CHAPTER LXXII.

ON LETHE’S WHARF.

As soon as the master of the house had been taken to his bedroom, and a groom sent off at full gallop for the nearest doctor, Mr. Hales went up to Stephen Chapman, who was crying in a corner, and hauled him forth, and took his hand, and patted him on the shoulder. “Come, my good fellow,” he said, “you must not allow yourself to be so overcome; the thing may be greatly exaggerated--everything always is, you know. I never believe more than half of a story; and I generally find that twice too much.”

“Oh, but I did so love--love--love her! It does seem too hard upon me. Oh, Parson, I feel as if I should die almost. When the doctor comes, let him see me first. He cannot do any good to Sir Roland; and Sir Roland is old, and he has always been good; but I have been a very bad man always----”

“Bad or good, be a man of some sort--not a whining baby,” said the Rector. “Put on your hat, and come out with me, if you have got a bit of pluck in you. I am going down to see my poor niece, at once.”

“Oh, I could not do it! I could never do it! How can you ask me to do such a thing? And in such weather as this is!”

“Very well,” Mr. Hales replied, buttoning up the collar of his coat; “I have no son, Stephen Chapman; and I am in holy orders, and therefore canonically debarred from the use of unclerical language; but if I had a son like you, dash me if I would not kick him from my house-door to my mixen!” Having thus relieved his mind, the Rector went to the main front passage, and chose for himself a most strenuous staff, and then he pulled the wire of the front-door bell, that the door might be fastened behind him. And before any of the scared servants came up, he had thought of something. “Who is it? Oh, Mrs. Merryjack, is it?”

“Yes, sir; please, sir, the men are all away, and the housemaids too frightened to come up the stairs.”

“You are a good woman. Where is Mrs. Pipkins?”

“She hath fetched up her great jar of leeches, sir; and she is trying them with poor master. Lord bless you, you might every bit as well put horse radish on him.”

“And better, Merryjack--better, I believe. Now, you are a sensible and clever woman.”

“No, sir. Oh, Lord, sir, I was never told that; though some folk may a’ said so.”

“They were right, every time they said it, ma’am. And no one has said it more often than I have. Now Mrs. Merryjack----”

“Yes, sir; yes, sir. Anything you tells me, sir.”

“It is only this: I am going, as fast as I can, to Churchwarden Bottler’s. I shall take the short cut, and cross the water. You cannot do that; it would not be safe for a woman, in the dark, to attempt it. But just do this: order the light close carriage as soon as possible. The horses are roughed, to go to church to-morrow. Get inside it, with your warmest cloak on, and blankets, and shawls, and anything else you can think of, and tell the man to drive for his life to Bottler’s. Women will be wanted there; for one thing, or the other.”

“Yes, sir; to be sure, sir. We are always wanted. Oh’s me, the poor, young dear!”

The Rector set off by a path to the right, passing eastward of the Coombe, and leading, as well as might be, to the tree that crossed the water. It was a rough and dreary road; and none but a veteran sportsman could, in that state of the weather, have followed it. But Mr. Hales knew every yard of the hill, and when he could trust the drift, and where it would have been death to venture. And though the moon had set long ere this, the sky was bright, and the sparkle of the stars was spread, as in a concave mirror, by the radiance of the snow.

At Bottler’s gate Mr. Hales was rudely repulsed, until they looked at him. Gregory and Bonny were on guard, with a great tarpaulin behind them; each of them having a broom in hand, ready to be thrust into anybody’s face. A great glow of light was in the air, and by it their eyes shone--whether it were with ferocity, or whether it were with tenderness.

“I am her own uncle--I must go in. I stand in the place of her father.”

Bonny, of course, knew his master, and opened the paling-gate to let him in. And there Mr. Hales beheld a thing such as he never had seen before. Every sign of the singeing or dressing of pigs had been done away with. The embers of fuel, all around the grey walls, had given their warmth, and lay quivering. The grey flints, bedded in lime behind them, were of a dull and sulky red; the ground all over the courtyard steamed, as the blow of the frost rose out of it, and the cover spread overhead reflected genial warmth and comfort.

Near the middle of the yard, on the mattress, lay the form of poor Alice, enfolded in the warm blankets, and Mrs. Bottler’s best counterpane. The kind and good woman, with Mabel’s help, had removed the wet and freezing clothes, when Major Aylmer had laid his burden in Mrs. Bottler’s parlour. The only hope that the fleeting spirit might remain, or return, was to be found in warmth, or rather strong heat, applied at once; and therefore (with the Major’s advice and aid) clever use had been made of Mr. Bottler’s great preparations. It is needless to say that the pigman (who had now galloped off to Steyning for a doctor) would, if left to himself, have settled matters very speedily, by hanging the poor girl up head downwards, to drain off the water she had swallowed. But now, under Major Aylmer’s care, everything had been done as well as a doctor could have managed it. The body was laid with the head well up, and partly inclined on the right side, so that the feeble flutter of the heart--if any should arise--might not be hindered. The slender feet, so white and beautifully arched, were laid on a brown stone jar of hot water; and the little helpless palms were chafed by the rough hands of Mrs. Bottler. Mabel also spread light friction, with a quick and glancing touch, over the cold heart, frozen breast, and chill relapse of everything. And from time to time she endeavoured to inspire the gentle rise and fall of breath.

The Major came forward and took the hand of his friend, the Rector, silently. “Is there any hope?” whispered Mr. Hales.

“Less and less. It is now two hours since we began trying to restore her. I was nearly drowned myself, some years ago, and lay for an hour insensible. Every minute that passes now lessens the chance. But this young lady is wonderfully clever.”

“I only do what you tell me,” said Mabel, looking up without leaving off her persevering efforts.

“Flying in the face of the Almighty, I call it,” cried Mrs. Bottler, who was very tired, and ought to have had equal share of the praise. “Poor dear! we had better let her bide till the doctor cometh, or the crowner.”

“Not till a doctor declares her dead,” said Major Aylmer, quietly; “I am delighted that you are come, Mr. Hales. You are a great reinforcement. I have longed to try my own hand, but--but you can; you are her uncle. Perhaps you have not seen a case like this. Will you act under my directions?”

“With all my heart,” replied the Rector, pulling off his coat, and pitching it down anywhere. “Oh, my dear, my pretty dear, I do believe you will know my touch. Go out of the way, Mrs. Bottler, now--go and make some soup, ma’am. Mabel and I, Mabel and I, when we get together, I do believe we could make a flock of sheep out of a row of flints. Now, sir, what am I to do?”

Whatever he was told, he did with such a will, that presently Mabel looked up, and exclaimed with breathless delight--“Oh, I feel a little throb--I did feel a little flutter of the heart--I am almost sure I did.”

“My dear girl, rub away,” answered the Rector; “that is right, Major, is not it?”

“I believe so. Now is the critical time. A relapse--and all is over.”

“There shall be no relapse,” cried the Rector, working away with his shirt-sleeves up, and his ruddy face glowing in the firelight; “please God, there shall be no relapse; the bravest and the noblest maid in the world shall not go out of it. Do you know me, my darling? you ought to know your kind Uncle Struan.”

Purely white and beautiful as a piece of the noblest sculpture, Alice lay before them. Her bashful virgin beauty was (even in the shade of death) respected with pure reverence. The light of the embers (which alone could save her mouldering ash of life) showed the perfect outline, and the absence of the living gift, which makes it more than outline. Mabel’s face, intense with vital energy and quick resolve, shone and glowed in contrast with the apathy and dull whiteness over which she bent so eagerly. Now, even while she gazed, the dim absorption of white cheeks and forehead slowly passed and changed its dulness (like a hydrophane immersed) into glancing and reflecting play of tender light and life. Rigid lines, set lineaments, fixed curves, and stubborn vacancy, began to yield a little and a little, and then more and more, to the soft return of life, and the sense of being alive again.

There is no power of describing it. Those who have been through it cannot tell what happened to them. Only this we know, that we were dead and now we live again. And by the law of nature (which we under-crept so narrowly) we are driven to the opposite extreme of tingling vitality.

Softly as an opening flower, and with no more knowledge of the windy world around us, eyelids, fair as Cytherea’s, raised their fringe, and fell again. Then a long deep sigh of anguish (quite uncertain where it was, but resolved to have utterance), arose from rich, pure depth of breast, and left the kind heart lighter.

“Darling,” cried Mabel, “do you know me? Open your eyes again, and tell me.”

Alice opened her eyes again; but she could not manage to say anything. And she did not seem to know any one. Then the doctor pulled up at the paling-gate, skipped in, felt pulse, or felt for it, and forthwith ordered stimulants.

“Put her to bed in a very warm room. The carriage is here with the blankets, but on no account must she go home. Mrs. Bottler will give up her best room. Let Mrs. Merryjack sit up all night. She is a cook, she can keep a good fire up. Let her try to roast her young mistress. Only keep the air well moving. I see that you have a first-rate nurse--this pretty young lady--excuse me, ma’am. Well I shall be back in a couple of hours. I have a worse case to see to.”

He meant Sir Roland; but would not tell them. He had met the groom from Coombe Lorraine; and he knew how the power of life has dropped, from a score of years to threescore.