GOING AWAY.
"Our faults are at the bottom of our pains;
Error in acts, or judgment, is the source
Of endless sighs; we sin, or we mistake."
YOUNG.
"It is not granted to man to love and to be wise."
BACON.
For a moment Charles stood mute with amazement, the next he bent over
the poor prostrate form, and lifted it tenderly in his arms.
"Bring her in here," said a voice, while a hand was laid on his arm, and
he was impelled with gentle force into the library. There he laid Amy on
the sofa, and kneeling by her side, took the small lifeless hand in his,
and pressed it to his lips and forehead; then gently pushed the soft
fair hair off her face, and as he did so felt the marble coldness of
her cheek. Then a strange fear crept over him: he rose, and bent his ear
close to her mouth; but no gentle breathing struck his ear. All was
still and silent, even his loving words and the endearing names he
called her, failed to bring back life, or restore warmth to that still
and apparently lifeless form.
He turned his face, now blanched almost as white as the one he was
bending over, to Frances, for it was she who had asked him to bring Amy
there, and now stood by the door so despairingly, watching his every
action, listening to his words; those loving, cruel words which told how
completely, how entirely his heart was another's. If he could but have
seen into her heart, how averse he would have been to ask her assistance
for Amy! How much misery might have been spared him.
"Is she dead?" he asked, fearfully.
"Dead!" exclaimed Frances. "No, she has only fainted."
"I never saw any one look so like death," he said softly, as he again
took her hands and chafed them in his.
"Perhaps not. I dare say your experience is not very great?"
"Can nothing be done for her? must she die like this?"
"A great deal might be done for her," replied Frances, advancing, "but
nothing while you bend over her in that way. I will soon bring her to,
if you will only let me come near."
"Then why in the name of fortune don't you begin to try something? For
God's sake, Frances, do rouse yourself a little from that cold marble
nature of yours, and throw a little warmth and feeling into your
actions."
She took no notice of his hasty, almost angry words.
"Could you fetch me some Eau-de-Cologne?" she asked. "Go quietly," for
he was rushing off in desperate haste, "it is as well no one suspects or
knows of this, and bring a glass of water also."
"Dead!" thought Frances, as she gazed at the pale inanimate form, "I wish
she was; how I hate her; but for her none of these dreadful thoughts
would enter my head. Am I not a murderess, wishing her dead? and it is
all her fault, all; she has taken his love from me, and in taking that,
has made me wicked, and put all these cruel revengeful feelings in my
heart."
She bathed her with the Eau-de-Cologne Charles brought, even dashed some
of the cold water into her face; but all to no purpose; not a sign; not
a movement of returning life gave Amy; the shock had been too great; she
lay as dead.
As Charles stood and watched all the efforts Frances made, as he
thought, so indifferently, he grew impatient.
"Where is Anne? or Mrs. Hopkins?" exclaimed he, "confound that woman!
she's never in the way when she's wanted," and he was for darting off
again, only Frances restrained him.
"Do not call either of them," said she, "even you must not remain here
when Miss Neville returns to consciousness."
"I shall stay, whatever happens," he replied, decidedly.
Had he made up his mind to tell Amy he loved her?
"She would not like it," she replied, "would any woman like to think
such a secret was found out?"
"What secret?"
"That of her love for him."
"For him! For who?"
"I thought you knew," replied Frances, quietly.
Too quietly, for her apathy maddened him, and he exclaimed angrily.
"For God's sake, Frances, speak out, you'll drive me mad with your cold
replies and words!"
"Hush! Go away, she is coming to."
"I will not stir!" he replied, "until you tell me why she fainted."
"She saw them bring Mr. Vavasour into the hall, and--"
"How could she tell it was him?" he asked, suspiciously, with a
half-doubt on his mind.
"I do not ask you to believe me," replied Frances haughtily, "you asked
me to answer you, and I have done so."
"Not my last question."
"I should have thought a lady's word would have been sufficient; but as
it is not so, you had better ask Joe, that man that comes here sometimes
with Grant. I heard him tell Miss Neville it was Mr. Vavasour that had
been killed, and then--"
"Then?" he asked.
"She fainted."
Whatever Charles thought, he said not a word; a determined, despairing
expression stole over his face; he looked hard at Frances as if he would
read her very soul, but she returned his look, and flinched not.
Presently a faint colour returned into Amy's face; he moved away, placed
the glass he still held on the table, and said slowly, for even the
tone of his voice had altered, and was unsteady and husky,
"Tell her _he_ is not dead,--not much hurt, even--"
And without a look, or even a glance at Amy, he went with a slow,
uncertain step across the room. As he reached the door, Amy moved
slightly and sighed, but ere she opened her eyes, the door had closed on
his retreating form, and he was gone.
"Are you better now?" asked Frances kindly. She could afford to be kind
now she thought the field was won, and Charles' heart turned from her,
she hoped for ever.
"Thank you, yes," said Amy, confusedly, and striving to collect her
thoughts. "How came I here? Who brought me?"
"Do not talk just yet, you are scarcely equal to it. One of the men
carried you in here."
"One of the men? No one else saw me, then?"
"No one."
Then it could not have been Charles Linchmore's voice she had heard, as
she lay only half-restored to consciousness? Nor his form she had dimly
seen retreating through the half open door, as she opened her eyes? She
must have fancied it.
"I was so shocked, Miss Strickland," began Amy, trying to make some
apology for her fainting, "and you know I am not very strong yet, and--"
"Do not make any excuses, Miss Neville; the sight was enough to frighten
anyone. I felt sick myself, but there was not much occasion for it, as I
have ascertained Mr. Vavasour is not much hurt; but I thought, as you
did, he was dead."
Amy made no reply, she was too truthful to do so. It was best Miss
Strickland thought _that_ the reason and cause of her faintness.
"Had you not better remain a little longer?" continued Frances. "There
is little chance of any one coming in here; and they will be all at
supper presently."
But no--Amy felt well enough to go; longed to get away to the quiet of
her own room, and went.
Dr. Bernard, hastily aroused from his sleep, came and stayed all night
at the Park. He corroborated Charles's opinion: Mr. Vavasour's was but a
slight wound. The faintness and insensibility that had alarmed them so,
proceeded more from the effects of a severe blow on the head, which had
stunned him for the time being. In a few days, with a little quiet
nursing, he would be all right again; so the excitement and fears of
everyone tamed down, and the supper prepared at Charles's suggestion was
partaken of heartily by everyone but himself, and he was nowhere.
Two of the poachers had been overpowered, after a desperate resistance,
and taken; but the rest, all armed with sticks, or some other weapon of
defence, had succeeded in getting clear away, though not without
injuring, not only Robert Vavasour, but two of the night watchers also.
One man kept his bed for weeks afterwards, and was unable even to appear
and give evidence against the two men who had been taken; one supposed
to be the man who had fired the shot, either purposely or accidentally,
that had wounded Robert, while at the same moment a severe blow from
some murderous weapon felled him to the earth, and in the confusion
which this occasioned the rest got clear away, though not without a
suspicion that some of them had been disabled by the shower of blows
with which they were assailed; they proved themselves, as Charles and
others had hinted they were, a desperate set of ruffians, whom the
recent violent death of one of their band had in no wise alarmed, but
the rather made them thirst to revenge it.
Charles Linchmore was up betimes the next morning, and away across the
park long before any of its inmates save the servants were stirring. He
had passed a sleepless night. At one time Amy's love for Vavasour
appeared as clear as day; the next he doubted, and could not make up his
mind that it was indeed so. Morning found him still unreconciled to the
thought, still undecided. Frances might have been mistaken; he would
seek Joe, and find out what had been told Amy. It was impossible the man
could have any interest in telling him a lie.
He had not far to walk, Joe met him at the lodge gate, where he was
evidently detailing to the man and his wife who kept it, an exaggerated
account of the last night's affray.
"Good morning, Joe," began Charles, "how are you and the rest after last
night's work? and where are you off to now?" as Joe touched his cap, and
was proceeding onwards.
"Up to the house, Sir. The Master bade me bring news this morning of the
two men who got hurt, Sir."
"Well, how are they?"
"There ain't much the matter with one, Sir; but Jem's awful bad, his
head swelled most as big's two, Sir. Mr. Blane--the village
doctor--wouldn't give much for his life, I reckon."
"Your Master will be sorry to hear it. And now, Joe, I want a word with
you. How came you to tell one of the ladies last night that Mr.
Vavasour was dead?"
"Please, Sir, I couldn't help it; the lady did look so kind of
beseeching at me, and tried to speak; but, poor lady, she was that bad
at heart she couldn't say a word. I could no more refuse nor tell her,
Sir, I should have been afeard to; unless I'd had a heart as hard as a
_haythen's_, and I hadn't, Sir, so just out with the news, and--"
"That will do; be more cautious in future."
And away went Charles with still faster strides than before; half over
the park and then home again, and up to his room, where he thrust his
things hastily into his portmanteau; it was but a few minutes' work, and
then he was off downstairs again. Here he met Anne.
"Why Charles," said she, "where have you been all the morning? We have
finished breakfast. What a lazy creature you are!"
"I am going to make a start of it," replied he. "I am off to join
again."
"Going back to your regiment!" exclaimed Anne in amazement at the
sudden announcement. "When?"
"Now, this moment."
"What will Isabella think? How surprised she will be!"
"No, not a bit of it, she is too accustomed to my sudden movements, and
scarcely volunteered a remark when I told her."
"But your leave is only half expired?"
"Isn't it?" he replied, as if he had never thought at all about it.
"Well, so much the better, I can knock about abroad for a short time.
Good-bye."
Anne looked in utter bewilderment, until she suddenly caught sight of
the sorrowful, despairing expression of his face. What had happened?
"Don't say good-bye like that, Charley," said she, her kind heart roused
at once at the sight. "Something has vexed you. Can I help you in any
way? I am ready and willing, if you will only tell me how."
"No. I am past help, Anne," and he dashed away a tear which had started
at the sound of her kind voice, and then added bitterly--"I am a fool to
care so much about it!"
"About what, Charles? Do tell me, I am certain I could help you."
She pitied him entirely, and would have braved a dozen Mrs. Linchmores
to have seen the old happy, merry expression on his face again.
"You have always been kind, Anne, and so I do not mind telling you, what
I dare say you have seen all along, although I've been such a blind fool
to it! It's no fault of hers, Anne,--but--but she loves another."
"Impossible! I don't believe it!" said Anne, hastily, forgetting all her
wise resolutions of never helping him to find out Amy cared for him.
"Nor I, for a long time," and he thought of the long sleepless hours he
had passed in pacing up and down his room. "But it is so."
"How did you find it out? Did she tell you?"
"No; but some one else did, little suspecting the interest I had in the
matter. I could not believe, at first, that all my hopes were to be
dashed aside at once in that way. I could have sworn she took an
interest in me, but there I have convinced myself and--and--I am a
miserable wretch, that's all, with my eyes wide open to my dreadful
fate. Bid her good-bye for me, Anne. I could not trust myself to do so
without showing her I love her. Thank you for all your kindness." And he
wrung her hand. "Where is Frances?"
Frances! What had she to do in the matter? Anne's curiosity was roused,
and for once rightly, and in a just cause. She had long thought Frances
bore no good feeling towards Miss Neville; perhaps she was jealous of
her, for it was certain Amy had supplanted her in Charles's
affection;--if he ever had any for her. Ah! that was it. It was all as
clear as day to Anne now. But if it was as she suspected, Charles was,
indeed, a fool to believe it; she was certain if she were in his place
she would not, but then men were so easily convinced of a woman's
falseness; but how could he look in Amy's eyes and believe it? Miss
Neville a flirt? Impossible! But then Anne suddenly recollected how she
had thought so herself, simply because she and Robert Vavasour had
walked home together. No, after all she could not blame Charles so much,
perhaps she should have thought the same. At all events, she determined
to watch Frances closely when she gave her his message.
"Charles wants to speak to you, Frances; he is in the dining-room." And
Anne fixed her eyes full on her face as she spoke.
But Frances was gaining experience every day; learning to attain a
self-possession and control equal to any emergency.
Only a faint--very faint, colour tinged her cheeks as she replied,
"Charles must wait until I have finished reading this chapter; I am too
interested to leave off in the middle of it."
"Oh! very well. I will tell him so; but you will miss shaking hands with
him, as he is going away."
This time Anne succeeded. Frances' face expressed the utmost
astonishment, while her cheeks paled to an almost marble whiteness.
"Going away!" she gasped. "How? When?"
"How? By the train I suppose. When? Now this moment. You had better come
at once if you wish to see him."
She followed Frances to the dining-room, and stood at the window while
she went up to the fire where Charles stood. Anne watched them.
He turned his face, still with the same gloomy, despairing expression,
towards Frances and said a few words. What were they to cause her pale
face to flush so hotly, while a proud, triumphant look shone brightly in
her eyes? Anne would have given worlds to have heard them, certain as
she was they contained some clue to the mystery shrouding his hasty
departure.
They were said, those few words, and he moved towards the door. Frances
followed him after an instant's thought, and arrested his footsteps,
slow and uncertain as they were. Anne could hear quite plainly now.
"One moment, Charles. I am so sorry you are going," said Frances.
"Never mind," he replied, "it is best I should go."
"I suppose so. I suppose you must go?"
"You know I must. You best of all others," he replied, sternly.
"Alas! yes," was the reply.
The next moment he was whirling rapidly past the window in a dog cart;
with Bob seated on the cushion at his side, instead of running at the
horse's heels as he usually did. "The only living creature who cared for
him," as Charles had once said to Miss Neville; become doubly dear now
she had proved faithless. Bob nevertheless seemed uncomfortable in his
exalted post, and did not approve seemingly of his new position in
society; for while his Master cast not a glance behind him, saw not
Anne's sympathising face at the window or Frances' tearful one; he
seemed to give a wistful side-look--as well as the jolting of the cart
on the hard gravel would allow--at the comfortable home he was leaving
for the Barrack yard, and his old surly companions of the canine species
he had so often fought and won many a hard earned battle with, for Bob,
though not a savage dog, never allowed a liberty to be taken with him
without resenting it.