Neil Elthorne’s absence from the hospital was rapidly extending to a term of months, broken only by a weekly visit, during the last of which Sir Denton, after hearing the report upon Ralph Elthorne’s health, had said quietly:

“Never mind if you have to be away from here another month, my dear boy. You are not right yet yourself. You look careworn and anxious. I am managing very well, and I want you to be quite strong before you return. By the way, I have not filled up that post yet. I have had three men engaged one after the other, but they have all turned tail – backed out of it. You will not alter your mind? Fine opportunity for a brave man, Elthorne.”

“No, I cannot leave England,” replied Neil firmly. “There are reasons why I must stay.”

“A lady, of course,” said Sir Denton to himself. “I did once think – but never mind. He knows his own affairs best.”

Neil was back at Hightoft after his last visit to town. His father was very slowly mending, and the nurse, as he could see, was indefatigable, her actions in the sick room disarming to some extent the young surgeon’s resentment as he brooded over the fact that Alison was constantly watching, and obtained interviews with her, he felt convinced, from time to time.

He used to muse over these matters in the library, where he had surrounded himself with various works into which he plunged deeply, trying hard to forget his troubles in hard study of his profession, but too often in vain, for he was haunted by Nurse Elisia’s calm, grave face in all his waking hours.

“She has a right to prefer him,” he would say, “and I have none to complain; but it is hard, very hard.”

He visited the sick room regularly four times a day, and his behaviour there was that of a surgeon who was a stranger. The nurse was always present, and she received his orders in the same spirit, a coldness having sprung up between them that was very nearly resentment on his part, but always on hers the respect of nurse to the doctor who had the patient in charge.

Several little things had made Neil satisfied that there was a quiet understanding between his brother and Elisia, trifles in themselves, the most important being Alison’s manner when they met at meals. For there was always a quiet, self-satisfied look in the young man’s eyes which indicated triumph, a look that roused a feeling of rage in his breast that he found it hard to control.

Neil felt that if they were together a quarrel must ensue, an encounter the very thought of which made him shudder, and after visiting his father he would hurry back to the library, and try to forget everything in his books.

It was with affairs in this condition that the day on which Sir Cheltnam was to dine there came. Neil had paid his customary morning visit, and paused at the door as he entered quietly, feeling almost lighthearted as he saw the look of returning vigour in his father’s face.

The old man was talking eagerly to the nurse, whose back was toward Neil, and there was a glow of satisfaction in the young surgeon’s heart as he owned to himself that it was almost entirely Elisia’s work, her devotion to his father, which had wrought this change.

The group, too, at which he gazed pleased his eye: the invalid looking up, full of trust, in his graceful attendant’s face; and the crushed-down love in Neil’s breast began to revive again, as he thought that if he could win her his father would be ready to take her as a daughter to his heart.

Then all came over black. The scene before him was clouded, and a sense of despairing misery filled his breast.

They were talking about Alison, for his father mentioned the young man’s name, and Elisia was evidently listening with attention to his words.

Neil drew back quickly to hide his emotion, for he felt that he could not face them then; but the door clicked as he closed it, and before he was at the head of the stairs it was reopened by Nurse Elisia, who said quickly:

“You need not go back, sir. Mr Elthorne is quite ready to see you.”

He turned once more, and as he gazed sharply in the nurse’s face, he detected a faint flush in her generally pale cheeks and a suffused look in her eyes which strengthened him now in his belief.

“Even my father is working against me,” he thought to himself, as he passed on and took the chair by the side of the couch.

“Yes, boy, my yes,” said his patient with some display of animation, “I certainly am better this morning. Helpless as ever, of course – I am getting resigned to that. I feel more myself, and I shall soon be asking for my invalid chair or a carriage ride.”

“Have them as soon as you can bear them, sir,” said Neil, laying his father’s hand back upon the couch. “Yes, you are decidedly stronger this morning, and I think you can now begin to do without me.”

“Without you, my boy? Yes, I think so, but not without nurse. I am very weak yet, my boy.”

“But that will soon pass off,” said Neil coldly. “You must keep your attendant, of course.”

“Yes. Yes, of course, Neil, of course.”

“Then to-morrow or next day I shall go back, and come again, say from Saturday to Monday, and then give you a fortnight’s rest, so as to break off by degrees.”

“You want to go back, then, Neil?”

“Yes, sir. The hospital has hardly known me lately. I ought to go now.”

“True; yes, I ought not to keep you longer, my boy,” said his father thoughtfully. “But you ’ve done a wonderful deal for me, Neil.”

“The best I could, father; and, thank God, we have saved your life.”

“Thank God, my life has been spared!” said the old man fervently; and he closed his eyes.

Neil left them soon after to return to the library, but not to resume his studies. His heart burned with anger against everyone in the place, and he paced the room thinking bitterly.

“Yes,” he said to himself, “my work is done, and I may go. He said nothing, but his manner betrayed the whole wretched story. They have prevailed upon him. Dana is away and forgotten. Yes; of course. Alison was with him two hours yesterday. There: the dream is past, and I am fully awake again.”

He stood with his teeth set, and his hands clenched for a few moments, and the muscles of his face worked painfully. Then, drawing a long, deep breath, he suddenly seemed to grow calm.

“Well, why should I repine? Only one can win the race. I ought to say, ‘Heaven bless them!’ She has won her way to my father’s heart, and yes, Heaven bless her! I will try and take her hand by and by, and kiss her, and say, ‘Dearest sister, may you be very happy with the man of your choice!’ Yes; we must be brothers once again. But I must go soon. I am too weak to bear it now.”

There was a tap at the door.

“Yes. Come in.”

The door opened, and Aunt Anne entered cautiously.

“Ah!” she cried, “not reading. I was so afraid of disturbing you, my dear. You have grown such a learned man I’m quite afraid of you.”

“Nonsense, Aunt dear. A surgeon must keep himself au courant with what is going on in his profession abroad.”

“Of course he must, my dear, but he must not starve himself to death.”

“No fear, Aunt,” said Neil pleasantly. “I have no intention of trying any such experiment.”

“Oh, but you are always trying to live without food, my dear, and you look pale, and your hair is beginning to show grey. Why, you look fifteen years older than Alison, and you are only four.”

Neil winced.

“He looks brown, and hearty, and handsome, while you – ”

“Look like an old professional man, Aunt,” he said, laughing, but with a touch of bitterness in his tone. “So much the better for me. The world goes by appearances. It does not like boyish looking surgeons.”

“Ah! it’s a very foolish world, my dear. But now, look here. I am going to have a little extra dinner to-day because Sir Cheltnam is coming, and I want you to promise to come and take your father’s place.”

“Ask Alison.”

“No, my dear; you are the elder, and I ask you. Time after time I’ve had nice things got ready, and you have refused to dine with us. Now promise me you will come this evening.”

“Oh, very well, Aunt, if it will please you.”

“Thank you, my dear; that’s very good of you. It will please me very much.”

“That’s right, then. And, by the way, Aunt, I shall be going back in a few days.”

“Going back, my dear?”

“Yes; my father can be left now.”

“Then the nurse will go with you?” she said, with a look of suspicion in her eyes.

“No, Aunt,” he said coldly. “Nurse Elisia will stay here as long as my father desires to have her at his side.”

“Oh, very well,” said Aunt Anne, rustling her dress; “it is just as your father likes. You are a terribly headstrong race, you Elthornes.”

“Including yourself, Aunt?”

“Oh, no, my dear. I take after my mother’s family. But it is nothing to me. I am not going to interfere. All I say is that I hope everything is for the best.”

“And I hope the same, Aunt,” said Neil cheerfully. “It’s all self-denial through life, eh?”

“Always, my dear. Then you will dress to-night, and come?”

“Oh, yes, Aunt; I’ll come.”

“Then we shall have a decent dinner,” thought Aunt Anne, as she went back to the drawing room. “I’m sorry that woman is not going, but I’m glad she is not going up with Neil. Now suppose, after all, he is giving her up! Oh, if I could only get poor Alison to be as sensible, instead of growing more infatuated by that creature every day!”

Neil settled down to his books at once, seeking in study for the cure of his mental pains, but he had hardly begun to forget the events of the morning in an abstruse theory of muscular disease, when there was another tap on the panel, and in obedience to the cry, “Come in!” Isabel hurriedly entered and closed the door.

“Ah, my dear!” he said; and she looked at him wonderingly, his tone and manner were so different to their wont. This gave her encouragement, and begat her confidence, so that she ran to him, sank on her knees by his chair, and took his hands.

“Why, what’s this?” he cried. “Anything the matter?”

“Yes, Neil, dear,” she said. “I’m in trouble, and I want you to help me.”

“Trouble? Help? Well, what is it, baby?”

“Don’t laugh at me, Neil,” she whispered in a broken voice. “Sir Cheltnam Burwood is coming to dinner.”

“Yes. Aunt has just been to tell me. What of that?”

“What of that?” she cried piteously. “Oh, Neil, dear, you don’t see all this as I do. It is so that he may see and talk to me. It is Aunt’s doing, and she says it is only carrying out poor papa’s wishes.”

“Ah, yes,” he said thoughtfully. “I had almost forgotten that.”

“Forgotten it?” she cried reproachfully. “Oh, Neil!”

“I’m a selfish fellow, little one,” he said, bending down to kiss her, when her arms were flung round his neck, and she buried her face in his breast and burst into tears.

“Come, come, come!” he whispered soothingly; “what is it, Bel darling? There, wipe your eyes and tell me all about it, and let’s see if something cannot be done.”

“Yes, Neil, dear. It’s very weak and foolish of me, but Sir Cheltnam’s coming, and he quite persecutes me with his addresses, and if I am angry he only laughs. He talks to me as if I quite belonged to him now.”

“Does he? Well, we must stop that, Bel. You are not his wife yet.”

“No, dear; and I’ve no one to come to but you and Nurse Elisia. She is so kind, but what can she do?” Neil frowned.

“Ah, yes,” he said huskily, “what can she do?”

“I believe I should have broken my heart if she had not been so loving and kind to me.”

“Loving and kind?”

“Yes; I used to hate her, Neil, but she is so good and dear.”

Neil half turned away his head.

“Neil, darling, you can help me to-night. When papa is quite strong enough I am going to beg and pray of him to let me stay at home and be his nurse and attendant. I love Tom, but I won’t ask to marry him if papa says no. But I can’t marry anyone else. I don’t want to, and it would kill me to have to say ‘I will’ to that dreadful man.”

“Poor little darling!” he said tenderly. “Then you shall not. Father must listen to reason by and by. I can think about you now, and I will.”

“Oh, Neil, you have made me so happy,” she cried ecstatically. Then, changing her manner directly, “But he’s coming to-night.”

“Well, what of that? You must be cool to him.”

“But he does not mind that, and Aunt is sure to arrange to leave us alone. I know she has planned it all with him.”

“Ah!”

“Yes, I am sure of it; and if you would watch for me, and as soon as Aunt has left us alone come and put a stop to it by staying with me, I should be so grateful.”

“What a duty for a surgeon, Bel!”

“It is to heal a sore heart, Neil,” she said, smiling through her tears.

“Is it, pet? Well, then, I will try what I can do. Some people ought to be made happy in this weary world.”

“But it isn’t a weary world, Neil,” she cried enthusiastically. “It’s a lovely world, and I could be so happy in it, if – ”

“Yes, Bel,” he said sadly; “and I could be so happy in it too, if – ”

“People did not make it a miserable world,” cried Isabel.

They were silent for a few minutes, and then the girl continued:

“You will help me, Neil?”

“By not letting you be alone with our gallant, foxhunting baronet?”

“Yes, dear.”

“I promise you,” said Neil half sadly, half playfully. “I will watch over you while I stay down here like a lynx.”

“Oh, my darling brother! But you are not going soon, Neil?” she cried, as she kissed him.

“Yes, very soon, dear. I must get back to my poor people and work. But I will work, too, to try and make my little sister happy.”

“Thank you – thank you – thank you, dear Neil!” cried the girl. “You’ve made the world seem so bright and happy again; and – and I’m not afraid to meet Sir Cheltnam now – and – and – oh, Neil, Neil, I must go upstairs and have a good cry!”

She ran out of the room before he could stop her. “Poor little sis!” he said, as he looked at the door through which she had passed. “Well, I can make someone happy if happiness is not to come to me.” He looked sadly about him for a few moments, and then half aloud he whispered, as he formed a mental future:

“And I could be so happy, too – if – ”

Chapter Twenty Six.
Neil Breaks his Promise

“Just going down to dinner?” said Ralph Elthorne, as his son came into his room the same evening. “That’s right, Neil. It looks like old times. It does me good. Wait a bit, and I’ll join you – as of old. Not quite,” he added, and his lip quivered – “not quite, my boy. But I can be carried down, and I shall not be an invalid.”

“No, sir,” said Neil, “no invalid, and you will soon forget your lameness.”

“Yes, yes, Neil, I shall try hard to do that. There, I will not keep you. I’m getting independent, you see. Ask nurse to come and sit with me as you go out.”

There was no need, for as Neil rose to go down, the nurse entered, book in hand, but drew back till the young surgeon had left the room to go thoughtfully downstairs, for he was forcing himself to think out what it would be best to do respecting his sister. He shrank from disturbing his father’s mind, now that he was so much better and free from disturbing elements. A subject like that might bring on a fresh attack, or at least retard his progress, and by the time Neil had reached the drawing room he had planned that he would speak firmly to Burwood; but he paused at the door, for he foresaw that such a proceeding would very likely drive the baronet to speak to his father, when the agitation would only be coming from another source.

“Bel must fight her own battle,” he said to himself. “A woman ought to be able to cool a lover’s courage. There the matter must wait. Like many more of the kind, give it time and it will settle itself.”

He entered the room, to find the objects of his thoughts all there and waiting his coming. Aunt Anne was radiant, and Burwood, who was chatting with Alison upon the everlasting theme of the horse, came and shook hands in the warmest manner.

“I can’t quarrel with him,” thought Neil. “It must be done by diplomacy or scheming.”

The dinner was announced directly after, and as Neil took in his sister, she pressed his arm.

“Please, please, dear, don’t let me be out of your sight all the evening,” she whispered.

“Impossible to do that, little one,” he said quietly. “You ladies will leave the room, you see. Suppose I keep Burwood in sight all the evening, will not that do as well?”

“Oh, yes,” she whispered eagerly. “Of course.” The dinner passed off wonderfully well, everyone seeming to be on the qui vive to keep off anything likely to trench upon the past and the troubles in the house. Aunt Anne did scarcely anything but beam; Sir Cheltnam related anecdotes; and Alison entered into conversation with his brother.

In due time the ladies rose, and the three men were left together over their wine, when the conversation went on as easily as if there had been no undercurrent of thought in either breast.

“It will be easy enough to keep them apart,” thought Neil, as he sipped his coffee. “When we go into the drawing room Bel shall sing some of the old ballads.”

A calm feeling of restfulness had come over Neil Elthorne, and it was as if his efforts at self-mastery were already bearing fruit, when after a quick glance had passed between Burwood and Alison, the latter rose, went to the window, and looked out, taking the opportunity to glance at his watch.

“Very dark,” he said. “Nasty drive back for you, Burwood. Want your lamps.”

“Oh, the mare would find her way home if it were ten times as dark,” said Burwood laughingly. “I think I could get safely back without reins. She always turns aside if we meet anything.”

“Nothing like a good, well-broken horse,” said Alison, looking furtively at his watch. “What do you say to joining them in the drawing room?”

“By all means,” cried Burwood, rising.

At that moment the butler entered, and went straight to Neil’s chair.

“Beg pardon, sir,” he whispered. “You are wanted in master’s room.”

Neil started to his feet, and turned to their guest. “You’ll excuse me for a few minutes?” he said hurriedly.

“Doctors need no excuse,” replied the baronet, and Neil hurried out and upstairs to his father’s room, expecting and dreading some fresh seizure, but, to his surprise, he found his senior lying back calmly on his couch, ready to salute him with a smile.

“I was afraid you were unwell,” cried Neil.

“No, my boy, no; I’ve been lying very comfortably. In less pain than usual.”

“But you are alone.”

“Yes. Nurse has just gone. You might have met her on the stairs. A message came for her – from Isabel, I suppose. I don’t mind. I told her not to hurry; I want to inure myself to being more alone.”

“And you wanted me, sir?”

“Yes, my boy,” said Elthorne. “Not particularly; but I knew that you had been seated over your wine for some time, and I thought you would not mind coming up to me for a little while. I get very dull sometimes, my dear boy. You do not mind?”

“No, sir, of course not.”

“Well, don’t look at me like that, Neil. It is the doctor examining me to see how I am. I want you to look like my son.”

Neil smiled.

“Ah, that’s better. Sit down close up here for a while. Burwood and Alison will have a cigar together, and not miss you.”

“Oh, no,” said Neil rather bitterly. “They do not care much for my society.”

“Why not?” cried his father sharply. “You are an able, cultured man – a clever surgeon.”

“But not a veterinary surgeon, father,” said Neil, smiling.

Ralph Elthorne nodded and smiled.

“No,” he said; “you are right. They do seem to think of nothing but horses. I was the same once, I’m afraid, my boy. Perhaps I shall think a good deal of horses still; but,” he continued sadly, “from a very different point of view to that of the past.”

“Never mind the past, father,” said Neil quickly. “Think of the future.”

“A poor future for me, Neil,” said Elthorne, shaking his head.

“By no means, my dear father. There is nothing to prevent your living another fifteen or twenty years.”

“Like this?” replied Elthorne despairingly, as he glanced down at his helpless limbs.

“Like this, sir. You are a wealthy man, and can soften the hardships of your state in a hundred ways.”

“Ah, well, we shall see, my boy, we shall see.”

“Have you been reading?” asked Neil, glancing at a book on the little table by the side of the couch.

“No. Nurse Elisia was reading to me when Maria brought her a message.”

“Shall I go on reading where she left off?” said Neil, taking up the book and feeling a kind of pleasure in holding the little volume so lately in her hands.

“No, no, I am tired of poetry and history. What are you writing now?”

“Only some notes on a case that is taking up a good deal of attention just now.”

“Ah!” said the elder man eagerly. “I should like to hear that.”

“It is very dry and tedious, I’m afraid; only of interest to the professional man.”

“But I take an interest in such things now. Will you read it to me, Neil?”

“Of course, sir. I’ll fetch it,” said Neil, smiling at his father’s eagerness about matters that he would be unable to comprehend.

“That’s right, my boy. But you are sure that you will not think it a trouble?”

“My dear father,” cried Neil, taking his hand, “I wish you would try to understand me better. I’m afraid you do not.”

“Yes, yes, my boy. I do understand you, indeed I do. Don’t think because I have lain here, querulous and complaining, that I have been blind as well as helpless. God bless you, my boy, for all you have done!”

“Only my duty, sir,” said Neil gravely, “and I only wish that – ”

He stopped short.

“Yes – yes – what?” said his father eagerly.

“That I could have followed out your wishes in another way.”

He rose and went out of the room, leaving the helpless man gazing sadly after him.

“The tyrant’s reign is over,” he said sadly, “and I must be resigned to all that comes.”

Neil went hurriedly down to the library, to stop short as he reached the door, for there was the low murmur of a man’s voice within, speaking in appealing tones.

“Poor Bel!” muttered Neil, as the recollection of all that had passed that day came back, and his promise – entirely forgotten – to keep Burwood with him, came like a flash.

It was only a dozen steps to the dining room, and he hurried there to throw open the door, and, as he feared, find it empty.

Angry with himself for his carelessness, though hardly at the moment seeing how he could have acted differently, he hurried back to the library, entered suddenly, and then stopped, as if paralysed by the pang which shot through him.

For he had entered angrily, feeling ready to interrupt a tête-à-tête, which Burwood must have contrived to obtain with his sister; and he found himself in presence of Alison, who was tightly holding Nurse Elisia’s hands, which she now seemed to wrest away, as she turned suddenly, looked wildly in Neil’s face, rushed by him, and hurried out of the room.

“Well?” said Alison, as soon as he could recover from the startling effect of his brother’s interruption. “You might have knocked.”

Neil made no reply, but stood there pressing his nails into the palms of his hands, as he fought hard to keep down the sensation of mad, jealous hatred gathering in his breast. Then, turning upon his heel, he staggered more than walked out of the room, across the hall and upstairs to his father’s chamber, but only to pause at the door.

“I have no right – I have no right,” he said; and going down once more, forgetful of everything but his own agony of spirit, he took his hat from the stand, passed out through the hall door, and walked swiftly away into the black darkness of the night – onward at a rapidly increasing pace – onward – anywhere so that he might find rest. For the feeling was strong upon him that he and his brother must not meet while this mad sensation of passion was surging in his breast.