The Collingwood Arrivals--Coristine Goes to the Post Office--Mr.
Perrowne is Funny--Bang's Note and the Lawyer's Fall--Coristine in
Hospital--Miss Carmichael Relents--Bangs on the Hunt--The
Barber--Mr. Rigby on Wounds--Berry-Picking with the New
Arrivals--The Lawyer's Crisis--Matilda's--Miss Carmichael in
Charge.
The train had just come in when Squire Carruthers' party arrived at the
station, so nicely had he timed his driving. As there was nobody to hold
the horses, he kept his seat, while Coristine, looking faultlessly neat
in his town dress, came forward and assisted Miss Carmichael and
Marjorie to alight. Having asked the former's permission, the lawyer
introduced Miss Graves, a young lady not unlike Miss Du Plessis in
stature and carriage, but with larger, though handsome, features and
lighter complexion. Then, Mr. Douglas, a fine-looking blonde man of
masculine Scottish type, was made acquainted with his fair client, and
with her nominal guardian on the box. Finally, the colonel, standing by
his horse's head, bowed with genial dignity to the new arrivals, and
warmly pressed the hand of his dear boy's friend. The Squire's little
scheme was frustrated. His niece, without asking advice or permission
from anybody, placed Miss Graves beside the driver, and established
herself on the same seat, leaving Marjorie between the two gentlemen on
the one behind, after they had bestowed their valises and Miss Graves'
portmanteau in their rear. Beyond a ceremonious handshake, Miss
Carmichael gave Coristine no recognition, although she could not have
failed to perceive his delight at once more meeting her. To Miss Graves,
however, she was all that could be desired, cheerful, even animated, and
full of pleasant conversation. Marjorie kept her Eugene and the new
gentleman busy. She reported on the creek, and presented her faded
bouquet of wild flowers, which Eugene received with all the semblance of
lively satisfaction. She made many enquiries regarding the big girl in
front, and insisted especially on knowing if she was nice. Then she
turned to Mr. Douglas and asked his name.
"My name is Douglas," he answered.
"Oh, I know that, even Timotheus himself knows that. I mean what's your
real name, your very own, the name your mamma calls you?"
"She used to call me James."
"Oh; have you got a brother called John?"
"Yes; how did you know that?"
"Oh, I know. Then your papa's name is Zebedee, and your mamma's is
Salome."
"No, we are not those two James and Johns; they are dead."
"They are the only James and John I know."
"I don't think so. Your uncle, Dr. Carmichael, was called James Douglas,
like me."
"Marjorie's dead papa?"
"Yes; your cousin is a sort of far-away cousin of mine; so you must be
one of my cousins, too. What do you think of that?"
"I think it's nice to have a growed-up man cousin. I'll call you Jim."
"Marjorie!" said a reproving voice from the front seat; "you must not
talk to Mr. Douglas in that pert way."
"If my cousin lets me call him Jim, it's none of your business, cousin
Marjorie. You will let me, won't you, cousin Jim?"
"To be sure, if Miss Carmichael will allow me."
"I don't think it's fair to let her boss the whole show."
Mr. Douglas laughed loud and long over this expression, so novel to his
British ears.
"Where did you learn that, Marjorie?" asked Coristine.
"Oh, from Guff; there's heaps of fun in Guff."
Her companions occasionally took advantage of silent intervals to
discuss the scenery, and the Canadian lawyer pointed out spots,
memorable in the great pedestrian tour, to his Scottish compeer. Miss
Carmichael never turned, nor did she give Miss Graves a chance to do so;
but the Squire managed to sit sideways, without at all incommoding the
ladies, and, keeping one eye on his horses, at the same time engaged in
conversation with Marjorie's captives. The colonel also kept close to
the vehicle, and furnished Coristine with new information concerning his
wounded friend. Miss Graves was informed that she was not to be allowed
to go to the post office, and her protests were imperiously silenced by
Marjorie's "boss of the whole show." The horses, having come out
quietly, went home at a rattling pace, and, a good hour before dinner
time, the party arrived at Bridesdale, there to be greeted by Miss
Halbert and the parsons, in addition to the occupants of the house.
Wilkinson and Mr. Terry received Coristine with enthusiasm, but all the
ladies bore down upon the latest arrival of their sex and carried her
away, leaving the man, in whom they had expressed so much interest, to
feel as if there were a plot on foot to ignore him.
"It mast be very pleasant for you, Corry, to find all the ladies so
attentive to your lady friend," remarked the Dominie.
"Very pleasant for Miss Graves, no doubt; I can't say the same about
myself."
"I should have thought you would have regarded a compliment to her as
more gratifying than one to yourself."
"Haven't reached that heavenly stage of Christian self-abnegation yet,
Wilks."
"Perhaps I am mistaken in supposing you take a great interest in the
lady?"
"Interest, yes; great, more than doubtful. She's the third girl I've had
to send away for the good of her health. The other two knew where to go,
and went. She didn't; so I thought of establishing her at the post
office. I never dreamt the Squire would come for us till I got his
message. I meant to accompany her in the stage, and land her in the arms
of Mrs. Tibbs; but here we are, like a bridal party, with Marjorie for
bridesmaid and Douglas for best man."
"Thank you, Corry; you have relieved me from a great anxiety. Miss Du
Plessis thinks very highly of your ---- travelling companion."
"Douglas, do you mean?"
"No, the lady."
"Oh, bother the lady! Wilks, it's a doubly grave situation. If it wasn't
for Mr. Terry and Marjorie, I'd cut my stick. As it is, I'll run and
engage that post-office room for myself, and be back in time for dinner
or whatever else is up. Au revoir." With a bound he was off the
verandah, valise in hand, and away on to the road.
When Coristine returned, he was just in time for dinner. He had not been
missed; the entire interest of the feminine part of the community was
centred in Miss Graves. The Squire took her in, as the latest lady
arrival, while Mr. Douglas escorted the hostess. To his infinite
annoyance, Coristine, who had brought in Mrs. Du Plessis, was
ostentatiously set down by the side of his invalided type-writer, to
whom he was the next thing to uncivil. Miss Carmichael, between Mr.
Douglas and Mr. Errol, was more than usually animated and
conversational, to the worthy minister's great delight. The amusing man
of the table was Mr. Perrowne. His people were building him a house,
which Miss Halbert and he had inspected in the morning, with a view to
the addition of many cupboards, which the lady deemed indispensable to
proper housekeeping. Mr. Perrowne thought he would call the place
Cubbyholes; but Miss Du Plessis asked what it would really be, the
rectory, the vicarage or the parsonage? Miss Halbert suggested the
basilica, to which he replied that, while a good Catholic, he was
neither Fannytic nor a Franciscan. He derided his intended bride's taste
in architecture, and maintained that the income of a bishop would be
insufficient to stock half the storerooms and wardrobes, leaving all the
rest of the house unfurnished. As it was, he feared that the charming
Fanny would be in the predicament of old Mother Hubbard, while he,
unfortunately, would be in that of the dog. "In that case, Basil," said
Miss Halbert, "you would be like an inclined plane."
"How so?" enquired Mr. Perrowne.
"An inclined plane is a slope up, you know," answered the mischievous
bride elect.
"Talking about dawgs," remarked the victim of the terrible conundrum, "I
asked a little girl belonging to one of my parishoners what kind her
dawg was. She said it had been given to her as a spanuel, but she
thought it was only a currier."
"When I was at the school," said the Edinburgh gentleman, "a boy whom I
had offended some way, offered to make the like of me with a street cur
and an old gun. He said he could make 'one dowg less' in the time it
took to fire the gun."
"What did you do to that boy, Mr. Douglas?" asked Miss Carmichael.
"I left him alone, for he was a good deal bigger than me."
"You were not a Boanerges then?"
"No, I was James the Less."
"What are you dreaming about, Mr. Coristine," called the Squire, "to let
all this wild talk go on without a word?"
"I am sorry to say I did not hear it, Squire," replied the moody lawyer,
whose little conversation had been wholly devoted to Mrs. Du Plessis.
After dinner, the lawyer repaired to the Squire's office, and briefly
informed him, that the fortune in funds and property to which his niece
had fallen heir was valued at 80,000 pounds sterling, and that,
fortunately, there was no sign of any contest or opposition in the
matter. He also explained that, under the circumstances, he felt
constrained to take a brief lodging at the post office, and begged Mr.
Carruthers to apologize to his wife for the desertion of Bridesdale.
Then, he sought out Mr Terry in the garden and smoked a pipe with him,
while his new friend, Mr. Douglas, was chatting on the verandah between
Miss Carmichael and Miss Graves. Nobody else seemed to want him or care
for him; he had even lost his old friend Wilks, who was absorbed in his
beloved Cecile. The colonel was as bad with Cecile's mother, and Mr.
Errol with Mrs. Carmichael. The Squire was busy, so the veteran and he
were left alone. For a time, they smoked and talked, listening all the
while, as they could not fail, to the merry badinage of the party on the
verandah. At last he could stand it no longer. He rose, bade his
companion good-night, and strolled away on to the road. Once out of
observation from the house, he walked rapidly to his new quarters. "Is
that you, Styles?" asked Mrs. Tibbs, as he entered. He assured the
postmistress that he was not Styles, and asked if there was anything he
could do for her. "There is a letter here for Squire Carruthers, marked
'immediate,' and they have not been for their mail," she answered. So,
sorely against the grain, the lawyer had to take the letter and return
with it to Bridesdale. Mr. Carruthers was still in his office. He opened
the envelope and read:--
COLLINGWOOD, Saturday, 12 m.
_My Dear Squire,--_
Rawdon and his nephew have broken gaol and escaped. Be on your
guard. Will go to you as soon as possible.
Yours truly,
J. HICKEY BANGS.
"This is bad news, Coristine. It seems as if we're never to hear the
last o' yon villain."
"I'm at your service, Squire."
"I canna thole to ask the colonel, puir man, to lose his nicht's rest,
an' I'm no ower sure o' his man. Sae, the granther an' I'll watch till
it's twal', if you wi' Timotheus 'll relieve us till two i' the mornin'.
What say ye to thon?"
"All right, I'll be here at midnight. Could you get me the cartridges
out of my knapsack upstairs?"
The Squire produced the cartridges, and the lawyer went back to his
post-office quarters.
Punctually at midnight he returned, and relieved Mr. Carruthers in
front of the house, while Timotheus took Mr. Terry's place behind. It
was after one when he saw a figure, which he did not recognize as
belonging to any one in the house, steal out of the front door with a
heavy burden. He ran towards the figure, and it stole, as rapidly as
possible, down the garden to the hill meadow. He knew it now, outlined
against the heavens, and fired his revolver. He knew that he had hit his
man, and that Rawdon was wounded in the body or in the upper part of a
leg. Hurriedly he pursued, entering the strip of woodland towards the
brook, when something fell upon him, and two keen qualms of pain shot
through his breast. Then he lay insensible. Meanwhile, a lithe active
form, leaving a horse tethered at the gate, had sprung to meet a second
intruder, issuing from the front door of Bridesdale. The opposing forces
met, and Mr. Bangs had his hands upon the younger gaol breaker. A loud
shout brought Timotheus on the scene, and the prisoner was secured. The
household was aroused. The Squire found his office a scene of confusion,
his safe broken open, the hidden treasure and many of his papers gone.
Inwardly he muttered maledictions on the sentry of the watch, little
knowing that the burglars had entered the house while he was himself on
guard. In his vexation, and the general excitement, with the presence of
Miss Graves and Messrs. Douglas and Bangs, the unhappy lawyer's absence
was overlooked. His shot apparently had not been heard. The vicinity of
the house was scoured for Rawdon, but without effect. He had got away
with his own money and many incriminating papers, to be a continued
source of annoyance and danger. Those who gave any thought to Coristine
imagined him asleep at the post office, and wondered at his
indifference. Chief among them were the dominie and Miss Carmichael.
There was little more rest that night in Bridesdale. One villain at
large was sufficient to keep the whole company in a state of
uncomfortable disquiet and apprehension. It was still dark, when old
Styles came to the gate and asked for Mr. Coristine, as he said the
crazy woman was at the post office, and Mrs. Tibbs wanted to know if she
could have the use of the spare room for the rest of the night. Then the
Squire was alarmed, and a great revulsion of feeling took place. The
man almost entirely ignored was now in everybody's mind, his name on all
lips but those which had been more to him than all the rest.
Stable lanterns were got out, and an active search began. Mr. Terry's
practiced ear caught the sound of voices down the hillside, and he
descended rapidly towards them. Soon, he came running back, tearing at
his long iron grey hair, and the tears streaming from his eyes, to the
place where his son-in law was standing. "Get a shate or a quilt or
something, John, till we take it out av that Och, sorra, sorra, the
foine, brave boy!" At once, Mr. Douglas and Timotheus accompanied the
Squire to the little wood, and beheld the owners of the voices, Mr.
Newcome and his intending son-in-law, Ben Toner.
"Aw niver tetched un, Ben. Aw wor jest goan troo t' bush, when aw
stoombled laike over's carkidge and fall, and got t' blood on ma claws,"
said the former to his captor.
"S'haylp me," replied Ben, "ef I thunk it was you as killed the doctor,
I'd put the barl o' this here gun to your hayd and blow out your
braiuns."
"Don't let that man go," said the Squire to Toner.
"Ain't that what I come all this way fer?" answered the lover of
Serlizer.
The Squire and the veteran, with terrible mental upbraidings, raised the
body from its bed of leaves and wood-mould and placed it reverently upon
the sheet, which it stained with blood at once. Then, while the colonel
held one lantern and Wilkinson the other, Mr. Douglas and Timotheus took
the other corners of the simple ambulance, and bore their burden to the
house. In his own room they laid Rawdon's victim, removed the clothing
from his wounds, washed away the clotted blood, only to despair over the
flow that still continued, and rejoiced in the fact that life was not
altogether extinct, when they handed him over to the care of the three
matrons. While the colonel was sending Maguffin in search of the doctor,
the voice of Squire Halbert was heard in the hall, saying he thought it
must have been Miss Carmichael who had summoned him, at any rate it was
a young lady from Bridesdale. He stanched the bleeding, administered
stimulants, and ordered constant watching. "The body has suffered
terribly," he said, "and has hardly any hold upon the soul, which may
slip away from us at any moment." The good doctor professed his
willingness to stay until the immediate crisis from loss of blood was
overpast. To all enquiries he answered that he had very little hope, but
he sent the kind ladies away from the death-like chamber, and
established himself there with Wilkinson, who would not leave his
friend.
The light of a beautiful Sunday morning found Miss Du Plessis, Miss
Halbert, and Miss Graves in bitter sorrow, and little Marjorie beside
herself with grief. The very kitchen was full of lamentation; but one
young woman went about, silent and serious indeed, yet tearless. This
was Miss Carmichael. The doctor had come down to breakfast, leaving the
dominie alone with the patient, when she took a tray from Tryphena, and
carried up the morning repast of the watcher. Then, for the first time,
she got a sight of the wounded man, whose eyes the doctor had closed,
and whose jaw by gentle pressure he had brought back, till the lips were
only half parted. She could hardly speak, as she laid a timid hand on
her late principal's shoulder, directing his attention to the breakfast
tray. "Look away, please, for Cecile's sake if not for mine," she
managed to stammer, and, as he turned his head aside, she flung herself
upon her knees beside the bed, and took the apparently dead man's hand
in her own, covered it with tears and kisses, and transferred the ring
she had once worn back to her own hand, replacing it with one of her own
that would hardly slip down over the bloodless emaciated finger. Quietly
she arose, and noiselessly left the room, when the dominie returned to
his watching and administration of stimulants. When she came down
stairs, outwardly calm but looking as if she had seen a ghost,
everybody, who was in the secret of past days, knew, and respected her
silence. Even Mr. Douglas, who had thought to improve his distant
cousinship, read there the vanity of all his hopes, and bestowed a
double share of attention upon Miss Graves, charming in her genuine
sorrow over her considerate employer. Nobody cared to go to church, but
the good Squire pointed out that few could be of any service at home,
and that, if ever they had need of the comforts of religion, it was at
such a time. So Mr. Perrowne and Mr. Errol each received a quota of
grief-stricken worshippers from Bridesdale, and, at the close of their
respective services, mingled heartfelt expressions of sorrow with
theirs. The clergymen declined to intrude upon the saddened household,
until they could be of some service, so the worshippers returned as they
went.
Mr. Bangs and the doctor were the lights of the dinner table, their
professional acquaintance with all sorts of trouble hindering them from
being overcome by anything of the kind. The former had sent for Mr.
Rigby, and had placed the two prisoners in his charge, thus releasing
Timotheus and Ben Toner. The latter reported that his patient was
restored to animation, but this restoration was accompanied with fear
and delirium, the effects of which on a rapidly enfeebled body he
greatly dreaded. If he could keep down the cerebral excitement, all
might be well, and for this he depended much on the presence with the
sufferer of his friend, Mr. Wilkinson. Just as he said this, the
dominie's voice was heard calling for assistance, and the doctor and the
Squire sprang upstairs. The patient had broken his bandages, and was
sitting up fighting with his attendant, whom in his delirium he
identified with Rawdon. It was almost ludicrous to hear him cry, as he
clutched at Wilkinson's throat: "Ah, Grinstuns, you double-dyed villain,
I've got you now. No more free circus for you, Grinstuns!" With
difficulty the three men got him down, and bandaged him again; but his
struggles were so violent that they feared for his life. He recognized
none of them. Little Marjorie heard his loud shouts, and ran to save her
friend from his murderers, as she thought them to be. The Squire would
have repelled her intrusion angrily, but Doctor Halbert said: "Come,
little girl, and tell your poor friend he must be quiet, if he wants to
live for you and the rest of us." It is hard to say what prompted her,
but she took out a little tear-soaked handkerchief and laid it on
Coristine's shoulder, calling, "Eugene, you silly boy". The silly boy
closed his staring eyes, and then opened them again upon the child. "Is
that you, pet Marjorie?" he asked feebly; and she sobbed out: "Yes,
Eugene dear, it's me; I've come to help you to get well."
"Thank you, Marjorie; have I been sick long?"
"No, just a little while; but the doctor says you must be very very
still, and do just what you're told. Will you, Eugene?"
"Yes; where's your cousin, Marjorie?"
"Can you turn your head? If you can, put it down, and I'll whisper
something in your very own ear. Now listen! don't say a word till I come
back. I'm going to bring cousin Marjorie to you." Then she slipped away
out of the room.
"Doctor," said the Squire in a shaky voice, "we had aa better gang awa
oot o' the room till the meetin's owre." So the three men withdrew to
the hall as the two Marjories entered.
"Eugene," whispered little Marjorie, "have you been good while I was
away, and not spoken?"
"Not a word, Marjorie," breathed rather than spoke the enfeebled lawyer.
"I have brought cousin Marjorie to you. You must be very good, and do
all she says. Give me your hand." She took the limp hand, with the ring
on the little finger, and placed it in her cousin's; then, with a
touching little sigh, departed, leaving the two alone. Their hands lay
clasped in one another, but they could not speak. His eyes were upon
her, all the fierce light of delirium out of them, in spite of the fever
that was burning in every limb, resting upon her face in a silly wistful
way, as if he feared the vision was deceptive, or his prize might vanish
at any moment. At last she asked: "Do you know me, Mr. Coristine?" and
he murmured: "How could I help knowing you?" But, in a minute, he
commanded himself, and said: "It is very kind of you to leave your
friends and come to a stupid sick man. It is too much trouble, it is not
right, please go away."
"Look me straight in the face, Eugene," said Miss Carmichael, with an
effort. "Now, tell me, yes or no, nothing more, mind! Am I to go away?"
As she asked the question, her face bent towards that of the sufferer,
over which there passed a feeble flush, poor insufficient index of the
great joy within, and then, as they met, his half-breathed answer was
"No." She commanded silence, shook up his pillows, bathed his forehead,
and in many ways displayed the stolen ring. He saw it, and, for the
first time, perceived the change on his own hand. Then, she ordered him
to go to sleep, as if he were a child, smoothing his hair and chanting
in a low tone a baby's lullaby, until tired nature, with a heart at
peace, became unconscious of the outer world and slumbered sweetly. On
tiptoe, she stole to the door, and found many waiting in the hall for
news. Proudly, she called the doctor in and showed him his patient, in
his right mind and resting. "Thank God!" said the good man, "he is
saved. We must come and relieve you now, Miss Carmichael." But she
answered: "No, my place is here. If I want assistance I will call my
uncle or Mr. Wilkinson." Doctor Halbert told the joyful news to the
Squire and the assembled company. The clergymen would not arrive till
tea time, so Mr. Carruthers, as the priest of the family, gathered the
household together, and, in simple language but full of heart, thanked
God for the young life preserved. The doctor went away home, but without
Miss Fanny, and, as he drove off, remarked to the Squire, significantly:
"There is no medicine in the world like love," a sentiment with which
the Squire thoroughly agreed.
The evening was a very pleasant one. Messrs. Errol and Perrowne rejoiced
to hear the good news from the sick room, and Mrs. Carmichael gave the
former to understand, in a vague, yet to his intelligence perfectly
comprehensible, way, that the assurance of her daughter's future
happiness would remove a large obstacle in the way of her becoming the
mistress of the manse. Mr. Perrowne appreciated Dr. Halbert's
consideration in leaving his daughter at Bridesdale. The Du Plessis
quartette were even farther advanced than the Carmichael four; and
consequently Miss Graves was left to the entertainment of Mr. Douglas.
The patient upstairs awoke, feeling very stiff and sore, but quite
rational, and almost too happy to speak, which was a good thing, as his
strength was that of a baby. He had to be lifted and turned, and propped
up and let down, which the Squire generally did for him, under the head
nurse's instructions, received from the doctor. Then he had to be fed,
and begged to have his moustache curtailed, so as to facilitate the
task. Two little hands, a comb, and a pair of scissors went to work,
and, without annihilating the hirsute adornment, so trimmed it as to
reveal a well-curved upper lip, hitherto almost invisible. It is
astonishing what a sense of proprietorship this "barberous operation,"
as she termed it, developed in the heiress, who thought more of it than
of her prospective thousands. It was past ten o'clock before she
consented to yield her post to the devoted Wilkinson, who already began
to look upon her as a sister, and to whom she gave directions, with all
the gravity and superior dignity of an experienced nurse. The colonel
would willingly have taken his turn in the sick room, but Mr. Terry, Mr.
Douglas, and the Squire insisted on relieving him. Mr. Bangs was away
with Ben Toner and two guns hunting for the Grinstun man. The watchers
got along very well through the night, with the exception of the
veteran, who was a little too liberal in the application of stimulants,
which led to a reappearance of fever, and necessitated his calling in
the aid of the ever-willing and kindly Honoria. Both the clergymen had
volunteered to sit up with him, whom they were proud to call their
friend, but it was not considered fair to impose upon them after the
labours of their hardest day.
The morning saw Miss Carmichael in the sick room again, putting things
to rights, purifying and beautifying it, as only a woman can, with the
romantic and tearful, Shakespeare loving Tryphosa in her train. Poor
little neglected Marjorie, who had performed for her young self an art
of heroic sacrifice in handing over her own Eugene to her unworthy
cousin, was allowed, a great and hitherto unheard of reward, to bring
the patient an armful of flowers from the garden, gathering any blossoms
she chose, to fill vases and slender button-hole glasses in every
corner. She was even permitted to kiss Eugene, although she protested
against the removal of that lovely moustache. She offered to bring
Felina to lick off the stubble on her friend's chin, but that friend, in
a wheezy whistling voice, begged that Maguffin might be substituted for
the cat, in case pussy might scratch him. Maguffin came with the
colonel's razors, and Marjorie looked on, while he gave the author of
his present fortunes a clean shave, and made ironical remarks about
moustache trimming. "Guess the man what trimmed yoh mustash fought he
was a bahbah, sah?" The patient smiled seraphically, and whistled in
his throat. "Never want to have a better, Maguffin."
"It's awful, Guff, isn't it?" asked Miss Thomas, and continued, "it
quite gives me the horrows!"
"Dey's bahbahs and dey's bahbahs," replied the coloured gentlemen, "and
I doan want ter blame a gennelum as cayn't help hisself."
The barbering completed, Marjorie junior was dismissed with her ally
Guff, and the senior lady of that name reigned supreme. The eyes of the
feeble invalid, whose heart had been hungering and thirsting for love
during a month that had seemed a lifetime, followed her all over the
room, and almost stopped beating when she went near the door. But she
came back, and held that hot fevered hand on which her modest ring
glistened, and cooled his brow, and made him take his sloppy food, and
answered back in soft but cheery tones his deprecating whispers. She had
him now safe, and would tyrannize over him, she said; till, spite of the
weakness and the sharp pains, his eye began to twinkle with something of
the old happy light that seemed to be of so long ago, and, smilingly, he
murmured: "We are not ready for our graves yet." Miss Carmichael looked
severe, and held up a warning finger. "Repeat that, Eugene, and I will
send her to take care of you at once," she said; "that is, if she will
leave her dear Mr. Douglas for a poor bed-ridden creature like you." As
an affectionate salute followed these words, it may be presumed they
were not so harsh as they sounded. The doctor came in time for
breakfast, but, before partaking of that meal, he visited his patient,
eased his bandages, looked to the wounds, and praised the nurse. "He
could not be doing better," he said, as he cheerfully descended to the
breakfast table.
The constable had respected the sanctity of the Sabbath, and was still
in the kitchen, while his prisoners languished in the stables. Tryphena
presided over the morning meal, at which Timotheus and Ben sat; and
Tryphosa, who had just descended from her labours in the sick room, was
giving them so touching and poetical an account of the invalid and his
nurses that Timotheus began seriously to consider the propriety of
having some frightful injury inflicted upon his own person. Mr. Toner
related for the tenth time how the spurious doctor had cured him, and
then proceeded to tell of Serlizer's wonderful skill in pulling through
her shot-riddled old reprobate of a father, till "he was eenamost as
good as new and a mighty sight heavier 'n he was, along o' the leaud in
his old carkidge." Constable Rigby laughed at the wounds of the day, and
characterized them as mere scratches, unworthy of mention in casualty
despatches. "There was a man of ours, an acting corporal, called
Brattles, in the melee at Inkerman, who broke the tip of his bagginet
off in one Rooshian, and the butt of it in another. Then he had nothing
to do but to club with what the French call the crosse. He forgot that
he had not emptied his gun of the last charge so, just as he had floored
his fourth Rooshian, the piece went off into his left breast, and the
bullet ran clear down him and came out of his boot under the hollow of
the left foot. Captain Clarkson thought he was done for; but Brattles
asked him for two champagne corks, plugged up the incoming and the
outgoing wounds with them, and stuck to it till the Rooshian bugles
sounded the retreat. That I call a wound to speak of." Tryphena, who had
listened to this story of her elderly admirer with becoming gravity,
ventured to ask: "Do officers carry champagne corks about with them on
the battle-field, Corporal Rigby?"
"Not all officers, Miss Hill. I never heard that Lord Raglan or Sir
Colin did. But the young fellows, of course. How else could they blacken
each other's faces?"
"Do they do that?"
"Regular. There was a subaltern they called Baby Appleby, he was so
white-skinned and light-haired. Well, one night we had to turn out for
an alarm in the dark, and charged two miles up to the rifle pits of the
first line. When we came back, the colonel halted us for inspection
before dismiss. When he came to Mr. Appleby, he turns to his captain and
says: 'Where did you get this nigger in uniform, Ford?' The captain
looked at him and roared, for poor Mr. Appleby was as black as Maguffin.
The gentlemen had amused themselves corking him when he was asleep."
"Yoh finds it mighty easy, consterble, ter say disrespeckshus remahks on
cullud folks," said the temporary barber, entering at that moment. "Ef
the Lawd made as dahk complected, I specks the Lawd knowed what He was
a doin', and didn't go foh ter set white folks a-sneezin' at 'em. I'se
flissertaten myself ebery day yoh cayn't cohk me inter a white folks."
"They's whitewaush, Maguffin," interpolated Ben. "A good heavy coaut o'
whitewaush 'ud make a gashly Corkashun of you."
"Yah! yah! yah! I'se got a brudder as perfesses whitewashin' an'
colourin'. When he's done got a job, he looks moh like the consterble's
brudder nor myuns, yah! yah! yah!"
The corporal frowned, and went on with his breakfast, while Mr. Maguffin
gave an account of his shaving adventure, and of the sight of that poor
man whose moustache had been trimmed by a non-professional.
Ben was soon after called by the detective to re-engage in the hunt for
Rawdon, who was now known to be wounded, and, therefore, to be lurking
somewhere in the neighbourhood. Mrs. Carmichael accompanied Mr. Errol on
a visit to Matilda Nagle at the post office. The absence of the minister
made the morning game of golf impossible, so that Mr. Perrowne had to
surrender himself to the care of Miss Halbert, which he did with a fine
grace of cheerful resignation. Mr. Douglas expressed a desire to take a
walk in the surrounding country, and the dominie echoed it, with the
condition that the ladies should share in the excursion. The Squire and
Mrs. Carruthers were busy; the doctor had his patient to look after, and
expected to be summoned to the other at the post office; and Mr. Terry
occupied himself with the children. But Mrs. Du Plessis and her
daughter, Miss Graves, Miss Halbert, and, of course the colonel and Mr.
Perrowne, were willing to be pedestrians, if the proposers of the tramp
promised not to walk too fast. There was a pretty hillside, beyond
Talfourds on the road towards the Beaver River, from which the timber
had once been removed, and which was now covered, but not too thickly,
with young second growth; and thither the party determined to wend their
way. Marjorie had intended to stay at home, in the hope of being allowed
to see Eugene again, but the doctor had begged her to leave him alone
for a day or two, and now the prospect of blackberry and thimbleberry
picking on the hillside was too much for her to resist. Gaining
permission from her aunt, she loaded Jim with baskets and little tin
pails, and led him away to the road between herself and Miss Graves. The
other gentlemen relieved the burdened Edinburghian of portions of his
load, and fell into natural pairs with the ladies, Miss Du Plessis and
Wilkinson bringing up the rear. There was a pleasant lake breeze to
temper the heat of the fine August morning, which gave the dominie
license to quote his favourite poet:--
And now I call the pathway by thy name,
And love the fir-grove with a perfect love.
Thither do I withdraw when cloudless suns
Shine hot, or wind blows troublesome and strong.
Anticipating the thimbleberries, he recited:--
Thy luscious fruit the boy well knows,
Wild bramble of the brake.
Miss Du Plessis liked that sort of thing. It was a blessed relief from
type-written legal business letters. So she responded in the lines of
Lamartine:--
Mon coeur à ce réveil du jour que Dieu renvoie,
Vers un ciel qui sourit s'éleve sar sa joie,
Et de ces dons nouveaux rendant grace au Seigneur,
Murmure en s'éveillant son hymne intérieur,
Demande un jour de paix, de bonheur, d'innocence,
Un jour qui pèse entier dans la sainte balance,
Quand la main qui les pèse à ses poids infinis
Retranchera du temps ceux qu'il n'a pas bénis!
By this it will appear that the two were admirably suited to each other,
finding in their companion peculiar excellences they might have vainly
sought among a thousand on Canadian soil. "This is a morning of
unalloyed happiness, Farquhar," remarked Miss Du Plessis in prose, and,
in the same humble style of composition, he answered: "Thank God,
Cecile! Think what it might have been had the worst happened to poor
Corry!"
"As it is," replied that lady, archly, "the worst has turned out for the
best."
"As it was with me," the dominie humbly responded, and relapsed into
silence.
Meanwhile, Marjorie trotted on ahead, and, her eyes, made observant by
former botanical expeditions on a small scale, found the purplish blue
five-flowered Gentian by the open roadside, the tall orange Asclepias
or Butterfly Weed, and the purple and yellow oak leaved Gerardias or
False Foxgloves in grassy stretches among the second growth. These she
bestowed on Jim, who begged to be allowed to present the most perfect
specimens to Miss Graves. The walkers were now on the top of the hill,
and strayed off into the overgrown clearing. A shout from Marjorie
declared that the berries had been reached, and within five minutes the
whole party was engaged in gathering, what Mr. Douglas hailed with
delight as "brammles." Marjorie accused the colonel of picking for his
own mouth, but this was a libel. He picked for Mrs. Du Plessis, whom he
established under the shade of a straggling striped maple of tender
growth. That lady received the tribute of brother Paul very gracefully,
and darkened her lips with the ripe berries, much to the colonel's
amusement and their mutual gratification. Miss Halbert stood over Basil,
and so punished him with a sunshade, whenever he abstracted fruit for
personal consumption, that the man became infatuated and persisted in
his career of wrong doing, till he was deprived of his basket, which he
only received back after an abject apology delivered on his knees, and a
solemn promise to have regard to the general weal. Miss Du Plessis and
the dominie would have done well, had not the worship of nature and
human nature, in prose and in verse, withheld their hands from labour,
and fortunately, as Mr. Perrowne remarked, from picking and stealing.
Mr. Douglas was absorbed in admiration for Miss Graves, who, thinking
nothing of the handsome picture she made, attended strictly to business,
and roused him to emulation in basket filling. Marjorie, with her
oft-replenished tin can, aided them time about impartially, as the only
honest workers worthy of recognition. Steadily, they toiled away, until
the rising sun and shortening shadows, to say nothing of stooped backs
and flushed faces, warned them to cease their labours, and prepare to
take their treasures home. Then they compared baskets, to the exultation
of some and the confusion of others. Miss Graves and Mr. Douglas were
bracketed first with a good six quarts a piece. Miss Halbert came next,
with Mr. Perrowne a little behind. Miss Du Plessis and Mr. Wilkinson had
not six quarts between them; and, when Marjorie saw the colonel's
little pail only half full, she exclaimed: "O horrows!" and said it was
a lasting disgrace. But Mrs. Du Plessis smiled sweetly with her
empurpled lips, and the colonel did not mind the disgrace a particle.
They all went home very merry and full of innocent jocularity.
"Cecile," said the dominie, "I trust you will excuse the adjective, but
I should dearly love to hear Corry's jolly laugh just now. Poor fellow,
I think I could almost bear a pun."
The audacious Mr. Perrowne overheard the last words, and, with great
exuberance of feeling, propounded a conundrum.
"Mr. Wilkinson, why is a pun of our friend Coristine's like your sling?
D'ye give it up? Because there's now arm in it now. Ha! ha!"
They had only been a few hours away, but, when they returned to
Bridesdale, it did not require clever eyes to see that a great change
had taken place. The people were in the house, even the children, but
they were all very quiet. Neither the doctor nor the Squire was visible,
and instinctively the berry-pickers feared the worst. Mrs. Carruthers
told them that excitement had been too much for the enfeebled patient.
Happily, he was not strong enough to be delirious, but he seemed
sinking, and had fallen into unconsciousness, only muttering little
incoherences in his attenuated voice. Doctor Halbert hoped much from a
strong constitution, but work and worry had reduced its vitality before
the dreadful drain came on the life blood. Soon, he came down stairs
with the Squire, both looking very solemn. "Let me go to my friend,
Doctor," pleaded Wilkinson, and many other offers of service were made,
but the doctor shook his head. "Miss Marjorie is there and will not
leave him," he answered; "and, if she cannot pull him through, nobody
else can. When she wants help, she will summon you." Then, turning to
Mr. Errol, he said: "I will go with you now, and see to that poor woman
at the post office." The minister took the good doctor's arm, and they
went away dinnerless to attend to the wants of Matilda Nagle, suddenly
smitten down with fever while on the way to obey the imperious infelt
summons of the unseen Rawdon. Mr. Newberry was with her, having been
driven over by that strange mixture of humanity, Yankee Pawkins, and
Mrs. Tibbs was acting as the soul of kindness. The woman's case was a
remarkable combination of natural and mesmeric causes, but presented no
reason for serious apprehension. The doctor prescribed, and Pawkins
drove off at breakneck speed to get the prescription filled by the
medical student at his dispensary. Then, he and the minister returned to
the sobered and melancholy company at Bridesdale. "Resting, but hardly
breathing," was the bulletin that greeted them, when they enquired after
the solitary battler for life in the upper chamber. Yet he was not
alone; one sad stricken woman's heart was bound to that poor shadow of
former vital wealth forever.