Chapter Three.
Two days passed by, and it seemed very uncertain whether Ralph Clavering would recover. Lilly, by the doctor’s orders, had to return home, but she begged that Biddy might remain to watch the invalid, and a more faithful nurse could not have been found. She, indeed, discovered with sorrow the true estimation in which her cousin was held at Clavering Hall; for among all the pampered servants not one volunteered, or seemed anxious to attend by his bedside. When he was well he ordered them roughly about, and abused them if they did not obey his often unreasonable commands. Now, as mean and irreligious persons are wont to do, they retaliated by treating him with neglect. Mr Clavering, whose fears for his son’s life were fully aroused, only rushed out of the cottage for a few minutes at a time to calm his agitation, or to give way to his grief, and then hurried back to his bedside. He had sent for the housekeeper to attend on Ralph, but Mrs Gammage declined coming on the plea that her mistress required her attendance, and that her own health was so delicate that she should die of cold in Dame Harvey’s cottage. The dame, therefore, and her daughter volunteered their services, and more careful attendants could not have been found. Mrs Harvey had been in service in her youth, and as she observed knew how to attend on gentlefolks. Food, and bedding, and furniture and all sorts of things had been sent from the Hall, and as the cottage was neat and clean, Mr Clavering might well have been thankful that his son had so comfortable a refuge.
Lilly rode over every morning from the Hall, and generally again in the afternoon, but she was not allowed to remain many minutes at a time with her cousin. For several days the doctor continued to look grave, and said that he might possibly recover, but that he must not yet hold out too strong hopes on the subject.
“I do trust he may recover,” she answered. “It would be so dreadful for him to die, and I really think that there is some good in him.”
“There is no good thing in any of us, young lady,” remarked the doctor; “yet I pray that if he lives the very best of things may be put into him—a new heart, or we cannot hope to see him changed from what he was.”
“I will pray that he may recover, and that he may get a new heart,” said Lilly, artlessly.
“Do, Miss Vernon,” said Doctor Morison. “Human skill avails us nothing without God’s aid.”
Lilly rode home much happier. She could not have much of what might properly be called affection for her cousin, for his behaviour had prevented that, but she sincerely pitied him, and was anxious for his welfare.
Day after day passed by. “I will tell you to-morrow what to hope,” answered Dr Morison to her usual inquiries. Lilly cantered home more anxious than ever to make her report to her aunt.
“Of course he will die,” observed Mrs Clavering; “what have we to expect?”
“God is ever merciful and good,” said Lilly, calmly.
The lady stared. “I shall not believe that he will live till I see him recovered,” she answered.
“We can pray that he may, dear aunt, at all events,” replied Lilly.
The next day Lilly rode off at an early hour to Dame Harvey’s cottage. Dr Morison arrived nearly at the same moment. She waited anxiously for his report. He remained, it seemed, a very long time with his patient. At last he appeared with a smile on his countenance. “He will yet do well. He requires careful nursing more than anything else, and I hope that in a few days he will be strong enough to be removed to the Hall.” Lilly rode back to carry the joyful news to her aunt.
Mr Clavering, when he heard this opinion, poured out expressions of gratitude to the doctor, and called him the preserver of his son’s life, assuring him that there was nothing he would not do to show his sense of the obligation.
“Give thanks where they are due,” said Dr Morison. “And, my dear sir, you cannot please me more than by endeavouring to correct his faults, and to bring him up in the way he should go.”
“A very odd man, that doctor,” said Mr Clavering, to himself. “Under other circumstances I should think his remarks highly impertinent.”
Dame Harvey could hardly be persuaded to take the sum of money offered her by Mr Clavering. She had only done her duty, and she had done it without thought of reward; she would have done the same for any poor neighbour who would have been unable to repay her. Mr Clavering was incredulous as to her disinterestedness. Lilly took her part.
“I am sure, uncle, she nursed Ralph so kindly and gave up her cottage to him simply from kindness of heart,” she observed. “Had any young nobleman been thrown from his horse out hunting would you not have taken him in, and kept him till he was well, without thought of reward? Papa used to say that the poor feel as we do, and often more acutely, and that we should treat their feelings with the same consideration that we should those of the rich.”
“You have vast experience, Miss Lilly, about such matters,” answered Mr Clavering, with a laugh. “I know that the poor pull down my fences, and do all sorts of mischief, and I judge them by their deeds.”
“And how do the rich treat each other, and how would they behave if they were exposed to the temptations of poverty?” argued Lilly, with unusual vehemence.
“We have put up your Irish spirit, young lady,” answered her uncle, laughing. “However, I dare say that you are right, and I have no doubt of Dame Harvey’s good intentions.”
Ralph having as the doctor said, once turned the corner, got rapidly well. Lilly was in hopes that from what had occurred his character would have improved, indeed, while he still remained weak and unable to help himself he was far less dictatorial than he used to be, and more than once, though not, perhaps, in the most gracious of ways, expressed himself obliged for what had been done for him.
“He’ll do better by-and-by,” thought his sanguine cousin. “He is fretful now from his long confinement. When he gets out in the fresh air he will recover his temper.”