AFTERWARDS.
"HONOR! Is the child safe? Oh, Honor!"
Gwendoline started up in bed to a sitting posture, suddenly awake to
the situation. She had been dimly conscious of her whereabouts for an
hour past, conscious of very sick and weary sensations, and of moving
figures around her; conscious also of an indefinite sense of fear from
time to time, which made her cling to her friend's hand for protection.
She had not, in her exhaustion, yet remembered what had occurred, or
thought of asking about the child. But as she lay half sleeping, with
the pleasant protectiveness of Honora's cool hand clasping hers, clear
recollection flashed all at once into her mind.
"Honor! What am I about? I had quite forgotten. Is the boy safe?"
"Keep quiet, Gwennie. You are under doctor's orders," said Honora.
"What doctor? Why, I am not ill."
"Mr. Fosbrook. You have been quite well the last hour, haven't you,
Gwen?"
Gwendoline's mind travelled back. "I had forgotten. But I am all right
now. How about the boy?"
"Mr. Fosbrook is with him. They are doing all they can," said Honora
gently.
"Then he has not come to yet? I did my best, my very best," said
Gwendoline sorrowfully. "I could not manage to hold the poor little
head higher; and that last wave nearly did for both of us, I think. He
was longer in the water than I. Is there no hope for him?"
"They do not give up hope. He may revive even now. If not, you will
still know that you did your utmost. The men cannot say enough about
your courage."
"Courage! That is nothing. I couldn't have stood by to see him drown.
Oh, Honor, if it has been useless after all! I do wish I had tried a
little harder."
"It was not possible. Don't take a morbid view of the matter, Gwen. You
endangered your own life for his, and you could not have done more. The
result must be in God's hands."
"Poor little fellow! I wonder if he has a mother," Gwendoline said.
Tears were dropping—a rare event with her; but she had been unnerved.
"Not a mother, I believe—only a sister who takes the place of a mother.
I have been too busy with you to learn particulars. I will go now, and
see how he is, if you can promise to keep yourself quiet meantime."
She found efforts being still carried on, with unremitting vigour,
as yet unsuccessfully. Mr. Fosbrook, a man of about forty, thin,
but well-knit, with sallow complexion and observant eyes, was alike
directing operations and taking an abundant share in them himself. His
assistants were Mr. Widrington and the three sailors. Mrs. Widrington
flustered hither and thither, procuring whatever was asked for, and
making numberless suggestions which nobody heeded.
No time had been lost, for Mr. Fosbrook had happened to pass at the
very moment of the accident, and he was himself the fourth man in the
boat which put off to the rescue. But the small figure lay still to all
appearance lifeless, and one and another was silently giving up hope.
Honora stood unnoticed for a few seconds near the door.
"I'm afeared it's all up with him, poor little chap," one of the men
said. "I don't see as it's much use keeping on."
"Nor I," said Mr. Widrington, though he did not venture to stop
rubbing. "I could tell from the first it wouldn't be no good. Trust me
to know! He's dead, wifie."
Mrs. Widrington put her handkerchief to her eyes. Mr. Fosbrook had
stooped low, to place his ear over the child's heart, and he stood up
now, with a sharp glance round.
"Keep on. Don't slacken for an instant. Heat more flannels! It is 'not'
all up with him."
"Do you mean to say he is alive, doctor?" exclaimed Mrs. Widrington. "I
shouldn't have thought it, now. Poor dear little man."
Mr. Fosbrook held again to the parted lips a tiny feather, brought
to him by Honora. "See," he said; and there was indeed a faint stir
visible.
"Why, so he is! Why, he isn't dead after all!" exclaimed Mrs.
Widrington. "Now I am glad. And that brave girl won't have risked
drowning for nothing. Do you think we may say he is out of danger,
doctor? I should like to send word to his sister, poor thing! And
wouldn't you like me to get some beef-tea or something ready? I
shouldn't wonder if the butcher's shop was open still, and Mary Jane
could run for a pound of beef. He'll want something when he comes to.
What do you think, Honor?"
Mrs. Widrington's excited little patter of talk seemed to be unheard by
Mr. Fosbrook, but at the last word he turned himself about.
"Miss Halcombe doing well?" he asked, looking at Honora.
"She is quite herself, and very anxious about the child."
"Tell her there are signs of life. I hope we shall bring him round yet."
Honora went swiftly back to bear the message, and to spend another
hour of suspense by Gwendoline's side. Gwendoline said little, only
lay with eager eyes and tremulous lips, watching for tidings. Once or
twice Mrs. Widrington fluttered in, carrying a gentle bustle with her,
and assuring them that the little boy was getting on beautifully; a
statement somewhat modified by a very audible whisper to Honora, that
"she didn't believe he would ever get over it, and she could see the
doctor thought so too."
"And he's a clever man, is Mr. Fosbrook," she added aloud for the
benefit of both; "and a kind one, though he is rather positive, and
says a sharp word sometimes. But I'm sure he'd do anything for anybody,
if he thought it right. I wonder he don't marry, for he's getting on
in life, and he looks sickly, as if he wanted somebody to take care of
him. Only think, Honor, the poor little boy hasn't any mother living,
and his father was drowned at sea only last year; wouldn't it have
been strange if he had been drowned too?—And he would have been if it
wasn't for this brave girl. And there's a sister who takes care of the
three children, and she is lame or something, and can't come to him.
They say she is half-frantic, poor creature, she cares so much for this
boy. He's a pretty little fellow, and I don't wonder. She must be a
great deal older than these younger children. I wonder if she's only a
half-sister. Now don't you make yourself unhappy, Miss Halcombe. I'll
soon come back with more news."
But Mr. Fosbrook himself came next. His first move was to take
Gwendoline's hand, and to shake it gently.
"I congratulate you with all my heart on having saved a life," he said.
"You have acted nobly."
Gwendoline's lips twitched, and she laughed in a nervous manner. "If I
saved one, you helped to save two," she said.
"Ay, but not at the risk of my own. There is a slight difference, Miss
Halcombe. You ought to have a Humane Society's medal."
"Oh, no, no, thank you! I should not like any fuss," said Gwendoline.
"Nothing of that sort. But I am so glad. Poor little boy."
"Is he quite out of danger?" asked Honora.
"Quite out of immediate danger. I cannot answer for after consequences."
"Honor," Gwendoline said softly, a little later, when they were again
alone, "I did not know that the purpose of my coming to Riversmouth was
to be this. I expected something quite different."
"I suppose there is always a purpose in each step of our way," said
Honora. "But God's purpose for us and our own purpose for ourselves are
often not identical."
Gwendoline smiled assent, and seemed indisposed to carry on the
conversation. Honora was glad to see her growing sleepy; but suddenly
the sleepiness vanished, and she started up.
"Honor!"
"What is the matter?"
"Dinner at Lady Halcot's."
"Past eleven o'clock, Gwen, so I am afraid you can't go now."
"No, but seriously—was no excuse sent?"
"I am sorry to say I forgot all about it till an hour ago, and then it
was too late. Besides, we really had no one to spare for a messenger
earlier in the evening. We must despatch a note of explanation in the
morning."
"I am not going to have any stir made," said Gwendoline resolutely.
"My part of the affair was only just doing what I had to do, and what
anybody else must have done in my place. I shall tell Lady Halcot that
I had an accidental wetting, and that I was very sorry not to go to
her."
To this plan she adhered when morning came. Honora would have preferred
a little more explicitness, but Gwendoline shrank from any appearance
of boasting, and the note was despatched as she wrote it.
"I don't see as the thing matters either way," Mr. Widrington said to
his niece. "News travels apace, and her ladyship is sure to hear the
story before many hours are over,—take my word for it."
Mr. Widrington was mistaken, so far as hours were concerned.
Riversmouth news did not always reach Lady Halcot quickly. She fenced
herself round with an enclosure of distant reserve, and few ventured
to address her uninvited. Miss Withers heard the tale, of course, but
Miss Withers did not repeat it, and for many days Lady Halcot believed
that Gwendoline had made use of a trivial excuse to set aside her
engagement. Such a belief implied displeasure on the part of Lady
Halcot.
So also thought Mr. Selwyn. He returned by an early train, having
not even seen the note which Gwendoline sent. He ascribed her
non-appearance at dinner to a fit of girlish shyness or pride, and
was alike vexed for her and disappointed in her. He had counted Miss
Halcombe to be rather superior to some feminine weaknesses.
Gwendoline's return home suffered only a day's postponement. She was
somewhat shaken by her adventure, and the doctor counselled longer
delay; but Honora could not remain, and Gwendoline would not consent
to be left behind. She wrote home lightly of what had occurred, making
little of the matter, and Honora, by her request, did not write at all.