WHO SAVED HER?
The question which heads this chapter was asked by many on that
memorable evening, long after it became known that the remedies and
prompt measures adopted by the doctors had been successful in restoring
Maria St. Clair to consciousness after hours of anxious suspense.
The same question will occur to the reader, to whom, perhaps, the answer
may prove a disappointment.
In a street near the most fashionable part of the West End of London,
stood a large and well-built house, the lower part of which bore the
appearance of a place of business, half-shop, half-office. Above it, in
large letters, appeared the words, "Edward Armstrong, Corn Factor."
The handsome, intellectual-looking man who had so courageously
distinguished himself on the beach at West Cowes, could boast of no
higher position than that of a London tradesman, nor of any ancestors
more honourable than England's yeomen. For nearly two hundred years the
Armstrongs had been known as farmers in the neighbourhood of
Basingstoke. Only one direct branch of the family now remained, an aged
farmer still occupying Meadow Farm, and Edward Armstrong, his only
child.
The boy early gave evidence that he possessed tastes very different to
those required in agricultural pursuits. On this account his mother,
who, like many mothers, wished her son to be more educated than his
parents, strongly encouraged the proposal that he should be sent to
boarding-school. That her boy should become what the country folks call
a "fine scholar," was her greatest ambition.
Whether he obtained that title or not, it is certain that at school he
quickly developed intellectual tastes, and acquired a certain degree of
refinement, which made him quite unfit for association, except in the
corn market, with farmers who talked of their "'ay and their whoats, and
whate." For a few years, however, he remained at home, and acquired
sufficient knowledge of these said "whoats and whate" to be very useful
to him in his present position. After awhile, his father consented to
his going to London and establishing a business.
Notwithstanding Edward Armstrong's taste for reading and other literary
pursuits, he was still a thorough man of business, and had succeeded so
well in his London undertaking, that at the age of thirty-three he found
himself master of a splendid business, a well-furnished house, known and
respected on the Corn Exchange, and still unmarried.
Yet with all his literary and scientific knowledge--which was not a
little--with all his industry, energy, and business habits, he had
strong prejudices consequent upon early education; peculiar notions on
various subjects, and a will, as well as opinions, that would brook no
contradiction.
Much of all this might have been softened down and removed by an early
and suitable marriage.
But one of Edward Armstrong's peculiarities was shown in his
determination, when he did marry, to have a real lady for his wife--in
those days not a very easy matter for a man in trade.
His appearance in the Isle of Wight was caused by having had to attend
the funeral of his mother, and he had been spending a fortnight at his
old home, and making arrangements for a cousin and his wife to manage
the farm, under his father's guidance, when business matters brought him
from Meadow Farm to the Isle of Wight. He had been detained at Cowes for
nearly a week when the alarming events described in the last chapter
made a hero of him, almost against his will.
On reaching his bedroom on that eventful evening, he found doctors and
nurses ready to prescribe and attend to him. He was quickly stripped of
his wet clothes, hurried to bed, and made to take proper remedies in
spite of a great deal of self-willed opposition. Mrs. Lake had secured
the attendance of her own doctor, who divided his time between her best
room, occupied by Maria St. Clair, and that of her deliverer. Mrs. St.
Clair's medical attendant was also present during that terrible time, in
which the gentle spirit of her daughter, Maria, fluttered on the
confines of eternity.
Edward Armstrong, however, could not compose himself to sleep; indeed he
openly refused to take a draught which the doctor had sent to enable him
to do so. Mrs. Lake, therefore, ventured to send for Dr. Freeman, hoping
that he might be better able to influence the refractory patient.
"Doctor," said Edward, as the former entered the room, fully intending
to exert his professional authority, "I cannot and will not sleep till I
hear more favourable accounts of Miss St. Clair. Tell me at once if
there is any hope."
"Hey-day, my friend, your energy gives me strong hopes for your own
complete recovery at all events, but you know well that we are not the
arbiters of life and death; we can only use all the means and trust to a
Higher Power for the result."
"But _is_ there any hope?" persisted Edward.
"Certainly, I cannot deny there is hope," he replied. "Dr. Anson also is
very sanguine respecting the result of our efforts; but, my friend, if
you will not take the sleeping draught, I must insist on your keeping
yourself warm and quiet, or the consequences of your sea-bath will be
more serious than you anticipate; and now I must return to Miss St.
Clair, who at the present moment requires all the attention we can give
her."
"Send me word directly a change for the better takes place," said the
patient anxiously, as Dr. Freeman turned to go.
"I will come myself," he replied, "on condition that you keep quiet and
try to sleep."
"Well," thought the doctor, as with cautious steps he proceeded to the
young lady's room, "the man has not been in this place much more than a
week, his landlady tells me, or I should suppose he was Miss St. Clair's
lover by the way he goes on."
Could he have been aware of Edward Armstrong's thoughts, as he lay with
closed eyes, but mentally awake, he would more readily have understood
the cause of his restless and wakeful anxiety.
He had tried to save the life of a girl to whom he had been strangely
attracted, and after all, though he might mourn over the untimely death
which could blight such a lovely flower, still he had not even a right
to sympathise with her relatives, to whom he was a stranger. They might
certainly appreciate his sympathy, and be grateful for his efforts to
save her, but they could not know anything of the hopes which he had
within the last few days encouraged and fostered.
And what were these hopes? he asked himself. Were they not founded on
impossibilities? Even if Miss Maria St. Clair recovered, and owed her
life to his energy, could he still hope to win her? Would the Honourable
Mrs. St. Clair consider a London tradesman, who owned a shop, a suitable
husband for the descendant of an Earl? for such her youngest daughter
truly was. Would saving her life create a debt of gratitude sufficiently
strong to break down the barriers of social prejudices and social
distinctions? Would the fact of his being able to support a wife in
comfort and luxury tempt the mother to give him her portionless
daughter? He found himself unable to answer these mental queries, and as
he turned from side to side in restless anxiety, poor Mrs. Lake longed
for good news from the best bedroom, as much for the sake of her lodger
as for the friends of the young lady themselves.
When Dr. Freeman entered the bedroom from which he had been called to
Edward Armstrong, he saw at a glance that his colleague, Dr. Anson, was
more hopeful than ever. Every remedy used in cases of drowning had been
tried, but Dr. Anson evidently considered that the continued state of
unconsciousness, in which Maria St. Clair lay, was attributable to
another cause. To conquer the effects of this cause was now his aim; yet
half an hour passed before his efforts were rewarded with even a shadow
of success. Maria St. Clair lay still and nerveless on the bed. From her
pale face the golden curls had been pushed back, and lay scattered in
disordered profusion on the pillow.
Although the summer twilight still lingered, the gas had been lighted to
assist the medical men in their efforts to restore life. Dr. Anson stood
with his fingers on the delicate wrist, and as his colleague entered he
made a sign for him to draw near the bed.
On the opposite side near the head sat Mrs. St. Clair, holding the hand
of her daughter, Helen, in a convulsive grasp. The crisis had come, and
the mother and daughter were awaiting with painful intentness the result
of the doctor's efforts. Minutes passed, but they did not relax these
efforts. Presently Dr. Anson looked up suddenly; his sensitive fingers
had detected a slight vibration at the wrist. For a few moments there
was a pause, a breathless stillness had seemed to foreshadow the
approach of death. It was but the intensity of suspense--every eye
rested on the fair, pale face. Was it fancy? Did the eyelids really
quiver, and the lips tremble? Yes; for as the eyes languidly opened, the
lips parted and a breath like a sigh gave evidence of returning life.
Mrs. St. Clair rose hastily and clung to her married daughter, while the
doctor quickly administered a stimulant which, to his great joy, the
patient was able to swallow. Gradually the feeble breath became more
regular, the eyes more intelligent, and a faint colour overspread the
cheek. Again the doctor offered the stimulant, and this time it was
taken more easily, and the patient made an effort to speak.
"Mamma, are you here?" were the faint, feeble words.
"Yes, darling," said Mrs. St. Clair, coming round to the other side of
the bed with Mrs. Herbert, "and Helen is here too."
"Where is little Charlie?"
"Safe in bed and asleep," was the reply.
"Mamma, who saved us?" she asked, after a pause.
"You and Charlie owe your lives, under God, to a stranger who is lodging
here with Mrs. Lake," replied her mother.
"Mamma, let me thank him. Where is he?"
"In bed, and I hope asleep," exclaimed Dr. Freeman; "and, my dear young
lady, we must get you to sleep quickly, too, or there is no answering
for the consequences. You shall see our friend to-morrow and thank him
yourself."
Maria St. Clair closed her eyes in token of obedience; readily she took
what the medical men prescribed, and after awhile, with many cautions to
the anxious mother, the gentlemen took their leave. On the way
downstairs Dr. Freeman remarked, "That poor girl was not long enough in
the water to so completely deprive her of consciousness. I believe she
fainted from terror when she found herself falling."
"I have no doubt of it," replied Dr. Anson. "I know that Maria has
always had a natural dread of the water, and it was injudicious to
persuade her to enter a boat under any but absolute necessity. Had she
not recovered, her death would have been mainly attributable to the
shock received by the nervous system. Are you going to remain here
longer?" he asked, as Dr. Freeman stopped and held out his hand.
"Only to see my other patient."
"Is he all right?" was the next question.
"I hope he will be after the draught I am going to give him," replied
Dr. Freeman; "he has had a narrow escape with life, but it is a mercy he
was there at all. No one could have acted more promptly and courageously
than he did."
"I shall look in again on my patient this evening," said Dr. Anson as
they shook hands. "If no feverish symptoms supervene we shall soon have
the young lady quite well."
"There is more danger of fever in this case," thought the doctor, as he
stood by Edward Armstrong's bed with his fingers on his pulse a few
minutes later, describing what had occurred, and telling him of Miss St.
Clair's hopeful condition.
The effect, however, of this information, and the remedy which he did
not now refuse, were so beneficial that in less than half an hour after
the doctor left him to the care of Mrs. Lake, he was sleeping calmly.
Yet potent as the medicine might be, it was not powerful enough to keep
Edward Armstrong asleep all night. More than once he awoke, and finding
Mrs. Lake watching in his room on the last occasion, he anxiously
inquired for Miss St. Clair.
"Sleeping sweetly, sir, thank God," was the reply. "I've just been into
the room, and glad enough I am that the ladies are able to take some
rest. I only came in here to see if you were all right; and now I'm
going to take my place in Miss St. Clair's room, while they go and lie
down. Oh, sir, they're both so thankful to you for what you did last
night. But I'm not going to have you waking up and losing your rest;
whatever am I about, chattering like this?" And she cautiously drew the
curtains closer to shut out the early summer daylight.
But Edward was too much under the effects of his draught to keep awake
long. He had understood sufficiently from Mrs. Lake's speech that Miss
St. Clair was in no danger, and even before she had ceased talking he
fell asleep.
The morning sun, however, roused him, as he supposed, at his usual hour,
and he rose quite refreshed, and feeling very little the worse for his
exploits of the preceding evening.
Dressing quickly, he descended to his sitting-room and found to his
surprise that the clock had struck nine.
On the mantelpiece lay his watch, which had stopped as he plunged into
the water, and the hands pointed to half-past seven. Taking it up to set
it to the right time, he walked to the window and looked out across the
garden to the spot which had so nearly proved fatal to himself as well
as to another, and shuddered as he thought of what might have been if
his efforts had proved unsuccessful.
While thus reflecting, Mrs. Lake entered with his breakfast.
"Good morning, sir," she said, as he turned to greet her; "I'm that glad
to see you downstairs again, and all right, I hardly know what to say.
But do you really feel quite well, sir?" she added hastily, "for you're
looking pale."
"I'm all right," he replied, smiling, "or at least I shall be after
breakfast, I hope, for that physic stuff has made my head ache."
"I daresay it has, sir; them sleeping draughts always do, but you'll be
quite well after a cup of coffee."
Edward Armstrong seated himself, nothing loth, while his landlady
continued to remain in the room by waiting upon him or dusting here and
there, or rearranging different articles on the table, in hopes of being
questioned. Her hopes were soon realised, for her lodger asked, "How is
the young lady this morning, Mrs. Lake?"
"Oh! doing nicely, sir, and so is Master Charlie; he slept in my room
last night, and he's been awake I can't tell how long, asking heaps of
questions about the kind gentleman that took him and dear aunty out of
the water--and the ladies, sir, they've been asking for you, and they do
say Miss Maria is quite herself again this morning, and that she's going
to get up presently."
Mrs. Lake was interrupted by a tap at the door, and without waiting for
a reply, it was opened, and Dr. Anson, the medical attendant of Mrs. St.
Clair, entered the room.
"Yes, it is my friend Edward Armstrong," he exclaimed, as the gentleman
he addressed rose with surprise to receive his visitor. "I only learnt
the name of our hero from Dr. Freeman this morning; I had no idea that
the gentleman whose intrepidity and courage is the talk of the place was
the son of my good friend, Farmer Armstrong."
Edward smiled as he shook hands with the friend whom he had known from a
boy, but there was a languor in his movements, and a pallor on the
cheeks, very unusual in the active man of business, which the doctor's
quick eye soon detected.
"Are you feeling any ill effects from your exertions last evening?" he
asked.
"No," was the reply; "unless a feeling of laziness and disinclination to
move may be ranked among ill effects."
"Well, not exactly," said Dr. Anson, "although what you complain of is
no doubt caused by exhaustion and excitement. At all events, you must
extend your holiday and rest here for a day or two longer; such a
sea-bath as yours produces effects which are not so easily got over."
At this moment the door was pushed open slightly, and through the
opening appeared a rosy face, brown curls, and a pair of dark eyes which
looked with curiosity at the two gentlemen.
"Ah, Charlie," said the doctor, "is that you? Come in and say how d'ye
do to the gentleman that fished you out of the water yesterday."
Little Charlie Herbert boldly advanced, and standing before Mr.
Armstrong held out his chubby hand and said, "Thank 'oo for saving me
from being drowned."
Edward lifted the boy on his knee and kissed him, while the doctor
asked--
"Who sent you here, Charlie?"
"Mrs. Lake," he replied, "and I've said what she told me to say to the
gentleman."
The doctor smiled as he rose, and shaking hands with his friend he
said--
"I must leave you now to pay my visit upstairs. Edward, keep the boy
here for awhile; you cannot have better company."