The Rosery Folk Part 41

She shrank back meekly. "Tell me that he is in no danger," she said imploringly.

"Yes; I do tell you that," he said with a feeling of repugnance that would tinge his voice.--"Where is Miss Raleigh?"

"In the drawing-room. I will fetch her," cried Lady Scarlett, rus.h.i.+ng to perform the task, while the doctor stood rubbing his ear.

"It is I who am mad," he said to himself, "and not poor Scarlett.--Yes,"

he said aloud, as Aunt Sophia came up, "Scarlett wants to see you at once." He led the way back, and closed the door almost angrily after them, leaving Lady Scarlett with her head leaning against the wall, as the tears coursed down her cheeks.

"Why does he dislike me so?" she sighed. "He is jealous of my love for him--they are such friends. I ought to hate him; but how can I when he is so true!"

"Auntie!" exclaimed Scarlett excitedly, as the old lady entered his room, "I want you, quick--before it is too late. That smooth-tongued scoundrel Prayle--"

"Amen!" said Aunt Sophia softly.

"Has been practising upon the weakness of that pretty little la.s.s of ours--f.a.n.n.y. He has gone up to town, and she promised him to follow.

Go and stop her at any cost. Then send for her brother, and let him know the truth; and if he follows and thrashes--What?"

"The girl has gone," said Aunt Sophia.

"Gone?"

"She asked Kate for a holiday, and went this afternoon. She was to be back to-morrow night."

"Good heavens!" cried Scarlett. "I would sooner have given a thousand pounds.--What is it, Jack?"

"Nothing--only this--so sad!" said the doctor hoa.r.s.ely, as he sat where he had literally dropped--into a chair.

"What is to be done?" cried Scarlett excitedly. "Here, send for William Cressy. Let a man gallop over at once."

"Yes, I'll send," said the doctor; and he literally staggered out of the room. "Am I really out of my senses?" he said to himself as he hurried down. "Have I been blundering all this time; or is it a ruse of the poor fellow to throw us off the truth?--Good heavens! what am I to think!" he ran into the study and rang the bell loudly, when Martha Betts came into the room at once in her calm grave way.

"Can you find the gardener--Monnick," he said, "quickly."

"Yes, sir."

"Send him here--at once."

The girl hurried out, and the doctor paced the room.

"If I am wrong, I shall never forgive myself. I can never look her in the face again. Good heavens!--good heavens! I must, have been mad and blind, and an utter scoundrel, to think such things of--Oh, what a villain I have been!"

Just then, there was a heavy footstep in the pa.s.sage, and the old gardener tapped at the door.

"Come in," cried the doctor, running to meet him; and as the old man entered, he caught him by the arm. "Quick!" he cried--"tell me--speak out, man--the truth."

"Ay, sir, I will," muttered the old fellow.

"Who--who--now speak out; keep nothing back; I am your master's trusted friend. Who was in the summer-house last night with Mr Prayle?"

"That poor foolish little wench, f.a.n.n.y, sir; and--"

"Fool, fool, fool!" cried the doctor, stamping upon the floor.

"Ay, that's so, sir; that's so; and she'll know better soon, let's hope."

"Quick!" cried the doctor. "Go--at once--and fetch her brother William Cressy here. Your master wants to see him instantly. Go yourself, or send some one who can run."

The old man hesitated, and then hurried out. "I'd better go mysen," he muttered. "P'raps it's best; but I don't think w.i.l.l.yum Cressy will be here to-night."

He had hardly closed the door before the doctor had opened it again, and was on his way upstairs, but only to be waylaid by Lady Scarlett, who caught him by the arm, and literally made him enter the drawing-room.

"Doctor Scales, I am his wife," she pleaded. "I have borne so much; for pity's sake tell me. You see how I obey you and keep away; but tell me what is wrong--or I shall die."

"Wrong?" cried the doctor, catching her hands, and kissing them again and again. "Nothing about him, my dear child. He is better--much better. The trouble--forgive me for saying it to you--is a scandal about that scoundrel--double scoundrel--Prayle."

"And my husband?"

"Is better--much better."

Lady Scarlett's hands joined, and were raised towards heaven as she sank upon her knees motionless, but for a low sob that forced its way from her breast from time to time.

Doctor Scales stood gazing down at her for a few moments, and then stooping low, he laid his hand reverently upon her head.

This brought her back from her rapt state of thankful prayer, and she rose and caught his hand.

"I have been so rude and harsh," he blundered out. "Can you forgive me?"

"Forgive? You, who have devoted yourself to him I love? My husband's dearest friend has never yet truly read his poor wife's heart."

She said this with a quiet womanly dignity that humbled the doctor to the very dust, and his voice was broken as he replied gently:

"I never have--I have been very blind."

He said no more, but went slowly to the door. There he turned.

"Once more," he said: "Scarlett is much better. It was only to save you from pain that he sent for Miss Raleigh. That is all."

Volume 2, Chapter XIII.

EVENTS AT A TERMINUS.

There was a deeply interested gathering in one of the large offices of the Waterloo Station, where a clerk in his s.h.i.+rt-sleeves was seated beneath a gas-jet making entries, what time two porters, also in s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, and by the light of other gas-jets, seemed to be engaged in a game of "Catch." They were, however, not displaying their deftness with b.a.l.l.s, but with small packets, parcels, baskets, bundles of fis.h.i.+ng-rods, and what seemed to be carefully done-up articles fresh from tradespeople's shops. The game seemed to consist of one porter taking a packet from a great basket upon wheels, and saying something before he jerked it rapidly to the other porter, who also said something and deposited the packet in another basket on wheels; while, apparently, the clerk at the desk where the gas-jet fluttered and whistled as it burned, carefully noted the score in a book. Further inspection, however, showed the casual observer that the men were not at play, but busy manipulating parcels and preparing them for despatch to their various destinations. The business came to a standstill all at once, as a couple of guards just off duty, and an inspector and ticket-collector, came sauntering in, chatting loudly one to the other about some incident that had just taken place upon the platform.

"Ah, you fellows get all the fun," said the clerk, sticking his pen behind his ear, and slewing round his tall stool, as the guards made themselves comfortable, one upon a wine-hamper, and the other upon an upturned box; while the ticket-collector seated himself upon the edge of a huge pigeon-hole, which necessitated his keeping his body in a bent position, something after the fas.h.i.+on of that held by occupants of the pleasant dungeon known in the Tower as "The Little Ease."

"Well, we get all the rough as well," said one of the guards, "and some ugly customers too."

"Regular 'lopement, then?" said one of the porters, scratching his ear with a piece of straw.