CHAPTER XIV.
AN EVENTFUL DAY.
"Forget not thy sins that thou mayest sorrow and repent."--_Petrarch_.
When Olivia woke the next morning she was conscious of a curiousfeeling; an indefinable presentiment that she could not put into words."How I wish the day were over," she said to herself; and the thought ofher visit to Galvaston House, and Mr. Gaythorne's sharp, cynicalspeeches, quite oppressed her.
"I hope he will be civil to Mr. Barton," she observed later on to herhusband. "Mr. Barton is very proud and touchy, and he will not submitto a course of cross-examination from a stranger. I am quite dreadingthe afternoon." But Marcus only laughed at her fears.
"Barton can hold his own," was his reply. "He is a bit peppery, but heis not such a fool as to quarrel with his bread and butter. He knowsMr. Gaythorne is a connoisseur, and he will put up with a few sarcasticspeeches in the hope of future profits. Mr. Gaythorne could make himextremely useful; he hinted as much to me this morning. There are somepictures he wants rehung, and one or two that need cleaning andvarnishing. Barton has only got to prove without doubt that he and notGoddard painted that picture, and then they will get on all right. Youmust just hold your tongue, Livy, and leave them to fight it out." AndOlivia resolved to abide by this prudent advice.
Robert Barton worked hard most of the morning, and then, as the sunshone brightly, he went out for a stroll before the early dinner.
He came back looking so pale and tired that Olivia scolded him fortaking too long a walk.
"I have not been far," he returned, sitting down in rather a wearymanner, "and it was so warm and pleasant in the sunshine that I thoughtit would do me good." Then he gave a short laugh, and said, abruptly,"The fact is, something has bowled me over--I have seen a ghost." ThenOlivia, who was clearing the table for the early dinner, stared at him.
"Oh, of course, I am only speaking figuratively," he went on. "Isuppose it was really flesh and blood that I saw; but no ghost couldhave been more startling. I wonder"--speaking as though tohimself--"if my sight deceived me; but it was certainly a singularlikeness. If I had only had the courage to stop and speak; but when Irecollected myself the opportunity had gone--a passing omnibus hinderedme--and then I was too late."
"Did you think it was someone you knew?"
"Yes," very curtly--"a friend of my happier days." But he seemeddisinclined to say more. He was so silent and moody all dinner-timethat Dr. Luttrell looked at him in surprise more than once.
"I suppose you will go straight to your lodgings from Galvaston House,"he said, presently; "it will never do for you to be out late, Barton."And Robert Barton assented to this.
"I shall just fetch my bag and one or two things; I do not suppose weshall be long." And then he rose from the table and began putting uphis brushes, and then took up a book, which he read upside down, untilOlivia was ready to accompany him.
As they crossed the road she said to him, gently:
"I am sorry to see that you are a little out of spirits, and I amafraid this visit may be rather trying--an elderly invalid has allsorts of fads and cranks--but I hope you will be patient." Then RobertBarton smiled pleasantly.
"Oh, yes, I am quite prepared to be regarded as a fraud; but I shallsoon prove that Goddard is the cheat in this case." And then they rangthe bell, and Phoebe, telling them that her master was still in thedining-room, ushered them into the library.
"Please tell Mr. Gaythorne we are in no hurry," observed Olivia, vexedthat they had come so early; but Robert Barton, with one quick glanceround the beautiful room, busied himself with placing the pictures inthe best possible light.
"There," he said, stepping back with a complacent smile, "I think yourold gentleman will own that the same artist painted those two pictures,when he sees them side by side."
But as he spoke the sound of footsteps made him look towards the opendoor. As he did so, Olivia saw him suddenly recoil and turn deadlywhite at the sight of Mr. Gaythorne standing rigid and motionless onthe threshold.
A stifled voice cried, "Alwyn! Good Heavens! it is Alwyn!"--and thenext moment the heavy crutch-handled stick fell from the old man'strembling hand with a sudden crash.
At the sound, Robert Barton shivered and shrank back against the easel.
Olivia picked it up, and tried to place it in Mr. Gaythorne's handagain, but he never noticed her. His eyes were fixed with a look ofagonised intensity on the white face of the young artist.
"It is Alwyn," he said again, in the same suppressed voice, "and yet hedoes not speak or look at me!" And at the anguish in his tone theyoung man raised his head.
"Father, I was not prepared for this," he stammered; "what am I to sayto you?" And then, without advancing a step, he looked round himwildly. "Father, what does this mean--am I dreaming--where are mymother and Olive?" Then a low moan of intense pain broke from Mr.Gaythorne's lips.
"He does not know. Oh, this is too dreadful, Mrs. Luttrell!" Helooked at her almost appealingly, as though his strength were gone, andthen she put her arm round him and guided him gently to a chair.
"Sit quiet for a moment," she whispered; "you are not fit for this."And as she wiped the cold perspiration from his forehead, his ashenlook terrified her. "Dear Mr. Gaythorne, try to compose yourself.Shall I ring for Mrs. Crampton?--perhaps she would know what to do."But he shook his head vehemently.
"No, no--only give me time. Ah, look there!"--for the blind hound thathad just come into the room was now whining and fawning upon RobertBarton in the most excited way.
"Eros knows him. Alwyn,"--trying to raise his voice, but it wasstrangely feeble--"come nearer to me. When I told you you were neverto see my face again, that you were no son of mine, I was labouringunder a grievous mistake. I know now who forged that cheque--I haveknown it for years. No, with all your faults you never did that." Andas he said this Mr. Gaythorne put out a shaking hand to his son, butthe young man did not take it. There was a fierce, angry light in hisblue eyes and a contemptuous smile on his lips.
"I am glad you have done me this tardy justice, sir," he said, in afirmer tone, "and that I have heard from your own lips that I am nocriminal. When we parted, I remember you threatened me with penalservitude. No, I have not disgraced your name to that extent. I havestarved, and nearly died of cold on a doorstep, but I have kept myhands clean."
"Alwyn," exclaimed Mr. Gaythorne, piteously, "I was too hard, I willconfess that. All these years I have been longing to atone, and thesorrow and remorse have made me an old man before my time. There wasmuch to forgive--much that you made me bear. Surely you cannot denythat."
"No, sir, I will not deny that I was a sad scapegrace, but you nevertook the right way to keep me straight. But for my mother and Olive, Ishould have run away long before. Father"--and here there was afrightened look in his eyes--"where are they? Why are you alone?"Then, as Mr. Gaythorne raised his hand with a solemn gesture, the youngman laid his head down on the mantelpiece and his whole frame shookwith convulsive sobs.
"Dead! Oh, no--impossible! My own mother, who always believed in me,and my little Olive!" he gasped out more than once.
"Mr. Alwyn," observed Olivia, putting her hand on his shoulder, but thetears were running down her face as she spoke, "your father cannot bearmuch more. I am afraid he is ill." But even as she spoke, Mr.Gaythorne, who had risen from his chair rather stiffly, suddenly fellon the rug at his son's feet.
The next moment the pealing of the bell brought Mrs. Crampton and thefrightened servants to the room. They found Mrs. Luttrell and thestranger kneeling by the side of the prostrate form; but as thehousekeeper caught sight of the young artist's face, she uttered asudden cry. "It is Mr. Alwyn," she said, "and the joy of seeing himhas killed my master." But Olivia hushed her.
"Send for Dr. Luttrell," she said; "we must do nothing till he comes.Mr. Alwyn,"--for the unfortunate young man seemed on the verge offainting,--"I do not think he is dead; it is some sort of attack. Wemust do the be
st we can for him, without moving him, until my husbandcomes." But to her intense relief Marcus entered a moment afterwards.
One quick glance at the young artist's agitated face gave Dr. Luttrella vague clue to the mystery, but he was soon too deeply engrossed withhis patient to think of anything else. Under his directions, atemporary bed was made in the library, and the invalid was undressedand laid on it. Mrs. Crampton, who was a capable nurse, carried outthe doctor's instructions, and Olivia made herself useful.
After the first few minutes Alwyn had left the room, unable to endurethe sight any longer. An hour or two passed, then Dr. Luttrell rosefrom his seat beside his patient, and beckoned his wife from the room.
"Livy," he said, as they stood together by the hall fire, "I feel alittle more sanguine now there is partial consciousness, but everythingdepends on keeping him quiet. I shall remain with him tonight and Mrs.Crampton will be with me. I want you to tell me what brought on thisattack. From all your faces I can see something has happened. Bartonlooked as if he would have a stroke, too?"
"Oh, where is he, Marcus? I have not seen him for more than an hour.Ah, you may well think that something has happened. I never waspresent at such a scene. Mr. Barton is his son Alwyn. They recognisedeach other in a moment. Poor Mr. Gaythorne accused himself ofharshness and made a sort of apology, but Mr. Alwyn looked so angry andcontemptuous, and would not shake hands. And then he asked after hismother and sister--they are dead, you know. And then, oh, he brokedown and sobbed so dreadfully that it quite upset me.
"I am sure the poor old man was trying to get to him when he suddenlyfell down at his feet, and Mr. Alwyn screamed out, thinking he wasdead."
"Yes, I see, poor little Livy. What a sad scene; but you behaved verywell. Now, as there is nothing more you can do, suppose you takeBarton--I mean Gaythorne--back with you. We can't let him go to theModels now, and it would not be safe to have him here. Give him somefood and talk to him. Mrs. Crampton will look after my comforts. Iwill run across later on and tell you how he is." And then Oliviareluctantly obeyed him. Marcus was right, and she would not venture tocontradict his orders, but how she longed to stay and share his watch.
"Good child," he said, kissing her. "You are a splendid doctor's wife!No fuss and no arguing." And this little bit of praise went far toconsole her.
"Promise me that you will take care of yourself and I will do my bestfor Mr. Alwyn," she said, nestling up to him for a moment. And thenthe door-bell rang, and Phoebe, with rather a scared face, went to thedoor.
"Is Dr. Luttrell here?" asked a clear voice that they both recognisedas Greta Williams's, and then she caught sight of them and stepped intothe hall.
"They told me you were here, so I ventured to come across," she said,in a low tone, as Marcus looked at her anxiously. "Oh, there isnothing wrong, only nurse forgot to ask you something, and as it was afine evening I said I would call."
"I am coming round later on. I am sorry you have had your walk fornothing," returned Marcus. And then they went apart and talkedtogether for a few minutes. Then Marcus went back to his patient andGreta joined Olivia, who was sitting on the oaken settee by the blazingfire. She was tired out with the strain of the last two hours, andfelt in need of a little rest before she went in search of Alwyn.
"Sit down, Greta,", she whispered. "How strange you should have cometo this house! But then everything is strange to-day----" But hereshe stopped confusedly, as she remembered Mr. Gaythorne's injunction.
"Why is it strange?" asked Greta, innocently. "There is someoneseriously ill here, is there not? But your servant did not tell me thename. How pale and tired you look, Mrs. Luttrell! I suppose it issome friend of yours who is ill?" She glanced at Olivia questioningly,but she only nodded in answer.
"Yes; it was a sudden attack--I think it must have been a stroke. Oh,Greta, what is it?"--for Miss Williams had suddenly risen from her seatwith a startled exclamation and was gazing with wide, frightened eyesand parted lips into the shadowy corner behind her.
The next moment Robert Barton came forward into the firelight, with hispale face and fair, dishevelled hair. He looked almost like a ghost ofhimself, but Greta, with a little cry, held out her hand to him.
"Alwyn, it is you; but how you startled me! Why did you stand there inthat silent, ghostly fashion?" But as he only looked at her in a dazedway, and made no answer, she turned to Olivia.
"Mrs. Luttrell," she said, piteously, "what does it all mean? Why doeshe not speak to me, and we are such old friends? Is he ill? He looksdreadful. I should hardly have known him--and yet--and yet--it must beAlwyn."
"Yes, I am Alwyn," returned the young man, in a hollow voice. "But youmust not touch me, Greta. I am not worthy to take your hand. I havekilled my father!"
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