The Pillars of the House; Or, Under Wode, Under Rode, Vol. 1 (of 2)

by Charlotte M. Yonge

  CHAPTER XVII.

  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 dailywork, lifting a weight of responsibility from his young partner'sshoulders.

  The cough mended too, but did not entirely cease; and when June camein with an unusual access of summer heat, there were those who felt itas trying as the sharp wind had been. One evening, when the home partyhad been sitting in the garden, and the fall of the dew sent Cherryindoors, Felix, as usual, gave her his arm, and lifted her step bystep up the stairs. She felt, all over her frame, that what used to bealmost nothing to the boy was a severe exertion to the man.

  'You should not do it!' she said, as they both stood resting at thetop, he leaning back against the wall, and wiping his forehead, wherethe 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. Iwish 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 quietassent, his first intimation that he believed himself unwell! Shekept absolute silence. She could not have uttered her terrors for tenthousand worlds.

  She was on her couch under the apple-tree, in the late afternoon,trying to force her thoughts out of miserable possibilities, when shesaw Felix come out of the house, flushed, heated, dusty, tired; butsomehow she gathered hope from his air, as he threw himself down on thegrass by her side, saying, 'Mr. Froggatt sent me out to cool.'

  'Stella, dear,' to the little one, who had her story-book at hand, 'runand ask Sibby to bring Felix out a cup of tea.' Then she tried to guessat his face, but durst not look at him fully. 'Are you very tired?'

  'Rather! That place was a mere oven of roaring! Well, Cherry,' pullingoff his neck-tie, and settling himself, with an elbow on her couch, andhis back against the tree, 'there's nothing amiss with my lungs.'

  She shuddered all over, and almost bounded; then put her hand tenderlyon his shoulder.

  'Your doctor is a clever man, I can see,' he continued. 'He seemed toguess about me directly. He sounded my chest, and says it is all rightnow, but that there had been a little damage; he thought the long coughI 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 shakeoff this remnant of cough, and get into condition before the winter.'

  Cherry sighed again at the white hand, and the net-work of blue veinson 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 thestruggle. 'I've brought home a detestable bottle of cod-liver oil onthe spot, and am to take to all the good living I can swallow. Won'tthat delight Mr. Froggatt's good old soul? Then the worst of it is thatI 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 hadno turn for eating, insisted on this sea plan: but he laughed me toscorn when I asked whether I might not get a room at Dearport, and runbackwards and forwards. "Ay," he said, "you have a good deal on yourmind;" 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 notthe 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 thematter with me but overwork and harass--' Something that did not amountto _and_ finished the sentence.

  'O Felix, I know, I have felt,' she said, the tears standing in hereyes, and the colour rushing into her face at this first venture.

  'Have you--little foolish thing?' he answered, but shifting hand andelbow so that nothing of his face could be seen but a bit of brow andtemple, and that was crimson to the roots of his hair. 'Don't take itfor 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 foolishhope I had no right to indulge. Eh, Cherry!' as she made a littlesound, 'tell me one thing; was it all imagination and folly thatshe--she could have--liked me?' He bent his head with almost as muchsuppressed emotion as if it had been a matter of present hope.

  'Certainly not,' said Cherry. 'She liked your--your attentions; and Ithought sometimes you were quite pulling her up to your level. If noone else--'

  'I did not imagine it was visible,' he interrupted. 'I tried to be veryguarded, 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! Ifancied that there was response enough to what seems to have shown inspite 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 reallyknew; 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 wayon you. No wonder it was too much for you!'

  'It is odd,' mused Felix, 'how this one dream has seemed to take allthe heart and soul out of one; there seemed no elasticity to meet otherthings. I must say all this doctor's advice has been seeming an amazingamount of trouble for what is not very well worth having in the end.'

  'O Felix, Felix you will--'

  'My Cherie, you don't think I'd drop off the coach while you are in itif I can help it, to say nothing of the rest! I suppose every one hassomething of the sort in his turn, and I'll take good care not to belet in for it again. Thank you, Cherry,' he added presently, and nowlooking at her, 'I am very glad to have had this out with you. I thinkI can make a fresh start now. What, silly little thing! crying, when Ithought 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. 'Youhave 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 liveto 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 veryfresh' ('Five months--poor Felix!' thought she), 'and there is thecontinual pain of knowing how wretched those people make the poorchild. When she is happier, perhaps the shade will lighten. Don't beafraid, you dear little thing' (he was answering her piteous eyes),'there's plenty of time to recover it. I suppose I am really very youngstill.'

  'Not quite three and twenty! Oh, Felix! I am sure God will give youback happiness, you are so good and patient! Where will you go, andwhen?'

  'How I wish you could go with me! Dr. Lee said he should like to sendme to Switzerland; but as he might as well have said the moon, he saidany sea place would do. Rest and good air are all that signifies; so Ithought of Ewmouth, and then I might see Vale Leston again. I believeyou 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 Sibbybrought 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 areto 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 wassoon installed in the only basket-chair that would hold him, and wasprofessing his relief and satisfaction that Mr. Underwood had been wiseenough to take advice at last. He had better go any day, the sooner thebetter; and even his desire to take the newspaper work with him wouldhave been overruled, but for the simple fact that there was nobody elsecapable of it, in the present state of Mr. Froggatt's eyes.

  Alda had been lying down in her own room. Her cup of tea--aninstitution that for any one else Wilmet would have deemed sinfulwaste--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 notchoose to hear or attend to her whims, she came down full of wrath andindignation, as soon as she saw that Cherry was left alone under hertree, and Wilmet coming out to her with the step of one who was gladher day's work was over.

  'Really, Sibby's inattention was shameful! Not choosing to bring thetea 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 anyaccount. I'm sure I don't know why the tea was so early, either. Cherryordered 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 askinganxiously, 'Is he so very tired? Where is he? I was afraid he would beknocked up, he looked so pale when he set off.'

  'He is gone to write out his notes,' said Cherry; 'I think he is restednow. And, Mettie,' she added, knowing that he had rather not have tobegin 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, andgo away for a change.'

  'Just as I say,' exclaimed Alda; 'no one can be well, living in such ahole! When are we to go?'

  'My dear Alda,' said Wilmet, 'you forget. No one can possibly go butFelix; and it will be hard enough to manage for him.'

  'Then I do think it is very selfish in him,' said Alda, 'when every oneof us wants change! I'm as languid as possible; and look at Cherry.'

  Felix selfish! Even Wilmet could not stand that, and answered with hermost severely gentle manner, 'Nothing but necessity will induce Felixto 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 constitutioninstead of the heart, and moreover never was troubled with misgivingsand heart-sinkings for the future. So, as for a needful and infalliblecure, she set herself to arrange, writing again to Abednego Tripp,the Vale Leston clerk, whose possession of a market boat kept himconversant with Ewmouth, and who recommended rooms in the house of aformer servant at the Rectory who had married a sailor.

  Felix only waited to put his business in train, and make over Theodoreto the care of Clement, who had just come home from Cambridge. Thequantity of work and bustle had not been beneficial, and his sistersdid not feel at all happy in sending him off by himself; while Aldawas inclined to think the time a particularly cruel one, just as allthe most unquiet spirits of the household would be coming home for theholidays, and his authority would be most wanted.

  However, Wilmet was free first of all, and she was a more efficientguardian of the peace than ever Felix could be downstairs. Lance wasto come on the evening of the 26th of June, after the examination forthe exhibition, which, as he had told every one, he was quite sure notto gain. And then what was to be done with him, small and boyish as hestill was?

  The question was sighed over on that day by the three sisters asthey sat endeavouring to be cool, and looking out at the glowingstreet where the few passengers seemed to be crawling like flies on awindow-pane.

  Presently a rather hesitating knock at the door was followed by theentrance of Mr. Froggatt, ushering in no other than Mr. Harewood.

  In the moment of shaking hands, Cherry had foreboded enough to set herpulses 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 talkingof going? Mr. Harewood saying something about trains? She made agreat effort to clear her senses, and the first thing she reallydistinguished was Wilmet saying, 'Thank you, I will put a few thingstogether.'

  Then she hurried away, and Cherry found Mr. Froggatt standing over her,saying kindly, 'Dear Miss Geraldine, don't be alarmed. There is oftenno bad result.'

  'How was it? I don't understand,' said Alda.

  Mr. Harewood owned himself not perfectly informed, but he feared thetrouble had been in great part occasioned by his own poor boy William'scarelessness. The two boys had strolled out the evening before, alongthe bank of the river, and had compared the copies of verses whichwere to be shown up at the examination. Afterwards they had bathed,and Will had left his verses meantime in the hollow of a tree, neverremembering them till he found himself in his place in the Cathedral onthe very morning of the examination. When he came out, not only did hisduties as senior chorister chain him to the spot, but he had put off tothe last moment the fair copying of his algebraic exercises, and hischance of the exhibition was as good as lost (the very loop-hole thatRobina had predicted his carelessness would make), had not Lance, whosepreparations 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'sdesk just in time for them to be shown up. He had been absent abouttwenty minutes, and had scarcely been missed; but when his turn came,a few moments later, to bring his papers to the examiners, as soon ashe stood up, he staggered, gazed round, cried out, and fell forwardon his desk insensible. A doctor, who like Mr. Harewood himself hadbeen 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 hourlater, the librarian set off to fetch his sister, had there been anysign 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 shewould call Wilmet, which made Cherry burst out with 'Don't, don't!' andshudder the more with tearless sobs; but happily, Clement coming down,fetched her remedies, and did more by whispering a few kind words ofhope and comfort.

  He was going with Wilmet, who was as usual the self-possessed one; andwhile passively allowing Mr. Froggatt to give her biscuits and evenwine, she left her few parting directions. 'Alda, take care of themall.--Stella, try to keep Tedo happy.--Cherry, don't give way and fancythings.--Above all, don't write to Felix! He must not be hurried homewithout necessity. I could telegraph if there was--' and there hersteady voice faltered, she drew down her veil and turned to walk to thestation, Clement carrying her bag, and Mr. Froggatt accompanying themto the train.

  Very little was said on the way, before they reached the town whoselast associations were so joyous. Mr. Harewood would have given Wilmethis arm, dreading the tidings that might meet her; but she was walkingstraight on, with head erect, as though neither needing nor seekingsupport.

  They reached the low wicket-door of the Bailey, and as they entered thelittle court and passed the window, they saw that people were stillstanding about the bed in the corner. Everything was open, to admitsuch air as might stir that sultry heat. Some one came to the door, andsaid, 'No change.'

  Then Wilmet and Clement advance
d to the narrow old dark oak bed,and Mrs. Harewood made way for them, fresh tears starting at theirpresence. There he lay, their bright agile boy, with eyes half closedand fixed, and circled half way down his cheeks with livid purple, likebruises, the purple lips emitting a heavy breath, his crest of sunnyhair hanging dank with the melting of the ice on his head.

  Clement's lips trembled, and he dropped on his knees, hiding hisface and stifling his sobs in his hands. Wilmet, after looking forpermission to a gentleman at the foot of the bed, whom she took for thedoctor, laid her hand on the helpless fingers, and bent to kiss thebrow, saying softly and steadily, 'Lance, dear Lancey!'

  The eyelids moved, the hand closed, there was a struggling stifledutterance: '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. Youwill soon be better.'

  He clung to her, as if blindly struggling with some terribleoppression, and the effort ended in violent sickness, exhausting himinto unconsciousness again; but just then the real doctor came in,having been summoned by a message at the first symptom of change fromthe state of stupor. At the same time the Cathedral bell began toring for evening prayer, and Lance at once was roused to endeavour toobey it, and when he was gently held back, murmured on about findingthe places, and seeing Bill was not late. Mr. Harewood had to go, butwhispered that he would ask the prayers of the congregation. It wascomfortable to remember that Lance was thought of there, when, as thedeep roll of the organ vibrated round the building, psalm, chant,anthem, and response came thronging thick and confusedly on thoseunconscious lips.

  Dr. Manby, however, told Wilmet not to be too much alarmed at thisdelirium, for the most immediate danger had passed when the lethargyhad given way, and that though fever was probably setting in, therewas fair hope that so healthy a boy would be able to struggle throughit without permanent harm. There was a gentleness and consideration inhis manner quite new to her after her dealings with Mr. Rugg, and shefelt 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 tobe sent for; and it was a great lightening of present fear to be toldthat there was now no need for haste, and that any change for the worsewould give full time to bring him; moreover, that new faces were to beavoided. Should a nurse be sent from the hospital? Wilmet raised hersteady sensible eyes, and said she could manage, she was well used tonursing.

  'I see you are,' he answered, well satisfied, since there were besidesthe Precentor's housekeeper, who was used to act as matron to theboarding choir-boys, and apparently an unlimited power of Harewoods.

  As to the place, Lance had at first been carried to his own bed, andeven if there had been a regular infirmary, he was in no state to bearbeing moved. The other boys' goods had been removed, and they all weregoing home that evening; so that it was as cool and as quiet a placeas could be had, since there was no doubt that the sounds from theCathedral would be hushed for so critical a case.

  Indeed, just as Dr. Manby had said this, both the Dean and thePrecentor were seen coming through the Bailey on the way out of churchto ask after the patient; and the former promised Wilmet that the bellsand organ should both be silenced, and that the daily service should bein the Lady Chapel.

  It appeared there had been little but the instrumental music thatevening, and strangers who had heard the praises of the Minsterhamchoir must have been disappointed; for the psalms so entirely overcamethe senior chorister that he could do nothing but sob, and at last wasfain to stuff half the sleeve of his surplice into his mouth to hindera howl such as the least of the boys actually burst out with. Most ofthe other lads were far past singing, and even two or three of themen; and such voices as did uplift themselves were none of the best orclearest.

  That poor senior chorister--he crept back after his father into theroom. It was his first entrance, for he had been kept all day at theexamination, with what power of attention may be guessed; and whensome half-recognition of him set the sufferer off into wanderingsthat showed habitual vigilance over his carelessness, he was so muchdistressed that he rushed out, and was heard crying so piteously inthe court, that his mother went out to hush and comfort him. Neverstrong, the shock, anxiety, and exertion had so worn her out, that herfamily would not let her come back; but their attention to the nursesdid not relax--they were viewed as guests both by Mr. Beccles andthe Harewoods; and when it was found that neither would come away toanother house to dine, a little table was prepared in the court, closeto the door, and the sister and brother, coaxed one by one, and made toeat and drink; while, as Clement could not bear to go home, a note waswritten, the delivery of which to the sisters Mr. Beccles undertook tosecure. All the evening, Mr. Harewood or his eldest son, the engineercaptain, the same whom Wilmet had taken for the doctor, sat at theother end of the room; while Lance lay, sometimes babbling school tasksmixed with anthems and hymns, sometimes in something between sleep andtorpor, 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 oakbeds 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 openinginto both, which the under-master had vacated, and where the matroninstalled Miss Underwood's little bag.

  Clement was a good deal impressed with the place, in the grand quietshadow of the old Cathedral; and the room itself told much of hisbrother's daily life, in his own little section of it. The deepwindow-seat and old oak chest were loaded with piles of 'Punch,' sheetsof music, school-books, and grotesque sketches; bat, hockey-stick, andfishing-rod were in the corner; trencher cap and little black gownhung on their peg on the white-washed walls, and pinned beside themlists of the week's music, school-work, &c. In the corner by the presswas a little rough deal table, covered with an old white shawl thatClement remembered as his mother's; and on it lay Lance's old brownBible, 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 nextabove, an illumination of Cherry's, 'The joy of the Lord is yourstrength;' while above was a little print of the Good Shepherd. Norwas 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 forprivate 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 typethan were Lance's; and perhaps there was some repentance for harshjudgment in his spirit as he knelt on by that little table long afterMr. Harewood, near midnight, had read a few prayers and gone to hishouse.

  When Clement stood up, his sister made him lie down, as well as hislong legs would permit, on one of the other beds, where he soon fellasleep; while she sat on, where she could see the spire rising aloftinto the pale blue of the summer night's sky, while the perfectstillness was only broken by the quarterly chiming of the clock,re-echoed from its fellow in the town-hall. Every window and doorwas open, but the air was heated and oppressive till the early dewycoolness before dawn crept in, making her bend over Lance to cover himless slightly. Then she met his eyes, heavy and blood-shot, but withhimself 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, thedistressing sickness returned in full force, and in the midst thegasping cry, 'My head, my head!'

  'Some more ice, Clem,' said Wilmet; but Clement looked up from theice-pail in despair, for all was melted; and she could only steephandkerchiefs in the water and in eau-de-cologne, and lay them on thehead, while Clement wondered if he could find a shop; but where wasthe 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 forsome more!'

  'I thought you must want some by this time. I have a little ice-machinefor Indian use,' he added, as Clement looked at him like a sort ofwizard.

  He was small, sandy, and freckled after the Harewood fashion, andwas besides dried up by Eastern suns; but one who brought suchsuccour could not fail to be half celestial in the sister's eyes; andas he said, 'You are getting better,' her response was fervent inits quietness, though poor Lance, conscious only of oppression andsuffering, merely replied with a groan, and seemed to be dozing againinto torpor in the relief the ice had given.

  Clement and Captain Harewood besought Wilmet to rest--the latterdeclaring 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 enoughof wakeful slumber to strengthen her for the heat of the day, when thefever ran high, and all the most trying symptoms returned.

  The doctor continued to forbid despondency, building much on thelucid interval in the cool of the morning, and ascribing much of theexcitement of brain to the excessive, almost despairing, study thatLance had been attempting in the last weeks before the examination.There had, too, been a concert given by one of the great ladies of theClose, for which there had been a good deal of practice, harassed bycertain amateur humours; and the constant repetition of one poor littleshallow song in the delirious murmur greatly pained the Precentor, andmade him indulge in murmurs that boded ill to the ladies' chances withthe choir-boys. The sultry weather was likewise a great enemy, andcould hardly be mitigated by the continual fanning kept up chiefly bypoor Bill Harewood, who seemed to have no comfort except in working thefan till he was ready to drop, and his brother or Clement took it fromhim.

  Mrs. Harewood was quite knocked up, and her daughters were curiouslyinefficient people. Their father came and went all day; but theserviceable person was the engineer, with his experience ofsun-strokes, his devices for coolness, and his cheerful words, stillingthe torrent of rambling restlessness, so that Wilmet depended upon himas much as on the doctor himself.

  On Saturday, the third day of the fever, which had rather increasedthan diminished, Wilmet begged Clement to go home for the night, tocarry a report to the sisters, and fetch some things she wanted. Helingered, grieving and reluctant; while the heated atmosphere was likea solid weight on the sufferer, who lay, now and then murmuring somedistressed phrase, as though labouring with some forgotten task; andWilmet shunned touching the pulse again lest the reckoning should behigher than the last, and strove to construct a message conveying thehope that seemed to faint in the burthen of the day, insisting, aboveall, that guarded accounts should be sent to Felix, keeping carefullyto 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 heplied the fan, with heat-drops on his brow; 'a thunderstorm, which willprove the best doctor. Take care, you will miss the train.'

  Clement stooped to kiss the unconscious face, as though he had neverprized his little brother before, and as some association of the touchof the lips awoke the murmur, 'Mamma, Mamma!' he sped away with eyesfull of tears.

  Before he could have reached the station, the storm was coming--greatrounded masses of cloud, with silver-foamed edges and red luridcaverns, began to climb slowly up the sky, distant grumbles of thundercame 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 thenearer peals of thunder, till a sudden glare and boom overhead startledLance into a frightened bewildered state, that so occupied Wilmet thatshe hardly heard the roaring, pattering hail-drops on the roofs andpavements; but when a sweet fresh wind blew away the hail, the wearyhead was more at rest, the slumber more tranquil, the breathing freerand softer than it had been since that Wednesday.

  Some two hours later she saw him looking at her with a sort ofperplexed smile; and the first words upon his tongue were, 'Is Billfirst?'

  'Nothing is settled till the Bishop comes home,' Captain Harewoodanswered.

  'What time is it?' then asked Lance.

  'Half-past eight.'

  'It seems always half dark, said the boy, dreamily, 'and yet there's nocurfew.'

  '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 ratherfrightened him, for he added, 'Am I very ill, then?'

  'Not now, I hope,' said Wilmet, tenderly, and possessing herself of hiswrist; 'you are so much better to-night.'

  He looked wistfully into her face. 'What's the matter with me?' hesaid. '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 nurseswere preparing to give him some nourishment, he spoke again. 'Mettie,please come here;' and as she bent over him, 'is this being veryill?--like dying, I mean.'

  'Not now, dearest,' said Wilmet, kissing him. 'You must be through withthe worst, thank God.'

  He asked no more, for his voice was low and faint, the pain anddizziness still considerable; and the being fed without raising himselfoccupied him till the doctor came for his evening visit, and confirmedthe sister's comfort in his improvement. She sat gazing as he fellasleep again, till Captain Harewood reminded her that her letter toEwmouth must be sent before the mail closed. She turned to the window,where still lay her anxiously-worded bulletin, not yet closed; but asshe took the pen, the blinding tears fell thick and soft as the summerrain outside.

  'This will be a happy ending,' said John Harewood, as he saw hersilently 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 willbelieve it all the more.'

  And as he took the pen, she retreated in quiet swiftness to her littleroom; but came back as he finished the few freshly hopeful lines; thengoing to the door with him, looked up with the same sweet tremuloussmile. 'Thank you! What thankfulness it is! What a merciful rain thisis! If you knew the relief it is to send this report to Felix! Youcannot guess what this dear little fellow is to him.'

  'I think I can, a little,' said John Harewood, with his heart in hisvoice; and Wilmet smiled again, her stately but usually rather severebeauty 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, especiallyabout the silence of the Cathedral, Lance knew his brother, smiled athim, and returned his greeting. Clement had a more cheerful task thanusual in what seemed to be his day's work--answering inquiries at thedoor, and taking in presents of fruit. All the Chapter and half thetown seemed to call, or send, at least once a day; and little boys usedto hang about the court, too shy to come to the door, but waiting tocollect tidings from the attendants, and mutually using strong measuresupon 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 bevery glad to stay,' he averred, 'but somebody is really wanted at home.'

  Wilmet had
not been so much accustomed to consider Clement in the lightof 'somebody,' as greatly to care whether he went or stayed, and onlysaid, 'I can get on very well. No one is of so much use as CaptainHarewood.'

  '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, andCherry sitting shivering.'

  'Very foolish of Cherry,' said Wilmet.

  'Poor Cherry! she could not help herself, and was only thankful when Ihad the courage to shut them in Alda's face. Then they don't know whatto 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 whileyou 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 rubon somehow; and if you can make Theodore happy, the rest does not somuch signify.'

  Not signify! Clement did not know whether he was standing on hishead or his heels, and never guessed that not only was she too muchabsorbed in the present thoroughly to realise the absent, but that shewould not venture to send orders based on his report, which in hersecret soul she qualified by his love of importance and interference.However, he went away, and was not seen again all the ensuing week--theearly part of which was very trying, for the fever recurred regularlyabout noon and midnight, and always brought rambling, which sincethat conversation with Wilmet, had taken the turn of talking aboutbeing buried in a surplice, and of continually recurring to the 134thPsalm, which, it was now remembered, Lance had shortly before takenpart in, over the grave of an old lay-vicar, who, boy and man, hadserved the Cathedral for nearly sixty years. Often, too, the poorlittle fellow seemed struggling with some sense of demerit--whetherpositive disgrace, or suspicion, or the general Christian feeling ofunworthiness, Wilmet and John Harewood could never make out; and theydid not choose to speak of these wanderings either to Will or to Mr.Beccles. In the intervals of consciousness, the thought of danger anddeath seemed to be lost in the weakness of exhaustion, and the dread ofwhatever brought back the pain, from which there was no respite exceptin cool air and perfect quiet. The least movement intensified it, andbrought on the sickness that showed the brain to be still affected; andstill worse was any endeavour to attend to the shortest and simplestdevotions, when Mr. Harewood attempted them. Yet all the time there wasamendment; the fever was every day less severe, the intervals longer,the sleep calmer, the doctor more securely hopeful; and by the end of aweek from the time of the accident, recovery was beginning sensibly toset in.

  Clement, meanwhile, did not appear; nor was he seen till the ensuingMonday, 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 hisbrother--till a weak voice said, 'Here, Clem,' and he saw on another ofthe little old beds a small figure, in a loose soft white silk Indian_robe de chambre_, the face shrunken into nothing but overhanging browand purple haloed eyes, though the eyes themselves were smiling welcomein all their native blueness and clearness, and two thin white handswere 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, whileJack 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 abit when I tried. I hardly know how Jack carried me here.'

  'You are little and light enough,' said Clement; 'but I'll help tocarry you back. I am sorry not to have been here more, Lance, but I wasso much wanted at home.'

  'Thank you, I didn't want any one. Jack is such a fellow; andWilmet--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 lieand look at her at work. Don't you think her much better looking thanAlda?'

  'If handsome is that handsome does,' said Clement. 'You wouldn't likeme 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 everythingis at sixes and sevens; but there, never mind,' as the tears startedinto the sick boy's eyes, 'we'll manage; I should not have saidanything about it.'

  'Please don't,' said Lance. 'If she ought to go, let her, and don'ttell 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 nonsenseagain, 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 havebroached.

  'Oh, yes, I know that it is not the right thing, and the right thingwon'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 knowbest. I couldn't so much as go through the Magnificat if you were toshoot 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 arecoming 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 arrangingtouch to Lance's pillows, and ushered in the two dignitaries, who shookhis languid hand, and asked after him kindly.

  'You have put the Chapter into great difficulties by disabling yourselfand Harewood,' said the Bishop. 'What! did you not know that the poorfellow 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 saidthey felt it a great cruelty when they saw how utterly astray distressrendered him. However, his papers and yours were both so good--hisverses especially, and your arithmetic--that it was impossible toreject them, so the decision was put off till my return on Saturday.'

  'We think,' said the Dean, who was very old, very gentle, and veryslow of speech--'we think, my little fellow, that though there is nodoubt that Shapcote did best in the examination, and ought to have theexhibition, yet under the peculiar circumstances, you and Harewood canbe 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 yourvoice.'

  '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, thoughhis words faltered.

  'Moreover,' proceeded the Bishop, 'I have the greatest pleasure ingiving the good-conduct prize where, so far as I am able to judge, ithas been well deserved.'

  A perilous flush of joy overspread the pale face; he started up on hiselbows, and his eyes danced rapture, as some one at the door handedin the beautiful red morocco quarto of the Cathedral music; and theBishop, with a fatherly hand making him lie down again, laid the bookbeside 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 Bishopremained, talking kindly to Clement about Cambridge, and inquiring forFelix; while Wilmet helped Lance's feeble fingers to turn the thickcreamy pages on which he durst not fix his eyes.

  Presently the Bishop sat down again, and said, 'I have acted on
myown judgment in giving you this, my boy. I have seen enough of ourchoir these six years to know that what caused so much displeasure wascertainly not to be laid to your charge.'

  Lance made an uneasy movement, became alarmingly red, and said in achoked voice, 'I don't know but what it might, my Lord.'

  'You mean that you knew of this custom of getting out at night throughthe 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 ownconscience whether you ought to keep this book; but I think you woulddo wisely to let me know, remembering that I have no authority in theschool.'

  Lance brightened, and he answered, 'My Lord, I did get out once, butonly once, and I don't think I did wrong. It was a long time ago--inthe autumn.'

  'Last autumn! Was it not then that there was a report of a choristerin his shirt sleeves being seen at the Green Man at eleven o'clock atnight?'

  'That was I, my Lord.'

  Clement was ready to start forward, under the impression that Lancewas talking his 'nonsense;' but the Bishop said, 'You were named, butnobody 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 hewas going to have the cholera, and I went to get something for him. Thechemists' shops were shut, so I went in there.'

  'May I ask the question,' said the Bishop, rather as if taking aliberty, '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 thebranches that hung over the river wall, and he blackguar--abused themso that they got into a rage and vowed he shouldn't have a plum lefton the tree. We seniors knew nothing about it; but they got over thewall 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, andbrought the rest in his pockets. It was the first time such a thinghad happened, and it put me in a proper rage. The little one was theone I found out first; and I thought he was sulky, so I licked himtill 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 ofhis outside, I was so glad, I could have done anything for him. But wecouldn't call Stokes, or the poor little chap would have suffered forit 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 noinconvenience, of course?' said his Lordship, much amused. 'May I hearhow you got out?'

  'With Mr. Harewood's key,' said Lance. 'He used to keep it on a nailinside the study door, which opens into the passage leading into thiscourt, 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 northtransept.'

  'And after that--'

  'You can shoot the bolt on the inside of the little side-door at thewest front, and climb over the railing.'

  'Boys are animals not to be kept in, that is certain! So you werepioneer! But you had nothing to do with those cards?'

  'No, my Lord. But I ought not to have told how I got out, for therewere some who would do it afterwards. However, those cards were none ofours.'

  '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 lenthim 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 sodreadful, that we durst not let out a word. Mr. Shapcote makes everysoul 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--afterthe 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 tome to know all this; and it is safe with me. I am only afraid I havemade 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 ofdiscipline, 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 theinterview had been too much for her patient, with assurances that therelief and gratification must do good in the end.

  He told her that the threat of the withholding of the prize had notbeen made by his authority, and that he had much regretted it. Just asthe tidings of the sun-stroke and its cause had reached him, he hadbeen with Mr. Nixon, the former Precentor, who had spoken warmly ofLance, saying that the whole tone of the boys had improved since hiscoming, 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 wasnervously calling for her. The excitement was still great, his headwas aching violently, and yet he could not leave off eager talking,which, as feverishness came on, began to degenerate into such ramblingas terribly frightened Clement lest a relapse should be coming on. Hewanted to hurry off to the doctor at once; but Wilmet, well knowinghe would not be at home, repressed him, and quietly said she had somedraughts ready, and knew what to do. While she was out of sight,preparing them, a great alarm came over the patient lest she shouldhave left him; and all the rest of those noonday hours were spent ina continual restless desire to keep her in view, hold her hand, andelicit her assurances that she was not going home, nor going to leavehim--no, not on any account. The very presence of his brother seemed toincrease the uneasiness; and in the deepest humiliation and despair,Clement allowed himself to be invited away by Captain Harewood to seethe process of ice-making, and be so far comforted that the Bishop'svisit was probably far more likely to have done the mischief than hisown rash suggestion, and that there was no reason to fear it wouldlast many hours. In fact, Lance was recovering favourably, and had hadfew drawbacks. 'So I tell everybody,' said John Harewood, 'especiallypoor Bill, who is still ready to break his heart every time Lance hasa headache, and would chatter him to death when he is better. Andthat's the way with them all! There seems no one that can be tender andreasonable both at once, except your sister.'

  Clement did full justice to that tenderness, when, out of sighthimself, he had watched Wilmet's soothing firmness and patientreassuring softness, at last calming the feverish agitation intoa sleep, which he was allowed to see for himself was gentle andwholesome. Only then--towards four o'clock--could Captain Harewoodpersuade her to let him keep guard, while she went to take the foodthat had been long waiting for her, and over which she could hearClement'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 almostentirely when he had the scarlet fever.' (Wilmet looked as if shepitied St. Matthew's.) 'But of course I see now that it is out of thequestion.'

  'Entirely so,' said Wilmet, too kind to remind him of thequalifications 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 ofour 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 whatis to be done! Cherry was thoroughly chilled that evening of thethunderstorm, and has been very poorly ever since.'

&n
bsp; 'She always feels changes of weather.'

  'That's what Alda tells you. She won't believe there is anything thematter; but poor Cherry has had rheumatic pain all over her, and herbad 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 thingthat 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 toreckon the expense. There is Felix's journey; and what this illness maycost, I cannot guess; and now Cherry! It is not that I grudge it; but Idon't see what is to become of any of us if we spend unnecessarily--ornecessarily 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 differentthing; 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 morethan just ailing, and--and fractious' (the word came out at last); 'Idon't like always calling for help, it seems presuming on kindness, andRobina will be helpful when she comes home; but no doubt Alda does notknow 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 elsedo it.'

  'Poor Alda! It is a hard time for her, and she is not used to it. I amafraid 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 howmany Travis will have to make!'

  Wilmet had finished her hasty meal, and wanted to get back to herpatient, so she only protested by a reproving look and shake of thehead; while Clement stood disconcerted, but less surprised than if hehad not been familiar with the part of the family Cassandra.