Ernshaw's first care, after Garthorne had left the room, was to see to
the comfort of Sir Arthur, who had now quite recovered consciousness,
but was still feeling faint and ill. He told him as much of the truth
about Vane as he knew, and while he was doing so, Jepson, the scout,
came in from the bedroom, and said with an air of deferential
confidence:
"If you please, sir, I don't think there'll be any need for a doctor to
Mr. Maxwell. He's come round a bit, and I think I know what his
complaint is. Being excited, as he might well be on a morning like this,
he's taken a drop too much on an empty stomach, and that led him to
drink brandy and soda with his breakfast instead of sending for some
more coffee. I've often seen this sort of thing before, sir, you see,
and I've found the physic that will cure him on the mantelpiece. It's
this."
He held up a little stoppered bottle full of strong ammonia, which Vane
had got for cleaning up the bindings of some old books.
"Twenty drops of this," he went on, "in a wine-glassful of water, and
he'll be as sober as ever he was in half an hour. Then I'll make him
some strong coffee, and he'll be as right as a trivet. Only you mustn't
let him take any more drink afterwards, or he'll just bring his boots
up. I suppose I may try, sir? At any rate it won't do him any harm."
"Certainly," said Ernshaw, "I've heard of it before. Do the best you can
for him, Jepson."
Jepson shut the door with a "Thank you, sir," and proceeded to treat his
patient.
Before the doctor arrived Sir Arthur had almost entirely recovered, and
Vane was sitting up in bed, supported by the faithful Jepson's arm,
gasping and coughing, but perfectly sober, and wondering dimly what had
happened during the last hour or two--or was it weeks, or months, or
what? He felt horribly sick and ill, and he was trembling in every limb,
but the clouds of intoxication had cleared away from his mind; memory
was returning to him, and he was asking Jepson disjointed questions as
to what had happened.
"Never you mind about that, sir," said Jepson. "Everything's all right
now. Sir Arthur is coming round nicely, and now you've got that down,
you just lay back and keep quiet, and I'll go and make your coffee, and
before an hour's over you'll be ready and fit to go to the Sheldonian
and face the Chancellor as though you hadn't tasted a drop."
Vane, still wondering at his apparently miraculous recovery, did as he
was told and lay back upon the pillows, and Jepson went off to brew him
an "extra special" pot of coffee.
"It's very unfortunate for Mr. Maxwell," he said, when he got into his
own den, "very unfortunate, and on Degree Day too, but if I know
anything about him and Sir Arthur, and I can get him to the Theatre
dressed and _compos mentis_ and all that sort of thing--well, it's a
fiver at least in my pocket, so it's an ill wind that blows nobody
good."
The doctor arrived while he was making the coffee. Ernshaw explained
quickly what had happened. He went in and looked at Vane, felt his
pulse, asked him in a kindly tone why he had made such a fool of himself
on such a day, then he said that he couldn't improve on Jepson's
treatment under the circumstances, and went in to look at Sir Arthur,
who now, thanks to Ernshaw's care, was almost himself again.
"Curious business this," he said, after he had felt Sir Arthur's pulse
and found that he was practically all right. "Your son's case, I mean.
I've known him nearly all the time that he's been up, and I've always
considered that he was a teetotaller from principle. Of course it would
be simply absurd to attempt to conceal from you what has been the matter
with him this morning. He's been drunk, dead drunk, by about half-past
nine in the morning. At the same time we must remember that when a man
has been in hard training for a boat race, or anything of that sort, or
if he has been reading hard on tea, which is almost as vicious a habit
as alcoholism, he can get drunk on very little alcohol when the strain
is taken off. In fact, I have known a man get drunk on a pint of bitter
and a beef-steak; but there doesn't seem any reason of that sort for
what happened this morning. Still, fortunately, that man of his knew
what to do, and he's done it--a rather heroic remedy certainly, but one
can risk that with a good constitution.
"Still, I can't quite understand it, I must confess. If there was any
taint of what we now call alcoholic insanity in his blood, it would, of
course, be perfectly plain. However, we needn't go into that now. There
can't be any idea of that, and I think when he's had his coffee, and
you've had a mild brandy and soda, Sir Arthur, and kept quiet for half
an hour or so, I think you will be able to go and see your son take the
honours which he has won, and won very well, too. I suppose no idea of
this has gone beyond these rooms?"
"I'm afraid they have," said Ernshaw. "Garthorne, a Cambridge man, the
man, you know, Sir Arthur, who was here with Vane when you came in, the
same man who went for you, Doctor, said that he would go on and tell Sir
Godfrey that Vane had been taken ill and wouldn't be able to come out of
his rooms to-day. In short, that he would have to receive his degree by
proxy."
"The devil he did," said Sir Arthur, getting up from the sofa with the
strength of a sudden access of anger and moving towards the bedroom
door. "Look here, doctor, you have just said that Vane is getting round.
Well, if he is, the old blood in him will tell, and he'll take his place
and play his part with the rest of them. Mr. Ernshaw, I know your
friendship for my son; I know what you have done for him, and how you
have helped him. Now, will you do me another favour and take my
compliments to Sir Godfrey Raleigh, and say that the matter is not
anything like as serious as we thought it was, and that both Vane and
myself will be ready to go through the day's programme as arranged. If
you will be good enough to do that, the doctor and I will be able to
arrange the rest, I think."
"I shall be only too glad," said Ernshaw, taking up his hat. "I shall
just have about time to do it, and then get to my rooms and dress. _Au
revoir_, then, until after the ceremony," and with that, he opened the
door just as Jepson knocked at it, bringing in the coffee.
Ernshaw found Garthorne already at Sir Godfrey's rooms in close
conversation with Enid. He had, of course, heard much about her from
Vane, but this was the first time he had seen her. She had more than
fulfilled the promise of two years before, and Ernshaw, ascetic as he
was, had still too strong an artistic vein in his temperament to be
insensible to her beauty. In fact, as she rose to greet the closest
friend of the man who had been her lover, and who, as she fondly hoped,
would be so once more after to-day, he started and coloured ever so
slightly. He had never seen anything like her before as she stood there
with outstretched hand, gently-smiling lips, and big, soft, deep eyes,
in all the pride and glory of her dawning womanhood.
It was this, then, that Vane had to give up. This was the priceless
treasure which, if he kept his vow, he would have to surrender to
another man. As the thought crossed his mind, he looked at Garthorne,
and he saw the possibility that, after all, he might be the victor in
that struggle which had begun years ago on the deck of the steamer.
Certainly, as far as physical conditions went, there could hardly be a
better match; but as he looked back to Enid, a darker thought stole into
his mind. Garthorne had, superficially at least, rebutted the charges he
had made against him in Vane's rooms; but though he had apologised for
what he had said, the conviction that he had deliberately tempted Vane
to drink came back to him, now that he saw how great a temptation
Garthorne had to commit such an infamy.
No doubt he knew perfectly well that Enid herself would overlook Vane's
second lapse as she had done his first, and would be quite content to
marry him on the strength of his promise that he would never get drunk
again; but he also knew that, after what had happened that morning,
Vane's determination to give her up would be tenfold strengthened, and
that, when once he had definitely done so, the psychological moment
would have arrived for him to begin his own suit--at first, of course,
from a deferential distance, from which he might hope to approach her
heart through the avenue of her injured pride.
"Good morning, Mrs. Ernshaw!" she said, "I am glad to meet such an old
and good friend of Vane's. I have heard a great deal about you, and, I
need hardly say, nothing but good. I hope you have come to tell me that
Vane is better and also that you will tell me what has really been the
matter with him. Mr. Garthorne, here, has been very rude; he has
absolutely refused to say anything about it, and I am quite offended
with him. I really can't see why there should be any mystery about it.
What is it?"
Ralph Ernshaw was one of those men who can no more tell a direct lie, or
even prevaricate, than they can get outside their own skins. He held
even the white lies of conventionality to be unworthy of anyone who held
the truth as sacred, and yet for the life of him he could not look this
lovely girl in the face and tell her that the man whom she had loved
ever since she knew what love was, had been lying drunk on the floor of
his room less than an hour before, and that the sight of him had shocked
his father into a fainting fit.
"I think, Miss Raleigh," he said, after a little hesitation, "that Vane
would rather tell you that himself. In fact, to be quite candid with
you, it is not a subject upon which I should care to touch even at your
request, simply because I think that it is a matter which could be very
much better discussed and explained between Vane and yourself; and I
think Mr. Garthorne will agree with me in that view."
"Certainly I do," said Garthorne, "I think that is the most sensible way
of putting it. Enid, if you'll take my advice you'll take Ernshaw's, and
let Vane do his own explaining after Commem."
"Really, I think it's very horrid of both of you," said Enid. "I
certainly can't see why there should be all this mystery. If it's
anything really serious, surely I have a right to know. However, I
suppose I must control my feminine impatience, at any rate it can't be
anything very bad if he'll be able to be at the Theatre and Sir Arthur
can come with him. I suppose I shall hear all about it at dinner
to-night."
"I have no doubt that you will, Miss Raleigh," said Ernshaw, "and now,
if you will excuse me, I must be off to my rooms to get ready for my own
share of the proceedings. Good morning."
"Good morning, Mr. Ernshaw," replied Enid, a trifle stiffly. "That
reminds me how rude I have been, I've not congratulated you yet."
"Oh, I haven't done anything," said Ernshaw, "at least, not in
comparison with what Vane has done. You'll see the difference in the
Theatre. Good morning again. Good morning, Mr. Garthorne."
"Good morning--we shall see you later, I suppose?" replied Garthorne, as
the door closed, and then he turned to Enid and went on: "He's a
thundering good fellow that Ernshaw. Quite a character, I believe,
enthusiast, and all that sort of thing, but everyone here seems to think
he'll be a shining light some day."
"Yes, he seems very nice," said Enid, "but, as a matter of fact, I can't
say that I'm particularly fond of shining lights or people who are too
good, and from what papa tells me, this Mr. Ernshaw has been making or
trying to make Vane a great deal too good for me. I even hear that he
has been trying to make Vane become a parson. Fancy Vane, with all his
talents and prospects, a curate! The idea is absurd, even more absurd
than this two years' probation idea."
"I quite agree with you," said Garthorne, "but still, think of the test
of constancy and the delight of knowing that you have both stood it so
well."
At this moment the door opened, and Sir Godfrey came in, not altogether
to Garthorne's satisfaction, and so put an end to further developments
of the conversation.
A couple of hours later Enid was sitting with her father, a unit of the
vast audience which filled the Sheldonian Theatre. After Ernshaw's
visit, neither she nor her father had received any message either from
Vane or Sir Arthur. She had expected that Vane, at least, would have
come to her before the beginning of the ceremonies, or that, at least,
Sir Arthur would have come and told her something about him, but no, not
a word; and there she sat between Garthorne and her father, angry and
yet expectant, waiting for the moment of his appearance.
"Ah, here he is at last," whispered Garthorne, as his name and honours
were called out in Latin.
Enid held her breath as the familiar figure, clad in the unfamiliar
academic garb, walked towards the Chancellor's throne. She could see
that he was deadly pale, and that his eyes were shining with an
unnatural brightness. He never even once looked towards her. The wild
outburst of cheering which greeted his appearance seemed as utterly
lost upon him as if he had been stone deaf and blind. He listened to the
Chancellor's address with as little emotion as though it concerned some
one else. Then he knelt down, the hood, the outward and visible sign of
his intellectual triumph, was put over his shoulders; the Chancellor
spoke the magic words without his hearing them. He never felt the three
taps given with the New Testament on his head, and he rose from his
knees and moved away from the scene of the crowning triumph of his youth
as mechanically as though the proceedings had no more interest for him
than if they had been taking place a thousand miles away.
All through the afternoon Enid and her father waited for them to come,
but there was no sign from either of them until just before tea-time
Jepson presented himself with two letters, one addressed to Sir Godfrey
and one to Enid. Both were very short. Sir Godfrey's was from Sir
Arthur, and ran as follows:
"MY DEAR RALEIGH,
"I hope that you and your daughter will forgive the apparent
discourtesy of our absence from you this afternoon and evening. I
find it necessary to take Vane to London at once. His letter to
Enid will explain the reason.
"Faithfully yours,
"ARTHUR MAXWELL."
"There is evidently something very serious the matter," said Sir
Godfrey, as he handed the note to Enid. "Maxwell wouldn't write like
that without good reason. That's from Vane, I suppose. What does he
say?"
"Say," exclaimed Enid, with a flash of anger through her fast gathering
tears. "That's what he says. It's too bad, too cruel--and after leaving
me alone for two years--it's miserable!" And with that, she made a swift
escape out of the room and shut the door behind her with an emphatic
bang.
Sir Godfrey picked the note up from the table where she had flung it.
There was no form of address. It simply began:
"I was drunk this morning. Drunk without meaning to be so, after being
two years without touching alcohol and without experiencing the
slightest craving for it. Last night I had finally come to the
conclusion that it would be a sin to ask you to keep your promise to me.
Now I am convinced that it would be absolute infamy to do so. I dare not
even face you to tell you this, so utterly unworthy and contemptible am
I in my own sight. Whatever you hear to the contrary, remember that what
has happened this morning is no fault of anyone but myself. If ever we
meet again I hope I shall find you the wife of a man more worthy of you
than I am now, or, with this accursed taint in my blood, ever could be.
Perhaps in those days we may be friends again; but for the present we
must be strangers.
"Vane."