BORNE DOWNWARD
"Farewell, oh dream of mine!
I dare not stay;
The hour is come, and time
Will not delay:
Pleasant and dear to me
Wilt thou remain;
No future hour
Brings thee again."—A. A. PROCTER.
"HASN'T been a bad day for a row," observed Malcolm.
"No."
"Well, now we have tried it once, we'll try it again. You used to be
such a one for boating. Grown tired of it lately?"
"No."
"You've not gone in for it!"
"No."
"I would sometimes, if I were you. 'All work and no play,' you know—"
"Yes."
"What's the matter to-day?"
This question came abruptly. The friends had been together since
half-past two, and the above is a fair sample of the conversation which
had taken place.
"Nothing," Nigel said—adding, "at least nothing in particular."
"Only everything in general. That's as bad."
"No. It's all right."
"Sure? You seem out of sorts somehow."
Nigel rowed on in silence. The lithe muscular figure found evident
pleasure in the exertion, moving with careless ease. There was no lack
of good health apparent in the bronze face; but the immovable gravity
differed much from Nigel's old light-heartedness. Malcolm noticed it
more than usually this day. He had started in high spirits himself,
ready for any amount of gaiety, and he found scant response. No
answering fun was to be got out of his serious companion.
"What's the matter, old fellow?" he inquired again. "I don't want to
be a bother, but really one can't help noticing. What are you thinking
about?"
"Varieties," was the answer.
"When are you coming to see us again?"
"I don't know. Some day, perhaps."
"You are busy now, of course. Still, if Ethel didn't know you so well
she might be affronted." Malcolm spoke thoughtlessly, and the next
moment was vexed with himself. He did not understand the exact position
of affairs. Nigel's engagement to Fulvia, after years of apparent
devotion to Ethel, had been a sore perplexity to him; but he did not
know that there were reasons for Nigel's action which had not been told
to him, yet which Ethel counted to have weight; and he had strong trust
in his friend. Moreover, he could see, as every one could see, that
Nigel was not happy. Malcolm's private belief was that Nigel cared too
little for Fulvia, too much for Ethel; therefore, he regretted his own
hasty words.
"How is Ethel?" asked Nigel, speaking with a manifest effort.
"Not so strong as she ought to be. We hoped more from Wales."
The two rowed on again, more slowly than before; or rather Nigel rowed,
Malcolm having taken to steering. Nigel was buried in thought.
"We shall have to think of a change to some more bracing place, if she
doesn't look up soon," observed Malcolm. "I don't like to see her as
she is now."
A shrill scream rang out suddenly.
"What's that?" burst from both.
"Where from?" exclaimed Malcolm.
"Ahead!" And Nigel worked at the oars with vigour.
"Sure? I thought—"
"Yes! Listen!" But no second cry followed the first.
"Nigel, you didn't know that voice? I had a fancy—"
Nigel uttered one word, "Fulvia." He had lost colour, but he spoke
calmly, redoubling his exertions. The boat shot swiftly up stream.
"Let me take an oar." Malcolm started half up, but Nigel's answer was
imperative—
"No; keep still. Can't wait for that."
Malcolm submitted. He knew that he could not rival these strokes, and
he could better be on the lookout where he was. They swept round a
slight bend, and then a cry escaped Malcolm.
"Ha! See there!"
"Where? What?"
"Some one in the water! A woman!"
"Make for her—straight."
Nigel did not even glance round. "Fulvia!" was in the minds of both,
and Nigel was deeply moved; for whatever she might or might not be to
him, his love for her was of its kind thoroughly genuine.
"It may not be—her," Malcolm uttered. "Take care; not so fast.
Now—slacken! Now—here."
Nigel looked, drew in his oars, and sprang up, always the first to act.
Malcolm kept his seat, balancing the boat, as Nigel leant over and
caught something, drawing it nearer—caught a girlish dress.
Then they both saw—
A still face, pure as alabaster, the eyes closed, the brown hair matted
and streaming, the lips peacefully parted!
"Ethel! Oh my God!" broke from Nigel.
"Ethel!" Malcolm echoed hoarsely.
No other sound passed Nigel's lips. He grew pale, but there was no loss
of control over himself. With steady balancing, aided by Malcolm, he
drew up the slight heavy figure, held in one half-instant in his arms,
gazing, then laid it gently down.
"Nigel, she can't—can't have been in long. She must have fallen just
now. That scream," Malcolm said with difficulty.
Nigel made no reply in words. He gave Malcolm one glance, caught up the
oars, pointed to the bank, and rowed with fierce energy.
A possible landing-place was near, and in less than two minutes they
were there. The boat's keel no sooner grounded than Nigel dropped his
oars, lifted Ethel once more in his arms, and sprang ashore. He seemed
to have unnatural strength. Every movement was rapid and light, as if
he did not feel her weight.
"The Parsonage?" Malcolm said, and Nigel made a gesture of assent.
He had at once remembered the little hamlet Church of Buryfield, not
ten minutes distant, with its liliputian Parsonage and gentle elderly
Incumbent. "Let me help. You can't carry her all the way."
"No;" and Nigel strode on at a frantic pace, his face ghastly. Malcolm
kept pace by his side.
"She can't be gone. It can't be too late. She was in so short a time,"
urged Malcolm. "Don't give up hope." He almost lost sight of his own
fear and grief in view of his friend's distress, which yet he could not
understand. Nigel had not worn that look when they believed the scream
to be Fulvia's,—as indeed it was. The idea that Fulvia, not Ethel, had
screamed, and that Fulvia too was in danger, did not occur to either of
them.
Mr. Dacres was at home. He knew the young men slightly, and had seen
Ethel before. This sudden incursion must have been a trial to an
unmarried man, advanced in years; but he met it bravely, summoning at
once his capable housekeeper to see what could be done. Hot water, hot
flannels, anything they might need, were at their service. The gardener
was sent, rushing at his utmost speed, to summon Dr. Duncan, or any
doctor who could be found, from Newton Bury, for this hamlet did not
own a medical man. Little dreamt any of them that Dr. Duncan was even
then within a few minutes' walk, hurrying along the bank in search of
Ethel.
Malcolm knew something, at least in theory, of what had to be done in
such an emergency. The housekeeper and a girl who worked under her
were willing enough to follow his directions. They removed Ethel's wet
clothes, wrapping her in warm blankets before the kitchen fire, with
vigorous rubbing. Nigel and Malcolm waited in the passage while these
things were done; and then, as all efforts failed, they stole back into
the kitchen, Malcolm to assist in rubbing, Nigel to watch the still
face with despairing eyes.
Dr. Duncan could not come yet. Half-an-hour more was the shortest time
possible. But as they said and thought this, the door opened, and James
Duncan walked in.
No needless words were spoken. Dr. Duncan bent over Ethel, listening
to the heart, feeling the pulse, lifting the eyelids to look into the
eyes. Then his glance fell upon Nigel's face, and a slight change crept
into his calmness, as if he had seen something unexpected.
"Not dead," he pronounced.
"Thank God!" Malcolm said fervently.
No answering sound came from Nigel, and the doctor's glance fell on him
again.
"We are too many here. The less the better. Yes, go for a little
while—" to Malcolm. Then in a lower voice, "Take that poor fellow into
another room."
"But there is hope?"
"I trust so. We have no time to lose. Now, Mrs. Willis—"
Malcolm did not wait for more. He had complete faith in Duncan's skill
and kindness. Mr. Dacres lingered, while Malcolm slipped an arm through
Nigel's, and drew him from the kitchen regions into the clergyman's
little study.
"Cheer up," he said gravely. "It will not be so bad, Nigel,—thank God.
Dr. Duncan does not fear the worst. Cheer up, my dear fellow; we may
hope now."
Nigel had never broken quite down through all the pain and grief of
past months; but he broke down now. His face was hidden, bowed low on
his crossed arms, and the whole frame shook. No sobs were audible,
yet Malcolm knew what it meant. He drew the bolt softly, for none but
himself might see this; and he could only look on in silence, with eyes
full of tears, till the worst was over.
Mrs. Browning and Daisy were inadequate to the management of Fulvia,
when Fulvia chose to take the bit between her teeth. It was all very
well for Mrs. Duncan to send directions that Fulvia ought to go to bed.
Mrs. Bramble delivered the message faithfully, but Fulvia refused to
obey.
"How cam, I, till I know about Ethel?" she asked. "Take care of myself
when Ethel is perhaps—oh, if they had only let me stay to hear! It was
cruel to hurry me away. But Nigel will soon be at home, and he can find
out. I must stay downstairs till Nigel comes. Not good for me! What
does that matter? What do I care? I only want to know if Ethel is safe."
She built her hopes upon Nigel's return, which seemed to be
unaccountably delayed. Meantime she had consented to change her soaked
clothing, and to dispose of what Daisy called "a hot drink." Then, as
she shivered incessantly, despite her warm shawl, a fire was lighted in
the study, and Fulvia cowered over it.
Daisy offered to go to the Rectory for news, but Fulvia would not
consent. "They may not have heard," she said, shuddering. "If Ethel is
safe, it would be brutal to frighten Mrs. Elvey without need. And if—if
the worst has happened, they will hear soon enough—too soon. Why should
one be in a hurry to bring misery to people! It is hard enough to bear
one's own wretchedness."
Suspense in her present mood found relief in speech. Fulvia talked
incessantly, going over every detail of the day's adventures, enlarging
with feverish admiration on Ethel's self-devotion. She did not shed
tears, but she could not be silent or turn to another subject. Her
limbs were aching, her face and head burning. Mrs. Browning listened
uneasily, trying in vain to soothe her. Agreement or opposition alike
made her worse. Anice was upstairs, keeping aloof, as usual, from
uncomfortableness, and Daisy watched at the dining-room window, coming
from time to time with the report, "No news and nobody,"—always to be
ordered back by Fulvia to her post of observation.
"Nigel will be here directly. He must," Fulvia said on one of these
occasions. "Let me know the moment you see him. No, I won't have you do
anything. Only wait." Then she recurred to the grievous refrain: "If
Ethel is drowned, I shall never forgive myself. It will have been all
through me. I shall never look any one in the face again."
At last!—the sound of wheels! Daisy flew in. "Some one has come," she
cried. "Cousin Jamie, and—I'm not sure, but I think I had a glimpse of
Nigel."
Fulvia kept her seat, trembling violently. She did not grow pale, but
the flush deepened, spreading to her brow. "Call them here—quick," she
said. "If not, I will go out. Quick!"
Daisy obeyed to the best of her power.
Dr. Duncan came in first, looking as if the events of the last two
hours had told upon him. Nigel followed,—not the Nigel who had left
home after lunch, but white, worn, heavy-eyed, as he had been after his
father's death.
Fulvia's wandering gaze concentrated itself on him, while he stood,
resting one arm on the back of a chair, apparently not even seeing her.
"Then—Ethel is gone!" she said, gasping. "It was too late? And I—I—the
cause!"
She turned her burning face away, and wrung her hands together,
breaking into a wail of distress, like a child, and then she found Dr.
Duncan's hand upon her arm.
"Hush! You are over-excited. Ethel is better."
"Not dead! But Nigel looks—" Fulvia broke off. "He looks—! Was Ethel
saved? She—went down the river,—" with a bewildered glance round. "I
can't explain. I feel so strange! Is this the way people go out of
their minds?"—and there was a short laugh. "Feel my hand; I am all on
fire. But think—think of Ethel! The branch was breaking, and she let
go—for my sake! And she is not drowned. I thought she must be drowned.
Not drowned, you say? You are sure—quite sure?"
"Yes." Until then Fulvia's rapid utterances allowed no space for reply.
"Perfectly sure."
"How do you know? Have you seen her? Has Nigel?"
"Malcolm and Nigel were coming up the river in their boat—just in time."
"And she is—not the worse?"
"She will suffer, of course; but we were able—mercifully—to bring her
round."
"She will get over it—will get well? Promise me!"
"I trust so, in time. We have taken her home, and my wife will stay
there all night. I have come now to see you."
"I! Oh, that does not matter. What does anything signify about me? If
you will save Ethel—people love Ethel, you know. And for Nigel's sake!
It doesn't matter about me! Why don't you go back to Ethel? She ought
not to be left. She might die; and if she did, Nigel would die too.
Look! Can't you see?"
"Fulvia, you are wrong! You must not give way like this," said Dr.
Duncan in a low voice.
"Why not? I may do as I like. Who cares?"
She turned petulantly from him, and with uneven steps walked across to
Nigel.
Dr. Duncan would not follow her. He sent Daisy from the room, on some
slight pretext, and at once set himself to engross Mrs. Browning's
attention.
Fulvia cared little, in her then mood, whether or no she was observed.
She stood in front of Nigel, who had remained silent since his first
entrance, and her intent gaze caused a slight movement, as if he shrunk
from it—or from her.
"Have you been so frightened about Ethel?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Not about—?"
Nigel understood. "I did not know of your danger too, Fulvia, till—" he
said in a low voice, and then he faltered, as if scarcely knowing how
to continue.
"Yes—till when?"
"Jamie told me—half-an-hour ago, I believe—I am not sure."
"No; that was a secondary matter," said Fulvia. Her face hardened, and
her tone grew harsh. "If you had known us both to be drowning, would
you have left Ethel to come to me?"
Nigel attempted no answer.
"Nigel—look at me!" she said sharply—even imperiously, as she had
before spoken to Daisy. "Look at me, and answer. Why should you be
afraid? Would you have left Ethel to come to me?"
Even these words did not rouse him. He made an effort to respond, but
the heavy eyes seemed almost unable to lift themselves. Fulvia had seen
him like this once before. Her mood changed with curious suddenness,
as Fulvia's moods were wont to change. The hardness vanished, and pity
took its place.
"You are done up," she said. "Was it the thought that Ethel was
drowned?"
Nigel was silent.
"And I—you did not think of me—"
"I did not know—"
"Was I cruel to ask that question just now?" Fulvia inquired, almost
whispering the words.
Dr. Duncan and Mrs. Browning passed out of the room, leaving them alone.
"Yes, I was cruel," she went on. "You cannot help it. You have tried
so hard. I know that well. But till to-day I have not known Ethel—the
noble girl that she is! I have dared to think her ordinary. Have you
heard how things happened? You ought to hear!"
"Not all—"
"No,—I might guess Ethel would not tell. I slipped first, and she came
to my help, and we fell in together. She could not hold me up, though
she tried. Then we clung to the bough, and it was giving way. I was
frightened, but Ethel did not seem afraid. She and I are so different.
We could not be sure if the bough would last, and Ethel let go to save
me, and went down the river. If I had guessed in time, I would have
held her fast; but how could I guess? That was the last I saw of Ethel.
It was grand of her—more than I could have done in her place. I shall
never forget her face, the moment that she let go—never! I shall always
know what Ethel is."
Nigel said nothing, and not a feature of his face changed. Fulvia
watched him closely, knowing that he would not show what he might have
shown.
"Is Ethel always like that?"
"Yes—always."
"And you have known it?"
"Yes—" still lower.
"I think you ought to lie down," said Fulvia abruptly. "I have not
seen you so for a long while—not since padre's death." Then she looked
round, to find Dr. Duncan by her side. "Nigel is ill," she said with a
shudder.
"Not ill, only overstrained. I am more afraid for you," said Dr.
Duncan. "Why did you not go to bed at once?"
"Oh, I could not—how could I? But I will now. Everything feels so
strange!" and she laughed drearily. "I can't get clear in my head. You
are sure that Ethel is not drowned? Nigel could not seem more unhappy
if she were. You are not deceiving me?"
"Have I ever deceived you yet?"
"No!" Fulvia said at once. A look came into her eyes which Dr. Duncan
could not fathom. "If you had, I should never trust you again, should
I? Whatever you said or did, I should always—always—feel that you might
be deceiving me again."
Nigel glanced at her, and Fulvia met his eyes, breaking into a laugh.
"Oh, I feel so strange," she said.
Dr. Duncan shook her hand gently, as if to rouse her.
"Don't talk so Fulvia. This has been too much for you. The sooner you
are in bed the better."
"Yes. I have nothing to stay up for now. But Ethel will get well. You
are sure—sure?"
"I trust so."
"She must! For Nigel's sake! It will kill him if she dies! Yes, I am
going! Make Nigel rest, please. Will you see Ethel again to-night?"
"Yes; and I shall look in again to see how you are, afterwards. Go
straight to bed now. Daisy is waiting for you."
"Thanks. Good-bye," said Fulvia. She passed out of the room, without
even a glance towards Nigel.
His eyes and Dr. Duncan's met, each questioning the other; while Fulvia
dragged herself upstairs.