CHAPTER III
ERRORS, LIKE STRAWS UPON THE SURFACE, FLOW

THE pistol-shot and the woman's scream had aroused the household, but previous to this the alarm-bell rung by John had disturbed Mr. Septimus Smith, the butler, from his first sleep. This gentleman had been entertaining his fellow-servants in his own snuggery to a very recherche' little supper, and he had imbibed slightly more of his master's port wine than was good for him, or than his master might have approved of. So, on retiring, Mr. Septimus Smith, being in a somewhat absent state of mind, had neglected to perform his usual nightly toilet, and no doubt he was a little amazed himself, when startled into wakefulness by the warning bell, to find that he was still attired in his pantaloons and claw-hammer coat, and that he had even neglected | | 278 to remove his boots ; while a candle that he had left burning had a snuff fully an inch long surmounted by ' a death's head.' However, all things in the end are generally wisely ordered, and this was especially the case with Mr. Septimus Smith, who, notwithstanding that he was a little unsteady on his pins, and slightly muddled in his head, was ready prepared for any emergency, even to a lighted candle.

'I wonder what that bell means,' was Mr. Septimus Smith's sage reflection as he sat bolt upright and rubbed his eves ; and then, after a pause of some duration, he added with a resigned philosophy that was really touching and beautiful : 'I suppose as it's Christmas time master's been a-making a beast of hisself, and wants me to help him up to his bed. But I consider as how such a duty as that would be unbecoming to a gentleman of my standing, so I ain't a-going to do anything as is against my dignity.'

Having thus expressed his views, Mr. Septimus Smith was addressing himself to sleep once more, when there arose on the night air the sounds of a pistol-shot and a woman's scream. The effect on Mr. Smith was almost electrical, and with upraised hair, pale face, and trembling limbs, he was suddenly standing in the centre of the room as though he had been shot from the bed by a catapult.

' Oh, lud ; oh, lud ! ' he cried, ' there's murder a-being done ! ' Then he cautiously peeped out on to the passage, as he heard an uproar and many anxious inquiries being addressed to each other by frightened servants and guests. In a few minutes more, Mr. Septimus Smith was heroically bringing up the rear of an excited little crowd of guests and servants all struggling towards the stairs, on which they were met by Marie Delorme, Dorothy's French maid. Covered with shame and confusion, this young lady was struggling up as the guests were struggling down, and from the fact that her hair was disordered and hanging down her back, and that her only garment was a robe de nuit,it might have been safely assumed that shewas the ghostly figure that Gyde had seen on the landing. Such, then, were the details of an exciting picture as, ' pale as death,' and bearing | | 279 the inanimate form of Dorothy in his arms, John Gyde rushed into the hall.

'For the love of Heaven,' he cried, in a passionate appeal, ' some of you ride to the village for Dr. Williams Don't spare the horses ; don't wait for anything ; go as you are—go at once ! '

Instantly there was wailing and weeping amongst the women folk, but men sprang forward in answer to that heart-broken appeal. There was necessarily confusion ; lights were procured, the stables opened, two or three of the horses hastily saddled and being ridden at a mad gallop along the hard frost-bound ground.

In the meantime, John Gyde had conveyed his burden into the dining-room, and laid her on the great wool rug. She was fully dressed, and wore a bonnet ; and in addition to a heavy cloak she had a woollen shawl round her shoulders. Willing hands soon removed these things, which were saturated with blood, and it was then seen that there was a jagged wound in the fleshy part of the left side of the neck.

Amongst many accomplishments that Gyde had acquired was a smattering of that of surgery. He had studied it a bit because, as he said, ' one never knew when it might be useful.' As in most country houses, the ' Raven's Nest ' was provided with a well-stocked medicine chest, and this and John's knowledge served him in good stead now, for he was enabled to apply some simple remedies that were effectual in stopping the outflow of that precious life current.

For one long hour—an hour hideous with a sort of nightmare distortions to John Gyde—the poor fellow bent over the silent form of his ward, and never once for the briefest instant relaxed his efforts to save the darling life. His brain was on fire, his heart like lead, and he felt that if she died he must either go raving mad or kill himself. At the end of this hour the excited messengers who had ridden to the village returned heated and anxious, bringing with them Dr. Williams, who bore a high local reputation as a | | 280 surgeon. He was an elderly man, calm and staid. Entering the room, he removed his hat, muffler, and gloves, directing a keen, searching professional glance at the still unconscious Dorothy, nodding to Gyde, and bowing to the assembled ladies and gentlemen, and doing these things simultaneously in a sense, and with the grave professional air of a man who thoroughly understands his business ; and as a further proof that hedidso, he remarked to those assembled :

' Permit me to request that you withdraw, ladies and gentlemen, if you please.'

The ladies and gentlemen were not at all loth to do this, and the ladies, suddenly awakening to the fact that being en déshabillé they were in a very unpresentable condition, scampered off to their rooms ; while the gentlemen gathered in the billiard-room to discuss the mysterious affair, and suggest all sorts of theories to account for it ; for John Gyde had been too much distressed to offer any explanations. Of course, Gyde remained by Dorothy's side, and as Dr. Williams stooped down and first of all felt the pulse, he said—

' What is the history of this case, Mr. Gyde ?'

The sad story was soon told. Much as John would have liked to have screened Dorothy, he could not pervert the truth.

' I find that the bullet has passed right through the neck and has been within an ace of severing the carotid artery.'

' Will she live, Doctor ?' Gyde asked in agonised voice.

' She may,' the Doctor replied in that pronounced professional way which indicated that, in order not to compromise himself, he clearly meant that there was an ellipsis to be supplied to complete his sentence, and the ellipsis was or may not.

In all probability, John Gyde was not slow to take it in this way, for with a choking sensation in his throat he gasped :

' Save her life, Doctor ; she is too young and too beautiful to die.'

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He could say no more ; he felt, in fact, as if he would fall down dead himself if he remained another minute, and so somehow he got out of the room and into his own room. Then, in his solitude and loneliness, his lacerated heart found vent for its pain. Such sorrow as John Gyde suffered that night is too sacred for mere words. The sad night passed away, and the morning, bright and clear and cold, came as a relief. A programme of amusements had been drawn up the day previous for Boxing Day, but, of course, it was abandoned, and most of the guests, out of respect for the dreadful blow that had fallen upon the unhappy master of ' Raven's Nest,' prepared to take their departure.

Dr. Williams remained with his patient all night, and brought all his skill to bear on the case. At eight o'clock he felt that he could venture to go away.

Blear-eyed, haggard, careworn, ghastly in his sorrow and weariness, Gyde met him in the hall.

' What is your report now, Doctor ? ' he asked in a hoarse whisper.

' I venture to think we may hope ; but I warn you that her life hangs by a thread. Absolute quietude is imperative. The slightest excitement will kill her. You must not go near her under any circumstances. I have left the necessary instructions for her treatment during my absence. I will return at twelve.'

John retired again to his room, but he summoned Mr. Septimus Smith, and by that gentleman sent a message to his guests, expressing his sense of dreadful sorrow for the sad and sudden termination of the festivities, and he asked their indulgence and sympathy in his bereavement.

Of course, after this it would have been discourteous for anyone to have remained, and in a few hours they had all gone, and the silence of an unrelieved sorrow brooded mournfully over the ` Raven's Nest.'

And so a week passed during which hope rose and fell. During this time John was not allowed to go near the patient. It was a torturing trial for him, and the suspense was cruel, but he endeavoured to bear it with fortitude.

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On the eighth day from the time of the accident a little incident occurred that was pregnant with a great meaning. Marie Delorme, who had kept her room during the week on the plea of illness from sorrow for her mistress, descended to the dining-room, where Dorothy still lay, for it had not been considered safe to remove her. Fortunately the Doctor happened to be present, otherwise the consequences might have been more serious. Dorothy grew excited on seeing Marie, and with a shriek she exclaimed :

'Take that woman away. Don't let her come near me. All this is through her.'

What more might have been said it is difficult to tell had not Marie heat a hasty retreat ; but even those few words were significant. Dr. Williams thought it wise in the present state of matters to keep this scene a secret, but it took all his skill and tact to soothe the excited patient ; and for some hours afterwards there was danger of grave complications arising in the case.

On the following morning, Marie having failed to see her master, requested the coachman to drive her to the station, as she was so ill that she wished to go home to her friends without a moment's delay. Of course, the coachman complied with the request, and taking her boxes and belongings, and even some of the belongings of her mistress, Marie Delorme departed, and was heard of no more.

This incident had no effect upon Gyde. He was too absorbed, too sorrowful, too broken, to bestow any thought upon such a matter. Of course, there had been a good deal of scandal arising out of the ' Shooting ' affair up at the Raven's Nest '—as in local parlance it had come to be spoken of. The small-brained people, the silly chatterers, and the would-be wiseacres (who exist in every community) had many spiteful things to say, and not a few sinister rumours floated about. But if Gyde heard them at all, he certainly did not heed them. He knew well enough that your human drone who is only conspicuous by his objection-able buzz cannot live against contempt. Nothing wounds | | 283 brainless gossips so much as to find that their impertinences pass unnoticed.

During these dark and dreary days John Gyde saw no company. To all comers alike the invariable answer was, ' Master cannot be seen.' They were agonising days indeed to the poor fellow ; days filled with dreadful suspense and crushing anxiety.

At last, when a fortnight had drifted away, Dr. Williams reported his patient quite out of danger. Then John felt as if he had been relieved from a hideous incubus, and he breathed freely for the first time since that awful night. During the fortnight he had not been allowed to sec his ward, and the Doctor said that at least another week must pass before he could sanction an interview.

It was a long weary week to John Gyde ; but at length, towards the end of January, on a brilliantly bright morning, when the air was keen with frost, and the sunlight streamed in a golden flood from a cloudless sky, John found himself in Dorothy's room.

It was a charming room, occupying one of the best positions in the house, and commanding a perfectly enrapturing panorama of river, woodland, and fell. In fitting it up for his ward he had exercised the most exquisite art tastes, and no expense had been spared. Here, with a fleecy, snow-white shawl wrapped around her, Dorothy sat before a glowing fire. Pale and thin she was, but very beautiful in spite of it. As soon as the door had closed and John was alone with her, he threw himself at her feet, and taking her delicate white hand kissed it fervently.

' Doll, my darling child ; how can you ever forgive me ?' he cried, forgetting in his utter unselfishness that he was the wronged one and she the sinner.

' John, you must rise,' she said in a voice that only too painfully told how ill she had been. ' It is not your place to kneel to me, but mine to you. Willingly would I perform that act of penitence if my strength would permit me, but I am too weak. Nay, do not interrupt me,' she said quickly as he was about to speak. ' My heart will | | 284 break ; I shall die if you don't let me relieve my over-burdened conscience.' He rose to his feet and seated him-self at a respectful distance from her. ` Ah, John,' she continued with a sob, ` I have grown very old during my illness. Before this just punishment came upon me, I was a giddy, wicked, thoughtless girl. But now I would fain hope that I am wiser. Since my dear father's death you have been more than a father to me ; and now, as a wilful and disobedient daughter, I ask you to forgive me.'

' If I have anything to forgive, Doll,' he cried, ' it goes without saying that my forgiveness is yours.'

' I do not deserve your kindness,' she said ; ' you should punish me ; you should heap reproaches upon me ; you ought to spurn me ; I am unworthy even to be in your presence. But I felt that I could not live without I heard from your own lips that you would forgive me.'

' Oh, Doll, do not talk like that ! ' he said. ' Do not speak of yourself in such a severe manner. At the most you were guilty of some girlish escapade for which you have been visited with a punishment all too heavy and dreadful. I know not what that escapade was. I have waited to learn it from your own lips. But now I do not want to know. I only want to see you go strong and well again.'

' John,' she said solemnly, and looking at him with tearful eyes, ' your great good heart would look lightly upon my faults ; and even the hideous sin I was nearly guilty of you speak of as an escapade. Oh, how you will hate me when you know the truth ! How you will detest me for the deception I have practised towards you ! Why did you not kill me on that night ? Why did your bullet not go through my wicked heart ? '

She broke down and wept passionately ; and he, to calm the feeling that was agitating him, and all but wringing tears from his own eyes, rose and paced the room. Presently she recovered herself, and in a voice that was broken by ' rifting sobs,' she said :

' The truth must be told. You must hear it, John. Oh, that dreadful night ! I had arranged to go away with | | 285 Alfred Turner, and it was he who, like a craven as he is, fled from me when you fired.' Gyde's face darkened with an expression of fierce anger ; he clenched his fists and bit his lip. ' He persecuted me, John, and never let me rest. And he found an able ally in Marie Delorme. She was always urging me to fly with him ; she was everlastingly singing his praises in my ears. When I denied my governess's statements about the correspondence I was guilty of a base falsehood ; but I was prompted to it by Marie, who carried my letters to Turner and brought his back to me. On that dreadful night the plot was all arranged by her. Turner had come up the river in a boat, and it had been pre-arranged that I was to meet him at one o'clock in the morning and go away to become his wife. Marie followed me downstairs. She was to see me out of the house, and the next morning was to raise the alarm about my flight, and in the course of time join me and Turner in Paris. That is the pitiable story, John. I was mad then—I am sane now. I have outraged my dead father's memory ; I have outraged your hospitality, insulted your honour, betrayed your trust, but in the most solemn manner I promise that whatever punishment you like to inflict upon me I will bear it uncomplainingly, and the rest of my life shall be devoted to penitence for my heinous sin.'

She was sobbing very bitterly now, and her sobs found an echo in his breast. It was only with a supreme effort he could say, as standing before her he took her white soft hand into his own :

'Doll, what you term a " heinous sin," I still look upon as a girlish escapade, and would never have happened but for the evil influence of Marie Delorme. Your punishment has been too heavy already. No further word ; no act of mine shall add to it.'

There was a pause—a long pause. She leaned wearily back in the chair and silently sobbed ; and he, with his back to her, stood in the bay window gazing across the snow-covered, sunlit country, but seeing it not, because in his eyes was a blinding mist of tears. Presently he turned, | | 286 and walking to her chair he stood behind it, and as he looked down on the bowed head, he said, with touching tenderness :

' Doll, circumstances have caused me to alter a resolution I made, and I venture to ask you now if you remember our interview last Christmas day in the study ?'

' Yes,' she faintly murmured, the while she trembled like an aspen-leaf.

' Oh, Doll,' he cried, with a great passionate sigh, ' may I still hope to call you some day by the name of wife ?' She turned her face upwards, and murmured :

' John, you are wronging yourself. I am not worthy of you. You must have a better woman than I.'

In another moment he was kneeling at her feet again. Her face, wet with streaming tears, was pressed to his, and for the first time in their lives their lips met in a kiss of passionate love. That kiss sealed his forgiveness, her sincere penitence.

It was a long time before either of them could speak. Each heart was too full for words. At last she found her voice. With her arms locked around his neck, her breath playing on his cheek, she said softly :

' John, my father speaks again from between dead lips. On that sorrowful night when he died, and he held me between his knees, he said, " What I wish to say now and I wish you to ever remember the words, as words coming from between dead lips, is that I have appointed my dear companion and faithful friend, John Gyde, your legal guardian. I know that he will watch over you with tender and fatherly care ; and when you shall be old enough to understand such things it will give me pleasure now to think that he might even have the right to shield you as his wife." During my madness I forgot these words. I will never forget them again. The dead lips shall never cease to speak to me.'

Christmas has once more come,and a crowd of people have assembled to partake of the splendid hospitality of the | | 287 ' Raven's Nest,' from which the shadow that had erstwhile rested there had been lifted, for that morning John Gyde and sweet Dorothy had been made man and wife in the ivy-covered church on the hill, and never did woman take for her wedded husband a truer or nobler man than Dorothy Lindmark took when she became Gyde's wife. All that year he had tenderly nursed her ; wooing her back to health and happiness. During the summer he had travelled with her in Switzerland, and when they had returned she was perfectly strong again. The wound in her neck had quite healed, though an ugly scar remained. Some folks wondered why John and Dorothy had chosen Christmas day for their marriage day. They allowed these folks to wonder ; but they themselves knew that Christmas must ever be a memorable time to them ; for it was on a solemn Christmas night that the wish that they should become man and wife had been expressed ' Between Dead Lips.'