LIONEL'S ACCIDENT
MISS Warren was so overcome when she found that Dick had learnt the
cause of the ill-feeling between his father and grandfather that the
pretty colour left her cheeks, and she sat down on a moss-covered
bank beneath a hazel-bush by the hedge-side, whilst the tears ran
down her face. "Oh, my dear," she cried, "what a wicked, cruel boy
your cousin must be to deliberately wound you like that! I am glad
Sir Richard heard what he said, though—very glad! It does people
good to hear the truth about themselves sometimes!"
"But grandfather doesn't hate mother, he doesn't indeed!" Dick
interposed eagerly. "He seemed so sorry Lionel spoke like that!
I think he is very lonely and unhappy. He wishes father was coming
home sooner than next year, and he said he should like bygones to be
bygones. What did he mean, Aunt Mary Ann?"
"Did he really say that?" Miss Warren asked, greatly astonished.
"Then he must mean to forgive your father for—for—Oh, Dick,
it's no good our trying to keep it from you any longer? It was your
father's marriage that offended Sir Richard!"
"Won't you tell me about it?" Dick said coaxingly, his face
expressive of mingled anxiety and curiosity.
"Perhaps I had better try to make you understand," Miss Warren
replied with a sigh. "It was ten years ago, and Sir Richard was
abroad in Egypt—he often wintered abroad in those days. Your father
had leave, and came down to the Manor House for a few weeks' shooting
and hunting. He met your mother, they grew to love each other, and
one day he came and told your Uncle Theophilus she had promised to be
his wife. Your Uncle Theophilus gave his consent to the match,
providing Sir Richard did the same. Well, Dick, your father wanted
to be married at once, because his regiment had been ordered
on foreign service, and, of course, he wished to take your mother
with him. He wrote to Sir Richard, but no answer came—afterwards
we learnt the letter had been delayed in the post through the
negligence of an official. Your father said he should take silence
for consent, and pointed out to us that if the marriage did not take
place then, our niece would have to go out to him to India to be
married. We did not like that idea at all, and so, Dick, your dear
parents were married; and later—a few days after they had
sailed—your Uncle Theophilus received a letter from Sir Richard
saying he would never give his consent to his son marrying
our niece."
Miss Warren paused. She had no intention of telling Dick all his
grandfather had said in that letter; although the words had been
written so long ago, the remembrance of them made her angry still.
She proceeded:—
"Your Uncle Theophilus wrote and told Sir Richard the marriage had
taken place; and when your grandfather came home in the spring,
he gave us to understand that he never meant to have anything to do
with your mother."
"Why not?" Dick questioned in amazement.
"My dear, your grandfather considered she was beneath his son
in position!"
"Oh, Aunt Mary Ann, I wish you could have heard how he spoke
of mother this afternoon! He didn't say much; but he was very nice
about her—he was indeed! He said he didn't hate her now God has
shown him how wrong it was!"
"It gives me great pleasure to hear it," Miss Warren said, a trifle
dubiously. "No one would be more glad than your dear mother if your
father and grandfather were on good terms again, and I am sure,
judging from the conversation I had with Mrs. Compton the other day,
that she would be pleased. Dear me! I wonder what Theophilus
will think!"
She rose as she spoke, and they proceeded homewards, Dick asking
dozens of questions which Miss Warren found some difficulty
in answering, for she did not like to tell him that Sir Richard's
pride had been at the root of his dislike to his son's marriage.
He had felt that his heir should have looked above a country
surgeon's adopted niece in choosing a wife. Dick, who realised how
good and loving his mother was, and had been taught by her to respect
all who were honourable and true-hearted, whatever their station in
life might be, would have faint sympathy with his grandfather's
pride, Miss Warren knew; and she felt, with a thrill of deep joy
and satisfaction, that the boy was happier at No. 8 Fore Street than
he would ever have been at the Manor House; and in her heart she
prayed that God would keep his soul so unspotted from the world that
he would be always able to judge people apart from their surroundings
and belongings.
The village street was empty as Miss Warren and her nephew turned
into it; and the shops were shut with the exception of the
post-office, which had to be kept open till half-past eight.
Miss Tidy was peering disconsolately over the wire blind; her queer
little face brightened perceptibly as Miss Warren and Dick came
in sight, but clouded again as they passed by—she had hoped they
might have had an errand at the post-office, so that the monotony
of the evening would have been broken.
"Look, Aunt Mary Ann!" cried Dick, as they reached their own door.
"What a lot of people! All coming this way too!"
Miss Warren glanced hastily up the street in the direction indicated.
Not a person had been in sight a few moments before; but now quite
a small crowd had appeared around the bend of the hill above the
village. She immediately concluded something had happened, and sent
Dick into the house to ascertain if her brother was in, whilst she
stood on the doorstep waiting.
The crowd, mostly composed of village children, with a few of their
elders, drew nearer and nearer.
Upon seeing Miss Warren, a man hurried forward, and enquired eagerly
if Dr. Warren was at home.
"Yes," the doctor answered for himself, as he appeared with Dick.
"Am I wanted? What is it? An accident?"
"Yes, sir! Master Compton has been found in the woods above the
village, insensible, and Bill Coysh—'twas he who found him—says
he's been shot, he thinks! They're bringing him here because it's so
far to the Manor House!"
Dr. Warren turned to his sister and gave her some whispered
directions; then he told Dick to go into the sitting-room, and wait
there. The little boy obeyed reluctantly.
He was pale and trembling in every limb, and very frightened, for he
did not doubt but that Lionel had met with some accident
in connection with firing off the blunderbuss. Looking out of the
window, he watched the crowd draw up in front of the house, and
recognised Lionel's figure stretched out on a hurdle carried by four
stalwart villagers. He could not see his cousin's face, for it was
covered with a pocket-handkerchief; he shuddered as the idea
presented itself to his mind that the unfortunate boy might be
already dead.
Only a short while before Dick had been full of bitterness and
resentment against Lionel, but now his naturally sympathetic heart
could find no room for any sentiment but pity. He knew from the
sounds in the house that Lionel was being carried upstairs; then
someone went to the front door and asked the crowd to disperse;
and soon only one or two lingerers remained.
After that everything was very still for a long time. Dick was
beginning to fear he had been forgotten altogether, when he heard
light footsteps coming downstairs, and in another instant Miss
Warren, looking pale and scared, entered the room. The little boy
rushed to her and began asking for particulars of Lionel's accident.
Had he really been shot? Was he much hurt?
"He's living, and that's all I can tell you yet," she replied,
shaking her head sadly. "He has been badly shot in the right thigh,
and has lost a lot of blood. How it happened I have not heard, and
Lionel is perfectly unconscious still. Your Uncle Theophilus has
extracted some of the shots, and has dressed the wounds—I am
thankful he was at home to see to the poor boy at once! Oh dear, this
is a bad business, I fear!"
"Oh, what will Aunt Arabella say!" Dick cried distressfully. "Oh,
poor, poor Lionel!"
"We have sent a message to the Manor House to let them know there
what has happened," Miss Warren said, her bright eyes full of tears.
"I expect Mrs. Compton will be here directly! Poor woman! It will be
a terrible shock for her!"
When Mrs. Compton arrived a little later, in company with her father,
she insisted upon at once going upstairs to see Lionel. Sir Richard
joined Dick in the sitting-room, and listened in silence to the
rather incoherent story the little boy told him.
"I'm afraid he is dreadfully hurt," Dick said in conclusion. "Oh, I
do hope he won't die! It would be so awful, especially after Aunt
Arabella telling us—"
He paused abruptly, mindful that his grandfather knew nothing
of Lionel's intentions with regard to the blunderbuss.
"What did she tell you?" Sir Richard asked sternly, noticing the
uneasy look on Dick's telltale countenance. "Come, speak out!"
"She-she said we were not to fire off the blunderbuss," Dick replied,
coming to the conclusion that everything would be discovered, and
therefore he could not help his cousin by keeping silence. "That was
what we quarrelled about this afternoon. I had promised to help
Lionel, but when Aunt Arabella said that, I told him I wouldn't go
to the woods with him to fire off the blunderbuss without her
knowing, and he was angry with me, and so—and so—"
"And so he went by himself, I conclude!" Sir Richard exclaimed,
frowning.
"I don't know, but I expect he did!" Dick responded in a low tone,
looking deeply distressed.
"Unhappy boy!" groaned the old man. "He is indeed severely punished
for his disobedience! God grant his life may be spared for his
mother's sake!"
"Here comes Uncle Theophilus!" Dick cried, as he heard the doctor's
slow footsteps descending the stairs. He ran to the door, and went
into the hall to meet him, followed by his grandfather.
"How is he?" asked Sir Richard somewhat nervously, as he shook hands
with Dr. Warren. "Not seriously injured, I trust?"
"Seriously, but not necessarily fatally," was the grave reply. "We
must hope for the best. He has been badly shot in the thigh, and is
very weak from loss of blood; he will be ill for many weeks even if
all goes well."
"There is danger?" Sir Richard questioned, whilst Dick listened with
breathless anxiety.
"There is always danger from gunshot wounds," the doctor answered.
"It would not be right for me to hide the fact that he is very
seriously ill, but I am hopeful that I may be able to save his leg,
and that he will recover."
"Do you mean it may be necessary to amputate his leg?" Sir Richard
said in a tone of horror, whilst Dick shuddered at the thought.
"It may be necessary, but I hope not. Mrs. Compton will remain here
to nurse her son, and to-morrow we can get a trained nurse to assist.
It was very fortunate the boy was brought here, for much valuable
time would have been lost if he had been taken to the Manor House.
I need hardly tell you, Sir Richard, that I shall do my best
for him!"
"As you do for all your patients," Sir Richard said, with unexpected
cordiality. "But having Lionel in the house will upset your domestic
arrangements, I fear! What does Miss Warren say?"
"The same as I do—that it was providential the poor lad was brought
here. Don't look so frightened, Dick! Why, you are trembling like a
leaf!" —and Dr. Warren laid his big gentle hand on the little boy's
shoulder, and smiled as he met the gaze of the troubled dark eyes.
"Oh, Uncle Theophilus, will he die?" breathed Dick with a painful
sob. "Oh, I hope God won't let him die!"
"I hope not!" was the fervent reply.
For a few minutes there was silence, save for the ticking of the tall
clock. Dick raised his eyes to its face, and watched the ship in full
sail rocking to and fro; then Sir Richard remarked that as he could
do no good there, he should go home. He was profuse in his thanks to
the doctor, who saw him into his carriage, and said he would send
early in the morning for news of Lionel, adding that he hoped Dick
would come to the Manor House on the morrow, and try to comfort Ruth,
who was in terrible distress about her brother.
As the carriage disappeared from sight, a slouching figure, followed
by a lurcher, approached the doctor and Dick, and requested to know
if the young gentleman was dead.
"No, no," Dr. Warren replied, "he is badly hurt, but I have hopes
of his recovery. Why, it was you who found him, was it not?"
Bill Coysh—for it was he—nodded assent, and was turning away,
when the doctor asked him if he had any idea how the accident
happened. At first he declared he knew nothing about it; but, seeing
he was not believed, he wavered in his statement, and finally
acknowledged that he had been with Lionel when he was shot.
After his quarrel with Dick, Lionel had slipped out of the house, and
returning a little later, had fetched the blunderbuss and ammunition,
armed with which he had gone off to the woods in search of a suitable
place for putting his plans into execution. He had found a secluded
spot in a fir plantation, situated at the top of the hill above the
village, where he had met Bill Coysh, and there had proceeded to load
the blunderbuss according to his grandfather's directions; after
which he had tied the gun securely to a tree with a stout piece of
rope, and making a squib of gunpowder, had lit it and applied it to
the touch-hole, so firing the charge.
"'Twas exactly like letting off a cannon," Bill Coysh said; "I never
heard such a report from any gun before. Master Compton fired it
several times, and then he agreed to let me do it. I shall never
forget it, never! He went a little distance away to hear what the
sound was like further off; and I suppose I took longer than he
expected, and he was coming to see what I was doing, for just as I'd
lit the squib, he came right in a line with the gun, and the next
thing I knew was he'd been shot, and was lying groaning, looking like
death. It wasn't my fault! I wouldn't have injured him for anything!
I ran to him, and asked him if he was hurt, but he didn't answer, and
then I saw he'd fainted, and I went to get help. There, I've told the
truth, doctor, and if I'm had up for murder—" He broke off,
shuddering at the thought, then added:— "If Master Compton lives,
he'll tell you the same tale!"
There was a genuine ring of truth in Bill Coysh's voice which Dr.
Warren was quick to notice. Dick enquired what had become of the
blunderbuss, and was told it was still attached to the tree in the
fir plantation. It was found there the next day by the village
policeman, who had serious thoughts whether he ought not to arrest
Bill Coysh. But by that time Lionel had recovered consciousness, and
was able to say that Bill had told the truth about his accident;
no one was to blame but himself, he solemnly declared. He confessed
everything to his mother, the sight of her pale tear-stained face
awakening remorse and repentance in his wayward heart; needless
to say he had no difficulty in obtaining her forgiveness.
[Illustration: "'Twas exactly like letting off a cannon."]
But Lionel had to suffer from the consequences of his sin during the
weary weeks which followed, when, racked with pain and fever, he lay
upon his sick-bed with plenty of time for reflection. How he
regretted the many occasions when he had disobeyed the mother who
nursed him with such untiring care! He felt he had never loved her
half enough, and hoped God would spare his life that he might try to
make amends to her for his wilfulness in the past.