The Heiress of Wyvern Court Part 13

"Not much of a full stop; I should say a note of exclamation was dashed in there," remarked Mr. Barlow.

"I don't think I uttered a sound; I think I was too horrified--that is as girlish, I know, as if I'd screamed!"

"Oh! Oscar, you did scream: 'twas that which told us something was wrong," put in the interrupting damsel Jenny.

"And no wonder. I'm not sure I shouldn't have screamed myself; and boys are but mortal, the same as doctors," remarked Mr. Barlow.

"But not nearly so wise," interrupted Jenny again.

"Nor yet so talkative as young ladies; and if present company will excuse me, I should like some of them to be quiet," said Oscar.

"Well, my boy, after the scream----" prompted Mr. Barlow.

"Well, if I _did_ scream, after that there was a silence and the full stop, for I fell to the bottom; and when I came to my senses I was jolting along in a caravan--such jolting, and I full of pain and dizziness. That was a ride to town, and no mistake--Bulverton, the town was called, where they took me to a hospital."

"Who?" inquired irrepressible Jenny.

"The gipsies--I was in a gipsy caravan; they were pa.s.sing the road at the bottom of the Leap, hurrying away from justice of some sort, I should say, and, hearing me moan, were humane enough to pick me up out of my snowy bed, and carry me along with them. By the time they reached Bulverton I was unconscious, in a high fever, and I don't know what.

They made it all right with the hospital people, somehow, that they had no hand in bringing me to the state I was in. I was terribly knocked about--a blow on my head, besides this on my forehead, a broken arm, and a good shaking generally. 'Twas a wonder I escaped with my life, the doctors told me, when I came out of my bad turn--you know the dodge, Mr.

Barlow; you all make a miracle of what you do for sick people." Mr.

Barlow shook his fist at him.

"I kept who I was a secret, though, and wouldn't tell my name. I didn't want to make a fuss here, you know, but on the last morning it all came out. One of the doctors saw your description of me, uncle, and the police came ferreting me out as well, I believe; and so I'd nothing to do but throw off my disguise, and come home like a bad penny. I daresay you'll have a bill, uncle, for sticking-plaster and so on."

"Which I shall be happy to pay, Oscar," said the grave doctor.

This was Oscar's story. Well, the bill came from the Bulverton hospital, and was duly settled by Dr. Willett, and all things fell into their usual train, save that Oscar, being unfit for study, and d.i.c.k away at school, had rather a dull time of it.

The weather was glorious, and of course he roamed about, and went some excursions with Inna, Jenny, and the donkey and cart, the twins from the Owl's Nest sometimes swelling the number; but an outing with a pack of girls, as he said, was but a very tame affair, and often he sighed for midsummer and d.i.c.k.

Both came at last, as all good things are said to do to the waiting ones, and the meeting on the Lakely platform was almost overwhelming as d.i.c.k sprang out among them all; Oscar and the four girls cl.u.s.tering round him like bees, while Rameses, with the cart at a respectful distance, stretched out his neck, and brayed such a note of welcome, that the attendant porter laughed till he held his sides. With d.i.c.k's coming, the state of affairs looked up--here, there, and everywhere went the two boys, not always with a string of girls after them, as d.i.c.k slightingly expressed it.

Once, according to their own words, they took revenge upon the old Tor, and had picnics upon its wind-swept heights in a body; but where the revenge lay they themselves best knew. But the girls looked down the Ugly Leap with awe, Oscar, with his scarred forehead, looking down with the rest. A wonderfully clear view they had of the sea and the Swallow's Cliff.

"I say," cried d.i.c.k, the happy thought striking him as he gazed, "couldn't we take the girls over as far as the cliffs and the sea?

They've never been there, you know, Willett, and 'twouldn't be too far, if we took old Rameses and the cart."

"Just a nice little outing," agreed Oscar; and down they all sat in council to sketch out the programme, to use their own words.

CHAPTER X.

THE EXPEDITION TO SWALLOW'S CLIFF--CAUGHT BY THE TIDE.

"How far is it?" was Inna's leading question.

"Three miles as the crow flies," returned d.i.c.k.

"It would be delightful," smiled she.

"It would be jolly," said Jenny, using a word of d.i.c.k's.

"And I hope grand-auntie will let us go," sighed Sybil.

"Oh, she'll be sure to if I stand surety for your safety, like a good old grandfather," d.i.c.k a.s.sured them. "And, I say, it ought to be to-morrow, Willett," he suggested.

"Short notice."

"Yes; but it can be done. I'll see Madame Giche on our way home."

So when the gold was intermingling with the grey under the park trees, and it was hard upon sundown, the whole party went bounding up the avenue at the Owl's Nest, the rooks over their heads cawing a noisy "good night" to them and the world in general. They found Madame Giche pacing to and fro on the terrace with the peac.o.c.ks.

At first the aged lady was hard to manage: if her nieces were of the party, they must take Rance, their nurse, she said; but, as d.i.c.k a.s.sured her, there was no need.

"They'll be as safe as safe, dear Madame Giche," were his words, spoken with the persuasive grace of a courtier, smiling his boyish smile into her face. "With two such safeguards as Willett and me, they can't come to any harm--in fact, there's nothing they can come to harm in--'tis a safe sh.o.r.e, even if they took into their heads to bathe, which none of the young ladies will, I daresay."

"No, grand-auntie; we don't want to bathe or do anything dangerous,"

pleaded Sybil.

"And we don't want to be babies, and take our nurse," objected Olive.

"Well, dears, you shall have your way," promised over-persuaded grand-auntie; and so "the midges," to use d.i.c.k's words, "won the day."

Oh, the joy of waking with a whole long summer's day of pleasure in store! An excursion to the beautiful sea--she had scarcely seen it in her short life.

Inna was up, and dressed and looking out of her chamber window, when Oscar came into the paddock below to attend to some lambs.

"Hurry up, old lady! 'tis a glorious morning," cried he, looking up and catching sight of her at the window.

She waved her hand and was gone. She had to fill the vases with flowers; one she always placed in her uncle's study. Since Christmas Eve, when she carried in her holly spray, she always contrived some sort of a nosegay for him.

It was pleasant to hear her tripping feet, and her young voice singing little s.n.a.t.c.hes of ditties, through the house; to see her stand and feed the chickens in the morning sunshine. A willing little handmaid was she anywhere, and to anybody who needed her.

"I know she begins to save me a deal," Mrs. Grant said of her.

"Well, Sunbeam, what do I read in your eyes this morning?" said Mr.

Barlow, meeting her in the pa.s.sage.

"An excursion to the sea--to Swallow's Cliff."

"'Tis well to be a young lady of leisure. Are you going to foot it?"

"No; we're going in d.i.c.k Gregory's donkey-cart."

"Ah! and 'tis well to be young to bear such jolting." He pa.s.sed on.

The two young people waited for the doctor at the breakfast-table, but Mr. Barlow did not keep him long; then pa.s.sed the usually silent meal to its close, but not before d.i.c.k peeped in at the rose-wreathed window, and intimated by sundry nods that Jenny and the donkey and cart were waiting outside in the lane. Away went the busy doctor into the pa.s.sage, just as Inna was saying--