At last, after four days had passed, Stuart insisted on leaving his room and seeking the air, urged, in fact, by a strong desire to see his mother and tell her of his love. Sir Douglas offered no opposition to this move; the severer effects of the fall were now passed, and, with such health and vigor as Stuart possessed, his arm would soon heal. Nevertheless, it was a rather shattered likeness of the handsome cousin that greeted Vane Charteris’ eyes as she crossed the hall and saw him making slow progress down the stairs.
“Let me help you,” she said, gently, moving forward at once, and putting out her hand.
“Thanks. I am rather shaky,” returned Stuart, smiling faintly. “How do you do, Cousin Vane? Thanks for all your kind messages.”
Vane made no reply, but helped him down the stairs, across the hall to the colonnade, and, pushing forward a large chair, she soon made him comfortable.
“Thank you,” he said again; “you are very kind. Is my mother anywhere about?”
“She has gone to Chesterham on some missionary business,” replied Vane, leaning back against one of the white pillars, and looking extremely pretty and graceful in her long, soft pink gown. “I don’t think she knew that you were coming down, or I am sure she would not have gone.”
Stuart sat silent, troubled and disappointed. He had braced himself for his interview with his mother; he was longing to send some word or sign to Margery. Four whole, long days had passed since their picnic in the wood, and during that time sorrow had come to her, and he had not ministered to her comfort. He wondered whether she knew of his illness, whether she realized that it was that illness alone that had kept him silent. He had determined, as he rose, to speak to his mother, and then drive over to the Weald cottage and bring Margery back in all dignity to the castle, as befitted his future wife; but now again fate was unkind; his mother was absent—might be absent the whole day—and he was too weak to crawl even to the carriage. What could he do? He must send some message of comfort, some word of love to Margery. His eyes fell on his maimed hand; and, with a half groan, he realized that he was helpless, utterly helpless to do as he wished.
Vane Charteris watched him carefully. She saw his brow contract and the look of trouble gather on his face.
“Are you in pain?” she asked, gently.
Stuart woke from his musings.