The Tree of Knowledge Part 19

"I don't remember anything," he said, with a sigh. "I think the sun must have muddled my head. Tell me what happened."

"My dear boy," cried she, "that is exactly what we want _you_ to tell _us_!"

"What! Don't you know?" he asked, with a sudden access of astonishment.

"Nothing! n.o.body knows anything except that you were found by the roadside, all in fragments. Ah! I can laugh now. But oh, Osmond! when they telegraphed to me first!"

She leaned over him, and kissed his forehead.

"My dear boy," she said, "I could eat you."

He caught his breath with a weary sigh.

"What's become of Hilda and Jac?" he asked.

"Oh! they are all right--gone to the Hamertons at Ryde, and having a delightful holiday. Don't fret," she said, answering fast, and with an evident anxiety at the turn his inquiries were taking. But he would go on.

"And how long have I been lying here?" he asked, grimly. "I suppose there are some good long bills running up, eh? Doctors not the least among them." A pair of very distinct furrows were visible on his forehead.

"And that commission of Orton's," he sighed out.

Wyn had slipped down to her knees by his bed, and now she took his hand and laid her cheek upon it.

"Listen to me, old man," she said; "there is no need to fret, I've managed things for you. I wrote first thing to Mr. Orton, and he answered most kindly--his friend will be satisfied if the pictures are ready any time within six months, so do unpucker your forehead, please.

As to expense, it won't be much. Mrs. Battis.h.i.+ll is the most delightful person, but becomes impracticable directly the money question is broached. She says she never let her rooms to anybody in her life, and she isn't going to begin now. The room would be standing empty if you didn't have it, and you are just keeping it aired. As to linen, it all goes into her laundry: "She don't have to pay nothing for the was.h.i.+ng of it, so why should we!" Ditto, ditto, with dairy produce. "It all cooms out of her dairy. It don't cost her nothing, and she can't put no price on it!" I have been allowed to pay for nothing but the fish and meat I have bought; and I don't apprehend that Dr. Forbes' bill will ruin us.

There! That's a long explanation, but I must get the s. d. out of your head, or we shall have no peace. I've kept my eyes open and managed everything. You are _not_ to worry--mind!"

He heaved a long breath of relief.

"Bless you, Wyn!" he said. "But we must not be too indebted to these good folks, you know."

"I know! I'll manage it! We must give them a present. They are really well-to-do, and don't want our money. Besides, they are, owing to us, the centre of attraction to the neighborhood. All Edge Combe is for ever making pilgrimages up here to know how you are faring. You are the hero of the hour."

"And you can't tell me what it all means?" he asked, with corrugated brow.

"I can tell you no more at present," she answered, rising as she spoke.

"I must feed you again, and you shall rest an hour or two before you do any more talking, and, if you are disobedient, I shall send for Dr.

Forbes."

Whether Osmond found this threat very appalling, or whether what he had already heard supplied him with sufficient food for meditation, was a matter of doubt; but some cause or other kept him absolutely silent for some time; and Wyn, who had retired to her easel, the better to notify that conversation was suspended for the present, by-and-by saw his eyes close, and hoped that he was dozing again. So the afternoon wore on, till voices struck on her ear--voices of persons in eager conversation.

They were floated to her through the open window, but came apparently from round the corner of the house, for she could not see the speakers when she looked out.

As the sounds broke the stillness, Osmond's eyes opened wide.

"Who is there?" he asked, hurriedly.

"I don't know," said his sister, peering forth, "I hear Mr. Cranmer, but there is some one else."

Then suddenly a little gush of laughter, high and clear, sailed in on the hot summer air, followed by the distinct notes of a girl's voice.

"Saul! Saul! Get up, you stupid boy!"

Osmond stirred again. He rolled right over in bed, and turned his eager face full to the window.

"Wyn--who is it?" he asked, uneasily.

"I'll go and see if you want to know."

"Stay one minute--I want to hear--who found me by the wayside, as you say, in fragments?"

"A young lady and her maid," was the reply, "She is a Miss Brabourne, I believe, and lives near here. She ran in search of help, and accidentally met a carriage containing two tourists----"

"Brabourne? Isn't that the name of that horrible imp of a child who lives with the Ortons?"

"Yes--I believe it is," said Wyn pausing. "_My nephew, the heir to a very large property_," she presently added, mimicking a masculine drawl, apparently with much success, for her brother laughed.

"That's it," he said. "Well--but who is Mr. Cranmer?"

Wynifred now became eloquent.

She told him all that Claud had done--his kindness, his interest, his unwearying attention, his laying aside all plans for the better examination of the mystery.

Of course she greatly exaggerated both Mr. Cranmer's sacrifice and his philanthropy. He had been interested, that was all. It had amused him to find himself suddenly living and moving in the heart of a murderous drama, such as is dished up for us by energetic contributors to the sensational fiction of the day. Vol. I. had promised exceedingly well: Vol. II. seemed likely to be disappointing. In all the "s.h.i.+lling horrors," though of course the detective does not stumble on the right clue till page two hundred and fifty is reached, still he contrives to be erratic and interesting through all the intermediate chapters, by dint of fragments of a letter, the dark hints of an aged domestic, the unwarranted appearance of a mysterious stranger, or the revelations of a delirious criminal.

Since Allonby had burned the sole letter which could have been of any importance, and in his delirium talked only of a place and persons alike mythical and useless, it really seemed as if the story must stop short for want of incident. Mr. d.i.c.kens had all but succeeded in persuading Claud that they had to deal with a modern English _vendetta_--a thing of all others to be revelled in and enjoyed in these days when the incongruous is the interesting.

Our jaded palates turn from the mysteries of Udolpho, where all was in keeping, where murders were perpetrated in donjon keeps, ghosts were fitly provided with arras as a place to retire to between the acts, and mediaeval knights and ladies were to the full as improbable as the deeds and motives a.s.signed to them. Now something more piquant must be provided, above all something _realistic_. Mr. Radcliffe and Horace Walpole are relegated to the land of dreams and shadows; give us _vraisemblance_ to whet our blunted susceptibilities. Let us have mystic ladies, glittering gems, yawning caverns, magic spells; but place the nineteenth century Briton, chimney-pot hat and all, in the centre of these weird surroundings. Make him your hero; jumble up what is with what could never have been, and the first critics in English literature shall rise up and call you blessed! They thought themselves dead for ever to the voice of the charmer: you have given them the luxury of a new sensation; what do you not deserve of your generation? Join the hands of the modern English n.o.bleman and the mythical African princess--link together the latest development of Yankeeism and dollars with the grim tragedy of the Corsican bandit--your fortune is made; you are absolutely incongruous; you have out-Radcliffed Radcliffe. She gave us the improbable; to you we turn for the absurd.

That Allonby was going to miss such an opportunity as this was, to the mind of Mr. d.i.c.kens, a _betise_ too gross to be contemplated. He had already caused the local newspapers to bristle with dark hints. He awaited, in a state of feverish suspense, the waking of the lion.

Could he have seen that lion's unfurrowed brow and unenlightened expression, his heart would have sunk within him.

As to Claud, the upshot of it all would not materially affect him, whichever way it turned. After all his personal taste for melodrama was only skin-deep. He preferred what was interesting to what was thrilling.

He had taken a liking to the unconscious victim; he was struck with the loveliness of the Devons.h.i.+re valley; the weather was fine; he had nothing else to do; and that was the sum of all. Considerably would he have marvelled, could he have heard Wynifred's description of his conduct as it appeared to her. n.o.body that he knew of had ever thought him a hero; neither did any of his relations hold self-sacrifice to be in general the guiding motive of his conduct.

When Miss Allonby, after instilling her own view of his actions into her brother's willing ear, slipped off her ap.r.o.n, hung it over the back of a chair, and went to summon this good genius to receive the thanks she considered so justly his due, he was totally unprepared for what was to come.

To have his hand seized in the languid, bony grip of the sick man, to see his fine dark grey eyes humid with feeling, to hear faltering thanks for "such amazing kindness from an utter stranger," these things greatly embarra.s.sed the ordinarily a.s.sured Claud.

He jerked his eye-gla.s.s from his eye in a good deal of confusion, he pulled the left hand corner of his neat little moustache, he absolutely felt himself blus.h.i.+ng, as he blurted out a somewhat vindictive declaration that,

"Miss Allonby must have given a very highly-colored version of the part he had taken in the affair."

"Oh, of course you would disclaim," said Allonby, with an approving smile. "That's only natural. But I hope some day the time may come when I shall have a chance to do you a kindness; it doesn't sound likely, but one never knows."

"But this is intolerable," cried Claud, fuming, "I haven't been kind--I tell you I haven't! I have been merely lazy and more than a trifle inquisitive! I won't be misrepresented, it isn't fair!"

"Could some fay the giftie gie us," said Wyn, smiling softly at him across the bed.