Chapter Eight.
Conflicting Emotions.
“Poor fellow!” said Neil to himself; “and the dad prefers that hunting, racing baronet to him for a son-in-law! Why it would break little Bel’s heart.”
He stood watching till Beck passed in among the trees, expecting to the last to see him turn and wave his hand.
“No; gone,” he said. “Well, I must fight their battle—when the time comes—but it is quite another battle now.”
As he thought this he heard the clattering of hoofs, and hastened his steps so as to get indoors before his brother rode out of the stable yard with the Lydon sisters, and a guilty feeling sent the blood into his pale cheeks. But he did not check his steps; he rather hastened them.
“They don’t want to see me again,” he muttered; and then, “Oh, what a miserable, contemptible coward I am; preaching to that young fellow about his duty, and here I am, the next minute, deceiving myself and utterly wanting in strength to do mine. I ought to go out and say good-bye to Saxa, and I will.”
He stopped and turned to go, but a hand was laid upon his arm, and, as he faced round, it was to see a little white appealing face turned up to his, and as he passed his arm round his sister’s waist the horses’ hoofs crushed the gravel by the door, passed on, and the sound grew more faint.
“Neil, dear; Tom has gone. Is his father very ill?”
These words brought the young surgeon back to the troubles of others in place of his own.
“No, dear; he is no worse. It was not that,” he said hastily.
“What was it, then? Oh, Neil, dear, you hurt me. You are keeping something back.”
“I am not going to keep anything back, little sis,” he said tenderly. “Come in here.”
He led her into the drawing room and closed the door, while she clung to him, searching his eyes with her own wistful gaze, as her lips trembled.
“Now, dear, pray tell me. Why did Tom come?”
“He had bad news, dear.”
“About his ship?” cried the girl wildly.
“Yes.”
“O Neil! It was about going back to sea!”
Neil nodded, and drew her more closely to him, but she resisted. His embrace seemed to stifle her; she could hardly breathe.
“You are cruel to me,” she panted. “But I know,” she cried half hysterically; “he has to go soon.”
“He has to do his duty as a Queen’s officer, Isabel, dear, and you must be firm.”
“Yes, yes, dear, of course,” she cried, struggling hard the while to master her emotion. “I will, indeed, try—to be calm—and patient. But tell me; he has had a message about rejoining his ship?”
“Yes, dear.”
“And he is to go soon?”
Neil was silent.
“Neil, pray speak,” she sobbed.
“Yes, my child. He brought a telegram.”
“A despatch,” she said, correcting him.
“No, dear—a telegram.”
“Then—then—it means—something sudden—for them to telegraph. I can bear it, now, dear. How soon is he to go?”
“Isabel, my child, will you trust in me to help you to do what is best?” said Neil tenderly.
“Yes, Neil, dear; of course, I want to do what is right, and you will help me.”
“I will, dear, with all my strength. You know that Tom has his duty to do, like the rest of us, and you have yours to our poor father.”
“Yes, Neil, of course, and you know I try.”
“My darling, yes,” he cried, as he kissed the pale cheeks wet now with tears.
“Then tell me. I must know. When is Tom to go?”
“Isabel, your father forbade all engagement with him, and I have talked to Tom Beck as I thought was best for both of you. Come, you must act like a brave little woman and help me. We have both got our duty to do now at a very sad time. You will help me and try to be firm?”
“Yes—yes,” she whispered hoarsely, “but—but—Neil—tell me—when is he to go?”
“Isabel, dear, it was his duty as an officer and as an honourable man.”
“Yes,” she whispered in a strangely low tone. “Tom would do his duty always, I know—now—you are keeping something back. I can see it,” she cried, growing more excited and struggling in his arms. “I know now—and without bidding me good-bye. Neil, you have sent him away; he is gone!”
Neil bent his head sadly, and she literally snatched herself away.
“And you call yourself my brother!” she cried passionately. “You say you taught him his duty; and, after all he has said to me, to make him go without one word. Oh, it is cruel—it is cruel. What have I done that you should treat me so?”
“Isabel, dear, you promised me that you would be firm.”
“How can a woman be firm at a time like this? But I know; you could not be so cruel. He is coming back just to see me and say good-bye.”
“He has gone, Isabel.”
“Without a single word or look?”
She gazed at him as if dazed, and unable to believe his words. Then uttering a low, piteous cry, she sank helpless across his arms, her eyes closed, and for hours she lay for the most part unconscious, only awakening from time to time to burst into a passion of hysterical weeping as her senses returned.
“Duty is hard—very hard,” said Neil through his set teeth, as he divided his time between his father’s and his sister’s chambers, where Aunt Anne sat sobbing and bewailing their fate. Alison had returned at dusk, and partaken of the dinner alone, to go afterward to his little study, where he sat and scowled and smoked.
The carriage had been sent to the station in accordance with Sir Denton’s request, and then forgotten by all in the house, and the night was going on apace.
Neil had just left his sister’s room and gone back to his father’s to find him hot and feverish to an extent which rather troubled him, and once more made him long for the friendly counsel and advice of a colleague.
But his sound common sense gave him the help he needed, and after administering medicine he became satisfied with the result and sat by the bedside thinking of the stern duty he had to fulfill.
“I judge Saxa too hardly,” he said to himself. “I do not go the way to make her care for me, and it is no wonder that she should be piqued by my indifference. I’ll try and alter it, for all that other is a foolish dream, and due to my low nervous state. I’ll turn over a new leaf to-morrow, and see what can be done. It would help him in his recovery if he knew that his dearest wishes were bearing fruit; and if I satisfy him over that, he will yield to mine about poor little Isabel. She will not be so hard to-morrow when her sorrow is being softened down. For I did right, and I’ll do right about Saxa, poor girl! I was quite rude to her to-day. I’ll ride over to-morrow and fetch her to see him. He likes her as much as he does Isabel. There, I think I am getting things into train for the beginning of a new life, and— What is it?”
“The carriage back from the station, my dear,” whispered Aunt Anne. “The new nurse is in the hall. Will you come down and speak to her at once?”
“Yes, Aunt. Thank Heaven, she has come.”
He hurried out of the room and down the stairs to where, in the dim light, a tall cloaked figure stood by her humble-looking luggage. And as he went he had made up in his mind the words he would say to her about getting some refreshment at once and joining him in the sick chamber, where a bed had been made up in the dressing room for her use.
But Neil Elthorne did not speak the words he had meant to say, for, as the visitor turned at his step, he stopped short with the blood rushing to his brain, and a strange sensation of vertigo attacking him as he faltered out:
“Good Heavens! Nurse Elisia! Has he sent you?”