THE SICK-CHAMBER.
She was carried to her room and laid on her bed. The doctor requested
Mrs. Brookes and Donal to remain, and dismissed the rest, then
proceeded to examine her. There were no bones broken, he said, but she
must be kept very quiet. The windows must be darkened, and she must if
possible sleep. She gave Donal a faint smile, and a pitiful glance, but
did not speak. As he was following the doctor from the room, she made a
sign to Mrs. Brookes with her eyes that she wanted to speak to him.
He came, and bent over to hear, for she spoke very feebly.
“You will come and see me, Mr. Grant?”
“I will, indeed, my lady.”
“Every day?”
“Yes, most certainly,” he replied.
She smiled, and so dismissed him. He went with his heart full.
A little way from the door stood Forgue, waiting for him to come out.
He had sent the doctor to his father. Donal passed him with a bend of
the head. He followed him to the schoolroom.
“It is time this farce was over, Grant!” he said.
“Farce, my lord!” repeated Donal indignantly.
“These attentions to my lady.”
“I have paid her no more attention than I would your lordship, had you
required it,” answered Donal sternly.
“That would have been convenient doubtless! But there has been enough
of humbug, and now for an end to it! Ever since you came here, you have
been at work on the mind of that inexperienced girl--with your damned
religion!--for what end you know best! and now you’ve half killed her
by persuading her to go out with you instead of me! The brute was lame
and not fit to ride! Any fool might have seen that!”
“I had nothing to do with her going, my lord. She asked Davie to go
with her, and he had a holiday on purpose.”
“All very fine, but--”
“My lord, I have told you the truth, but not to justify myself: you
must be aware your opinion is of no value in my eyes! But tell me one
thing, my lord: if my lady’s horse was lame, how was it she did not
know? You did!”
Forgue thought Donal knew more than he did, and was taken aback.
“It is time the place was clear of you!” he said.
“I am your father’s servant, not yours,” answered Donal, “and do not
trouble myself as to your pleasure concerning me. But I think it is
only fair to warn you that, though you cannot hurt me, nothing but
honesty can take you out of my power.”
Forgue turned on his heel, went to his father, and told him he _knew_
now that Donal was prejudicing the mind of lady Arctura against him; but
not until it came in the course of the conversation, did he mention the
accident she had had.
The earl professed himself greatly shocked, got up with something almost
like alacrity from his sofa, and went down to inquire after his niece.
He would have compelled Mrs. Brookes to admit him, but she was
determined her lady should not be waked from a sleep invaluable to her,
for the sake of receiving his condolements, and he had to return to his
room without gaining anything.
If she were to go, the property would be his, and he could will it as
he pleased--that was, if she left no will. He sent for his son and
cautioned him over and over to do nothing to offend her, but wait: what
might come, who could tell! It might prove a serious affair!
Forgue tried to feel shocked at the coolness of his father’s
speculation, but allowed that, if she was determined not to receive him
as her husband, the next best thing, in the exigence of affairs, would
certainly be that she should leave a world for whose uses she was ill
fitted, and go where she would be happier. The things she would then
have no farther need of, would be welcome to those to whom by right
they belonged more really than to her! She was a pleasant thing to look
upon, and if she had loved him he would rather have had the property
with than without her; but there was this advantage, he would be left
free to choose!
Lady Arctura lay suffering, feverish, and restless. Mrs. Brookes would
let no one sit up with her but herself. The earl would have sent for “a
suitable nurse!” a friend of his in London would find one! but she
would not hear of it. And before the night was over she had greater
reason still for refusing to yield her post: it was evident her young
mistress was more occupied with Donal Grant than with the pain she was
suffering! In her delirium she was constantly desiring his presence. “I
know he can help me,” she would say; “he is a shepherd, like the Lord
himself!” And mistress Brookes, though by no means devoid of the
prejudices of the rank with which her life had been so much associated,
could not but allow that a nobler life must be possible with one like
Donal Grant than with one like lord Forgue.
In the middle of the night Arctura became so unquiet, that her nurse,
calling the maid she had in a room near, flew like a bird to Donal, and
asked him to come down. He had but partially undressed, thinking his
help might be wanted, and was down almost as soon as she. Ere he came,
however, she had dismissed the maid.
Donal went to the bedside. Arctura was moaning and starting, sometimes
opening her eyes, but distinguishing nothing. Her hand lay on the
counterpane: he laid his upon it. She gave a sigh as of one relieved; a
smile came flickering over her face, and she lay still for some time.
Donal sat down beside her, and watched. The moment he saw her begin to
be restless or look distressed, he laid his hand upon hers; she was
immediately quiet, and lay for a time as if she knew herself safe. When
she seemed about to wake, he withdrew.
So things went on for many nights. Donal slept instead of working when
his duties with Davie were over, and lay at night in the corridor,
wrapt in his plaid. For even after Arctura began to recover, her nights
were sorely troubled, and her restoration would have been much
retarded, had not Donal been near to make her feel she was not
abandoned to the terrors she passed through.
One night the earl, wandering about in the anomalous condition of
neither ghost nor genuine mortal, came suddenly upon what he took for a
huge animal in wait to devour. He was not terrified, for he was
accustomed to such things, and thought at first it was not of this
world: he had no doubt of the reality of his visions, even when he knew
they were invisible to others, and even in his waking moments had begun
to believe in them as much as in the things then evident to him--or
rather, perhaps, to disbelieve equally in both. He approached to see
what it was, and stood staring down upon the mass. Gently it rose and
confronted him--if confronting that may be called where the face
remained so undefined--for Donal took care to keep his plaid over his
head: he had hope in the probable condition of the earl! He turned from
him and walked away.