Upon this she burst into a passionate fit of weeping, and the good wagoner saw that she was not in a fit state to answer further questions. Endeavoring to calm her, he assisted her down the hill to where his team was standing, but before they reached it she swooned. It was not an easy task to lift her into the shelter of his wagon, but he managed it, and made up a bed of straw upon which he laid her. Then he started his horses again, and was careful to avoid ruts, in order not to jolt his fair guest too roughly. He had the whole day before him, and it would do if he reached his home before night. Now and again he mounted the wagon to look at Emilia, and was concerned that he could obtain no coherent words from her. The poor girl's trials had produced their effect upon her weak frame, and she was fast relapsing into delirium. All that he could distinguish in her feverish mutterings were the words, "I am innocent, I am innocent! I have done no wrong. God will speak for me!" Even these pathetic utterances came from her at intervals, and he had to piece them together. Her youth and beauty deeply impressed the kind-hearted man, and he did not regret the course he had taken. In the middle of the day he arrived at a village, and gave his horses two hours' rest. He utilized these two hours by hunting up a doctor, who, feeling Emilia's pulse and putting his hand on her hot forehead, said, "She is in a high state of fever. The only thing you can do is to get her home as quickly as possible." He believed her to be the wagoner's daughter, and he gave the old man a draught which Emilia was to be persuaded to take, should she have an interval of consciousness before they reached their journey's end. The wagoner's anxiety now was to get home as soon as possible, and the roads being good he put his horses to a trot. At six o'clock in the evening the journey was over, and the team stood at the door of his cottage. His old wife ran out to greet him, and he rapidly explained to her what he had done, and why he had done it.
"Was it right, mother?" he asked.
The tears rushed to her eyes. It was thirty years since he had addressed her by that endearing term, and she thought, as he had thought, of the daughter they had lost in the time gone by. There are memories that never die.
"Quite right, John," murmured the old woman, and together they carried Emilia into their cottage and laid her upon a bed. There the wagoner left his wife to attend to the young girl; he had his horses to look after, and when this was done he returned to the cottage, to find Emilia undressed and in bed, with the old woman standing by her side.
"We must have a doctor, John," she said, and away he went for one.
The report was not favorable; Emilia was prostrate, and now that the strain was over a dangerous reaction had set in. The doctor gave it as his opinion that she would not be well for weeks, and so it proved. But long before she was convalescent Gerald, accompanied by Leonard, made his appearance, and thus the unfortunate girl had near her one enemy and three friends. Which side would triumph in the end?
[CHAPTER XXXI.]
LIGHT SHINES THROUGH THE DARK CLOUDS.
Leonard cursed his ill luck, cursed Gerald for his infatuation, cursed Emilia for stepping in to spoil his plans, cursed the wagoner and his wife for their kindness toward her--in short, cursed everything and everybody except himself, whom he regarded as the person who was being wronged in the affair. But he wore a constant smile upon his lips, his words were honey, and the consideration he expressed for Emilia was perfect in its way. Sometimes when he spoke of her it was in a choked voice, and he was certainly successful in deceiving everyone around him. His one hope now was that Emilia would die, and could he have done so without risk to himself, he would cheerfully have given her a cup of poison to bring about that consummation.
Gerald's great grief was that Emilia did not recognize him. Indeed, she knew no one. Even when she was able to move about her mind was a blank. She allowed him to take her hand in his, and to retain it, but to the tender pressure of his fingers she made no response. They took woodland rambles together, hand in hand, and she gathered wild flowers which she arranged afterward in the cottage. She listened to all he said, nodding her head gently from time to time in a manner which made his heart beat with hope that she understood what he was speaking of. Of course the subject-matter, when originated by Gerald, was personal. He dilated upon his love for her, and explained again and again how it was that he had not come to her the day after the fire; and when he finished she gazed at him with a pitiful smile on her lips and a vacant look in her eyes, which proved too well that his words had fallen upon ears insensible to their meaning. Upon abstract matters she was more intelligent. She loved the animals about the cottage, and the dumb creatures loved her and obeyed her least motion; she loved the flowers that were gathered, but Gerald observed with pain that she tended with care only those she gathered herself. When he gave her any she accepted them gently, but presently they dropped from her hand, and she made no effort to pick them up. "I have wrecked her reason," he groaned. "Monster that I am, I have ruined my dear girl's life!" As for Leonard, he derived some satisfaction from what was transpiring. "She is drifting into a confirmed idiot," he thought. "It is not so good as getting rid of her altogether, but I am grateful for small mercies."