Chapter Twenty Six.
“Ah!”
“How horrible!” the curate said, when he heard the news from North, who came in at breakfast time.
As he spoke these words, Leo entered the room, and stopped short, gazing from one to the other.
She had come down looking happy and contented, with a satisfied smile upon her curved lips, heightened by a rather mocking light which danced in her eyes, as they encountered those of the doctor. There was a feeling of triumph, the satisfaction of a vain, weak woman at the sight of the slave ready to cast himself at her feet, and her manner was coquettish as she held out her hand.
But her brother’s ejaculation, the stern look on the doctor’s face, chilled her, and she stopped short, looking from one to the other, her lips parting as if for the utterance of words which would not come.
“What is it?” she said at last, wildly. “What is horrible?”
“Hush, Leo!” said the curate, taking her hand; “don’t be alarmed.”
“But you said—”
“Yes; North has brought in terrible news from the Hall.”
Leo’s face turned ghastly, and she clung to her brother, while North hurriedly placed a chair, into which she sank, but only to sit up rigidly, as she stared with widely opened eyes at the doctor.
“Be calm,” he said tenderly. “You are still weak.”
“What is it?” she said, in a voice that did not sound like her own.
“It would be better that you should not know,” said North. “There has been a sad accident at the Hall.”
“I must know now,” panted Leo, as she opened and closed her hands in her excitement.
“It would be better to speak,” said the curate. “My sisters have been schooled to trouble, North. There has been a terribly sudden calamity at the Hall, Leo, dear. North was called up in the night, and—”
“Is he dead?” she whispered hoarsely; and then reading her answer in the eyes of both, she uttered a long, low, “Ah!” and sat with her hand tightening upon her brother’s, while she closed her eyes, and an agonising spasm seemed to contract her beautiful face.
“A fit of giddiness seems to have seized Sir Luke, and he fell headlong from the top of the stairs to the bottom.”
“Ah!”
Once more that strange expiration of the breath, which sounded to the listeners precisely the same, for their senses were not attuned with sufficient keenness to detect the difference.
“I am sorry to have given you this terrible shock, Leo,” said North tenderly; “but I felt bound to come and let Salis know.”
She did not reply directly, but sat there spasmodically clinging to her brother’s hand with fingers that were damp and cold.
“I am better now,” she said at last, in a low whisper. “It is very terrible. Does Mary know?”
“Not yet,” said Salis. “I am going to fetch her down. Has the faintness passed away?”
“Yes—yes!” she said hastily. “It was the suddenness of the news. Try not to startle Mary, Hartley; but she is not such a coward as I am.”
“You have been so ill,” said North tenderly. “Your nerves are unstrung. Besides, it is a great shock to hear of so awfully sudden a death.”
“Go and tell Mary,” said Leo, rising. “I am quite well now. Speak gently.”
“Yes,” said the curate; and he left the room.
“Tell me,” said Leo, as soon as the door closed. “How was it? Was there any quarrel? It was an accident?”
She spoke in a hurriedly excited manner, and there was a wildly anxious look in her eyes.
“You are excited,” said North, taking her hand, half professionally, half with the anxious touch of a lover; but she snatched it away with an angry flash from her eyes.
She saw his pained look, and held out her hand the next moment.
“If the pulse beats quickly,” she said, smiling, “it is no wonder.”
“No, no, of course not,” he cried, taking her hand, and holding it in his.
“Now, tell me.”
“Oh, it was an accident,” he said, “undoubtedly. I’m afraid there was a reason for it.”
Leo was silent, looking at North searchingly.
“Oh, yes, I understand now,” she said quickly. “He drank very much, did he not?”
“I’m afraid so,” replied North, feeling half troubled at the intimate knowledge displayed by the woman he loved.
“It is very horrible,” said Leo, closing her eyes. “Hush! they are coming down. Say as little as you can. Mary is very weak.”
For the curate’s heavy step was heard upon the stairs, and directly after, as North hastened to open the door, Salis entered, carrying Mary in his arms, she looking white and anxious, and gazing quickly from her sister to North and back.
There was an interchange of glances all round, and then, as if by common consent, the subject of the past night was avoided for a time, and North turned to go.
“But you will stay breakfast?” said Mary. “You look tired and worn out.”
She coloured slightly, for the words, full of anxiety for North’s welfare, had escaped her inadvertently; and the colour deepened as, in his pleasantly frank way, he smiled in her face.
“It is very good of you,” he said. “You are always so thoughtful. If Leo will only endorse the invitation, I shall be very glad to stay.”
“I’m sure we shall be very pleased,” said Leo calmly; and he crossed to her side, bent down, and said, in low tone:
“I like that.”
“You like what?” she said coolly enough.
“The brave way in which you have mastered your weakness.”
She smiled and looked furtively at her sister, who was less successful in controlling her feelings.
The breakfast passed over without further allusion to the catastrophe at the Hall till towards the end, when Salis said suddenly:
“I have a very unpleasant duty to perform.”
Mary looked up anxiously.
“Yes, dear; I must go over and see Thomas Candlish.”
Leo bent over her cup.
“It is a duty that I must fulfil, North.”
“Yes,” said the doctor gravely; “especially at a time like this.”
“How horrible!”
And when the doctor left soon after, and he shook hands with his friend again, the latter once more exclaimed:
“How horrible!”
But it was in allusion to the sudden termination of the career of a man who drank heavily, and there was no arrière pensée as to the possibility of a quarrel between the two young men.