WILLIAM CRAWFORD'S NIGHTMARE.
"Hetty," said Alfred Layard to his sister at breakfast that same
morning, "you know I am not a discontented man."
"Indeed, I know that very well, Alfred. See how you put up with me!"
"Hetty," said he severely, "in this house jokes are _my_ prerogative."
"I am not joking in the least, Alfred. I know I am not anything like
as good as I ought to be to you. But I'll try to be better in future,
Alfred. Indeed I will!"
Her tone was full of sorrow.
"Hetty," said he sternly, "in this house pathos is _my_ prerogative
also. Mind what you're about. If you make me laugh or yourself cry you
will oblige me to do something I should be extremely loath to do."
"And what is that?" she asked, struggling to repress a smile.
"Hold my tongue. Bad as my loquacity is, my silence would be a
thousand times worse. How would you like me to sit at the table and
only point at the things I wanted? Suppose there was some one here,
how would you like me to make a motion for a slate, and write on it
with a squeaking pencil, 'Hetty, your hair is down!' You would
not like it a bit. No, Hetty; I was not thinking of you when I
said I was not a discontented man. I was thinking of Crawford, our
landlord-tenant."
"Of Mr. Crawford! O, what were you thinking of him?"
"I was thinking that I am not too well satisfied with our arrangements
about this house. I fancy I am almost sorry I entered into the
agreement at all."
"But why? Surely we are saving money: twenty pounds a year or more by
the house, and Mr. Crawford is no trouble, or next to none."
"He's very little trouble in the house, I own. But he troubles me in
my mind. There is something about the man I don't like. I can't tell
you for certain what it is, but I think it is because he is a coward."
"A coward, Alfred! A coward! Good gracious! is it the man who saved
Mrs. Crawford from the burning house at the risk of his own life?
Don't you think you are very unjust?"
"Perhaps. But for goodness' sake, don't say anything about Bayard!"
"It was you who called him a Bayard."
"I don't think it was; and if it was, I meant it sarcastically. That
man is in good bodily health, and yet he is afraid of something or
some one. Now, when a man in good bodily health goes about in fear you
may be certain he has good cause for being afraid, and you may be
equally sure that whatever he is afraid of is not to his credit."
Layard rose to go. Freddie was in the kitchen with Mrs. Grainger.
"Isn't a good deal of, or all, this fancy?" asked Hetty, as she too
rose.
"It may be fancy that he is afraid of something discreditable; but I
am certain he is afraid."
"How can you tell that?" asked the girl, in incredulous wonder.
"By his eyes and the motion of his hands. That man could not for a
thousand pounds sit in a room the door of which had opened at his back
without turning round."
"Upon my word, you are growing quite fanciful, Alfred. And did you
notice that he was very much afraid of us?" she said in a bantering
tone.
"He is afraid of every one until he is assured of what that person
is."
"Of Mrs. Grainger and me, for instance?"
"Yes, he would be afraid of you until he saw your face and discovered
who you were."
"Alfred, I never felt so proud in all my life before. To think that a
strong man like him should go about shaking in his shoes at sight of
me is quite romantic. I must cultivate all kinds of dark and
forbidding looks. I feel that I could act the bravo if I only had a
cloak and a dagger and the divided skirt."
"Well, good-morning, Hetty. I am glad you will have no chance of
terrifying him for a fortnight, anyway;" and off he went.
"That brother of mine," thought the girl, as she prepared to remove
the breakfast-things, "is the very best man in the world. He is the
most kind-hearted and generous fellow that ever breathed. But with
respect to this Mr. Crawford, he has some strange prejudice which I
cannot understand. I never knew him absolutely dislike a man before.
He has not gone so far as to say that he absolutely dislikes him, but
I feel sure he does."
As soon as the breakfast-things were removed and washed up, it was
time to go out on the wharf and hand Freddie to Bramwell. This was
now so well-established a custom that it created little excitement
even in Freddie's mind. At about half-past ten Bramwell pushed the
floating-stage across the bay, went over, said a few words to Hetty,
took the boy, and returned with him. Then he hauled the stage back to
its moorings on the Ait, put Freddie into the timber-yard, where Frank
was already, fastened the gate, and went to his work in his study. At
half-past two he restored the boy to Hetty. The Layards breakfasted
late, and had not their midday meal till three. For the convenience of
the children, Bramwell adopted the same hour for his midday meal.
"Mr. Bramwell," said Hetty that day as she handed the boy to him, "I
am sure I do not know how we are to allow this to continue longer.
Freddie goes over to you every day, and you will not let Frank come
over to us once even. I am afraid either of us is selfish."
"Selfish? How, selfish?" He smiled as he looked up from the stage into
the girl's face.
"Well, we seem to give you all the trouble of these two boys, which
makes us seem selfish in one way, and you seem to wish to take all the
trouble of them, which is selfish in another way. I am afraid we are
both very bad. I give you one more chance," she said, shaking a
warning finger at him. "To-morrow I am going to a toy-shop a little
bit down the Welford Road, and I intend to take Freddie with me to buy
him a Noah's ark in place of the one he lost----"
"The cat flew away with it and ate the elephant and lion," said
Freddie.
"And, of course, Freddie can't go over----"
"Not even after dinner?" cried the boy.
"No. Nor must you go over again unless Frank is allowed to come with
us to the toy-shop."
"I'll bring him," said the boy confidently. "Frank will come with me.
We'll play Frank is a canal boat, and that I'm a horse, and I'll tow
him all the way."
"But if his father won't give him leave?" said Hetty.
"O, he'll come!" said Freddie, with decision. "Frank always plays what
I ask him. And will you get a Noah's ark for Frank too, Aunt Hetty?"
"Of course. Mr. Bramwell, you will let the child come? You will, won't
you?" She held both her hands out to him pleadingly.
His eyes were still upon her face. She looked so bright and strong and
full of spirits, it appeared as though the touch of her hand upon his
boy must benefit the child. He hesitated for a moment, and said, "Very
well, and thank you heartily, Miss Layard," and so the interview
ended.
Bramwell carried the boy along the stage and put him into the yard,
where Frank was impatiently waiting. Then he came back, drew the stage
to its position alongside the islet, and moored it to the ring in the
ground. After this he went back to the cottage and buried himself in
his work. Unless something unusual occurred in the yard he might count
on three-and-a-half uninterrupted hours. From where he sat he could
hear the voices of the children at play. If anything went amiss he
would be at once apprised by his ears.
As Hetty got into the small back hall from which the door opened on
the quay there was a sound at the front-door. A key had been thrust
into the latch and was being turned.
"Alfred coming back for something he has forgotten," thought Hetty,
hurrying to meet him.
The door swung open and Mr. William Crawford pulled out his key, took
off his hat, and bowed.
Hetty stepped back with an exclamation of surprise.
"You are surprised to see me, Miss Layard. Of course you are
surprised; but I hope you are not displeased?"
He bowed with grave deference to her.
"Displeased?" she said, with a gallant attempt at a smile. "O dear,
no! Why should I be displeased? When I heard the key in the door I
made sure it was my brother coming back for something he had
forgotten; and you know I had no reason to expect you." She now smiled
without effort. She had recovered self-possession. "Will you come in
here, or would you prefer going to your own rooms?"
"I do not want to go to my own lair to-day, Miss Layard," he said, as
he followed her into their own sitting-room. "In fact, I am here by
the merest accident, and I do not know that you will not laugh at me
when I tell you why." He thought, "By Jove! what a contrast to some
one in Singleton Terrace, Richmond! She is much more lovely than I
thought her. I never saw her look so beautiful. Exquisite, exquisite
Hetty!"
"Why do you think I shall laugh?" she asked.
"Because I came here owing to a dream I had last night. A most
horrible dream! I am not superstitious, but this dream impressed me."
Crawford did not act on the principle that all women are alike. He
always considered every woman who interested him as a being the like
of whom he had never met before, one requiring special study and
special treatment. When he wooed his wife he always kept before him
the idea that she was tender and affectionate. Of Hetty he said to
himself, "She is imaginative and ardent."
"A dream? It must have been a very remarkable dream that made you come
so far."
"Yes, a most remarkable and unpleasant dream. I thought in my sleep
that some one--I knew not whom at first--had wandered out of the house
through the door on the Bay by night, and, turning to the left, went
near the open door of that flooded ice-house. There are two doorways
to the ice-house and no door. I thought I was standing at the further
one from this. The figure drew close to the nearer doorway, and I saw
that the wanderer was a somnambulist, and was quite unaware of any
danger. I thought I tried to cry out, but could not utter a sound. I
thought I tried to rush forward, but could not move. I was half mad
with terror, for as the figure drew near me I recognised who it was.
The figure kept on until it reached the raised threshold of the
ice-house. It stepped upon the sill of the doorway, and all at once I
heard a scream and a splash; and I looked in and saw the figure
struggling in the water. I strove with all my might to wrest myself
free from the leaden weights that held my feet. The face of the figure
was turned up to me, and I could see the golden hair and the lovely
cheek and the wonderful blue eyes, and I heard a voice, the sweetest
and dearest voice I ever heard, cry out in agony, 'Save me! Save me!
O, Mr. Crawford, won't you try to save me?' and I wrenched and
struggled, and at last I tore myself free, and with a great shout I
awoke, terrified and trembling, and in a cold perspiration. And I
could not sleep again."
"What a horrible dream!" cried the girl, with blanched face, and eyes
wide open with dismay.
"It was terrible, indeed. But, Miss Layard, all I have told you was to
me nothing compared with what I have yet to tell."
She drew back trembling, and feeling faint.
"Do you know who the drowning person that I could not succour was?"
"No," whispered the girl.
"You."
"I?"
"Yes; you!"
The girl drew back another pace, and shuddered; she seemed about to
faint.
"It was your face I saw, and you were in peril of death! and I--_I_
was looking on and could not help you. Great heavens! fancy my finding
you in want of aid in my view, and I not able to help you! All the
horrible dreams of my life put together would not equal the anguish,
the insupportable agony, of that."
He took out his handkerchief, breathed heavily--as though the memory
of his nightmare was almost as bad as the nightmare itself--and then
wiped his forehead laboriously with the handkerchief. After this he
sat for a while, leaning back in his chair with a hand resting on each
knee, as though to recover himself. In a few seconds he rose with the
affectation of an affected briskness, intended to convey that he was
struggling against emotions that overcame him. He said, with a wan
smile:
"So I came straight here to have doors put on those hateful doorways.
I knew you would laugh at me."
"Indeed, I do not laugh at you! That dream was enough to upset any
one."
He shook his head, conveying by the shaking of his head and the
expression of his face the idea that, great as might be her power of
realising his sufferings, they were infinitely greater than she could
imagine.
Then he shook the whole of his body to rouse himself out of his
lethargy, and establish himself in her mind as a man of action. He
begged of her to get him a piece of string, and when she had found him
some he asked her to favour him by accompanying him to the ice-house,
and aid him in taking measurements for the doors to block up the
yawning death traps, as he called the doorways.
He could not reach the lintel of the doors without something on which
to stand. He asked her to hold the string for him till he came back,
and went to the kitchen and fetched a chair. He mounted on the chair,
and asked her to draw the string taut to the ground, and knot the
point at which the string touched the raised threshold.
"There were double doors here once, but single doors will do now," he
said.
When he had completed his measurement he said:
"I shall go from this to the carpenter and leave orders for the doors.
I shall come back in a week to see them put up."
For a few minutes he seemed to fall into a profound reverie, and then,
waking up all at once, looked at her with eyes full of terror, and,
pointing into the flooded ice-house said hoarsely:
"Hetty, it was in there I saw you drowning! Do you know what that
sight meant to me, girl?" He bent close to her ear and answered his
own question in a whisper:
"Madness!"
Then, without another word, he hurried away, leaving her amazed,
breathless, not knowing what to think of him, and all he had been
saying, and not able to think of anything else.