End of Volume One
PART II
Brothers
“There are none so dependent on the kindness of others as those that are exuberantly kind themselves.”
Chapter One.
Life and Death
“As we descended, following hope,
There sat the shadow feared of man.”
Perhaps it was well for the permanence of Cheriton’s new-born happiness that he had but a very short glimpse of Ruth. The next morning, the Oakby party started early, that Mr Lester might arrive in time to attend a magistrate’s meeting at Hazelby, while Ruth remained for the later train that was to take her on her separate visit. She would not give him a chance of seeing her alone, and one look, one clasp of the hand, and – “Remember your promise” was all the satisfaction he obtained from her. Yet he could hardly collect his thoughts to answer his father’s many questions on their journey home, and trying to shout through the noise of the train made him cough so much that his grandmother scolded him for catching such a bad cold.
“Young men are so foolish,” she said, but she did not look at all uneasy. Her grandchildren’s illnesses were never serious; and all the Lesters thought any amount of discomfort preferable to “having a fuss made.” Cherry hardly knew himself how ill he was feeling, as they reached home and the day went on; but he was so weary with bad nights and fatigue that it was a perpetual effort to remember that all his suspense of every sort was over, that the examination was passed, and that Ruth was his. He lay on the sofa trying to rest; but the cough disturbed him, and by dinner-time he was obliged to own himself beaten and to go to bed, saying that a night’s rest would quite set him up again.
“Boys have no moderation,” said Mr Lester, in a tone of annoyance. “It is well it is all over now. Cheriton might have taken quite as good a place without overworking himself in this way.”
Alvar, not understanding that peculiarly English form of anxiety that shows itself in shortness of temper, thought this remark very unfeeling. Mrs Lester suggested some simple remedy for the cough; Cherry promised to try it, and was left to his “night’s rest.”
He woke in the early morning from a short, feverish sleep, to such pain and breathlessness and such a sense of serious illness as he had never experienced in his life, and, thoroughly frightened and bewildered, was trying to think how he could call any one, when his door was softly opened, and Alvar came in.
“I heard you cough so much,” he said. “You cannot sleep. I am afraid you are ill.”
“Very ill,” said Cherry. “You must send some one for the doctor.”
He was but just able to tell Alvar where to find the young groom who could ride into Hazelby to fetch him; and soon there was terrible alarm through all the prosperous household, as, roused one after another, they came to see what was amiss. Nettie fled, with her hands up to her ears, right out into the dewy garden, away from the house, afraid to hear what the doctor said of Cherry. Mr Lester gave vent to one outburst of rage with examiners, examination, and Oxford generally, then braced himself to wait in silence for tidings; as he had waited once before when his wife lay in mortal danger – would the verdict be the same now? Mrs Lester preserved her self-possession, sent for the keeper’s wife, who was the best nurse at hand, and though sadly at a loss what remedies to suggest, sat down to watch her grandson, because it was her place to do so.
They were all too thankful for any help in the crisis to wonder that it was Alvar who held Cherry in an easier position, and soothed him with quiet tenderness.
When the doctor at length arrived, he pronounced that Cheriton was suffering from a violent attack of inflammation of the lungs. He was very ill; but his youth and previous good health were in his favour. Overwork and the neglected cold would doubtless account for it.
“Will it be over – in a fortnight?” said Cherry, suddenly.
“We’ll hope so – we’ll hope so,” said the doctor. “You have only to do as you are told, you know. Now, have you a good nurse?” turning to Mrs Lester.
“Yes, we think Mrs Thornton very trustworthy – she was nursery-maid here before she married.”
“There must be as few people about him as possible. No talking and no excitement.”
“But – Alvar will stay?” said Cherry, wistfully. “Father, he came in the night – I want him.”
“Hush, hush, my boy – yes, of course he will stay with you if you like,” said Mr Lester, hastily.
“Of course,” said Alvar, with a curious accent, half-proud, half-tender, as he laid his hand on Cheriton’s.
The foreign brother was the last person whom Mr Adamson expected to see in such a capacity; but if he was inefficient, both he and his patient would probably soon discover it; he looked the most self-possessed of the party, and his manner soothed Cheriton. Mrs Thornton had plenty of practical experience to supply his inevitable ignorance. Cheriton was exceedingly ill; his strength did not hold out against the remedies as well as had been hoped, and he suffered so much as to be hardly ever clearly conscious.
“I was so happy!” he said several times with a sort of wonder, and his father felt that the words gave him another pang.
Mr Lester was threatened with the most terrible sorrow that could befall him, and no mitigation of the agony was possible to him. He thought that his best-loved son would die, and made up his mind to the worst, feeling hope impossible; but he made a conscientious effort at endurance, an effort sadly unsuccessful.
“Eh! my son,” said his old mother, “he is a good lad, take that comfort.”
And this reserved hint at the one real consolation was almost the only attempt at comforting each other that any of them made. No one tried to “make the best of it,” to look at the hopeful side, or to find in any mutual tenderness a little lightening of the burden. They held apart from each other with a curious shyness, and as far as possible pursued their several businesses. Nettie went to her lessons, and refused to hear a word of sympathy from her friends, and when at last she could endure the agony no longer, ran away by herself into the woods and hid herself all day. Why should they kiss her and give her flowers – it did not cure Cherry, or make it less dreadful that another doctor was coming from Edinburgh, because Mr Adamson thought him so ill. But she did not want to see him, and had no instinct whatever to do anything for him. Speech was no relief to any of them; it was easier to conceal than to indulge their feelings; and Mr Lester went about silent and stern; Nettie attempted to comfort no one but the dogs; and her grandmother found no relief but in talking of Cherry’s “folly in overworking himself” to Virginia, who came hurriedly at the first report that reached Elderthwaite. She was a rare visitor; it was characteristic of her relations with Alvar that a sort of shyness kept her away. She forgot to be shy, however, when Alvar came to speak to her for a moment, and sprang towards him.
“Oh! dear Alvar, this is terrible. I am so sorry for you. But you think he will be better.”
“Yes, surely,” said Alvar, as if no other view had occurred to him. “Mi dona, this is wrong that I should let you seek me; but I cannot leave him – he suffers so much – that cough is frightful.”
“But he likes to have you with him?”
“Yes, I can lift him best, and I do not ask him how he is when he cannot speak,” said Alvar, with the simplicity that was so like sarcasm. “Ah! it is not right to let you go back alone, mi Reyna– but I dare not stay.”
“That does not matter; only take care of yourself,” said Virginia, as Alvar kissed her hand and opened the door for her, and promised to let her have news every day.
But she went away tearful for more than Cheriton’s danger. Alvar had never told her that it comforted him to see her; he did not care whether she came or not.
“Eh! my lass, what news have you?” said an anxious voice, and looking up, Virginia saw her uncle, looking unusually clerical for a week day, hanging about the path in front of her.
“Alvar thinks he will be better, he is very ill now,” said Virginia; “they have sent for another doctor.”
“Ah! that’s bad! There’s never been such another in all the country. Queenie, did I ever tell you how he kept up our credit with the bishop?”
And Parson Seyton, whose nature was very different from his neighbour’s, spent a long hour in telling tales of Cherry’s boyhood to his willing listener. “Eh!” he concluded, “and I meant to fetch him over to hear our fine singing, and see how spick and span we are now-a-days – new surplice and all! Eh! he wrote me a sermon once – when he was a little lad not twelve years old – and I’ll swear it might have been preached with the best.”
Although Virginia had said nothing and done little to mend matters at Elderthwaite, there had been a certain revival of the elements of respectability. A drunken old farmer had been succeeded by his son, who had been brought up and had married elsewhere. This young couple came to church, and Virginia had by chance made acquaintance with the bride. Her husband got himself made churchwarden – Elderthwaite was not enlightened enough for parochial contests, and Virginia having shyly intimated that want of means need not stand in the way, the windows were mended, and some yards of cocoa-nut matting appeared in the aisle. There had always been a little forlorn singing; young Mr and Mrs Clement were musical, and the Sunday children were collected in the week and taught to sing. The parson had been presented with the surplice, and as by this time he would have done most things to please his pretty niece, accepted it with some pride. Whether from the effect of these splendours, or from consideration for the fair attentive face that he never failed to see before him, the parson himself began to conduct the service with a slight regard to decency and order; and being with his Seyton sense of humour fully conscious of the improvement, and, with the simplicity that was like a grain of salt in his character, rather proud of it, had looked forward to Cherry’s approbation.
“Eh!” he said, “I’d like to see him – I’d like to see him.”
“He mustn’t see any one,” said Virginia; “they will hardly let his father go in.”
“Well, it’s a pity it’s not the Frenchman. Eh! bless my soul, my darling, I forgot.”
“Alvar is almost ready to think so too, uncle,” said Virginia, hardly able to help laughing.
“If I could do anything that he would like – catch him some trout – ” suggested the parson.
“Uncle,” said Virginia timidly, “in church, when any one is sick or in trouble, they pray for them. They will mention Cherry’s name at Oakby to-morrow. Could not we – ”
“Ay, my lass, it would show a very proper respect,” said the parson; “and the lad would like it too.”
And of all the many hearty prayers that were sent up on that Sunday for Cheriton Lester’s recovery, none were more sincere than rough Parson Seyton’s.
The Edinburgh doctor could only tell them what they knew before, that though there was very great danger, the case was not hopeless. A few days must decide it. In the meantime he must not talk – he must not see any one who would cause the slightest agitation; and poor Mr Lester, whose self-control had suddenly broken down before the interview, was about to be peremptorily banished; but Cherry put out his hand and caught his father’s, looking up in his face.
“Send for the boys,” he said.
“Yes, but you know you mustn’t see them, my boy – my dear boy.”
“But Cherry will like to know they are here,” said Alvar, in the steady voice that always seemed like a support.
“They shall come. What else – what is it, Cherry?” said Mr Lester, as his son still gazed at him wistfully.
“Nothing – not yet,” whispered Cheriton. “Oh! I want to say so much, father! I am so glad Alvar came home!”
The words and the sort of smile with which they were spoken completely overpowered Mr Lester; but the doctor, who was still present, would not permit another word.
“You destroy his only chance,” he said; and after that nothing would have induced Mr Lester to let Cheriton speak to him. That evening, however, when he was alone with Alvar, Cherry’s confused thoughts cleared themselves a little. He had been told to be hopeful, and he did not feel himself to be dying! while with his whole heart he wished for life – the young bright life that was so full of love and joy, of which no outward trouble, no wearing anxiety, and no cold and selfish discontent had rendered him weary. Home and friends, the long lines of moorland that were shining in the sunset light, the hard work in the world behind and before him, the answering love of the woman whom he had chosen, were all beautiful and good to him; he felt no need of rest, no lack of joy.
He prayed for his life, not because he was afraid to die, but because he wished to live; and when, with a sort of awful, solemn curiosity, he tried to realise that death might be his portion, his thoughts, not quite under his own control, turned forcibly to those near to him. If he was to die, there were things he must say to his father, to Jack, to Alvar, a hundred messages to his friends in the village – they would let him see Mr Ellesmere then – when it did not matter how much he hurt himself by speaking; but one thing could not wait —
“Alvar, I must say something.”
“Yes, I can hear,” said Alvar, seeing the necessity, and leaning towards him.
“When there is no chance, you will tell me?”
“Yes.”
“But I must tell you about – her – a secret.”
“I will keep it. Some one you love?”
“It is Ruth; we are engaged. Does she know – this?”
Alvar’s surprise was intense; but he answered quietly, —
“I suppose that Virginia will have told her.”
“Let her know; it would be worse later. Write to her – you – when it is hopeless.”
“Yes,” said Alvar.
“My love – my one love! And say she must come and see me once more. She will —I would go anywhere.”
“Hush, hush! my brother; I understand you. I am to find out if Virginia has written to her cousin; and if you are worse, I write and ask her if she will come. I will do it.”
“Thanks. I can’t thank you. God knows how I love her.”
“Not one more word,” said Alvar, steadily. “Now you must rest.”
“I shall get better,” said Cherry.
But as the pain grew fiercer, and his strength grew less, this security failed; and then it was well indeed for Cheriton that, be his desires what they might, he believed with all his warm heart that it was a loving Hand that had given him life both here and hereafter.
Time passed on, and Cheriton still lay in great danger and suffering. It was a sorrowful Sunday in Oakby when his name headed the list of sick persons who were prayed for in church. Every one could tell of some boyish prank, some merry saying, some act of kindness that he had done; and now that he was believed to be dying, be the facts what they might, there was a sort of sense that he had been deprived of his rights by his foreign brother.
“It had a deal better a’ been yon black-bearded chap. What’s he to us?” many a one muttered.
Alas! that the thought would intrude itself into the father’s mind, spite of the gratitude he could not but feel!
But Alvar went on with his anxious watching, heeding no one but his brother. That Sunday was a day of great suffering and suspense, and all through the afternoon came lads from the outlying farms, children from the village, messengers from half the neighbourhood to hear the last report. Silence and quiet were still so forcibly insisted on, that even Mr Lester was advised by the doctor to keep out of his son’s room; but Mr Ellesmere came up to the house at his request and waited, for all thought that the useless prohibition would soon be taken away; and in the meantime his presence was a support to the father and grandmother, the latter of whom, at least, could bear to hear Cheriton praised.
Towards evening, Alvar, who had scarcely stirred all day, was sent downstairs by Mr Adamson to get some food, and as he came into the dining-room, where the customary Sunday tea was laid on the table, he was greeted with a start of alarm. The two poor boys, tired, hungry, and frightened, had arrived but a few minutes before, and were standing about silent and awestruck.
Jack leant on the mantelpiece, with his lips shut as if they would never unclose again; Bob was staring out of the window; Nettie sat forlorn on one of a long row of chairs. Not one of them made an attempt to comfort or to speak to the others; they were almost as inaccessible in the sullen intensity of their grief as the two dogs, who, poor things! shared it, as they sat staring at Nettie, as dogs will when they do not comprehend the situation.
Alvar, with his olive face and grave dark eyes, looked, after all his fatigue, less changed than Jack, who was deadly pale, and hardly able to control his trembling.
“Ah! Jack,” said Alvar, in his soft, slow tones, “he will be glad to hear that you are come!”
Jack did not speak at first, and Alvar, as silent as the rest, went up to the table and poured out some claret and took some bread.
“It’s quite hopeless, I suppose?” said Jack, suddenly.
“No, do not say so!” said Alvar, half fiercely. “It is not so; but, oh, we fear it!” he added, in a voice of inexpressible melancholy.
Jack could not utter another word – he was half choking; but Nettie, unable to restrain herself any longer, began to cry piteously.
“Don’t Nettie,” said Bob, savagely.
“Ah!” said Alvar, “poor child, she is breaking her heart!” he went over to her, and took her in his arms and kissed her. “Poor little sister!” he said. “Ah! how we love him!”
The simple expression of the thought that was aching in the minds of all of them seemed to give a sort of relief. Nettie submitted to be caressed and soothed, and the boys came a little closer, and gave themselves the comfort of looking as wretched as they felt.
“Now I must eat some supper, for I dare not stay,” said Alvar; “and you – you have been travelling – come and take some.”
The poor boys began to find out how hungry they were, and Bob began to eat heartily; while the force of example made Jack take a few mouthfuls, till the vicar came into the room.
“Jack,” he said quietly, “Cherry is so very anxious to see you that Mr Adamson gives leave for you to go for one moment. Not the twins – they must wait a little. Can you stand it?”
“Yes, sir,” said Jack, though, great strong fellow as he was, his knees trembled.
“Then, Alvar, are you ready? Have you really eaten and rested? You had better take him in.”
Jack stood for a moment beside the bed, without attempting a word, hardly able to see that Cherry smiled at him, till he felt the hot fingers clasp his with more strength than he had looked for, and his hand was put into Alvar’s, while Cheriton held them both, and whispered, “Jack, you will– ”
“Yes, Cherry, I will,” said Jack, understanding him. “I will, always.”
“There, that must be enough,” said Alvar. “Jack is very good – he shall come again.”
“Oh! don’t send me quite away,” whispered Jack, as they moved a little. “Let me stay outside. I could go errands – I’ll not stir.”
Alvar nodded, and Jack went out into the deserted gallery, where, of course, he and Bob were not to sleep at present. The old sitting-room was full of things required by the nurses, and Jack sat down on a little window-seat in the passage, which looked out towards the stables. He saw Bob and Nettie arm-in-arm, trying to distract their minds by visiting their pets, and his grandmother, too, coming slowly and heavily to look at her poultry. He had not seen his father, and dreaded the thought of the meeting. Idly he watched the ordinary movement of the servants, the inquirers coming and going, and he thought of the brother, best-loved of all and most loving – oh! if he could but hear Cherry laugh at him again!
Upstairs all was silent, save for poor Cheriton’s painful cough and difficult breathing; and presently it seemed to Jack that the cough was less frequent, till, after an interval of stillness, the doctor came out. Jack’s heart stood still. Was this the fatal summons?
“Your brother is asleep,” said Mr Adamson. “I feel more hopeful. I am obliged to go, but I shall be here early. Every one who is not wanted had better go to bed.”
He went downstairs as he spoke, but Jack remained where he was, thinking he might be at least useful in taking messages or calling people. He had never sat up all night before, and, anxious as he was, the hours were woefully long.
Once or twice his grandmother came to the head of the stairs, and Jack signalled that all was quiet. At last, over the stable clock, the dawn came creeping up; there was the solitary note of a bird, then a great twitter and the cawing of the rooks.
Jack put his head out of the window, and felt the fresh, sharp air blowing in his face. A cock crowed – would it wake Cherry? Some one touched him on the shoulder; he drew his head in, and Alvar stood by his side.
“He is much better,” he said. “He has been so long asleep, and now the pain is less, and he can breathe – he is much better.”
Jack was afraid to speak, but he gave Alvar’s hand a great squeeze.
“Now, will you go and tell my father this? Ah, how he will rejoice! But do not let him come.”
Jack sped downstairs and to his father’s door, which opened at the sound of a footstep.
“Papa, he is better. Alvar says he will get well.”
Half a dozen hasty questions and answers, then Mr Lester put Jack away from him and shut his door.
They could hardly believe that the relief was more than a respite, but the gleam of hope brightened as the day advanced. Cherry slept again, and woke, able to speak and say that he was better.
“And I must tell you, sir,” said Mr Adamson, afterwards, “that it is in a great measure owing to your son’s good nursing.”
Mr Lester turned round to Alvar, who was beside him.
“I owe you a debt nothing can repay. I can never thank you for my boy’s life,” he said, warmly.
“Ah, do you thank me? You insult me!” cried Alvar, suddenly and fiercely. “Is he more to you than to me – my one friend – my brother —Cherito mio!” And, completely overcome, Alvar clasped his hands over his face and dashed out of the room.
Jack followed; but his admiration of Alvar’s self-control was somewhat shaken by the sort of fury of indignation and emotion that seemed to stifle him, as he poured out a torrent of words, half Spanish, half English, walking about the room and shedding tears of excitement.
“I say,” said Jack, “they won’t let you go in to Cherry next, and then what will he do?”
Alvar subsided after a few moments, and said, simply and rather sadly, —
“It is that my father does not understand me. But no matter – Cherry is better – all is right now.”