The telegram to the Bray family was from the little Gloucestershire
town, telling what the hotel-keepers were at length able to impart,
through a letter they had found in his portmanteau, after missing it in
previous searches, that Max Bray was lying in a precarious state, the
result of an accident upon the railway.
For Max had so far escaped with lifer but he had not yet awoke to
consciousness, and to know that he was occupying the couch of her whom
he had long marked down as his victim. As the railway passenger had
remarked, Max had fallen where the platform sloped; but he was suffering
from concussion of the brain; and one maimed limb had been removed by
the surgeon's knife.
But we must leave him to his slow recovery, while the landlady declared
in confidence to her husband every night, that she had always known that
Williams was an assumed name, because there was a "B" on the gentleman's
socks.
Sir Philip Vining reached Laneton at last, to see his chariot standing
in the inn-yard; but he knew, without questioning the grooms, where
Charley would be; and fierce now with the anger that burned within him,
he made his way to Copse Hall, to be told that his son was by Miss
Bedford's couch, where he had been since he arrived.
For, after a furious gallop, the chariot had dashed up to Copse Hall
covered with mud, the horses in a foam and ready to drop, while,
springing up more like, a madman than one in possession of his full
senses, Charley had leaped out, and almost forced his way to Ella's
side, to fall sobbing on his knees as he clasped her thin transparent
hand, a faint smile welcoming his coming, as, with her soul seeming to
leap from her longing eyes, she vainly strove to turn towards him.
Mrs Brandon stayed to ask no explanation then; for she was alarmed at
the fierce rage that flashed from Charley's eyes at her first words, as
he stood there in his wedding garments.
She left the explanation for some other time, and, trembling and
excited, she left them alone, to find from the servants, upon
descending, that this was to have been Charley Vining's wedding-morn.
But Ella must have heard some explanation; for when, nearly two hours
after, Mrs Brandon went to the room to whisper to the son of the
father's coming, that softly-shaded head was lying upon Charley's arm,
and there was a sweet satisfied smile upon those pale lips. But as
Ella's eyes opened, and she saw Mrs Brandon approach, they wore that
old piteous appealing look, and she whispered, "For I love him!"
The words were meant for Mrs Brandon; but they went no farther than
Charley's ear, to bring a wild convulsive sob from his breast, as in his
despair he felt that it was too late.
"Let him come here!" cried Charley sternly, as Mrs Brandon whispered of
his father's coming. "Let him come here!" And then, as, black and
frowning, Sir Philip strode into the room, he turned towards him.
"Well!" exclaimed Charley, staying the flood of reproaches Sir Philip
was about to heap upon his head; and, as he gazed upon the pale face,
the father's aspect changed, his stride became a gentle step, and he
gazed from one to the other. "Well," cried Charley, "have you come to
look upon their work? Have you come to commune once more with the sweet
gentle spirit before it passes away? I tell you they have murdered
her--murdered my own darling who would have died for me; whilst I, poor,
weak, pitiful idiot that I was, believed all I saw--walked blindly into
their traps like a foolish child. Curse them--curse them!" he raged, as
he ground his teeth together, and spoke in a low hoarse voice, that was
awful in its deep suppressed hatred. "You want to know why I dashed off
this morning. I tell you, it was to save myself from being a murderer.
I tell you, father, that after what I learned on leaving you, if I had
faced that cursed Jezebel, it would have been to strangle her. There--
there, read those letters!" he cried, tearing the papers from his
breast, and dashing them at Sir Philip. "Read how brother and sister
could plot to delude this poor child--plot with a diabolical cunning
that was nearly crowned with success; for they had a simple unworldly
man to deal with; read how we were to be torn asunder by their cursed
malice--how I was to be poisoned at heart by seeing her appear to flee
with that scoundrel Max Bray; while I, like a simple sheep, was led by
that false wretch to see it all. She played her cards well--to become
Lady Vining, forsooth! And then read on how this poor angel was
beguiled by lying forgeries to hurry away with Max to Cornwall, to see
me--me--dying from injuries; while, to give force to his lies, the
villain added to, and then sent, the note, that must have been lying in
his desk above a year--the note I sent to him, telling him to come to
me, for I was half-killed, when I had my hunting fall. God!" he hissed
forth in a fierce way, that made his hearers tremble, "God! that my
right hand had withered away before it penned a line! But no, no!" he
exclaimed, and his teeth grated, "I shall want this right hand yet; for
the day of reckoning shall surely come!"
There was something fearful in the young man's aspect, as down there
upon one knee by the bedside, his left arm beneath that fair
golden-clustered head, he clenched his right hand, and, gazing before
him at vacancy, he shook that clenched hand fiercely, and his mad rage
was such that could he have grasped Max Bray then, he would have dashed
him down, and crushed his heel upon his false cruel face, for he knew
not of the retribution that had already fallen to the deceiver's lot.
But the next moment Charley Vining turned to look down upon the pale
horror-stricken face at his side, when the rugged brow was smoothed, the
clenched hand dropped, and a deep groan burst from the young man's
breast.
"O, heaven forgive me! What am I saying? Father, father," he cried, in
pitiful tones, "they've broken my heart!"
And then, the strong man humbled, he bowed down over the bedside till
his agony-distorted face rested upon that fluttering breast; and weak
now as the weakest, he wept like a child, his broad shoulders heaving
from the convulsive sobs that burst forth with the wild hysterical
violence of a woman's grief.
"Charley, my son," gasped Sir Philip at last, as he knelt by the young
man's side, and laid his hand upon his head, "you do not think--you
cannot think--that I knew of all this?"
"No--no--no!" groaned Charley. "I never thought it."
Volume 3, Chapter XXV.