CHAPTER VII.
AN ACCIDENT.
Some days later, Edward, mounted on his favourite Black Bess, waitingfor Rose to accompany him in a morning gallop, was amazed to see thatventuresome young lady prepare to seat herself on Flip, a crazy littleanimal scarcely more than a colt, whose character for unsteadiness wasnotorious.
"I have set my heart on him," was all Rose could say in answer to herbrother's protestations.
"Set your heart on him as much as you please," returned Edward, "solong as you do not set your person on him."
"In England," ventured, the respectful Tredway, "young ladiesgenerally prefer a more trustworthy animal."
"Well, when we go to England," responded Rose, casting her arms aroundthe neck of her slandered steed, "we'll do as the English do--won't weFlip, dear? In this country we'll have just a little of our own wildway."
From this decision there was no appeal. The words were scarcely spokenwhen there was a swift scamper of heels, a smothered sound, halfshriek, half laughter, from Rose's lips, a cloud of dust, and that wasall. Edward's alarm was changed to amusement as the pony, after itsfirst wild flight, settled down into a sort of dancing step, ambling,pirouetting, curvetting, sidling, arching its wilful neck at onemoment, and rushing off at a rate that bade fair to break its rider'sat the next.
By fits and starts--a great many of them--they managed to make theirway to "Bellevue," where the lovely Helene, arrayed in the alluringcoolness of a white _neglige_, and with her braided locks drooping toher waist, came down the walk to meet them.
"Rose Macleod!" she exclaimed, for Black Bess was still far in therear, and she imagined her friend unaccompanied, "and on thatdesperately dangerous little Flip!"
"The very same," responded Rose saucily, "but I don't know how long Imay remain on him. We want you to join us in a glorious old gallop."
"Good morning, Mademoiselle," exclaimed Edward, reining in his blacksteed. "I hope Madame DeBerczy is better than usual, as I have somethoughts of leaving my wild sister with her. She's every bit asunmanageable as Flip."
"Leave me, indeed," retorted Rose, "as though I could trust you alonein the woods--with a pretty girl."
The last words were inaudible, save to Helene, between whom and Rosethere passed a subtle glance which gave Edward a vague alarm. Could itbe that Helene had received intelligence of his encounter with Wanda?No, it was clearly impossible. There was nothing of mocking in herlook--nothing but the pretty consciousness of a girl who could notforget that her shoulders and arms were gleaming beneath the mist of amuslin altogether too thin, and a weight of loosened braids altogethertoo thick, to be proper subjects for a young man's contemplation.
She presently vanished within, and reappeared before they had time tobe impatient. In her close-clinging habit, with her black braidssecurely pinned, a handful of lilies drooping at her waist, and thewhole of her fair young figure invested with a sort of statelymaidenliness, she formed a sufficient contrast to Rose, who, percheddefiantly upon her wicked little steed, looked every inch a rogue.Mademoiselle DeBerczy's white horse was slim and graceful as becameits owner, who glanced with lady-like apprehension at the dashings andplungings and other dog-like vagaries of Flip. "Dear me, Rose," she atlast remarked rather nervously, "I can't bear to look at you."
"Then don't look at me!" exclaimed the wild girl, "go on with Edward;Flip and I are going to make a morning of it."
The young man nothing loth drew in Black Bess beside the milk-whitepalfrey, and began to comment upon the beauty of the morning, of thewoods through which they were passing, and, lastly, of an Indianchild, who, straying away from a settlement of wigwams, perched itselfupon a stump, and surveyed the cavalcade with round-eyed interest.
"The loveliest Indian girl I ever saw," remarked Helene, "is Wanda,the Algonquin chief's adopted daughter. But this is no news to you, asI hear that you were quite forcibly struck by her."
Oh, the ambiguities of the English language! There was not a quiver ofan eye-lash, not the slightest curl of the scarlet lips, and the widedark eyes were seemingly free from guile; but, nevertheless, Edwardsuffered again that vague alarm which had sprung into being at thegate of "Bellevue."
"I think her very pretty, certainly," he returned, "but I can't saythat I admire her."
"I am surprised at that. Rose told me that she made quite animpression upon you."
Ought this to be taken literally? The lily-white face was no tell-tale.Could one so fair be so deceitful? This matter must be further probed.
"The impression was not altogether a pleasant one," he confessed witha rising flush.
"Not pleasant? You are very hard to please. She is not only remarkablyhandsome but she has a vigorous personality--a sort of native forcethat is sure to make its mark."
"I fear I am not an admirer of force--that is in a woman."
"I am sure you have no reason to be. It is possible that even thebeautiful Wanda might not be above browbeating a man."
"Oh, she might do worse than that," said Edward, with the coolnessborn of desperation. "She might sink so low as to basely persecute himwith her knowledge of a secret extracted from his sister. Don't youthink that would be treating him very contemptibly."
"It would depend altogether upon what sort of treatment he deserved."
"It occurs to me that the unfortunate creature we have in mind hassuffered enough."
It was evident that Helene thought so too. She said nothing, but thesweet eyes that had refrained from mocking at him could not hide atinge of remorse. This pledge of peace was quickly noted by themuch-enduring youth, whose gratitude might have found vocal expressionhad not his attention that moment been called off by an approachingpedestrian, who suddenly appeared at a curve in the Penetanguisheneroad, which, after partly retracing their steps, they had now reached.
"What, Dunlop, as I live!" he exclaimed, eagerly reining in his steed,and extending a cordial hand. "My dear fellow, how long have you beenat home, and why have I been left in ignorance of your coming?"
The young man who had paid Helene the doubtful tribute of adisappointed glance, returned the greeting warmly, but in moremeasured terms. "I was at church on Sunday," he said, "for the firsttime since my return home. Why weren't you there?"
"Ugh!" said Edward, as though the recollection had been an iciclesuddenly thrust down his back. "Why, to tell the truth, I performed anact of worship on the day before, and the consequence was so frightfulthat I was discouraged from further attempts at prayer and praise. Ihadn't the heart to go."
"You hadn't the _face_ to go!" softly corrected Helene.
"Exactly. Your knowledge of the facts is copious and profound. Excuseme! Miss DeBerczy, let me present to you Mr. Allan Dunlop, Provincialland-surveyor, member for the Home District, future leader inparliament, and a man after my own heart!"
The stranger looked as though a less elaborate introduction might havepleased him better. "Edward you are as extravagant as ever," heexclaimed, and then, turning to the lady, with a sort of shy sincerity,"Don't believe him, Miss DeBerczy. I am studying politics andpracticing surveying, but that is all."
"And you mean to say that you are not a man after my own heart,"demanded Edward, threatening him with his riding-whip; "then, perhaps,you will be good enough to tell me whose heart you _are_ after."
An embarrassed laugh broke from Allan's lips, as he thoughtinvoluntarily of the queenly little creature, golden crowned andrichly robed, whose reign had begun, so far as he knew, on the Sundayprevious. Oddly enough, the same personage came at that moment toHelene's mind, and she hurriedly inquired, "Why, where can Rose be?"
"Here she comes," said Edward, after a backward glance, and hereindeed she came. With her bright hair flying in the breeze, her ridinghat rakishly askew, one glove invisible, and the other tucked for safekeeping under the saddle, her riding-habit gray with dust, andfantastically trimmed with thorns and nettles, her blue eyes at theirbluest, her pink cheeks at their rosiest, she produced a very powerfuleffect upon th
e minds of her spectators. Perhaps it would not be toomuch to say that she produced three distinct effects upon their minds.
Helene was the first to recover the faculty of speech. "Why, you are aregular little brier rose!" she exclaimed laughingly, wheeling herhorse about so as to remove what appeared to be the larger part of ablackberry bush from her friend's habit, and improving the opportunityto insert a pin in the ragged edges of a dreadful looking rent, whichthe premature removal of the blackberry bush had revealed.
Edward introduced his friend to Rose with a gravity which was tooevidently born of the belief that she had never before presented quiteso disreputable an appearance. Allan knew his goddess under thisquaint disguise, and his heart beat a loud recognition. The coolgraceful black and white propriety of Helene DeBerczy was barren ofsignificance compared with the slightest strand of yellow wilful hairthat blew about the pink-shamed face of his friend's sister.
With renewed expressions of good-feeling and the promise, by Allan, ofan early visit to Pine Towers, the young men separated, the ridingparty moving off in the same order as before, Helene and Edward goingfirst, leaving Rose and Flip to follow at their own discretion.
But the latter, who had exhausted every known device for his ownamusement, now suddenly discovered and put into instant executionanother way to annoy his pretty mistress. This was to stand perfectlystill--inexorably, indomitably, immovably still. In vain Rose whipped,begged, prayed, and almost wept. But Flip was thereby only strengthenedin his decision. Rose's companions had vanished around the bend in theroad. Though lost to sight they were to memory obnoxious. How mean ofEdward to go off in that cool, careless way, without a thought of herleft behind! How contemptible of Helene to leave her without so muchas a hair-pin to repair the ravages made by that horrible little horse.And now, worse and worse, Allan Dunlop, who might have had thegentlemanliness to make himself invisible as soon as possible, camehurrying back to be a further witness of her dishevelled embarrassment.
"I am afraid your horse is a little fractious," he suggestedrespectfully.
"Oh, no," replied Rose, earnestly, scarcely conscious of what shesaid. "Only--sometimes--he won't go."
This was a statement which Flip seemed in no wise disposed tocontradict.
"Perhaps if you will allow me to pet him a little, we may induce achange in his behaviour." He drew near and laid his head upon thepony's mane, accidentally brushing with his moustache the warm littlehand upon the reins. Its owner drew it away, while an expression ofabsolute pain crossed her face. "I don't know what you can think ofme," she said contritely. "I lost one of my gloves in reaching for abranch above my head, and its no use wearing the other and trying tobe half respectable." She was miserably conscious that she was noteven that, as she tried to fasten up her loosely waving locks, andthought of the awful rent in her habit, through which that saving pinhad slipped and been lost sight of forever, like a weary littlemissionary in a very large field of labour. The skirt beneath wasdeplorably short, and her feet, though small, were not small enough tobe invisible. Her chivalrous attendant seemed quite unconscious ofthese glaring deficiencies in her appearance, as he looked up with abright smile, and said: "There, I think he will go now." At the wordFlip began a slow undulating movement, something akin to that producedby a rocking-horse, which while it "goes" fast enough makes noperceptible progress. Poor Rose, excited and unstrung by her morning'sadventures, dropped the reins in disgust, and then with one handclutching her skirt, and the other her hair, she resigned herself to afit of uncontrollable laughter. The next moment the wilful horse madea wild plunge forward, and the wilful girl was flung with terribleforce against a heap of stones on the roadside. Colourless, motionless,breathless, she lay at the feet of Allan Dunlop, whose heart turnedsick as he discerned among the yellow locks outspread on the graystones a slender stream of blood.
For a moment the young man stood horror-struck. Fortunately he was notfar from home, and there he proceeded at once to take the almostlifeless girl. As he was about to lift her gently in his arms, a lowmoan escaped her lips, the significance of which he was not slow tocatch. Unable to speak, almost unable to move, she made a slightwrithing motion of the limbs, accompanied by a convulsive twitch atthe torn gown. Allan Dunlop was not dull-witted enough to suppose thather ankle was sprained. His sensibilities and sympathies wereexquisitely quick and fine. Catching up an end of the unfortunateriding-habit he twisted it closely about the helplessly exposed littlefeet--an act of delicacy which received a faint glance of gratefulrecognition before she lapsed into utter unconsciousness. Gatheringher into his arms he carried her as he might have carried a child tothe shelter of his own house. But here a fresh dilemma presenteditself. Not a soul was in the house. His father had not yet returnedfrom market, his mother and the servant were absent, he knew notwhere. Placing her on a couch he bathed with awkwardly gentle fingersthe wound in her head, and dared even to wipe away a few drops ofblood from the little pallid face. Still the white lids lay motionlessover the blue eyes, and the girlish form was unmoved by a breath. Hestood anxiously looking down at her, wondering what his mother woulddo in his place, and feeling in every fibre a man's naturalhelplessness in the presence of a suffering woman. "What can I do foryou?" he asked, as she at last opened her eyes, and gazedhalf-frightened at her strange surroundings.
"Thank you, I believe I am quite comfortable, except--except for thedreadful pain. I feel so terribly shaken." And the poor child brokeinto uncontrollable sobs.
"Oh, don't cry!" begged Allan, who might with equal truth have claimedthat he too felt terribly shaken. "I can't imagine where my mother hasgone." He stared miserably out of the window a moment, and thenreturned to his patient, with the air of a man who is not going toshirk a duty, no matter how difficult it may be.
"If you could dry your eyes," he began with a sort of brotherlygentleness, "and tell"--
"I'm afraid I can't. I don't dare move my right hand from under me,the pain is so acute in my back, and there is something dreadfullywrong with my left arm."
Dreadfully wrong indeed! It hung limp and broken. The young man wasspurred by the sight to instant, decisive action.
"Miss Macleod," he said, "I will have to leave you alone, and go atonce for a physician and your father. Do you think you can be verybrave?"
Her tears flowed afresh at the question. This time he wiped them awayhimself. "Oh, I'm afraid I couldn't be that," she said. "I nevercould. But I'll promise not to run away before you come back."
She _is_ a brave little soul after all, he thought, as he waved hishand, and hurried off to the stable; but that is a woman's courage--cryone moment and make a joke the next.
Mrs. Dunlop, who was not as far distant from home as her son hadsupposed, entered the house a few minutes after his departure,followed by the servant, both bearing great baskets of raspberries.The two women were sufficiently astonished at sight of the unexpectedand most unfortunate guest; but Allan's mother would scarcely allowRose to pronounce a word of her penitent confession. It was enough forher to know that here was an opportunity for her to relieve suffering,and she improved it with characteristic tact and delicacy. Theopen-eyed and open-mouthed maid was sent on various small missions ofmercy, which she attacked with zeal, in the hope that thereby in someway her abounding thirst for information might be assuaged.
Very soon after, the quiet farm-house became the rendezvous of anunusual number of strangers. Helene and Edward, who had returned tosee if Allan could tell them anything concerning the whereabouts ofthe missing girl, came first. Helene, full of grief and contritionbecause she had not remained by the side of Rose through the entirelength of her perilous undertaking, and Edward, whose brotherlysympathy was tinged by the magnanimous consciousness that nothingwould tempt him to remind her that he had warned her of the evil whichhad resulted in her downfall. Afterwards came the physician who setthe broken arm, and forbade the patient's removal, and then theCommodore, in whose brawny neck his daughter hid a wet, pitiful face.
"I
t was my fault, Papa," she whispered, "and it's a miracle I'm notbroken up into more pieces than I am. I deserve to be. I'm as full ofpenitence as I am of pain. But don't you be troubled about me. Mrs.Dunlop is as good and kind as it is possible to be. I am sure they arevery nice people."
Very nice people perhaps, but very little to the Commodore's taste. Ashe turned to greet the man, upon whose hospitality his daughter hadbeen so literally and unexpectedly thrown, he was scarcely his frank,genial, outspoken self. There was a secret root of prejudice againstthis unpretending farmer, whose son's political views were as far fromhis own as the east is from the west, and whose social position wasdecidedly inferior. Not that the kindly Commodore was gifted with thatmicroscopic eye which is too easily impressed by the infinitesimalgradations of society, but he retained too much of the Old Worldfeeling for class distinctions to make him oblivious to the differencein their rank.
"Good heavens! Edward," he exclaimed, in a conversation with his son afew days after the accident, "what uncommonly low ground our littleRose has been suddenly transplanted to. That old farmer looks as stiffand straight as one of his own furrows, and his son, what's-his-name?is of the same mould."
"It's remarkably rich mould, Father. Not such low ground as one mightthink."
"Rich! What, in dollars and cents?"
"No; better than that. In knowledge and sense. Allan Dunlop is a verybright fellow."
"Oh! I _thought_ the paternal acres could scarcely afford a sufficientyield of potatoes and parsnips to furnish material wealth. As for thesense you speak of, I hope your friend possesses enough to keep himfrom making love to your sister."
"He is far too proud to make love to one whom he considers his socialsuperior, though she might do worse than permit it."
"Oh, dear yes; she might have been thrown into a settlement ofsavages, and wedded to the first wild Indian that ran to pick her up."
Edward's cheek reddened perceptibly.
"Or she might marry a snob," he said.
"Come, Edward," returned the Commodore, with a breezy laugh, "you mustnot insinuate that your old father is such a disagreeable sort ofperson. But, seriously, you don't consider Allan Dunlop your equal, doyou?"
"No," said Edward, "I don't think him my equal."
"That's the sensible way to look at it. Not but that he is as good andnecessary in his way as the earth he tills and the vegetables hesells."
"Oh, it is the father--who, by the way, is an old soldier--that tillsand sells. The son, as you know, is a young rising politician--aradical."
"I am only too well aware of that, but why couldn't he stick to theplough? Its the unluckiest business imaginable, Edward, that we shouldhave played into their hands in this way. They are the last sort ofpeople to whom one cares to be under a personal obligation."
Edward had no balm to apply to his father's irritation. "When I saythat I don't consider Allan my equal," he explained, "I mean that Ifancy him my superior."
His father laughed aloud. "You seem to have a good many fancies," hesaid, tolerantly, and continued to smoke in meditative silence.
And still among the people of whom her father and brother held suchentirely opposite opinions lay the helpless Rose, victim of a slowfever, which left her, as Helene pityingly said, weak as a roseleaf.But Helene seldom saw her now. Edward and his father were also all butbanished from her bedside. "Really," said Dr. Ardagh to the Commodore,"I must insist upon absolute quiet as the first requisite for mypatient's recovery. Those daily visits are exciting and harmful. Mrs.Dunlop has a perfect genius for sick-nursing, and you can safely leaveyour daughter to her. She is really a remarkable woman!"
The Commodore made a wry face. "Not long ago Edward would have mebelieve that the Dunlops, father and son, were endowed with uncommonmental power. Now it appears that the mother is similarly gifted. Mypoor child hasn't brains enough to keep her from riding an unsafecolt, but it is to be hoped she knows enough to appreciate theadvantages of her situation."
The doctor raised his eyebrows at this peculiar pleasantry, butmanaged to harrow his listener's heart by intimating that it would bea confoundedly strange thing if young Dunlop did not appreciate _his_advantages.