The Trial; Or, More Links of the Daisy Chain Part 72

He was not to be found; and when dinner-time, and much calling and searching, failed to produce him, his grandfather declared that he was gone back to Elf-land; but Leonard recollected certain particular inquiries about the situation of the Grange and of c.o.c.ksmoor, and it was concluded that he had antic.i.p.ated the Doctor's intentions of taking him and Mr. Seaford there in the afternoon. The notion was confirmed by the c.o.c.katoo having likewise disappeared; but there was no great anxiety, since the little New Zealander appeared as capable of taking care of himself as any gentleman in Her Majesty's dominions; and a note had already been sent to his aunt informing her of his arrival. Still, a summons to the Doctor in an opposite direction was inopportune, the more so as the guest was to remain at Stoneborough only this one day, and had letters and messages for Mr. and Mrs. Rivers, while it was also desirable to see whether the boy had gone to c.o.c.ksmoor.

Leonard proposed to become Mr. Seaford's guide to the Grange, learn whether d.i.c.kie were there, and meet the two ladies at c.o.c.ksmoor with the tidings, leaving Mr. Seaford and the boy to be picked up by the Doctor on his return. It was his first voluntary offer to go anywhere, though he had more than once been vainly invited to the Grange with Richard.

Much conversation on the mission took place during the walk, and resulted in Mr. Seaford's asking Leonard if his profession were settled. 'No,' he said; and not at all aware that his companion did not know what every other person round him knew, he added, 'I have been thrown out of everything--I am waiting to hear from my brother.'

'Then you are not at a University?'

'Oh no, I was a clerk.'

'Then if nothing is decided, is it impossible that you should turn your eyes to our work?'

'Stay,' said Leonard, standing still; 'I must ask whether you know all about me. Would it be possible to admit to such work as yours one who, by a terrible mistake, has been under sentence of death and in confinement for three years?'

'I must think! Let us talk of this another time. Is that the Grange?'

hastily exclaimed the missionary, rather breathlessly. Leonard with perfect composure replied that it was, pointed out the different matters of interest, and, though a little more silent, showed no other change of manner. He was asking the servant at the door if Master May were there, when Mr. Rivers came out and conducted both into the drawing room, where little d.i.c.kie was, sure enough. It appeared that, c.o.c.katoo on wrist, he had put his pretty face up to the gla.s.s of Mrs Rivers's morning-room, and had asked her, 'Is this mamma's room, Aunt Flora? Where's Margaret?'

Uncle, aunt, and cousin had all been captivated by him, and he was at present looking at the display of all Margaret's treasures, keenly appreciating the useful and ingenious, but condemning the merely ornamental as only fit for his baby sister. Margaret was wonderfully gracious and child-like; but perhaps she rather oppressed him; for when Leonard explained that he must go on to meet Miss May at c.o.c.ksmoor, the little fellow sprang up, declaring that he wanted to go thither; and though told that his grandfather was coming for him, and that the walk was long, he insisted that he was not tired; and Mr. Seaford, finding him not to be dissuaded, broke off his conversation in the midst, and insisted on accompanying him, leaving Mr. and Mrs. Rivers rather amazed at colonial breeding.

The first time Mr. Seaford could accomplish being alone with Dr. May, he mysteriously shut the door, and began, 'I am afraid Mrs. Rivers thought me very rude; but though no doubt he is quite harmless, I could not let the child or the ladies be alone with him.'

'With whom?'

'With your patient.'

'What patient of mine have you been seeing to-day?' asked Dr. May, much puzzled.

'Oh, then you consider him as convalescent, and certainly he does seem rational on every other point; but is this one altogether an hallucination?'

'I have not made out either the hallucination or the convalescent. I beg your pardon,' said the courteous Doctor; 'but I cannot understand whom you have seen.'

'Then is not that young Ward a patient of yours? He gave me to understand to-day that he has been under confinement for three years--'

'My poor Leonard!' exclaimed the Doctor; 'I wish his hair would grow!

This is the second time! And did you really never hear of the Blewer murder, and of Leonard Ward?'

Mr. Seaford had some compound edifice of various murders in his mind, and required full enlightenment. Having heard the whole, he was ardent to repair his mistake, both for Leonard's own sake, and that of his cause. The young man was indeed looking ill and haggard; but there was something in the steady eyes, hollow though they still were, and in the determined cast of features, that strangely impressed the missionary with a sense of his being moulded for the work; and on the first opportunity a simple straightforward explanation of the error was laid before Leonard, with an entreaty that if he had no duties to bind him at home, he would consider the need of labourers in the great harvest of the Southern Seas.

Leonard made no answer save 'Thank you' and that he would think. The grave set features did not light up as they had done unconsciously when listening without personal thought; he only looked considering, and accepted Mr. Seaford's address in Ireland, promising to write after hearing from his brother.

Next morning, Dr. May gave notice that an old patient was coming to see him, and must be asked to luncheon. Leonard soon after told Ethel that he should not be at home till the evening, and she thought he was going to c.o.c.ksmoor, by way of avoiding the stranger. In the twilight, however, Dr. May, going up to the station to see his patient off, was astonished to see Leonard emerge from a second-cla.s.s carriage.

'You here! the last person I expected.'

'I have only been to W---- about my teeth.'

'What, have you been having tooth-ache?'

'At times, but I have had two out, so I hope there is an end of it.'

'And you never mentioned it, you Stoic!'

'It was only at night.'

'And how long has this been?'

'Since I had that cold; but it was no matter.'

'No matter, except that it kept you looking like Count Ugolino, and me always wondering what was the matter with you. And'--detaining him for a moment under the lights of the station--'this extraction must have been a pretty business, to judge by your looks! What did the dentist do to you?'

'It is not so much that' said Leonard, low and sadly; 'but I began to have a hope, and I see it won't do.'

'What do you mean, my dear boy? what have you been doing?'

'I have been into my old cell again,' said he, under his breath; and Dr. May, leaning on his arm, felt his nervous tremor.

'Prisoner of the Bastille, eh, Leonard!'

'I had long been thinking that I ought to go and call on Mr. Reeve and thank him.'

'But he does not receive calls there.'

'No,' said Leonard, as if the old impulse to confidence had returned; 'but I have never been so happy since, as I was in that cell, and I wanted to see it again. Not only for that reason,' he added, 'but something that Mr. Seaford said brought back a remembrance of what Mr.

Wilmot told me when my life was granted--something about the whole being preparation for future work--something that made me feel ready for anything. It had all gone from me--all but the remembrance of the sense of a blessed Presence and support in that condemned cell, and I thought perhaps ten minutes in the same place would bring it back to me.'

'And did they?'

'No, indeed. As soon as the door was locked, it all went back to July 1860, and worse. Things that were mercifully kept from me then, mere abject terror of death, and of that kind of death--the disgrace--the crowds--all came on me, and with them, the misery all in one of those nine months; the loathing of those eternal narrow waved white walls, the sense of their closing in, the sickening of their sameness, the longing for a voice, the other horror of thinking myself guilty. The warder said it was ten minutes--I thought it hours! I was quite done for, and could hardly get down-stairs. I knew the spirit was being crushed out of me by the solitary period, and it is plain that I must think of nothing that needs nerve or presence of mind!' he added, in a tone of quiet dejection.

'You are hardly in a state to judge of your nerve, after sleepless nights and the loss of your teeth. Besides, there is a difference between the real and imaginary, as you have found; you who, in the terrible time of real antic.i.p.ation, were a marvel in that very point of physical resolution.'

'I could keep thoughts out _then_,' he said; 'I was master of myself.'

'You mean that the solitude unhinged you? Yet I always found you brave and cheerful.'

'The sight of you made me so. Nay, the very sight or sound of any human being made a difference! And now you all treat me as if I had borne it well, but I did not. It was all that was left me to do, but indeed I did not.'

'What do you mean by bearing it well?' said the Doctor, in the tone in which he would have questioned a patient.

'Living--as--as I thought I should when I made up my mind to life instead of death,' said Leonard; 'but all that went away. I let it slip, and instead came everything possible of cowardice, and hatred, and bitterness. I lost my hold of certainty what I had done or what I had not, and the horror, the malice, the rebellion that used to come on me in that frightful light white silent place, were unutterable! I wish you would not have me among you all, when I know there can hardly be a wicked thought that did not surge over me.'

'To be conquered.'

'To conquer me,' he said, in utter la.s.situde.

'Stay. Did they ever make you offend wilfully?'

'There was nothing I could offend in.'

'Your tasks of work, for instance.'