"YOU KEPT A SECRET FROM ME."
Hinton, when he went away that morning, was, as I have said, very
undecided how best to act. He saw very clearly the fresh danger arising
to Harold. Was he but rescued from the dangerous fever to fall a prey to
lingering, or, perhaps, rapid consumption? Even his unprofessional eye
saw the danger the boy was in; and the boy himself, lying awake during
most of the weary hours of the night, had confided to his friend some
thoughts which it seemed to Hinton could only come to such a child as
the precursor of death. He now loved the boy for his own sake, and he
was determined, even more determined than during the height of the
fever, to do something to again save his life.
After a brief pause for rapid thought, he determined to visit Dr.
Watson. That busy man was at home and saw Hinton at once.
"Little Home is no better," said Hinton, going straight, as his wont
was, to the very heart of his subject.
"He will never be any better unless he has change," replied the doctor.
"Neither I nor any other man can now do more for him. He requires, nay,
he is dying for want of nature's remedies, complete change, fresh, mild
sea-air. I told his mother so most plainly yesterday. I recommended
Torquay within a week from now, if she wishes to save his life."
"Torquay is an expensive place, and a very long way from London,"
replied Hinton. "It seems almost cruel to tell Mrs. Home to do that for
her child which must be utterly impossible."
"There is no other chance for his life," replied the doctor. "I should
be doing less than my duty, did I for a moment conceal that fact."
Hinton paused for a moment to think, then he abruptly changed the
subject.
"I want to visit a friend this morning--a friend who has never had
scarlet fever. It is rather important that we should meet; but I must
not risk danger. You know I have been a good deal with the little boy.
Is there a risk to my friend in our meeting now?"
"Change all your clothes," replied the doctor; "wear nothing you have in
the Homes' house. Perhaps it would also be a wise precaution to take a
Turkish bath. If you do all this you may meet your friend without the
slightest risk of evil consequences."
Hinton thanked the doctor, and as the result of this conversation
entered the dining-room in Prince's Gate just as Charlotte was sitting
down to her solitary luncheon.
It was over three weeks since these two had met, and the long three
weeks had seemed like for ever to the loving heart of the woman, who was
so soon now to be Hinton's wife. She expressed her joy at this
unexpected meeting, not so much by words, but so effectually with eyes
and manner, that Hinton, as he folded his arms round her, could not help
a great throb of thankfulness rising up from his heart.
They sat down to lunch, and then afterwards Hinton told her the story of
little Harold Home. In telling this tale, however, he omitted again both
name and address. He had not meant when beginning his tale to keep these
things any longer a mystery from her, but as the words dropped from him,
and Charlotte's eyes were fixed on his face, and Charlotte's lips
trembled with emotion, some undefined sensation prompted him to keep
back these particulars.
Hinton, in coming to Charlotte, relied on her help, but he meant her
just now to bestow it as on a stranger. As he had expected, his tale
aroused her warmest enthusiasm and interest.
"John," she said, "something must be done. The boy must not die!"
"He must go to Torquay," replied Hinton. "That is most manifest. But the
difficulty will be how. They are very proud people. The difficulty will
be how to induce them to accept aid from outsiders."
"Do you think they will be proud, John, when their child's life depends
on their accepting some aid from others? I don't think they will allow
so false an emotion to sacrifice his little precious life. It seems to
me, that were I in that mother's place, I would lick the dust off the
most menial feet that ever walked, to save my child."
"Perhaps you are right," said Hinton: "there is no doubt that one woman
can best read the heart of another. What I propose is, that I take the
little boy down to Torquay for a few weeks; I can make an excuse to the
mother on my own score, and it will not seem so hard for her to send her
boy. And the little lad loves me, I believe."
"Would it not be best for the mother to take her child herself?"
"It undoubtedly would. But it would be placing her under deeper
obligation. I want to make it as light as possible to her."
"Then, John, you will give me one happiness? I will provide the money
for this expedition."
"You shall, my dearest," answered Hinton, stooping down and kissing her.
He meant her to help Charlotte Home in this way, and he did not notice
the slight sigh scarcely allowed to escape her lips. The fact was,
Charlotte Harman had grown very hungry, almost starved, for her lover
during his three weeks' absence, and now the thought that he was going
still farther away from her, and their wedding-day drawing so quickly
on, could not but excite a pang; the selfish part of her rose in revolt,
and struggled to rebel, but with a firm hand she kept it well under, and
Hinton never noticed her strangled little sigh. They talked for a long
time of their plans, and Charlotte mentioned what money she had of her
very own, and which could be immediately at Hinton's disposal. In the
midst of this conversation, the postman's knock was heard, and a moment
later a servant brought Charlotte a letter. She did not recognize the
handwriting, and laid it for a moment unopened by her side. Then some
confused remembrance of having seen it before, caused her to tear open
the envelope. This was what her eyes rested on.
Charlotte--my sister and friend--I have found the little piece of
paper you put into my Harold's hat. I never knew it was there until
to-day. Thank God I did not know, for had I seen it after your
visit, I should certainly, in my mad, ungracious, evil pride, have
returned it to you.
Dear Charlotte--God nearly broke my heart since I saw you. He
nearly took my boy away. In that process my pride has gone, though
my love and tenderness and gratitude to you remain, for with this
fifty pounds you are saving my child's little life. Thank you for
it. God will bless you for it. You will never--never regret this
deed. It will come back to you, the remembrance of it, in the midst
of your own wealth and affluence, or if dark days visit you, you
will let your thoughts wander to it as a place of safe anchorage
in the storm. It will, all your life long, be a source to you of
rejoicing that you saved a father's and mother's hearts from
breaking, and kept a precious little life in this world.
I can add no more now, my dear. For this money must be spent, and
at once. Oh! precious, valuable gold, which is to keep Harold with
me! I will write to you when we come back from Torquay; do not come
to see me before, it would not be safe for you.
Ever, my dear friend, because of you, the happiest and most
grateful mother on God's earth,
CHARLOTTE HOME.
Charlotte Harman's face was very white when, after reading this letter,
she raised her eyes to Hinton's. What had been written with all joy and
thankfulness was received with pain. Why had Hinton kept this thing from
her? Why had he not told her where he had been staying?
"You kept a secret from me," she said, and her eyes filled with heavy
tears.
Then as he tried to comfort her, being very compunctious himself at
having failed utterly to trust one so brave and noble, she suddenly drew
herself from his embrace.
"John," she said, with some pride in her voice, "did you in any degree
keep this thing from me because you believed Mrs. Home's story about my
grandfather's will?"
"I had a thousand nameless reasons for not telling you, Charlotte. My
principal one after the child got ill was my fear that you would come to
the house, and so run the risk of infection."
"Then you do not at all believe Mrs. Home's story?"
"I have not investigated it, my darling. I have done nothing but simply
listen to what you yourself told me. _You_ do not believe it?"
"Certainly not! How could I? It implicates my father."
"We will not think of it, Charlotte."
"We must think of it, for justice must be done to this woman and to her
children; and besides, I wish to clear it up, for I will not have my
father blamed."
Hinton was silent. Charlotte gazed at him eagerly, his silence
dissatisfied her. His whole manner carried the conviction that his faith
in her father was by no means equal to hers.
"Is it possible to see wills?" she asked suddenly.
"Certainly, dear; anybody can see any will by paying a shilling, at
Somerset House."
"Would my grandfather's will be kept at Somerset House?"
"Yes. All wills are kept there."
"Then," said Charlotte, rising as she spoke, "before our wedding-day I
will go to Somerset House and read my grandfather's will."