Something long and black came from the opposite direction. "Rector," it said, in a low hoarse voice, "I've got leave from him to use what he said to you. Sister Margaret and I signed it. Will that do?"
"I can't tell now, Herbert, I can't think. My brother is just gone," said Julius in his inward voice.
"Raymond! No! Oh, I beg your pardon; I never thought of that; Raymond-"
"Go home and go to bed," said Julius, as the young man wrung his hand. "Rest now-we must think another time."
Did Rosamond know? was perhaps the foremost of his weary thoughts. Ah! did she not! Was she not standing with her crimson shawl round her, and the long black plaits falling on it, to beckon him to the firelit comfort of his own room? Did she not fall on his neck as he came heavily up, and cling around him with her warm arms? "Oh, Julius, what a dear brother he was! What can we do for your mother?"
As he told her how Frank's need did more than any support could do for her, her tears came thicker; but in spite of them, her fond hands put him into the easy-chair by the fire, and drew off his damp boots; and while listening to the low sunken voice that told her of the end, she made ready the cup of cocoa that was waiting, and put the spoon in his hand in a caressing manner, that made her care, comfort, not oppression. Fatigue seconded her, for he took the warm food, faltered and leant back, dozing till the baby's voice awoke him, and as he saw Rosamond hushing her, he exclaimed:
"O, Rose! if poor Raymond had ever known one hour like this!" and he held out his arms for his child.
"You know I don't let you hold her in that coat. Go into your dressing-room, have your bath, and put on your dressing-gown, and if you will lie on the bed, you shall take care of her while I go and feed Terry. You can't do anything for anybody yet, it is only six o'clock."
These precautions, hindering his going jaded and exhausted into infection, were what Rosamond seemed to live for, though she never forced them on him, and he was far too physically tired out not to yield to the soothing effect; so that even two hours on the bed sent him forth renovated to that brief service in the church, where Herbert and he daily met and found their strength for the day. They had not had time to exchange a word after it before there was a knock at the vestry door, and a servant gave the message to Herbert, who had opened it: "Lady Tyrrell is taken worse, sir, and Sir Harry Vivian begged that Mr. Charnock would come immediately."
A carriage had been sent for him, and he could only hurry home to tell Rosamond to send on the pony to Sirenwood, to take him to Wil'sbro', unless he were first wanted at home. She undertook to go up to the Hall and give Anne a little rest, and he threw himself into the carriage, not daring to dwell on the pain it gave him to go from his brother's death bed to confront Camilla.
At the door Eleonora came to meet him. "Thank you," she said. "We knew it was no time to disturb you."
"I can be better spared now," answered Julius.
"You don't mean," she said, with a strange look, which was not quite surprise.
"Yes, my dear brother left us at about three o'clock last night. A change came on at twelve."
"Twelve!" Eleonora laid her hand on his arm, and spoke in a quick agitated manner. "Camilla was much better till last night, when at twelve I heard such a scream that I ran into her room. She was sitting up with her eyes fixed open, like a clairvoyante, and her voice seemed pleading-pleading with him, as if for pardon, and she held out her hands and called him. Then, suddenly, she gave a terrible shriek, and fell back in a kind of fit. Mr. M'Vie can do nothing, and though she is conscious now, she does nothing but ask for you and say that he does not want you now."
Julius grew paler, as he said very low, "Anne said he seemed to be seeing and answering her. Not like delirium, but as if she were really there."
"Don't tell any one," entreated Eleonora, in a breathless whisper, and he signed consent, as both felt how those two spirits must have been entwined, since these long years had never broken that subtle link of sympathy which had once bound them.
Sir Harry's face, dreary, sunken, and terrified, was thrust over the balusters, as he called, "Don't hinder him, Lena, she asks for him every moment;" and as they came on, he caught Julius's hand, saying, "Soothe her, soothe her-'tis the only chance. If she could but sleep!"
There lay Camilla Tyrrell, beautiful still, but more than ever like the weird tragic head with snake-wreathed brows, in the wasted contour of her regular features and the flush on her hollow cheeks, while her eyes burned with a strange fire that almost choked back Julius's salutation of peace, even while he breathed it, for might not the Son of Peace be with some there?
The eager glance seemed to dart at him. "Julius Charnock!" she cried, "come!" and as he would have said some word about her health, she cut him short: "Never mind that; I must speak while my brain serves. After that be the priest. He is dead!"
"My brother? Yes."
"The only one I ever loved! There's no sin nor scandal in saying so now. His wife is better? It will never kill her."
"She does not know."
"No? There was nothing to make her. He could not give her his heart, try as he would. Why did he turn the unchangeable to hate! hate! hate!"
"Lady Tyrrell, you did not send for me to hear what ought not to be said at all?"
"Don't fly off," she said. "I had really something to say. It was not wholly hate, Julius; I really tried to teach his little idiot of a wife to win him at last. I meant it to turn out well, and nothing could, with that mother there."
"I must leave you, Lady Tyrrell, if you will not control yourself."
"Don't be hard on me, Julius," and she looked up with a glance of better days. "You idolize her, like all the rest of you; but she chilled me and repelled me, and turned me to bitterness, when I was young and he might have led me. Her power and his idolatry made me jealous, and what I did in a fit of petulance was so fastened on that I could not draw back. Why did not he wait a little longer to encumber himself with that girl! No-that wasn't what I had to say- it's all over now. It is the other thing. How is Frank?"
"Very ill indeed; but quieter just now."
"Then there shall not be another wreck like ours. Lena, are you here? You saw that Frank had let Constance Strangeways win your pebble. It was because I showed him the one Beatrice bought, and he thought it yours. Yes, I saw nothing else for it. What was to become of the property if you threw yourself away, and on her son?" she added, with the malignant look. "Whether he knew of this little vow of yours, I can't tell, but he had lost his head and did for himself. It was for your good and papa's; but I shall not be here to guide the clue, so you must go your own way and be happy in it, if she will let you. Father, do you hear? Don't think to please me by hindering the course of true love; and you, Julius, tell Frank he was 'a dull Moor.' I liked the boy, I was sorry for him; but he ought to have known his token better;-and there was the estate to be saved."
"Estates weigh little now!"
"Clerical! I suppose now is the time for it? You were all precision at Compton. It would kill me; I can't live with Mrs. Poynsett. No, no, Tom, I can't have old Raymond quizzed; I'll get him out of it when the leading-strings are cut. What right has she- ?"
The delirium had returned. Julius's voice kept her still for a few moments, but she broke out afresh at his first pause, and murmurs fell thick and fast from her tongue, mixing the names of her brother and Raymond with railings at Mrs. Poynsett for slights in the days when the mother was striving to discourage the inclination that resulted in the engagement.
Earnestly did Julius beseech for peace, for repentance for the poor storm-tossed soul; but when the raving grew past control, and the time was coming for his ministrations to the Vicar of Wil'sbro', he was forced to leave her. Poor old Sir Harry would have clung to him as to anything like a support, but Eleonora knew better. "No, dear papa," she said, "he has given us too much of his time already. He must go where he can still help. Poor Camilla cannot attend to him."
"If she came to herself-"
/>
"Then send for me. I would come instantly. Send to the town-hall any time before twelve, after that to Compton. Send without scruples, Lenore, you have truly the right."
They did not send, except that a note met him as he returned home, telling him that suffusion of the brain had set in. Camilla Tyrrell did not survive Raymond Poynsett twelve hours.
CHAPTER XXX. Come Back
And are ye sure the news is true? And are ye sure he's weel?-J. THOMPSON
Eleonora Vivian was striving to write her sorrowful announcements in the deepening dusk of that autumn evening, while her father had shut himself up after his vigil to sleep under Victor's care, when a message came that Lady Rosamond Charnock earnestly begged to see her. She stood with a face white and set, looking like a galvanized corpse, as her lips framed the words, "He is dead!"
"No!" almost screamed Rosamond, snatching her hand. "No! But no one can save him but you. Come!"
Without a word, Eleonora stepped into her own room, and came back in cloak, hat, and veil.
"Right," said Rosamond, seizing her arm, and taking her to the pony-carriage at the door, then explaining while driving rapidly: "He has left off raving ever since his mother has been with him, but he lies-not still but weak, not speaking, only moaning now and then. His throat is so dreadful that it is hard to give him anything, and he takes no notice of what one says, only if his mother takes the spoon. He gets weaker, and Dr. Worth says it is only because there is no impulse to revive him-he is just sinking because he can't be roused. When I heard that, I thought I knew who could."
Eleonora's lips once moved, but no sound came from them, and Rosamond urged her little pony to its best speed through the two parks from one veiled house to another, fastened it to the garden- door without calling any one, and led her silent companion up the stairs.
Mrs. Poynsett felt a hand on her shoulder, and Rosamond said, "I have brought our only hope," and Eleonora stood, looking at the ghastly face. The yellow skin, the inflamed purple lips, the cavernous look of cheeks and eyes, were a fearful sight, and only the feeble incessant groping of the skeleton fingers showed life or action.
"Put this into his hand," said Rosamond, and Lenore found the pebble token given to her, and obeyed. At the touch, a quivering trembled over face and form, the eyelids lifted, the eyes met hers, there was a catching of the breath, a shudder and convulsive movement. "He is going," cried his mother, but Anne started forward with drops of strong stimulant, Rosamond rubbed spirit into his forehead, the struggle lessened, the light flickered back into his brown eyes, his fingers closed on hers. "Speak to him," said Mrs. Poynsett. "Do you see her, Frankie dear?"
"Frank! dear Frank, here I am."
The eyes gazed with more meaning, the lips moved, but no sound came till Anne had given another drop of the stimulant, and the terrible pain of the swallowing was lessened. Then he looked up, and the words were heard.
"Is it true?"
"It is, my dear boy. It is Lena."
"Here, Frank," as still the wistful gaze was unsatisfied; she laid her hands on his, and then he almost smiled and tried to raise it to his cheeks, but he was too weak; and she obeyed the feeble gesture, and stroked the wasted face, while a look of content came over it, the eyes closed, and he slept with his face against her hand, his mother watching beside with ineffable gratitude and dawning hope.
Lenore was forgetting everything in this watching, but in another quarter of an hour Anne was forced again to torture him with her spoon; but life was evidently gaining ground, for though he put it from him at first, he submitted at Lena's gesture and word. She felt the increased warmth and power in his grasp, as he whispered, "Lena, you are come back," then felt for the token.
Alas! that she must leave him. They knew she must not stay away from her father; indeed, Rosamond had told no one of her attempt, her forlorn hope. Lena tried to give assurances that she only went because it could not be helped, and the others told him she would return, but still he held her, and murmured, "Stay." She could not tear herself away, she let him keep her hand, and again he dozed and his fingers relaxed. "Go now, my dear," said Mrs. Poynsett, "you have saved him. This stone will show him that you have been here. You will come back to-morrow, I may promise him?"
"Yes, yes. In the morning, or whenever I can be spared," whispered Lena, who was held for a moment to Mrs. Poynsett's breast, ere Rosamond took her away again, and brought her once more down-stairs and to the pony-carriage. There she leant back, weeping quietly but bitterly over the shock of Frank's terribly reduced state, which seemed to take from her all the joy of his revival, weeping too at the cruel need that was taking her away.
"He will do now! I know he will," said Rosamond, happy in her bold venture.
"Oh! if I could stay!"
"Most likely you would be turned out for fear of excitement. The stone will be safer for him."
"Where did that come from?" asked Lenore, struck suddenly with wonder.
"I wrote to Miss Strangeways, when I saw how he was always feeling, feeling, feeling for it, like the Bride of Lammermoor. I told her there was more than she knew connected with that bit of stone, and life or death might hang on it. Then when I'd got it, I hardly knew what to do with it, for if it had soothed the poor boy delirious, the coming to his right mind might have been all the worse."
Rosamond kissed her effusively, and she dreamily muttered, "He must be saved." There was a sort of strange mist round her, as though she knew not what she was doing, and she longed to be alone. She would not let Rosamond drive her beyond the Sirenwood gate, but insisted on walking through the park alone in the darkness, by that very path where Frank had ten months ago exchanged vows with her.
Rosamond turned back to the Hall. It was poor Cecil's pony-carriage that she was driving, and she took it to the stable-yard, where her entreaty had obtained it from the coachman, whom she rewarded by saying, "I was right, Brown, I fetched his best doctor," and the old servant understood, and came as near a smile as any one at Compton could do on such a day.
"Is the carriage gone for Mr. Charnock?"
"Yes, my lady, I sent Alfred with it; I did not seem as if I could go driving into Wil'sbro' on such a day."
Rosamond bade a kind farewell to the poor old coachman, and was walking homewards, when she saw a figure advancing towards her, strangely familiar, and yet hat and coat forbade her to believe it her husband, even in the dusk. She could not help exclaiming, "Miles!"
"Yes!" he said, coming to a standstill. "Are you Rosamond?"
"I am;-Anne is quite well and Frank better. Oh! this will do them good! You know-"
"Yes-yes, I know," he said hastily, as if he could not bear to let himself out to one as yet a stranger. "My mother?"
"Absorbed in Frank too much to feel it yet fully; Anne watches them both. Oh! Miles, what she has been!" and she clasped his hand again. "Let me call her."
And Rosamond opened the hall door just as some instinct, for it could hardly have been sense of hearing, had brought Anne upon the stairs, where, as Miles would have hurried up to her, she seemed, in the light gray dress she still wore, to hover like some spirit eluding his grasp like the fabled shades.
"Oh no! you ought not. Infection-I am steeped in it."
"Nonsense," and she was gathered into the strong grasp that was home and rest to her, while Miles was weeping uncontrollably as he held her in his arms. "O, Nannie, Nannie! I did not think it would be like this. Why did they keep me till he was gone? No, I did not get the telegram, I only heard at the station. They let me go this morning, and I did think I should have been in time." He loosed himself from her, and hung over the balustrade, struggling with a strong man's anguish, then said in a low voice, "Did he want me?"
"He knew it was your duty," said Anne. "We all were thankful you were kept from infection, and he said many little things, but the chief was that he trusted you too much to leave any special messages. Hark! that must be Mr. Charnock, Cecil's father! I must go and receive him. Stay bac
k, Miles, you can't now-you know my room-"
He signed acquiescence, but lingered in the dark to look down and see how, though Rosamond had waited to spare them this reception, his wife's tall graceful figure came forward, and her kindly comforting gestures, as the two sisters-in-law took the newcomer into the drawing-room, and in another minute Anne flitted up to him again. "That good Rosamond is seeing to Mr. Charnock," she said; "will you come, Miles? I think it will do your mother good; only quietly, for Frank knows nothing."
Mrs. Poynsett still sat by Frank. To Miles's eyes he was a fearful spectacle, but to Anne there was hourly progress; the sunken dejected look was gone, and though there was exhaustion, there was rest; but he was neither sleeping nor waking, and showed no heed when his brother dropped on one knee by his mother's side, put an arm round her waist, and after one fervent kiss laid his black head on her lap, hiding his face there while she fondled his hair, and said, "Frank, Frankie dear, here's Miles come home." He did not seem to hear, only his lips murmured something like 'Anne,' and the tender hand and ready touch of his unwearied nurse at once fulfilled his need, while his mother whispered, "Miles, she is our blessing!"
Poor Miles! Never had sailor a stranger, though some may have had an even sadder, return. He had indeed found his wife, but hers was the only hand that could make Frank swallow the sustenance that he needed every half-hour, or who knew how to relieve him. Indeed, even the being together in the sick-room was not long possible, for Anne was called to the door. Mr. Charnock was asking to see Mrs. Poynsett. Would Mrs. Miles come and speak to him?
Mr. Charnock was a small and restless man with white hair, little black eyes, looking keener than they were, and a face which had evidently been the mould of Cecil's. He was very kind, with a full persuasion that the consolations of his august self must be infallible; but this was coupled with an inclination to reprove everybody for the fate that had left his cherished darling a childless widow at two-and-twenty. To take him to Frank's room was impossible, and he had to be roundly told so. Neither had he seen his daughter. She was very weak, but recovering, and Grindstone, whom he had seen and talked with, was as strenuous in deprecating any excitement as he was nervous about it. So he could only be disposed of in his room till dinner-time, when he came down prepared to comfort the family, but fulfilled his mission rather by doing such good as a blister, which lessens the force of the malady by counter-irritation.
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