“Papa! oh, how can I tell you! It is Stella—Stella——”
“What!” he cried. “Stella ill? Stella ill? Send for the doctor. Call up Simmons. What is the matter with the child? Is it anything bad that you look so distracted? Good Lord—my Stella!”
“Oh, have patience, sir,” said Mrs. Simmons, coming in with wood to make a fire; “there’ll be news of her by the morning—sure there’ll be news by the morning. Miss Katherine have done everything. And the sea is just like a mill-pond, and her own gentlemen to see to her——”
“The sea?” cried the old man. “What has the sea to do with my Stella?” He aimed a clumsy blow at the housekeeper, kneeling in front of the fire, with the butt end of the gun he still had in his hand, in his unreflecting rage. “You old hag! what do you know about my Stella?” he cried.
Mrs. Simmons did not feel the blow which Katherine diverted, but she was wounded by the name, and rose up with dignity, though not before she had made a cheerful blaze. “I meant to have brought you some tea, Miss Katherine, but if Master is going on with his abuse—— He did ought to think a little bit of you as are far more faithful. What do I know—more than that innocent lamb does of all their goings on?”
“Katie,” cried Mr. Tredgold, “put that wretched woman out by the shoulders. And why don’t you go to your sister? Doesn’t Stella go before everything? Have you sent for the doctor? Where’s the doctor? And can’t you tell me what is the matter with my child?”
“If I’m a wretched woman,” cried Mrs. Simmons, “I ain’t fit to be at the head of your servants, Mr. Tredgold; and I’m quite willing to go this day month, sir, for it’s a hard place, though very likely better now Miss Stella’s gone. As for Miss Stella, sir, it’s no doctor, but maybe a clergyman as she is wanting; for she is off with her gentleman as sure as I am standing here.”
Mr. Tredgold gave an inarticulate cry, and felt vaguely for the gun which was still within his arm; but he missed hold of it and it fell on the floor, where the loaded barrel went off, scattering small shot into all the corners. Mrs. Simmons flew from the room with a conviction, which never left her, that she had been shot at, to meet the trembling household flocking from all quarters to know the meaning of this second report. Katherine, whose nerves were nearly as much shaken as those of Mrs. Simmons, and who could not shut out from her mind the sensation that some one must have been killed, shut the door quickly, she hardly knew why; and then she came back to her father, who was lying back very pale, and looking as if he were the person wounded, on the cushions of his great chair.
“What—what—does she mean?” he half said, half looked. “Is—is—it true?”
“Oh, papa!” cried Katherine, kneeling before him, trying to take his hand. “I am afraid, I am afraid——”