She made him no reply; but suddenly the light went out altogether from the eyes which had turned to him so solemn and terrible a look. And Mary did what she had never done in her life—slid down at his feet in a faint, falling upon the grass on the side of the way. It was all so quiet—so instantaneous—that poor Lord Frogmore was taken doubly unprepared. There was nothing violent even about the fall. She slipped from his side noiselessly, and lay there without a movement or a cry. The old lord was for a moment terrified beyond measure, but presently perceived that it was merely a faint, and knelt down by her, taking off her bonnet, fanning her with his hat, watching till the life should come back. He had shouted for help, but Mary came to herself before any help arrived. She raised herself from the ground, the damp freshness of which had restored her, and put up her hand to her uncovered head in confusion. And then the colorless face suddenly flushed red, and she cried, “Oh, what have I been doing? I beg your pardon. I beg your pardon, Frogmore.”
“Hush, my dear, you have done nothing but what is quite natural,” said the old lord, who was far more experienced than Mary. “Don’t hurry yourself, nor jump up in that impetuous way. Gently, gently, my love, here is some one coming. Bring round the pony carriage at once, Gregory, your mistress is tired. At once, I say.”
“Oh, I can walk. There is really nothing the matter, Frogmore.”
“Nothing at all, my dear,” said Lord Frogmore cheerfully. “Keep quite quiet and don’t disturb yourself.” He sat down beside her on the grass, though he knew it was very bad for him. “Never mind the bonnet, you don’t want it this pleasant day. And what pretty hair you have, Mary. It is a good thing when your bonnet falls off, it shows your pretty hair.”
With such words he soothed her, with little compliments and tendernesses as if she had been a child divining many things, and not feeling any of those inclinations to blame which younger husbands exercise so freely. Lord Frogmore was all indulgence for the wife who was young in his eyes, so much younger than himself. He put her into the little carriage when it came, and drove her gently home with all the care of a father. Mary had quite recovered herself by this time, and had arranged her bonnet and looked herself, trim as usual, though a little pale when Gregory came jingling back with the quiet pony and the little cart with which Mary herself drove about the park. And they had quite a cheerful drive home, though Mary’s subdued tones, she who always was so quiet! and paleness were very touching to her old husband. But when they reached the hall door, where her maid and the housekeeper were both waiting, having heard that Lady Frogmore had been ill, and being both of them better instructed women than she, just as she stepped out of the carriage with her husband’s help, smiling and saying it was nothing, there was a childish shout in the hall, and Duke rushing out with a bound, flung himself upon her.
“Oh, Aunt Mary, I’ve got something to tell you—I’ve got something to tell you!” cried the boy.
“Get away with you, child,” said Lord Frogmore; “out of the way—out of the way. Don’t you see she’s ill?”
The color that had been coming back fled out of Mary’s cheeks again. Her eyes once more gave a look of anguish, straight into her husband’s heart. She stopped as if struck to stone, with her foot upon the step. But she did not faint again as they feared. She put out her hand to the boy.
“He must not suffer—he must not suffer. Promise me,” she said, with a shudder “that he shall not suffer, Frogmore?”
Fortunately this was said almost under her breath, so that no one could distinguish what it was except the old lord himself, who was extremely distressed and puzzled. He remained downstairs very anxious while the women attended Mary to her room. What should little Duke have to do with it? Why should he be brought in? The child hung about his uncle asking a thousand questions. What was the matter with Aunt Mary? Why did she look so pale? Was she going to bed so early before tea? What did she want with the doctor? Duke had not discrimination enough to see that he was not wanted, but when Lord Frogmore’s patience broke down, and he said, sharply, “Go away, child; for goodness sake go away,” Duke retired in great offence, feeling that the world was a desert, and that nothing but an abrupt return home would make it worth while to live. It was all he could do to keep himself from setting out at once on foot. He rushed out into the hall with that intention, but was checked by the sight of the butler at the door, who was still giving his instructions to the mounted groom outside. “He’s to come as fast as he can, and you’re to go on wherever he may have gone till you find him—a deal of fuss about nothing,” the butler was saying. “My missus——,” but here he broke off, seeing the puzzled face of little Duke, and the groom rode off at great speed, as if he had never lingered for a minute’s gossip during all his life.