The Revellers

  CHAPTER X

  DEEPENING SHADOWS

  The doctor came late next morning. He did not reach Elmsdale until aftereleven o'clock. He called first at the White House and handed Mrs.Bolland a small package.

  "These are the handkerchiefs I took away yesterday," he said. "I supposethey belong to Mr. Herbert's household. My servant has washed them. Willyou see that they are returned?"

  "Mercy o' me!" cried Martha. "I nivver knew ye took 'em. What did yewant 'em for, docthor?"

  "There might have been some malignant substance--some poisonousmatter--in the cat's claws, and as the county analyst was engaged at myplace on some other business I--Oh, come now, Mrs. Bolland, there's noneed to be alarmed. Martin's wounds were cleansed, and the salt appliedto the raw edges so promptly, that any danger which might have existedwas stopped effectually."

  Yet the doctor's cheery face was grave that morning and his brow waswrinkled as he unfastened the bandages. Beyond a slight stiffness ofcertain sinews and the natural soreness of the cut flesh, Martin hadnever felt better in his life. After a disturbed slumber, when hedreamed that he was choking a wildcat--a cat with Angele's face whichchanged suddenly in death to Elsie Herbert's smiling features--he layawake for some hours. Then the pain in his wrists abated gradually, hefell sound asleep, and Mrs. Bolland took care that he was left aloneuntil he awoke of his own accord at half-past eight, an unprecedentedhour.

  So the boy laughed at his mother's fears. Her lips quivered, and shetried to choke back a sob. The doctor turned on her angrily.

  "Stop that!" he growled. "I suppose you think I'm hoodwinking you. It isnot so. I am very much worried about another matter altogether, soplease accept my assurance that Martin is all right. He can run aboutall day, if he likes. The only consequence of disturbing these cuts willbe that they cannot heal rapidly. Otherwise, they will be closedcompletely by the end of the week."

  While he talked he worked. The dressings were changed and fresh lintapplied. He handed Mrs. Bolland a store of materials.

  "There," he said, "I need not come again, but I'll call on Monday, justto satisfy you. Apply the lotion morning and night. Good-by, Martin. Youdid a brave thing, I hear. Good-by, Mrs. Bolland."

  He closed his bag hurriedly and rushed away. Mrs. Bolland, drying hereyes, and quite satisfied now, went to the door and gazed after him.

  "He's fair rattled wi' summat," she told another portly dame who laboredup the incline at the moment. "He a'most snapped my head off. Did hethink a body wouldn't be scared wi' his talk about malignous p'ison i't' lad's bluid, I wonder?"

  The doctor did not pull up outside the "Black Lion." He drove to theVicarage--a circumstance which would most certainly have given Mrs.Bolland renewed cause for alarm, were she aware of it--and asked Mr.Herbert to walk in the garden with him for a few minutes.

  The two conversed earnestly, and the vicar seemed to be greatly shockedat the outcome of their talk. At last they arrived at a decision. Thedoctor hastened back to the "Black Lion." He did not remain long in thesick room, but scribbled a note downstairs and gave it to his man.

  "Take that to Mr. Herbert," he said. "I'll make a few calls on foot andmeet you at the bridge in a quarter of an hour."

  The note read:

  "There is no hope. Things are exactly as I feared."

  The vicar, looking most woebegone, murmured that there was no answer. Heprocured his hat and walked slowly to the inn, which was crowded, insideand out. Nearly every man knew him and spoke to him, and many noted that"t' passon looked varra down i' t' mooth this mornin'."

  He went upstairs. The conjecture flew around at once that Pickering wasworse. Someone remembered that Kitty Thwaites said the patient hadexperienced a touch of fever overnight. Surely, his wound had notdeveloped serious symptoms. The chief herd of his Nottonby estate hadseen him during the preceding afternoon and found his master lookingwonderfully well. Indeed, Pickering spoke of attending to some businessmatter in person on Saturday, or on Monday for certain. Why, then, thevicar's visit? What did it portend? People gathered in small groups andtheir voices softened. By contrast, the blare of lively music and thewhistle of the roundabout were intolerably loud.

  In the quiet room at the back of the hotel, with its scent of iodoformmingling with the sweet breath of the garden wafted in through an openwindow, Pickering moved restlessly in bed. His face was flushed, hiseyes singularly bright, with a glistening sheen that was abnormal.

  By his side sat the pallid Betsy, reading a newspaper aloud. Shefollowed the printed text with difficulty. Her mind was troubled. Thefatigue of nursing was nothing to one of her healthy frame, but herthoughts were terrifying. She lived in a waking nightmare. Had she daredto weep, she might have felt relief, but this sure solace of womankindwas denied her.

  The vicar's entrance caused a sensation. Betsy, in a quick access offear, dropped the paper, and Pickering's face blanched. Some secretdoubt, some inner monitor, brought a premonition of what was to come. Heflinched from the knowledge, but only for a moment.

  Mr. Herbert essayed most gallantly to adopt his customary cheerful mien.

  "Dr. MacGregor asked me to call and see you, George," he said. "I hopeyou are not suffering greatly."

  "Not at all, thanks, vicar. Just a trifle restless with fever, perhaps,but the wound is nothing, a mere cut. I've had as bad a scratch and muchmore painful when thrusting through a thorn hedge after hounds."

  "Ah. That is well."

  The reverend gentleman seemed to be strangely at a loss for words. Heglanced at Betsy.

  "Would you mind leaving me alone with Mr. Pickering for a little while?"he said.

  The wounded man laughed, and there was a note in his voice that showedhow greatly the tension had relaxed.

  "If that's what you're after, Mr. Herbert," he said promptly, "you mayrest assured that the moment I'm able to stir we'll be married. I toldMr. Beckett-Smythe so yesterday."

  "Indeed; I am glad to hear it. Nevertheless, I want to talk with youalone."

  The vicar's insistence was a different thing to the wish expressed by amagistrate and a police superintendent. Betsy went out at once.

  For an appreciable time after the door had closed no word was spoken byeither of the men. The vicar's eyes were fixed mournfully on the valley,through which a train was winding its way. The engine left in its trackwhite wraiths of steam which vanished under the lusty rays of the sun.The drone of the showman's organ playing "Tommy Atkins" reached thehardly conscious listeners as through a telephone. From a distantcornfield came the busy rattle of a reaping machine. The harvest hadcommenced a fortnight earlier than usual. Once again was the bounteousearth giving to man a hundredfold what he had sown. "As ye sow, so shallye reap." Out there in the field were garnered the wages of honestendeavor; here in the room, with its hospital perfume, were beingawarded the wages of sin, for George Pickering was condemned to death,and it was the vicar's most doleful mission to warn him of his doom.

  "Now, Mr. Herbert, pitch into me as much as you like," said the patient,breaking an uneasy silence. "I've been a bad lot, but I'll try to makeamends. Betsy's case is a hard one. You're a man of the world and youknow what the majority of these village lasses are like; but Betsy----"

  The vicar could bear the suspense no longer. He must perform his task,no matter what the cost.

  "George," he broke in tremulously, "my presence here to-day is due to avery sad and irrevocable fact. Dr. MacGregor tells me that yourcondition is serious, most serious. Indeed--indeed--there is no hope ofyour recovery."

  Pickering, who had raised himself on an elbow, gazed at the speaker foran instant with fiery eyes. Then, as though he grasped the purport ofthe words but gradually, he sank back on the pillow in the manner of onepressed down by overwhelming force. The vicar moved his chair nearer andgrasped his friend's right hand.

  "George," he murmured, "bear up, and try to prepare your soul for thatwhich is inevitable. What are you losing? A few years of joys andsorrows, to which the end must come. An
d the end is eternity, comparedwith which this life is but a passing shadow."

  Pickering did not answer immediately. He raised his body again. He movedhis limbs freely. He looked at a square bony wrist and stretched out thefree hand until he caught an iron rail, which he clenched fiercely. Inhis veins ran the blood of a race of yeomen. His hardy ancestors hadexchanged blow for blow with Scottish raiders who sought to steal theircattle. They had cracked the iron rind of many a marauder, broken manya border skull in defense of their lives and property. Never had theyfeared death by flood or field, and their descendant scoffed at the grimvision now.

  "What nonsense is this MacGregor has been talking?" he shouted. "Die! Aman like me! By gad, vicar, I'd laugh, if I wasn't too vexed!"

  "Be patient, George, and hear me. Things are worse than you can guess.Your wound alone is a small matter, but, unfortunately, the knife----"

  "There was no knife! It was a pitchfork!"

  "Bear with me, I pray you. You will need to conserve your energy, andyour protest only makes my duty the harder. The knife has been submittedto analysis, as well as corpuscles of your blood. Alas, that it shouldfall to me to tell it! Alas, for the poor girl whom you have declaredyour intention to marry! The knife had been used to carve grouse, andsome putrid matter from a shot wound had dried on the blade. This wascommunicated to your system. The wound was cleansed too late. Your bloodwas poisoned before the doctor saw you, and--and--there is no hope now."

  The vicar bowed his head. He dared not look in the eyes of the man towhom he was conveying this dire sentence. He felt Pickering subsidinggently to the pillow and straightening his limbs.

  "How long?"

  The words were uttered in a singularly calm voice--so calm that thepastor ventured to raise his sorrow-laden face.

  "Soon. Perhaps three days. Perhaps a week. But you will be delirious.You have little time in which to prepare."

  Again a silence. A faint shriek reached them from afar, the whistle ofthe train entering Nottonby, the pleasant little town which Pickeringwould never more see.

  "What a finish!" he muttered. "I'd have liked it better in the saddle. Iwouldn't have cared a damn if I broke my neck after hounds."

  Another pause, and the vicar said gently:

  "Have you made your will?"

  "No."

  "Then it must be attended to at once."

  "Yes, of course. Then, there's Betsy. Oh, God, I've treated her badly.Now, help me, won't you? There's a hundred pounds in notes and sometwenty-odd in gold in that drawer. Telegraph first to Stockwell, mylawyer in Nottonby. Bring him here. Then, spare no money in getting alicense for my marriage. I can't die unless that is put right. Don'tdelay, there's a good chap. You have to apply to the Archbishop, don'tyou? You'll do everything, I know. Will you be a trustee under my will?"

  "Yes, if you wish it."

  "It'll please me more than anything. Of course, I'll make it worth yourwhile. I insist, I tell you. Go, now! Don't lose a moment. Send Betsy.And, vicar, for Heaven's sake, not a word to her until we are married.I'll tell her the fever is serious; just that, and no more."

  "One other matter, George. Mr. Beckett-Smythe will come here to-day orto-morrow to take your sworn deposition. You must not die with a lie onyour conscience, however good the motive."

  "I'll jump that fence when I reach it, Mr. Herbert. Meanwhile, thelawyer and the license. They're all-important."

  The vicar left it at that. He deemed it best to take the urgent measuresof the hour off the man's mind before endeavoring to turn his thoughtstoward a fitting preparation for the future state. With a reassuringhandclasp, he left him.

  The two sisters waylaid him in the passage.

  "Ye had but ill news, I fear, sir," said Betsy despairingly, catchingMr. Herbert by the arm.

  The worried man stooped to deception.

  "Now, why should you jump to conclusions?" he cried. "Dr. MacGregorasked me to look up his patient. Am I a harbinger of disaster, likeMother Carey's chickens?"

  "Oh, parson," she wailed, "I read it i' yer face, an' in t' doctor's.Don't tell me all is well. I know better. Pray God I may die----"

  "Hush, my poor girl, you know not what you say. Go to Mr. Pickering. Hewants you."

  He knew the appeal would be successful. She darted off. Before Kitty, inturn, could question him, he escaped.

  It was easier to run the gantlet of friendly inquirers outside. Hetelegraphed to the solicitor and sent a telegraphic remittance of theheavy fees demanded for the special license. Within two hours he had thesatisfaction of knowing that the precious document was in the post andwould reach him next morning.

  Mr. Stockwell's protests against Pickering's testamentary designs werecut short by his client.

  "Look here, Stockwell," was the irritated comment, "you are an oldfriend of mine and I'd like this matter to remain in your hands, but ifyou say another word I'll be forced to send for someone else."

  "If you put it that way----" began the lawyer.

  "I do, most emphatically. Now, what is it to be? Yes or no?"

  For answer the legal man squared some foolscap sheets on a small tableand produced a stylographic pen.

  "Let me understand clearly," he said. "You intend to marrythis--er--lady, and mean to settle four hundred a year on her for life?"

  "Yes."

  "Suppose she marries again?"

  "God in heaven, man, do you think I want to play dog-in-the-manger in mygrave?"

  "Then it had better take the form of a marriage settlement. It is thestrongest instrument known in the law and avoids the death duties."

  Pickering winced, but the lawyer went on remorselessly. He regarded themarriage as a wholly quixotic notion, and knew only too well that BetsyThwaites would be tried for murder if Pickering died.

  "Have you no relatives?" he said. "I seem to recollect----"

  "My cousin Stanhope? He's quite well off, an M.P., and likely to be madea baronet."

  "He will not object to the chance of dropping in for L1,500 a year."

  "Do you think the estate will yield so much?"

  "More, I imagine. Did you ever know what you spent?"

  "No."

  "Well, is it to be this Mr. Stanhope?"

  "No. He never gave me a thought. Why should I endow him and his whelps?Let the lot go to the County Council in aid of the county orphanage. ByJove, that's a good idea! I like that."

  "Anything else?" demanded the lawyer.

  "Yes. You and Mr. Herbert are to be the trustees."

  "The deuce we are. Who said so?"

  "I say so. You are to receive L50 a year each from the estate foradministering it."

  "Ah. That gilds the pill. Next?"

  "I have nearly a thousand in the bank. Keep half as working capital,give a hundred to my company in the Territorials, and divide thebalance, according to salary, among all my servants who have more thanfive years' service. And--Betsy is to have the use of the house andfurniture, if she wishes it."

  "Anything else?"

  Pickering was exhausted, but continued to laugh weakly.

  "Yes; I had almost forgotten. I bequeath to John Bolland the shorthorncow he sold me, and to that lad of his--you must find out his propername--my pair of hammerless guns and my sword. He frames to be asportsman, and I think he'll make a soldier. He picked up a poker like ashot the other day when I quarreled with old John."

  "What was the quarrel about?"

  "When you send back the cow, you'll be told."

  Mr. Stockwell scanned his notes rapidly.

  "I'll put my clerks to work at this to-night," he said. "As I am atrustee, my partner will attend to-morrow to get your signature. Ofcourse, you know you must be married before you make your will, or itwill be invalid? Before I go, George, are you sure it is all over withyou?"

  "MacGregor says so. I suppose he knows."

  "Yes, he knows, if any man does. Yet I can't believe it. It seemsmonstrous, incredible."

  They gazed fixedly at each other. Of the two, t
he man of law was themore affected. Before either could speak again they heard Betsy'sagonized cry:

  "Oh, for God's sake, miss, don't tell me I may not be with him always!I've done my best; I have, indeed. I'll give neither him nor you anytrouble. Don't keep me away from him now, or I'll go mad!"

  The lawyer, wondering what new frenzy possessed the woman who had struckdown his friend, opened the door. He was confronted by a hospital nursesent by Dr. MacGregor. She looked like a strong-minded person and wasprobably a stickler for the etiquette of the sick room. He took in thesituation at a glance.

  "There need be no difficulty, nurse, where Miss Thwaites is concerned,"he said. "She is to be married to Mr. Pickering to-morrow, and as he hasonly a few days to live they should see as much of each other aspossible. Any other arrangement would irritate your patient greatly, andbe quite contrary to Dr. MacGregor's wishes, I am sure."

  The nurse bowed, and Betsy sobbed as the secret that was no secret toher was revealed. None of the three realized that several men standingin the hall beneath, whose talk had been silenced by Betsy's frenziedexclamation, must have heard every word the lawyer uttered.