AFTER THE CROSS, THE CROWN.
The glare of a brilliant April sunset shone in the rainbow-hued western
sky, and on the fresh, green earth, all arrayed in the budding promise
of spring.
Grace Danton stood by the window of a long, low room, looking
thoughtfully out at the orange and crimson dyes of the far-off sky.
The room in which she stood was not at all like the vast old-fashioned
rooms of Danton Hall. It was long and narrow, and low-ceilinged, and
very plainly furnished. There was the bed in the centre, a low,
curtainless bed, and on it, pale, thin, and shadowy, lay Grace's
brother, as he had lain for many weary weeks. He was asleep now, deeply,
heavily, tossing no longer in the wild delirium of brain-fever, as he
had tossed for so many interminable days and nights.
Grace dropped the curtain, and went back to her post by the bedside. As
she did so, the door softly opened, and Kate, in a dark, unrustling
dress and slippers of silence, came in. She had changed in those weeks;
she looked paler and thinner, and the violet eyes had a more tender
light, a sadder beauty than of old.
"Still asleep," she said, softly, looking at the bed. "Grace, I think
your prayers have been heard."
"I trust so, dear. Is your father in?"
"No; he has ridden over to see how the builders get on. You must want
tea, Grace. Go, I will take your place."
Grace arose and left the room, and Kate seated herself in the low chair,
with eyes full of tender compassion. What a shadow he was of his former
self--so pale, so thin, so wasted! The hand lying on the counterpane was
almost transparent, and the forehead, streaked with damp brown hair, was
like marble.
"Poor fellow!" Kate thought, pushing these stray locks softly back, and
forgetting how dangerously akin pity is to love--"poor fellow!"
Yes, it has come to this. Sick--dying, perhaps--Kate Danton found how
dear this once obnoxious young Doctor had grown to her heart. "How
blessings brighten as they take their flight!" Now that she was on the
verge of losing him forever, she discovered his value--discovered that
her admiration was very like love. How could she help it? Women admire
heroes so much! And was not this brave young Doctor a real hero? From
first to last, had not his life in St. Croix been one list of good and
generous deeds?
The very first time she had ever seen him, he had been her champion, to
save her from the insults and rudeness of two drunken soldiers. He had
been a sort of guardian angel to poor Agnes in her great trouble. He had
saved her brother's life and honour. He had perilled his own life to
save that of her sister. The poor of St. Croix spoke of him only to
praise and bless him. Was not this house besieged every day with scores
of anxious inquirers? He was so good, so great, so noble, so
self-sacrificing, so generous--oh! how could she help loving him? Not
with the love that had once been Reginald Stanford's, whose only basis
was a fanciful girl's liking for a handsome face, but a love far deeper
and truer and stronger. She looked back now at the first infatuation,
and wondered at herself. The scales had fallen from her eyes, and she
saw her sister's husband in his true light--false, shallow, selfish,
dishonourable.
"Oh," she thought, with untold thanksgiving in her heart, "what would
have become of me if I had married him?"
There was another sore subject in her heart, too--that short-lived
betrothal to Sir Ronald Keith. How low she must have fallen when she
could do that! How she despised herself now for ever entertaining the
thought of that base marriage. She could thank Father Francis at last.
By the sick-bed of Doctor Frank she had learned a lesson that would last
her a lifetime.
The radiance of the sunset was fading out of the sky, and the gray
twilight was filling the room. She rose up, drew back the green
curtains, and looked for a moment at the peaceful village street. When
she returned to the bedside, the sleeper was awake, his eyes calm and
clear for the first time. She restrained the exclamation of delight
which arose to her lips, and tried to catch the one faint word he
uttered:
"Water?"
She gently raised his head, her cheeks flushing, and held a glass of
lemonade to his lips. A faint smile thanked her; and then his eyes
closed, and he was asleep again. Kate sank down on her knees by the
bedside, grateful tears falling from her eyes, to thank God for the life
that would be spared.
From that evening the young man rallied fast.
The Doctor, who came from Montreal every day to see him, said it was all
owing to his superb constitution and wondrous vitality. But he was very,
very weak. It was days and days before he was strong enough to think, or
speak, or move. He slept, by fits and starts, nearly all day long,
recognizing his sister, and Kate, and Eeny, and the Captain, by his
bedside, without wondering how they came to be there, or what had ailed
him.
But strength to speak and think was slowly returning; and one evening,
in the pale twilight, opening his eyes, he saw Kate sitting beside him,
reading. He lay and watched her, strong enough to think how beautiful
that perfect face was in the tender light, and to feel a delicious
thrill of pleasure, weak as he was, at having her for a nurse.
Presently Kate looked from the book to the bed, and blushed beautifully
to find the earnest brown eyes watching her so intently.
"I did not know you were awake," she said, composedly. "Shall I go and
call Grace?"
"On no account. I don't want Grace. How long have I been sick?"
"Oh, many weeks; but you are getting better rapidly now."
"I can't recall it," he said, contracting his brows. "I know there was a
fire, and I was in the house; but it is all confused. How was it?"
"The Hall was burned down, you know--poor old house!--and you rushed in
to save Eeny, and--"
"Oh, I remember, I remember. A beam or something fell, and after that
all is oblivion. I have had a fever, I suppose?"
"Yes, you have been a dreadful nuisance--talking all day and all night
about all manner of subjects, and frightening us out of our lives."
The young man smiled.
"What did I talk about? Anything very foolish?"
"I dare say it was foolish enough, if one could have understood it, but
it was nearly all Greek to me. Sometimes you were in Germany, talking
about all manner of outlandish things; sometimes you were in New York,
playing Good Samaritan to Agnes Darling."
"Oh, poor Agnes! Where is she?"
"Taken to the high seas. She and Harry had to go, much against their
inclination, while you were so ill."
"And Eeny--did Eeny suffer any harm that night?"
"No; Doctor Frank was the only sufferer. The poor old house was burned
to the ground. I was so sorry."
"And everything was lost?"
"No, a great many things were saved. And they are building a new and
much more handsome Danton Hall, but I shall never love it as I did the
old place."
"Where are we now?"
"In the village. We have taken this cottage until the new house is
finished. Now don't ask any more questions. Too much talking isn't good
for you."
"How very peremptory you are!" said the invalid, smiling; "and you have
taken care of me all this weary time. What a trouble I must have been!"
"Didn't I say so! A shocking trouble. And now that you are able to
converse rationally, you are more trouble than ever, asking so many
questions. Go to sleep."
"Won't you let me thank you first?"
"No, thanks never would repay me for all the annoyance you have been.
Show your gratitude by obedience, sir--stop talking and go to sleep!"
Perhaps Doctor Frank found it very pleasant to be ordered, for he obeyed
with a smile on his face.
Of course, with such a nurse as Miss Danton, the man would be obstinate,
indeed, who would not rally. Doctor Frank was the reverse of obdurate,
and rallied with astonishing rapidity. His sister, Eeny, and Kate were
the most devoted, the most attentive of nurses; but the hours that
Captain Danton's eldest daughter sat by his bedside flew like so many
minutes. It was very pleasant to lie there, propped up with pillows,
with the April sunshine lying in yellow squares on the faded old carpet,
and watch that beautiful face, bending over some piece of elaborate
embroidery, or the humble dress of some village child. She read for him,
too, charming romances, and poetry as sweet as the ripple of a sunlit
brook, in that enchanting voice of hers; and Doctor Frank began to think
convalescence the most delightful state of being that ever was heard of,
and to wish it could last forever.
But, like all the pleasant things of this checkered life, it came to an
end all too soon. The day arrived when he sat up in his easy chair by
the open window, with the scented breezes blowing in his face, and
watched dreamily the cows grazing in the fields, and the dark-eyed
French girls tripping up and down the dusty road. Then, a little later,
and he could walk about in the tiny garden before the cottage, and sit
up the whole day long. He was getting better fast; and Miss Danton,
concluding her occupation was gone, became very much like the Miss
Danton of old. Not imperious and proud--she never would be that
again--but reserved and distant, and altogether changed; the delightful
readings were no more, the pleasant _tête-à-têtes_ were among the things
of the past, the long hours spent by his side, with some womanly work in
her fingers, were over and gone. She was very kind and gentle still, and
the smile that always greeted him was very bright and sweet, but that
heavenly past was gone forever. Doctor Frank, about as clear-sighted as
his sex generally are, of course never guessed within a mile of the
truth.
"What a fool I was!" he thought, bitterly, "flattering myself with such
insane dreams, because she was grateful to me for saving her sister's
life, and pitied me when she thought I was at death's door. Why, she
nursed every sick pauper in St. Croix as tenderly as she did me. She is
right to put me back in my place before I have made an idiot of myself!"
So the convalescent gentleman became moody, and silent and generally
disagreeable; and Grace was the only one who guessed at his feelings and
was sorry for him. But he grew well in spite of hidden trouble, and
began to think of what he was to do in the future.
"I'll go back to Montreal next week, I think," he said to his sister;
"now that the fever has gone, it won't pay to stay here. If I don't get
on in Montreal, I'll try New York."
Man proposes, etc. That evening's mail brought him a letter that
materially altered all his plans. He sat so long silent and thoughtful
after reading it, that Grace looked at him in surprise.
"You look as grave as an owl, Frank. Whom is your letter from?"
Doctor Frank started out of his reverie to find Kate's eyes fixed
inquiringly upon him too.
"From Messrs. Grayson & Hambert, my uncle's solicitors. He is dead."
Grace uttered a little cry.
"Dead! Frank! And you are his heir?"
"Yes."
"How much has he left?" Mrs. Danton asked, breathlessly.
"Twenty thousand pounds."
Grace clasped her hands.
"Twenty thousand pounds? My dear Frank! You have no need to go slaving
at your profession now."
Her brother looked at her in quiet surprise.
"I shall slave at my profession all the same. This windfall will,
however, alter my plans a good deal. I must start for Montreal to-morrow
morning."
He rose and left the room. Grace turned to her step-daughter.
"I am afraid you must think us heartless, Kate; but we have known very
little of this uncle, and that little was not favourable. He was a
miser--a stern and hard man--living always alone and with few friends. I
am so thankful he left his money to Frank."
Doctor Frank left St. Croix next morning for the city, and his absence
made a strange blank in the family. The spring days wore on slowly.
April was gone, and it was May. Captain Danton was absent the best part
of every day, superintending the erection of the new house, and the
three women were left alone. Miss Danton grew listless and languid. She
spent her days in purposeless loiterings in and out of the cottage, in
long reveries and solitary walks.
The middle of May came without bringing the young Doctor, or even a
letter from him. The family were seated one moonlight night in the
large, old-fashioned porch in front of the cottage, enjoying the
moonlight and Eeny's piano. Kate sat in a rustic arm-chair just outside,
looking up at the silvery crescent swimming through pearly clouds, and
the flickering shadows of the climbing sweetbrier coming and going on
her fair face. Captain Danton smoked and Grace talked to him; and while
she sat, Father Francis opened the garden gate and joined them.
"Have you heard from your brother yet?" he asked of Grace, after a few
moments' preliminary conversation.
"No; it is rather strange that he does not write."
"He told me to make his apologies. I had a letter from him to-day. He is
very busy preparing to go away."
"Go away! Go where?"
"To Germany; he leaves in a week."
"And will he not come down to say good-bye?" inquired Grace,
indignantly.
"Oh, certainly! He will be here in a day or two."
"And how long is he going to stay abroad?"
"That seems uncertain. A year or two, probably, at the very least."
Grace stole a look at Kate, but Kate had drawn back into the shadow of
the porch, and her face was not to be seen. Father Francis lingered for
half an hour, and then departed; and as the dew was falling heavily, the
group in the porch arose to go in. The young lady in the easy-chair did
not stir.
"Come in, Kate," her father said, "it is too damp to remain there."
"Yes, papa, presently."
About a quarter of an hour later, she entered the parlour to say
good-night, very pale, as they all noticed.
"I knew sitting in the night air was bad," her father said. "You are as
white as a ghost."
Miss Danton was very grave and still for the next two days--a little
sad, Grace thought. On the third day, Doctor Frank arrived. It was late
in the afternoon, and he was to depart again early next morning.
"What are you running away for now?" asked his sister, with asperity.
"What has put this German notion in your head?"
The young man smiled.
"My dear Grace, don't wear that severe face. Why should I not go? What
is to detain me here?"
This was such an unanswerable question that Grace only turned away
impatiently; and Kate, who was in the room, fancying the brother and
sister might wish to be alone, arose and departed. As the door closed
after her, Captain Danton's wife faced round and renewed the attack.
"If you want to know what is to detain you here, I can tell you now.
Stay at home and marry Kate Danton."
Her brother laughed, but in rather a constrained way.
"That is easier said than done, sister mine. Miss Danton never did more
than tolerate me in her life--sometimes not even that. Impossibilities
are not so easily achieved as you think."
"Suppose you try."
"And be refused for my pains. No, thank you."
"Very well," said Mrs. Grace with a shrug; "a wilful man must have his
way! You cannot tell whether you will be refused or not until you ask."
"I have a tolerably strong conviction, though. No, Mrs. Grace, I shall
go to Germany, and forget my folly; for that I have been an idiot, I
don't deny."
"And are so still! Do as you please, however; it is no affair of mine."
Doctor Frank rode over to the new building to see how it progressed. It
was late when he returned with the Captain, and he found that Kate had
departed to spend the evening with Miss Howard. If he wanted further
proof of her indifference, surely he had it here.
It was very late, and the family had retired before Miss Danton came
home. She was good enough though, to rise, very early next morning to
say good-bye. Doctor Frank took his hasty breakfast, and came into the
parlour, where he found her alone.
"I thought I was not to have the pleasure of seeing you before I went,"
he said, holding out his hand. "I have but ten minutes left: so
good-bye."
His voice shook a little as he said it. In spite of every effort, her
fingers closed around his, and her eyes looked up at him with her whole
heart in their clear depths.
"Kate!" he exclaimed, the colour rushing to his face with a sudden
thrill of ecstasy, and his hand closing tight over the slender fingers
he held. "Kate!"
She turned away, her own cheeks dyed, not daring to meet that eager,
questioning look.
"Kate!" he cried, appealingly; "it is because I love you I am going
away. I never thought to tell you."
* * * * *
Five minutes later Grace opened the door impetuously.
"Frank, don't you know you will be la--Oh, I beg pardon."
She closed it hastily, and retreated. The Captain, standing in the
doorway, looked impatiently at his watch.
"What keeps the fellow? He'll be late to a dead certainty."
Grace laughed.
"There is no hurry, I think. I don't believe Frank will go to Germany
this time."