At the commencement of the fifth chapter of the veracious history of the
Knight of La Mancha, it is related that "Don Quixote perceiving that he
was not able to stir, resolved to have recourse to his signal remedy,
which was to bethink himself what passage in his books might afford him
comfort; and presently this fully brought to his remembrance that story
of Baldwin and the Marquis of Mantua, when Charlotte left the former
wounded on the mountain: a story learned and known by little
children,"--as the author proceeds to comment,--"not unknown to young
men and women, celebrated and even received by the old, and yet not a
jot more authentic than the miracles of Mahomet."
In a similar way did our wounded hero, Master Tom, hasten his recovery
by thinking over all the charming little love passages which had
occurred between Miss Lizzie and himself; consequently in a few weeks,
thanks to Cupid's recollections and the aid of pharmacy, our hero was
nearly on his legs again.
The broken--"smashed" the doctor called them--ribs had been steadily
improving, in spite of all the anxiety Tom suffered on his sister's
account, sanguine though he was of her yet being brought home; and by
the time that Markworth divulged his plot, and Mr Trump hastened down
to The Poplars to communicate it, Master Tom had progressed his cure as
rapidly as did Don Quixote, being able to leave his bed and hobble about
a bit before being declared by Doctor Jolly to be quite convalescent and
out of his hands. The young squire had, however, youth and health to
back him up, which enabled the "signal remedy," perhaps, to have more
effect on him than it had on Sancho Panza's master.
The interest which the invalid Tom had created, had somewhat deadened
the effect of Susan's disappearance; and although that was as yet an
unsolved secret, and the cause of much anxiety, still everyone, both in
and out of the household, celebrated it as a day of rejoicing when Tom
made his first re-appearance down stairs. The young Antinous had
undergone the scars and strife of battle: it was meet that his recovery
should be made much of, as indeed was the case.
Tom came down stairs, and all were glad to see him: even the dowager
allowed a frigid smile of welcome to flit across her features as he
entered the dining-room once more; and "Garge," whom he met in the
passage, exclaimed, with his customary "ploughishness--"
"Lor' sakes, Measter Tummus! I are roight glad to say un!"
Miss Kingscott expressed her welcome by far too warmly, the old lady
thought, for she advanced eagerly and squeezed the hand Tom offered,
after curtseying low. Doctor Jolly was pleased to be present also on
the occasion.
"Bless my soul, Tom!" he said. "Here we are, as right again as
ninepence, my boy; I told you so, Mrs Hartshorne--I told you so," as if
that lady were disputing the point. She was too glad to see Tom,
however, to argue with the doctor as usual, but yielded the point
gracefully, only throwing cold water on the ecstasies of our friend
Damon, by suggesting that Tom's youth and constitution had pulled him
through better perhaps than all the physic and meddling doctors in the
world. Doctor Jolly, however, could also afford to be lenient; so he
left the dowager's challenge unanswered.
After a day or two, Tom hobbled out into the garden. He was still very
weak and pale, but improving; and as soon as he had tried his powers at
hobbling outside the front door, he determined to hobble down to the
parsonage. "It was only right, you know, after all their kind enquiries
every day about his health!" The Pringles had sent up every morning an
extraordinary looking young female servant of theirs, whom the dowager
christened "the Gezaba," to ask how "Mister Tom was getting on."
Naturally Tom could do no less than return his thanks for such an
attention: it could be no other motive that would take him out down to
the parsonage so soon after he was able to stir--nothing else, of
course!
Accordingly, Tom sallied out a day or two after he had come down stairs,
telling no one of his venture, for they would all have been up in arms
at his walking so far so soon after his illness.
It was now a month past the era of the pic-nic--a month remarkable for
much besides his accident, and Tom had many things to think of, not the
least of which was the recollection of what he had said to Lizzie, and
she to him, just after he had been wounded. Doctor Jolly had acted as a
sort of go-between to them, having carried many a little message twixt
The Poplars and the parsonage, after Tom had been placed _hors de
combat_. Kind hearted old Doctor Jolly--his is the truest and most
pleasant face on these pages!
Tom remembered that walk of his for many a day afterwards. How he had
paused at that corner to take breath, and rested on this stile here to
recover his faintness; and how he thought he would never be able to
reach his destination, until he saw the square old tower of the church
and the trim built parsonage beyond. But he got over the ground
heavily, hobbling along by the aid of his stick, and receiving hearty
greetings of "Foine day, sir!" from the fat farmers, who rejoiced to see
the "yoong squoire" about again.
The parsonage never looked prettier, he thought, as he got to the gate
at last, and Tom rolled over in his mind what he should say to Lizzie,
and if she would be glad to see him, and whether he should see her at
all.
His doubts were, however, soon solved. The "Gezaba of a servant" who
opened the door and bungled out a sort of greeting to him, told him that
both "Miss Lizzie and the master" were in. Tom could have dispensed
with Pringle's presence, but he had to make the best of a bad bargain.
As he entered the little drawing-room which he knew so well, Pringle
stepped forward gladly to meet him, while Lizzie remained shyly in the
background.
"By Jove! Tom"--they had long since dropped surnames between them, as
men do after a little intimacy--"I'm right glad to see you, old fellow!
But we heard that you only got out of bed the day before yesterday, so
we hardly expected you to come over yet. How are you, old fellow, eh?"
and he shook Tom eagerly by the hand.
"Oh, I'm all right," answered our hero, after which he gave Lizzie's
hand a very hard squeeze, which caused that young lady to blush
furiously, but in a moment the flush of excitement passed off Tom's
face, and he looked as pale as death; if he had not caught hold of the
back of a chair he would have dropped down. The walk had certainly been
too much for him.
"Oh! Herbert," exclaimed Lizzie, in alarm, "he's going to faint!" and
she ran forward to Tom, who, I believe, would have cheerfully fainted at
the juncture, if he could possibly have achieved it; you see, the
circumstances were very favourable to the occasion.
As it was, the "gay young dog," as Doctor Jolly would have said, was "in
precious nice quarters," for there he was in a moment, by the aid of
Pringle's arm, laid out on the comfortable sofa, with Lizzie bathing his
forehead with _eau de Cologne_, and handing him smelling salts, and
Pringle enquiring every moment, "Do you feel better now, eh, old
fellow?"
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir!" said Lizzie, as she bent
over him with her face suffused with a carnation tinge whenever she
caught his eye, which the artful rogue contrived should happen very
frequently--"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir! walking out so
soon, and you deserve a good punishing."
And Miss Lizzie looked very stern, indeed, with her violet eyes beaming
with a rich warm light: she seemed as if she would punish Master Tom
very severely.
"Yes, it's very wrong," answered the recumbent hero; "but you see, I
could not help it, you know!" and Miss Lizzie blushed again, as Tom
looked very meaningly at her.
"Better now, old fellow?" put in Pringle, at this juncture. "That's
right: you don't look so pale now. By Jove! I thought you were going
to faint."
"Bless you! I'll be right in a twinkle," answered Tom. "You see, the
walk was a trifle too much; but I feel decidedly better now," with a
look at the young lady's eyes to invigorate himself anew: the violet
eyes seemed to act as a sort of tonic.
"You shall be condemned to lie on the sofa all the afternoon, sir!" said
Lizzie, "as a punishment for your imprudence!"
"All right," laughed Tom, "I'll stop for ever--that is if you'll let me;
but what will your brother say?" he asked, with a roguish glance.
"Oh! certainly--certainly," said Pringle, hurriedly; he was very much
puzzled how to act. It looked very much like a flirtation between his
sister and Tom, under his very nose as it were, and he had promised Lady
Inskip to "put a stop to it." He did not know what to do. He liked
Tom, and did not wish besides to appear uncourteous; but he was very
nervous. "If I were only her mother," he murmured to himself, "it would
be easy enough;" but as he unfortunately did not occupy the position of
a maternal relative, he was on thorns all the time Tom stayed.
"Don't you think we'd better have some lunch, Lizzie," he said, after a
pause, filled up by the other two very agreeably by the aid of that very
intelligible "conversation without words"--which by the aid of looks is
carried on between lovers, whether _de facto_ or _de jure_. Whereupon
Lizzie bustled out of the room, shaking a little bunch of keys in the
most housewifely manner, and looking dangerously pretty; presently
returning with the "Gezaba" in her train, and carrying a little damask
covered luncheon tray. The three had a very sociable and pleasant
little meal, although neither Tom nor Lizzie eat much; however, they
both drank deeply-intoxicating draughts from each other's eyes.
Presently, Tom rose to go, after paying a call of some hours' duration,
during which Pringle had never given him an opportunity of being alone
with Lizzie. "What cubs brothers are!" thought Tom in his inmost heart,
but he thanked Pringle aloud for his kindness in sending up every day to
enquire after him. Pringle was candid with all his faults. "Oh, you
must thank Lizzie for that," he said; "I've called several times myself
to ask about you, but she sent up the servant, I believe, every day!"
And then, of course, Master Tom had to thank Miss Lizzie. Why the
thanking had to occupy such a long time, and why Lizzie had to blush so
much, and why Master Tom had to keep her hand such an unconscionable
long time in his, while Pringle went forward to open the door, and show
his guest out; and why Tom had to make the little attention into a
serious business by saying, "I shall never forget it! never, as long as
I live," I can't explain--sufficient to say that Master Tom appeared
very much satisfied at leaving her, though he had not had the chance of
actually telling his love, while Miss Lizzie did not appear as if she
would "punish" him, as she threatened to do, when he called again.
The young incumbent walked home with Tom, to give him the benefit of his
arm; and he was very uncomfortable about it all, for he could not ask a
poor, sick fellow like that who was hobbling by his side, "what were his
intentions." He must let matters rest for a season, until something
actually turned up. He was distrustful of the whole business, for he
did not think the rich and purse-proud old dowager would consent to let
her son wed her curate's portionless sister; so Pringle felt worried in
his heart, and, after seeing Tom home, had to go and call on Lady Inskip
in order to be comforted by the languid Laura.
When Tom got to The Poplars, he found that a great deal had happened in
his absence.
Mr Trump had come down post haste to tell about Susan's recovery, and
how Markworth had taken her away and married her, and that she was with
him now at Havre. The lawyer was still waiting to see him. Doctor
Jolly too was there, and had heard the news, our old friend telling Tom
as he hobbled into the hall, "Bless my soul! sir, there's the very devil
to pay!"
Volume 2, Chapter VI.