A Life's Eclipse Part 2

A minute later James Ellis entered, to sit down sadly to his breakfast, his silence being respected by mother and daughter.

At last he spoke.

"You heard, of course, about poor Grange?"

"Yes. How is he?"

"Bad--very bad. Doctor don't say much, but it's a serious case, I fear.

Come right down on his head, close to my feet. There--I can't eat.

Only fancy, mother, talking to me as he was last night, and now lying almost at the point of death."

He pushed away cup and plate, and sat back in his chair.

"'In the midst of life we are in death,'" he muttered. "Dear, dear, I wish I hadn't spoken so harshly to him last night, mother. Fine, straightforward young fellow, and as good a gardener as ever stepped."

Mrs Ellis sighed and glanced at her daughter, who was looking wildly from one to the other.

"There; I'll get back. Ah! Who's this?"

It was Daniel Barnett, who had run up from the bothy; and Ellis hurried out to the door.

"What is it?" he cried anxiously.

"Old Hannah says, 'Will you come on:' She don't like the looks of him.

He's off his head."

Ellis caught his hat from the peg, and glanced at Daniel Barnett with a peculiar thought or two in his head as the young man looked quickly at the door and window.

Barnett caught the glance and felt uncomfortable, for though sorry for his fellow-worker's accident, certain thoughts would intrude relating to his own prospects if John Grange were not at The Hollows.

They hurried down to the grounds, mother and daughter watching from the window, and in those few minutes a great change came over Mary Ellis's face. It was as if it rapidly altered from that of the happy, careless girl, who went singing about the house, to the thoughtful, anxious woman. Even her way of speaking was different, as she turned quickly upon her mother.

"What was father so angry about last night?" she said. "Did he have a quarrel with poor Mr Grange?"

"Well, hardly a quarrel, my dear. Oh, it was nothing."

"But he said he was sorry he spoke so harshly to him. Mother, you are keeping something back."

"Well, well, well, my darling, nothing much; only young men will be young men; and father was put out by his vanity and conceit. He actually got talking to father about you."

"About me?" said Mary, flushing, and beginning to tremble.

"Yes, my dear; and, as father said, it was nothing short of impudence for a young man in his position to think about you. I don't know what's come to the young men now-a-days, I'm sure."

Mary said nothing, but she was very thoughtful all that day, and during the days which followed, for she had found out the truth about herself, and a little germ that had been growing in her breast, but of which she had thought little till Daniel Barnett came up and spoke, and made her know she had a heart--a fact of which she became perfectly sure, when the news reached her next morning of the sad accident in the grounds.

CHAPTER FOUR.

Old Hannah's fears were needless, for the delirium pa.s.sed away; and as the days glided by and poor Grange lay in his darkened bedroom, untiringly watched by old Tummus's patient wife, James Ellis used to take the tidings home till the day when in secret Mary went up afterwards to her own room to sink upon her knees by her bedside, and hide her burning face in her hands, as if guiltily, while she offered up her prayer and thanksgiving for all that she had heard.

For the doctor had definitely said that John Grange would not die from the effects of his fall.

"Thank you, Tummus, old man," said the patient, one evening about a fortnight after the accident; and he took a bunch of roses in his hand.

"I can't see them, but they smell deliciously. Hah! How it makes me long to be back again among the dear old flowers."

"Aye, to be sure, my lad. You mun mak' haste and get well and get out to us again. Dan Barnett arn't half the man you are among the missus's orchardses. And look here, I want my old woman home again. You mun look sharp and get well."

"Yes: I hope the doctor will soon let me get up. G.o.d bless you, Hannah!

You've been quite like a mother to me."

"Nonsense, nonsense, boy; only a bit o' nussing. Make haste and get well again."

"Aye, she'd be a good nuss if she warn't quite so fond o' mustard," said old Tummus. "It's allus mustard, mustard, stuck about you to pingle and sting if there's owt the matter. I like my mustard on my beef. And that's what you want, Master John--some good slices o' beef. They women's never happy wi'out giving you spoon meat."

"Hold your tongue, Tummus, and don't talk so much nonsense," said his wife.

"Nay, I arn't going to be choked. I s'pose Mrs Mostyn sends you jellies and chicken-broth, and the like?"

"Yes, every one is very kind," said Grange. "But look here, have you seen to the mushroom bed?"

"Aye."

"And those cuttings in the frames?"

"You mak' haste and get well, Master John, and don't you worry about nowt. I'm seeing to everything quite proper, for I don't trust Master Dan Barnett a bit. He's thinking too much o' finding scuses to go up to the cottage, and I know why. There, good-night. Get well, lad. I do want to see that bandage from over your eyes next time I come. Old Dunton's mortal bad, they say. Good-night."

It was a bad night for John Grange, who was so feverish that the doctor remarked upon it, and the progress was so poor during the next week that the doctor determined to have his patient up, and came one morning in company with the bailiff, talking to him seriously the while.

They were very kind to him, helping him to dress, and helped him at last into the outer room, where it was light and cool, and old Hannah, with a face full of commiseration, had placed an easy-chair for the pale, weak man, with his eyes and head bandaged heavily.

It so happened that just as John Grange lay back in the chair, while old Hannah stood with her handkerchief to her eyes, crying silently, and James Ellis was behind the chair looking very grave and stern, Daniel Barnett came up to the door of the bothy with a message, which he did not deliver, for the words he heard arrested him, and he drew back listening.

"Now, doctor, please," sighed Grange; "it has been so hard to bear all this long time, and I have been very patient. Let me have the bandage off, and, if it's only a glimpse, one look at the bright sunshine again."

There was silence for a moment, and then the doctor took the young man's hand, his voice shaking a little, as he said gravely--

"Grange, my lad, three weeks ago I felt that I could not save your life.

G.o.d has heard our prayers, and let my poor skill avail. You will in a few weeks be as strong as ever."

"Yes--yes," said the patient, in tones of humble thankfulness, and then his lips moved for a few moments, but no sound was heard. Then aloud--"Believe me, doctor, I am grateful. But the bandage. Let me see the light."

"My poor fellow!" began the doctor, and old Hannah uttered a sob, "you must know."

"Ah!" cried John Grange, s.n.a.t.c.hing the bandage from his eyes, the broad handkerchief kept there ever since the fall. "Don't--don't tell me that--I--I was afraid--yes--dark--all dark! Doctor--doctor--don't tell me I am blind!"

Old Hannah's sobs grew piteous, and in the silence which followed, James Ellis stole on tiptoe towards the window, unable to be a witness of the agony which convulsed the young man's face.