"Good-bye, Mr Beck;" and she held out her hand, which was taken for a
moment and then dropped, as she turned and left the room.
The vicar's son had hardly left the house an hour when Sir Cheltnam rode
over to make inquiries, and was leaving his card, when Alison came into
the hall and went out on the steps to speak to him.
"Can't ask you in," said Alison. "The governor's very bad."
"Got a doctor down from London, haven't you?"
"We've had one in consultation, but he has gone back."
"But our doctor here is not attending him, for I met him, and he was
asking about it, and thought it rather strange that he had not been sent
for."
"Humph! You see, my brother is attending him."
"Oh!" ejaculated Sir Cheltnam. "Well, it's no business of mine, but if
anything happened to the old man it wouldn't look well, and people would
talk about it a good deal. I say, isn't your brother rather disposed to
ride the high horse?"
Alison winced.
"What do you mean?" he said rather roughly. "Oh, nothing much. A bit
haughty with me, as if he did not approve of my pretensions. Coming the
elder brother a bit, and I'm getting nervous as to what it is going to
be now your father is down."
"Oh, it is only Neil's way," said Alison sulkily. "And you don't seem
much better. If you came over to my place, I should ask you in, and
call a man to take your horse."
"How can I ask you in at a time like this?" said Alison apologetically.
"Easily enough, and take me into the drawing room. How is Isabel?"
"Broken-hearted, nearly. This came about directly after the governor
had given Tom Beck his _conge_."
"Then he had done that?"
"Yes; and the little girl's a bit sore about it."
"Cheerful for me!" said Sir Cheltnam.
"Bah! He'll be off to sea directly, and she'll soon forget him."
"Then you think I had better not come in to-day? I'm off, then. Wish
the old man better. I'll come on again to-morrow to see how he is. I
say, tell Isabel I called and was in great trouble, and that sort of
thing."
"Oh, yes; all right," growled Alison.
"Pleasant sort of a brother-in-law in prospective," said Sir Cheltnam to
himself, as he cantered off.
"Takes it as a matter of course that he is to have her," muttered
Alison. "I'm not so sure."
He bit one of his nails and watched the visitor till he was out of
sight, and still stood at the foot of the steps frowning.
"Even he sees it," he muttered. "I won't stand any more of his
arbitrary ways. He is only a year older than I am, and yet he is to
lord it over me as if I were a child. Why should he take the lead in
everything? Is he to do so always? Not if I know it. If all this
means that a new king reigns in Hightoft, it is not going to be brother
Neil."
Almost in perfect ignorance of what was going on downstairs, Neil
remained patiently watching by his father's side. Aunt and sister had
both begged him to go and lie down, insisting upon the fact that he
would be quite helpless at night, and that it was his duty, so as to be
ready to watch again, but he only smiled.
"My dear Aunt," he said at last to that lady, who was greatly agitated
in his behalf, "a doctor grows used to watching by his patient's
bedside, and gets little snatches of sleep which refresh him. Believe
me, I am not a bit tired."
At that moment Isabel entered the room with a telegram.
"For you, Neil, dear," she said.
"It has been opened."
"Yes, dear, Alison opened it. He said it must be for him."
Neil frowned, but said no more, and taking out the telegram he read:
"The nurse leaves town this afternoon. Let a carriage meet her at the
station.
"Hayle."
"Hah!" he said, passing the letter to his aunt. "I am glad of that; it
will set me free, and the help of a good nurse at a time like this is
invaluable."
"But shall we be able to trust her?" said Aunt Anne. "My experience of
nurses is that they are dreadful women, who drink and go to sleep in
sickrooms, and the patient cannot wake them, and dies for want of
attention."
"Oh, Aunt!" cried Isabel.
"I am assured that it is quite true, my dear," said Aunt Anne,
didactically.
"I think we have changed all that, Aunt, dear," said Neil, smiling.
"Sir Denton would not send down any woman who is not thoroughly
trustworthy."
Aunt Anne pursed up her lips, and tried to look wise and full of
experience--a difficult task for a lady with her plump, dimpled
countenance.
"Well, my dear," she said, "I hope so; but it always seems to me that
the selection of an attendant for a sick man is a lady's duty, and I
cannot believe in the choice made by a man, and such an old man too.
But there, we shall see."
"Yes, Aunt, dear," said Neil, smiling, "we shall see."
Aunt Anne was left in charge of the patient, very much to her
satisfaction, so that Neil could go down with Isabel for a rest and a
little fresh air.
As they reached the hall they met Alison, who came up directly.
"Oh, Neil," he said, "I opened that telegram thinking it might be meant
for me."
"Yes," said his brother. "I heard that you did."
"Quite a mistake I hope you don't mind."
"I have other things to take my attention," replied Neil. "Come,
Isabel, let's have a walk up and down in the fresh air. I can't stay
long."
He led the way out on to the drive, and, after hesitating for a few
moments, Alison followed, frowning, just as the sound of horses' hoofs
was heard, and Saxa and Dana Lydon rode up.
"Well, how's the dad?" cried Saxa boisterously. "Going on all right?
Glad of it. You boys are making too much fuss over it. Nature soon
cures a fall. It isn't like a disease, is it, Doctor?"
"It's of no use to ask him," said Dana merrily. "He'll pull a
professional face, and make the worst of it, and then by and by, rub his
hands and say, `There; see what a clever fellow I am.'"
"Yes," said Saxa maliciously, "when I could have set him right with some
embrocation and a bit of flannel bandage."
"Glad the old man's better," cried Dana. "Here, you people look white
and worried. Order out the horses and come for an hour's ride."
"Would you like to go, Isabel?" asked Neil.
"I? Oh, no," cried the girl hurriedly.
"What a baby you are, Bel!" said Saxa contemptuously. "You'll come,
Neil?"
"I should like a ride," he replied, "but it is impossible to leave
home."
"Next time I ask you there will be a different answer," said the girl
sharply. "Don't ask Alison, Dan," she continued, turning to her sister.
"He is going to be a good boy too, and stop and see his papa take his
barley-water."
"Is he?" said Alison gruffly. "Perhaps he was not going to wait to be
asked. There is no occasion for me to hang about at home, Neil?"
"N-no, I think not. You can do nothing."
"I'll be ready in five minutes, then, girls."
"Here, we'll come round to the stables with you," said Saxa. "I want to
see The Don. Is he any the worse for his fall?"
She said this as she rode on beside Alison, her sister following,
without any further notice of Neil and his sister, while the former
stood looking after her, frowning.
"And I thought of marrying that hoyden!" he said to himself. "It is
impossible. We have not a sympathy in common."
Then the thought of his father's expressed wishes came back, and of his
lying there helpless. He had made no opposition when the matter had
been spoken of last. How could he draw back now?
His heart sank low as he looked into the future with a kind of wonder as
to what his future life would be bound up to a woman like that, and a
feeling of anger rose within him at his weakness in letting the affair
drift on so far.
"It is impossible," he thought. "She does not care for me. It would be
madness--a sin against her and against myself. Yes!" he said aloud with
a start, for Isabel had laid her hand upon his arm.
"There is something the matter," she said quickly.
Neil turned to hurry into the house, but his sister held him fast.
"No, no, dear. Tom is coming. Mr Beck must be worse."
Neil looked in the direction taken by her eyes, and saw that the young
lieutenant was striding rapidly toward them, coming by the short cut
across the park, and now, seeing that he was observed, he waved his
hand.
"Go in, Isabel," said Neil quietly.
"Neil!"
"I wish it, my dear. After what has passed, you have no right to see
him now."
She gave him a tearful look, and went in with her head bent down to hide
her face from anyone who might be at the windows.
The next minute the young sailor hurried up.
"You have sent her in, Neil," he said reproachfully.
"Yes; why have you come back so soon? Anything wrong?"
"Yes," said the young man hoarsely.
"Your father? I'll come on."
"No, no. Read that."
He thrust a telegram into Neil's hand, which read: "To join your ship at
once. Imperative!"
"Yes; and I cannot go with matters like this," cried Beck.
"But you must. Your position as an officer is at stake."
"I can't help it. Neil Elthorne, put yourself in my place. How can I
go and leave Isabel at such a time?"
"What good could you do if you stayed?"
"It would help her. She would know I was near. I can't go and leave
her knowing what I do about that fellow Burwood."
Neil looked at him fixedly for a few moments. "Don't play the boy," he
said at last sternly.
"No; I am going to play the man," cried Beck. "Isabel and I have been
girl and boy together, and our affection has gradually strengthened till
I know that she loves me as well as I love her."
"Yes, perhaps so, my lad, but you heard her father's decision, and you
can do no more."
"Yes; I heard his decision," said the young sailor sturdily, "and I am
not going to stand by and see her given up to that man! Why, Neil, it
would kill her."
"Look here, Tom, my good fellow, you must be sensible. It would be no
kindness to my sister to let her feel that she had ruined your
prospects."
"It would not ruin my prospects," said Beck sturdily. "I'm a good
sailor, and if I lose my ship I can always get employment in the
merchant service."
"Of course you could, but neither Isabel nor I are going to let you
degrade yourself. My father is dangerously ill, and nothing such as you
fear can advance a step for months to come, so join your ship like a
man, and show that you have faith in the girl you believe to love you."
"If I only could think--" began Beck.
"Look here, Tom. I think you have some faith in me."
"In you? My dear Neil," cried the young sailor warmly, "if ever fellow
looked upon another man as a brother, I do upon you. Why, you know
that."
"Yes, I know that," said Neil, taking his arm and walking up and down
the drive with him, "and I am going always to behave like a brother to
you. Go and join your ship."
"But Isabel?"
"Leave me to act for you over that matter as a brother would. For both
your sakes I will do what is best."
"But Burwood?"
"I don't like Burwood, and I do like you," said Neil, smiling. "Come,
will not that satisfy you?"
"Almost. You will fight for me, then, Neil?"
"I don't think that there will be any occasion to fight for you. I
think time is on your side. Lieutenant Beck's chance was very small
with my father; but suppose one Captain Beck, a young officer who had
distinguished himself by his seamanship in Her Majesty's service, came
and renewed his proposal for my sister's hand, surely he would have a
better chance of success."
"Neil, old fellow," cried Beck, facing round and grasping the young
surgeon's hand, "I don't wonder that you are getting to be a big fellow
at your hospital."
"Nonsense! Who says I am?"
"Oh, I've heard. I wish I were as clever as you are. I came here
feeling so bad that life didn't seem worth living, and in a few minutes
you've shown things to me in such a different light that--"
"You think it is worth living and sharing with someone else," cried
Neil.
"My dear old fellow," cried the sailor, with tears in his eyes.
"And you will go off like a man and join your ship?"
"Yes," cried Beck, grasping his friend's hand, and speaking firmly,
"like a man."
"And you go at once?"
"Directly. Now take me in, and let me say good-bye to her."
"No," said Neil firmly.
"What? After my promise?"
"After your promise. I have a duty to my helpless father, Tom, my lad,
and I should be playing a very dishonourable part if I took advantage of
his position, knowing what I do of his wishes, to arrange a meeting
between you and my sister. That was a love-sick boy speaking, not the
Queen's officer--the man whose honour is beyond reproach."
"I suppose you are right," said Beck, after a pause. "You know I am."
"Let me see her for a moment, though."
"No."
"I know you are right--just to say `good-bye' before you--just to touch
her hand."
"No, my lad. Say good-bye to me, and I'll tell her you love her truly,
and that you have gone off to your duty like a man--an officer and a
gentleman. That you have exacted no promise from her, and that you have
taken the advice of her brother--a man who loves you both and will help
you to the end. There, I must go back to my father's room. Good-bye."
"O Neil," groaned the young sailor; "this is all so hard and
business-like. Everything goes easily for you. You don't know what
love is."
A spasm contracted Neil's features for a few moments, but he smiled
sadly directly after.
"Perhaps not," he said. "Who knows? There, business-like or not, you
know I am doing my duty and you have to do yours. Come, sailor, I shall
begin to quote Shakespeare to you. `Aboard, for shame; the wind sits in
the shoulder of your sail, and you are staid for.'"
"But it is so hard, Neil."
"Life's duties are hard, man; but we men must do them at any cost.
Come, good-bye, and old Shakespeare again--the end of the old man's
speech: `To thine own self be true'--and you will be true to the girl
you wish to make your wife. Good-bye."
Neil held out his hand, but it remained untouched for the full space of
a minute before it was seized and crushed heavily between two nervous
sets of fingers, while the young man's eyes gazed fixedly in his. Then
it was dashed aside. Beck swung himself round and dashed off across the
park as hard as he could go, without trusting himself to look back.