Uncle Max Part 37

'The following afternoon a messenger from the s.h.i.+p asked to see Mr.

Hamilton; and after Giles had been closeted with him for a few minutes he came out, looking white and scared, with Eric's watch and scarf in his hands. The man had told him the young gentleman had gone out and had not returned, and they had been found on the beach, at the extreme end of Hove, and they feared something had happened to him. He had ordered dinner at a certain time, but he had not made his appearance. The next morning they had heard reports in the town that caused them to inst.i.tute inquiries. A letter in the pocket of the coat, directed to Eric Hamilton, Gladwyn, Heathfield, enabled them to communicate with his relatives. And they had lost no time in doing so. I never saw Giles so terribly upset.

He looked as though he had received a blow. He went to Brighton at once, and afterwards to London, and employed every means to set our fears at rest, for a horrible suspicion that he had really made away with himself was in all our minds.

'I was far too ill to notice all that went on. A fever seemed about me, and I could not eat or sleep. I think I should have done neither, that my poor brain must have given way under the shock of my apprehensions, but for Mr. Cunliffe.

'He was a true friend,--a good Samaritan. He bound up my wounds and poured in oil and wine of divinest charity. He did not believe that Eric was guilty of either dishonesty or self-destruction. In his own mind he was inclined to believe that he wished us to think him dead. It was all a mystery; but we must wait and pray; and in time he managed to instil a faint hope into my mind that this might be so.

'Etta was rather kind to me just then. She looked ill and worried, and seemed taken up with Giles. It was well that he should have some one to look after his comforts, for there was a breach between us that seemed as though it would never be healed. I saw that he was irritable and miserable,--that the thought of Eric robbed him of all peace. But I could make no effort to console him, for I felt as though my heart was breaking. I--' And here she hid her face in her hands, and I could see she was weeping, and I begged her earnestly to say no more, that I quite understood, and she might be sure of my sympathy with her and Eric. She kissed me gratefully, and said, 'Yes, I know. I am glad to have told you all this. Now you understand why I am so grateful to Mr. Cunliffe, why I am so sorry'--and here her lips quivered--'if I disappoint him. I feel as though he has given me back Eric from the dead. It is true I doubt sometimes, when I am ill or gloomy, but generally my faith is strong enough to withstand Etta's incredulity.'

'Does Miss Darrell believe that he is dead?'

'Yes; and she is so angry if any one doubts the fact. I don't know why she hates the poor boy so: even Mr. Cunliffe has reproved her for her want of charity. I think she fears Mr. Cunliffe more than any one, even Giles: she is always so careful what she says before him.'

'Gladys, I think I hear your brother's voice in the hall, and your cheeks are quite wet: he will wonder what we have been talking about.'

'I will ring for Thornton, and the tea: he shall find me clearing the table. Don't offer to help me, Ursula.' And I sat still obediently, watching her slow, graceful movements about the room in the firelight: her fair hair shone like a halo of gold, and the dark ruby gown she wore gathered richer and deeper tints. That beautiful, sad face, how I should miss it!

It was some little time before Mr. Hamilton entered the room. Thornton had lighted the candles and arranged the tea-tray, and Gladys had placed herself at the table.

He testified no surprise at seeing me, but walked to the fire, after greeting me, and warmed himself.

'They told me you were here,' he said abruptly: 'I was at the cottage just now. Have you not had your tea? Why, it is quite late, Gladys, and I want to take Miss Garston away.'

'Is there anything the matter, Mr. Hamilton?' for I was beginning to understand his manner better now.

'Oh, I have some business for you, that is all,--another patient; but I will not tell you about it yet: you must have a good meal before you go out into the cold. I shall ring the bell for some more bread-and-b.u.t.ter; I know you dined early; and this hot cake will do you no good.' And, as I saw he meant to be obeyed, I tried to do justice to the delicious brown bread and b.u.t.ter; but our conversation had taken away my appet.i.te.

He stood over me rather like a sentinel until I had finished.

'Now, then, I may as well tell you. Susan Locke is ill,--acute pneumonia.

I have just been down to see her, and I am afraid it is a sharp attack.

Well, if you are ready, we may as well be going; the neighbour who is with her seems a poor sort of body. They sent for you, but Mrs. Barton said you were with Elspeth, and when Kitty went there you were nowhere to be found.'

CHAPTER XXIV

WEEPING MAY ENDURE FOR A NIGHT

I could not suppress an exclamation when Mr. Hamilton mentioned the name.

Susan Locke! Poor, simple, loving-hearted Susan! What would become of Phoebe if she died?

Mr. Hamilton seemed to read my thoughts.

'Yes,' he said, looking at me attentively, 'I knew you would be sorry; Miss Locke was a great favourite of yours. Poor woman! it is a sad business. I am afraid she is very ill: they ought to have sent for me before. Now, if you are ready, we will start at once.'

'I will not keep you another minute. Good-bye, Ursula.' And Gladys kissed me, and quietly followed us to the door. It was snowing fast, and the ground was already white with the fallen flakes. Mr. Hamilton put up his umbrella, and stood waiting for me under the shrubs, but a sudden impulse made me linger.

Gladys was still standing in the porch; her fair hair shone like a halo in the soft lamplight, her eyes were fixed on the falling snow. I had said good-bye to her so hastily: I ran back, and kissed her again.

'I wish you were not going, Gladys; I shall miss you so.'

'It is nice to hear that,' she returned gently. 'I shall remember those words, Ursula. Write to me often; your letters will be my only comfort.

There, Giles is looking impatient; do not keep him waiting, dear.' And she drew back, and a moment afterwards I heard the door shut behind us.

Mr. Hamilton did not speak as I joined him, and I thought that our walk would be a silent one, until he said presently, in rather a peculiar tone,--

'Well, Miss Garston, I suppose I ought to congratulate you for succeeding where I have failed.' Of course I knew what he meant, but I pretended to misunderstand him, and he went on,--

'You have won my sister's heart. Gladys cares for few people, but she seems very fond of you.'

'The feeling is reciprocated, I can a.s.sure you.'

'I am glad to know that,' he returned heartily. 'I only wish you could teach Gladys to be like other girls; she is too young and too pretty to take such grave views of life; it is unnatural at her age. One disappointment, however bitter, ought not to cloud her whole existence.

Try to make her see things in a more reasonable light. Gladys is as good as gold. Of course I know that she is a fine creature; but it is not like a Christian to mourn over the inevitable in this undisciplined way.'

He spoke with great feeling, and with a gentleness that surprised me.

I felt sure then of his affection for his young sister; I wished Gladys could have heard him speak in this fatherly manner. But, in spite of my sympathy, it was difficult for me to answer him. I felt that this was a subject that I could not discuss with Mr. Hamilton, and yet he seemed to wish me to speak.

'You must give her time to recover herself,' I said, rather lamely.

'Gladys is very sensitive; she is more delicately organised than most people; her feelings are unusually deep. She has had a severe shock; it will not be easy to comfort her.'

'No, I suppose not,' with a sigh; 'her faith has suffered s.h.i.+pwreck; but you must try to win her back to peace. Oh, you have much to do at Gladwyn, as well as other places. I want you to feel at home with us, Miss Garston. Some of us have our faults, we want knowing; but you must try and like us better, and then you will not find us ungrateful.'

He stopped rather abruptly, as though he expected an answer, but I only stammered out that he was very kind, and that I hoped when Gladys returned from Bournemouth that I should often see her.

'Oh, to be sure,' he returned hastily. 'I forgot that her absence would make a difference. You do not like poor Etta: I have noticed that. Well, perhaps she is a little fussy and managing; but she is a kind-hearted creature, and very good to us all. I do not know what I should have done without her; my sisters do not understand me, they are never at their ease with me. I feel this a trouble; I want to be good to them; but there always seems a barrier that one cannot break down. I suppose,' with intense bitterness, 'they lay the blame of that poor boy's death at my door, as though I would not give my right hand to have him back again.'

'Oh no, Mr. Hamilton,' I exclaimed, shocked to hear him speak in this way, 'things are not so bad as that. I know Gladys would be more to you if she could.' But he turned upon me almost fiercely.

'Do not tell me that,' he said harshly, 'for I cannot believe you. Gladys cared more for Eric's little finger than the whole of us put together; she looks upon me as his destroyer, as a hard taskmaster who oppressed him and drove him out of his home. Oh, you want to contradict me; you would tell me how gentle Gladys is, and how submissive. No, she is never angry, but her looks and words are cold as this frozen snow; she has not kissed me of her own accord since Eric left us. I sometimes think it is painful for her to live under my roof.'

'Mr. Hamilton!'

'Well, what now?' in the same repellent tone.

'You are wrong; you are unjust. Gladys does not feel like that; she has tried to forgive you in her heart for any past mistake; she sees you regret much that has pa.s.sed, and she is no longer bitter against you.

I wish you would believe this. I wish you could understand that she, too, longs to break down the barrier. Perhaps I ought not to say it, but I think Miss Darrell keeps you apart from your sisters.'

'What, Etta!' in an astonished tone. 'Why, she is always making excuses for Gladys's coldness. Come, Miss Garston, I cannot have you misunderstand my poor little cousin in this way. You have no idea how faithful and devoted she is. She has actually refused a most advantageous offer of marriage to remain with us. She told me this in confidence; the girls do not know it: perhaps I ought not to have repeated it; but you undervalue Etta. Few women would sacrifice themselves so entirely for their belongings.'

'No, indeed,' was my reply to this; but I secretly marvelled at this piece of intelligence, and there was no time to ask any questions, for we had reached the cottage, and the next minute I was standing by Susan Locke's bedside.

There was no need to tell me that poor Susan was in danger; the inflammation ran high; the flushed face, the difficult breathing, the strength and fulness of the rapid pulse, filled me with grave forebodings. Mr. Hamilton remained with me some time, and when he took his leave he promised to come again as early as possible in the morning.