Heartsease; Or, The Brother's Wife Part 109

Arthur's face was hidden; she only saw his fingers holding up the covering with a quivering grasp. Johnnie rose up quite simply, and letting him continue in the belief that his father slept, she allowed him to go noiselessly away, after she had held him fast in her arms, able to feel, even now, the comfort and blessing of her child.

Some little time had pa.s.sed before Arthur looked up; then gazing round, as if seeking something, he said, 'Where is he?'

'Johnnie? He is gone, he did not know you were awake. Shall I send for him?'

'For all.'

They came; but he was made to feel that he had disregarded them too long. They had never been familiarized with him; seldom saw him, and were kept under restraint in his presence; and there was no intimacy to counteract the fright inspired by his present appearance. Ghastly pale, with a hectic spot on each cheek, with eyes unnaturally bright and dilated, and a quant.i.ty of black hair and whiskers, he was indeed a formidable object to the little girls; and Violet was more grieved than surprised when Annie screamed with affright, and had to be carried away instantly; and Helen backed, with her hands behind her, resisting all entreaties and remonstrance, and unheeding his outstretched hand. The child was of so determined and wilful a nature, that Violet dreaded an outbreak if she were too much pressed, and was forced to let her go--though much grieved, both for the distress that it gave Arthur, and for the thought of how his daughter might remember it by and by.

They supposed that Johnnie had gone with his sisters, but at the end of half an hour became aware that he had ever since been standing, almost hidden by the curtain, satisfied with merely being in the room. The fair face, so delicately tinted, the dark shady eyes, lovingly and pensively fixed on his father, and the expression, half mournful, half awe-struck, were a touching sight in so young a child, and Arthur seemed so to feel it. He signed to him to come near; and with a flush, between joy and fear, the little boy was instantly at his side. One hot hand enfolded the small soft cool one, the other pressed fondly on the light silken waves of hair. After thus holding him for some moments, he tried to speak, in whispering breathless gasps of a word at a time.

'You'll comfort her!' and he looked towards his mother, 'You'll take care of the others--will you?'

'If I can. G.o.d takes care of us,' said Johnnie, wistfully, as if striving to understand, as he felt the pressure redoubled on hand and head, as if to burn in what was uttered with such difficulty and danger.

'Tell your grandfather I trust you all to him. He must forgive. Say so to him. You'll be a better son to him than I. When you know all, don't remember it against me.'

He could say no more, it had brought on a fit of coughing and breathlessness, through which he scarcely struggled. Silence was more than ever enforced; but throughout the day the oppression was on the increase, especially towards the evening, when he became excited by the expectation of his father's arrival. He sat, pillowed high up, each respiration an effort that spread a burning crimson over his face, while eye and ear were nervously alert.

'Arthur is very ill, and begs to see you,' was the telegraphic message that filled the cottage at Brogden with consternation. Lady Martindale was too unwell to leave home, but Theodora was thankful to her father for deciding that her presence was necessary for Violet's sake; indeed, as they travelled in doubt and suspense, and she was continually reminded of that hurried journey when her unchastened temper had been the torment of herself and of her brother, she felt it an undeserved privilege to be allowed to go to him at all. Instead of schemes of being important, there was a cras.h.i.+ng sense of an impending blow; she hardly had the power to think or speculate in what form, or how heavily it might fall. She had only room for anxiety to get forward.

They arrived; she hurried up the stairs, only catching James's words, declaring his master no better.

She saw in the twilight a slight bending form, coming down, holding by the bal.u.s.ters. Violet was in her arms, clasping her with a trembling, almost convulsive tightness, without speaking.

'O, Violet, what is it? Is he so very ill?'

Lord Martindale hastened up at the same moment, and Violet recovering, in a few words, spoken very low, but clearly, told of his condition, adding, 'He has been watching for you all this time, he heard you come, and wants you directly, but don't let him speak.'

She hung on Theodora's arm, and guided them up, as if hardly able to stand. She opened the outer room door, and there (while the nurse had taken her place) sat Johnnie on the rug, with the baby lying across his lap, and his arms clasped tenderly round it. It was restless, and he looked up to his mother, who bent down and took it in her arms, while Lord Martindale pa.s.sed on. Theodora stood appalled and overawed. This was beyond even her fears.

'Thank you for coming,' said Violet, who had sunk into a chair.

'O, Violet, when?--how!--'

But a look of horror came over Violet; she started up, almost threw the infant into Theodora's arms, and vanished into the other room. 'Oh! what is it! What is the matter?' exclaimed Theodora.

'The cough, the blood,' said Johnnie, in a low voice; and turning away with a suppressed sob he threw himself down, and hid his face on a chair. She was in an agony to pa.s.s that closed door, but the baby was fretting and kept her prisoner.

After some minutes had thus pa.s.sed, her father appeared, and would have gone on without seeing her, but she detained him by an imploring cry and gasp, and entreated to hear what had happened.

'The blood-vessel again--I must send for Harding.'

'Shall I tell James to go?' inquired a little quiet voice, as Johnnie lifted up his flushed face.

'Do so, my dear;' and as the little boy left the room, his grandfather added, with the calmness of hopelessness, 'Poor child! it is of no use, it must soon be over now;' and he was returning, when Theodora again held him fast--'Papa! papa! I must see him, let me come!'

'Not yet,' said her father; 'the sight of a fresh person might hasten it. If there is any chance, we must do nothing hazardous. I will call you when they give up hope.'

Theodora was forced to relinquish her hold, for the baby screamed outright, and required all her efforts to hush its cries that they might not add fresh distress to the sick room. It seemed to make her own misery of suspense beyond measure unendurable, to be obliged to control herself so as to quiet the little creature by gentle movements, and to have its ever-renewed wailings filling her ears, when her whole soul hung on the sounds she could catch from the inner room. No one came to relieve her; only Johnnie returned, listened for a moment at the door, and dropped into his former position, and presently Mr. Harding pa.s.sed rapidly through the room.

Long, long she waited ere the door once more opened. Her father came forth. Was it the summons? But he stopped her move towards the room.

'Not yet; the bleeding is checked.'

Then as Mr. Harding followed, they went out of the room in consultation, and almost the next moment Violet herself glided in, touched Johnnie's head, and said, 'Papa is better, darling;' then took the baby from Theodora, saying, 'Thank you, you shall see him soon; she was again gone, Johnnie creeping after, whither Theodora would have given worlds to follow.

After another interval, he returned with a message that mamma begged Aunt Theodora to be so kind as to go and make tea for grandpapa; she thought dear papa was breathing a little more easily, but he must be quite quiet now.

Obeying the sentence of banishment, she found her father sending off a hasty express to give more positive information at home. 'We must leave them to themselves a little while,' he said. 'There must be no excitement till he has had time to rally. I thought he had better not see me at first.'

'Is he worse than John has been?'

'Far worse. I never saw John in this immediate danger.'

'Did this attack begin directly after you came?'

'It was the effort of speaking. He WOULD try to say something about racing debts--Gardner, papers in his coat-pocket, and there broke down, coughed, and the bleeding came on. There is something on his mind, poor--'

Theodora made a sign to remind him of Johnnie's presence; but the child came forward. 'Grandpapa, he told me to tell you something,' and, with eyes bent on the ground, the little fellow repeated the words like a lesson by rote.

Lord Martindale was much overcome; he took his grandson on his knee, and pressed him to his breast without being able to speak, then, as if to recover composure by proceeding to business, he sent him to ask James for the coat last worn by his papa, and bring the papers in the pocket.

Then with more agitation he continued, 'Yes, yes, that was what poor Arthur's eyes were saying all the time. I could only promise to settle everything and take care of her; and there was she, poor thing, with a face like a martyr, supporting his head, never giving way, speaking now and then so calmly and soothingly, when I could not have said a word. I do believe she is almost an angel!' said Lord Martindale, with a burst of strong emotion. 'Take care of her! She will not want that long! at this rate. Harding tells me he is very anxious about her: she is not by any means recovered, yet he was forced to let her sit up all last night, and she has been on her feet this whole day! What is to become of her and these poor children? It is enough to break one's heart!'

Here Johnnie came back. 'Grandpapa, we cannot find any papers. James has looked in all the clothes papa wore when he came home, and he did not bring home his portmanteau.'

'Come home! Where had he been?'

'I don't know. He was away a long time.'

Lord Martindale started, and repeated the words in amaze. Theodora better judged of a child's 'long time,' and asked whether it meant a day or a week. 'Was it since the baby was born that he went?'

'Baby was a week old. He was gone one--two Sundays, and he came back all on a sudden the day before yesterday, coughing so much that he could not speak, and the gentleman told mamma all about it.'

'What gentleman, Johnnie? Was it Mr. Gardner?'

'O no; this was a good-natured gentleman.'

'Mr. Herries, or Captain Fitzhugh?'

'No, it was a long name, and some one I never saw before; but I think it was the man that belongs to the owl.'

'What can the child mean?' asked Lord Martindale.

Johnnie mounted a chair, and embraced his little stuffed owl.

'The man that gave me this.'

'Percy's Athenian owl!' cried Theodora.