Mrs. Dorriman Volume I Part 25

"You saw him fall! Margaret, what an adventure, and did he speak to you?

Did he see you? Who was there?"

"His boat's crew brought him home, you said?" and Margaret, who could not enter into all the particulars, just turned wearily over as though anxious to be left alone.

And Grace turned away. Margaret had seen him fall, but this was all, she thought.

That evening brought Mr. Sandford to Lornbay. Grace was the first to greet him, and any emotion that might have marked the meeting was entirely swept away by her coolness.

Margaret felt more, but she was struck by a look of worry and ill health visible in his face, and she was sorry for him, and her sorrow gave her manner a kindness he was not prepared for. He did not trouble them much with his society, but went off to discover when Mr. Drayton was likely to arrive; an unexpected smoothness had characterized his meeting with the girls, for which he felt duly thankful.

There were numbers of letters awaiting Mr. Drayton's arrival. Several in the well-known hand of his manager, the man who so steadily opposed all schemes, such as the very one Mr. Sandford was there to press upon him.

Not unnaturally, the landlord, and every one else connected with the place, was full of the terrible accident which had brought Sir Albert Gerald to the hotel, and it was also feared to his grave, for he was very ill. One arm was broken in two places, and he had sustained, it was feared, some internal injuries, which rendered his recovery problematical.

Mr. Sandford heard without more than a pa.s.sing interest the story of the accident, told with that minute attention to unimportant details, that characterises a narration in the hands of those to whom all strange events appear in an exaggerated form. He did not know this man's name, though one day he was destined to know it well. He was sorry for him and that was all.

The person who felt Mr. Sandford's arrival to be of very real importance was Lady Lyons--next to her, her son. Lady Lyons, who always saw less or considerably more in every action which touched her in any way, and of course her son, came to a conclusion immediately.

"This I consider good," she said to the amazed young man, continuing a thought aloud as she sometimes did, and thereby somewhat bewildering him.

"Mother! What do you consider good?"

"Mr. Sandford's arrival; is it possible, my dear Paul, you do not understand the full importance of this. Have you not realized what this means?"

"Certainly not."

"Men are so dreadfully dense," said the mother, with a gesture of impatience.

"Will you enlighten me, since I am only a man and so dense." He spoke in a tone of good-humoured banter.

"My dear Paul," she began, looking at him with much affection, "you have been a dear good son, a dutiful son, and in this instance I am sure a wise one--you have kept away from Margaret Rivers till something was known. Do you not see now in the arrival of Mr. Sandford an anxiety to see--not his nieces, from whom he parted not so long ago--but you, Paul, _you_! He has probably heard something from Mrs. Dorriman (in that quarter, my boy, I have not left a stone unturned), and he _may_ have heard that Margaret is inclined to respond. Eh! Paul? You see therefore he comes himself to know if you are worthy!"

"My poor, dear mother," said Paul, "if men are dense as you say, still the imagination of women is quite beyond belief."

"Imagination founded on fact, my dear Paul."

"Mother," he began, in a tone of which she could not comprehend the bitterness, "will it wound you to know that in this matter I was not so dutiful a son? Forgive me, but love was stronger than duty. I tried hard to win Margaret, I pleaded with her, she must have seen that I was in earnest, she must have known I loved her.... She refused me, mother, refused me as one beneath her, and she was right, she said I was a boy and a trifler. I have told you, as you were building false hopes, but I cannot speak of it again."

He turned away, and his mother sat upright in her great astonishment.

All mortification at his not having after all taken her advice was forgotten in her supreme surprise at her son's having actually been refused.

Naturally her motherly view of the question made this strange to her; she was so astounded that she lost the power of speech for the moment and gave vent to little helpless exclamations which required no answer.

Then abruptly he left her, feeling too deeply to bear to hear her discuss it. At this moment Mr. Drayton was returning to Lornbay, trusting to find Margaret still there, and not antic.i.p.ating the arrival of Mr. Sandford, or, in short, any change in their arrangements.

It was natural that Margaret should ask, from day to day, how the poor wounded man was getting on. In a life in which no great incidents had occurred, such an adventure, in itself, was full of intense and painful interest, but she always remembered the wonderful self-command and the thought of her; at such a moment, the pain must have been frightful, and yet how he had tried to suppress all outward signs of it. The expression in his dark eyes haunted her; such a glimpse of the man's real nature had been given her. Should they ever meet again? She thought not; already something was said about their going home, and perhaps they might go before he was well. She was utterly unconscious, upon her side, of having done anything worthy of thanks, and she was not quite sure whether, if they met, that short but agonized hour would const.i.tute acquaintanceship.

After fluctuating between life and death, however, for many weary hours, Sir Albert Gerald rallied. He was thirty-two, in the very prime of his youth and strength; unfavourable symptoms disappeared one by one, and he began to rally. His first thought, as he was returning to full consciousness, and that all his pain and agony were gradually yielding to his strong powers of recovery, was of the girl, who, looking like a pitying angel, had bravely sat alone with him, and had, by her presence of mind, saved him; and he had seen her tears. Had she not been there.... There would have been a late search; his men might have thought it strange that his expected signal was not made and might have looked for him. Then he told himself it would have been too late. He lay wondering who she was, where she lived, and how he could ever thank her, not knowing her name, when one day his servant was arranging his books, and he asked him to put one or two beside him, he might feel inclined to read. He lay still, however; terribly weakened as he was, he dreaded moving. He was so bruised and so battered it seemed impossible he should ever stride across the hills and follow any of his old occupations again. His eye dwelt idly on the binding of the books before him, and he wondered if it would bring back suffering if he looked into one.

Thoughts become monotonous when they are full of a certain fear; then, with that quick recognition of small facts that often accompanies great prostration of strength, he saw a strange book lying amongst his own.

With great caution and not without some pain he drew the book towards him, and, with all the difficulty of a man accustomed to use his right hand, now so useless, he opened it. "Tennyson!" he said softly to himself; then he looked at the fly-leaf and saw written, in an unformed girlish sprawl, Grace Rivers. "How did that book get among mine?" he thought, perplexed and puzzled. The attentive John came in again and his master asked him the question.

"It was lying by you when you fell, Sir Albert. I did not know it was not yours."

"Ah, I see," said his master, pleased by the conviction that he now knew the name of the girl who lived in his memory so distinctly. A little later he called his servant to him and complained of the dulness he felt lying there.

"Perhaps the landlord would come and talk to me; that would be better than nothing."

"Yes, Sir Albert."

"Unless he is busy. I have nothing particular to say to him. You will explain this to him."

"Yes, Sir Albert."

"Mind you make it clear," continued the sick man, but John was out of hearing.

Time seemed to pa.s.s more slowly now a certain expectancy weighted its wings, but Sir Albert ruled his spirit in patience. It was very pleasant to have a clue; never had he felt so much interested in a young lady before. This was natural; he had never required such a.s.sistance before.

It was altogether exceptional. There was quite the foundation of a romance, supposing him to be younger than he was and not so sensible. A younger and more susceptible man might have fallen in love there and then. And then he laughed a little. That was indeed absurd!

END OF VOL. I.