GIRDLESTONE SENDS FOR THE DOCTOR.
When Kate came to herself after the terrible incident which frustrated
her attempt at escape, she found herself in bed in her own little room.
By the light which shone in through the window she knew that it must be
well on in the day. Her head was throbbing violently, and she was so
weak that she could hardly raise herself in bed. When she looked round
she found that Rebecca had brought a chair in from her room and was
sitting by the fire. At the sound of her movement the maid glanced up
and perceived that her mistress had recovered consciousness.
"Lor' bless me!" she cried, "you've given us a pretty fright.
We thought you wasn't coming back to your senses no more. You've been
a-lyin' there since the middle of the night, and now it's close on to
twelve o'clock."
Kate lay silent for some little time, putting together all that had
occurred. "Oh, Rebecca," she said at last, shivering at the
recollection, "I have seen the most dreadful sight. Either I am going
mad, or I have seen a ghost."
"We thought you were a ghost yourself," said the girl reproachfully.
"What with the screechin' and you lying so white in the middle of the
passage, it was enough to make any one's 'air turn grey.
Mr. Girdlestone, he lifted you up, an' carried you back into your room.
He was cut to the heart, the good gentleman, when he saw what you'd been
after, a-tryin' to give him the slip."
"Oh, this dreadful house will kill me--it will kill me!" Kate moaned.
"I cannot stay in it any longer. What shall I do? Oh, Rebecca,
Rebecca, what shall I do?"
The fresh-coloured maid came across with a simper upon her pretty,
vulgar face, and sat on the side of the bed. "What's the matter, then?"
she asked. "What is it that you have seen?"
"I have seen--oh, Rebecca, it is too dreadful to talk of. I have seen
that poor monk who was killed in the cellars. It was not fancy. I saw
him as plainly as I see you now, with his tall thin figure, and long
loose gown, and the brown cowl drawn over his face."
"God preserve us!" cried Rebecca nervously, glancing over her shoulder.
"It is enough to give one the creeps."
"I pray that I may never see such a sight again. Oh, Rebecca, if you
have the heart of a woman, help me to get away from this place.
They mean that I should never go from it alive. I have read it in my
guardian's eyes. He longs for my death. Do, do tell me what I should
do for the best."
"I'm surprised at you!" the maid said with dignity. "When Mr.
Girdlestone and Mr. Ezra is so good to you, and provides you with a
country-house and every convenience as 'eart could wish, all you can
find to do is to go screamin' about at night, and then talk as if you
was a-goin' to be murdered in the day. I really am surprised.
There's Mr. Girdlestone a-callin.' He'd be shocked, poor gentleman, if
he knew how you was abusin' of him." Rebecca's face assumed an
expression of virtuous indignation as she swept out of the room, but her
black eyes shone with the unholy light of cruelty and revenge.
Left to herself, Kate rose and dressed as well as her weakness would
permit. Her nerves were so shaken that she started at the least sound,
and she could hardly recognize the poor pale face which she saw in the
glass as her own. She had scarcely finished her toilet before her
guardian came up into her room.
"You are better, then?" he said.
"I am very ill," she answered gently.
"No wonder, after rushing about the corridors in that absurd fashion in
the dead of the night. Rebecca tells me that you imagine you met with
some apparition. You are crying. Are you so unhappy, then?"
"Very, very miserable," Kate answered, sinking her face upon her hands.
"Ah," said Girdlestone softly, "it is only in some higher life that we
shall find entire peace and contentment." His voice had altered, so
that a little warm spring of hope began to rise in the girl's heart,
that perhaps the sight of her many miseries was beginning to melt this
iron man.
"Beyond the grave is rest," he continued, in the same gentle tones.
"It has seemed to me sometimes that if it were not for the duties which
I have to perform in this world, and the many who are dependent upon me,
I should be tempted to shorten my existence in order to attain the peace
which is to come. Some precisians have pronounced it to be sinful to
cut the thread of life. For my part I have never thought it so, and yet
my view of morals has been a strict one. I hold that of all things in
this world one's life is the thing which belongs most entirely to one's
self, and may therefore most freely be terminated when it seems good to
us." He picked up the phial from the mantelpiece and gazed thoughtfully
at it. "How strange," he said, "to think that within the compass of
this tiny bottle lies a cure for every earthly evil! One draught and
the body slips off like a garment, while the soul walks forth in all its
beauty and freedom. Trouble is over. One draught, and--Ah, let go, I
say! What have you done?"
Kate had snatched the bottle from him, and with a quick feminine gesture
had hurled it against the wall, where it splintered to pieces, sending a
strong turpentiney odour through the apartment. Her strength was so
impaired that she staggered back after this feat, and sat down on the
side of the bed, while her guardian, grim and threatening, stood over
her with his long, bony fingers opening and shutting, as though he found
it difficult to keep them from her throat.
"I will not help you in it," she said, in a low but firm voice.
"You would kill my soul as well."
The mask had fairly dropped from Girdlestone. No gaunt old wolf could
have glared down with fiercer eyes or a more cruel mouth. "You fool!"
he hissed.
"I am not afraid to die," she said, looking up at him with brave,
steadfast eyes.
Girdlestone recovered his self-possession by an effort. "It is clear to
me," he said calmly, "that your reason is unhinged. What is all this
nonsense about death? There is nothing that will harm you except your
own evil actions." He turned abruptly and strode out of the room with
the firm and decided step of a man who has taken an irrevocable
resolution.
With a set and rigid face he ascended the steps which led to his
bedroom, and, rummaging in his desk, produced a telegram form. This he
filled up and took with him downstairs. There he put on his hat and
started off to the Bedsworth Post-office at full speed.
At the avenue gate he met his sentinel, who was sitting on his camp
stool as grim as ever.
"She is very bad, Stevens," Girdlestone said, stopping and jerking his
head in the direction of the house. "She is going downhill. I am
afraid that she can't last long. If any one asks you about her, you can
say that she was despaired of. I am just sending off a telegram to a
doctor in London, so that she may have the best advice."
Stevens touched his greasy-peaked cap as a token of respect. "She was
down here behavin' outrageous the other day," said he. "'Let me pass,'
says she, 'and you shall have ten golden guineas.' Them's her very
words. 'Not for ten hundred golden guineas,' I answers, 'would William
Stevens, hesquire, do what he didn't ought to.'"
"Very proper, very proper indeed," said Girdlestone approvingly.
"Every man in his own station has his own duties to fulfil, and he will
be judged as he has fulfilled them, well or ill. I shall see that you
are no loser by your staunchness."
"Thank ye, guv'nor."
"She is wild and delirious, and can get about in spite of her low state
of health. It is possible that she may make some effort to get away, so
be vigilant. Good day to you."
"Good day, sir." William Stevens stood at the gate, looking pensively
after his employer; then he reseated himself upon his camp-stool, and,
lighting his pipe, resumed his meditations. "I can't make nought of
it," he muttered, scratching his head, "It do seem uncommon queer, to be
sure. The boss he says, 'She's very low,' says he, and then next minute
he says, 'She may be comin' down and tryin' to escape. 'I've seen diers
o' all shapes and sizes, but I've never seed one as went a galivantin'
about like this--at least, not among them as died a nat'ral death.
It do seem uncommon strange. Then, again, he's off telegrayphin' for a
doctor to Lunnon, when there's Doctor Corbett, o' Claxton, or Doctor
Hutton, o' Bedsworth, would come quick enough if he wanted them.
I can't make no sense of it. Why, bust my buttons!" he continued,
taking his pipe out of his mouth in a paroxysm of astonishment,
"if here hain't the dier herself!"
It was, indeed, Kate, who, learning that her guardian was gone, had come
out with some vague idea of making a last struggle for her life and
freedom. With the courage of despair, she came straight down the avenue
to the sole spot where escape seemed possible.
"Good mornin', missy," cried Stevens, as she approached. "You don't
look extra bright this mornin', but you ain't as bad as your good
guardian made me think. You don't seem to feel no difficulty in gettin'
about."
"There is nothing the matter with me," the girl answered earnestly.
"I assure you there is not. My mind is as sound as yours."
"That's what they all says," said the ex-warder with a chuckle.
"But it is so. I cannot stay in that house longer. I cannot, Mr.
Stevens, I cannot! It is haunted, and my guardian will murder me.
He means to. I read it in his eyes. He as good as tried this morning.
To die without one word to those I love--without any explanation of what
has passed--that would give a sting to death."
"Well, if this ain't outragis!" cried the one-eyed man; "perfectly
outragis! Going to murder you, says you! What's he a-goin' to do that
for?"
"God knows! He hates me for some reason. I have never gone against his
wishes, save in one respect, and in that I can never obey him, for it is
a matter in which he has no right to command."
"Quite so!" said Stevens, winking his one eye. "I knows the feeling
myself, cuss me, but I do! 'Thine for once and thine for never,' as the
song says."
"Why won't you let me pass?" pleaded Kate. "You may have had daughters
of your own. What would you do if they were treated as I have been?
If I had money you should have it, but I have none. Do, do let me go!
God will reward you for it. Perhaps when you are on your last bed of
sickness the memory of this one good deed may outweigh all the evil that
you have done."
"Lor', don't she speak!" said Stevens, appealing confidentially to the
nearest tree. "It's like a dictionary."
"And you won't lose by it in this life," the girl added eagerly.
"See, here is my watch and my chain. You shall have that if you will
let me through?"
"Let's see it." He opened it and examined it critically.
"Eighteen carat--it's only a Geneva, though. What can you expect for a
Geneva?"
"And you shall have fifty pounds when I get back to my friends.
Do let me pass, good Mr. Stevens, for my guardian may return at any
moment."
"See here, miss," Stevens said solemnly; "dooty is dooty, and if every
hair of your 'ead was tagged wi' a jewel, and you offered to make me
your barber, I wouldn't let you through that gate. As to this 'ere
watch, if so be as you would like to write a line to your friends, I'll
post it for you at Bedsworth in exchange for it, though it be only a
Geneva."
"You good, kind man!" cried Kate, all excitement and delight. "I have a
pencil in my pocket. What shall I do for paper?" She looked eagerly
round and spied a small piece which lay among the brushwood. With a cry
of joy she picked it out. It was very coarse and very dirty, but she
managed to scrawl a few lines upon it, describing her situation and
asking for aid. "I will write the address upon the back," she said.
"When you get to Bedsworth you must buy an envelope and ask the
post-office people to copy the address on to it."
"I bargained to post it for the Geneva," he said. "I didn't bargain to
buy envelopes and copy addresses. That's a nice pencil-case of yourn.
Now I'll make a clean job of it if you'll throw that in."
Kate handed it over without a murmur. At last a small ray of light
seemed to be finding its way through the darkness which had so long
surrounded her. Stevens put the watch and pencil-case in his pocket,
and took the little scrap of paper on which so much depended. As Kate
handed it to him she saw over his shoulder that coming up the lane was a
small pony-carriage, in which sat a buxom lady and a very small page.
The sleek little brown pony which drew it ambled along at a methodical
pace which showed that it was entirely master of the situation, while
the whole turnout had an indescribable air of comfort and good nature.
Poor Kate had been so separated from her kind that the sight of people
who, if not friendly, were at least not hostile to her, sent a thrill of
pleasure into her heart. There was something wholesome and prosaic too
about this homely equipage, which was inexpressibly soothing to a mind
so worn by successive terrors.
"Here's some one a-comin'," cried Stevens. "Clear out from here--it's
the governor's orders."
"Oh, do let me stay and say one word to the lady!" Stevens seized his
great stick savagely. "Clear out!" he cried in a hoarse, angry voice,
and made a step towards her as if he would strike her. She shrank away
from him, and then, a sudden thought seizing her, she turned and ran
through the woods as fast as her feeble strength would allow. The
instant that she was out of sight, Stevens very deliberately and
carefully tore up the little slip of paper with which she had entrusted
him, and scattered the pieces to the wind.