Within the Maze: A Novel, Vol. 1 (of 2)

by Mrs. Henry Wood

The second week in March, just as nearly as possible a month after the marriage, Sir Karl Andinnian received at Florence, where he and his wife were staying, a telegram from Hewitt at Foxwood. It stated that Mrs. Andinnian was ill with some kind of fever; it had taken a dangerous turn, and her life might be a question of a few hours.

As quickly as it was practicable for them to travel, Sir Karl and Lady Andinnian reached Paris. Mrs. Cleeve and Miss Blake were still there; the Colonel was in London. The Cleeves had let their house at Winchester, and could not yet get back to it. Sir Karl left Lucy with her mother: not daring, as he said, to take her on to Foxwood, lest the fever should be infectious. The change in Lucy was wonderful: her cheeks were plump and rosy, her eyes told their own unmistakable tale of happiness. Mrs. Cleeve could do nothing but look at her.

"We did well to give her to him," said she to Theresa. But, for answer, Miss Blake only drew in her lips. The sting had not left her.

"O Karl, my darling, don't stay long away from me!" whispered Lucy, clinging to him in the moment of his departure. "And be sure take care of yourself, Karl, and do not run any risk, if you can help it, of the fever."

With many a sweet word of reassurance, murmured between his farewell kisses of passionate tenderness, Karl answered her. To part with one another, even for this short and temporary space of time, seemed a great trial.

A change for the better had taken place in Mrs. Andinnian, when Karl arrived at Foxwood. She was in no immediate danger. Mr. Moore, the surgeon at Foxwood, informed him that he must not trust to this improvement. The fever had in a degree subsided, but her state of prostration was so great that he feared she might yet die of the weakness. Karl inquired the nature of the illness: Mr. Moore replied that it was a species of low fever more than anything else, and appeared to have been induced chiefly by the sad state of mind Mrs. Andinnian had been brought into, grieving over the fate of her elder son. Dr. Cavendish of Basham (the neighbouring market town) had attended regularly with Mr. Moore. Sir Karl at once telegraphed to London for a physician of world-wide reputation. When this great doctor arrived, he only confirmed the treatment and opinion of the other two; and said that nothing could well be more uncertain than the recovery of Mrs. Andinnian.

Karl wrote these various items of information to his wife in Paris, and showed her how impossible it was that he could quit his mother during the uncertainty. Lucy replied by saying she should think very ill of him if he could; but she begged him to allow her to come to Foxwood and help him in the nursing, saying she was not afraid of the fever. She added a pretty and affectionate message to Mrs. Andinnian that she would find in her a loving daughter. The same post brought Karl a letter from Mrs. Cleeve, who evidently was afraid of the fever. " Do you take precautions for yourself, dear Sir Karl, and do you fumigate all letters before you send them out?" Such was its chief burthen.

Karl believed there was no danger from the fever: but, alas, he dared not have Lucy. He had reached Foxwood only to find more complication than ever in the unhappy secret disclosed to him by his mother. Only a word or two dropped by her--and in her weak, and sometimes semi-lucid state, he could not be sure she would not drop them--and Lucy might know as much as he did. Besides, there was no establishment at Foxwood sufficient to receive Lady Andinnian.

Hour after hour, day after day, he sat by his mother's bedside. When they were alone, she could only whisper of the trouble she had disclosed to him. Karl felt that it was wearing her out. He told her so, and she did not deny it. Never for a moment did she let the subject rest: it filled her mind to the exclusion of everything else in the world.

Karl felt that death would inevitably end it: and he watched her grow weaker. The strain upon his own mind was great. Brooding over the matter as he did--for, in truth, to think of any other theme was not practicable--he saw what a wrong he had committed in marrying Lucy. Sir Karl's only interludes of change lay in the visits of the medical men. Dr. Cavendish came once a day; Mr. Moore twice or thrice. The latter was rather brusque in his manner, but kindly, keen, and sensible. He was plain, with a red face and nose that turned up; and brown hair tinged with grey. The more Karl saw of him, the more he liked him: and he felt sure he was clever in his calling.