Under a Charm: A Novel. Vol. I

by E. Werner

"Why?" he asked, coldly. "Am I a child that I may not be let out of sight?"

In spite of his enforced calm, there was a strange sound in his voice which at once called up afresh the Doctor's hardly appeased anxiety. He now noticed that the horse was completely exhausted. It was covered with foam from head to foot, the white flakes fell from its nostrils, and its chest heaved and panted. The animal had evidently been spurred on and on without rest or respite; but the rider showed no signs of fatigue. He sat firm in the saddle, grasped the reins with an iron grasp, and, instead of turning off aside in the direction of the bridge, made as though he would leap the ditch.

"For God's sake, do not attempt such a mad, rash act!" remonstrated Fabian. "You know Norman never will take the ditch."

"He will take it to-day," declared Waldemar, driving his spurs into the horse's flanks. It reared high in the air, but shied back from the obstacle, feeling, perhaps, that its exhausted strength would fail it at the critical moment.

"But listen, do listen!" entreated the Doctor, in spite of his timidity coming close up to the rearing, plunging animal. "You are requiring what is impossible. The leap will miscarry; and, in your fall, your head will be dashed to pieces on the stones below."

For all reply, Waldemar drove his Norman on anew. "Get out of my way!" he gasped. "I will go over. Out of the way, I say!"

That wild tone of torture and desperation revealed to the Doctor how matters stood with his pupil at this moment, and how little he cared whether he were really dashed to pieces on the stones below, or not. In his mortal dread of the accident he saw inevitably approaching, this man, usually so timorous, ventured to seize the reins, meaning to continue his remonstrances. Just then, however, a fearful blow of the whip crashed down on the rebellious animal. It reared again, and beat the air with its forefeet, but still refused the leap. At the same instant, a faint cry reached the rider's ears. He started, stopped, and then, with a movement swift as lightning, reined his horse back. It was too late. Dr. Fabian had been thrown to the ground, and Waldemar, leaping from his saddle, saw his tutor stretched, bleeding and unconscious, at his feet.

CHAPTER IX.

The dwellers at Altenhof had passed a week of great suspense and anxiety. When Herr Witold returned home on the evening of the accident, he found the whole house in commotion. Dr. Fabian lay bleeding and still unconscious in his room; and Waldemar, with a face which terrified his guardian even more than the sight of the sufferer, was endeavouring to stanch the wound. Nothing could be extracted from him, save that he had been the cause of the misfortune which had occurred; so the Squire was obliged, in a great measure, to rely on the reports of the servants. From them he learned that the young master had returned at dusk, bearing in his arms the injured man, whom he must have carried from a distance, and that he had immediately sent off messengers to the nearest doctors. A quarter of an hour later, the horse had come in in his turn, exhausted, and bearing all the traces of fast and furious riding. The animal, on being abandoned by its master, had taken the familiar road home--that was all the servants knew. The wound on the Doctor's head, evidently caused by a blow from the hoof, seemed of a serious nature; and the great loss of blood and weakly constitution of the patient aroused for some time fears of the worst. Herr Witold, thoroughly sound and healthy himself, and accustomed to a like vigour in Waldemar, had no experience of sickness or suspense, and swore often enough that for all the gold in the world he would not live through that week again. To-day, for the first time, the Squire's face wore its accustomed cheery look, as he sat by the bed in the patient's room.

"So we have tided over the worst," said he. "And now, Doctor, you will do me the favour to have a little rational talk with Waldemar." He pointed to his adopted son, who stood by the window, leaning his head against the panes, and looking out absently into the court. "I can do nothing with him, but you can obtain what you like from him now; so try and bring him to reason, or I shall have the boy ruined for life through this unhappy business."