"Just going down to dinner?" said Ralph Elthorne, as his son came into
his room the same evening. "That's right, Neil. It looks like old
times. It does me good. Wait a bit, and I'll join you--as of old. Not
quite," he added, and his lip quivered--"not quite, my boy. But I can
be carried down, and I shall not be an invalid."
"No, sir," said Neil, "no invalid, and you will soon forget your
lameness."
"Yes, yes, Neil, I shall try hard to do that. There, I will not keep
you. I'm getting independent, you see. Ask nurse to come and sit with
me as you go out."
There was no need, for as Neil rose to go down, the nurse entered, book
in hand, but drew back till the young surgeon had left the room to go
thoughtfully downstairs, for he was forcing himself to think out what it
would be best to do respecting his sister. He shrank from disturbing
his father's mind, now that he was so much better and free from
disturbing elements. A subject like that might bring on a fresh attack,
or at least retard his progress, and by the time Neil had reached the
drawing room he had planned that he would speak firmly to Burwood; but
he paused at the door, for he foresaw that such a proceeding would very
likely drive the baronet to speak to his father, when the agitation
would only be coming from another source.
"Bel must fight her own battle," he said to himself. "A woman ought to
be able to cool a lover's courage. There the matter must wait. Like
many more of the kind, give it time and it will settle itself."
He entered the room, to find the objects of his thoughts all there and
waiting his coming. Aunt Anne was radiant, and Burwood, who was
chatting with Alison upon the everlasting theme of the horse, came and
shook hands in the warmest manner.
"I can't quarrel with him," thought Neil. "It must be done by diplomacy
or scheming."
The dinner was announced directly after, and as Neil took in his sister,
she pressed his arm.
"Please, please, dear, don't let me be out of your sight all the
evening," she whispered.
"Impossible to do that, little one," he said quietly. "You ladies will
leave the room, you see. Suppose I keep Burwood in sight all the
evening, will not that do as well?"
"Oh, yes," she whispered eagerly. "Of course." The dinner passed off
wonderfully well, everyone seeming to be on the _qui vive_ to keep off
anything likely to trench upon the past and the troubles in the house.
Aunt Anne did scarcely anything but beam; Sir Cheltnam related
anecdotes; and Alison entered into conversation with his brother.
In due time the ladies rose, and the three men were left together over
their wine, when the conversation went on as easily as if there had been
no undercurrent of thought in either breast.
"It will be easy enough to keep them apart," thought Neil, as he sipped
his coffee. "When we go into the drawing room Bel shall sing some of
the old ballads."
A calm feeling of restfulness had come over Neil Elthorne, and it was as
if his efforts at self-mastery were already bearing fruit, when after a
quick glance had passed between Burwood and Alison, the latter rose,
went to the window, and looked out, taking the opportunity to glance at
his watch.
"Very dark," he said. "Nasty drive back for you, Burwood. Want your
lamps."
"Oh, the mare would find her way home if it were ten times as dark,"
said Burwood laughingly. "I think I could get safely back without
reins. She always turns aside if we meet anything."
"Nothing like a good, well-broken horse," said Alison, looking furtively
at his watch. "What do you say to joining them in the drawing room?"
"By all means," cried Burwood, rising.
At that moment the butler entered, and went straight to Neil's chair.
"Beg pardon, sir," he whispered. "You are wanted in master's room."
Neil started to his feet, and turned to their guest. "You'll excuse me
for a few minutes?" he said hurriedly.
"Doctors need no excuse," replied the baronet, and Neil hurried out and
upstairs to his father's room, expecting and dreading some fresh
seizure, but, to his surprise, he found his senior lying back calmly on
his couch, ready to salute him with a smile.
"I was afraid you were unwell," cried Neil.
"No, my boy, no; I've been lying very comfortably. In less pain than
usual."
"But you are alone."
"Yes. Nurse has just gone. You might have met her on the stairs. A
message came for her--from Isabel, I suppose. I don't mind. I told her
not to hurry; I want to inure myself to being more alone."
"And you wanted me, sir?"
"Yes, my boy," said Elthorne. "Not particularly; but I knew that you
had been seated over your wine for some time, and I thought you would
not mind coming up to me for a little while. I get very dull sometimes,
my dear boy. You do not mind?"
"No, sir, of course not."
"Well, don't look at me like that, Neil. It is the doctor examining me
to see how I am. I want you to look like my son."
Neil smiled.
"Ah, that's better. Sit down close up here for a while. Burwood and
Alison will have a cigar together, and not miss you."
"Oh, no," said Neil rather bitterly. "They do not care much for my
society."
"Why not?" cried his father sharply. "You are an able, cultured man--a
clever surgeon."
"But not a veterinary surgeon, father," said Neil, smiling.
Ralph Elthorne nodded and smiled.
"No," he said; "you are right. They do seem to think of nothing but
horses. I was the same once, I'm afraid, my boy. Perhaps I shall think
a good deal of horses still; but," he continued sadly, "from a very
different point of view to that of the past."
"Never mind the past, father," said Neil quickly. "Think of the
future."
"A poor future for me, Neil," said Elthorne, shaking his head.
"By no means, my dear father. There is nothing to prevent your living
another fifteen or twenty years."
"Like this?" replied Elthorne despairingly, as he glanced down at his
helpless limbs.
"Like this, sir. You are a wealthy man, and can soften the hardships of
your state in a hundred ways."
"Ah, well, we shall see, my boy, we shall see."
"Have you been reading?" asked Neil, glancing at a book on the little
table by the side of the couch.
"No. Nurse Elisia was reading to me when Maria brought her a message."
"Shall I go on reading where she left off?" said Neil, taking up the
book and feeling a kind of pleasure in holding the little volume so
lately in her hands.
"No, no, I am tired of poetry and history. What are you writing now?"
"Only some notes on a case that is taking up a good deal of attention
just now."
"Ah!" said the elder man eagerly. "I should like to hear that."
"It is very dry and tedious, I'm afraid; only of interest to the
professional man."
"But I take an interest in such things now. Will you read it to me,
Neil?"
"Of course, sir. I'll fetch it," said Neil, smiling at his father's
eagerness about matters that he would be unable to comprehend.
"That's right, my boy. But you are sure that you will not think it a
trouble?"
"My dear father," cried Neil, taking his hand, "I wish you would try to
understand me better. I'm afraid you do not."
"Yes, yes, my boy. I do understand you, indeed I do. Don't think
because I have lain here, querulous and complaining, that I have been
blind as well as helpless. God bless you, my boy, for all you have
done!"
"Only my duty, sir," said Neil gravely, "and I only wish that--"
He stopped short.
"Yes--yes--what?" said his father eagerly.
"That I could have followed out your wishes in another way."
He rose and went out of the room, leaving the helpless man gazing sadly
after him.
"The tyrant's reign is over," he said sadly, "and I must be resigned to
all that comes."
Neil went hurriedly down to the library, to stop short as he reached the
door, for there was the low murmur of a man's voice within, speaking in
appealing tones.
"Poor Bel!" muttered Neil, as the recollection of all that had passed
that day came back, and his promise--entirely forgotten--to keep Burwood
with him, came like a flash.
It was only a dozen steps to the dining room, and he hurried there to
throw open the door, and, as he feared, find it empty.
Angry with himself for his carelessness, though hardly at the moment
seeing how he could have acted differently, he hurried back to the
library, entered suddenly, and then stopped, as if paralysed by the pang
which shot through him.
For he had entered angrily, feeling ready to interrupt a _tete-a-tete_,
which Burwood must have contrived to obtain with his sister; and he
found himself in presence of Alison, who was tightly holding Nurse
Elisia's hands, which she now seemed to wrest away, as she turned
suddenly, looked wildly in Neil's face, rushed by him, and hurried out
of the room.
"Well?" said Alison, as soon as he could recover from the startling
effect of his brother's interruption. "You might have knocked."
Neil made no reply, but stood there pressing his nails into the palms of
his hands, as he fought hard to keep down the sensation of mad, jealous
hatred gathering in his breast. Then, turning upon his heel, he
staggered more than walked out of the room, across the hall and upstairs
to his father's chamber, but only to pause at the door.
"I have no right--I have no right," he said; and going down once more,
forgetful of everything but his own agony of spirit, he took his hat
from the stand, passed out through the hall door, and walked swiftly
away into the black darkness of the night--onward at a rapidly
increasing pace--onward--anywhere so that he might find rest. For the
feeling was strong upon him that he and his brother must not meet while
this mad sensation of passion was surging in his breast.