A DARK COMMISSION.
These amateur nurses who had gathered about the Earl differed very
much, as may be supposed, in their individual capacities. As for Mrs.
Hart, she was very quickly put out of the way. The stroke which had
prostrated her, at the outset, did not seem to be one from which she
could very readily recover. The only thing which she did was to
totter to the room early in the morning, so as to find out how the
Earl was, and then to totter hack again until the next morning. Mrs.
Hart thus was incapable; and Zillah was not very much better. Since
her conversation with Hilda there were thoughts in her mind so new,
so different from any which she had ever had before, and so frightful
in their import, that they changed all her nature. She became
melancholy, self-absorbed, and preoccupied. Silent and distrait, she
wandered about the Earl's room aimlessly, and did not seem able to
give to him that close and undivided attention which he needed. Hilda
found it necessary to reproach her several times in her usual
affectionate way; and Zillah tried, after each reproach, to rouse
herself from her melancholy, so as to do better the next time. Yet,
the next time she did just as badly; and, on the whole, acquitted
herself but poorly of her responsible task.
And thus it happened that Hilda was obliged to assume the supreme
responsibility. The others had grown more than ever useless, and she,
accordingly, grew more than ever necessary. To this task she devoted
herself with that assiduity and patience for which she was
distinguished. The constant loss of sleep, and the incessant and
weary vigils which she was forced to maintain, seemed to have but
little effect upon her elastic and energetic nature. Zillah, in spite
of her preoccupation, could not help seeing that Hilda was doing
nearly all the work, and remonstrated with her accordingly. But to
her earnest remonstrances Hilda turned a deaf ear.
"You see, dear." said she, "there is no one but me. Mrs. Hart was
herself in need of a nurse, and you are no better than a baby, so how
can I help watching poor dear Lord Chetwynde?"
"But you will wear yourself out," persisted Zillah.
"Oh, we will wait till I begin to show signs of weariness," said
Hilda, in a sprightly tone. "At present, I feel able to spend a great
many days and nights here."
Indeed, to all her remonstrances Hilda was quite inaccessible, and it
remained for Zillah to see her friend spend most of her time in that
sick-room, the ruling spirit, while she was comparatively useless.
She could only feel gratitude for so much kindness, and express that
gratitude whenever any occasion arose. While Hilda was regardless of
Zillah's remonstrances, she was equally so of the doctor's warnings.
That functionary did not wish to see his best nurse wear herself out,
and warned her frequently, but with no effect whatever. Hilda's
self-sacrificing zeal was irrepressible and invincible.
While Hilda was thus devoting herself to the Earl with such tireless
patience, and exciting the wonder and gratitude of all in that little
household by her admirable self-devotion, there was another who
watched the progress of events with perfect calmness, yet with deep
anxiety. Gualtier was not able now to give his music lessons, yet,
although he no longer could gain admission to the inmates of Castle
Chetwynde, his anxiety about the Earl was a sufficient excuse for
calling every day to inquire about his health. On those inquiries he
not only heard about the Earl, but also about all the others, and
more particularly about Hilda. He cultivated an acquaintance with the
doctor, who, though generally disposed to stand on his dignity toward
musicians, seemed to think that Gualtier had gained from the Earl's
patronage a higher title to be noticed than any which his art could
give. Besides, the good doctor knew that Gualtier was constantly at
the Castle, and naturally wished to avail himself of so good an
opportunity of finding out all about the internal life of this noble
but secluded family. Gualtier humored him to the fullest extent, and
with a great appearance of frankness told him as much as he thought
proper, and no more; in return for which confidence he received the
fullest information as to the present condition of the household.
What surprised Gualtier most was Hilda's devotion. He had not
anticipated it. It was real, yet what could be her motive? In his own
language--What game was the little thing up to? This was the question
which he incessantly asked himself, without being able to answer it.
His respect for her genius was too great to allow him for one moment
to suppose that it was possible for her to act without some deep
motive. Her immolation of self, her assiduity, her tenderness, her
skill, all seemed to this man so many elements in the game which she
was playing. And for all these things he only admired her the more
fervently. That she would succeed he never for a moment doubted;
though what it was that she might be aiming at, and what it was that
her success might involve, were inscrutable mysteries.
What game is the little thing up to? he asked himself,
affectionately, and with tender emphasis. What game? And this became
the one idea of his mind. Little else were his thoughts engaged in,
except an attempt to fathom the depths of Hilda's design. But he was
baffled. What that design involved could hardly have been discovered
by him. Often and often he wished that he could look into that
sick-chamber to see what the "little thing was up to." Yet, could he
have looked into that chamber, he would have seen nothing that could
have enlightened him. He would have seen a slender, graceful form,
moving lightly about the room, now stooping over the form of the sick
man to adjust or to smooth his pillow, now watchfully and warily
administering the medicine which stood near the bed. Hilda was not
one who would leave any thing to be discovered, even by those who
might choose to lurk in ambush and spy at her through a keyhole.
But though Hilda's plans were for some time impenetrable, there came
at last an opportunity when he was furnished with light sufficient to
reveal them--a lurid light which made known to him possibilities in
her which he had certainly not suspected before.
One day, on visiting Chetwynde Castle, he found her in the chief
parlor. He thought that she had come there purposely in order to see
him; and he was not disappointed. After a few questions as to the
Earl's health, she excused herself, and said that she must hurry back
to his room; but, as she turned to go, she slipped a piece of paper
into his hand, as she had done once before. On it he saw the
following words:
"_Be in the West Avenue, at the former place, at three o'clock_."
Gualtier wandered about in a state of feverish impatience till the
appointed hour, marveling what the purpose might be which had induced
Hilda to seek the interview. He felt that the purpose must be of
far-reaching importance which would lead her to seek him at such a
time; but what it was he tried in vain to conjecture.
At last the hour came, and Gualtier, who had been waiting so long,
was rewarded by the sight of Hilda. She was as calm as usual, but
greeted him with greater cordiality than she was in the habit of
showing. She also evinced greater caution than even on the former
occasion, and led the way to a more lonely spot, and looked all
around most carefully, so as to guard against the possibility of
discovery. When, at length, she spoke, it was in a low and guarded
voice.
"I am so worn down by nursing," she said, "that I have had to come
out for a little fresh air. But I would not leave the Earl till they
absolutely forced me. Such is my devotion to him that there is an
impression abroad through the Castle that I will not survive him."
"Survive him? You speak as though he were doomed," said Gualtier.
"He--is--very--low," said Hilda, in a solemn monotone.
Gualtier said nothing, but regarded her in silence for some time.
"What was the cause of his illness?" he asked at length. "The doctor
thinks that his mind is affected."
"For once, something like the truth has penetrated that heavy brain."
"Do you know any thing that can have happened?" asked Gualtier,
cautiously.
"Yes; a sudden shock. Strange to say, it was administered by Mrs.
Molyneux."
"Mrs. Molyneux!"
"Yes."
"I am so completely out of your sphere that I know nothing whatever
of what is going on. How Mrs. Molyneux can have given a shock to the
Earl that could have reduced him to his present state, I can not
imagine."
"Of course it was not intentional. She happened to ask the Earl about
something which revived old memories and old sorrows in a very
forcible manner. He grew excited--so much so, indeed, that he
fainted, and, in falling, struck his head. That is the whole story."
"May I ask," said Gualtier, after a thoughtful pause, "if Mrs.
Molyneux's ill-fated questions had any reference to those things
about which we have spoken together, from time to time?"
"They had--and a very close one. In fact, they arose out of those
very papers which we have had before us."
Gualtier looked at Hilda, as she said this, with the closest
attention.
"It happened," said Hilda, "that Mrs. Molyneux, on her last visit to
Pomeroy Court, was seized with a fancy to examine her father's desk.
While doing so, she found a secret drawer, which, by some singular
accident, had been left started, and a little loose--just enough to
attract her attention. This she opened, and in it, strange to say,
she found that very cipher which I have told you of. A key
accompanied it, by which she was able to read as much as we have
read; and there were also those letters with which you are familiar.
She took them to her room, shut herself up, and studied them as
eagerly as ever either you or I did. She then hurried back to
Chetwynde Castle, and laid every thing before the Earl. Out of this
arose his excitement and its very sad results."
"I did not know that there were sufficient materials for
accomplishing so much," said Gualtier, cautiously.
"No; the materials were not abundant. There was the cipher, with
which no one would have supposed that any thing could be done. Then
there were those other letters which lay with it in the desk, which
corroborated what the cipher seemed to say. Out of this has suddenly
arisen ruin and anguish."
"There was also the key," said Gualtier, in a tone of delicate
insinuation.
"True," said Hilda; "had the key not been inclosed with the papers,
she could not have understood the cipher, or made any thing out of
the letters."
"The Earl must have believed it all."
"He never doubted for an instant. By the merest chance, I happened to
be in a place where I saw it all," said Hilda, with a peculiar
emphasis. "I thought that he would reject it at first, and that the
first impulse would be to scout such a charge. But mark this"--and
her voice grew solemn--"there must have been some knowledge in his
mind of things unknown to us, or else he could never have been so
utterly and completely overwhelmed. It was a blow which literally
crushed him--in mind and body."
There was a long silence.
"And you think he can not survive this?" asked Gualtier.
"No," said Hilda, in a very strange, slow voice, "I do not
think--that--he--can--recover. He is old and feeble. The shock was
great. His mind wanders, also. He is sinking slowly, but surely."
She paused, and looked earnestly at Gualtier, who returned her look
with one of equal earnestness.
"I have yet to tell you what purpose induced me to appoint this
meeting," said she, in so strange a voice that Gualtier started. But
he said not a word.
Hilda, who was standing near to him, drew nearer still. She looked
all around, with a strange light in her eyes. Then she turned to him
again, and said, in a low whisper:
"I want you to get me something."
Gualtier looked at her inquiringly, but in silence. His eyes seemed
to ask her, "What is it?"
She put her mouth close to his ear, and whispered something, heard
only by him. But that low whisper was never forgotten. His face
turned deathly pale. He looked away, and said not a word.
"Good-by," said Hilda; "I am going now." She held out her hand. He
grasped it. At that moment their eyes met, and a look of intelligence
flashed between them.