"As we descended, following hope,
There sat the shadow feared of man."
Perhaps it was well for the permanence of Cheriton's new-born happiness
that he had but a very short glimpse of Ruth. The next morning, the
Oakby party started early, that Mr Lester might arrive in time to
attend a magistrate's meeting at Hazelby, while Ruth remained for the
later train that was to take her on her separate visit. She would not
give him a chance of seeing her alone, and one look, one clasp of the
hand, and--"Remember your promise" was all the satisfaction he obtained
from her. Yet he could hardly collect his thoughts to answer his
father's many questions on their journey home, and trying to shout
through the noise of the train made him cough so much that his
grandmother scolded him for catching such a bad cold.
"Young men are so foolish," she said, but she did not look at all
uneasy. _Her_ grandchildren's illnesses were never serious; and all the
Lesters thought any amount of discomfort preferable to "having a fuss
made." Cherry hardly knew himself how ill he was feeling, as they
reached home and the day went on; but he was so weary with bad nights
and fatigue that it was a perpetual effort to remember that all his
suspense of every sort was over, that the examination was passed, and
that Ruth was his. He lay on the sofa trying to rest; but the cough
disturbed him, and by dinner-time he was obliged to own himself beaten
and to go to bed, saying that a night's rest would quite set him up
again.
"Boys have no moderation," said Mr Lester, in a tone of annoyance. "It
is well it is all over now. Cheriton might have taken quite as good a
place without overworking himself in this way."
Alvar, not understanding that peculiarly English form of anxiety that
shows itself in shortness of temper, thought this remark very unfeeling.
Mrs Lester suggested some simple remedy for the cough; Cherry promised
to try it, and was left to his "night's rest."
He woke in the early morning from a short, feverish sleep, to such pain
and breathlessness and such a sense of serious illness as he had never
experienced in his life, and, thoroughly frightened and bewildered, was
trying to think how he could call any one, when his door was softly
opened, and Alvar came in.
"I heard you cough so much," he said. "You cannot sleep. I am afraid
you are ill."
"Very ill," said Cherry. "You must send some one for the doctor."
He was but just able to tell Alvar where to find the young groom who
could ride into Hazelby to fetch him; and soon there was terrible alarm
through all the prosperous household, as, roused one after another, they
came to see what was amiss. Nettie fled, with her hands up to her ears,
right out into the dewy garden, away from the house, afraid to hear what
the doctor said of Cherry. Mr Lester gave vent to one outburst of rage
with examiners, examination, and Oxford generally, then braced himself
to wait in silence for tidings; as he had waited once before when his
wife lay in mortal danger--would the verdict be the same now? Mrs
Lester preserved her self-possession, sent for the keeper's wife, who
was the best nurse at hand, and though sadly at a loss what remedies to
suggest, sat down to watch her grandson, because it was her place to do
so.
They were all too thankful for any help in the crisis to wonder that it
was Alvar who held Cherry in an easier position, and soothed him with
quiet tenderness.
When the doctor at length arrived, he pronounced that Cheriton was
suffering from a violent attack of inflammation of the lungs. He was
very ill; but his youth and previous good health were in his favour.
Overwork and the neglected cold would doubtless account for it.
"Will it be over--in a fortnight?" said Cherry, suddenly.
"We'll hope so--we'll hope so," said the doctor. "You have only to do
as you are told, you know. Now, have you a good nurse?" turning to Mrs
Lester.
"Yes, we think Mrs Thornton very trustworthy--she was nursery-maid here
before she married."
"There must be as few people about him as possible. No talking and no
excitement."
"But--Alvar will stay?" said Cherry, wistfully. "Father, he came in the
night--I want him."
"Hush, hush, my boy--yes, of course he will stay with you if you like,"
said Mr Lester, hastily.
"Of course," said Alvar, with a curious accent, half-proud, half-tender,
as he laid his hand on Cheriton's.
The foreign brother was the last person whom Mr Adamson expected to see
in such a capacity; but if he was inefficient, both he and his patient
would probably soon discover it; he looked the most self-possessed of
the party, and his manner soothed Cheriton. Mrs Thornton had plenty of
practical experience to supply his inevitable ignorance. Cheriton was
exceedingly ill; his strength did not hold out against the remedies as
well as had been hoped, and he suffered so much as to be hardly ever
clearly conscious.
"I was so happy!" he said several times with a sort of wonder, and his
father felt that the words gave him another pang.
Mr Lester was threatened with the most terrible sorrow that could
befall him, and no mitigation of the agony was possible to him. He
thought that his best-loved son would die, and made up his mind to the
worst, feeling hope impossible; but he made a conscientious effort at
endurance, an effort sadly unsuccessful.
"Eh! my son," said his old mother, "he is a good lad, take that
comfort."
And this reserved hint at the one real consolation was almost the only
attempt at comforting each other that any of them made. No one tried to
"make the best of it," to look at the hopeful side, or to find in any
mutual tenderness a little lightening of the burden. They held apart
from each other with a curious shyness, and as far as possible pursued
their several businesses. Nettie went to her lessons, and refused to
hear a word of sympathy from her friends, and when at last she could
endure the agony no longer, ran away by herself into the woods and hid
herself all day. Why should they kiss her and give her flowers--it did
not cure Cherry, or make it less dreadful that another doctor was coming
from Edinburgh, because Mr Adamson thought him so ill. But she did not
want to see him, and had no instinct whatever to do anything for him.
Speech was no relief to any of them; it was easier to conceal than to
indulge their feelings; and Mr Lester went about silent and stern;
Nettie attempted to comfort no one but the dogs; and her grandmother
found no relief but in talking of Cherry's "folly in overworking
himself" to Virginia, who came hurriedly at the first report that
reached Elderthwaite. She was a rare visitor; it was characteristic of
her relations with Alvar that a sort of shyness kept her away. She
forgot to be shy, however, when Alvar came to speak to her for a moment,
and sprang towards him.
"Oh! dear Alvar, this is terrible. I am so sorry for you. But you
think he will be better."
"Yes, surely," said Alvar, as if no other view had occurred to him.
"_Mi dona_, this is wrong that I should let you seek me; but I cannot
leave him--he suffers so much--that cough is frightful."
"But he likes to have you with him?"
"Yes, I can lift him best, and I do not ask him how he is when he cannot
speak," said Alvar, with the simplicity that was so like sarcasm. "Ah!
it is not right to let you go back alone, _mi Reyna_--but I dare not
stay."
"That does not matter; only take care of yourself," said Virginia, as
Alvar kissed her hand and opened the door for her, and promised to let
her have news every day.
But she went away tearful for more than Cheriton's danger. Alvar had
never told her that it comforted him to see her; he did not care whether
she came or not.
"Eh! my lass, what news have you?" said an anxious voice, and looking
up, Virginia saw her uncle, looking unusually clerical for a week day,
hanging about the path in front of her.
"Alvar thinks he will be better, he is very ill now," said Virginia;
"they have sent for another doctor."
"Ah! that's bad! There's never been such another in all the country.
Queenie, did I ever tell you how he kept up our credit with the bishop?"
And Parson Seyton, whose nature was very different from his neighbour's,
spent a long hour in telling tales of Cherry's boyhood to his willing
listener. "Eh!" he concluded, "and I meant to fetch him over to hear
our fine singing, and see how spick and span we are now-a-days--new
surplice and all! Eh! he wrote me a sermon once--when he was a little
lad not twelve years old--and I'll swear it might have been preached
with the best."
Although Virginia had said nothing and done little to mend matters at
Elderthwaite, there had been a certain revival of the elements of
respectability. A drunken old farmer had been succeeded by his son, who
had been brought up and had married elsewhere. This young couple came
to church, and Virginia had by chance made acquaintance with the bride.
Her husband got himself made churchwarden--Elderthwaite was not
enlightened enough for parochial contests, and Virginia having shyly
intimated that want of means need not stand in the way, the windows were
mended, and some yards of cocoa-nut matting appeared in the aisle.
There had always been a little forlorn singing; young Mr and Mrs
Clement were musical, and the Sunday children were collected in the week
and taught to sing. The parson had been presented with the surplice,
and as by this time he would have done most things to please his pretty
niece, accepted it with some pride. Whether from the effect of these
splendours, or from consideration for the fair attentive face that he
never failed to see before him, the parson himself began to conduct the
service with a slight regard to decency and order; and being with his
Seyton sense of humour fully conscious of the improvement, and, with the
simplicity that was like a grain of salt in his character, rather proud
of it, had looked forward to Cherry's approbation.
"Eh!" he said, "I'd like to see him--I'd like to see him."
"He mustn't see any one," said Virginia; "they will hardly let his
father go in."
"Well, it's a pity it's not the Frenchman. Eh! bless my soul, my
darling, I forgot."
"Alvar is almost ready to think so too, uncle," said Virginia, hardly
able to help laughing.
"If I could do anything that he would like--catch him some trout--"
suggested the parson.
"Uncle," said Virginia timidly, "in church, when any one is sick or in
trouble, they pray for them. They will mention Cherry's name at Oakby
to-morrow. Could not we--"
"Ay, my lass, it would show a very proper respect," said the parson;
"and the lad would like it too."
And of all the many hearty prayers that were sent up on that Sunday for
Cheriton Lester's recovery, none were more sincere than rough Parson
Seyton's.
The Edinburgh doctor could only tell them what they knew before, that
though there was very great danger, the case was not hopeless. A few
days must decide it. In the meantime he must not talk--he must not see
any one who would cause the slightest agitation; and poor Mr Lester,
whose self-control had suddenly broken down before the interview, was
about to be peremptorily banished; but Cherry put out his hand and
caught his father's, looking up in his face.
"Send for the boys," he said.
"Yes, but you know you mustn't see them, my boy--my dear boy."
"But Cherry will like to know they are here," said Alvar, in the steady
voice that always seemed like a support.
"They shall come. What else--what is it, Cherry?" said Mr Lester, as
his son still gazed at him wistfully.
"Nothing--not _yet_," whispered Cheriton. "Oh! I want to say so much,
father! I am so glad Alvar came home!"
The words and the sort of smile with which they were spoken completely
overpowered Mr Lester; but the doctor, who was still present, would not
permit another word.
"You destroy his only chance," he said; and after that nothing would
have induced Mr Lester to let Cheriton speak to him. That evening,
however, when he was alone with Alvar, Cherry's confused thoughts
cleared themselves a little. He had been told to be hopeful, and he did
not feel himself to be dying! while with his whole heart he wished for
life--the young bright life that was so full of love and joy, of which
no outward trouble, no wearing anxiety, and no cold and selfish
discontent had rendered him weary. Home and friends, the long lines of
moorland that were shining in the sunset light, the hard work in the
world behind and before him, the answering love of the woman whom he had
chosen, were all beautiful and good to him; he felt no need of rest, no
lack of joy.
He prayed for his life, not because he was afraid to die, but because he
wished to live; and when, with a sort of awful, solemn curiosity, he
tried to realise that death might be his portion, his thoughts, not
quite under his own control, turned forcibly to those near to him. If
he was to die, there were things he must say to his father, to Jack, to
Alvar, a hundred messages to his friends in the village--they would let
him see Mr Ellesmere then--when it did not matter how much he hurt
himself by speaking; but one thing could not wait--
"Alvar, I _must_ say something."
"Yes, I can hear," said Alvar, seeing the necessity, and leaning towards
him.
"When there is no chance, you will tell me?"
"Yes."
"But I must tell you about--her--a secret."
"I will keep it. Some one you love?"
"It is Ruth; we are engaged. Does she know--this?"