“Very well, Katie, I don't absolutely care a bit, only the utter injustice and absurdity of the thing make me angry. No, dear, I am perfectly happy as I am.”
Katie was rather pleased, too, and comparing the stately Miss Heathcote to herself, she said, “After all, I do think I can make Frank happier than she would ever have done.” A thought when they were alone she confided to her husband, who said he had never doubted the fact for a moment.
CHAPTER XIX.
A CHANGE OF PLAN.
John Holl's habitation had not changed very greatly since the night that Frank Maynard had gone there with his friend Prescott to help Bessy Holl in her time of trouble. Bessy had long since started to join her husband—sooner, indeed, than she had ever hoped to do—for eight months after he had sailed, a letter arrived from him, with good news for his anxious wife. He told her that at first his life on board ship had been very miserable. His companions were principally ruffians of the lowest class, but it happened that the officer in command wanted a clerk, and had employed him for some hours each day in writing. This officer had taken a liking to him, and had granted him the great indulgence of sleeping apart from the general herd of convicts, who had before made his life miserable by their perpetual blasphemies and disputes. When the voyage was half over they had attempted a rising, with the object of murdering the warders and seizing the ship. In the short fray which followed he had been able to be of some assistance, and had received a severe blow, intended for the commanding officer, from a belaying pin, which had laid him up for some time. Upon landing, the officer had reported so strongly in favour of his conduct, that the governor of the establishment had written to the home authorities in mitigation of his sentence, and had promised him a ticket of leave at the end of six months, employing him in the meantime in the office. He therefore told Bessy she could at once sail for Adelaide; he would be able to join her upon her arrival.
Frank had been down staying at the Drakes' with his wife, and therefore did not see the grateful woman before she started. With this exception, things went on as before. The only change was in the cripple. He had altered greatly. He still worked at his wax-flower making, and studied at his books, but it was no longer with the keen interest with which he had formerly worked. He was no longer cheerful and even gay, but would sit at his work for hours without speaking. He was much thinner than he had been, and his face had the expression of great suffering, which is often to be seen in deformed people. He could no longer swing himself upstairs to his bedroom, but slept in the little room on the ground-floor, which John Holl and his wife had resigned to him. Sarah Holl grieved sadly over the change; she loved the lad more than her own children; for had she not done more for him? Palpably, James was fading. He was not dying of a broken heart, but he was giving up life because he no longer cared about living. He had loved Carry, as an ordinary man could not have loved her. Other men would have their pursuits and their pleasures, and their duties; he had only her. He knew that she was not for him. He never dreamt of her in that way. It was a devotion such as a Parsee might pay to his great god of heat and light. She was as far out of his reach, and yet she lighted and gladdened his life. With her loss all its light had gone out. It never entered his thought to blame her. The fire worshipper would as soon blame the sun-god when a cloud has passed between him and the earth. He cursed her destroyer; cursed him with all the intense bitterness of impotence, for none knew who was this man who had brought ruin to the quiet home in New Street. And so all his life changed to bitterness. Why was he ever born? he asked himself, over and over again; why was he sent into the earth to be a mere weight upon other people? Oh, that he was strong, if only for a little time; if only for long enough to find out and to kill this man who had murdered Carry. He could die then; die quietly and happily; ay, even upon a gallows, with the world jeering at him and cursing him. But he was a cripple, and helpless; he had nothing to do but to die; after that it might be different. He would not be a cripple then; all his trouble would be over. Yes, the sooner he died the better.
With this feeling in his heart, it is little wonder that the cripple faded fast, and that the medicine which Sarah Holl insisted upon his taking had no salutary effect. With his adopted parents he was always gentle and affectionate. He was as ready to help the children as formerly, as thoughtful and as unselfish, but the bright smile was gone; and Sarah Holl, as she looked up from her washing-tub at the quiet figure, with his work before him—but with his nimble fingers sometimes pausing awhile, while his thoughts were far away—would stop to wipe her eyes furtively with her checked apron. With a woman's discernment she had felt the reason of the change; the short cry, the ghastly pallor with which he had received the first news of Carry's flight; the wild outburst of passion; the subsequent quiet sadness, were enough for her. She knew then how he had worshipped Carry. She had communicated her thoughts to John, and had ordered the children never to allude to the subject of Carry's absence under pain of the severest punishment. And so the girl's name was never mentioned in the little house which her presence had so often brightened.
One thing only of notability had occurred, and this had been of so extraordinary a kind, that it had upset all Mrs. Holl's calculation of time. Mr. Barton had made his usual call, and had evidently been struck with the great change which had taken place in James's appearance. He had not, however, spoken upon the subject, but had come again after only a month's interval, and had been palpably moved and excited at the sight of James's increasing weakness. He had even, when the others were talking, entered into a little private conversation with Mrs. Holl, and had inquired of her what was the cause of the illness of the cripple. Mrs. Holl had honestly told him that she did not know, and that the doctor, who had made two visits to the lad, had been unable to say what his ailment was. “Poor boy,” she added, “I fear he will not be with us long.”
Mr. Barton had been palpably affected, and had promised to call again soon to see how his young friend was getting on. What was really passing in his mind, was evident from his conversation with his wife upon his return home, after two or three subsequent visits to the Holls,—