CHAPTER LXII
THE WAY OUT OF IT
"My father! my father! I must see my father. Who are you, that dare tokeep me out? Let me know the worst, and try to bear it. What are any ofyou to him?"
"But, my dear child," Lord Southdown answered, holding the door againstpoor Faith, as she strove to enter the room of death, "wait just oneminute, until we have lifted him to the sofa, and let us bring your poorsister out."
"I have no sister. She has killed my father, and the best thing she cando is to die. I feel that I could shoot her, if I had a pistol. Let mesee him, where he lies."
"But, my poor dear, you must think of others. Your dear father is beyondall help. Your gallant lover lies on the grass. They hope to bring himround, God willing! Go where you can be of use."
"How cruel you are! You must want to drive me mad. Let his father andmother see to him, while I see to my own father. If you had a daughter,you would understand. Am I crying? Do I even tremble?"
The Marquis offered his arm, and she took it in fear of falling, thoughshe did not tremble; so he led her to her father's last repose. The poorAdmiral lay by the open window, with his head upon a stool which Faithhad worked. The ghastly wound was in his broad smooth forehead, and hisfair round cheeks were white with death. But the heart had not quiteceased to beat, and some remnant of the mind still hovered somewherein the lacerated brain. Stubbard, sobbing like a child, was liftingand clumsily chafing one numb hand; while his wife, who had sponged thewound, was making the white curls wave with a fan she had shaped from along official paper found upon the floor.
Dolly was recovering from her swoon, and sat upon a stool by thebookcase, faintly wondering what had happened, but afraid to ask orthink. The corner of the bookcase, and the burly form of Stubbard,concealed the window from her, and the torpid oppression which ensuesupon a fit lay between her and her agony. Faith, as she passed, dartedone glance at her, not of pity, not of love, but of cold contempt andsatisfaction at her misery.
Then Faith, the quiet and gentle maid, the tranquil and theself-controlled (whom every one had charged with want of heart, becauseshe had borne her own grief so well), stood with the body of her fatherat her feet, and uttered an exceeding bitter cry. The others had seenenough of grief, as every human being must, but nothing half so sadas this. They feared to look at her face, and durst not open lips tocomfort her.
"Don't speak. Don't look at him. You have no right here. When he comesto himself, he will want none but me. I have always done everything forhim since dear mother died; and I shall get him to sit up. He will beso much better when he sits up. I can get him to do it, if you willonly go. Oh, father, father, it is your own Faith come to make you well,dear, if you will only look at me!"
As she took his cold limp hand and kissed it, and wiped a red splashfrom his soft white hair, the dying man felt, by nature's feeling, thathe was being touched by a child of his. A faint gleam flitted throughthe dimness of his eyes, which he had not the power to close, and thelonging to say "farewell" contended with the drooping of the underlip.She was sure that he whispered, "Bless you, darling!" though nobody elsecould have made it out; but a sudden rush of tears improved her hearing,as rain brings higher voices down.
"Dolly too!" he seemed to whisper next; and Faith made a sign to Mrs.Stubbard. Then Dolly was brought, and fell upon her knees, at the otherside of her father, and did not know how to lament as yet, and wasscarcely sure of having anything to mourn. But she spread out her hands,as if for somebody to take them, and bowed her pale face, and closed herlips, that she might be rebuked without answering.
Her father knew her; and his yearning was not to rebuke, but to blessand comfort her. He had forgotten everything, except that he was dying,with a daughter at each side of him. This appeared to make him veryhappy, about everything, except those two. He could not be expectedto have much mind left; but the last of it was busy for his children'sgood. Once more he tried to see them both, and whispered his lastmessage to them--"Forgive and love each other."
Faith bowed her head, as his fell back, and silently offered to kiss hersister; but Dolly neither moved nor looked at her. "As you please,"said Faith; "and perhaps you would like to see a little more of yourhandiwork."
For even as she spoke, her lover's body was carried past the window,with his father and mother on either side, supporting his limp arms andsobbing. Then Dolly arose, and with one hand grasping the selvage ofthe curtain, fixed one long gaze upon her father's corpse. There wereno tears in her eyes, no sign of anguish in her face, no proof that sheknew or felt what she had done. And without a word she left the room.
"Hard to the last, even hard to you!" cried Faith, as her tears fellupon the cold forehead. "Oh, darling, how could you have loved her so?"
"It is not hardness; it is madness. Follow your sister," Lord Southdownsaid. "We have had calamities enough."
But Faith was fighting with all her strength against an attack ofhysterics, and fetching long gasps to control herself. "I will go,"replied Mrs. Stubbard; "this poor child is quite unfit. What on earth isbecome of Lady Scudamore? A doctor's widow might have done some good."
The doctor's widow was doing good elsewhere. In the first rush from thedining-room, Lady Scudamore had been pushed back by no less a personthan Mrs. Stubbard; when at last she reached the study door she foundit closed against her, and entering the next room, saw the flash of thepistol fired at Twemlow. Bravely hurrying to the spot by the nearestoutlet she could find, she became at once entirely occupied with thisnew disaster. For two men who ran up with a carriage lamp declared thatthe gentleman was as dead as a door-nail, and hastened to make goodtheir words by swinging him up heels over head. But the lady made themset him down and support his head, while she bathed the wound, and sentto the house for his father and mother, and when he could be safelybrought in-doors, helped with her soft hands beneath his hair, and thenbecame so engrossed with him that the arrival of her long-lost son wasfor several hours unknown to her.
For so many things coming all at once were enough to upset any one.Urgent despatches came hot for the hand that now was cold for ever; nota moment to lose, when time had ceased for the man who was to urge it.There were plenty of officers there, but no one clearly entitled to takecommand. Moreover, the public service clashed with the personal rage ofthe moment. Some were for rushing to the stables, mounting every horsethat could be found, and scouring the country, sword in hand, for thatinfernal murderer. Some, having just descried the flash of beacon fromthe headland, and heard the alarm-guns from shore and sea, were forhurrying to their regiments, or ships, or homes and families (accordingto the head-quarters of their life), while others put their coats onto ride for all the doctors in the county, who should fetch backthe Admiral to this world, that he might tell everybody what to do.Scudamore stood with his urgent despatches in the large well-candledhall, and vainly desired to deliver them. "Send for the Marquis,"suggested some one.
Lord Southdown came, without being sent for. "I shall take this dutyupon myself," he said, "as Lord-Lieutenant of the county. CaptainStubbard, as commander of the nearest post, will come with me and readthese orders. Gentlemen, see that your horses are ready, and have allof the Admiral's saddled. Captain Scudamore, you have discharged yourtrust, and doubtless ridden far and hard. My orders to you are a bottleof wine and a sirloin of roast beef at once."
For the sailor was now in very low condition, weary, and worried, and inwant of food. Riding express, and changing horses twice, not once had herecruited the inner man, who was therefore quite unfit to wrestle withthe power of sudden grief. When he heard of the Admiral's death, hestaggered as if a horse had stumbled under him, and his legs being stifffrom hard sticking to saddle, had as much as they could do to hold himup. Yet he felt that he could not do the right thing now, he could notgo and deal with the expedient victuals, neither might he dare intrudeupon the ladies now; so he went out to comfort himself by attending tothe troubles of his foundered horse, and by shedding unseen among thet
rees the tears which had gathered in his gentle eyes.
According to the surest law of nature, that broken-down animal had beenforgotten as soon as he was done with. He would have given his fourlegs--if he could legally dispose of them--for a single draught ofsweet delicious rapturous ecstatic water; but his bloodshot eyes soughtvainly, and his welted tongue found nothing wet, except the flakes ofhis own salt foam. Until, with the help of the moon, a sparkle (worthmore to his mind than all the diamonds he could draw)--a sparkle of thepurest water gleamed into his dim eyes from the distance. Recalling tohis mind's eyes the grand date of his existence when he was a colt, andhad a meadow to himself, with a sparkling river at the end of it, he setforth in good faith, and, although his legs were weary, "negotiated"--asthe sporting writers say--the distance between him and the object ofhis desire. He had not the least idea that this had cost ten guineas--asmuch as his own good self was worth; for it happened to be the firstdahlia seen in that part of the country. That gaudy flower at its firstappearance made such a stir among gardeners that Mr. Swipes gave theAdmiral no peace until he allowed him to order one. And so great wasthis gardener's pride in his profession that he would not take an orderfor a rooted slip or cutting, from the richest man in the neighbourhood,for less than half a guinea. Therefore Mr. Swipes was attending to theplant with the diligence of a wet-nurse, and the weather being dry, hehad soaked it overhead, even before he did that duty to himself.
A man of no teeth can take his nourishment in soup; and nature,inverting her manifold devices--which she would much rather do than bebeaten--has provided that a horse can chew his solids into liquids, ifthere is a drop of juice in their composition, when his artificial lifehas failed to supply him with the bucket. This horse, being very dry,laid his tongue to the water-drops that sparkled on the foliage. Hefound them delicious, and he longed for more, and very soon his readymind suggested that the wet must have come out of the leaves, and theremust be more there. Proceeding on this argument, he found it quitecorrect, and ten guineas' worth of dahlia was gone into his stomach bythe time that Captain Scudamore came courteously to look after him.
Blyth, in equal ignorance of his sumptuous repast, gave him a pat ofapproval, and was turning his head towards the stable yard, when hesaw a white figure gliding swiftly through the trees beyond the beltof shrubbery. Weary and melancholy as he was, and bewildered with thetumult of disasters, his heart bounded hotly as he perceived that thefigure was that of his Dolly--Dolly, the one love of his life, stealingforth, probably to mourn alone the loss of her beloved father. As yethe knew nothing of her share in that sad tale, and therefore felt noanxiety at first about her purpose. He would not intrude upon her grief;he had no right to be her comforter; but still she should have some oneto look after her, at that time of night, and with so much excitementand danger in the air. So the poor horse was again abandoned to his ownresources, and being well used to such treatment, gazed as wistfully anddelicately after the young man Scudamore as that young man gazed afterhis lady-love.
To follow a person stealthily is not conducive to one's self-respect,but something in the lady's walk and gesture impelled the young sailorto follow her. She appeared to be hastening, with some set purpose, andwithout any heed of circumstance, towards a part of the grounds whereno house was, no living creature for company, nor even a bench to restupon. There was no foot-path in that direction, nor anything to go to,but the inland cliff that screened the Hall from northeastern winds,and at its foot a dark pool having no good name in the legends of theneighbourhood. Even Parson Twemlow would not go near it later than theafternoon milking of the cows, and Captain Zeb would much rather facea whole gale of wind in a twelve-foot boat than give one glance at itsdead calm face when the moon like a ghost stood over it.
"She is going towards Corpse-walk pit," thought Scuddy--"a cheerfulplace at this time of night! She might even fall into it unawares, inher present state of distraction. I am absolutely bound to follow her."
Duty fell in with his wishes, as it has a knack of doing. Forgetting hisweariness, he followed, and became more anxious at every step. For themaiden walked as in a dream, without regard of anything, herself morelike a vision than a good substantial being. To escape Mrs. Stubbard shehad gone upstairs and locked herself in her bedroom, and then slippedout without changing dress, but throwing a dark mantle over it. This hadfallen off, and she had not cared to stop or think about it, but went onto her death exactly as she went in to dinner. Her dress of white silktook the moonlight with a soft gleam like itself, and her clusteringcurls (released from fashion by the power of passion) fell, like theshadows, on her sweet white neck. But she never even asked herself howshe looked; she never turned round to admire her shadow: tomorrow shewould throw no shade, but be one; and how she looked, or what she was,would matter, to the world she used to think so much of, never more.
Suddenly she passed from the moonlight into the blackness of a lonelythicket, and forced her way through it, without heed of bruise or rent.At the bottom of the steep lay the long dark pit, and she stood uponthe brink and gazed into it. To a sane mind nothing could look lessinviting. All above was air and light, freedom of the wind and play ofmoon with summer foliage; all below was gloom and horror, cold eternalstillness, and oblivion everlasting. Even the new white frock awoke noflutter upon that sullen breast.
Dolly heaved a sigh and shuddered, but she did not hesitate. Her mindwas wandering, but her heart was fixed to make atonement, to give itslife for the life destroyed, and to lie too deep for shame or sorrow.Suddenly a faint gleam caught her eyes. The sob of self-pity from herfair young breast had brought into view her cherished treasures, brightkeepsakes of the girlish days when many a lover worshipped her. Takingfrom her neck the silken braid, she kissed them, and laid them on thebank. "They were all too good for me," she thought; "they shall notperish with me."
Then, with one long sigh, she called up all her fleeting courage, andsprang upon a fallen trunk which overhung the water. "There will be noDan to save me now," she said as she reached the end of it. "Poor Dan!He will be sorry for me. This is the way out of it."
Her white satin shoes for a moment shone upon the black bark of thetree, and, with one despairing prayer to Heaven, she leaped into theliquid grave.
Dan was afar, but another was near, who loved her even more than Dan.Blyth Scudamore heard the plunge, and rushed to the brink of the pit,and tore his coat off. For a moment he saw nothing but black waterheaving silently; then something white appeared, and moved, and a faintcry arose, and a hopeless struggle with engulfing death began.
"Keep still, don't struggle, only spread your arms, and throw your headback as far as you can," he cried, as he swam with long strokes towardsher. But if she heard, she could not heed, as the lights of the deep skycame and went, and the choking water flashed between, and gurgled intoher ears and mouth, and smothered her face with her own long hair.She dashed her poor helpless form about, and flung out her feet forsomething solid, and grasped in dim agony at the waves herself had made.Then her dress became heavily bagged with water, and the love of lifewas quenched, and the night of death enveloped her. Without a murmur,down she went, and the bubbles of her breath came up.
Scudamore uttered a bitter cry, for his heart was almost broken--withinan arm's-length of his love, and she was gone for ever! For the momenthe did not perceive that the clasp of despair must have drowned themboth. Pointing his hands and throwing up his heels, he made one vaindive after her, then he knew that the pit was too deep for the bottomto be reached in that way. He swam to the trunk from which Dolly hadleaped, and judging the distance by the sullen ripple, dashed in witha dive like a terrified frog. Like a bullet he sank to the bottom, andgroped with three fathoms of water above him. Just as his lungs weregiving out, he felt something soft and limp and round. Grasping thisby the trailing hair, he struck mightily up for the surface, and drew along breath, and sustained above water the head that fell back upon hispanting breast.
Some three hours later, Dolly
Darling lay in her own little bed, as paleas death, but sleeping the sleep of the world that sees the sun; whileher only sister knelt by her side, weeping the tears of a higher worldthan that. "How could I be so brutal, and so hard?" sobbed Faith."If father has seen it, will he ever forgive me? His last wordswere--'forgive, and love.'"
Springhaven: A Tale of the Great War Page 62