lance; 'the twinkling blink in its eyes looking out of that indefinite bushiness,' as Gertrude said.
'Against the beard movement, Miss May?'
'There's only one moustache in the family!'
'Diplomatic,' laughed Cherry.
'Not wholly,' said Gertrude. 'One does go by one's brothers; and I like to see people's expression.'
'But,' said Lance, 'I trust at least I'm the owl of the church tower, though I can't hoot any longer.'
'Athene's ought to be prying down with superior contempt upon the ladies in the Academy.'
'Inspecting them!' said Cherry. 'Hearing them pronouncevicissim we-kiss-imin turns, and making a note.'
'I declare,' cried Gertrude, 'I've got the very man for the bad owl. How lucky I brought my photograph book!' She flew back to her room, and returned in a moment with her album. 'I brought it to show Geraldine our New Zealand children, and Leonard's pupils,' she said; 'but just look here. Transplant him, Cherry!'
The photograph represented a handsome, complacent looking, gentleman-like man, with certainly large eyes and an aquiline nose, and bushy beard, but nothing else owl-like about him.
'Who is he? What has he done?' asked Cherry.
'Done! He's a school inspector! Don't you have inspections here? Not under Government? O thrice happy people! If ever youdowish to see my dearly beloved sister Ethel in the position of a toad under a harrow!'
'But why, you have got her harrow in your book?'
'He isn't our proper district harrow,' said Gertrude. 'He's badderer and wusserer nor that! He's my sister Mary's brother-in-law, and Tom's bosom friend!'
'Worse and worse!' said Cherry, laughing.
'Exactly, for he comes down for Sundays! He is the youngest of the Cheviots by a good many years, born after they had got prosperous, and cockered up beyond all measure—went and got everything a man could go in for at Oxford—horrid fellow—and then turned school inspector, and writes smart articles in Harvey Anderson's Magazine.'
'Rupert Cheviot; I know the fellow's style,' said Lance; 'but may I ask why he is in your book?'
'Because Mary gave me the book, and stuck him in so fast there's no eradicating him; but I shall paste him over before long. Luckily, he generally talks to Ethel. They are always fighting, and I believe she likes him; and he doesn't know what to make of such a clever woman being so narrow, you see.—Now, an' you love me, Cherry, put him up there—an owl, inspecting the Academy!'
Just then, Angela burst in to say that Major Harewood wanted Felix to come and see about the new barn, and Felix had sent to ask if Miss May would come out before the warmth of the short day was past.
'That's hard,' said Lance, as she went; 'you'll lose the light.'
'Never mind, there will be plenty of time. The pensive face is what I want. It can be rather fine.'
'Rather!' in an indignant tone.
Lance slept in the third room in the corridor, opening into Clement's, as Clement's did into Felix's—an arrangement convenient in the earlier stage of his convalescence, and enabling Clement still to take care that his fire never was let out.
'I say, Clem,' he said, from his bed, the next morning, 'you haven't such a thing as a spare razor—mine were left at Marshlands.'
'No, I haven't.'
'I wish you would see if Felix has.'
'Are you mad, to want to begin shaving now?'
'Not at all. It had better be done before it gets thicker, and I have to go out.'
The application brought Felix in, demanding, 'Are you gone crazy, Lance?'
'I thought I might as well titivate myself for the tithe dinner this evening.'
'You need not trouble yourself about that. You'll not dine with us; and if you did, the farmers would excuse you. I thought you were only too glad of an apology for cultivating that furze brake.'
'One may as well be fit to be seen.'
'Exactly my sentiments,' said Felix; 'but you must submit for the present. If you say any more, I shall lock up all my razors from the raving lunatic.'
'Yes,' added Clement. 'Would you like an axe at the same time, to cut off your head?'
Lance subsided; and Felix walked back to his room, and smiled to the risk of his own cheeks over his shaving, as he muttered, 'Tithe dinner, quotha?'
The tithe and rent dinner were always combined soon after Christmas, and the Squire and Vicar had agreed that it was best not to make it a wholesale entertainment at the Rood, but to have a civilized party in the Priory, bringing the guests into the drawing-room afterwards. The numbers of superior tenants were not sufficient to make this unmanageable, and the compliment was appreciated. One or two elderly men might have preferred devouring the value of their tithe at the inn, and enjoying subsequent tobacco and spirits, but most liked the being treated as gentlemen; and the evening was always an odd mixture of boredom, amusement, and gratification.
The audit occupied most of the day, and the dinner was at the primitive hour of six, the ladies of the house appearing thereat. Gertrude, who was worked up to think it capital fun, was warned to deck herself in her best; and she rejoiced that Ethel had enforced preparations for possible gaieties, so that she could appear in a pink silk, presented to her for Mrs. Rivers's last public occasion, and a wreath of clematis.
Her splendours were not thrown away, for the Squire met her on the stairs, and exclaimed, 'That's right, I'm grateful to you;' and next moment she saw Mrs. Harewood uncloaking, and revealing the black velvet her husband always urged on her, and a set of pearls that had not seen the light since the last old aunt retired into old-maidenhood. The Vale Leston opinion was that Mrs. Harewood was the finest woman to look at who had existed since her great-grandmother, Lady Geraldine.
Lance was in the drawing-room when the ladies came in after dinner, shaking out their plumes and relating their experiences. Angela had talked hunting with a young farmer whom she wanted to allure into the choir, though Cherry doubted whether Clement would like to have him there. Cherry had given Mr. Hodnet an account of the Caergwent wedding, in which Penbeacon had had so much share, and had received a lament over Mr. Harewood's absence that winter. 'He was a gentleman that was strong in the pulpit.'
'That's his tincture of Irish eloquence, and thegothat he has in him!' said Angela.
'I believe the poor people do prefer his preaching to Clement's,' said Wilmet.
'On the variety principle, I believe,' said Cherry.
'Of which they never get enough,' said Angela.
'After all,' said Cherry, 'inherent poetry does tell more than one guesses upon an audience.'
'Ah, ha!' said Lance; 'I've got a novelty in that line for you.'
'From Will? You don't mean that you've been revelling in the second post?'
'Ay! Some one fetched it from Ewmouth, just as your knives and forks began to clatter. I was just thinking what notes predominated, when in came this budget from San Remo. It is satisfactory to hear that while my Lord and my Lady think it the dullest place in the world, our two lovers find it simply delicious.'
'Is that the subject of the poem?'
'It might be,' said Gertrude.
'Only it would be hard on my Lord and my Lady,' said Angel.
'The question would be,' said Cherry, 'how long it takes to be so used to one another that localities cease to be indifferent.'
'How long does it take, Wilmet?' saucily asked Angela.
Wilmet did not choose to answer; and Stella's voice quietly mentioned how Lizzie Bruce and her lover broke off their engagement after being shut up together for a whole wet Sunday.
'How very lucky for them!' said Gertrude.
'They agreed it would be impossible to spend life together,' said Cherry. 'But what is the poem, Lance?'
'The Song of the Electric Wires.'
'Nonsense!'
'They do sing,' said Gertrude. 'I have often wished one could make something of those Æolian-harp sounds.'
'Have you?' said Lance. 'I've tried ever so often to get them on the violin. I'll show you.'
It was the first time he had spoken of touching his instrument; but Wilmet intercepted Stella, who was going as a matter of course to fetch it, by saying the sound would make the farmers expect a dance.
'So much the better,' said Angela. 'One waltz with Harry Palting, and my victory would be complete.'
'It seems,' proceeded Lance, 'that poor Bobbie held herself ready to start off with Bill in case I had been worse; and when the telegraph relieved their minds, the reaction showed itself in these verses.'
'Which Bobbie was there to secure,' added Cherry. 'I wonder how many of his get lost for want of her to copy them out, and make him polish them.'
'When a man hasn't a spark of vanity he misses a very good working machine,' said Lance.
'Spurring machine, you mean,' said Gertrude.
'Let me have them, Lance; you can't read them,' interposed Cherry.
Strange as was the subject, there was a wild airy grace about the lines, by turns joyous and pathetic, and really going well to the fitful music of the winds upon the wires. Lance went up to the piano, and struck a note or two; and that wonderful power he possessed over the instrument brought the very expression, if not the sound, and made Gertrude exclaim with delight, 'Oh! do make a song of it with a piano accompaniment; I am sure you can.'
'Ifyoutell me I can,' said Lance, flushing and smiling, though perhaps aware of more technical difficulty than she knew; but the opening of the dining-room door, and the warm greeting of his brother's tenants, broke off his promise.
He worked so hard and so merrily the next day in preparing the Christmas-tree for the schools, in spite—foolish fellow!—of warnings, chills, and catches of breath, that at the moment of projection, he was quite overcome by the throng, noise and glare, and forced to beat a hasty retreat to the drawing-room, whither Miss Bridget Hepburn soon pursued him.
Finding him for the first time on the sofa, looking worn out she viewed his assurances that he was really much better as a melancholy delusion, and warned him against being beguiled by false hopes out of that blessed frame of mind. John Harewood, divining what she was about, presently came in to the rescue; not that he could remove her, for she was burning to communicate a semi-confidential piece of information, namely, the intended marriage of Mrs. Fulbert Underwood to Mr. Smiles, whose sickly wife had been dead about a year. The other two sisters were communicating the same intelligence to any one they could catch in anything like privacy all the evening. It was not at all unsatisfactory intelligence, for on the strength of Clement's appointment having caused his resignation, Mr. Smiles had expected him to supply all his most pressing needs, from educating his son to paying for his wife's funeral. The worst of it was that it was hardly credible that Mrs. Fulbert would be so foolish as to bestow her handsome jointure upon him and his seven children; but as he had just taken a curacy in a popular watering-place, there might be attractions; and at any rate, Clement would be exempted from finding funds for his move.
Lance could not help feeling that if to be weary of everything and indifferent to the future were a blessed frame, he had certainly lost it, and it made the subsequent night of pain and distress all the less endurable, as well as the captivity to bed and blisters that ensued; nor was it till Sunday evening that he could return to the painting-room, where all the family collected as they dropped in one by one from Evensong and the subsequent choir-practice, and stood and lounged about in the Sunday gossip, deaf to all to the manner born.
Felix came in last, having been looking at his letters, for he never had time to do more than glance at a few of the more interesting in the morning.
'It is true,' he said quietly.
'What, about Mrs. Fulbert? Has she written?'
'Yes; a great deal about the love she always had for Mr. Smiles's dear little family, and an entreaty to me not to deprive her of the three hundred a year that she was to forfeit by remarriage.'
'Was she? cried Bernard. 'How jolly!'
'So it seems, though I had forgotten it. She keeps all the settlement, of course.'
'I remember about it,' said Clement. 'Her husband begged his father to do something for her; and he detested her so, poor woman, that it went very much against the grain with him, and by way of some solace, he must have made this charge on the estate contingent on her remaining a widow.'
'You'll never go on with it, Felix!' exclaimed Angela.
'I hope it will not break off the match,' added Cherry. 'There are some people whom one would willingly bribe to keep out of one's way.'
'They do it knowingly?' said Gertrude.
'I imagine so; Smiles managed to know most things.'
'Ay!' said Angela. 'But you see he went on precedents. He knew what Alice Lamb had effected, and had some personal experience of this Vicar!'
'Felix! you are not going to be so absurd!' expostulated Bernard. 'Why, it would keep a hunter!'
'Or a curate,' said Angela.
'Still more amusing to you, Angel,' retorted Bernard.
'But, Felix,dopromise me you'll do nothing foolish. For my personal satisfaction,' pleaded Angela.
'That is a promise no one can be warranted in giving, Angela.'
'He's afraid of himself!' cried Angela. 'She has only to get him into a corner—like Alice.'
'Then it is well I am going away to-morrow.'
'Very unreasonable,' muttered Lance.
'What, to be so soft—I think it is indeed! I don't care for the money, but how those critters will triumph!'
'He never said they would have it,' said Cherry.
'Oh! if he is only teasing.—What are you going to do, Felix?'
'I do not know. I must look at the terms of the will.'
Gertrude looked triumphantly at Angela, as much as to say, 'Could you not trust his common sense and justice?'
But Felix put a stop to the conversation by asking Lance whether the usual Sunday evening hymns would be too much for him.
'Not at all,' he said, 'provided Angela would sing nothing she had not studied;' and then finding Gertrude took this as a hint, he was dreadfully distressed, and nearly implied that dissonance from her was better than harmony from any one else. She, on the other hand, was as ever, greatly impressed with the sweetness of Felix's voice, and refused, as they went down to supper, to believe that Lance's could be better.
'I do not know that it is in what you heard to-night,' said Cherry; 'but Lance had some notes that none of them could come near, except—' and there she paused, thinking of the voice that still at times she longed for with inexpressible longing.
Gertrude was full of pity, though disappointed to find that Mr. Underwood was going away so early that he bade her good-bye as well as good-night, in spite of her protestation that she should be up to see him off, and binding over Stella, who was always the morning star of early travellers, to wake her in time for his 6.30 breakfast.
It was not far from that time when Felix, coming into Lance's room, was struck with his refreshed and brightened look even at this his worst time, a sort of indefinable look of hope and recovery.
'You have had a good night?'
'Yes; I slept till just now. I believe this last bout of mustard has done me a power of good. The tightness is gone as it never went before.'
'That's the best news I've heard yet.'
'Better than Mrs. Fulbert?'
'Oh, I was coming to that. I have looked at the abstract of the will this morning, and I don't feel myself in the least bound to continue the annuity. Then I have been going over things this week; and what with the falling in of the Blackstone lease, and the winding up of the Rectory business, I shall be likely to get into smooth waters sooner than I expected. So if you can hold on to the end of the year, I will then, if all goes right, do whichever you please—give up the concern at Bexley to you, or let you have an allowance to enable you to go on with your music.'
'Have I been grumbling?' said Lance.
'Can't one see a thing without its being grumbled at one? It is a hard life, yours, Lancey. I did not understand how hard till I took this taste of it, and I am heartily grieved at having let you go on under it till you broke down. I must try some other plan for you when you can go back.'
'No, no; don't upset Mrs. Frog. Summer will be coming, and I prefer her to Mrs. Lamb any day. Give her my love, and tell her I'm mending. Not that I see any sense in your going,' he added, but somehow a little less freely than usual.
'You want to see Lamb's report of the speeches at the sessions? Any commands?'
'Yes; I want some music-paper, and my portfolio of violin music. If you are sending any books, it might come at once. And tell Ellis he had better not attempt that anthem from the Creation next Sunday, unless Speers is come home to take the tenor.'
'I might do that.'
'You don't mean to stay over Sunday?'
'It is of no use to be always running backwards and forwards; I like a Sunday at the old place now and then,' said Felix. 'Good-bye, Lancey; let me find you twice yourself when I come back!'
'I could not thank the old Giant,' said Lance, when Cherry looked in on him; 'but will you tell him, I feel as if he had taken out the stopper that bunged me up from everything. Only it is absurd of him to go into banishment just when this place is so uncommonly pleasant?'
Cherry thought she could guess, and that it was not so entirely distrust of Mr. Lamb's capacity as it was convenient for the family to suppose. And after all, Lance was protesting from dutiful habit of unselfishness, but it may be doubted whether hereallywas quite as sorry as usual to part with his brother.
The early rising to see him off had been effected; but his absence did not disturb the good spirits of the party. Lance was gaining ground quickly, and resumed more of the ordinary family habits every day—sustaining his spirits the better when left behind on their all going out, because Gertrude May did not unite with Angela in abusing the weather for not bringing a skateable frost, and far less in running wild after a sight of the hunt. Nay, she decidedly snubbed that great handsome idle fellow Bernard for abusing Felix and the Fates for not mounting him, and sat soberly at home at her music lesson, when he and Angela went off upon the chestnut and Ratton, to see the meet and bemoan themselves. Gertrude had been slow to exhibit her music before the Underwoods, and had good-humouredly justified Angela's exaggerated excruciation, owning that she had never had any teaching worthy of the name. Lance had diffidently offered a few hints, and they were not accepted as Angela was wont to receive his criticisms; so they developed into instruction, delightful to both, even though much of it consisted in unlearning!
And when the little niece had rallied, and Dr. May fetched his daughter home, Lance did not flag, but was once more the bright Lance of former days, and spent his time between Pursuivant work and labour over some musical achievement, dividing himself between a blotted score, his violin, and piano, using by preference Theodore as a critic, with Stella to interpret his gestures.
'They had been much together; and one for ever bearsA name upon the loyal heart, and in the daily prayers;The other but remembers, when the pleasant hours are past,That something has been sending them so sweetly and so fast.'S M.
On Whit-Monday forenoon 'Mr. Underwood' was announced in the drawing-room at Stoneborough, and Gertrude May's face, which had at first clouded at the pre-prandial intrusion of any visitor, brightened at the name, but lost a little eagerness when the entering visitor proved himself to be only Lancelot, shaven now all but his moustache, and with an air of entirely recovered health, justifying his declaration that he had no desire to see the Doctor professionally, and had been quite well ever since his return to Bexley at Easter. He was now on his way to keep his holiday at home, but had made a deviation 'to show that I have tried to obey you,' he said, proffering to Gertrude a roll of music, the stiff paper cover beautifully and delicately adorned with a daisy border, with pen-and-ink etchings in the corners illustrating the receipt of telegrams for weal or woe, and the first bars were made to resemble the wires and posts, the notes, the birds perched thereon, the whole being of course William Harewood's poem set to music. So beautiful and elaborate was the finish, that Gertrude was startled and confused; the meaning flashed on her, and the sudden recoil roused the contradictoriness of her nature. The earnest look abashed and frightened her, and with a sort of anger she coldly said, 'Very pretty, very nicely got up.'
'I think it may suit your voice,' said Lance wistfully.
'Thank you' (more nervously, and therefore more coldly), 'we will order some copies.'
Lance, after a moment's pleading gaze, dropped his eyes, coloured, and stammered, 'Not that.'
Ethel came to the rescue with praise of the etching, but this availed little; Gertrude spoke not a word, and Lance, though making some kind of reply, clearly did not know what he was saying, and presently took leave, in spite of Ethel's entreaties that he would stay to the early dinner, and to see her father. He made answer in a bewildered voice about not meaning—and getting home; shook hands, and was gone.
'That was not gracious, Daisy,' said Ethel.
'I'm sure I didn't want it,' said the spoilt child.
'You need not have hurt him.'
No answer but scarlet colouring.
About half-past three he was at the Priory, just as the whole party and Charles Audley besides were standing on the lawn, with rugs and cloaks betokening boating intentions. His first impulse was to shrink away like some wounded animal, but he had been spied, and was eagerly hailed—'O Lance! just in time! Here's the four-oar coming out! Clem and Angel want to go up the river to Tranquillity Bridge, and we are taking them.'
Lance would have done anything rather than betray his wound, so he took his place in the boat, and tried to shake himself into the present; but Felix thought he looked tired, and would not let him take an oar against the stream. Then it occurred to Cherry to ask whether he had had anything to eat. No, he believed not; but he was resolute that he wanted nothing, not even a draught of cider, which Angela mischievously recommended as they passed the 'Hook and Line,' a little tea-garden public-house, a favourite Sunday resort of Ewmouth idlers, and a great scandal and grievance to the Vicar, but secured, like other abuses, by a lease. A boat, belonging no doubt to some holiday-makers, was moored at the steps; but as it was the day of a great Maying at East Ewmouth, most observers of 'tide time' were likely to be there absorbed.
Angela amused herself with wild proposals to Charlie Audley to repair thither in disguise together, talking nonsense that greatly annoyed Clement, and was far from pleasing Felix or Cherry; but she was in so reckless and defiant a mood, that they could only hope that she might work it off at the oar. Her arms were strong as well as long, and rowing was a pastime she loved, having been franked as an A B S ever since she had taken lessons at a swimming-bath. The day was delicious, with clouds chasing one another so as to make fleeting lights and shadows on Penbeacon and the hills beyond; the clear brown water sparkling in ripples or lying in deep pools, shadowed by the woods that came down to the bank in the early green of spring, flowering may, mountain ash, and wreaths of blushing eglantine overhanging the margin, or where the space was open, revealing meadows all one golden sheet of buttercups, while the fringe of the stream was the feathery bogbean and the golden broom, mixed with tall sword leaves of the flag and the reed.
Shaded at length by a picturesque high-backed one-arched bridge, the boat waited while Clement and Angela went on their cottage visiting.
Charlie did not, as Cherry expected, invite Lance to promenade the bank with a cigar, but applied himself to helping Stella in collecting a grand nosegay of every sort of flower and grass within reach. The others remained in the boat: Lance leaning over the gunwale dreamily watching the ripples, apparently half asleep, lulled by the monotonously sweet humming of Theodore, and the songs of the birds in the woods; Cherry was sketching, and Felix rested musingly.
'Tranquillity Bridge,' he said. 'I always fancy it must have been named by some pious builder imbued with the spirit of the Pilgrim's Progress.'
'An unconscious poet,' said Cherry.
'Yes. Such a tranquil rest, amid such perfect peace and loveliness, without one discordant element, is one of the choicest boons of life.'
Lance swallowed a sigh; and Cherry answered, 'The very movements and sounds are all peace, though full of life.'
For a gold-billed moorhen was swimming among its little ones at the margin of the reeds at the bend of the river, and a sapphire kingfisher darted across the arch.
'Halcyon days,' said Felix.
'Oh no! Halcyon days precede storms.'
'Maybe they give strength for them. Times like these are surely foretastes of perfect bliss.'
'How does that prepare for storms?'
'Not only by calming nerves and spirits, but by giving some experience of the joy beyond—ay, and sense of love and confidence in Him who has made all so exquisite for our delight.'
It seemed to come from his heart, drawn forth by the grateful enjoyment of that sweet Whitsun hour.
Cherry held up her finger as a ring-dove began to coo from the thicket, making fit answer to one thus resting in the Feast of the Comforter; Theodore cooed in return, and the bird seemed to be replying. Even the tumult of pain and grief in Lance's breast was soothed by the spirit of the words and scene, while he felt the contrast, like an abyss, between himself and the others.
But when the rest of the party came gaily back with talk and laughter, inaction had become intolerable to him. He wanted to take Angela's oar, but she would not hear of giving it up, and Felix resigned his, while Cherry owned that she preferred having him at the helm when going down the river.
Theodore, with a shout, held out his hands for Stella's flowers, and she gave the whole into his hands, Charlie for a moment looking disappointed; but as the twins sat together, and the little fellow drew out the flowers singly and dropped them into his sister's lap, while she whispered their names, it was evidently perfect joy to both. Some, such as the bright spires of broom, he greeted with a snatch of nursery song, though otherwise the pair were scarcely audible as long as the nosegay lasted, and that was for a long time; but when Stella had made it up again, only leaving the broom to him, he returned to his usual hum, and this time with the tune of 'The strain upraise,' which had been practised that morning for Trinity Sunday, and which met the sound of the bells ringing for Evensong.
'That's rather too much!' exclaimed Angela. 'We shall be taken for some of the pious, a singing of hymns.—Come, Tedo.'
'No, no,' said Felix, 'I'll not have him interfered with.' And he hummed the tune.
'That's always the way when Baby goes out with us,' muttered Angela, audaciously singing out at the top of her clear soprano—
'Six o'clock is striking,Mother, may I go out?My young man is waiting,To take me all about.First he gives me apples,Then he gives me pears;Then he gives me sixpence,To take me round the fairs;'
thus effectually silencing both the others, the one from sense of discord, the other from serious displeasure. At that moment, shooting from behind the bend of the river where stood the Hook and Line, came the other boat. Excited probably by the song, the young men in it shouted 'Come on! Who'll be first! We'll take a couple of your sweethearts aboard, to make fair play! We'll have your nightingale!'
'Next he gives me baconAnd eggs to fry in the pan,And no one there to eat themBut me and my young man.'
sung they lustily, as on they came, as fast as the current, assisted by twelve vigorous arms, could carry them.
A few strokes would have gained the garden landing-place, but the pursuers' velocity was reckless. One moment as they passed the eddy of the junction of the Leston, and the end of the four-oar swung round into the middle of the river, there was a shock, a shriek of many voices; and just as John and Wilmet Harewood were crossing the lawn to return to their own cottage, they beheld both boats upset, and fifteen persons struggling in the midstream.
Even as the collision took place, Felix had seized Theodore, and after both had been drawn down for a second, rose again, making vigorous strokes with one arm for the bank, reaching that of the churchyard, where it was built up high and steep; but with one of the violent efforts of a supreme moment, he grasped a branch of the overhanging willow tree, swung himself up by one arm till his feet had a hold, and he could launch himself partly over the iron rail, and deposit his burthen on the grass, when climbing over, he reached down and dragged up Geraldine from the arm of Clement, who had closely followed him.
By that time both the other sisters were safe; Charles Audley, thoroughly at home in the water, had directed himself more skilfully, holding Stella by her shoulder, to the garden landing-place, further off, but of easier access. Indeed, she had not lost the power of helping herself, when Wilmet's arms clasped her on the steps; and only a few moments later, Angela, who had kept herself afloat, was likewise landed, with very little aid from Charles.
Lance's rescue was harder. He could not swim at all, sank twice, and rose the second time a little way down the stream, where John Harewood grappled him and brought him to the steps, helpless and at first unconscious. Of the other boat's crew, two reached the bank alone, another had saved his fellow, a fifth clung to his oar, and was guided ashore by Clement, a sixth was drawn out insensible by young Audley; the last was still missing, and John, Charles, one of the other lads, and old Tripp, were all striving to find and rescue him. Four figures lay insensible, three more were struggling back to life—the servants rushing down; Wilmet, supporting Lance in his gasping efforts, took the command. 'Angel, Stella—don't wait, back to the house. Change instantly.—Amelia, go with them, give them something hot, never mind what, and put Miss Underwood to bed.—Yes, Clement, carry her to her room; and you—don't do anything else till you have changed—Felix, we'll take Tedo to the laundry; it is hot, and flannels can be warmed sooner.—Golightly, you and Martha take this one.—You two the other.—Follow Mr. Underwood—Yes, dear Lancey, you are better. They are all safe. Shall I help you up? That's right. Lean on, my dear, more than that; don't be afraid, I'm strong enough; there, you get on very well.'
Before they had made many steps, a shout proclaimed that the last sufferer had been found; and while he was carried between his friend and Tripp, Wilmet hastily insisted that her husband should hurry home and change his clothes before doing anything else, and relinquishing Lance to Charlie to be helped up-stairs, hastened to the scene of action in the laundry, where the four lifeless figures were stretched on the ironing tables. The other three young men were sent to be between blankets till their clothes could be dried; and Felix, after having laid down his unconscious burthen, lingered for a moment, till Wilmet ordered him off to change his dripping clothes, when he obeyed without a word.
Clement, half-dressed, was finding garments for Charlie, and insisting that bed was the place for Lance, when there was a sudden call at his door, and as he opened it Angela stood before him, exclaiming, 'Come this instant!' and as he followed her flying steps, he beheld Felix on the stairs, sitting propped against the balusters, holding a handkerchief to his mouth covered with blood. He had been standing, supporting himself against the post at the bottom, when Angela had first found him, and had so far helped him up; but the effort had evidently been agonizing, and increased the bleeding so much, that she had tried to place him safely, and hurried for aid. He could do nothing for himself, but Charles Audley coming to their assistance, they brought him to his room door, where Angela, crying, 'Ice! ice is the thing!' dashed away to the offices, where she heard voices.
'Miss Angela, you mus'n't come here.'
'Quick, Martha, the key of the ice-house.'
'Hice-ouse! bless you, Miss Hangela, 'tis 'ot as is wanted.'
'It is ice for the bleeding. It's a blood-vessel! It is Felix. I must have the key.'
But Martha, always despising Angela, and now all the more with her hair streaming below her waist, simply did not hear, and hurried away with her flannels. Angela rushed after her, but only heard, 'You can't come here.'
As she was raising her voice for a more peremptory cry, she saw John Harewood returning. He understood in a moment, made entrance, obtained the key, and while she fetched the ice, he hurried to the scene of the most pressing and grievous need.
By the time she brought the ice, the drenched clothes had been removed, and Felix was in bed, and the remedy she had obtained did at last check the flow of blood, but there was not only exhaustion but evidently very severe pain. 'Where?' He put his hand to his right side; and at that moment, to their infinite relief, they found among them Dr. Thomas May, the professor, who—on his way home from a visit to his friend the chemist—had been met in the village and brought to their aid even before Page, who was out on his rounds.
The verdict of the first moment was that the hæmorrhage was not from the lungs, and indeed the patient showed no difficulty in speaking after the first faintness. Had he felt the hurt on throwing himself over the rail? He thought so, but could not recollect; it only became disabling when he tried to go up-stairs, and that brought the bleeding—'but Theodore! Pray go to Theodore!'
There was no withstanding his anxiety, only the Professor directed the unsuccessful endeavour to make the posture easier, and ordered fomentations as the only present alleviation, except perfect stillness. No judgment could be formed as yet, and he therefore gratified the ardent desire faintly breathed forth, while the great drops of pain stood on the brow. 'Please, see Geraldine! And when Theodore comes round, bring him here! Clem, see it is so; he will be pacified in sight of me.'
Clement promised, and made it plain that it would be better for both; and then he took the young doctor first to Geraldine, who, once in bed, could not leave it without assistance, and was chained there in terrible anxiety, with Stella as her messenger; but her agony of suspense was her chief ailment, and after saying all he conscientiously could to soothe her, Dr. Tom was guided to the laundry, where he vanished.
Long, long was news watched for from thence. Even those who went in quest of hot water learnt nothing, till at last Charlie heard that one of the young men was reviving, and presently he was carried up to the spare room.
Another quarter, another half-hour dragged by. Felix renewed his entreaty for Theodore's presence, but messenger after messenger returned not. First John went and came back no more, then Clement was called for and never returned, and Felix became so restless under the impression that Wilmet would choose to put the child to bed unhappy in Sibby's room, that Lance could only carry down his mandate to the contrary. Then when the next access of watching and anxiety was visibly increasing the suffering and danger, Angela left Stella in charge, and went herself to represent that the dire suspense must be relieved before it did further harm.
The ear was in a state of agonized tension, and caught a sound. 'Open the door, Stella. Hark!'
She obeyed. There were voices; Wilmet's—Clement's. 'You go!'—'He will bear it best from you!' they said.
She heard no more, for Felix had started up on his elbow, and the blood had again rushed to his lips. She called for help. All were about him, there was no checking it, for seconds—for minutes. His face was deathly, his hands cold. Clement, holding him on his breast, whispering prayers, felt him more prone and feeble every instant; all believed that a life was ebbing away far more precious than the little feeble spark so easily quenched.
When a respite came, it was with a hand on the pulse, and with an anxious face, that the doctor durst signify to them that this was relief—not the end as yet; but as Clement laid the head back the furrows of pain had cleared, the brow had smoothed, the breath came without the stifled groans, the position was less constrained, and when Angela ventured to say, 'He looks more comfortable,' there was an air of assent and rest, the worst of the pain was evidently relieved for the time.
Stella stole away with the tidings to poor Geraldine, whom she found sitting up in bed, trembling so that the whole framework shook, and totally unable to move from it, without the appliances that assisted her lameness. Before long, Wilmet was able to attend to a representation of her condition, and could bring her wonted remedies, and what was even better, her strong soft arms to enfold the little frail quivering frame, and her sweet, steady, full voice to assure her that Felix was undoubtedly better, and not suffering near so much.
And when Cherry was quieted, and Wilmet would have returned, the little handmaid said, in an imploring voice, 'Where is dear Tedo? mayn't I go to him now?'
'My dear child!' exclaimed Wilmet, in pitying consternation, 'then you don't know?'
Cherry saw what was implied! How else could the helpless darling have been left by all!
'It is so?' she said.
Wilmet bent her head.
Stella gave a kind of moan.
'Yes,' Wilmet said, 'It is nearly three hours since. The Professor said there might be hope for two. One young man is getting better at last, Page is with him. We went on trying—John says for two hours and a quarter, and Sibby is going on still; but there is no hope now; and when I heard about Felix—Stella, dear child, where are you going?'
'Mayn't I help Sibby?' The voice was so plaintively imploring, the eyes looked so mournfully earnest out of the loose damp mass of dark brown hair, that it seemed cruel to answer, 'Stella, dear dear little one, indeed you must not, you can't go there.'
Instinctive obedience recalled her; but still she pleaded, 'He must get better! He was such a little moment under water! I think he is afraid to open his eyes because I am not there, nor Brother. Do let me try! I'm sure he would know me.'
'Stella, sweet, indeed I would let you if I could; but you can't go to the laundry, there are strange men about, and they are making up a bed for young Light; he can't be moved. The hope is quite gone, my dear, it was such a feeble little tender life.'
'And there could have been no pain or fright,' said Cherry.
But she broke off, as poor little Stella collapsed with her face between her hands, sitting on the floor, lost in her hair, not speaking, only a great stifling smothering sob heaving up, as if the oppression of her first grief were crushing, nay strangling her.
Wilmet knelt down to gather her into her motherly arms, and whisper comfort, but this was not what she wanted; she somehow slid away, stood up, and said, 'Please, may I go into my own room? I want to be by myself.'
'To your room and your bed, my dear,' said Wilmet. 'I am going to send you both some tea.'
Cherry only had visits from the maids, with tea that refreshed her, but from which Stella in the inner room turned away. The summer twilight had passed into night before a long black figure looked in. 'Asleep, Cherry?'
'Oh no, Clem! I knew you would come.'
'I am sorry not to have come before, but there has been so much to do.'
'And he?'
'Tom May thinks his pulse stronger, and was struck by the look of rally about his face when we came back after supper.'
'Who is there now?'
'Wilmet and the Professor. May will let no one sit up who has been in the water. I care the less because with my door open it is almost like being in the same room.'
'But he is better?'
'Not in pain,' said Clement; 'and May thinks that there are no ribs broken, though there is a great bruise. Much may be only violent sprain, and it may be only some unimportant vessel that has given way; but he is too weak and tender yet for anything like examination. However, as long as the bleeding does not return, he is gaining every hour.'
'It was that dreadful scramble up the bank!'
'That quite accounts for it; and he must have twisted himself as he threw himself over the rail. No one could have done it in cold blood, even without dear Baby's weight.'
'And after that he pulled me up! Clem, it was you that saved me, and yet I could not thank you if—O Clem!' She laid her head on his shoulder, struggling with horror at the bare notion of life without Felix.
He was very sorry for her. He had always loved her the best of his sisters, yet he felt himself so inadequate to fill to her the place of their eldest, or even of the lost Edgar.
'My poor Cherry!' he said, stroking her damp hair; 'but thus far God has been very gracious to us, and we will take hope, and trust Him. Think how much worse it might have been. So many in danger, and the only one taken so surely gone home!'
'Ah! I can only think how happy we were so short a moment before. He said halcyon weather came to bear us through storms; but oh! it makes it worse.'