A DIVING BELLE “WRINGING” WET.
The shrieks alluded to in the last chapter still continued, and Lewis,
consigning Walter to the care of a servant, hastened to the spot to
render any assistance which it might be in his power to afford. As he
reached the scene of action the panic and confusion were so great that
it was no easy matter to ascertain the extent of the mischief, or to
perceive how best it might be remedied. Lord Bellefield, who seemed
the only person at all collected, was issuing directions in a loud,
authoritative voice, to which the majority of the bystanders appeared
too much alarmed and excited to pay attention. The number of persons who
were actually immersed had been increased by the injudicious attempts of
those who had first endeavoured to assist them by rushing to the edge of
the broken ice, which, giving way under their weight, had plunged
them also into the water. As Lewis came up a rope was flung across the
opening, and held tightly by men on either side. Grasping this firmly
with one hand, the young tutor assisted to extricate several persons who
were clinging to the edges of the ice. He was just springing back as the
portion on which he was standing broke away beneath his feet, when a
cry was raised, “There’s a lady in the water!” and immediately some one
added, “It’s the General’s daughter--it’s Miss Grant.” Before the words
were well spoken Lewis had flung off his greatcoat and was about
to plunge into the water, when his eye suddenly caught that of Lord
Bellefield, who, having in the confusion accidentally stationed himself
by his side, was pointing with vehement gestures to the spot where,
partly sustained by the buoyant nature of her dress, partly supported by
a mass of floating ice, the form of Annie Grant was to be discerned. At
the sight of the eager face of the man who had insulted him some evil
spirit seemed to take possession of Lewis’s breast; checking himself
suddenly, he stepped back a pace, and fixing his eyes with a piercing
glance on Lord Bellefield’s features, said coldly, “I beg pardon, your
lordship will, of course, rescue Miss Grant.”
For a moment anger and surprise deprived Lord Bellefield of the power of
speaking, but as soon as he could find words he replied, “Go on, sir; as
you could risk your life for a dog, you will surely take a cold bath to
save your master’s daughter.”
The speech was an ill-chosen one, for it excited a degree of irritation
which outweighed all other considerations, and folding his arms across
his chest, Lewis replied in a tone of the bitterest irony, “Your
lordship must excuse me. _I am no squire of dames_.”
Lord Bellefield’s only rejoinder was an oath, and flinging off his
wrapper, he appeared about to spring into the water. Suddenly changing
his intention, he turned to Lewis and exclaimed, his face livid with
rage and vexation, “Ten thousand curses on you! You know I cannot swim.”
It is at such moments as these, when by our own wilful act we have laid
ourselves open to his attacks, that the tempter urges us on to crimes
which in our calmer moments we should shudder to contemplate. A glance
of triumph shot from Lewis’s dark eyes; the fearful thought flashed
across him, “She is to be his bride--her fortune is to repair his
extravagance--perhaps he loves her--let him save her himself, I will not
rescue her _for him_.” And the fiend prompted the idea, worthy of its
originator, that he might revenge himself on Lord Bellefield by leaving
Annie to perish. But, like many other clever people, for once the demon
outwitted himself, the very magnitude of the offence serving to awaken
Lewis to the sinfulness of the line of conduct he had meditated. Almost
in the same moment in which the idea occurred to him a mist seemed to
clear itself away from his mental vision, and he perceived the abyss of
guilt on the brink of which he was standing. And now the agonising doubt
suggested itself to him whether his repentance might not have come too
late--whether Annie might not sink before he could reach her; and as
Lord Bellefield ran off impetuously to hasten the movements of a party
who were bringing a small flat-bottomed boat towards the spot, Lewis
sprang into the water, clearing a quarter of the distance in his leap,
and swam with vigorous strokes in the direction of the still floating
figure.
His fears were not unfounded. Annie’s dress, which had hitherto served
in great measure to sustain her, was rapidly becoming saturated with
water; every instant she sank lower, and while he was still some yards
from the spot, to his horror he perceived the fragment of ice on
which she rested roll round and slip from her grasp. The effect was
instantaneous. Uttering a piercing shriek, which rang through his ears
like a death-knell, she threw out her arms in a vain attempt to save
herself, and disappeared beneath the water. At the same moment there was
a rush, a bound, a plunge--some large animal dashed past Lewis, and ere
the last fragment of Annie’s dress disappeared Faust had seized it in
his mouth and prevented its wearer from sinking. The bystanders now drew
the rope which had been flung across the opening in the ice in such a
direction that Lewis could grasp it, and thus supported, he contrived to
raise Annie’s head above the water, and with some assistance from Faust,
to keep both her and himself afloat till such time as the punt should
arrive. This, fortunately, was not long. The instant it was launched,
Lord Bellefield and one or two others jumped into it, and in another
moment Annie Grant was rescued from her perilous situation, to the
horrors of which she was, however, by this time happily insensible. As
they were lifting her into the boat, poor Faust, who probably did not
understand that his services were no longer needed, still retained his
hold on her dress, and Lord Bellefield struck him so fiercely with the
handle of a boathook that he fell back stunned, and would have sunk
had not Lewis, who was still in the water, thrown his arm round him and
supported him.
“The punt can hold no more,” exclaimed Lord Bellefield. “Miss Grant’s
safety must not be endangered for _any_ consideration and as he spoke he
pushed the boat from the spot, leaving Lewis still clinging to the rope
and supporting the weight of the dog, which did not as yet begin to show
any signs of life.
“We will bring the boat back for you, sir, directly” cried one of the
men who were assisting Lord Bellefield in punting.
“You must be quick about it, if you care to be of any use,” returned
Lewis in a faint voice, “for I can’t hold on much longer; my limbs are
becoming numbed with the cold.”
“Better let go the dog if you’re in any difficulty,” suggested Lord
Bellefield with a malicious laugh as the boat moved rapidly away.
“That is the way they would repay your faithful service, eh! my poor
Faust,” murmured Lewis. “Never fear, we’ll sink or swim together, my
dog. If any one deserves to drown for this day’s work ’tis I, not
you.” At the sound of his master’s voice the poor animal opened his eyes
and began to show signs of returning animation. Fortunate was it for
them both that Lewis had contrived to place the rope under his arms in
such a position as almost entirely to support, not only his own weight,
but that of the dog also; for long before the boat returned his strength
was entirely exhausted, and his limbs, from the length of time he had
been immersed in the icy water, had completely lost all sensation, and
were powerless as those of a child.
Lord Bellefield contrived to detain the boat on various pretexts, till
at last the man who had promised to return lost all patience, and pushed
off without waiting for permission; in another moment it was by Lewis’s
side.
“Take the dog first,” exclaimed Lewis in a voice scarcely audible from
exhaustion. “Now, you must lift me in, for I can’t help myself.” With
some difficulty (for even with the assistance of the rope Lewis had been
barely able to keep his own head and that of Faust above water) the
men in the boat complied with his directions. The dog had by this time
nearly recovered from the effects of the blow, and was able to stand
up and lick his master’s face and hands as he lay at the bottom of the
punt. Lewis, however, by no means appeared in such good case; his cheeks
and even lips were deadly pale, his breathing was hard and laborious,
and he lay with his eyes closed and his limbs stretched out with
unnatural stiffness and rigidity. As the boat approached the spot where
a landing was practicable, Charles Leicester, who had assisted his
brother in conveying Annie to the carriage, which was fortunately in
waiting, came running back, and as his eye fell upon the prostrate form
of Lewis, he exclaimed--
“Why, Arundel! good heavens, I believe he’s insensible.”
Nor was he wrong. The instant the necessity for exertion was over
the reaction had been too much for Lewis, and he had fainted. He was
instantly lifted from the boat and carried to the tent, where such
restoratives as could be at the moment procured were applied, at first
without success, but after a short time the colour began to return to
his lips, and in a few minutes more he was restored to consciousness.
“Bravo, that’s all right,” began Charley Leicester, as Lewis, with a
faint smile, sat upright and returned his hearty shake of the hand with
a feeble pressure. “You begin to look a little less like a candidate for
a coffin than you did five minutes ago. I declare, when I saw you in the
boat, thought it was a case of ‘found drowned.’ Faust! good dog, how
unpleasantly wet you are--what a bump he’s got on the top of his head,
just where the organ of combativeness--no, veneration, isn’t it? ought
to be. How did that happen? In fact I’m quite in the dark as to the
whole affair, for I had gone to fetch shawls for some of the ladies, and
when I reached the scene of action Bellefield was fishing his intended,
half-drowned, out of a moist punt, and enlisted me to assist in
conveying the dripping damsel to the carriage. Did you fall in
together?”
“You will hear enough about it soon, I dare say,” returned Lewis,
speaking feebly and with apparent difficulty. “I am afraid I have
scarcely sufficient life left in me just now to tell you.”
“Don’t attempt it,” returned Leicester good-naturedly. “And the sooner
you get those soaked clothes off, the better. Of course they will send
back the trap for you.”
“My carriage is on the spot,” interrupted a tall, aristocratic-looking
man who had assisted in conveying Lewis to the tent. “My carriage is on
the spot, and is very much at this gentleman’s service. We must all
feel anxious to prevent his suffering from the effects of his gallant
conduct. The preserver of Miss Grant’s life must be considered as a
public benefactor.”
At this praise a slight colour rose to Lewis’s pale cheeks, and a
look of pain passed across his features. _He_ to be styled Annie’s
preserver!--_he_ who had all but sacrificed her life to his feelings of
revenge! and as the recollection occurred to him a slight shudder ran
through his frame.
“There, you are actually shivering,” exclaimed Leicester. “I shall not
let you stay here any longer. Since Sir Ralph Strickland is so kind as
to offer his carriage, there is nothing to delay us. Can you walk? Take
my arm.”
Lewis, with an inclination of the head to Sir Ralph, took Leicester’s
proffered arm, and having with difficulty risen from his seat,
attempted to walk, but at the first step he stumbled, and would have
fallen had not his friend supported him.
“Steady, there,” continued Leicester; “you’re hardly in marching order
yet. Would you like to wait another minute or two?”
“I think I had better try to proceed,” replied Lewis; “exercise may
serve to restore the circulation.”
“Allow me to take your other arm,” said Sir Ralph Strickland kindly;
“then I think you will be able to reach the carriage--it is close at
hand. The length of time you were in the water has cramped your limbs. I
saw the whole affair, and never witnessed anything more interesting than
the conduct of your noble dog.”
And as he spoke he stooped and patted Faust, then forcing Lewis to
accept his offer of assistance, they left the tent together. As his
blood began once again to circulate the cramp and stiffness gradually
disappeared, and ere the trio reached the carriage Lewis scarcely
required assistance. On reaching Broadhurst he found the General waiting
to receive him, and the instant he alighted he had to undergo a long,
prosy, and pompous harangue, embodying that noble commander’s gratitude,
during the delivery of which oration the subject of it was kept standing
in his wet clothes, a compulsory act of homage to the cold-water system,
by no means congenial to his feelings, mental or bodily. However, it
came to an end at last, and Lewis was permitted to retire to his own
room. Moreover, Charles Leicester (instigated thereunto by a hint from
Miss Peyton) waylaid the apothecary who had been summoned on Annie’s
account, and caused him to inspect Lewis’s condition, which measure
resulted in a command to have his bed warmed, and instantly to deposit
himself therein; with which medical ordinance Lewis was fain to comply.
There he lay until, from being much too cold, he became a great deal
too hot, for before night he was in a high state of feverish excitement,
accompanied by violent pains in the head and limbs. His medical adviser
was, however, fortunately really skilful, and by vigorous and timely
measures he contrived to avert the rheumatic fever with which his
patient was threatened; and after spending three days in bed Lewis
arose, feeling indeed especially weak, but otherwise little the worse
in body for his aquatic exploit. We say in body, for mentally he had
suffered, and was still suffering bitterly. As he lay on the couch of
sickness in the silent hours of the night, face to face with conscience,
the recollection of the sin he had committed (for a sin it was, and he
was too honest-hearted in his self-scrutiny not to recognise it as such)
haunted him. The fact that he had been unable by his own act to repair
the consequences of the evil he had meditated impressed him deeply--but
for Faust Annie would have sunk ere he could have reached the spot,
probably to rise no more. It appeared a special interference of
Providence to convince him of the folly of self-reliance, and to impress
upon his mind a sense of the mercy of God, in saving him from the
consequences of his revengeful feelings. True, he had repented of his
fault almost in the moment of committal; true, he had risked his life in
proof of the sincerity of His repentance; true, the provocation he had
received might, in the eyes of men, serve in great measure to justify
him; still, the knowledge that but for the interposition of Providence
he might now have felt himself a murderer filled him with emotions of
the deepest penitence, and at the same time of the liveliest gratitude.
In this frame of mind the encomiums passed upon his gallant conduct were
most distressing to him, and a short note from Annie, thanking him in
a few simple words for having saved her life, added fuel to the fire of
his self-condemnation. Amongst other good resolutions for the future he
determined to bear any insults Lord Bellefield might offer with as
much patient endurance as could by any possibility be consistent with
self-respect in one in his dependent situation; and the reader may judge
of the sincerity of his repentance if he reflects what such a resolution
must have cost his haughty nature. He also determined to seek an
opportunity of confessing to Annie how little he deserved her gratitude,
and to implore her forgiveness for the wrong he had intended her. The
dipping that young lady had undergone did not appear to have affected
either her health or her spirits. By the doctor’s orders she also had
been sent to bed immediately on her return home, where, falling asleep,
she escaped a lecture from Minerva and all other evil consequences
of her immersion, and woke the next morning none the worse for the
accident.
It was about a week after the day on which these events had taken place,
when, the afternoon being fine, Lewis and Walter proposed to take a
ride together. Walter had mounted his pony, and Lewis was strapping a
greatcoat in front of his horse’s saddle, when Richards, the groom, who
had been elevated to the rank of second coachman (as the illness of the
head coachman had rendered his resignation an act of necessity, and
the next in command had succeeded to his vacant box), came forward, and
touching his hat, asked if he could speak to Lewis a minute.
“Certainly; what is it?” returned Lewis, stepping aside a few paces.
“Why, sir, p’r’aps you know as the General’s gone out a-driving?”
“I was not aware of the fact,” returned Lewis; “but what then?”
“He’s a-driving of hisself, sir,--_our_ iron-greys, Mr. Arundel. Master
ain’t so young as he used to was, and it’s my belief if any-think
startles ’em he won’t be able to hold ’em--they go sweetly now, but
they do pull most amazing. I drove ’em yesterday, and afore I got home
my arms ached properly.”
“Did you mention this to General Grant?” inquired Lewis.
“Well, I told him I was afeard he’d find ’em pull rather stiff; but he
only give me one of his dark looks, as much as to say, ‘Keep youi
advice to yourself, and mind your own business.’ Master’s rather a hard
gentleman to talk to, you see; he’s always been used to shooting and
flogging the blacks, out in the Ingies, till it’s kind a-become natural
to him; and _as_ he can’t act the same here with us whites, why it puts
him out like.”
“I do not see that anything can be done now,” observed Lewis, after
a moment’s reflection. “If I had been here when the General started I
would have told him the trick the iron-greys played us, and advised him
not to drive them just yet; but I dare say it would have done no good;
for, as you say, your master is not over fond of advice gratis. I
suppose he has one of the grooms with him?”
“Only a mere boy, sir, and Miss Annie,” was the reply.
“What!” exclaimed Lewis in a quick, excited tone of voice; “is Miss
Grant with him? Why did you not say so before? Which road have they
taken? How long have they been gone?”
“About twenty minutes, or p’r’aps not so long,” returned Richards. “I
think they’re gone to Camfield--leastways, I heard master tell Miss
Annie to bring her card-case, ’cos he was going to call on Colonel
Norton.”
“That must be eight miles by the road, but not much above five across
the fields by Churton Wood,” rejoined Lewis.
“That _is_ right, Mr. Arundel,” was the reply; “and the gates is
unlocked, for I rode that way with a note for Colonel Norton the day
afore yesterday.”
Ere Richards had finished speaking Lewis was on horseback; and as soon
as they reached the park he turned to his pupil, saying, “Now, Walter,
sit firmly, guide the pony on to the turf, tighten your reins, and then
for a good canter; touch him with the whip--not too hard--that’s it.”
Putting his own horse in motion at the same time, they rode forward at
a brisk canter, which, as the horses grew excited by the rapid motion,
became almost a gallop. Crossing the park at this pace, they turned down
a bridle-path which led through a wood and across several grass fields,
beyond the last of which lay a wide common. As they approached this
Lewis took out his watch. “Above four miles in twenty mintues,--I call
that good work for a pony. You rode very well, Walter,--you’ve a capital
seat on horseback now.”
“I can leap too,” rejoined Walter. “Richards taught me the days when you
were ill in bed.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” returned Lewis, who, while his pupil was
speaking, had been endeavouring, unsuccessfully, to open a gate, “for
they have fastened this gate with a padlock, and we must find our way
over the hedge.”
“Oh! but I can’t----” began Walter.
“Yes you can,” interposed Lewis, “when I have cleared the road for
you, and shown you how to do it. Sit still and watch me.” So saying,
he selected a place where the hedge was thin and the ditch and bank
practicable, and putting his horse into an easy canter, rode at it.
Being particularly anxious that nothing should go wrong, and that Walter
should be convinced of the feasibility of the attempt, Lewis was not
best pleased when his horse, instead of rising to the leap, refused it,
and replied to a tolerably sharp application of the spur by plunging
violently and turning short round. His rider, however, sat as firmly
as if he were part of the animal, and cantering round two sides of the
field, got him well in hand and again rode him at the hedge, working his
mouth with the bit and giving him the spur. This discipline produced the
desired effect; for instead of refusing the leap this time, the horse
sprang forward with a bound which would have cleared an obstacle of
twice the size, and alighted on the other side several feet beyond the
ditch. Lewis rode on a few yards, and then turning, leaped back into the
field and rejoined his pupil. “Now, Walter, you must do as I have done.
Canter up to that gap, give the pony his head, touch him on the flank as
he approaches the hedge, sit firmly and press in your knees, and you’ll
go over as nicely as possible.”
But poor Walter’s courage failed him; the conflict between Lewis and
his horse had destroyed his confidence, and he was afraid to make the
attempt. His tutor read it in his blanched cheek and quailing glance,
and being as kind and judicious as he was firm, forbore to press the
point, and dismounting, led the pony through the gap, and assisted
Walter to scramble over on foot; then remounting his steed, he tested
his obedience by once more leaping him over; and having thus achieved
the adventure of the locked gate, tutor and pupil cantered off across
the common. But this little episode had caused some loss of time, and
when Lewis reached the lane leading to the village, near which Colonel
Norton’s house was situated, he learned from a man who was mending
the road that a phaeton, answering the description of General Grant’s
equipage, had passed a few minutes before.
“My friend Richards’ fears were needlessly excited then, it seems, and
the old gentleman is a better whip than he gave him credit for being,”
thought Lewis. “Come, Walter,” he added aloud, “we will go back by the
road. Don’t trot just yet; the horses are warm, we must allow them to
get a little cool.”
After proceeding about half a mile along the lane, which was only just
wide enough to allow vehicles to pass each other, they overtook an
elderly woman in a red cloak most picturesquely perched between two
panniers on a donkey’s back. Such an arrangement being a novelty to
Walter, he was proceeding to inquire of what use the panniers were, when
Lewis’s quick sense of hearing caught a sound which caused him to rein
in his horse and, enjoining silence, pause to listen. His ears had not
deceived him. Owing to the frosty weather the road was particularly
hard, the ruts also had been lately mended with coarse gravel, and as
he listened the sound of horses’ feet galloping, and the rattle of a
carriage proceeding at unusual speed, became distinctly audible in the
lane behind them. The vehicle was evidently rapidly approaching. The
lane being in this part extremely narrow, Lewis’s first thought was for
Walter’s safety. Seizing the pony’s rein, he set spurs to his horse, and
they cantered on a short distance till they reached a gateway leading
into a field. The gate was fortunately open, and desiring Walter to ride
into the field and wait till he joined him, he turned his horse’s
head and began, to retrace his steps. As soon as he had passed an old
oak-tree which stood at a corner of the road and prevented any one from
seeing beyond it, he perceived the cause of the sounds which had reached
him, and which he had already but too correctly divined.
At about a hundred yards from the spot where he was stationed appeared a
phaeton drawn by a pair of magnificent iron-grey horses, which Lewis had
no difficulty in recognising. From the furious pace at which they were
advancing, it was evident that their driver had lost all control over
them; while about half-way between Lewis and the equipage in question
were the donkey and panniers, with the old woman in the red cloak before
alluded to. The gentleman driving the phaeton shouted to her to get out
of the way, and Lewis made signs as to which side of the road she had
better take; but she appeared either paralysed with fear or unable to
guide her donkey; and ere she was able to comply with, or probably to
comprehend these directions, the infuriated horses had overtaken her,
and dashing against her, flung her, donkey, panniers and all, to the
ground with a shock like that of a battering-ram. At the same instant
Lewis, availing himself of the temporary check, rode forward, and
springing from his saddle, seized the heads of the phaeton horses, and
with much difficulty, and no inconsiderable personal risk, succeeded in
stopping them.