The weeks that followed Lucian's accident had been a time of severe
trial to Sylvester Riddell. All the responsibility rested on his
shoulders of deciding whether they should go ashore at Kirkwall, or get
on to Edinburgh in the yacht, on which latter course Sylvester, finding
that the Kirkwall doctor authorised it, and could accompany them, had
finally fixed. He had to telegraph to Mrs Leigh, who was still in
Switzerland, to come to Edinburgh, and when he did so he had scarcely
any hope that she would find her son alive. He knew nothing of illness,
was not a person of ready practical resource, and was far too sensitive
not to feel the sight of such suffering to be a terrible strain upon
him. Imaginative and sympathetic, he felt all the horror of the sudden
striking down of the strong young life, and to be calm and cheerful was
almost beyond his power. Lucian was far too ill to fret about himself
or his future; when he was conscious, relief from pain was all he could
desire, and the first time he showed much sense of the situation was
when he knew Mrs Leigh was coming.
"Oh, Syl!--the mother!" he said, looking up with wistful eyes, "try to
help her."
There was very little help or comfort to be given. Sylvester knew that
the worth of life would be as much crushed out for Mrs Leigh by
Lucian's death, or hopeless illness, as for the poor young fellow
himself. She was a good woman, and a brave one, but heavy trial was new
to her, and her misery took the line of trying every expedient, getting
every opinion, wondering constantly whether anything else could have
been done at first, and perhaps, spite of herself, her state of mind
became apparent to Lucian, for he tried to say something of "Syl being
so clever, and always knowing what to do,"--an opinion perhaps hardly
shared by the trained nurses, but which went to Syl's heart. Mrs
Leigh, however, to say nothing of Lucian, would have been so much more
forlorn without him, that he could not possibly leave them alone; he
remained with them in Edinburgh, and, when his old playfellow's vigorous
youth enabled him to rally up to a certain point, he arranged for the
difficult journey south, and escorted them back to London. Here he was
obliged to leave them, to return to his duties at Oxford, taking a few
days' much-needed rest at home by the way.
He had had no time to think of himself, though there was much in his
life which required consideration; he felt how severe the strain upon
him had been, when he found himself once more in the dear old home, with
his father's loving eyes scanning his face, and noting the traces on it
of anxiety and fatigue.
There was Amethyst and his chance of winning her. She had never been
out of his thoughts, but it went against every generous instinct to seek
her the moment that he left her old lover's side, when poor Lucian's
long heart-ache had been betrayed in every unconscious murmur of the
beloved name. The unselfish good wishes which had been meant to set him
free from all such scruples only intensified them. And yet he had said
too much to say no more, and, without his father's concurrence, he was
hardly in a position to say anything.
He murmured an inquiry as to where she was, and if his aunt ever heard
from her, and soon had told his father all there was to tell.
Mr Riddell sighed, and shook his head. He had guessed it all before,
and he did not quite see his way through it.
"My dear boy," he said, "whatever I can do to forward your happiness you
may regard as done. What else can I wish for? But, if you'll take
advice, give her a little time. She isn't thinking of you just now,
Syl. She needs to be left a little to herself, to find herself out.
She knows how you have been occupied, and I am sure she is ready for no
sudden definite appeal from you, which is all that is at present in your
power. We will not lose sight of her for you."
Sylvester acquiesced, yet utter silence was impossible to him. He could
ask nothing from her just then, but he must let her know that he
continued to give her all himself. He wrote some verses, veiled under
the familiar disguise of Amelot to Iris, and sent them, unsigned and
undated, to the address which he soon caused his aunt to give him. But
it was a little like posting them to the rainbow's end.
If he could not woo her, he might make himself worthy of her. When he
went back to Oxford, he took up his work there with the determination to
make it more real. He would in no way stand aside from the struggle of
life to which he had urged her. The outward changes in his life were
slight, but, nevertheless, it was pervaded by a new and more earnest
spirit. The lads who had come to his help in his extremity were no
longer strangers to him, and men began to say that Riddell would gain
influence in the place.
Mrs Leigh had written encouraging accounts of Lucian. The London
doctors had recommended the winter abroad as the best cure for the
injured lungs, and had not forbidden a hope that the serious internal
injuries resulting from the strain might be surmounted by Lucian's
hitherto unbroken health and strength. At least, so the mother
interpreted their verdict, and it was decided that they were to go by
sea to the Mediterranean, and finally to settle at Bordighera, a place
Mrs Leigh knew and liked, and where she hoped Sylvester would join them
at Christmas, and find his friend much nearer recovery than when they
parted.
Sylvester hoped that so it might be, and made all necessary arrangements
for spending part of his winter vacation abroad, all the more willingly,
because he knew that the Haredales were somewhere among the towns of the
Riviera. So it came to pass that one day, just after Christmas, Lucian
lay on a couch under the verandah of one of the prettiest villas of
Bordighera, wrapped up and propped with pillows, and listened, with a
half-smile, to his mother's assurances to the newly-arrived Sylvester,
of how much good the climate was doing him, and how much better he was
than he had been in London.
"Let Syl stay and talk to me, mother," he said, "and you go and get your
drive; he'll take care of me. Perhaps we'll go by and by for a drive in
the pony carriage. Then I can show him the place."
"Very well," said Mrs Leigh, "that will be very nice for you. But it
is good for him to walk a little too, Sylvester. He has been longing
for you to come, to show you how much better he can do so."
There were anxious lines on her smooth handsome face, which contradicted
her cheerful words, as she went away after a little bustle of
arrangements, and left the two young men alone together.
"Well, dear boy," said Sylvester, turning to his friend, "and how is it?
Do you like this lovely place?"
"Yes," said Lucian, "the soft air is comfortable, and I can talk better
than in the autumn, I have more breath."
Sylvester felt as if he had never realised before what the change had
been, as he listened to the gentle languid voice, and noticed how the
handsome face had lost all its sturdy impassiveness, and had fined away
into a sort of ethereal beauty, while nobody could accuse the clear grey
eyes now of want of expression. Sylvester hardly knew how to meet their
gaze, but it prepared him for the next words.
"You won't mind my talking to you, Syl. You know I'm not really any
better."
"No?" said Sylvester, with difficulty.
"No. You see I was so strong and healthy, I took a great deal of
killing. But I dare say the doctors always told you that there was
fatal mischief done by the strain, and there's not a bit inside me but
what's all wrong. I had to know the probabilities before I left
England, you see, to get my affairs settled."
"It is hard to believe," said Sylvester.
"Yes, I suppose I should mind more: but I'm so tired out with pain that
any sort of rest seems welcome."
Lucian was as straightforward and to the point as ever, and, as his
friend did not at once answer, he said--
"I thought you knew it--and it's a comfort to speak out. You see how
the mother takes it, and poor old Jackson (he's out here with two of his
sisters, you know), he thinks he ought to cheer me up."
"Dear Lucy," said Sylvester, "talk just as you like, and when you like;
I'm too glad to help you."
"Could you make the mother understand by degrees? It's very bad for
her. You see James Leigh is only a distant cousin, and he must have
Toppings. She thought so much of my living here, I wish she'd _give me
up_."
"I'll try," said Sylvester; "but she will come to it in her own time."
"Your father could help her. Syl, do you think he could come out here
by and by? He would make it much easier for my mother, and I should
like to do all that's right, and prepare myself as much as possible."
"I am sure he will come, if you wish it."
"And then--Amethyst. The Jacksons know her and Una, they met them in
the autumn. But I shall never see her again. Wasn't it odd that we
talked of her that last day in Orkney? Ask her to forgive me for being
such a fool. Give her my love. I wish I could have taken care of her.
I wish I could know she was happy."
"I will tell her everything. Don't talk too much now, dear boy,
there'll be plenty of chances."
"I don't know. You see, sometimes, speaking hurts me so badly; but I've
thought it all over, in and out. You know, Syl, if I'd been in the
army, and got killed out in Egypt or anywhere, you would have thought
nothing of it, though I am young. And we're bound to believe that it's
all right, and God's will, as it is."
"Lucy," said Sylvester, "there's one thing you must let _me_ say. I
know you gave your life for mine, quite as much as if we'd been under
fire, and you had waited to help me out."
"Oh no, I didn't," said Lucian. "I let go because I thought there was
no good in killing two people instead of one. I was done for before
that. What! the pony carriage come round? Let me rest for five
minutes, Syl, and then we'll go." Lucian was helped into the pony
carriage, and Sylvester sat beside him, and drove along a lovely sunny
road with a wide view of the blue sparkling sea. They did not talk much
more, only Lucian made his companion notice each point of interest, and
very observant eyes he had for bird or flower, picturesque costume, or
strangely-shaped boat dancing on the water--the traveller's keen eyes
for the characteristics of a new country.
Suddenly the keen eyes fixed themselves, and he started half upright,
and laid a detaining hand on the reins.
"There she is!" he said, breathlessly.
Sylvester saw a tall young lady, in a grey dress, coming along the road
towards them; but his sight was shorter than Lucian's, and only a
lover's instant insight made him say--"Amethyst? Impossible!"
"No--they are somewhere in these parts. Stop, Syl! She is coming."
Sylvester pulled up short, sprang out, and went to meet her.
"Miss Haredale," he said, desperately, "Lucian is here. He has seen
you; will you come and speak to him?"
"Here!" ejaculated Amethyst. "Oh yes--if he wishes it. I hope he is
better?"
She came up to the side of the carriage, and Lucian raised himself, and
looked up in her face.
Alas, she needed no answer to her question; her colour fled, her eyes
brimmed with tears, nothing that she had heard had prepared her for the
truth.
"We have been enjoying our drive," said Sylvester nervously, "but I must
not let him stay out till it gets chilly. Have you been here long, Miss
Haredale?"
"Only since yesterday. We are at Hotel--"