Tales of the Wonder Club Volume III Part 26

replied her friend.

"I am glad of that," said the girl.

"Helen!" cried the voice of Dame Hearty, outside; "Where are you?"

"Here, mother," answered her daughter. "I was only having a word with Mr. Oldstone," and she hurried away, leaving the antiquary alone with his writing materials.

The breakfast having been cleared away, Oldstone drew his chair up to the table and proceeded to pen a reply to his young protege. When the letter was concluded, our antiquary reperused it, carefully dotting each _i_ and crossing each _t_, until he found no more to correct.

If our reader is not more scrupulous than we are ourselves, he will join us, in imagination, in an act not generally considered respectable--viz., that of playing the spy on the old man, by peering over his shoulder, and reading what he has written, before he folds it up, seals it, and sends it to the post.

_Letter from Mr. Oldstone to Mr. Vand.y.k.e McGuilp._

"MY DEAR BOY,

"I cannot express to you the joy and pride I felt in perusing your last letter, and I hasten to offer you my best congratulations, and I think I may add those of the rest of our members, on having achieved what I must needs call such unprecedented success. I read your letter, together with the critique from the _Athenaeum_ enclosed, aloud, before the whole club, our worthy host and his family being also present. You should have seen the blush that suffused our dear Helen's cheek at the mention of the success of her portrait. It was as if she had said, 'Lo, he has become great, and all through _me_. _My_ face it was that inspired him to achieve such fame. _My_ prayers and good wishes that buoyed him up with energy to thus distinguish himself!' Some such thoughts must have pa.s.sed through her mind, if I am any reader of faces--and I think I am.

"One of the younger members seemed disposed to offer some banter, but I frowned him down. I never will sanction any unseemly levity towards that girl, or allow her to be treated as if she were a mere hackneyed barmaid, used to the coa.r.s.e jokes of any Tom, d.i.c.k or Harry. To me she is something very precious, and I love her as my own child. Poor little one! She always comes to me for sympathy in her troubles. Not even to her own parents will she confide everything--much less to the other members. If you were to see the change that has come over her of late! She has lost all that raw awkwardness so common to growing girls, and has now developed into mature womanhood.

"Since your departure, young man, I could not but pity the poor child with her sunken cheek, her downcast eyes, and listless manner. I knew she had a secret that weighed upon her, and I guessed what it was. I came forward to offer her my friendship and advice, and encouraged her to open her heart to me. The poor child's grat.i.tude was so touching!

There _must_ be an outburst when the heart is full, and she could confide in no one else.

"Ever since she found she had a true friend to lean on, I have noticed a marked change in the girl. The rose returned to her cheek, the light to her eye, an expression came into her face that I never observed before--nay, a variety of expressions which seem to chase each other with marvellous rapidity over a countenance lovely, intelligent, and pure.

"Dr. Bleedem, poor man! seeing her looking mopish, prescribed her a course of steel medicine. She declares that he only gave her one dose, which he made her take in his presence. The rest of the medicine he left her to take by herself. Now the girl insists positively that, not liking the medicine, she threw it all away.

"Dr. Bleedem, of course, is under the impression that she took it all, and naturally attributes her sudden change of health for the better to his drugs. I am of opinion that it was medicine of another sort that brought back the roses to her cheek. She is now eighteen, and by our peasantry would be considered of a marriageable age; but oh! I _do_ begrudge her to any of these country b.u.mpkins, who come in for their mug of ale and their chaff. There is no one for miles round anything like good enough for her. Of one thing, however, I feel quite certain, and that is, that she would never allow herself to be coaxed, cajoled, or threatened into marrying any man whom she did not love, however advantageous the match might appear in the eyes of the world. No, the girl has character, and would never give her hand where she had not set her affections. She would far sooner not marry at all. Whoever should win her affections will be a lucky man, for he will get a treasure in such a wife.

"Excuse the wanderings of an old dotard, my friend, but when I once get upon this topic, I am inexhaustible; and as for local news, there simply is none. When last I spoke to Helen about writing to you, she desired me to send her duty to you. Pretty soul! _duty_ indeed. Now, my dear boy, I must really draw this epistle to a close. Trusting that you are enjoying the best of health and spirits, and wishing you continued and ever increasing success in your art.

"I remain, "Your doting but affectionate old friend, "OBADIAH OLDSTONE."

We have said that Mr. Oldstone was prompt in answering the letters of his protege. Neither was our artist, as a rule, tardy in answering those of his aged friend. Seldom more than a month pa.s.sed between a letter and its answer, on either side. Yet to this letter no reply came. Month followed month, and no tidings arrived of our artist. Such delay was most unusual, and Mr. Oldstone now began to be seriously alarmed. What had happened to the boy? Was he ill? He knew by experience that the summer months in Rome were extremely unhealthy, on account of the malaria. Was he laid up with Roman fever? Had he met with an accident?

Or was there anything in the tone of his letter that had given offence?

He tried to recollect. No, he thought not; in fact, he did not know what to think. The gloomiest fancies rushed across his mind as he paced the breakfast room alone.

Presently his eye caught the portrait of Helen, that McGuilp had presented to the club, and which he, Oldstone, had with his own hands hung up over the mantel. "Ah! my pretty puss," said he, addressing the painted canvas smiling down at him, "I dare not infect you with my fears. I don't want to make _you_ unhappy."

Just then the door gaped ajar, and the original of the portrait appeared at the opening. As the antiquary had not yet noticed her, his eyes being still fixed on the portrait, Helen stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. Then, walking straight up to Oldstone, she said, "Please sir, has anything happened?"

"Happened, my dear! What should happen in this dead-and-alive place?

Nothing ever happens here."

"Ah! sir," rejoined Helen, "you but evade my question. You know what I would ask."

"My dear, how should I?" demanded her friend and counsellor, with most provoking _sang froid_.

A gesture of impatience escaped the girl. Then fixing her eyes steadily on those of the antiquary, as if to read his inmost soul, she said with some approach to severity in her tone, "Mr. Oldstone, you are keeping something from me. Something has happened to Mr. McGuilp, and you won't tell me what it is."

"On my honour, my sweet child," replied her friend, "I know no more than you do yourself. I wish I did. Here have I been waiting now about six months for a reply to my letter, when he used often to write by return of post. I can't make head or tail of it."

"Then something _is_ wrong, you may depend upon it," cried the girl.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! Surely he is laid up with some dreadful illness--away from me, and in a strange country, with no one to attend upon him. Oh, merciful Heaven! help him! Oh, help him. Whatever it is, let me know the worst!"

"I don't want to frighten you, my pet," broke in Oldstone; "but I own I am much perplexed myself. Perhaps he never received the letter.

Sometimes letters get lost. At any rate, we'll hope for the best."

"Oh, sir, sir!" cried the girl in agony, "do you think that likely?"

"Certainly, my dear. Why not? All sorts of things happen to prevent letters arriving--especially those sent abroad. Vessels go down at sea; the mail may be detained by an accident. Who can tell? Come, cheer up, girl; there is no good in brooding. If I don't hear from him in another week I'll write again."

"Why not write at once, sir?"

"Not a bad idea, Helen; so I will."

At this juncture voices and footsteps were heard outside. The other members of the club had just returned in time for their mid-day meal. So the letter was postponed.

Helen ran to lay the cloth, and the repast was served. The meal being over, pipes were lit, and some desultory conversation ensued, interspersed with wonderments about our artist's long silence and suggestions as to the reason of it. The weather still being fine, the members suggested a stroll, so off they went together, Mr. Oldstone being also of the party. Thus, what with one interruption and what with another, the writing of the letter was put off for that day.

CHAPTER XI.

Next morning, in the middle of breakfast, a knock was heard at the door, and our landlord let himself in with the newspaper in his hand and an expression like a sphinx on his face. He closed the door quietly after him, and walking up to Mr. Oldstone presented him with the paper, at the same time silently pointing out to him a paragraph that he had already marked with his thumb-nail. The door was no sooner closed than it silently re-opened, apparently by itself, and remained some three or four inches ajar. Few noticed this, or would have given it a thought if they had. Their attention was rivetted on Mr. Oldstone, as he settled his spectacles on his nose preparatory to reading out some t.i.t-bit of news.

"Eh! What!" exclaimed the antiquary, trembling, and turning pale with extreme emotion. "Just listen to this, gentlemen, all of you:--

"'CAPTURED BY THE BRIGANDS.

"'The well-known artist, Mr. Vand.y.k.e McGuilp, whose picture of "The Landlord's Daughter" caused such a _furore_ last exhibition at the Royal Academy, whilst taking a trip in the Sabine Mountains, in the vicinity of Rome, to recuperate his health, was suddenly surrounded by a band of brigands, about twelve in number, who sprang upon him from an ambush and compelled him to surrender. The painter was alone and unarmed, besides being hampered by the materials of his art. All resistance would have been worse than useless, so, finding himself perfectly defenceless, he had no choice but to "stand and deliver."

They seized his gold watch and other trinkets, as well as all the coin that he carried about him. Not satisfied with this, they forced him to tramp with them high up in the fastnesses of the mountains, where he still remains in daily and hourly peril of his life. The brigand chief has demanded an exorbitant ransom, and threatens that if it does not arrive within five days they will cut off his ears and send them to his friends in a letter. Any attempt at rescue, they declare, will at once seal the fate of their captive. His position is one to cause the greatest anxiety to his friends, as the barbarity of these desperadoes is well known.'"

Our antiquary had proceeded thus far when all present were startled by a smothered shriek, which was followed by a dull thud, as from a heavy fall. All rushed to the door, and flung it open. Helen had fainted.

Need we relate with what agility Dr. Bleedem leapt to the fore; how carefully he raised the slim form in his arms, cut her stay lace, and applied restoratives; then, finally, with the a.s.sistance of our host, carried his patient upstairs, where he deposited her on her own little bed, administering in every way to her comfort--this we will leave to the imagination of the reader--whilst, in the breakfast-room below, the various members talked to each other in subdued tones, and Mr. Oldstone looked thoughtful.

"Humph! I think I can see through the spoke of _that_ wheel," muttered Mr. Hardcase to his neighbour.

"Yes, a dreadful blow though, poor girl!" sighed Mr. Parna.s.sus.

"Quite dramatic in its effect," remarked Mr. Blackdeed.

A snort came from Mr. Oldstone, who had turned his back on the group and begun reperusing the newspaper that he had thrust into his capacious pocket, when Dr. Bleedem re-entered the room.

"Well, doctor," inquired Professor Cyanite, "and what of your patient?"

"Recovered now, of course, but dreadfully shaken," replied our medico.

"The nervous system has sustained a terrible shock. Luckily, she has suffered no injuries from her fall."