CHAPTER XIII.
HOPE AND FEAR.
s soon as the shearing company was gone, John Shelley went into the house to watch by Charlie’s couch, and to take counsel with his wife as to what must be done about Jack, as to whose safety he was as anxious as about Charlie’s, for if the latter died Jack would inevitably be tried for manslaughter, though the shepherd felt sure the fall on the stone gate-post was a far more serious matter than the blow Jack had dealt, and which had accidentally, and quite unintentionally, caused the fall.
All Jack had meant to do, as the shepherd and his wife knew well enough, was to give Charlie a good bang across the shoulders, but if the boy died it might be a difficult matter to persuade a coroner’s jury that no more was intended, especially as Jack, by keeping himself aloof, as he did, from his own class, was by no means popular in the neighbourhood.
Mrs. Shelley was even more keenly alive to the danger which threatened Jack than her husband, and was for sending him away at once to her brother, who lived at Liverpool, but John Shelley never acted hastily or on impulse, and he suggested taking counsel with the doctor and Mr. Leslie, both of whom were good friends of Jack’s, before they decided on any course of action.
“We’ll send Jack round to the rectory as soon as he comes back; he will be glad of something to do, tired and hungry as he must be, for I see he has not had his supper yet,” said the shepherd.
“No, he won’t touch anything till there is some hope of Charlie, I daresay. He has been unconscious nearly an hour now, John. Do you think there is any hope?”
“Yes, I do; while there is life there is hope. I expect it is concussion of the brain, and if so, people are often unconscious for hours. He is breathing, you see. But where is Fairy? Why does not the child come in? Is she frightened?”
“I don’t know, I am sure; I had forgotten all about her. Just see, John, will you? She has had no supper either,” replied Mrs. Shelley.
John went to the door to look for Fairy just as Jack and Dr. Bates came up together. The shepherd brought the doctor in, and sent Jack to the rectory, and then went to talk to Fairy, who was still sitting on the bench outside.
“Why have you sent for Mr. Leslie? Is Charlie worse?” asked Fairy, anxiously, as she beckoned to the shepherd to sit by her side.
“No, he is just the same, but I want to ask Mr. Leslie’s advice about Jack; I am afraid we shall have to send poor Jack away. Shall you be sorry, Fairy?”
“Sorry! Of course I shall; but, John, why must Jack go as well as I? Mother says it is all my fault, and I am to go away, and I don’t know where to go, so I was waiting till you came, to ask you; but if Mr. Leslie is coming, I daresay he’ll take me in for a little while,” said Fairy, with a little sob at the end of each sentence.
“Mr. Leslie take my Fairy in. Why, child, you would not leave us now in our hour of trouble, when we most want you to comfort us, would you?”
“I don’t want ever to leave you, unless, of course, I find my own parents; but mother says I am to go, and she is sorry she ever took me in, because it is all my fault. So you see, John, of course I must go away after that,” said Fairy, gently.
“I can’t spare my little Fairy now. Mother did not mean what she said; she was so upset at seeing poor Charlie insensible, I expect she hardly knew what she was doing, so you must forgive her—will you, little one?—and stay and cheer us in our sorrow,” said John.
“Of course I will, if you are quite sure mother didn’t mean it, but she should not have said it was my fault, should she? For she knows as well as you do, John, how fond I am of both the boys, and how I never let them quarrel; only this was done in such a minute I could not stop it; it really was more an accident than anything else. Poor Jack didn’t mean to knock Charlie down, or to hurt him really, only he was so angry about that lamb that he lost his temper. How grave you look, John; you don’t think it was my fault, do you?”
Now the shepherd understood perfectly what his wife had meant by saying it was Fairy’s fault; but it was evident the child had not the remotest suspicion of Mrs. Shelley’s meaning; she was too childlike and innocent (children of that day were less precocious and more like children than they are now), too free from vanity and self-consciousness to be aware that Jack had any other feeling for her than a brotherly affection, and it was equally evident that at present, at any rate, Fairy’s affection for Jack was of precisely the same character as her sisterly love for her foster-brother. Seeing this, the shepherd felt his wife was right in saying it would be far better for many reasons that Jack should go away; but he was so lost in thought that he forgot to reply to Fairy’s question, which, after waiting a minute or two, for she was accustomed to John’s slowness of speech, she repeated.
“No, my child, no, I am sure it was no fault of yours; don’t think any more about it. Here comes Jack with Mr. Leslie; I will go in and hear what the doctor says. Ask Mr. Leslie to wait in the kitchen for a minute, if he does not mind,” and the shepherd went indoors to hear the doctor’s report just as Jack and Mr. Leslie appeared.
“‘COME, CHILD, YOU HAVE HAD NO SUPPER YET.’”
See “The Shepherd’s Fairy,” [p. 219].
They both looked very grave, for Jack was a great pet of the rector’s, and he had already told him exactly how the accident had occurred; and Mr. Leslie was almost as anxious as Jack to hear the doctor’s report, for Jack seemed so absorbed in his anxiety about Charlie as to be unconscious of his own danger.
“How is he?” they exclaimed in a breath.
“I don’t know; Dr. Bates is still with him,” said Fairy; but a minute or two later John Shelley came out with the doctor’s report.
“Well, what news?” asked Mr. Leslie.
“He is still unconscious, and the doctor can’t say how it will go with him,” replied the shepherd.
“Is there no hope, father?” asked Jack, turning very white and speaking very low.
“Yes, lad, yes, there is hope, thank God; he may rally; it is the fall on the gate-post that has done the mischief. He struck the back of his head against the stone; the place on the temple is a mere trifle. But will you walk in, Mr. Leslie? Dr. Bates wants to speak to you, and you too, Jack.”
Accordingly these four went into the kitchen and shut themselves up to discuss the matter, leaving Fairy feeling very miserable and in the way, for she did not know where to go, on the bench outside. But a few minutes later Mrs. Shelley came to the door to look for her, wondering what had become of her, having forgotten her hasty speech on seeing Charlie lying prostrate on the ground.
“Why, Fairy, where have you been all this time? Come, child, you have had no supper yet. How pale you look; and your hands are quite cold. You are not frightened, are you?” said Mrs. Shelley, as Fairy reluctantly followed her into the house.
“No, I am not frightened, but it is all so miserable,” said Fairy, sobbing, as she looked at the unconscious Charlie, who was breathing almost imperceptibly on the sofa.
“Come, this won’t do; I shall have you ill next; why, the child has cried more to-night than she ever cried all the sixteen years she has been here,” said Mrs. Shelley, taking Fairy in her arms.
“You were never unkind to me before,” sobbed Fairy.
Suddenly Mrs. Shelley remembered how she had turned on Fairy in her anxiety and pity for Jack.
“There, child, don’t cry any more; I don’t know what I said; but at any rate I can’t let you quarrel with me when I may lose one, if not both, of my sons; for I am sure they will decide to send Jack away—indeed, I hope they will,” said Mrs. Shelley.
“You hope so, mother?” asked Fairy, in astonishment.
“Yes; if anything happened to poor Charlie, Jack might get into terrible trouble, so, for his sake, I hope Mr. Leslie will let him go; besides, he is not fit for a shepherd; he never has liked the work, and he may get on far better at something else.”
Just as Mrs. Shelley said this, the kitchen door opened, and John Shelley asked his wife to come in to the discussion which was being held in the kitchen, and Fairy was left to watch by Charlie. It seemed an interminable time to Fairy, though it was not really half an hour before the door opened and they all came out. Mr. Leslie went home; the doctor came in to look at Charlie again; Mrs. Shelley went upstairs with Jack; and the shepherd called Fairy into the kitchen to tell her what had been decided.
“Jack is going away to-night; he is going to America.”
“To America!” exclaimed Fairy, for in those days going to America was indeed going to another world.
“Yes, for two years; perhaps for longer if he likes it. Mr. Leslie has friends out there, and he knows of something he thinks will do for Jack. There is a ship sails on Monday from Liverpool, so he is to go to Brighton to-night with Mr. Leslie, and be off by the London coach at five to-morrow morning. Mr. Leslie will go to Liverpool with him and see him off if he can get anyone to take his duty here on Sunday; anyhow, he will go to London and put him into the Liverpool coach.”
John had not time to enter into further details as to what had passed at the meeting in the kitchen; but, in truth, both Dr. Bates and Mr. Leslie had strongly urged getting Jack out of the way as quickly as possible. Dr. Bates because he was very anxious and by no means hopeful about Charlie; Mr. Leslie partly on the same account, but also because he knew the state of Jack’s feelings with regard to Fairy, and had long wished to see the boy in a position where he would have some opportunity of using the talents he possessed, and, by dint of his own abilities and exertions, rising in the world. It so happened that he had friends in New York, and a relation of his; a banker there had, in answer to his inquiries whether he had an opening for a clever, self-educated young man, lately written to say he had a vacancy for a clerk which he would keep for Mr. Leslie’s young protégé. Mr. Leslie had only been waiting till the shearing season was over to offer this post to Jack, knowing that he could not very well be spared till it was finished. Jack was delighted at the idea; a salary of fifty pounds a year seemed to him untold wealth, and to have all the rest of the day from five in the afternoon till ten the next morning to himself, a perpetual holiday; and then to go to America, to him who had never been much farther than Brighton, would, under any other circumstances, have been all that he could have wished for, except Fairy to accompany him. The post was offered him for two years, and the option of remaining, if he liked the work, at the end of the two years. The only difficulty was the money for his passage, but, to the surprise of Jack, his father said he had plenty in the savings bank for that and to get him a few necessaries as well.
But leaving as he was leaving, took all pleasure out of Jack’s good fortune; if he felt any pleasure at all it was only from the excitement of the journey, and the occupation of both mind and body, which prevented him from dwelling on the sorrow he had brought on them all, and diverted his mind from the terrible anxiety Charlie’s state caused him.
If it had not been for Dr. Bates, Jack would have remained at home for the night, and walked over to Brighton at daybreak to catch the coach, but the doctor was rather a nervous man, and knowing that it was quite possible Charlie might not live till the morning, he urged Mr. Leslie to take Jack to Brighton that evening, adding in an undertone that if anything happened Jack had better learn it in America. Perhaps it was as well for all parties that the doctor’s advice was acted upon, for it prevented any prolonged leave-takings, and gave no one time to fret over Jack’s departure; indeed, an hour after the council held in the kitchen, Jack was standing already to start, folding his mother in his arms as he bade her good-bye. Then he went to the sitting-room, in which Charlie was lying, and took a long, long look at him as he lay with closed eyes, just breathing, all the colour gone from his usually rosy cheeks. What would not Jack have given to see those merry blue eyes open once more before he went away, perhaps never to see them again? But no, the eyelids remained firmly closed, and Jack waited in vain for any hopeful sign. He was alone in the room, and before he left he knelt down by the side of the sofa and prayed until a footstep outside startled him, and he rose hastily, for, proud and reserved as he was, he would have hated even his mother to have seen him on his knees, for, like many young men of his age, he had a great deal more religion than the world gave him credit for. The footstep was Mrs. Shelley’s; she was come to warn her darling son that it was time he started or he would keep Mr. Leslie waiting.
“Mother, may I have a lock of his hair?” asked Jack. And Mrs. Shelley cut one of Charlie’s fair curls for him; and then Jack stooped, and, for the first time for many years, kissed the boy’s pale cheeks, and then, once more embracing his mother, he left the room. But there was another person to say good-bye to—Fairy—who was waiting in the passage, and now came forward, putting both her hands in Jack’s and lifting up her sweet, delicate little face to be kissed as naturally as though Jack was her own brother; and though poor Jack blushed crimson as he stooped and kissed her, Fairy, if she changed colour at all, grew paler, for she felt very sad and lonely at the loss of her favourite companion.
“You will think of me sometimes, Fairy, won’t you?” whispered Jack, holding her hands.
“Yes, often, Jack; and mind you write to us directly you get to America; we shall be longing to know how you are getting on.”
“Jack, my boy, it is time to start,” cried John Shelley, who was waiting outside to walk to the rectory with his son, and the next moment they were off.
(To be continued.)
THE ROMANCE OF THE BANK OF ENGLAND;
OR,
THE OLD LADY OF THREADNEEDLE STREET.
By EMMA BREWER.