Books: The Pillars of the House, V1

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Pillars of the House, V1

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'You were. Somehow one feels more than one sees.'

'And you thought she did? Then at least I was not quite a fool? I
fancied that there was response enough to what seems to have shown in
spite of me to warrant the dream that if ever a time came--!'

'If she had had depth enough!'

'But, of course,' said Felix in a tone of defence, 'she never really
knew; he guessed still less.'

'No, I am sure he never guessed. There is that comfort,' said Cherry.

'It is the greatest I have had all along,' said Felix. 'For the rest,
it was no wonder.'

'No,' said Cherry; 'but it all managed to fall in the very hardest
way on you. No wonder it was too much for you!'

'It is odd,' mused Felix, 'how this one dream has seemed to take all
the heart and soul out of one; there seemed no elasticity to meet
other things. I must say all this doctor's advice has been seeming an
amazing amount of trouble for what is not very well worth having in
the end.'

'O Felix, Felix you will--'

'My Cherie, you don't think I'd drop off the coach while you are in
it if I can help it, to say nothing of the rest! I suppose every one
has something of the sort in his turn, and I'll take good care not to
be let in for it again. Thank you, Cherry,' he added presently, and
now looking at her, 'I am very glad to have had this out with you. I
think I can make a fresh start now. What, silly little thing! crying,
when I thought I had brought you good news!'

'You are quite sure you have told me all Dr. Lee said?' she demanded,
holding his hands tight, and gazing into the face, which certainly,
with the still heightened colour, looked both delicate and weary.
'You have been so much worse than you told!'

'No, indeed, I have felt very little but weariness and want of
energy; but I am better now than I have felt for weeks. And what is
more, Cherry, I don't feel like getting worse. I mean to set myself
to live to get through the work my father left me.'

'Taking care of all of us! Is that all you care to live for, Felix?'

'All, just now. Don't look shocked, Cherry. You know it is all very
fresh' ('Five months--poor Felix!' thought she), 'and there is the
continual pain of knowing how wretched those people make the poor
child. When she is happier, perhaps the shade will lighten. Don't be
afraid, you dear little thing' (he was answering her piteous eyes),
'there's plenty of time to recover it. I suppose I am really very
young still.'

'Not quite three and twenty! Oh, Felix! I am sure God will give you
back happiness, you are so good and patient! Where will you go, and
when?'

'How I wish you could go with me! Dr. Lee said he should like to send
me to Switzerland; but as he might as well have said the moon, he
said any sea place would do. Rest and good air are all that
signifies; so I thought of Ewmouth, and then I might see Vale Leston
again. I believe you want it as much as I. You are a little washed-
out rag.'

'I shall be all right when I know you are better.' Then as Sibby
brought out the tea, and Stella the toast she had insisted on making,
he began to look at his short-hand notes. 'Never mind those. You are
to rest, you know.--Stella, little one, run to the office, and if Mr.
Froggatt is not busy, get him to come and have some tea.'

This was always a mission to Stella's taste; and Mr. Froggatt was
soon installed in the only basket-chair that would hold him, and was
professing his relief and satisfaction that Mr. Underwood had been
wise enough to take advice at last. He had better go any day, the
sooner the better; and even his desire to take the newspaper work
with him would have been overruled, but for the simple fact that
there was nobody else capable of it, in the present state of Mr.
Froggatt's eyes.

Alda had been lying down in her own' room. Her cup of tea--an
institution that for any one else Wilmet would have deemed sinful
waste--had been rung for, when she saw from the window that Mr.
Froggatt was one of the party in the garden, and whereas Sibby did
not choose to hear or attend to her whims, she came down full of
wrath and indignation, as soon as she saw that Cherry was left alone
under her tree, and Wilmet coming out to her with the step of one who
was glad her day's work was over.

'Really, Sibby's inattention was shameful! Not choosing to bring the
tea upstairs when it was rung for!'

'You forget how much Sibby has to do, Alda.'

'You have quite spoilt Sibby. I would not have such a servant on any
account. I'm sure I don't know why the tea was so early, either.
Cherry ordered it, I believe.'

'Yes,' said Cherry, 'because Felix came in so hot and tired.'

'He could have waited, I suppose,' began Alda; but Wilmet was asking
anxiously, 'Is he so very tired? Where is he? I was afraid he would
be knocked up, he looked so pale when he set off.'

'He is gone to write out his notes,' said Cherry; 'I think he is
rested now. And, Mettie,' she added, knowing that he had rather not
have to begin the subject again,' I am glad to say he has been to see
Dr. Lee. And he says that his lungs are all safe, only he must be
careful, and go away for a change.'

'Just as I say,' exclaimed Alda; 'no one can be well, living in such
a hole! When are we to go?'

'My dear Alda,' said Wilmet, 'you forget. No one can possibly go but
Felix; and it will be hard enough to manage for him.'

'Then I do think it is very selfish in him,' said Alda, 'when every
one of us wants change! I'm as languid as possible; and look at
Cherry.'

Felix selfish! Even Wilmet could not stand that, and answered with
her most severely gentle manner, 'Nothing but necessity will induce
Felix to do so. I beg you will say nothing of the sort again.'

Cherry was alarmed lest Wilmet might not be convinced of the
necessity, and might think more of present pounds than future health;
but in fact, Wilmet was as much relieved as Cherry herself by the
medical opinion, for she had charged the failure of health entirely
to the constitution instead of the heart, and moreover never was
troubled with misgivings and heart-sinkings for the future. So, as
for a needful and infallible cure, she set herself to arrange,
writing again to Abednego Tripp, the Vale Leston clerk, whose
possession of a market boat kept him conversant with Ewmouth, and who
recommended rooms in the house of a former servant at the Rectory who
had married a sailor.

Felix only waited to put his business in train, and make over
Theodore to the care of Clement, who had just come home from
Cambridge. The quantity of work and bustle had not been beneficial,
and his sisters did not feel at all happy in sending him off by
himself; while Alda was inclined to think the time a particularly
cruel one, just as all the most unquiet spirits of the household
would be coming home for the holidays, and his authority would be
most wanted.

However, Wilmet was free first of all, and she was a more efficient
guardian of the peace than ever Felix could be downstairs. Lance was
to come on the evening of the 26th of June, after the examination for
the exhibition, which, as he had told every one, he was quite sure
not to gain. And then what was to be done with him, small and boyish
as he still was?

The question was sighed over on that day by the three sisters as they
sat endeavouring to be cool, and looking out at the glowing street
where the few passengers seemed to be crawling like flies on a
window-pane.

Presently a rather hesitating knock at the door was followed by the
entrance of Mr. Froggatt, ushering in no other than Mr. Harewood.

In the moment of shaking hands, Cherry had foreboded enough to set
her pulses throbbing so violently as to deafen her ears. Lance had
failed, had run away in despair, to go to Fulbert rather than be a
burthen; Felix would go in search of him--break a blood-vessel--and--

Nay--what was it? Lance! It really was Lance! Was not Wilmet talking
of going! Mr. Harewood saying something about trains? She made a
great effort to clear her senses, and the first thing she really
distinguished was Wilmet saying, 'Thank you, I will put a few things
together.'

Then she hurried away, and Cherry found Mr. Froggatt standing over
her, saying kindly, 'Dear Miss Geraldine, don't be alarmed. There is
often no bad result.'

'How was it? I don't understand,' said Alda.

Mr. Harewood owned himself not perfectly informed, but he feared the
trouble had been in great part occasioned by his own poor boy
William's carelessness. The two boys had strolled out the evening
before, along the bank of the river, and had compared the copies of
verses which were to be shown up at the examination. Afterwards they
had bathed, and Will had left his verses meantime in the hollow of a
tree, never remembering them till he found himself in his place in
the Cathedral on the very morning of the examination. When he came
out, not only did his duties as senior chorister chain him to the
spot, but he had put off to the last moment the fair copying of his
algebraic exercises, and his chance of the exhibition was as good as
lost (the very loop-hole that Robina had predicted his carelessness
would make), had not Lance, whose preparations were all made, as soon
as he understood the difficulty, dashed headlong off, bare-headed as
he stood at the school door, without waiting to fetch his cap, and
laid the verses on his rival's desk just in time for them to be shown
up. He had been absent about twenty minutes, and had scarcely been
missed; but when his turn came, a few moments later, to bring his
papers to the examiners, as soon as he stood up, he staggered, gazed
round, cried out, and fell forward on his desk insensible. A doctor,
who like Mr. Harewood himself had been present to hear a son's
performance, had helped to raise him, and pronounced it to be a case
of sunstroke; nor, when, half an hour later, the librarian set off to
fetch his sister, had there been any sign of consciousness.

Mr. Harewood tried to be calm, but he was evidently in great
distress; and Mr. Froggatt could not restrain large tears from
dropping.

As to Cherry, she could only tremble, unable to speak or cry; and Mr.
Froggatt called out to Alda to do something for her, when Alda said
she would call Wilmet, which made Cherry burst out with 'Don't,
don't!' and shudder the more with tearless sobs; but happily, Clement
coming down, fetched her remedies, and did more by whispering a few
kind words of hope and comfort.

He was going with Wilmet, who was as usual the self-possessed one;
and while passively allowing Mr. Froggatt to give her biscuits and
even wine, she left her few parting directions. 'Alda, take care of
them all.--Stella, try to keep Tedo happy.--Cherry, don't give way
and fancy things.--Above all, don't write to Felix! He must not be
hurried home without necessity. I could telegraph if there was--' and
there her steady voice faltered, she drew down her veil and turned to
walk to the station, Clement carrying her bag, and Mr. Froggatt
accompanying them to the train.

Very little was said on the way, before they reached the town whose
last associations were so joyous. Mr. Harewood would have given
Wilmet his arm, dreading the tidings that might meet her; but she was
walking straight on, with head erect, as though neither needing nor
seeking support.

They reached the low wicket-door of the Bailey, and as they entered
the little court and passed the window, they saw that people were
still standing about the bed in the corner. Everything was open, to
admit such air as might stir that sultry heat. Some one came to the
door, and said, 'No change.'

Then Wilmet and Clement advanced to the narrow old dark oak bed, and
Mrs. Harewood made way for them, fresh tears starting at their
presence. There he lay, their bright agile boy, with eyes half closed
and fixed, and circled half way down his cheeks with livid purple,
like bruises, the purple lips emitting a heavy breath, his crest of
sunny hair hanging dank with the melting of the ice on his head.

Clement's lips trembled, and he dropped on his knees, hiding his face
and stifling his sobs in his hands. Wilmet, after looking for
permission to a gentleman at the foot of the bed, whom she took for
the doctor, laid her hand on the helpless fingers, and bent to kiss
the brow, saying softly and steadily, 'Lance, dear Lancey!'

The eyelids moved, the hand closed, there was a struggling stifled
utterance: 'Wilmet, Wilmet, bring me back! Oh, bring me back!'

She looked up, and read in the watchers' faces that they were glad.
'Yes, dear Lance,' she said, in her soft steady voice, 'I am here.
You will soon be better.'

He clung to her, as if blindly struggling with some terrible
oppression, and the effort ended in violent sickness, exhausting him
into unconsciousness again; but just then the real doctor came in,
having been summoned by a message at the first symptom of change from
the state of stupor. At the same time the Cathedral bell began to
ring for evening prayer, and Lance at once was roused to endeavour to
obey it, and when he was gently held back, murmured on about finding
the places, and seeing Bill was not late. Mr. Harewood had to go, but
whispered that he would ask the prayers of the congregation. It was
comfortable to remember that Lance was thought of there, when, as the
deep roll of the organ vibrated round the building, psalm, chant,
anthem, and response came thronging thick and confusedly on those
unconscious lips.

Dr. Manby, however, told Wilmet not to be too much alarmed at this
delirium, for the most immediate danger had passed when the lethargy
had given way, and that though fever was probably setting in, there
was fair hope that so healthy a boy would be able to struggle through
it without permanent harm. There was a gentleness and consideration
in his manner quite new to her after her dealings with Mr. Rugg, and
she felt at the same time that he was not concealing the truth from
her. She told how it was with her eldest brother, asking whether he
ought to be sent for; and it was a great lightening of present fear
to be told that there was now no need for haste, and that any change
for the worse would give full time to bring him; moreover, that new
faces were to be avoided. Should a nurse be sent from the hospital?
Wilmet raised her steady sensible eyes, and said she could manage,
she was well used to nursing.

'I see you are,' he answered, well satisfied, since there were
besides the Precentor's housekeeper, who was used to act as matron to
the boarding choir-boys, and apparently an unlimited power of
Harewoods.

As to the place, Lance had at first been carried to his own bed, and
even if there had been a regular infirmary, he was in no state to
bear being moved. The other boys' goods had been removed, and they
all were going home that evening; so that it was as cool and as quiet
a place as could be had, since there was no doubt that the sounds
from the Cathedral would be hushed for so critical a case.

Indeed, just as Dr. Manby had said this, both the Dean and the
Precentor were seen coming through the Bailey on the way out of
church to ask after the patient; and the former promised Wilmet that
the bells and organ should both be silenced, and that the daily
service should be in the Lady Chapel.

It appeared there had been little but the instrumental music that
evening, and strangers who had heard the praises of the Minsterham
choir must have been disappointed; for the psalms so entirely
overcame the senior chorister that he could do nothing but sob, and
at last was fain to stuff half the sleeve of his surplice into his
mouth to hinder a howl such as the least of the boys actually burst
out with. Most of the other lads were far past singing, and even two
or three of the men, and such voices as did uplift themselves were
none of the best or clearest.

That poor senior chorister--he crept back after his father into the
room. It was his first entrance, for he had been kept all day at the
examination, with what power of attention may be guessed; and when
some half-recognition of him set the sufferer off into wanderings
that showed habitual vigilance over his carelessness, he was so much
distressed that he rushed out, and was heard crying so piteously in
the court, that his mother went out to hush and comfort him. Never
strong, the shock, anxiety, and exertion had so worn her out, that
her family would not let her come back; but their attention to the
nurses did not relax--they were viewed as guests both by Mr. Beccles
and the Harewoods; and when it was found that neither would come away
to another house to dine, a little table was prepared in the court,
close to the door, and the sister and brother, coaxed one by one, and
made to eat and drink; while, as Clement could not bear to go home, a
note was written, the delivery of which to the sisters Mr. Beccles
undertook to secure. All the evening, Mr. Harewood or his eldest son,
the engineer captain, the same whom Wilmet had taken for the doctor,
sat at the other end of the room; while Lance lay, sometimes babbling
school tasks mixed with anthems and hymns, sometimes in something
between sleep and torpor, but always moaning and fevered.

This strange temporary infirmary, of which Wilmet was made free,
consisted of two long narrow rooms, each with a row of quaint black
oak beds and presses, between the double row of narrow lattice
windows, looking into the court on one side, and the cloister on the
other. There was a smaller room dividing these two chambers, and
opening into both, which the under-master had vacated, and where the
matron installed Miss Underwood's little bag.

Clement was a good deal impressed with the place, in the grand quiet
shadow of the old Cathedral; and the room itself told much of his
brother's daily life, in his own little section of it. The deep
window-seat and old oak chest were loaded with piles of Punch,
sheets of music, school-books, and grotesque sketches; bat, hockey-
stick, and fishing-rod were in the corner; trencher cap and little
black gown hung on their peg on the white-washed walls, and pinned
beside them lists of the week's music, school-work, etc. In the
corner by the press was a little rough deal table, covered with an
old white shawl that Clement remembered as his mother's; and on it
lay Lance's old brown Bible, the Prayer-book given him by the Bishop,
Steps to the Altar, and Ken's Manual; over it hung the photograph
of his father, and next above, an illumination of Cherry's, 'The joy
of the LORD is your strength;' while above was a little print of the
Good Shepherd. Nor was it a small testimony to the boy who had been
senior in the room, that Clement found one or two other such little
tables, evidently for private prayer. He had never believed such
things could be out of St. Matthew's, nor where the books were not
more of his own exclusive type than were Lance's; and perhaps there
was some repentance for harsh judgment in his spirit as he knelt on
by that little table long after Mr. Harewood, near midnight, had read
a few prayers and gone to his house.

When Clement stood up, his sister made him lie down, as well as his
long legs would permit, on one of the other beds, where he soon fell
asleep; while she sat on, where she could see the spire rising aloft
into the pale blue of the summer night's sky, while the perfect
stillness was only broken by the quarterly chiming of the clock, re-
echoed from its fellow in the town-hall. Every window and door was
open, but the air was heated and oppressive till the early dewy
coolness before dawn crept in, making her bend over Lance to cover
him less slightly. Then she met his eyes, heavy and bloodshot, but
with himself in them.

'Wilmet, is that you?' he said, in a wondering tone.

'Yes, here I am, dear Lance.'

'Is it night or morning?'

'Morning. There, it is striking three-quarters past two.'

'Oh!' a long sigh. 'I'm so thirsty!'

She brought some drink; but as he tried to raise his head, the
distressing sickness returned in full force, and in the midst the
gasping cry, 'My head, my head!'

'Some more ice, Clem,' said Wilmet; but Clement looked up from the
ice-pail in despair, for all was melted; and she could only steep
handkerchiefs in the water and in eau-de-cologne, and lay them on the
head, while Clement wondered if he could find a shop; but where was
the use at three in the morning? and poor Lance rolled round wearily,
sighing, 'Oh, I did not know one's head could ache so!'

Just then a step crossed the court, and a low voice said, 'Is he
awake? I have brought some more ice.'

'O Jack, thank you!' faintly breathed Lance.

'Thank you!' fervently added Wilmet; 'we did not know what to do for
some more!'

'I thought you must want some by this time. I have a little ice-
machine for Indian use,' he added, as Clement looked at him like a
sort of wizard.

He was small, sandy, and freckled after the Harewood fashion, and was
besides dried up by Eastern suns, but one who brought such succour
could not fail to be half celestial in the sister's eyes; and as he
said, 'You are getting better,' her response was fervent in its
quietness, though poor Lance, conscious only of oppression and
suffering, merely replied with a groan, and seemed to be dozing again
into torpor in the relief the ice had given.

Clement and Captain Harewood besought Wilmet to rest--the latter
declaring himself to be too much of an East Indian to sleep at dawn;
and she consented to lie down in the little room, where she had
enough of wakeful slumber to strengthen her for the heat of the day,
when the fever ran high, and all the most trying symptoms returned.

The doctor continued to forbid despondency, building much on the
lucid interval in the cool of the morning, and ascribing much of the
excitement of brain to the excessive, almost despairing, study that
Lance had been attempting in the last weeks before the examination.
There had, too, been a concert given by one of the great ladies of
the Close, for which there had been a good deal of practice, harassed
by certain amateur humours, and the constant repetition of one poor
little shallow song in the delirious murmur greatly pained the
Precentor, and made him indulge in murmurs that boded ill to the
ladies' chances with the choir-boys. The sultry weather was likewise
a great enemy, and could hardly be mitigated by the continual fanning
kept up chiefly by poor Bill Harewood, who seemed to have no comfort
except in working the fan till he was ready to drop, and his brother
or Clement took it from him.

Mrs. Harewood was quite knocked up, and her daughters were curiously
inefficient people. Their father came and went all day; but the
serviceable person was the engineer, with his experience of sun-
strokes, his devices for coolness, and his cheerful words, stilling
the torrent of rambling restlessness, so that Wilmet depended upon
him as much as on the doctor himself.

On Saturday, the third day of the fever, which had rather increased
than diminished, Wilmet begged Clement to go home for the night, to
carry a report to the sisters, and fetch some things she wanted. He
lingered, grieving and reluctant; while the heated atmosphere was
like a solid weight on the sufferer, who lay, now and then murmuring
some distressed phrase, as though labouring with some forgotten task;
and Wilmet shunned touching the pulse again lest the reckoning should
be higher than the last, and strove to construct a message conveying
the hope that seemed to faint in the burthen of the day, insisting,
above all, that guarded accounts should be sent to Felix, keeping
carefully to Dr. Manby's report.

'I can be here before nine,' said Clement; 'I wish I could help
going. I feel as if something must happen!'

'A thunderstorm,' said Captain Harewood in a reproving voice, as he
plied the fan, with heat-drops on his brow; 'a thunderstorm, which
will prove the best doctor. Take care, you will miss the train.'

Clement stooped to kiss the unconscious face, as though he had never
prized his little brother before, and as some association of the
touch of the lips awoke the murmur, 'Mamma, Mamma!' he sped away with
eyes full of tears.

Before he could have reached the station, the storm was coming--great
rounded masses of cloud, with silver-foamed edges and red lurid
caverns, began to climb slowly up the sky, distant grumbles of
thunder came gradually nearer, a few fitful gusts of wind came like
sirocco, adding to the stifling heat, and were followed by exceeding
stillness, broken by the first few big drops of rain, the visible
flashes, and the nearer peals of thunder, till a sudden glare and
boom overhead startled Lance into a frightened bewildered state, that
so occupied Wilmet that she hardly heard the roaring, pattering hail-
drops on the roofs and pavements; but when a sweet fresh wind blew
away the hail, the weary head was more at rest, the slumber more
tranquil, the breathing freer and softer than it had been since that
Wednesday.

Some two hours later she saw him looking at her with a sort of
perplexed smile and the first words upon his tongue were, 'Is Bill
first?'