Kate Danton, or, Captain Danton's Daughters Part 63

"Much better, not at all delirious."

"I will go and have a look at him," said Doctor Frank, rising. "Don't look so imploringly, Agnes; you shall see him before long. Miss Danton, have the goodness to accompany me. If we find him much better, I will let you break the news to him and then fetch Agnes. But mind, madame,"

raising a warning finger to the sobbing little woman, "no hysterics! I can't have my patient agitated. You promise to be very quiet, don't you!"

"Oh, yes! I'll try."

"Very good. Now, Miss Danton."

He ran up the stairs, followed by Kate. The sick man lay, as he had left him, quietly looking at the shaded lamp, very feeble--very, very feeble and wasted. The Doctor sat down beside him, felt his pulse, and asked him a few questions, to which the faint replies were lucid and intelligible.

"No fever to-night. No delirium. You're fifty per cent. better. We will have you all right now, in no time. Kate has brought an infallible remedy."

The sick man looked at his sister wonderingly.

"Can you bear the shock of some very good news, Harry darling?" Kate said stooping over him.

"Good news!" he repeated feebly, and with an incredulous look. "Good news for me!"

"Yes, indeed, thou man of little faith! The best news you ever heard.

You won't agitate yourself, will you, if I tell you?"

Doctor Frank arose before he could reply.

"I leave you to tell him by yourself. I hear the dinner-bell; so adieu."

He descended to the dining-room and took his place at the table. Captain Danton's new-found daughter he compelled to take poor Rose's vacant place; but Agnes did not even make a pretence of eating anything. She sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes fixed steadily on the door, trying with all her might to be calm and wait.

The appet.i.te of the whole family was considerably impaired by the revelation just made, and all waited anxiously the return of Kate. In half an hour the dining-room door opened, and that young lady appeared, very pale, and with traces of tears on her face, but smiling withal.

Agnes sprang up breathlessly.

"Come," Kate said, holding out her hand; "he is waiting for you!"

With a cry of joy Agnes hurried out of the room and upstairs.

At the green baize door Kate restrained her a moment.

"You must be very quiet, Agnes--very calm, and not excite or agitate him."

"Oh, yes! yes! Oh, let me go!"

Miss Danton opened the door and let her in. In a moment she was kneeling by the bedside, her arms around his weak head, showering kisses and tears on his pale, thin face.

"Forgive me!" she said. "Forgive me, my own, my dear, my lost husband.

Oh, never think I was false. I never, never was, in thought or act, for one moment. Say you forgive me, my darling, and love me still."

Of course, Kate did not linger. When she again entered the dining-room, she found one of those she had left, gone.

"Where is Doctor Frank?" she asked.

"Gone," Grace said. "A messenger came for him--some one sick in the village. Do take your dinner. I am sure you must want it."

"How good he is," Kate thought. "How energetic and self-sacrificing. If I were a man, I should like to be such a man as he."

After this night of good news, Harry Danton's recovery was almost miraculously rapid. The despair that had deadened every energy, every hope, was gone. He was a new man; he had something to live for; a place in the world, and a lost character to retrieve. A week after that eventful night, he was able to sit up; a fortnight, and he was rapidly gaining vigour and strength, and health for his new life.

Agnes, that most devoted little wife, had hardly left these three mysterious rooms since she had first entered them. She was the best, the most untiring, the most tender of nurses, and won her way to the hearts of all. She was so gentle, so patient, so humble, it was impossible not to love her; and Captain Danton sometimes wondered if he had ever loved his lost, frivolous Rose as he loved his new daughter.

It had been agreed upon that, to avoid gossip and inquiry, Harry was not to show himself in the house, to the servants, but as soon as he was fully recovered, to leave for Quebec, with his wife, and take command of a vessel there.

His father had written to the ship-owners--old friends of his--and had cheerfully received their promise.

The vessel was to sail for Plymouth early in March, and it was now late in February.

Of course, Agnes was to go with him. Nothing could have separated these reunited married lovers now.

The days went by, the preparations for the journey progressed, the eve of departure came. The Danton family, with the Doctor and Father Francis, were a.s.sembled in the drawing-room, spending that last evening together. It was the first time, since his return to the Hall, Harry had been there. How little any of them dreamed it was to be the last!

They were not very merry, as they sat listening to Kate's music. Down in that dim recess where the piano stood, she sat, singing for the first time the old songs that Reginald Stanford had loved. She was almost surprised at herself to find how easily she could sing them, how little emotion the memories they brought awoke. Was the old love forever dead, then? And this new content at her heart--what did it mean? She hardly cared to ask. She could not have answered; she only knew she was happy, and that the past had lost power to give her pain.

It was late when they separated. Good-byes were said, and tender-hearted little Agnes cried as she said good-bye to Doctor Frank. The priest and the physician walked to the little village together, through the cold darkness of the starless winter night.

At the presbytery-gate they parted, Father Francis going in, Doctor Danton continuing his walk to the distant cottage of a poor sick patient. The man was dying. The young doctor lingered by his bedside until all was over, and morning was gray in the eastern sky when he left the house of death.

But what other light was that red in the sky, beside the light of morning? A crimson, lurid light that was spreading rapidly over the face of the cloudy heavens, and lighting even the village road with its unearthly glare? Fire! and in the direction of Danton Hall, growing brighter and brighter, and redder with every pa.s.sing second. Others had seen it, too, and doors were flying open, and men and women flocking out.

"Fire! Fire!" a voice cried. "Danton Hall is on fire!"

And the cry was taken up and echoed and reechoed, and every one was rushing pell-mell in the direction of the Hall.

Doctor Frank was one of the first to arrive. The whole front of the old mansion seemed a sheet of fire and the red flames rushed up into the black sky with an awful roar. The family were only just aroused, and, with the servants, were flocking out, half-dressed. Doctor Frank's anxious eyes counted them; there were the Captain and Grace, Harry and Agnes, and last of all, Kate.

The servants were all there, but there was one missing still. Doctor Frank was by Grace's side in a moment.

"Where is Eeny?"

"Eeny! Is she not here?"

"No. Good Heaven, Grace! Is she in the house?"

Grace looked around wildly.

"Yes, yes! She must be! Oh, Frank--"

But Frank was gone, even while she spoke, into the burning house. There was still time. The lower hall and stairway were still free from fire, only filled with smoke.

He rushed through, and upstairs; in the second hall the smoke was suffocating, and the burning brands were falling from the blazing roof.

Up the second flight of stairs he flew blinded, choked, singed. He knew Eeny's room; the door was unlocked, and he rushed in. The smoke or fire had not penetrated here yet, and on the bed the girl lay fast asleep, undisturbed by all the uproar around her.