A Forgotten Hero Part 22

Clarice reached the foot of the stairs without heeding a word he said.

But other hands, as tender as her own, were there before her.

"Little Rosie! my poor little child!" came from Earl Edmund's gentle lips, as he lifted the bruised child in his arms. Tenderly as it was done, Rosie could not repress a moan of pain which went to the two hearts that loved her.

She was not killed, but she was dying.

"A few hours," said the Earl's physician, instantly summoned, "a few hours. There was nothing to be done. She would very likely not suffer much--would hardly be conscious of pain until the end came."

The Earl bore her into his own chamber, and laid her on his bed. With speechless agony Clarice watched beside her.

Just once Rosie spoke.

"Mother, Mother, don't cry!"

Clarice was shedding no tears; they would not come yet; but in Rosie's eyes her strained white face was an equivalent.

"Mother, don't cry," said Rosie. "You said--I asked you--why people died. You said our Lord called them. Must go--when our Lord calls."

Clarice was not able to answer; but Rosie's words struck cold to her heart.

"Must go when our Lord calls!"

She could hardly pray. What went up was not prayer, but rather a wild, pa.s.sionate cry that this thing could not be--should not be.

There were those few hours of half-consciousness, and then, just at the turn of the night, the Lord came and called, and Rosie heard His voice, and went to Him.

Sir Vivian Barkeworth, during that day and night, was not pursuing the even tenor of his way in that state of complacent self-approval which was the usual att.i.tude of his mind. It was not that he mourned the child; his affections were at all times of a microscopic character, and the only spark of regard which he entertained for Rosie was not as his little child, but as his future heiress. Nor was he at all troubled by the sufferings of Clarice. Women were always crying about something; they were decided hindrances and vexations in a man's way; in fact, the existence of women at all, except to see to a man's comforts, and amuse his leisure, was, in Sir Vivian's eyes, an unfortunate mistake in the arrangements of Providence. He mourned first the good opinion which people had of him, and which, by the way, was a much smaller package than Sir Vivian thought it; and secondly, the far more important disturbance of the excellent opinion which he had of himself. He could not rid himself of the unpleasant conviction that a little more patience and amiability on his part would have prevented all this disagreeable affair, though he would not for the world have acknowledged this conviction to Clarice. That was what he thought it--a disagreeable affair. It was the purest accident, he said to himself, and might have happened to any one. At the same time, something, which did not often trouble Vivian, deep down in his inner man, distinctly told him that such an accident would never have happened to the Earl or Sir Ademar.

Vivian only growled at his conscience when it gave him that faint p.r.i.c.k.

He was so accustomed to bid it be quiet, that it had almost ceased to give him any hints, and the p.r.i.c.king was very slight.

"A disagreeable business!" he said, inwardly; "a most disagreeable business. Why did not Clarice attend to her duties better? It was her duty to keep that child from bothering me. What are women good for but to keep their children out of mischief, and to see that their husbands'

paths through life are free from every thorn and pebble?"

Sir Vivian had reached this point when one of the Earl's pages brought him a message. His master wished his attendance in his private sitting-room. Vivian inwardly anathematised the Earl, the page, Heliet (as a witness), Rosie (as the offender), but above all, as the head and front of all his misery, Clarice. He was not the less disposed to anathemas when he found Sir Ademar, Heliet, Clarice, and Master Franco, the physician, a.s.sembled to receive him with the Earl. It rasped him further to perceive that they were all exceedingly grave, though how he could have expected any of them to look hilarious it would be difficult to say. Especially he resented the look of desolate despair in Clarice's eyes, and the physical exhaustion and mental agony written in every line of her white face. He would not have liked to admit that he felt them all as so many trumpet-tongued accusers against him.

"I desired you all to a.s.semble," said the Earl, in tones as gentle as usual, but with an under-current of pain, "because I wish to inquire in what manner our poor little darling met her death. How came she to fall down the staircase?"

He looked at Heliet, and she was the one to reply.

"It was an accident, my Lord, I think," she said.

"'You think?' Is there some doubt, then?"

No one answered him but Ademar. "Pardon me, my Lord; I was not present."

"Then I ask one who was present. Dame Heliet?"

"I hope there is no doubt, my Lord," answered Heliet. "I should be sorry to think so."

The bushy eyebrows, which were the only blemish to the handsome Plantagenet face of the Earl, were lowered at this reply.

"What am I to understand by that?" he asked. "Did the child throw herself down of her own will?"

"Oh, no, my Lord, no!"

"Did any one push her down?"

Dead silence.

"Sir Ademar was not present. Were you, Sir Vivian?"

Vivian, whose face was far more eloquent in this instance than his tongue, muttered an affirmative.

"Then you can answer me. Did any one push her down?"

Vivian's reply was unintelligible, being hardly articulate.

"Will you have the goodness to repeat that, if you please?" said his master.

In Clarice's heart a terrible tempest had been raging. Ought she not to speak, and declare the fact of which she felt sure, that Vivian had not been intentionally the murderer of his child? that whatever he might have done, he had meant no more than simply to push her aside?

Conscientiousness strove hard with bitterness and revenge. Why should she go out of her way to shield the man who had been the misery of her life from the just penalty which he deserved for having made that life more desolate than ever? She knew that her voice would be the most potent there--that her vote would outweigh twenty others. The pleading of the bereaved mother in favour of the father of the dead child was just what would make its way straight to the heart of his judge.

Clarice's own heart said pa.s.sionately, No! Rosie's dead face must stand between him and her for ever. But then upon her spirit's fever fell calming words--words which she repeated every day of her life--words which she had taught Rosie.

"Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors."

If G.o.d were to forgive her as she forgave Vivian, what would become of her? Would she ever see Rosie again? And then a cry for help and strength to do it went up beyond the stars.

The Earl was quietly waiting for the repet.i.tion of Vivian's answer. It came at last--the answer--not a repet.i.tion.

"Saint Mary love us, my Lord! I never meant any harm."

"You never meant!" replied a stern voice, not at all like Earl Edmund's gentle tones. "Did you _do_ it?"

Before Vivian could reply, to every one's astonishment, and most of all to his, Clarice threw herself down on her knees, and deprecatingly kissed the hand which rested on the arm of her master's chair.

"Mercy, my good Lord, I entreat you! It was a pure accident, and nothing more. I know Sir Vivian meant no more than to push the child gently out of his way. He did not calculate on the force he used. It was only an accident--he never thought of hurting her. For the sake of my dead darling, whom I know you loved, my gracious Lord, grant me mercy for her father!"

The silence was broken for a moment only by Heliet's sobs. The Earl had covered his face with his hands. Then he looked into Clarice's pleading eyes, with eyes in which unshed tears were glistening.

"Dame Clarice," said Earl Edmund in his softest tone, "_you_ wish me to grant Sir Vivian mercy?"

"I implore it of your Lordship, for His sake to whom my child is gone, and hers."

The Earl's eyes went to Vivian, who stood looking the picture of guilt and misery.

"You hear, Sir Vivian? You are pardoned, but not for your sake. Be it yours to repay this generous heart."

The party dispersed in a few minutes. But when Ademar and Heliet found themselves alone, the former said--"Will he love her after this?"