The Wreck Ashore.
“’E’ve done it now, sor, an’ I hope ye’re satisfied!” said James, sitting complacently on his saddle, and looking at the plunging horses, his fellow-servant with one leg entangled in the harness, and the havoc made at each plunge of the uppermost beast.
“You scoundrel!” exclaimed Brace, furiously, as he leaped down. “Why didn’t you give more room? Here, come and help!”
“Can’t lave me bastes, sor, or they’d take fright, they’re so full of sperrit,” said the youth, coolly, as, running to the prostrate chaise, Brace contrived to drag open the door, feeling, as he did so, that he was alone to blame for the accident.
“Here, quick! my child! help her first,” exclaimed the gentleman, but most needlessly, for the young man had neither look nor thought for him, but was striving to lift the insensible and bleeding form of the wounded girl from the wreck. For at the first crash of the overturning chaise the window had been driven in, and one of the splinters of glass had gashed her temple.
“Good Heavens! what have I done?” muttered Brace, as he succeeded in passing his arms round the senseless form, lifted it by main force from the door, and then bore it to the grass a few yards further on, where, laying it down, he proceeded to press his handkerchief to the wound.
“Let me come, young man,” said a harsh voice at his elbow, and, starting with surprise, Brace saw that the gentleman, till now forgotten, had climbed from the chaise, and now made no scruple in thrusting him aside to take his place.
“What can I do? Had I not better gallop off for a doctor?”
“Thank you, no,” was the cold reply, as the gentleman, for an instant, looked the tenderer of service full in the face. “This is no scene from a romance, sir. You need trouble yourself no further. My daughter is more frightened than hurt, I dare say.”
“A cold-hearted, unfeeling brute,” muttered Brace to himself, for he was greatly excited, and felt at that moment as if he would have given the world to have been allowed to kneel there and support the inanimate form. For a moment he felt ready to make confession that he had been the cause of the accident, but that he felt would be folly; and once more, heedless of the cold reception his offers met with, he proposed that a doctor should be fetched.
“If I required a medical man, sir,” said the gentleman, “there is the post-boy, my paid servant, that I could send for one: unless,” he said, tauntingly, “you, sir, wish to earn something more than my thanks.”
The colour rose to the young man’s cheek as he met the cold, glittering eye turned to him for a moment; but he smothered the resentment he could not avoid feeling, and, without a word, turned away to a clear part of the ditch, returning, in a few minutes, with his navy cloth cap half full of water.
The gentleman frowned as he saw this favour forced upon him as he thought, and unwillingly accepting it, he sprinkled the white face, and bathed the forehead, wiping away the ruddy stains, and binding a handkerchief tightly across the wound. But for awhile there were no signs of returning animation, and once more, in spite of the scowl upon the fathers face, Brace Norton hurried away to bring more water.
“There is a faint shade of colour returning now,” exclaimed Brace, eagerly.
“Then perhaps you will have the goodness to retire, sir,” said the gentleman, haughtily. “My daughter is not accustomed to the society of strangers; and, at such a time, your presence would be a fresh shock.”
“But this is a lonely place, sir. You are miles away from any aid. Pray let me endeavour to be of some service. Surely I can help you.”
“I thank you, no,” was the cold reply.
“But for the lady’s sake, sir,” exclaimed Brace, almost indignantly. “You will take my chaise, and continue your journey?”
“Young man,” was the rude answer, “I am not in the habit of placing myself under obligations to strangers. I shall not require your chaise: I have no doubt, with the help of some of the labourers about, our own vehicle can be set right in a very short time.”
“Sure, sor, the short time will be a month,” said Brace’s post-boy; “the hint wheel’s off intirely, and Jerry Stone siz as the harness is all to tatthers, an’ he wants to know if aither of ye gentlemen have got a drop of brandy wid ye, for the poor boy feels faint.”
In effect, the other post-boy was seated upon a bank beside his now extricated horses—set free by the liberal use of a knife amongst the harness; and it was evident, from the way in which the poor fellow was rocking himself to and fro, that he was in great pain; while a glance at the wretched chaise showed the impossibility of making use of it for further proceeding upon that day.
But Brace Norton possessed something of the irrepressible in his composition, and, speaking gently, he said, addressing the late speaker: “I am aware, sir, that it is unpleasant to have favours forced upon you by a complete stranger, but let me beg of you not to let the little I offer be looked upon in the light of a favour. For the young lady’s sake, pray make use of my chaise, and leave me to take my chance. I dare not presume to offer you advice, but would not a reference to some medical man be advisable? This long-continued swoon—”
Brace Norton said no more, for, glancing from father to daughter as he spoke, he became aware that sensibility had returned, and that a pair of soft, sad, dreamy eyes were fixed upon him, but only for their lids to be lowered, and a faint blush to overspread the pallid cheeks upon her seeing that her gaze was observed.
“Do you feel in pain?” said the gentleman, bending over her, but paying no heed to Brace Norton’s remarks.
“No, papa; only a little faint. But you are not hurt?”
“No, no; not at all.” Then, in an undertone: “How very unfortunate!” and he frowned at the shattered chaise as he would have done at its driver.
Brace Norton was wise enough in his generation to see that the less he said the less likely he would be to give offence; but a bitter feeling of disappointment came over him as he found how completely his presence was ignored.
“If it were not for that sweet girl he might walk,” muttered the young man; but the next moment his heart leaped with pleasure, when, after standing thoughtfully for a few moments, and then glancing from his daughter to the wreck and back again, the gentleman spoke somewhat more courteously.
“Necessity forces me, sir, to accept the offer of your chaise for my—for reasons of my own,” he added, hastily. “I will make use of it on condition that you allow me to pay any—”
“Good heavens, sir!” exclaimed Brace, as haughtily now as the stranger, “give me credit for wishing to act as should one gentleman towards another whom he sees with his jibboom—absurd!—whom he encounters in distress—I beg pardon, I mean in—in a strait,” exclaimed Brace, desperately, for his nautical imagery did not find much favour. “I am only a simple officer in the navy, and no doubt a sea life makes me somewhat rude, but my offers of service are genuine, not mercenary.”
The stranger bowed, and turned to his daughter, who was now standing at his side.
“Take down that portmanteau,” exclaimed Brace to the post-boy.
“Yes, sor!” And after a good deal of grunting, unbuckling, and lifting it was placed by the road side.
“If you will allow me,” said Brace, “I will see that the damaged chaise is sent back to its owner.”
He turned then to hand the lady into the vehicle, but he was motioned back: not, though, without receiving from her a faint smile of thanks.
“My daughter needs no assistance further than I can render,” was the stern response to Brace’s offer. “Your handkerchief, sir!”
Brace took the handkerchief handed to him, as if the donor were about to strike him down. Then he drew back as father and daughter entered the chaise, so that he did not catch the order given to the post-boy. Then there was a stiff salutation from the gentleman; a slight bow from the lady; and the horses had started, leaving Brace, bareheaded, handsome, and flushed, standing in the road, till, suddenly the front windows were dashed down, the door partly opened, and, evidently suffering from some strong emotion, the face of the gentleman appeared to be turned the next moment towards the post-boy, as he roared, in a voice of thunder: “Stop!”