Cord and Creese

by James De Mille

  CHAPTER XXXIII.

  "PICKED UP ADRIFT."

  On the morning following two travelers left a small inn which lay on theroad-side, about ten miles north of Brandon. It was about eight o'clockwhen they took their departure, driving in their own carriage at amoderate pace along the road.

  "Look, Langhetti," said the one who was driving, pointing with his whipto an object in the road directly in front of them.

  Langhetti raised his head, which had been bowed down in deepabstraction, to look in the direction indicated. A figure wasapproaching them. It looked like a woman. She walked very slowly, andappeared rather to stagger than to walk.

  "She appears to be drunk, Despard," said Langhetti. "Poor wretch, and onthis bleak March morning too! Let us stop and see if we can do any thingfor her."

  They drove on, and as they met the woman Despard stopped.

  She was young and extraordinarily beautiful. Her face was thin andwhite. Her clothing was of fine materials but scanty and torn to shreds.As they stopped she turned her large eyes up despairingly and stoodstill, with a face which seemed to express every conceivable emotion ofanguish and of hope. Yet as her eyes rested on Langhetti a change cameover her. The deep and unutterable sadness of her face passed away, andwas succeeded by a radiant flash of joy. She threw out her arms towardhim with a cry of wild entreaty.

  The moment that Langhetti saw her he started up and stood for an instantas if paralyzed. Her cry came to his ears. He leaped from the carriagetoward her, and caught her in his arms.

  "Oh, Bice! Alas, my Bicina!" he cried, and a thousand fond words came tohis lips.

  Beatrice looked up with eyes filled with grateful tears; her lipsmurmured some inaudible sentences; and then, in this full assuranceof safety, the resolution that had sustained her so long gave wayaltogether. Her eyes closed, she gave a low moan, and sank senselessupon his breast.

  Langhetti supported her for a moment, then gently laid her down to tryand restore her. He chafed her hands, and did all that is usually donein such emergencies. But here the case was different--it was more than acommon faint, and the animation now suspended was not to be restored byordinary efforts.

  Langhetti bowed over her as he chafed her hands. "Ah, my Bicina," hecried; "is it thus I find you! Ah, poor thin hand! Alas, white wan face!What suffering has been yours, pure angel, among those fiends of hell!"

  He paused, and turned a face of agony toward Despard. But as he lookedat him he saw a grief in his countenance that was only second to hisown. Something in Beatrice's appearance had struck him with a deeperfeeling than that merely human interest which the generous heart feelsin the sufferings of others.

  "Langhetti," said he, "let us not leave this sweet angel exposed to thisbleak wind. We must take her back to the inn. We have gained our object.Alas! the gain is worse than a failure."

  "What can we do?"

  "Let us put her in the carriage between us, and drive back instantly."

  Despard stooped as he spoke, raised her reverently in his arms, andlifted her upon the seat. He sprang in and put his arms around hersenseless form, so as to support her against himself. Langhetti lookedon with eyes that were moist with a sad yet mysterious feeling.

  Then he resumed his place in the carriage.

  "Oh, Langhetti!" said Despard, "what is it that I saw in the face ofthis poor child that so wrings my heart? What is this mystery of yoursthat you will not tell?"

  "I can not solve it," said Langhetti, "and therefore I will not tellit."

  "Tell it, whatever it is."

  "No, it is only conjecture as yet, and I will not utter it."

  "And it affects me?"

  "Deeply."

  "Therefore tell it."

  "Therefore I must not tell it; for if it prove baseless I shall onlyexcite your feeling in vain."

  "At any rate let me know. For I have the wildest fancies, and I wish toknow if it is possible that they are like your own."

  "No, Despard," said Langhetti. "Not now. The time may come, but it hasnot yet."

  Beatrice's head leaned against Despard's shoulder as she reclinedagainst him, sustained by his arm. Her face was upturned; a face aswhite as marble, her pure Grecian features showing now their faultlesslines like the sculptured face of some goddess. Her beauty was perfectin its classic outline. But her eyes were closed, and her wan, whitelips parted; and there was a sorrow on her face which did not seemappropriate to one so young.

  "HE LEAPED FROM THE CARRIAGE TOWARD HER, AND CAUGHT HERIN HIS ARMS."]

  "Look," said Langhetti, in a mournful voice. "Saw you ever in all yourlife any one so perfectly and so faultlessly beautiful? Oh, if you couldbut have seen her, as I have done, in her moods of inspiration, when shesang! Could I ever have imagined such a fate as this for her?"

  "Oh, Despard!" he continued, after, a pause in which the other hadturned his stern face to him without a word--"Oh, Despard! you ask me totell you this secret. I dare not. It is so wide-spread. If my fancy betrue, then all your life must at once be unsettled, and all your soulturned to one dark purpose. Never will I turn you to that purpose till Iknow the truth beyond the possibility of a doubt."

  "I saw that in her face," said Despard, "which I hardly dare acknowledgeto myself."

  "Do not acknowledge it, then, I implore you. Forget it. Do not open uponce more that old and now almost forgotten sorrow. Think not of it evento yourself."

  Langhetti spoke with a wild and vehement urgency which was wonderful.

  "Do you not see," said Despard, "that you rouse my curiosity to anintolerable degree?"

  "Be it so; at any rate it is better to suffer from curiosity than tofeel what you must feel if I told you what I suspect."

  Had it been any other man than Langhetti Despard would have beenoffended. As it was he said nothing, but began to conjecture as to thebest course for them to follow.

  "It is evident," said he to Langhetti, "that she has escaped fromBrandon Hall during the past night. She will, no doubt, be pursued. Whatshall we do? If we go back to this inn they will wonder at our bringingher. There is another inn a mile further on."

  "I have been thinking of that," replied Langhetti. "It will be better togo to the other inn. But what shall we say about her? Let us say she isan invalid going home."

  "And am I her medical attendant?" asked Despard.

  "No; that is not necessary. You are her guardian--the Rector of Holby,of course--your name is sufficient guarantee."

  "Oh," said Despard, after a pause, "I'll tell you something better yet.I am her brother and she is my sister--Miss Despard."

  As he spoke he looked down upon her marble face. He did not seeLanghetti's countenance. Had he done so he would have wondered. ForLanghetti's eyes seemed to seek to pierce the very soul of Despard.His face became transformed. Its usual serenity vanished, and there waseager wonder, intense and anxious curiosity--an endeavor to see if therewas not some deep meaning underlying Despard's words. But Despard showedno emotion. He was conscious of no deep meaning. He merely murmured tohimself as he looked down upon the unconscious face:

  "My sick sister--my sister Beatrice."

  Langhetti said not a word, but sat in silence, absorbed in one intenseand wondering gaze. Despard seemed to dwell upon this idea, fondly andtenderly.

  "She is not one of that brood," said he, after a pause. "It is in nameonly that she belongs to them."

  "They are fiends and she is an angel," said Langhetti.

  "Heaven has sent her to us; we most preserve her forever."

  "If she lives," said Langhetti, "she must never go back."

  "Go back!" cried Despard. "Better far for her to die."

  "I myself would die rather than give her up."

  "And I, too. But we will not. I will adopt her. Yes, she shall cast awaythe link that binds her to these accursed ones--her vile name. I willadopt her. She shall have my name--she shall be my sister. She shall beBeatrice Despard.

  "And surely," continued Despard, looking tenderly down, "s
urely, of allthe Despard race there was never one so beautiful and so pure as she."

  Langhetti did not say a word, but looked at Despard and the one whomhe thus called his adopted sister with an emotion which he couldnot control. Tears started to his eyes; yet over his brow there camesomething which is not generally associated with tears--a lofty,exultant expression, an air of joy and peace.

  "Your sister," said Despard, "shall nurse her back to health. Shewill do so for your sake, Langhetti--or rather from her own noble andgenerous instincts. In Thornton Grange she will, perhaps, find somealleviation for the sorrows which she may have endured. Our care shallbe around her, and we can all labor together for her future welfare."

  They at length reached the inn of which they had spoken, and Beatricewas tenderly lifted out and carried up stairs. She was mentioned as thesister of the Rev. Mr. Despard, of Holby, who was bringing her back fromthe sea-side, whither she had gone for her health. Unfortunately, shehad been too weak for the journey.

  The people of the inn showed the kindest attention and warmest sympathy.A doctor was sent for, who lived at a village two miles farther on.

  Beatrice recovered from her faint, but remained unconscious. The doctorconsidered that her brain was affected. He shook his head solemnly overit; as doctors always do when they have nothing in particular to say.Both Langhetti and Despard knew more about her case than he did.

  They saw that rest was the one thing needed. But rest could be betterattained in Holby than here; and besides, there was the danger ofpursuit. It was necessary to remove her; and that, too, without delay.A closed carriage was procured without much difficulty, and the patientwas deposited therein.

  A slow journey brought them by easy stages to Holby. Beatrice remainedunconscious. A nurse was procured, who traveled with her. The conditionof Beatrice was the same which she described in her diary. Great griefand extraordinary suffering and excitement had overtasked the brain, andit had given way. So Despard and Langhetti conjectured.

  At last they reached Holby. They drove at once to Thornton Grange.

  "What is this?" cried Mrs. Thornton, who had heard nothing from them,and ran out upon the piazza to meet them as she saw them coming.

  "I have found Bice," said Langhetti, "and have brought her here."

  "Where is she?"

  "There," said Langhetti. "I give her to your care--it is for you to giveher back to me."