The third week had nearly elapsed, and as yet no one was allowed to see
the patient.
For a time Stephen was inclined to be chagrined. It is not pleasant to
have even the most generous and benevolent intentions thwarted; and she
had set her mind on making much of this man whom fate and his own bravery
had thrown athwart her life. But in these days Stephen was in some ways
a changed woman. She had so much that she wished to forget and that she
would have given worlds to recall, that she could not bear even to think
of any militant or even questioning attitude. She even began to take
herself to task more seriously than she had ever done with regard to
social and conventional duties. When she found her house full of so many
and so varied guests, it was borne in upon her that such a position as
her own, with such consequent duties, called for the presence of some
elder person of her own sex and of her own class.
No better proof of Stephen's intellectual process and its result could be
adduced than her first act of recognition: she summoned an elderly lady
to live with her and matronise her house. This lady, the widow of a
distant relation, complied with all the charted requirements of
respectability, and had what to Stephen's eyes was a positive gift: that
of minding her own business and not interfering in any matter whatever.
Lady de Lannoy, she felt, was her own master and quite able to take care
of herself. Her own presence was all that convention required. So she
limited herself to this duty, with admirable result to all, herself
included. After a few days Stephen would almost forget that she was
present.
Mr. Hilton kept bravely to his undertaking. He never gave even a hint of
his hopes of the restoration of sight; and he was so assiduous in his
attention that there arose no opportunity of accidental discovery of the
secret. He knew that when the time did come he would find himself in a
very unpleasant situation. Want of confidence, and even of intentional
deceit, might be attributed to him; and he would not be able to deny nor
explain. He was, however; determined to stick to his word. If he could
but save his patient's sight he would be satisfied.
But to Stephen all the mystery seemed to grow out of its first shadowy
importance into something real. There was coming to her a vague idea
that she would do well not to manifest any concern, any anxiety, any
curiosity. Instinct was at work; she was content to trust it, and wait.
One forenoon she received by messenger a letter which interested her
much. So much that at first she was unwilling to show it to anyone, and
took it to her own boudoir to read over again in privacy. She had a sort
of feeling of expectancy with regard to it; such as sensitive natures
feel before a thunderstorm. The letter was natural enough in itself. It
was dated that morning from Varilands, a neighbouring estate which
marched with Lannoy to the south.
'MY DEAR MADAM,--Will you pardon me a great liberty, and allow my
little girl and me to come to see you to-day? I shall explain when we
meet. When I say that we are Americans and have come seven thousand
miles for the purpose, you will, I am sure, understand that it is no
common interest which has brought us, and it will be the excuse for
our eagerness. I should write you more fully, but as the matter is a
confidential one I thought it would be better to speak. We shall be
doubly grateful if you will have the kindness to see us alone. I
write as a mother in making this appeal to your kindness; for my
child--she is only a little over eight years old--has the matter so
deeply in her heart that any disappointment or undue delay would I
fear affect her health. We presume to take your kindness for granted
and will call a little before twelve o'clock.
'I may perhaps say (in case you should feel any hesitation as to my
_bona fides_) that my husband purchased some years ago this estate. We
were to have come here to live in the early summer, but were kept in
the West by some important business of his.
'Believe me, yours sincerely,
'ALICE STONEHOUSE.'
Stephen had, of course, no hesitation as to receiving the lady. Even had
there been objection, the curiosity she had in common with her kind would
have swept difficulties aside. She gave orders that when Mrs. Stonehouse
arrived with her daughter they were to be shown at once into the Mandarin
drawing-room. That they would probably stay for lunch. She would see
them alone.
A little before twelve o'clock Mrs. Stonehouse and Pearl arrived, and
were shown into the room where Lady de Lannoy awaited them. The high
sun, streaming in from the side, shone on her beautiful hair, making it
look like living gold. When the Americans came in they were for an
instant entranced by her beauty. One glance at Mrs. Stonehouse's sweet
sympathetic face was enough to establish her in Stephen's good graces
forever. As for Pearl, she was like one who has unexpectedly seen a
fairy or a goddess. She had been keeping guardedly behind her mother,
but on the instant she came out fearlessly into the open.
Stephen advanced quickly and shook hands with Mrs. Stonehouse, saying
heartily:
'I am so glad you have come. I am honoured in being trusted.'
'Thank you so much, Lady de Lannoy. I felt that you would not mind,
especially when you know why we came. Indeed I had no choice. Pearl
insisted on it; and when Pearl is urgent--we who love her have all to
give way. This is Pearl!'
In an instant Stephen was on her knees by the beautiful child.
The red rosebud of a mouth was raised to her kiss, and the little arms
went lovingly round her neck and clung to her. As the mother looked on
delighted she thought she had never seen a more beautiful sight. The two
faces so different, and yet with so much in common. The red hair and the
flaxen, both tints of gold. The fine colour of each heightened to a
bright flush in their eagerness. Stephen was so little used to children,
and yet loved them so, that all the womanhood in her, which is possible
motherhood, went out in an instant to the lovely eager child. She felt
the keenest pleasure when the little thing, having rubbed her silk-gloved
palms over her face, and then holding her away so that she could see her
many beauties, whispered in her ear:
'How pretty you are!'
'You darling!' whispered Stephen in reply. 'We must love each other very
much, you and I!'
When the two ladies had sat down, Stephen holding Pearl in her lap, Mrs.
Stonehouse said:
'I suppose you have wondered, Lady de Lannoy, what has brought us here?'
'Indeed I was very much interested.'
'Then I had better tell you all from the beginning so that you may
understand.' She proceeded to give the details of the meeting with Mr.
Robinson on the _Scoriac_. Of how Pearl took to him and insisted on
making him her special friend; of the terrible incident of her being
swept overboard, and of the gallant rescue. Mrs. Stonehouse was much
moved as she spoke. All that fearful time, of which the minutes had
seemed years of agony, came back to her so vividly at times that she
could hardly speak. Pearl listened too; all eagerness, but without fear.
Stephen was greatly moved and held Pearl close to her all the time, as
though protecting her. When the mother spoke of her feeling when she saw
the brave man struggling up and down the giant waves, and now and again
losing sight of him in the trough of the sea, she put out one hand and
held the mother's with a grasp which vibrated in sympathy, whilst the
great tears welled over in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. Pearl,
watching her keenly, said nothing, but taking her tiny cambric
handkerchief from her pocket silently wiped the tears away, and clung all
the tighter. It was her turn to protect now!
Pearl's own time for tears came when her mother began to tell this new
and sympathetic friend of how she became so much attached to her rescuer
that when she knew he would not be coming to the West with them, but
going off to the wildest region of the far North, her health became
impaired; and that it was only when Mr. Robinson promised to come back to
see her within three years that she was at all comforted. And how, ever
since, she had held the man in her heart and thought of him every day;
sleeping as well as waking, for he was a factor in her dreams!
Stephen was more than ever moved, for the child's constancy touched her
as well as her grief. She strained the little thing in her strong young
arms, as though the fervency of her grasp would bring belief and comfort;
as it did. She in her turn dried the others' eyes. Then Mrs. Stonehouse
went on with her story:
'We were at Banff, high up in the Rockies, when we read of the burning
and wrecking of the _Dominion_. It is, as you know, a Montreal boat of
the Allan Line; so that naturally there was a full telegraphic report in
all the Canadian papers. When we read of the brave man who swam ashore
with the line and who was unable to reach the port but swam out across
the bay, Pearl took it for granted that it must have been "The Man," as
she always called Mr. Robinson. When by the next paper we learned that
the man's name _was_ Robinson nothing would convince her that it was not
_her_ Mr. Robinson. My husband, I may tell you, had firmly come to the
same conclusion. He had ever since the rescue of our child always looked
for any news from Alaska, whither he knew Mr. Robinson had gone. He
learned that up away in the very far North a new goldfield had been
discovered by a man of the same name; and that a new town, Robinson City,
began to grow up in the wilderness, where the condition of life from the
cold was a new experience to even the most hardy gold miners. Then we
began to think that the young hero who had so gallantly saved our darling
was meeting some of his reward . . . !'
She paused, her voice breaking. Stephen was in a glow of holy feeling.
Gladness, joy, gratitude, enthusiasm; she knew not which. It all seemed
like a noble dream which was coming true. Mrs. Stonehouse went on:-
'From Californian papers of last month we learned that Robinson, of
Robinson City, had sailed for San Francisco, but had disappeared when the
ship touched at Portland; and then the whole chain of his identity seemed
complete. Nothing would satisfy Pearl but that we should come at once to
England and see "The Man," who was wounded and blind, and do what we
could for him. Her father could not then come himself; he had important
work on hand which he could not leave without some preparation. But he
is following us and may be here at any time.
'And now, we want you to help us, Lady de Lannoy. We are not sure yet of
the identity of Mr. Robinson, but we shall know the instant we see him,
or hear his voice. We have learned that he is still here. Won't you let
us? Do let us see him as soon as ever you can!' There was a pleading
tone in her voice which alone would have moved Stephen, even had she not
been wrought up already by the glowing fervour of her new friend.
But she paused. She did not know what to say; how to tell them that as
yet she herself knew nothing. She, too, in the depths of her own heart
knew--_knew_--that it was the same Robinson. And she also knew that both
identities were one with another. The beating of her heart and the wild
surging of her blood told her all. She was afraid to speak lest her
voice should betray her.
She could not even think. She would have to be alone for that.
Mrs. Stonehouse, with the wisdom and power of age, waited, suspending
judgment. But Pearl was in a fever of anxiety; she could imagine nothing
which could keep her away from The Man. But she saw that there was some
difficulty, some cause of delay. So she too added her pleading. Putting
her mouth close to Lady de Lannoy's ear she whispered very faintly, very
caressingly:
'What is your name? Your own name? Your very own name?'
'Stephen, my darling!'
'Oh, won't you let us see The Man, Stephen; dear Stephen! I love him so;
and I do _so_ want to see him. It is ages till I see him! Won't you let
me? I shall be so good--Stephen!' And she strained her closer in her
little arms and kissed her all over face, cheeks and forehead and eyes
and mouth wooingly. Stephen returned the embrace and the kisses, but
remained silent a little longer. Then she found voice:
'I hardly know what to say. Believe me, I should--I shall, do all I can;
but the fact is that I am not in authority. The Doctor has taken him in
charge and will not let anyone go near him: He will not even have a
nurse, but watches and attends to him himself. He says it might be fatal
if anything should occur to agitate him. Why, even I am not allowed to
see him!'
'Haven't you seen him yet at all; ever, ever, Stephen?' asked Pearl, all
her timidity gone. Stephen smiled--a wan smile it was, as she answered:
'I saw him in the water, but it was too far away to distinguish. And it
was only by firelight.'
'Oh yes, I know,' said Pearl; 'Mother and Daddy told me how you had
burned the house down to give him light. Didn't you want to see him more
after that? I should!' Stephen drew the impulsive child closer as she
answered:
'Indeed I did, dear. But I had to think of what was good for him. I
went to his room the next day when he was awake, and the Doctor let me
come in for only a moment.'
'Well! What did you see. Didn't you know him?' She forgot that the
other did not know him from her point of view. But the question went
through Stephen's heart like a sword. What would she not have given to
have known him! What would she not give to know him now! . . . She spoke
mechanically:
'The room was quite dark. It is necessary, the Doctor says, that he be
kept in the dark. I saw only a big beard, partly burned away by the
fire; and a great bandage which covered his eyes!' Pearl's hold relaxed,
she slipped like an eel to the floor and ran over to her mother. Her new
friend was all very well, but no one would do as well as mother when she
was in trouble.
'Oh mother, mother! My Robinson had no beard!' Her mother stroked her
face comfortingly as she answered:
'But, my dear, it is more than two years since you saw him. Two years
and three months, for it was in June that we crossed.' How the date
thrilled Stephen. It verified her assumption.
Mrs. Stonehouse did not notice, but went on:
'His beard would have grown. Men wear beards up in the cold place where
he was.' Pearl kissed her; there was no need for words. Throwing
herself again on Stephen's knees she went on with her questioning:
'But didn't you hear him?'
'I heard very little, darling. He was very weak. It was only the
morning after the wreck, and he spoke in a whisper!' Then with an
instinct of self-preservation she added: 'But how could I learn anything
by hearing him when he was a stranger to me? I had never even heard of
Mr. Robinson!'
As she was speaking she found her own ideas, the proofs of her own
conviction growing. This was surely another link in the chain of proving
that all three men were but one. But in such case Harold must know; must
have tried to hide his identity!
She feared, with keen eyes upon her, to pursue the thought. But her
blood began to grow cold and her brain to swim. With an effort she went
on:
'Even since then I have not been allowed to go near him. Of course I
must obey orders. I am waiting as patiently as I can. But we must ask
the Doctor if he thinks his patient will see you--will let you see
him--though he will not let me.' This she added with a touch of what she
felt: regret rather than bitter ness. There was no room for bitterness
in her full heart where Harold was concerned.
'Will you ask the Doctor now?' Pearl did not let grass grow under her
feet. For answer Stephen rang the bell, and when a servant appeared
asked:
'Is Mr. Hilton in the house?'
'I think not, your Ladyship. He said he was going over to Port Lannoch.
Shall I inquire if he left word at what time he would be back?'
'If you please!' The man returned in a few minutes with the butler, who
said:
'Mr. Hilton said, your Ladyship, that he expected to be back by one
o'clock at latest.'
'Please ask him on his arrival if he will kindly come here at once. Do
not let us be disturbed until then.' The butler bowed and withdrew.
'Now,' said Stephen, 'as we have to wait till our tyrant comes, won't you
tell me all that went on after The Man had left you?' Pearl brightened
up at once. Stephen would have given anything to get away even for a
while. Beliefs and hopes and fears were surging up, till she felt
choking. But the habit of her life, especially her life of the last two
years, gave her self-control. And so she waited, trying with all her
might to follow the child's prattle.
After a long wait Pearl exclaimed: 'Oh! I do wish that Doctor would
come. I want to see The Man!' She was so restless, marching about the
room, that Stephen said:
'Would you like to go out on the balcony, darling; of course if Mother
will let you? It is quite safe, I assure you, Mrs. Stonehouse. It is
wide and open and is just above the flower-borders, with a stone tail.
You can see the road from it by which Mr. Hilton comes from Port Lannoch.
He will be riding.' Pearl yielded at once to the diversion. It would at
any rate be something to do, to watch. Stephen opened the French window
and the child ran out on the balcony.
When Stephen came back to her seat Mrs. Stonehouse said quietly:
'I am glad she is away for a few minutes. She has been over wrought, and
I am always afraid for her. She is so sensitive. And after all she is
only a baby!'
'She is a darling!' said Stephen impulsively; and she meant it. Mrs.
Stonehouse smiled gratefully as she went on:
'I suppose you noticed what a hold on her imagination that episode of
Mollie Watford at the bank had. Mr. Stonehouse is, as perhaps you know,
a very rich man. He has made his fortune himself, and most honourably;
and we are all very proud of him, and of it. So Pearl does not think of
the money for itself. But the feeling was everything; she really loves
Mr. Robinson; as indeed she ought! He has done so much for us that it
would be a pride and a privilege for us to show our gratitude. My
husband, between ourselves, wanted to make him his partner. He tells me
that, quite independent of our feeling towards him, he is just the man he
wanted. And if indeed it was he who discovered the Alaskan goldfield and
organised and ruled Robinson City, it is a proof that Mr. Stonehouse's
judgment was sound. Now he is injured, and blind; and our little Pearl
loves him. If indeed he be the man we believe he is, then we may be able
to do something which all his millions cannot buy. He will come to us,
and be as a son to us, and a brother to Pearl. We will be his eyes; and
nothing but love and patience will guide his footsteps!' She paused, her
mouth quivering; then she went on:
'If it is not our Mr. Robinson, then it will be our pleasure to do all
that is necessary for his comfort. If he is a poor man he will never
want . . . It will be a privilege to save so gallant a man from hardship
. . . ' Here she came to a stop.
Stephen too was glad of the pause, for the emotion which the words and
their remembrances evoked was choking her. Had not Harold been as her
own father's son. As her own brother! . . . She turned away, fearing
lest her face should betray her.
All at once Mrs. Stonehouse started to her feet, her face suddenly white
with fear; for a cry had come to their ears. A cry which even Stephen
knew as Pearl's. The mother ran to the window.
The balcony was empty. She came back into the room, and, ran to the
door.
But on the instant a voice that both women knew was heard from without:
'Help there! Help, I say! The child has fainted. Is there no one
there? And I am blind!'