THE DISCOVERY.
George only answered, "Please the Lord, Master Willie, it may not be so bad as that;" and hastily drawing in the boat to the rocks, he leapt ashore, and made his way, in less time than it takes to relate, to where my cousin was lying. Ralph and I got ashore also, but my knees trembled so that I could not stand, but sunk down upon the rock. Ralph flung the rope to me. "Keep her from drifting, master," he said, "and I'll run and help grandfather."
It was a moment of terrible suspense. Groves knelt at Aleck's side, bent his cheek down to his lips, then listened for the beating of his heart—he might have heard mine at that minute—and then turning towards me he exclaimed, "He's still alive!"
I had courage to move now, and fastening the rope, I came and stood by Groves, as he knelt on the beach beside Aleck. I could scarcely believe it was not death when I looked at the colourless face and closed eyes, and needed all Groves' reassurance to convince me that he had not been mistaken when he said my cousin was still alive.
"Thank God, Master Willie, we came when we did!" he added reverently, and pointing to the waves as they washed up to our feet; "ten minutes more, and the tide will be up over this place where he's lying. We must move him at once—but he's deadly cold. Off with your jacket, Ralph and put it over him, and—oh! see here!" he pointed to the arm which hung down heavily as he gently raised the unconscious form,—"the arm's broken."
The question now was how we were to get him home. By land it would not be more than an hour's climb; but then a climb it must be, and this was almost impossible under the circumstances; whilst, on the other hand, with the wind no longer in our favour, it would be a good two hours getting back by water, and there was the anxiety of not being able to let my father know.
Whilst George was anxiously deliberating with himself—for neither of us boys were in a state to offer any suggestions—we looked up, and saw my father rapidly descending the hill-side.
In another moment he stood in the midst of our little group, and had heard how it was with my cousin. "I feared so," he said, "when I saw you all standing together. Thank God, the child is still alive!"
There was no longer any questioning of what was best to be done. My father was always able to decide things in a moment. "It would be too great a risk to carry him without any stretcher. We must take him round in the boat. How's the wind, George?"
"Not favourable, sir; we must trust more to the oars."
"Then you and Ralph must row. Willie, I think I can trust you, but remember a great deal may depend upon your carrying your message correctly. Run home as quickly as you can by the lower wood, it's quite safe that way; tell mamma that Aleck is hurt, and that Rickson must go off for Dr. Wilson in the dog-cart at once; if Dr. Wilson cannot be found, he must bring Mr. Bryant; and James must bring down the carriage to wait for us at the lodge. Don't frighten your mamma; tell her as quietly and gently as you can. If you meet Mr. Glengelly, tell him first, and he will break it to mamma. Do you quite understand?"
"Yes, papa," I replied, thankful to have something given me to do, and yet feeling as if I were in the midst of a terrible waking dream. After my father had taken the precaution of once again repeating his directions, I sped off up the steep hill-side, by way of the lower wood, towards home, whilst he gently lifted up my cousin and carried him to the boat.
I shall never forget that walk home—walk I call it, though, wherever running was possible, I ran. The feeling of misery and terror that was upon me, seemed to be mocked by the gay twittering of the birds, and the dancing of the sunbeams through the leaves, and the familiar appearance of the laden blackberry bushes, and copses famous for rich returns in the nutting season. Everything in nature looking so undisturbed and unaffected by what was filling me with grief, appeared to add to my wretchedness. All the way along, I had the vision of my cousin's pale face before my eyes. True, he was not dead; but, child that I was, I had sufficient sense to know that often death followed an accident which was not immediately fatal, and if he died it would be almost as though I had murdered him. I can remember trying hard to fancy it was a dreadful dream, and that I should wake up, as I had done on the preceding night, to find that my fears were all unreal; and as every step, bringing me nearer home, made this increasingly impossible to imagine, I changed the subject of my speculations, and took to remembering all the dreadful things I had ever read in history or story-books, of people dying of broken hearts, or living on and never smiling again, and fancying it was going to be the same with me; and I grew quite frightened, and trembled so much that I scarcely knew how to climb up the steep bits of the path.
I was still about a quarter of a mile from the house when I met Mr. Glengelly, who was also on the search for Aleck. It was a wonderful relief to have some one to speak to after the long silence of the past hour, and to be cheered up by his assurance that a broken arm was no very formidable accident after all, and that a little severe pain, and a few weeks invalidism, sounded very alarming, but would in reality pass quickly by.
"Then you think, perhaps Aleck won't die," I faltered, struggling to get breath, for the haste in which I had come had made speaking difficult.
"Die!" echoed my tutor cheerily; "why, Willie, people don't die of a broken arm! I broke my arm when I was a little boy of twelve, and you see I'm alive still." I smiled faintly; it was so much better than anything I had expected to hear. "It's true," added the tutor, "that there may be more than the broken arm, but we must hope for the best. In the meantime, Willie, you have had enough running, you are quite out of breath, and had better come the rest of the way quietly; I will go on and carry out your father's directions."
When I reached home every one seemed in a bustle, and too busy to take any notice of me. My mother indeed spared time to tell me I had been a good brave boy to come home so fast with the message, and that I had better go and sit quietly to rest in the school-room; but she hurried away immediately to finish her preparations, and I found she was getting the spare room next to her own ready for Aleck, instead of the little room next to mine.
I had a lingering hope that Mr. Glengelly might appear in the school-room, but he had gone down with Bennet to the lodge to see if he could be of use when the boat came in, so that I was quite alone, and could only watch from the half-open door the doings of the servants as they passed to and fro, all seeming in a flutter, and as if it lay upon them as a duty to move about, and run hither and thither, without any particular object that I could discover.
After about an hour, the sound of wheels on the drive announced the approach of the carriage. I sprang to my post of observation, and saw Aleck, still deathly pale, and unconscious, carried carefully in by my father and Mr. Glengelly, and my mother on the first landing of the stairs, looking terribly anxious but perfectly composed, beckoning them up, as she said to my father,—
"Everything is ready, dear, in the room next to ours."
Then they all went up-stairs, and I saw nothing more until, a few moments later, Mr. Glengelly looked in and told me I was to go to dinner by myself, as he was going to drive to Elmworth at once, and my parents could not come down-stairs.
It seemed strange and forlorn to go into our large dining-room, and sit at the table all by myself, whilst James stood behind me and changed my plate, and handed me the dishes all in their proper order, as if I had been grown up. I was hungry, or rather, perhaps, stood in need of food, after the morning's exertions, but I felt quite surprised at my own utter indifference as to what I had to eat, when I had the opportunity of an entirely free selection. I took my one help of tart, and a single peach, without the shadow of a desire such as is common to children, and which I should in happier times unquestionably have shared, to improve the occasion by a little extra allowance.
I had scarcely finished when my mother came in for two or three minutes.
"Mamma," I said, running eagerly to her, "do tell me, will Aleck die?"
"My darling," she answered, "we cannot say how much he is hurt until the doctor comes;" and she stooped down to kiss away the tears that came to my eyes when I noticed the sad, quiet voice with which she spoke, so unlike Mr. Glengelly's cheerful, re-assuring manner. "You must pray to God, my child, that if it be His will he may recover, and try to cheer up, because there is still hope the injury may not prove very serious; we must hope for the best. I am going to bring papa up a glass of wine and a biscuit; will you carry up the plate for me?"
Just as we were going up-stairs, she added, to comfort me,—
"Willie, my child, how thankful I feel that you had nothing to do with the loss of the ship."
At which, observation—from her point of view, consolatory; from mine, like a dagger-thrust—I became so convulsed with sobs, that my mother slipped into the room where Aleck was, laid down the plate and the wine-glass, and returning again, took me down to the school-room, and simply devoted herself for some minutes to soothing me back into composure. She rose to go, but I clung to her dress; "Mamma, mamma," I entreated, "don't leave me, please don't leave me."
"I must leave you, Willie," she answered, "and you must try to bear up bravely for my sake, and for Aleck's. You will do what you can to help in this sad time of trouble, and not add to my distress by giving way like this. You are over-tired, I think, and had better take a book, and stay here for the present, and lie down on the sofa and rest. Afterwards, if you like, you can go in the garden."
I preferred remaining in the school-room; I could see the hall-door, and up the first flight of stairs, and could hear the opening and shutting of doors up-stairs, and occasional remarks from passers through the hall, so that I felt less lonely than I knew I should feel in the garden. Frisk came and sat with his fore-paws on my lap—he seemed aware that something had gone wrong—and wagged his tail, not merrily, but slowly and mournfully, as if to express, after his fashion, how truly he sympathized in our distress.
At last, once again there was the sound of wheels; it was the dog-cart this time, and Frisk threw back his head, pricked up his ears, and, with a quick bark, darted off to sanction the arrival of the doctor with his presence.
My father, too, was at the hall-door in an instant.
"I am thankful to see you," he said, as the doctor sprung from the dog-cart; "you have heard the circumstances?"
"I have," answered Dr. Wilson, following my father quickly up-stairs. "Is he still unconscious?"
The answer was lost to me; but all at once, as I thought of Dr. Wilson, and how much depended upon his visit, the recollection of my mother's words came back to me, "We must pray God, Willie, if it be His will Aleck may get better;" and with a sudden impulse I jumped up, shut the door, and kneeling down, with my head pressed upon my hands, I prayed with a sort of intensity I had never known before: "O Lord, make Aleck well, do make Aleck well, don't let him die,"—repeating the words over and over again, and getting up with some dim sense of comfort in my mind, as I thought that God had the power as much now as when in our human nature He walked upon this world, to heal all that were ill; and had He not said, "Ask, and you shall receive?"
Why was it that the verse which I had repeated that morning to my mother, after breakfast, came back so often to my mind? "If I regard iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me." Generally my mother explained my daily text, but this morning, owing to the anxiety about Aleck's disappearance, there had not been the usual time, and she had simply heard the verse, and sent me off, as before-mentioned, to the school-room. Now I took to explaining it for myself. What business had I to pray with that iniquity hidden in my heart, of which no one knew but God? How could I get forgiven? what was I to do?
Conscience took courage and put in the suggestion, "Confess boldly to your parents the sin that is lying so heavily upon you." But then the thought that, if Aleck never got better, they would think me his murderer, took possession of me, and I took pains to convince myself, against my own reason, that after all, I had not actually been guilty of falsehood, since the real manner in which the ship had been lost was actually guessed by my father; that it would do no good if I were to give them the pain of knowing that I had allowed it to happen, having it in my power to prevent it; that, after all, it would be enough to confess to God and get forgiven.
But the reasoning, though for a time it silenced the promptings of conscience, did not give me peace of mind; and a sense that I could not pray—that, at least, my prayers would do no good—took from me the only comfort that was worth thinking of.
I was so taken up with these reflections, that I never heard steps upon the stairs, and started with an exclamation almost of fright when the door opened rather quickly, and my father and Dr. Wilson came in.
"Why, Willie, there's nothing to be frightened at," exclaimed my father. "Here's Dr. Wilson come to cheer us up about Aleck, who is to get quite well by-and-by, we hope."
"Yes, yes, little man," said Dr. Wilson, kindly chucking me under the chin, after a fashion which I have noticed prevails amongst grown-up tall people who are amiably disposed towards children; "we shall soon hope to bring him round again. With all your monkey-like ways of climbing about the rocks, my only wonder is I've not had you for a patient long ago!"
Something seemed to strike him in the face he was holding up by the chin, and releasing me from a quick glance of inspection, he asked presently whether I had seen Aleck, and listened to the account I had to give of how Ralph had first noticed him lying at the foot of the rock.
Then he and my father stepped out by the window, and walked up and down on the lawn; and I heard Dr. Wilson say to my father, "Any one can see the boy has had a shock; take care he does not get frightened."
From the fragments of conversation which reached me,—sitting as I did in the open window, whilst they passed by, walking up and down on the lawn outside,—I gathered that they were discussing the possibility of communication with Uncle and Aunt Gordon; and as they came in again through the school-room, my father said, "You are sure that the crisis will be over by that time?"
"Quite sure. There is nothing for it now but perfect quiet, the administration of the medicines and cordials I have prescribed, when possible, and close watch of all the symptoms. I can assure you I am not without hope. You may look for me again by ten o'clock."
And so saying, Dr. Wilson drove rapidly off, and my father went back again to Aleck's room. I think it must have been his planning, that nurse soon afterwards came down to the school-room and bestowed her company upon me for quite a long time, entertaining me at first, or meaning to entertain me, by a wearisome narration about a little boy who lived nowhere in particular a long time ago; but she wakened up all my interest when at last, unable to keep off the subject as she had intended, she gave me a detailed account of my cousin having been put into the bed in the spare room; and how he had lain so still, she could scarcely believe her senses he was not dead; and how, when Dr. Wilson set his arm, the pain of the operation seemed to waken him up for a moment from the stupor, but he had gone back again almost immediately. "The doctor said," she added, "that it was the injury to the head that was of the greatest consequence—the arm was nothing to signify, a mere simple fracture; as if a broken arm were a mere nothing. I should like to know whether, if his own were broken, he would call it a simple fracture, and say it didn't signify!" And nurse looked righteously indignant, and as if she would be rather glad than otherwise for Dr. Wilson to meet with an accident, and learn, by personal experience, the true measure of insignificance or importance attaching to a broken limb. Remembering, however, at this point, the inconvenience which might result to ourselves from such a catastrophe, she retreated from the position, and took to speculating what the doctor's views were likely to be with reference to his night accommodation; whether he would go "between sheets," or merely lie down on the sofa, and what motives might be likely to influence him towards either decision; reasoning it all out to me as if I had been grown-up.
In fact, one of the peculiar sensations which are stamped upon every recollection of that long sad day, was that of being treated as though I were a "person," and not a child, by almost every member of the community; a sensation bringing with it a dim sense of glory—that might have been—but which my guilty position kept me back from enjoying.
Both my parents came down to a sort of dinner-tea, which we had together at about seven o'clock, and my mother stayed a little while with me afterwards, and then sent me off, rather earlier than usual, to bed, upon the plea of my being weary with the long, anxious day.