Nurse Elisia Part 4

Alison pressed forward, and pa.s.sed his arm about his friend's waist, for he saw that he was ready to fall, and the morning's comedy was on the point of becoming tragic, when a loud neigh came from one of the horses being led around to the front, and Beck's hand fell from the mare's jaws, for she threw up her head and uttered a whinnying answer to the challenge of Mr Elthorne's new hunter, The Don.

"Ah!"

It was more a groan than a sigh of relief from all around, while, tightening her rein, Dana cut the mare across the ears with all her might; and as the graceful animal bounded forward, she kept on lashing it furiously, making it curvet and plunge and snort, as it excited the other horses near.

"Don't! don't! Dana," cried her sister. "She'll throw you."

"A vicious beast!--a vicious beast!" panted the girl, as she still plied her whip till Mr Elthorne caught her arm.

Beck stood, half supported by Alison, watching Isabel being a.s.sisted into the breakfast-room by her aunt and Sir Cheltnam, till she disappeared, when he reeled slightly, but made an effort to recover himself.

"Much hurt, old man?"

"No," he said hoa.r.s.ely; "a nasty grip. Tell that girl not to beat the mare. It was not wise."

"Now, how is he?" cried Mr Elthorne, coming back. "Help him in. Send one of the grooms for the doctor."

"No, no, sir," said Beck, with a faint laugh, as he held up the hand deeply indented by the mare's teeth. "It's nothing to mind. Shan't be a one-armed Greenwich pensioner this time."

"Oh, my dear boy! my dear boy!" cried an excited voice, and Aunt Anne came rushing out of the window with a cup and saucer. "Here, drink this."

"Anne! Don't be so foolish," cried her brother. "He doesn't want tea."

"But there's brandy in it, Ralph," protested the lady. "Drink it, my dear; it will do you good."

"Thanks," said Beck, raising his injured hand to take the cup, but letting it fall again. "Not this time," he said with a laugh, and taking the cup with his left he drained it. "That's better, Mrs Barnett," he said. "There, I'm very sorry, Mr Elthorne, I've made quite an upset."

"And I'm very glad, my boy," replied his host. "What a horrible mishap!"

"How is he?" cried Dana, cantering up with her sister.

"Oh, it's nothing--nothing at all."

"That's right," cried Saxa. "Oh, it will soon go off. Not so bad as a spill by a five-bar."

"Get a liqueur," said Dana. "I say; it has made you look white. Worse disasters at sea, eh?"

"Much," said Beck, quietly; and then to himself, "Oh, how I do hate a horsey woman."

"I say," cried Saxa; "this isn't going to spoil our ride, is it, daddy?"

"Oh, no, I hope not; but I will stay, my dears," said Mr Elthorne.

"What! and not try your new horse! I should like to have the saddle shifted, and put him through his paces myself," said Saxa, looking at the n.o.ble hunter held by a groom.

"No, no, my dear, not to-day," said Mr Elthorne hastily. "Alison will go with you, girls, and--oh, there's Burwood. Ask how Isabel is. Say it's all right now, and the horses are waiting. She turned faint, I suppose. Beck, come in; you had better see the doctor."

"Nonsense, my dear sir. I'm all right. It isn't my bridle hand. I shall not want a whip."

"Oh, no," said Sir Cheltnam; "your mount wants no whip. Shall you venture?"

"Of course," said Beck, walking toward where a helper held his horse, just as Isabel came out, looking very pale.

"Well, he has got some pluck in him, Al," said Sir Cheltnam, "even if he is a parson's son."

"Poor fellow! yes," replied Alison.

"Moral," said Sir Cheltnam laughingly, to the Lydon girls, "never give lumps of sugar to a skittish mare."

Ten minutes later the little party were mounted and moved off, leaving Aunt Anne waving her lace handkerchief from the steps.

CHAPTER TWO.

NURSE ELISIA.

The roar of the big road sounded plainly, but it was far enough off for it to be subdued into a mellow hum, suggestive to the country sufferer lying in the narrow bed with its clean linen and neat blue checked hangings by the open window, of bees swarming, and a threshing machine at work in the farm beyond the park.

And yet it was London, for the windows were coated with a sooty layer outside, and the sun shone as if Nature were afraid its beams would be too strong for Londoners' eyes, to which it came as in an eclipse through smoked gla.s.s, and a murky haze full of germs and motes was interposed between the dwellers in the city and the blue sky above.

The ward was long and clean, and every bed was occupied. The air was fairly fresh and pleasant, though dashed with the odour of antiseptics.

But there was none of the faint medicinal effluvia of the sick wards, for this was surgical--the special empire of the celebrated Sir Denton Hayle, well known in his profession as the most skillful and daring operator this generation has seen. There were those who shrugged their shoulders and said he had murdered many a patient, and it was true that a percentage--thanks to his skill, a very small percentage--of his sufferers had died; but, on the other hand, he could point to those whom he had saved from an apparently inevitable early death, brought on by one of the evils of poor human nature which had heretofore set medical and surgical skill at defiance.

Maria Bellows, in other respects a stout, hearty, country la.s.s, had been one of these sufferers, and the provincial doctors called in to Hightoft by Aunt Anne to see the upper housemaid, had shaken their heads and said there was only one thing that would save her, and that was to go up to the great East Central Hospital and place herself in the hands of Sir Denton Hayle.

Then, during one of his visits home, Aunt Anne insisted upon Neil Elthorne seeing the woman. Mr Elthorne said it was absurd, but he was quiet afterward when he heard that his son had also declared that the only thing that could save the patient's life was for her to come up to the hospital in town. Furthermore, he said that he would speak to the ill.u.s.trious chief under whom he studied, and see that every arrangement was made for her reception.

Maria went up, and now lay by the open window thinking of the country, of how long it would be before the doctors made her well again and sent her back to her situation. Then she wondered how Miss Isabel was, and Mr Alison, and how soon there would be weddings at the house. For it was an open secret among the servants at Hightoft that "Master's" sons were to marry the Misses Lydon, and that Miss Isabel would become Lady Burwood.

"I shall be glad to get back," she said at last with a sigh. "I always thought London was a gay place, but--ugh!--it is dull."

"Dull lying here, my poor girl," said a sweet voice, and she turned sharply and uttered a cry of pain with the effort.

In an instant busy hands were about her, changing her position and wiping the agony-engendered perspiration from her brow before a.s.sisting her to drink a little water.

"I am sorry I startled you."

Maria looked half angrily in the beautiful face bent over her, with its clearly cut, aristocratic features and large eyes, which gazed searchingly into her own. For it was a countenance that attracted attention with its saddened, pitying look, heightened by the smooth white cap and stiffened quaint linen "bib and tucker," as our mothers termed the old puritan-like costume, the whole being strongly suggestive of the portrait of some lady of the Pilgrim Father days.

"You came so quiet, you quite frightened me," said the woman.

"Your nerves are over-strung," was the reply. "I ought to have known better."

There was something so sweet and soothing in the deep musical tones of the soft voice that it had its effect upon the patient directly, and she lay back with a sigh.

"It don't matter, nurse," she said, "but do make haste and get me well."

"Indeed, we are trying very hard. But you are mending fast. Sir Denton will be here soon to see you again."

"Yes," said the woman, with her brow growing rugged and a petulance of manner, "to hurt me again, horrid. He'll kill me before he has done."