Much as Charles disliked it, he was in too great haste not to accept it; and perceiving that there were visitors in the drawing-room, he desired to go up-stairs.
‘People who always come when they are not wanted!’ he muttered, as he went up, pettish with them as with everything else.
‘I do not think you in a fit mood to be advised, Charles,’ said Philip; ‘but to free my own conscience, let me say this. Take care how you promote this unfortunate attachment.’
‘Take care what you say!’ exclaimed Charles, flushing with anger, as he threw himself forward, with an impatient movement, trusting to his crutch rather than retain his cousin’s arm; but the crutch slipped, he missed his grasp at the balusters, and would have fallen to the bottom of the flight if Philip had not been close behind. Stretching out his foot, he made a barrier, receiving Charles’s weight against his breast, and then, taking him in his arms, carried him up the rest of the way as easily as if he had been a child. The noise brought Amy out of the dressing-room, much frightened, though she did not speak till Charles was deposited on the sofa, and assured them he was not in the least hurt, but he would hardly thank his cousin for having so dexterously saved him; and Philip, relieved from the fear of his being injured, viewed the adventure as a mere ebullition of ill-temper, and went away.
‘A fine helpless log am I,’ exclaimed Charles, as he found himself alone with Amy. ‘A pretty thing for me to talk of being of any use, when I can’t so much as show my anger at an impertinence about my own sister, without being beholden for not breaking my neck to the very piece of presumption that uttered it.’
‘Oh, don’t speak so’ began Amy; and at that moment Philip was close to them, set down the crutch that had been dropped, and went without speaking.
‘I don’t care who hears,’ said Charles; ‘I say there is no greater misery in this world than to have the spirit of a man and the limbs of a cripple. I know if I was good for anything, things would not long be in this state. I should be at St. Mildred’s by this time, at the bottom of the whole story, and Philip would be taught to eat his words in no time, and make as few wry faces as suited his dignity. But what is the use of talking? This sofa’—and he struck his fist against it—‘is my prison, and I am a miserable cripple, and it is mere madness in me to think of being attended to.’
‘O Charlie!’ cried Amy, caressingly, and much distressed, ‘don’t talk so. Indeed, I can’t bear it! You know it is not so.’
‘Do I? Have not I been talking myself hoarse, showing up their injustice, saying all a man could say to bring them to reason, and not an inch could I move them. I do believe Philip has driven my father stark mad with these abominable stories of his sister’s, which I verily believe she invented herself.’
‘O no, she could not. Don’t say so.’