Godfrey had come to Waynflete Vicarage for a couple of nights, to make
his final arrangements as to the timber. He was walking along the lane
at the top of Flete Wood, in the dusk of this misty evening, when he
heard an angry bark, and then a howl as of a dog in distress.
"That's surely Rawdie," he thought. "What can bring Guy down there?"
He hurried on to a point in the lane, where the fall of the ground made
the river and the bridge visible, and looked down through the gathering
dusk.
He saw figures on the bridge; whose, and how many he could not tell; but
there was evidently a struggle in the middle. Was it a fight--or was
one dragging or guiding the other? Were there two--or _three_? He
gazed for a moment, puzzled and uncertain, then the bridge and the
figures swung and reeled before his eyes, there was a noise of crashing
timber, then a tremendous splash, and bridge and figures disappeared
into the water.
Godfrey gave a great shout and call, as he sprang over the wall, and
dashed headlong down the slope, over rock and wood and thicket, till he
came to the edge of the river.
The great pool under the bridge was all stirred and seething with broken
timber. Godfrey could see nothing else at first; but in a moment he
caught sight of something like a human form. He jumped into the water.
It was hardly out of his depth; but the floating, cracking timber made
the greatest caution needful, and it was a minute or two before he could
grip the collar of the man seen, and drag him towards the shore. It was
Jem Outhwaite, dripping, shaking, choking with water, not absolutely
senseless, but quite unable to help himself, as only by the exertion of
all his great strength, the powerful Godfrey managed to tug him towards
a shallow place, and pull him ashore.
"Who else--who else?" gasped Godfrey, breathlessly; but Jem was quite
incapable of speech, and only cried feebly.
Godfrey pushed him on to a safe place, and stepped again into the pool.
The water was very cold, and the planks and rails of the bridge were
drifting and knocking about in the current, so that Godfrey had to be
most careful in the uncertain light to feel his way among the timbers as
he waded through the water. As it was, he tore his clothes and bruised
his shoulders. He turned towards the relics of the bridge, and there,
caught in the timbers, lay Guy, face upwards, swaying with the swaying
piles.
Godfrey pushed his way near, and got his arms round him; but he was
afraid of bringing down the whole fabric by one incautious movement. He
raised Guy's head against his shoulder, when a voice close above him
said, clearly--
"I think I can help you. This first piece of plank is firm. Can we
lift him on to it?"
He looked up. Constancy was standing on the planks of the broken
bridge. Her steady eyes were looking down, her firm hand was stretched
out.
Godfrey leant his shoulder against the still standing stake, and held
Guy more firmly.
"No," he said, steadily. "I can't lift him from below, and you couldn't
do it. Listen. Go back to the shore, cross over the pebbles where the
water is shallow above, then run to the Dragon and get help."
She went without an instant's delay, calling in loud clear tones as she
went, tones that echoed through the wood and penetrated to the garden
gate of old Peggy's cottage, where Florella stood straining her eyes
into the darkness. The next thing for her, when Guy left her, had been
to go back to the old woman, to tell her cheerfully that Mr Guy was
going to see Jem home, so that there was no need to worry herself about
him.
"Eh then, hinny," groaned Peggy, "bide till they coom, and mak yersell a
coop a tay, for it's weary wark waiting, though they'll noan be lang
getting ower t' brig."
Florella--such is life--looked at her watch to see how much time there
remained before dinner, and, finding that she had an hour to spare,
proceeded to boil the kettle and make the tea, while Peggy praised her
handiness, and took her tea with pleasure, as she sat in her old wooden
chair by the fire. She looked quite cheerful and absorbed in the
present; while on Florella's mind pressed a weight of fear. Her hands
were cold, she could not swallow the tea. Yet what was there to be
afraid of?
"Eh," said Peggy, with a chuckle, "t' owd gen'leman'll meet his match
wi' twa on em. Gae oot till t' gate, honey, and see if they're coomin'
up t' path."
Florella went gladly. She stood at the gate, and strained her ears and
eyes. Surely the water rushed noisily below, surely there were sounds
of--something. Suddenly there was a loud, clear call, in a woman's
voice.
"Cooey--cooey."
No one in Waynflete but Constancy could have uttered that call, and
Florella answered it with another, then flew down the path towards the
bridge, just as a man ran down the field from the opposite side. She
saw this man plunge into the water, and fight his way towards the ruin
of the bridge. Then in the dusk she saw him reach another figure
staggering under a weight. Slowly and with difficulty they reached the
shore, and laid their heavy burden down.
"Eh!" cried the new-comer; "Eh--Lord a' mercy on us. Eh! It's Mr Guy,
drooned dead!"
Then Florella knew of what she had been afraid.
She could never clearly recall what next happened. The news of the
catastrophe suddenly spread, so that, as it seemed, a crowd came up.
Constancy's clear voice, self-possessed and resolute, sounded through
the confusion.
"He had better be carried to the Hall; it is much nearer than the
Vicarage, and I will run on and make ready."
Rougher tones close by, as some one shook poor Jem by the shoulder.
"Coom, man, coom; coom till mither. Nay, tha bain't droonded yet."
Then Constancy again, as she went away.
"Flo, you had better run on first, and prepare the poor old woman."
They had lifted Guy up, and were carrying him away, and the fleet-footed
Constancy was far ahead, before her words had penetrated Florella's
brain. Then she climbed up the hill to the cottage, where she found
neighbours gathering, and close behind her came Jem, hauled along by a
friend, dripping and scared, but alive, and able to swallow, as a
friendly neighbour poured hot drink down his throat.
"T' owd gen'leman'd a thrawed me in t' watter, but Mr Guy thrawed 'un
in instead, and t' brig smashed," was his story.
"Eh, eh!" said Peggy; "he's got 'is death, and Mr Guy, too. Eh! they
can baith lig in t' new kirkyard, and me alongside on 'em."
There was nothing for Florella to do, and she fled from this grotesque
presentment of the mystic horror that haunted her. As she came up to
the Hall, the doctor tore past her in his gig, having happily been
caught close at hand. Guy had been carried upstairs, and Mrs John
Palmer, flurried, but full of kindness, was saying--
"Oh yes, Cosy; yes, you were quite right, my dear. So much more
appropriate that he should die under this roof."
Florella came in, and sat down in the lamp-lit drawing-room.
"Is he dead?" she said, in a slow, dull voice.
"They don't know," said Constancy. "We'd better see that they have
plenty of hot blankets, and what's wanted."
She went off to the kitchen; but Florella sat, stupid and helpless, it
seemed to her, for hours.
Then there were voices in the hall, and then the sound of the gig
driving off at full speed. Still Florella never moved, till Mrs Palmer
came in.
"The vicar's gone in the gig to get dry things for Godfrey; he won't
leave his brother."
"Then Guy isn't dead?" said Florella, composedly.
"No; just breathing. He was caught in the timber so that his head was
above water. It's the shock to the heart that has done it. But he
isn't gone--yet."
Then Florella came to herself with a shock that was like the stab of a
knife. The room swayed and darkened, and she barely kept her senses;
but in a moment the life forces seemed to come back again with pain and
anguish, but clear and ready for action.
"I'll go and help Cosy," she said.
Mrs Palmer had an effective maid, who was able to carry out the
doctor's directions, and the other women prepared what was needed, till
the news came downstairs that the long fainting-fit had yielded at last,
and Guy was able to swallow, and had moved and opened his eyes, though
without any sign of recognition.
"The doctor would stay for the night, and every one not wanted had
better go to bed."
"Godfrey sits there, at the foot of the bed, like a big dog," said the
vicar, as he came downstairs. "He's no earthly good, but he won't
stir."
When Godfrey, pale with that long, mute watch, and not daring to take
hope from the mere fact that his brother still lived, at last went down
to breakfast, there by the table sat Constancy, holding Rawdie on her
knee, and feeding him with bits of chicken.
"Oh," she said, "this poor little darling must have been in the wood all
night. See, his paw is hurt; he came crying to the door this morning."
"Let me take him to Guy," said Godfrey, eagerly. "He might notice him--
he has never come to himself."
"Not till you have had some breakfast," said Cosy, with brisk decision.
"The first principle of nursing is to take care of yourself."
Godfrey was not capable just then of going back to first principles; but
to be taken care of by Constancy was something new, and his spirit
revived as she poured out coffee for him, and cut bread, and insisted on
his eating his breakfast. Presently the others came down, and the
vicar, who had been out, came back, and the story of the accident was
pieced together.
Florella had to tell how Guy had gone to fetch Jem Outhwaite back to his
mother.
"So good-natured of him," said Mrs Palmer.
Godfrey had heard Rawdie howl before anything had happened, and
Constancy, being out in the wood, had heard his shout for help when he
came down to the river.
"Old Cowperthwaite's in a fright," said the vicar. "He confesses that
he had been used to keep `t' owd brig' repaired for his customers; but
that since his notice, he'd let it alone. But I don't see now why it
smashed so completely."
"Nor I," said Godfrey. "I looked, and saw two or three figures--I
couldn't count in the mist--struggling. Of course it was Guy dragging
Jem over. But I thought I saw three."
"Jem is wandering, and off his head," said the vicar. "He says `t' owd
Guy' tried to throw him in."
Godfrey looked very much startled; his colour changed, but he did not
speak; and soon the question rose as to what next.
He must telegraph at once to Ingleby, and also he said, faltering, "If--
if Guy--he would want Cuthbert Staunton."
Mrs Palmer begged him to telegraph at once, and the doctor's view was
that they had better wait a few hours, and--see how things went, before
doing anything more.
Florella heard, as in a dream. A numb dullness was on her spirit.
Constancy came and told how Rawdie had been taken upstairs, and that
Godfrey thought Guy had moved and touched him.
"Poor little dog!" said Florella.
Then Constancy, with unwonted confidence, told, in hushed accents, the
story of her escape at Zwei-brucken, of her sense of the finality of
death, and of Guy's words, "There is something beyond."
"He _knew_ it," Constancy said, in her strong, emphatic tones.
But even this did not stir Florella's soul; she wanted something _now_.
Late in the evening, Cuthbert Staunton arrived, full of anxious concern,
and it fell to Florella to give him supper, and to answer his questions
as to what had happened. She went through it all, in a matter-of-fact
voice; but she knew that Cuthbert knew what it all implied.