AN INTERCEPTED JOURNEY.
Dr. West's was not the only departure from Deerham that was projected
for that day. The other was that of Lionel Verner. Fully recovered, he
had deemed it well to waste no more time. Lady Verner suggested that he
should remain in Deerham until the completion of the year; Lionel
replied that he had remained in it rather too long already, that he must
be up and doing. He was eager to be "up and doing," and his first step
towards it was the proceeding to London and engaging chambers. He fixed
upon the first day of November for his departure, unconscious that that
day had also been fixed upon by Dr. West for his. However, the doctor
was off long before Lionel was out of bed.
Lionel rose all excitement--all impulse to begin his journey, to be away
from Deerham. Somebody else rose with feelings less pleasurable; and
that was Lucy Tempest. Now that the real time of separation had come,
Lucy awoke to the state of her own feelings; to the fact, that the whole
world contained but one beloved face for her--that of Lionel Verner.
She awoke with no start, she saw nothing wrong in it, she did not ask
herself how it was to end, what the future was to be; any vision of
marrying Lionel, which might have flashed across the active brain of a
more sophisticated young lady, never occurred to Lucy. All she knew was
that she had somehow glided into a state of existence different from
anything she had ever experienced before; that her days were all
brightness, the world an Eden, and that it was the presence of Lionel
that made the sunshine.
She stood before the glass, twisting her soft brown hair, her cheeks
crimson with excitement, her eyes bright. The morrow morning would be
listless enough; but _this_, the last on which she would see him, was
gay with rose hues of love. Stay! not gay; that is a wrong expression.
It would have been gay but for that undercurrent of feeling which was
whispering that, in a short hour or two, all would change to the darkest
shade.
"He says it may be a twelvemonth before he shall come home again," she
said to herself, her white fingers trembling as she fastened her pretty
morning-dress. "How lonely it will be! What shall we do all that while
without him? Oh, dear, what's the matter with me this morning?"
In her perturbed haste, she had fastened her dress all awry, and had to
undo it again. The thought that she might be keeping them waiting
breakfast--which was to be taken that morning a quarter of an hour
earlier than usual--did not tend to expedite her. Lucy thought of the
old proverb: "The more haste, the less speed."
"How I wish I dare ask him to come sooner than that to see us! But he
might think it strange. I wonder he should not come! there's Christmas,
there's Easter, and he must have holiday then. A whole year, perhaps
more; and not to see him!"
She passed out of the room and descended, her soft skirts of pink-shaded
cashmere sweeping the staircase. You saw her in it the evening she first
came to Lady Verner's. It had lain by almost ever since, and was now
converted into a morning dress. The breakfast-room was empty. Instead of
being behind her time, Lucy found she was before it. Lady Verner had not
risen; she rarely did rise to breakfast; and Decima was in Lionel's
room, busy over some of his things.
Lionel himself was the next to enter. His features broke into a glad
smile when he saw Lucy. A fairer picture, she, Mr. Lionel Verner, than
even that other vision of loveliness which your mind has been pleased to
make its ideal--Sibylla!
"Down first, Lucy!" he cried, shaking hands with her. "You wish me
somewhere, I dare say, getting you up before your time."
"By how much--a few minutes?" she answered, laughing. "It wants twenty
minutes to nine. What would they have said to me at the rectory, had I
come down so late as that?"
"Ah, well, you won't have me here to torment you to-morrow. I have been
a trouble to you, Lucy, take it altogether. You will be glad to see my
back turned."
Lucy shook her head. She looked shyly up at him in her timidity; but she
answered truthfully still.
"I shall be sorry; not glad."
"Sorry! Why should you be sorry, Lucy?" and his voice insensibly assumed
a tone of gentleness. "You cannot have cared for me; for the
companionship of a half-dead fellow, like myself!"
Lucy rallied her courage. "Perhaps it was because you were half dead
that I cared for you," she answered.
"I suppose it was," mused Lionel, aloud, his thoughts cast back to the
past. "I will bid you good-bye now, Lucy, while we are alone. Believe me
that I part from you with regret; that I do heartily thank you for all
you have been to me."
Lucy looked up at him, a yearning, regretful sort of look, and her
eyelashes grew wet. Lionel had her hand in his, and was looking down at
her.
"Lucy, I do think you are sorry to part with me!" he exclaimed.
"Just a little," she answered.
If you, good, grave sir, had been stoical enough to resist the upturned
face, Lionel was not. He bent his lips and left a kiss upon it.
"Keep it until we meet again," he whispered.
Jan came in while they were at breakfast.
"I can't stop a minute," were his words when Decima asked him why he did
not sit down. "I thought I'd run up and say good-bye to Lionel, but I am
wanted in all directions. Mrs. Verner has sent for me, and there are the
regular patients."
"Dr. West attends Mrs. Verner, Jan," said Decima.
"He did," replied Jan. "It is to be myself, now. West is gone."
"Gone!" was the universal echo. And Jan gave an explanation.
It was received in silence. The rumours affecting Dr. West had reached
Deerham Court.
"What is the matter with Mrs. Verner?" asked Lionel. "She appeared as
well as usual when I quitted her last night."
"I don't know that there's anything more the matter with her than
usual," returned Jan, sitting down on a side-table. "She has been going
in some time for apoplexy."
"Oh, Jan!" uttered Lucy.
"So she has, Miss Lucy--as Dr. West has said. _I_ have not attended
her."
"Has she been told it, Jan?"
"Where's the good of telling her?" asked Jan. "She knows it fast
enough. She'd not forego a meal, if she saw the fit coming on before
night. Tynn came round to me, just now, and said his mistress felt
poorly. The Australian mail is in," continued Jan, passing to another
subject.
"Is it?" cried Decima.
Jan nodded.
"I met the postman as I was coming out, and he told me. I suppose
there'll be news from Fred and Sibylla."
After this little item of information, which called the colour into
Lucy's cheek--she best knew why--but which Lionel appeared to listen to
impassively, Jan got off the table--
"Good-bye, Lionel," said he, holding out his hand.
"What's your hurry, Jan?" asked Lionel.
"Ask my patients," responded Jan, "I am off the first thing to Mrs.
Verner, and then shall take my round. I wish you luck, Lionel."
"Thank you, Jan," said Lionel. "Nothing less than the woolsack, of
course."
"My gracious!" said literal Jan. "I say, Lionel, I'd not count upon
that. If only one in a thousand gets to the woolsack, and all the lot
expect it, what an amount of heart-burning must be wasted."
"Right, Jan. Only let me lead my circuit and I shall deem myself lucky."
"How long will it take you before you can accomplish that?" asked Jan.
"Twenty years?"
A shade crossed Lionel's countenance. That he was beginning late in
life, none knew better than he. Jan bade him farewell, and departed for
Verner's Pride.
Lady Verner was down before Lionel went. He intended to take the
quarter-past ten o'clock train.
"When are we to meet again?" she asked, holding her hand in his.
"I will come home to see you soon, mother."
"Soon! I don't like the vague word," returned Lady Verner. "Why cannot
you come for Christmas?"
"Christmas! I shall scarcely have gone."
"You will come, Lionel?"
"Very well, mother. As you wish it, I will."
A crimson flush--a flush of joy--rose to Lucy's countenance. Lionel
happened to have glanced at her. I wonder what he thought of it!
His luggage had gone on, and he walked with a hasty step to the
station. The train came in two minutes after he reached it. Lionel took
his ticket, and stepped into a first-class carriage.
All was ready. The whistle sounded, and the guard had one foot on his
van-step, when a shouting and commotion was heard. "Stop! Stop!" Lionel,
like others, looked out, and beheld the long legs of his brother Jan
come flying along the platform. Before Lionel had well known what was
the matter, or had gathered in the hasty news, Jan had pulled him out of
the carriage, and the train went shrieking on without him.
"There goes my luggage, and here am I and my ticket!" cried Lionel. "You
have done a pretty thing, Jan. _What_ do you say?"
"It's all true, Lionel. She was crying over the letters when I got
there. And pretty well I have raced back to stop your journey. Of course
you will not go away now. He's dead."
"I don't understand yet," gasped Lionel, feeling, however, that he did
understand.
"Not understand," repeated Jan. "It's easy enough. Fred Massingbird's
dead, poor fellow; he died of fever three weeks after they landed; and
you are master of Verner's Pride."