MIDSUMMER SUN.
'For Phoebus' awful self encountered him
Amid the battle throng invisible,
In thickest darkness shrouded all his face;
He stood behind, and with extended palm
Dealt on Patroclus' neck and shoulder broad
A mighty buffet.'
_Iliad, Book_ xvi. (_Earl of Derby._)
Warmer weather came at last, and brought Mr. Froggatt back to his daily
work, lifting a weight of responsibility from his young partner's
shoulders.
The cough mended too, but did not entirely cease; and when June came
in with an unusual access of summer heat, there were those who felt it
as trying as the sharp wind had been. One evening, when the home party
had been sitting in the garden, and the fall of the dew sent Cherry
indoors, Felix, as usual, gave her his arm, and lifted her step by
step up the stairs. She felt, all over her frame, that what used to be
almost nothing to the boy was a severe exertion to the man.
'You should not do it!' she said, as they both stood resting at the
top, he leaning back against the wall, and wiping his forehead, where
the big blue V of the veins stood out prominently.
'Having so often carried the calf--I should be able to carry--the cow,'
he said, the smile not disguising the panting of his voice.
'You are to be at the agricultural meeting at Dearport to-morrow. I
wish you would just go and see Dr. Lee.'
'I think I shall.' And there they were interrupted.
Poor Geraldine! What worlds of apprehension were founded on that quiet
assent, his first intimation that he believed himself unwell! She
kept absolute silence. She could not have uttered her terrors for ten
thousand worlds.
She was on her couch under the apple-tree, in the late afternoon,
trying to force her thoughts out of miserable possibilities, when she
saw Felix come out of the house, flushed, heated, dusty, tired; but
somehow she gathered hope from his air, as he threw himself down on the
grass by her side, saying, 'Mr. Froggatt sent me out to cool.'
'Stella, dear,' to the little one, who had her story-book at hand, 'run
and ask Sibby to bring Felix out a cup of tea.' Then she tried to guess
at his face, but durst not look at him fully. 'Are you very tired?'
'Rather! That place was a mere oven of roaring! Well, Cherry,' pulling
off his neck-tie, and settling himself, with an elbow on her couch, and
his back against the tree, 'there's nothing amiss with my lungs.'
She shuddered all over, and almost bounded; then put her hand tenderly
on his shoulder.
'Your doctor is a clever man, I can see,' he continued. 'He seemed to
guess about me directly. He sounded my chest, and says it is all right
now, but that there had been a little damage; he thought the long cough
I had after the measles had left traces that this winter has told upon.'
'Ah!' A great gasp.
'But there's no active disease--none at all; nor likely, if I can shake
off this remnant of cough, and get into condition before the winter.'
Cherry sighed again at the white hand, and the net-work of blue veins
on both it and the temple that was propped against it. 'You must
_indeed!_' she wistfully said.
'I _must_,' said Felix, sighing too, as with little mind for the
struggle. 'I've brought home a detestable bottle of cod-liver oil on
the spot, and am to take to all the good living I can swallow. Won't
that delight Mr. Froggatt's good old soul? Then the worst of it is that
I am to go away to some sea place for the hottest of the weather.'
'Oh, I'm so glad!'
'He taxed me with not taking food enough; and when I allowed that I had
no turn for eating, insisted on this sea plan: but he laughed me to
scorn when I asked whether I might not get a room at Dearport, and run
backwards and forwards. "Ay," he said, "you have a good deal on your
mind;" and I fell into the trap, and told him my partner had been ill,
and we had a great deal to work up. And he went on to ask if I had not
the charge of the family, and was not apt to get anxious about them;
and he turned round on me, and ordered me to get a thorough holiday,
and turn my back on everybody and everything; for there's nothing the
matter with me but overwork and harass--' Something that did not amount
to _and_ finished the sentence.
'O Felix, I know, I have felt,' she said, the tears standing in her
eyes, and the colour rushing into her face at this first venture.
'Have you--little foolish thing?' he answered, but shifting hand and
elbow so that nothing of his face could be seen but a bit of brow and
temple, and that was crimson to the roots of his hair. 'Don't take it
for more than it ever was,' he muttered.
'It was enough to hurt you grievously,' whispered the sister.
'It ought not,' he said. 'It was only the putting out of a vain foolish
hope I had no right to indulge. Eh, Cherry!' as she made a little
sound, 'tell me one thing; was it all imagination and folly that
she--she could have--liked me?' He bent his head with almost as much
suppressed emotion as if it had been a matter of present hope.
'Certainly not,' said Cherry. 'She liked your--your attentions; and I
thought sometimes you were quite pulling her up to your level. If no
one else--'
'I did not imagine it was visible,' he interrupted. 'I tried to be very
guarded, but one does not know--'
'You were. Somehow one feels more than one sees.'
'And you thought she did? Then at least I was not quite a fool! I
fancied that there was response enough to what seems to have shown in
spite of me to warrant the dream that if ever a time came--!'
'If she had had depth enough!'
'But, of course,' said Felix in a tone of defence, 'she never really
knew; he guessed still less.'
'No, I am sure he never guessed. There is that comfort,' said Cherry.
'It is the greatest I have had all along,' said Felix. 'For the rest,
it was no wonder.'
'No,' said Cherry; 'but it all managed to fall in the very hardest way
on you. No wonder it was too much for you!'
'It is odd,' mused Felix, 'how this one dream has seemed to take all
the heart and soul out of one; there seemed no elasticity to meet other
things. I must say all this doctor's advice has been seeming an amazing
amount of trouble for what is not very well worth having in the end.'
'O Felix, Felix you will--'
'My Chérie, you don't think I'd drop off the coach while you are in it
if I can help it, to say nothing of the rest! I suppose every one has
something of the sort in his turn, and I'll take good care not to be
let in for it again. Thank you, Cherry,' he added presently, and now
looking at her, 'I am very glad to have had this out with you. I think
I can make a fresh start now. What, silly little thing! crying, when I
thought I had brought you good news!'
'You are quite sure you have told me all Dr. Lee said?' she demanded,
holding his hands tight, and gazing into the face, which certainly,
with the still heightened colour, looked both delicate and weary. 'You
have been so much worse than you told!'
'No, indeed, I have felt very little but weariness and want of energy;
but I am better now than I have felt for weeks. And what is more,
Cherry, I don't feel like getting worse. I mean to set myself to live
to get through the work my father left me.'
'Taking care of all of us! Is that all you care to live for, Felix?'
'All, just now. Don't look shocked, Cherry. You know it is all very
fresh' ('Five months--poor Felix!' thought she), 'and there is the
continual pain of knowing how wretched those people make the poor
child. When she is happier, perhaps the shade will lighten. Don't be
afraid, you dear little thing' (he was answering her piteous eyes),
'there's plenty of time to recover it. I suppose I am really very young
still.'
'Not quite three and twenty! Oh, Felix! I am sure God will give you
back happiness, you are so good and patient! Where will you go, and
when?'
'How I wish you could go with me! Dr. Lee said he should like to send
me to Switzerland; but as he might as well have said the moon, he said
any sea place would do. Rest and good air are all that signifies; so I
thought of Ewmouth, and then I might see Vale Leston again. I believe
you want it as much as I. You are a little washed-out rag.'
'I shall be all right when I know you are better.' Then as Sibby
brought out the tea, and Stella the toast she had insisted on making,
he began to look at his short-hand notes. 'Never mind those. You are
to rest, you know.--Stella, little one, run to the office, and if Mr.
Froggatt is not busy, get him to come and have some tea.'
This was always a mission to Stella's taste; and Mr. Froggatt was
soon installed in the only basket-chair that would hold him, and was
professing his relief and satisfaction that Mr. Underwood had been wise
enough to take advice at last. He had better go any day, the sooner the
better; and even his desire to take the newspaper work with him would
have been overruled, but for the simple fact that there was nobody else
capable of it, in the present state of Mr. Froggatt's eyes.
Alda had been lying down in her own room. Her cup of tea--an
institution that for any one else Wilmet would have deemed sinful
waste--had been rung for, when she saw from the window that Mr.
Froggatt was one of the party in the garden; and whereas Sibby did not
choose to hear or attend to her whims, she came down full of wrath and
indignation, as soon as she saw that Cherry was left alone under her
tree, and Wilmet coming out to her with the step of one who was glad
her day's work was over.
'Really, Sibby's inattention was shameful! Not choosing to bring the
tea upstairs when it was rung for!'
'You forget how much Sibby has to do, Alda.'
'You have quite spoilt Sibby. I would not have such a servant on any
account. I'm sure I don't know why the tea was so early, either. Cherry
ordered it, I believe.'
'Yes,' said Cherry, 'because Felix came in so hot and tired.'
'He could have waited, I suppose,' began Alda; but Wilmet was asking
anxiously, 'Is he so very tired? Where is he? I was afraid he would be
knocked up, he looked so pale when he set off.'
'He is gone to write out his notes,' said Cherry; 'I think he is rested
now. And, Mettie,' she added, knowing that he had rather not have to
begin the subject again, 'I am glad to say he has been to see Dr. Lee.
And he says that his lungs are all safe, only he must be careful, and
go away for a change.'
'Just as I say,' exclaimed Alda; 'no one can be well, living in such a
hole! When are we to go?'
'My dear Alda,' said Wilmet, 'you forget. No one can possibly go but
Felix; and it will be hard enough to manage for him.'
'Then I do think it is very selfish in him,' said Alda, 'when every one
of us wants change! I'm as languid as possible; and look at Cherry.'
Felix selfish! Even Wilmet could not stand that, and answered with her
most severely gentle manner, 'Nothing but necessity will induce Felix
to do so. I beg you will say nothing of the sort again.'
Cherry was alarmed lest Wilmet might not be convinced of the necessity,
and might think more of present pounds than future health; but in fact,
Wilmet was as much relieved as Cherry herself by the medical opinion,
for she had charged the failure of health entirely to the constitution
instead of the heart, and moreover never was troubled with misgivings
and heart-sinkings for the future. So, as for a needful and infallible
cure, she set herself to arrange, writing again to Abednego Tripp,
the Vale Leston clerk, whose possession of a market boat kept him
conversant with Ewmouth, and who recommended rooms in the house of a
former servant at the Rectory who had married a sailor.
Felix only waited to put his business in train, and make over Theodore
to the care of Clement, who had just come home from Cambridge. The
quantity of work and bustle had not been beneficial, and his sisters
did not feel at all happy in sending him off by himself; while Alda
was inclined to think the time a particularly cruel one, just as all
the most unquiet spirits of the household would be coming home for the
holidays, and his authority would be most wanted.
However, Wilmet was free first of all, and she was a more efficient
guardian of the peace than ever Felix could be downstairs. Lance was
to come on the evening of the 26th of June, after the examination for
the exhibition, which, as he had told every one, he was quite sure not
to gain. And then what was to be done with him, small and boyish as he
still was?
The question was sighed over on that day by the three sisters as
they sat endeavouring to be cool, and looking out at the glowing
street where the few passengers seemed to be crawling like flies on a
window-pane.
Presently a rather hesitating knock at the door was followed by the
entrance of Mr. Froggatt, ushering in no other than Mr. Harewood.
In the moment of shaking hands, Cherry had foreboded enough to set her
pulses throbbing so violently as to deafen her ears. Lance had failed,
had run away in despair, to go to Fulbert rather than be a burthen;
Felix would go in search of him--break a blood-vessel--and--
Nay--what was it? Lance? It really was Lance! Was not Wilmet talking
of going? Mr. Harewood saying something about trains? She made a
great effort to clear her senses, and the first thing she really
distinguished was Wilmet saying, 'Thank you, I will put a few things
together.'
Then she hurried away, and Cherry found Mr. Froggatt standing over her,
saying kindly, 'Dear Miss Geraldine, don't be alarmed. There is often
no bad result.'
'How was it? I don't understand,' said Alda.
Mr. Harewood owned himself not perfectly informed, but he feared the
trouble had been in great part occasioned by his own poor boy William's
carelessness. The two boys had strolled out the evening before, along
the bank of the river, and had compared the copies of verses which
were to be shown up at the examination. Afterwards they had bathed,
and Will had left his verses meantime in the hollow of a tree, never
remembering them till he found himself in his place in the Cathedral on
the very morning of the examination. When he came out, not only did his
duties as senior chorister chain him to the spot, but he had put off to
the last moment the fair copying of his algebraic exercises, and his
chance of the exhibition was as good as lost (the very loop-hole that
Robina had predicted his carelessness would make), had not Lance, whose
preparations were all made, as soon as he understood the difficulty,
dashed headlong off, bare-headed as he stood at the school door,
without waiting to fetch his cap, and laid the verses on his rival's
desk just in time for them to be shown up. He had been absent about
twenty minutes, and had scarcely been missed; but when his turn came,
a few moments later, to bring his papers to the examiners, as soon as
he stood up, he staggered, gazed round, cried out, and fell forward
on his desk insensible. A doctor, who like Mr. Harewood himself had
been present to hear a son's performance, had helped to raise him,
and pronounced it to be a case of sun-stroke; nor, when, half an hour
later, the librarian set off to fetch his sister, had there been any
sign of consciousness.
Mr. Harewood tried to be calm, but he was evidently in great distress;
and Mr. Froggatt could not restrain large tears from dropping.
As to Cherry, she could only tremble, unable to speak or cry; and Mr.
Froggatt called out to Alda to do something for her, when Alda said she
would call Wilmet, which made Cherry burst out with 'Don't, don't!' and
shudder the more with tearless sobs; but happily, Clement coming down,
fetched her remedies, and did more by whispering a few kind words of
hope and comfort.
He was going with Wilmet, who was as usual the self-possessed one; and
while passively allowing Mr. Froggatt to give her biscuits and even
wine, she left her few parting directions. 'Alda, take care of them
all.--Stella, try to keep Tedo happy.--Cherry, don't give way and fancy
things.--Above all, don't write to Felix! He must not be hurried home
without necessity. I could telegraph if there was--' and there her
steady voice faltered, she drew down her veil and turned to walk to the
station, Clement carrying her bag, and Mr. Froggatt accompanying them
to the train.
Very little was said on the way, before they reached the town whose
last associations were so joyous. Mr. Harewood would have given Wilmet
his arm, dreading the tidings that might meet her; but she was walking
straight on, with head erect, as though neither needing nor seeking
support.
They reached the low wicket-door of the Bailey, and as they entered the
little court and passed the window, they saw that people were still
standing about the bed in the corner. Everything was open, to admit
such air as might stir that sultry heat. Some one came to the door, and
said, 'No change.'
Then Wilmet and Clement advanced to the narrow old dark oak bed,
and Mrs. Harewood made way for them, fresh tears starting at their
presence. There he lay, their bright agile boy, with eyes half closed
and fixed, and circled half way down his cheeks with livid purple, like
bruises, the purple lips emitting a heavy breath, his crest of sunny
hair hanging dank with the melting of the ice on his head.
Clement's lips trembled, and he dropped on his knees, hiding his
face and stifling his sobs in his hands. Wilmet, after looking for
permission to a gentleman at the foot of the bed, whom she took for the
doctor, laid her hand on the helpless fingers, and bent to kiss the
brow, saying softly and steadily, 'Lance, dear Lancey!'
The eyelids moved, the hand closed, there was a struggling stifled
utterance: 'Wilmet, Wilmet, bring me back! Oh, bring me back!'
She looked up, and read in the watchers' faces that they were glad.
'Yes, dear Lance,' she said, in her soft steady voice, 'I am here. You
will soon be better.'
He clung to her, as if blindly struggling with some terrible
oppression, and the effort ended in violent sickness, exhausting him
into unconsciousness again; but just then the real doctor came in,
having been summoned by a message at the first symptom of change from
the state of stupor. At the same time the Cathedral bell began to
ring for evening prayer, and Lance at once was roused to endeavour to
obey it, and when he was gently held back, murmured on about finding
the places, and seeing Bill was not late. Mr. Harewood had to go, but
whispered that he would ask the prayers of the congregation. It was
comfortable to remember that Lance was thought of there, when, as the
deep roll of the organ vibrated round the building, psalm, chant,
anthem, and response came thronging thick and confusedly on those
unconscious lips.
Dr. Manby, however, told Wilmet not to be too much alarmed at this
delirium, for the most immediate danger had passed when the lethargy
had given way, and that though fever was probably setting in, there
was fair hope that so healthy a boy would be able to struggle through
it without permanent harm. There was a gentleness and consideration in
his manner quite new to her after her dealings with Mr. Rugg, and she
felt at the same time that he was not concealing the truth from her.
She told how it was with her eldest brother, asking whether he ought to
be sent for; and it was a great lightening of present fear to be told
that there was now no need for haste, and that any change for the worse
would give full time to bring him; moreover, that new faces were to be
avoided. Should a nurse be sent from the hospital? Wilmet raised her
steady sensible eyes, and said she could manage, she was well used to
nursing.
'I see you are,' he answered, well satisfied, since there were besides
the Precentor's housekeeper, who was used to act as matron to the
boarding choir-boys, and apparently an unlimited power of Harewoods.
As to the place, Lance had at first been carried to his own bed, and
even if there had been a regular infirmary, he was in no state to bear
being moved. The other boys' goods had been removed, and they all were
going home that evening; so that it was as cool and as quiet a place
as could be had, since there was no doubt that the sounds from the
Cathedral would be hushed for so critical a case.
Indeed, just as Dr. Manby had said this, both the Dean and the
Precentor were seen coming through the Bailey on the way out of church
to ask after the patient; and the former promised Wilmet that the bells
and organ should both be silenced, and that the daily service should be
in the Lady Chapel.
It appeared there had been little but the instrumental music that
evening, and strangers who had heard the praises of the Minsterham
choir must have been disappointed; for the psalms so entirely overcame
the senior chorister that he could do nothing but sob, and at last was
fain to stuff half the sleeve of his surplice into his mouth to hinder
a howl such as the least of the boys actually burst out with. Most of
the other lads were far past singing, and even two or three of the
men; and such voices as did uplift themselves were none of the best or
clearest.
That poor senior chorister--he crept back after his father into the
room. It was his first entrance, for he had been kept all day at the
examination, with what power of attention may be guessed; and when
some half-recognition of him set the sufferer off into wanderings
that showed habitual vigilance over his carelessness, he was so much
distressed that he rushed out, and was heard crying so piteously in
the court, that his mother went out to hush and comfort him. Never
strong, the shock, anxiety, and exertion had so worn her out, that her
family would not let her come back; but their attention to the nurses
did not relax--they were viewed as guests both by Mr. Beccles and
the Harewoods; and when it was found that neither would come away to
another house to dine, a little table was prepared in the court, close
to the door, and the sister and brother, coaxed one by one, and made to
eat and drink; while, as Clement could not bear to go home, a note was
written, the delivery of which to the sisters Mr. Beccles undertook to
secure. All the evening, Mr. Harewood or his eldest son, the engineer
captain, the same whom Wilmet had taken for the doctor, sat at the
other end of the room; while Lance lay, sometimes babbling school tasks
mixed with anthems and hymns, sometimes in something between sleep and
torpor, but always moaning and fevered.
This strange temporary infirmary, of which Wilmet was made free,
consisted of two long narrow rooms, each with a row of quaint black oak
beds and presses, between the double row of narrow lattice windows,
looking into the court on one side, and the cloister on the other.
There was a smaller room dividing these two chambers, and opening
into both, which the under-master had vacated, and where the matron
installed Miss Underwood's little bag.
Clement was a good deal impressed with the place, in the grand quiet
shadow of the old Cathedral; and the room itself told much of his
brother's daily life, in his own little section of it. The deep
window-seat and old oak chest were loaded with piles of 'Punch,' sheets
of music, school-books, and grotesque sketches; bat, hockey-stick, and
fishing-rod were in the corner; trencher cap and little black gown
hung on their peg on the white-washed walls, and pinned beside them
lists of the week's music, school-work, &c. In the corner by the press
was a little rough deal table, covered with an old white shawl that
Clement remembered as his mother's; and on it lay Lance's old brown
Bible, the Prayer-book given him by the Bishop, 'Steps to the Altar,'
and Ken's Manual; over it hung the photograph of his father, and next
above, an illumination of Cherry's, 'The joy of the Lord is your
strength;' while above was a little print of the Good Shepherd. Nor
was it a small testimony to the boy who had been senior in the room,
that Clement found one or two other such little tables, evidently for
private prayer. He had never believed such things could be out of St.
Matthew's, nor where the books were not more of his own exclusive type
than were Lance's; and perhaps there was some repentance for harsh
judgment in his spirit as he knelt on by that little table long after
Mr. Harewood, near midnight, had read a few prayers and gone to his
house.
When Clement stood up, his sister made him lie down, as well as his
long legs would permit, on one of the other beds, where he soon fell
asleep; while she sat on, where she could see the spire rising aloft
into the pale blue of the summer night's sky, while the perfect
stillness was only broken by the quarterly chiming of the clock,
re-echoed from its fellow in the town-hall. Every window and door
was open, but the air was heated and oppressive till the early dewy
coolness before dawn crept in, making her bend over Lance to cover him
less slightly. Then she met his eyes, heavy and blood-shot, but with
himself in them.
'Wilmet, is that you?' he said, in a wondering tone.
'Yes, here I am, dear Lance.'
'Is it night or morning?'
'Morning. There, it is striking three-quarters past two.'
'Oh!' a long sigh. 'I'm so thirsty!'
She brought some drink; but as he tried to raise his head, the
distressing sickness returned in full force, and in the midst the
gasping cry, 'My head, my head!'
'Some more ice, Clem,' said Wilmet; but Clement looked up from the
ice-pail in despair, for all was melted; and she could only steep
handkerchiefs in the water and in eau-de-cologne, and lay them on the
head, while Clement wondered if he could find a shop; but where was
the use at three in the morning? and poor Lance rolled round wearily,
sighing, 'Oh, I did not know one's head could ache so!'
Just then a step crossed the court, and a low voice said, 'Is he awake?
I have brought some more ice.'
'O Jack, thank you!' faintly breathed Lance.
'Thank you!' fervently added Wilmet; 'we did not know what to do for
some more!'
'I thought you must want some by this time. I have a little ice-machine
for Indian use,' he added, as Clement looked at him like a sort of
wizard.
He was small, sandy, and freckled after the Harewood fashion, and
was besides dried up by Eastern suns; but one who brought such
succour could not fail to be half celestial in the sister's eyes; and
as he said, 'You are getting better,' her response was fervent in
its quietness, though poor Lance, conscious only of oppression and
suffering, merely replied with a groan, and seemed to be dozing again
into torpor in the relief the ice had given.
Clement and Captain Harewood besought Wilmet to rest--the latter
declaring himself to be too much of an East Indian to sleep at dawn;
and she consented to lie down in the little room, where she had enough
of wakeful slumber to strengthen her for the heat of the day, when the
fever ran high, and all the most trying symptoms returned.
The doctor continued to forbid despondency, building much on the
lucid interval in the cool of the morning, and ascribing much of the
excitement of brain to the excessive, almost despairing, study that
Lance had been attempting in the last weeks before the examination.
There had, too, been a concert given by one of the great ladies of the
Close, for which there had been a good deal of practice, harassed by
certain amateur humours; and the constant repetition of one poor little
shallow song in the delirious murmur greatly pained the Precentor, and
made him indulge in murmurs that boded ill to the ladies' chances with
the choir-boys. The sultry weather was likewise a great enemy, and
could hardly be mitigated by the continual fanning kept up chiefly by
poor Bill Harewood, who seemed to have no comfort except in working the
fan till he was ready to drop, and his brother or Clement took it from
him.
Mrs. Harewood was quite knocked up, and her daughters were curiously
inefficient people. Their father came and went all day; but the
serviceable person was the engineer, with his experience of
sun-strokes, his devices for coolness, and his cheerful words, stilling
the torrent of rambling restlessness, so that Wilmet depended upon him
as much as on the doctor himself.
On Saturday, the third day of the fever, which had rather increased
than diminished, Wilmet begged Clement to go home for the night, to
carry a report to the sisters, and fetch some things she wanted. He
lingered, grieving and reluctant; while the heated atmosphere was like
a solid weight on the sufferer, who lay, now and then murmuring some
distressed phrase, as though labouring with some forgotten task; and
Wilmet shunned touching the pulse again lest the reckoning should be
higher than the last, and strove to construct a message conveying the
hope that seemed to faint in the burthen of the day, insisting, above
all, that guarded accounts should be sent to Felix, keeping carefully
to Dr. Manby's report.
'I can be here before nine,' said Clement; 'I wish I could help going.
I feel as if something must happen!'
'A thunderstorm,' said Captain Harewood in a reproving voice, as he
plied the fan, with heat-drops on his brow; 'a thunderstorm, which will
prove the best doctor. Take care, you will miss the train.'
Clement stooped to kiss the unconscious face, as though he had never
prized his little brother before, and as some association of the touch
of the lips awoke the murmur, 'Mamma, Mamma!' he sped away with eyes
full of tears.
Before he could have reached the station, the storm was coming--great
rounded masses of cloud, with silver-foamed edges and red lurid
caverns, began to climb slowly up the sky, distant grumbles of thunder
came gradually nearer, a few fitful gusts of wind came like sirocco,
adding to the stifling heat, and were followed by exceeding stillness,
broken by the first few big drops of rain, the visible flashes, and the
nearer peals of thunder, till a sudden glare and boom overhead startled
Lance into a frightened bewildered state, that so occupied Wilmet that
she hardly heard the roaring, pattering hail-drops on the roofs and
pavements; but when a sweet fresh wind blew away the hail, the weary
head was more at rest, the slumber more tranquil, the breathing freer
and softer than it had been since that Wednesday.
Some two hours later she saw him looking at her with a sort of
perplexed smile; and the first words upon his tongue were, 'Is Bill
first?'
'Nothing is settled till the Bishop comes home,' Captain Harewood
answered.
'What time is it?' then asked Lance.
'Half-past eight.'
'It seems always half dark, said the boy, dreamily, 'and yet there's no
curfew.'
'They have been so kind as not to ring the bells,' said Wilmet.
'Not ring the bells!' repeated Lance, in a feeble voice of amazement.
'No, nor play the organ,' said Wilmet; 'you have had to be so quiet,
you know.'
'No organ! and for me!' repeated Lance, impressed almost as if the
'unchanging sun his daily course' had 'refused to run;' but it rather
frightened him, for he added, 'Am I very ill, then?'
'Not now, I hope,' said Wilmet, tenderly, and possessing herself of his
wrist; 'you are so much better to-night.'
He looked wistfully into her face. 'What's the matter with me?' he
said. 'What does make my head go on in this dreadful way?'
'Dear Lance! It was that running in the hot sun.'
'Oh!' (a sort of sigh of discovery) 'I hope he had the verses.'
'Yes, indeed you gave them.'
'Then he must be first,' said Lance; and then, as his thankful nurses
were preparing to give him some nourishment, he spoke again. 'Mettie,
please come here;' and as she bent over him, 'is this being very
ill?--like dying, I mean.'
'Not now, dearest,' said Wilmet, kissing him. 'You must be through with
the worst, thank God.'
He asked no more, for his voice was low and faint, the pain and
dizziness still considerable; and the being fed without raising himself
occupied him till the doctor came for his evening visit, and confirmed
the sister's comfort in his improvement. She sat gazing as he fell
asleep again, till Captain Harewood reminded her that her letter to
Ewmouth must be sent before the mail closed. She turned to the window,
where still lay her anxiously-worded bulletin, not yet closed; but as
she took the pen, the blinding tears fell thick and soft as the summer
rain outside.
'This will be a happy ending,' said John Harewood, as he saw her
silently striving to clear her sight.
'Would you be so very kind as to write it for me?' she answered,
pointing to the paper, with a lovely smile through her tears. 'He will
believe it all the more.'
And as he took the pen, she retreated in quiet swiftness to her little
room; but came back as he finished the few freshly hopeful lines; then
going to the door with him, looked up with the same sweet tremulous
smile. 'Thank you! What thankfulness it is! What a merciful rain this
is! If you knew the relief it is to send this report to Felix! You
cannot guess what this dear little fellow is to him.'
'I think I can, a little,' said John Harewood, with his heart in his
voice; and Wilmet smiled again, her stately but usually rather severe
beauty wonderfully softened and sweetened by emotion.
The improvement continued when Clement arrived on the Sunday morning;
and though fevered, confused, and beset by odd fancies, especially
about the silence of the Cathedral, Lance knew his brother, smiled at
him, and returned his greeting. Clement had a more cheerful task than
usual in what seemed to be his day's work--answering inquiries at the
door, and taking in presents of fruit. All the Chapter and half the
town seemed to call, or send, at least once a day; and little boys used
to hang about the court, too shy to come to the door, but waiting to
collect tidings from the attendants, and mutually using strong measures
upon one another when either was betrayed into noise.
Clement called his sister aside to ask whether she could spare him,
since she had the help of the matron and the Harewoods. 'I should be
very glad to stay,' he averred, 'but somebody is really wanted at home.'
Wilmet had not been so much accustomed to consider Clement in the light
of 'somebody,' as greatly to care whether he went or stayed, and only
said, 'I can get on very well. No one is of so much use as Captain
Harewood.'
'Just so,' said Clement; 'and I think I am doing more good at home.
Imagine my finding all the windows open in that pouring rain, and
Cherry sitting shivering.'
'Very foolish of Cherry,' said Wilmet.
'Poor Cherry! she could not help herself, and was only thankful when I
had the courage to shut them in Alda's face. Then they don't know what
to do with Theodore.'
'Poor Tedo--that's the worst of it!'
'You see he is used to a man's hand and voice. He is very good with me,
but Sibby has had dreadful work with him every night till I came home.
And, Wilmet, couldn't you send a message who is to be mistress while
you are away?'
'Alda, of course.'
'Alda doesn't seem to understand, and she will not let Cherry tell her.'
'Cherry always does bother Alda. I can't help it, Clem, they must rub
on somehow; and if you can make Theodore happy, the rest does not so
much signify.'
Not signify! Clement did not know whether he was standing on his
head or his heels, and never guessed that not only was she too much
absorbed in the present thoroughly to realise the absent, but that she
would not venture to send orders based on his report, which in her
secret soul she qualified by his love of importance and interference.
However, he went away, and was not seen again all the ensuing week--the
early part of which was very trying, for the fever recurred regularly
about noon and midnight, and always brought rambling, which since
that conversation with Wilmet, had taken the turn of talking about
being buried in a surplice, and of continually recurring to the 134th
Psalm, which, it was now remembered, Lance had shortly before taken
part in, over the grave of an old lay-vicar, who, boy and man, had
served the Cathedral for nearly sixty years. Often, too, the poor
little fellow seemed struggling with some sense of demerit--whether
positive disgrace, or suspicion, or the general Christian feeling of
unworthiness, Wilmet and John Harewood could never make out; and they
did not choose to speak of these wanderings either to Will or to Mr.
Beccles. In the intervals of consciousness, the thought of danger and
death seemed to be lost in the weakness of exhaustion, and the dread of
whatever brought back the pain, from which there was no respite except
in cool air and perfect quiet. The least movement intensified it, and
brought on the sickness that showed the brain to be still affected; and
still worse was any endeavour to attend to the shortest and simplest
devotions, when Mr. Harewood attempted them. Yet all the time there was
amendment; the fever was every day less severe, the intervals longer,
the sleep calmer, the doctor more securely hopeful; and by the end of a
week from the time of the accident, recovery was beginning sensibly to
set in.
Clement, meanwhile, did not appear; nor was he seen till the ensuing
Monday, when he stood on the threshold of the open door at the Bailey,
bewildered at the emptiness of the bed where he had last seen his
brother--till a weak voice said, 'Here, Clem,' and he saw on another of
the little old beds a small figure, in a loose soft white silk Indian
_robe de chambre_, the face shrunken into nothing but overhanging brow
and purple haloed eyes, though the eyes themselves were smiling welcome
in all their native blueness and clearness, and two thin white hands
were held out.
'Out of bed, Lance! That is getting on!'
'Yes. They thought I should be cooler, and sleep better for it.'
'And are you all alone?' said Clement, hanging over him.
'The maids are about somewhere. Wilmet is gone to the Cathedral, while
Jack got me up.'
'Then you must be a great deal better.'
'Oh yes; I haven't had any of that horrid fever since Friday.'
'And the pain?'
'Better, if I lie quite still and it is not hot, but I couldn't stand a
bit when I tried. I hardly know how Jack carried me here.'
'You are little and light enough,' said Clement; 'but I'll help to
carry you back. I am sorry not to have been here more, Lance, but I was
so much wanted at home.'
'Thank you, I didn't want any one. Jack is such a fellow; and
Wilmet--somehow, Clem, I never seem to have cared enough about W. W.'
'Nor I, till I saw what home is like without her,' muttered Clement.
'And isn't she beautiful, too?' added Lance; 'it is quite nice to lie
and look at her at work. Don't you think her much better looking than
Alda?'
'If handsome is that handsome does,' said Clement. 'You wouldn't like
me to stay with you instead of Mettie, old chap?'
The helplessly alarmed look of illness came into Lance's eyes. 'Oh no,
no; I couldn't spare Wilmet yet. She doesn't want to go?'
'No; I have said nothing to her; but Cherry is not well, and everything
is at sixes and sevens; but there, never mind,' as the tears started
into the sick boy's eyes, 'we'll manage; I should not have said
anything about it.'
'Please don't,' said Lance. 'If she ought to go, let her, and don't
tell me. I can't help it, Clem; I'm afraid to think if it ought to be,
or I should make my head rage, and I should begin to talk nonsense
again, and that's worst of all.'
'Do you know when you are talking nonsense?' said Clement, surprised,
and eager to lead off from the subject he felt he ought not to have
broached.
'Oh, yes, I know that it is not the right thing, and the right thing
won't come; and the worst of it is,' lowering his already feeble voice,
'saying one's prayers is hardest of all; I can't remember what I know
best. I couldn't so much as go through the Magnificat if you were to
shoot me.'
'But holloa! They don't generally come out of the Cathedral this way,
do they?'
'Who?'
'The Bishop! Ay, and the Dean! Speaking to Wilmet. I believe they are
coming here. Lie still, Lance.'
'I must,' he acquiesced, after half raising himself and falling back.
'Oh, can it be about the prize? Some of that stuff on my forehead,
please, Clem.'
Wilmet came in first, ascertained that all was ready, put an arranging
touch to Lance's pillows, and ushered in the two dignitaries, who shook
his languid hand, and asked after him kindly.
'You have put the Chapter into great difficulties by disabling yourself
and Harewood,' said the Bishop. 'What! did you not know that the poor
fellow entirely broke down?' as the eager eyes inquired.
'Nobody would tell me anything about it,' said Lance.
'It could not be helped,' continued the Bishop, 'but the examiners said
they felt it a great cruelty when they saw how utterly astray distress
rendered him. However, his papers and yours were both so good--his
verses especially, and your arithmetic--that it was impossible to
reject them, so the decision was put off till my return on Saturday.'
'We think,' said the Dean, who was very old, very gentle, and very
slow of speech--'we think, my little fellow, that though there is no
doubt that Shapcote did best in the examination, and ought to have the
exhibition, yet under the peculiar circumstances, you and Harewood can
be retained as choir scholars for another year, so as to try again.
You don't look sixteen, I'm sure, and we should be sorry to lose your
voice.'
'I'm only just turned sixteen,' said Lance, 'only on the 14th of June.
Thank you, sir;--thank you, my Lord;' and his face beamed joy, though
his words faltered.
'Moreover,' proceeded the Bishop, 'I have the greatest pleasure in
giving the good-conduct prize where, so far as I am able to judge, it
has been well deserved.'
A perilous flush of joy overspread the pale face; he started up on his
elbows, and his eyes danced rapture, as some one at the door handed
in the beautiful red morocco quarto of the Cathedral music; and the
Bishop, with a fatherly hand making him lie down again, laid the book
beside him, as he gasped out something like thanks.
'We are quite convinced that you have deserved it,' repeated the Dean,
again shaking hands with him, and then taking leave; but the Bishop
remained, talking kindly to Clement about Cambridge, and inquiring for
Felix; while Wilmet helped Lance's feeble fingers to turn the thick
creamy pages on which he durst not fix his eyes.
Presently the Bishop sat down again, and said, 'I have acted on my
own judgment in giving you this, my boy. I have seen enough of our
choir these six years to know that what caused so much displeasure was
certainly not to be laid to your charge.'
Lance made an uneasy movement, became alarmingly red, and said in a
choked voice, 'I don't know but what it might, my Lord.'
'You mean that you knew of this custom of getting out at night through
the Cathedral?'
'Yes, my Lord; I found out the way.'
There was a silence.
Then the Bishop said, 'After this, I can only leave it to your own
conscience whether you ought to keep this book; but I think you would
do wisely to let me know, remembering that I have no authority in the
school.'
Lance brightened, and he answered, 'My Lord, I did get out once, but
only once, and I don't think I did wrong. It was a long time ago--in
the autumn.'
'Last autumn! Was it not then that there was a report of a chorister
in his shirt sleeves being seen at the Green Man at eleven o'clock at
night?'
'That was I, my Lord.'
Clement was ready to start forward, under the impression that Lance
was talking his 'nonsense;' but the Bishop said, 'You were named, but
nobody believed it for a moment.'
'One of our little fellows was very ill, my Lord,' said Lance,
excitement restoring something of his natural briskness. 'We thought he
was going to have the cholera, and I went to get something for him. The
chemists' shops were shut, so I went in there.'
'May I ask the question,' said the Bishop, rather as if taking a
liberty, 'why did you not call up Mr. Stokes?'
'We couldn't, my Lord, for it was all Mr. Shapcote's swans' eggs.
He caught them--three of our least fellows, I mean--jumping at the
branches that hung over the river wall, and he blackguar--abused them
so that they got into a rage and vowed he shouldn't have a plum left
on the tree. We seniors knew nothing about it; but they got over the
wall at dark, and one ate eighty-five and the other eighty-one; but,
little Dick--one of them, I mean--could only get down nineteen, and
brought the rest in his pockets. It was the first time such a thing
had happened, and it put me in a proper rage. The little one was the
one I found out first; and I thought he was sulky, so I licked him
till he howled, so that I was afraid I'd done him some dreadful harm,
like a regular brute; and when I found it was his inside instead of
his outside, I was so glad, I could have done anything for him. But we
couldn't call Stokes, or the poor little chap would have suffered for
it three times over.'
'That would have been hard measure! And did your remedy succeed?'
'Yes; I think a good deal was fright. He went to sleep on the brandy,
and was all right next day.'
'And the gentlemen with the eighty-five and eighty-one suffered no
inconvenience, of course?' said his Lordship, much amused. 'May I hear
how you got out?'
'With Mr. Harewood's key,' said Lance. 'He used to keep it on a nail
inside the study door, which opens into the passage leading into this
court, and is never locked.'
'That is the key of the Cathedral library.'
'Yes, my lord; it unlocks the outer door, and the door into the north
transept.'
'And after that--'
'You can shoot the bolt on the inside of the little side-door at the
west front, and climb over the railing.'
'Boys are animals not to be kept in, that is certain! So you were
pioneer! But you had nothing to do with those cards?'
'No, my Lord. But I ought not to have told how I got out, for there
were some who would do it afterwards. However, those cards were none of
ours.'
'Whose were they?'
'Walter Shapcote's, my Lord. He is gone now, so it does not signify.'
'That nephew Mr. Shapcote had in his office?'
'Yes, my Lord; he had got the command of poor Gus, because he had lent
him money for some debt that Gus was afraid to let his father know of,
and made him get the key, and let him out and in.'
'You all knew of this?'
'Yes, my Lord; but poor Gus was sure that his father would be so
dreadful, that we durst not let out a word. Mr. Shapcote makes every
soul afraid of him.'
'The young man is gone?'
'Yes, my Lord, to London.'
'And there is no danger of the like with Gus?'
'Oh no, my Lord. He's too like a sheep! and now his debt is paid--after
the last concert--he's sure not to get into the same scrape again.'
'Thank you very sincerely,' said the Bishop. 'It is a great relief to
me to know all this; and it is safe with me. I am only afraid I have
made you talk more than is good for you.'
'And may I keep this, my Lord?' he wistfully asked.
'Indeed you may, my dear boy. If you have transgressed the letter of
discipline, you have kept the spirit of charity. I am glad to keep
_you_, as well as your voice. But I have tired you out.'
And laying a hand of blessing on his brow, the Bishop took leave,
Wilmet going to the door with him, to answer his fears that the
interview had been too much for her patient, with assurances that the
relief and gratification must do good in the end.
He told her that the threat of the withholding of the prize had not
been made by his authority, and that he had much regretted it. Just as
the tidings of the sun-stroke and its cause had reached him, he had
been with Mr. Nixon, the former Precentor, who had spoken warmly of
Lance, saying that the whole tone of the boys had improved since his
coming, though he was too much of a pickle ever to get the credit.
Wilmet's pleasure was great; but before she could get back, Lance was
nervously calling for her. The excitement was still great, his head
was aching violently, and yet he could not leave off eager talking,
which, as feverishness came on, began to degenerate into such rambling
as terribly frightened Clement lest a relapse should be coming on. He
wanted to hurry off to the doctor at once; but Wilmet, well knowing
he would not be at home, repressed him, and quietly said she had some
draughts ready, and knew what to do. While she was out of sight,
preparing them, a great alarm came over the patient lest she should
have left him; and all the rest of those noonday hours were spent in
a continual restless desire to keep her in view, hold her hand, and
elicit her assurances that she was not going home, nor going to leave
him--no, not on any account. The very presence of his brother seemed to
increase the uneasiness; and in the deepest humiliation and despair,
Clement allowed himself to be invited away by Captain Harewood to see
the process of ice-making, and be so far comforted that the Bishop's
visit was probably far more likely to have done the mischief than his
own rash suggestion, and that there was no reason to fear it would
last many hours. In fact, Lance was recovering favourably, and had had
few drawbacks. 'So I tell everybody,' said John Harewood, 'especially
poor Bill, who is still ready to break his heart every time Lance has
a headache, and would chatter him to death when he is better. And
that's the way with them all! There seems no one that can be tender and
reasonable both at once, except your sister.'
Clement did full justice to that tenderness, when, out of sight
himself, he had watched Wilmet's soothing firmness and patient
reassuring softness, at last calming the feverish agitation into
a sleep, which he was allowed to see for himself was gentle and
wholesome. Only then--towards four o'clock--could Captain Harewood
persuade her to let him keep guard, while she went to take the food
that had been long waiting for her, and over which she could hear
Clement's penitent explanation of his own unlucky proposal.
'I thought he seemed so well--able to get up and all; and they _do_
think me a good nurse at St. Matthew's. I nursed Fred Somers almost
entirely when he had the scarlet fever.' (Wilmet looked as if she
pitied St. Matthew's.) 'But of course I see now that it is out of the
question.'
'Entirely so,' said Wilmet, too kind to remind him of the
qualifications he had evinced.
'And you cannot guess when he can come home?'
'Not in the least. Even if he could be moved, think of the noisiness of
our house!'
Clement groaned. 'It was very wrong in me to speak to him before you,
Wilmet,' he said; 'but I should be thankful if you could tell me what
is to be done! Cherry was thoroughly chilled that evening of the
thunderstorm, and has been very poorly ever since.'
'She always feels changes of weather.'
'That's what Alda tells you. She won't believe there is anything the
matter; but poor Cherry has had rheumatic pain all over her, and her
bad ankle seems to have a bit of bone coming out. Sibby thinks so. Now,
ought she not to have her doctor?'
'Well! if--I wish I could be quite sure! It is such an unlucky thing
that she has that dislike to Mr. Rugg.'
'Wilmet! You are as bad as Alda!'
'Clement,' she answered gently, 'you do not know what it is to have to
reckon the expense. There is Felix's journey; and what this illness may
cost, I cannot guess; and now Cherry! It is not that I grudge it; but I
don't see what is to become of any of us if we spend unnecessarily--or
necessarily either, for that matter.'
'I thought her doctor didn't charge.'
'He did not when she was at St. Faith's, but at home it is a different
thing; but, of course, if it be really needful it cannot be helped.'
'And you couldn't come home and see--even for one hour?'
'Not yet, most certainly.'
'I think I had better write to Sister Constance!'
'If you really do find it impossible to get on, and Cherry is more
than just ailing, and--and fractious' (the word came out at last); 'I
don't like always calling for help, it seems presuming on kindness, and
Robina will be helpful when she comes home; but no doubt Alda does not
know what to do,' she added, in a deliberating tone.
'Then you authorize me?'
'I don't know what you mean by authorizing.'
'Only that Alda will neither do anything herself, nor let any one else
do it.'
'Poor Alda! It is a hard time for her, and she is not used to it. I am
afraid she is out of her element among you all. Don't be vexed, Clem;
you all ought to make allowances for her.'
'I make allowances from morning to night,' said Clement. 'I wonder how
many Travis will have to make!'
Wilmet had finished her hasty meal, and wanted to get back to her
patient, so she only protested by a reproving look and shake of the
head; while Clement stood disconcerted, but less surprised than if he
had not been familiar with the part of the family Cassandra.