CHAPTER XXI.--FAUST GETS ON SWIMMINGLY, AND THE READER IS INTRODUCED TO

A DIVING BELLE “WRINGING” WET.

The shrieks alluded to in the last chapter still continued, and Lewis, consigning Walter to the care of a servant, hastened to the spot to render any assistance which it might be in his power to afford. As he reached the scene of action the panic and confusion were so great that it was no easy matter to ascertain the extent of the mischief, or to perceive how best it might be remedied. Lord Bellefield, who seemed the only person at all collected, was issuing directions in a loud, authoritative voice, to which the majority of the bystanders appeared too much alarmed and excited to pay attention. The number of persons who were actually immersed had been increased by the injudicious attempts of those who had first endeavoured to assist them by rushing to the edge of the broken ice, which, giving way under their weight, had plunged them also into the water. As Lewis came up a rope was flung across the opening, and held tightly by men on either side. Grasping this firmly with one hand, the young tutor assisted to extricate several persons who were clinging to the edges of the ice. He was just springing back as the portion on which he was standing broke away beneath his feet, when a cry was raised, “There’s a lady in the water!” and immediately some one added, “It’s the General’s daughter--it’s Miss Grant.” Before the words were well spoken Lewis had flung off his greatcoat and was about to plunge into the water, when his eye suddenly caught that of Lord Bellefield, who, having in the confusion accidentally stationed himself by his side, was pointing with vehement gestures to the spot where, partly sustained by the buoyant nature of her dress, partly supported by a mass of floating ice, the form of Annie Grant was to be discerned. At the sight of the eager face of the man who had insulted him some evil spirit seemed to take possession of Lewis’s breast; checking himself suddenly, he stepped back a pace, and fixing his eyes with a piercing glance on Lord Bellefield’s features, said coldly, “I beg pardon, your lordship will, of course, rescue Miss Grant.”

For a moment anger and surprise deprived Lord Bellefield of the power of speaking, but as soon as he could find words he replied, “Go on, sir; as you could risk your life for a dog, you will surely take a cold bath to save your master’s daughter.”

The speech was an ill-chosen one, for it excited a degree of irritation which outweighed all other considerations, and folding his arms across his chest, Lewis replied in a tone of the bitterest irony, “Your lordship must excuse me. _I am no squire of dames_.”

Lord Bellefield’s only rejoinder was an oath, and flinging off his wrapper, he appeared about to spring into the water. Suddenly changing his intention, he turned to Lewis and exclaimed, his face livid with rage and vexation, “Ten thousand curses on you! You know I cannot swim.”

It is at such moments as these, when by our own wilful act we have laid ourselves open to his attacks, that the tempter urges us on to crimes which in our calmer moments we should shudder to contemplate. A glance of triumph shot from Lewis’s dark eyes; the fearful thought flashed across him, “She is to be his bride--her fortune is to repair his extravagance--perhaps he loves her--let him save her himself, I will not rescue her _for him_.” And the fiend prompted the idea, worthy of its originator, that he might revenge himself on Lord Bellefield by leaving Annie to perish. But, like many other clever people, for once the demon outwitted himself, the very magnitude of the offence serving to awaken Lewis to the sinfulness of the line of conduct he had meditated. Almost in the same moment in which the idea occurred to him a mist seemed to clear itself away from his mental vision, and he perceived the abyss of guilt on the brink of which he was standing. And now the agonising doubt suggested itself to him whether his repentance might not have come too late--whether Annie might not sink before he could reach her; and as Lord Bellefield ran off impetuously to hasten the movements of a party who were bringing a small flat-bottomed boat towards the spot, Lewis sprang into the water, clearing a quarter of the distance in his leap, and swam with vigorous strokes in the direction of the still floating figure.

His fears were not unfounded. Annie’s dress, which had hitherto served in great measure to sustain her, was rapidly becoming saturated with water; every instant she sank lower, and while he was still some yards from the spot, to his horror he perceived the fragment of ice on which she rested roll round and slip from her grasp. The effect was instantaneous. Uttering a piercing shriek, which rang through his ears like a death-knell, she threw out her arms in a vain attempt to save herself, and disappeared beneath the water. At the same moment there was a rush, a bound, a plunge--some large animal dashed past Lewis, and ere the last fragment of Annie’s dress disappeared Faust had seized it in his mouth and prevented its wearer from sinking. The bystanders now drew the rope which had been flung across the opening in the ice in such a direction that Lewis could grasp it, and thus supported, he contrived to raise Annie’s head above the water, and with some assistance from Faust, to keep both her and himself afloat till such time as the punt should arrive. This, fortunately, was not long. The instant it was launched, Lord Bellefield and one or two others jumped into it, and in another moment Annie Grant was rescued from her perilous situation, to the horrors of which she was, however, by this time happily insensible. As they were lifting her into the boat, poor Faust, who probably did not understand that his services were no longer needed, still retained his hold on her dress, and Lord Bellefield struck him so fiercely with the handle of a boathook that he fell back stunned, and would have sunk had not Lewis, who was still in the water, thrown his arm round him and supported him.

“The punt can hold no more,” exclaimed Lord Bellefield. “Miss Grant’s safety must not be endangered for _any_ consideration and as he spoke he pushed the boat from the spot, leaving Lewis still clinging to the rope and supporting the weight of the dog, which did not as yet begin to show any signs of life.

“We will bring the boat back for you, sir, directly” cried one of the men who were assisting Lord Bellefield in punting.

“You must be quick about it, if you care to be of any use,” returned Lewis in a faint voice, “for I can’t hold on much longer; my limbs are becoming numbed with the cold.”

“Better let go the dog if you’re in any difficulty,” suggested Lord Bellefield with a malicious laugh as the boat moved rapidly away.

“That is the way they would repay your faithful service, eh! my poor Faust,” murmured Lewis. “Never fear, we’ll sink or swim together, my dog. If any one deserves to drown for this day’s work ’tis I, not you.” At the sound of his master’s voice the poor animal opened his eyes and began to show signs of returning animation. Fortunate was it for them both that Lewis had contrived to place the rope under his arms in such a position as almost entirely to support, not only his own weight, but that of the dog also; for long before the boat returned his strength was entirely exhausted, and his limbs, from the length of time he had been immersed in the icy water, had completely lost all sensation, and were powerless as those of a child.

Lord Bellefield contrived to detain the boat on various pretexts, till at last the man who had promised to return lost all patience, and pushed off without waiting for permission; in another moment it was by Lewis’s side.

“Take the dog first,” exclaimed Lewis in a voice scarcely audible from exhaustion. “Now, you must lift me in, for I can’t help myself.” With some difficulty (for even with the assistance of the rope Lewis had been barely able to keep his own head and that of Faust above water) the men in the boat complied with his directions. The dog had by this time nearly recovered from the effects of the blow, and was able to stand up and lick his master’s face and hands as he lay at the bottom of the punt. Lewis, however, by no means appeared in such good case; his cheeks and even lips were deadly pale, his breathing was hard and laborious, and he lay with his eyes closed and his limbs stretched out with unnatural stiffness and rigidity. As the boat approached the spot where a landing was practicable, Charles Leicester, who had assisted his brother in conveying Annie to the carriage, which was fortunately in waiting, came running back, and as his eye fell upon the prostrate form of Lewis, he exclaimed--

“Why, Arundel! good heavens, I believe he’s insensible.”

Nor was he wrong. The instant the necessity for exertion was over the reaction had been too much for Lewis, and he had fainted. He was instantly lifted from the boat and carried to the tent, where such restoratives as could be at the moment procured were applied, at first without success, but after a short time the colour began to return to his lips, and in a few minutes more he was restored to consciousness.

“Bravo, that’s all right,” began Charley Leicester, as Lewis, with a faint smile, sat upright and returned his hearty shake of the hand with a feeble pressure. “You begin to look a little less like a candidate for a coffin than you did five minutes ago. I declare, when I saw you in the boat, thought it was a case of ‘found drowned.’ Faust! good dog, how unpleasantly wet you are--what a bump he’s got on the top of his head, just where the organ of combativeness--no, veneration, isn’t it? ought to be. How did that happen? In fact I’m quite in the dark as to the whole affair, for I had gone to fetch shawls for some of the ladies, and when I reached the scene of action Bellefield was fishing his intended, half-drowned, out of a moist punt, and enlisted me to assist in conveying the dripping damsel to the carriage. Did you fall in together?”

“You will hear enough about it soon, I dare say,” returned Lewis, speaking feebly and with apparent difficulty. “I am afraid I have scarcely sufficient life left in me just now to tell you.”

“Don’t attempt it,” returned Leicester good-naturedly. “And the sooner you get those soaked clothes off, the better. Of course they will send back the trap for you.”

“My carriage is on the spot,” interrupted a tall, aristocratic-looking man who had assisted in conveying Lewis to the tent. “My carriage is on the spot, and is very much at this gentleman’s service. We must all feel anxious to prevent his suffering from the effects of his gallant conduct. The preserver of Miss Grant’s life must be considered as a public benefactor.”

At this praise a slight colour rose to Lewis’s pale cheeks, and a look of pain passed across his features. _He_ to be styled Annie’s preserver!--_he_ who had all but sacrificed her life to his feelings of revenge! and as the recollection occurred to him a slight shudder ran through his frame.

“There, you are actually shivering,” exclaimed Leicester. “I shall not let you stay here any longer. Since Sir Ralph Strickland is so kind as to offer his carriage, there is nothing to delay us. Can you walk? Take my arm.”

Lewis, with an inclination of the head to Sir Ralph, took Leicester’s proffered arm, and having with difficulty risen from his seat, attempted to walk, but at the first step he stumbled, and would have fallen had not his friend supported him.

“Steady, there,” continued Leicester; “you’re hardly in marching order yet. Would you like to wait another minute or two?”

“I think I had better try to proceed,” replied Lewis; “exercise may serve to restore the circulation.”

“Allow me to take your other arm,” said Sir Ralph Strickland kindly; “then I think you will be able to reach the carriage--it is close at hand. The length of time you were in the water has cramped your limbs. I saw the whole affair, and never witnessed anything more interesting than the conduct of your noble dog.”

And as he spoke he stooped and patted Faust, then forcing Lewis to accept his offer of assistance, they left the tent together. As his blood began once again to circulate the cramp and stiffness gradually disappeared, and ere the trio reached the carriage Lewis scarcely required assistance. On reaching Broadhurst he found the General waiting to receive him, and the instant he alighted he had to undergo a long, prosy, and pompous harangue, embodying that noble commander’s gratitude, during the delivery of which oration the subject of it was kept standing in his wet clothes, a compulsory act of homage to the cold-water system, by no means congenial to his feelings, mental or bodily. However, it came to an end at last, and Lewis was permitted to retire to his own room. Moreover, Charles Leicester (instigated thereunto by a hint from Miss Peyton) waylaid the apothecary who had been summoned on Annie’s account, and caused him to inspect Lewis’s condition, which measure resulted in a command to have his bed warmed, and instantly to deposit himself therein; with which medical ordinance Lewis was fain to comply.

There he lay until, from being much too cold, he became a great deal too hot, for before night he was in a high state of feverish excitement, accompanied by violent pains in the head and limbs. His medical adviser was, however, fortunately really skilful, and by vigorous and timely measures he contrived to avert the rheumatic fever with which his patient was threatened; and after spending three days in bed Lewis arose, feeling indeed especially weak, but otherwise little the worse in body for his aquatic exploit. We say in body, for mentally he had suffered, and was still suffering bitterly. As he lay on the couch of sickness in the silent hours of the night, face to face with conscience, the recollection of the sin he had committed (for a sin it was, and he was too honest-hearted in his self-scrutiny not to recognise it as such) haunted him. The fact that he had been unable by his own act to repair the consequences of the evil he had meditated impressed him deeply--but for Faust Annie would have sunk ere he could have reached the spot, probably to rise no more. It appeared a special interference of Providence to convince him of the folly of self-reliance, and to impress upon his mind a sense of the mercy of God, in saving him from the consequences of his revengeful feelings. True, he had repented of his fault almost in the moment of committal; true, he had risked his life in proof of the sincerity of His repentance; true, the provocation he had received might, in the eyes of men, serve in great measure to justify him; still, the knowledge that but for the interposition of Providence he might now have felt himself a murderer filled him with emotions of the deepest penitence, and at the same time of the liveliest gratitude.

In this frame of mind the encomiums passed upon his gallant conduct were most distressing to him, and a short note from Annie, thanking him in a few simple words for having saved her life, added fuel to the fire of his self-condemnation. Amongst other good resolutions for the future he determined to bear any insults Lord Bellefield might offer with as much patient endurance as could by any possibility be consistent with self-respect in one in his dependent situation; and the reader may judge of the sincerity of his repentance if he reflects what such a resolution must have cost his haughty nature. He also determined to seek an opportunity of confessing to Annie how little he deserved her gratitude, and to implore her forgiveness for the wrong he had intended her. The dipping that young lady had undergone did not appear to have affected either her health or her spirits. By the doctor’s orders she also had been sent to bed immediately on her return home, where, falling asleep, she escaped a lecture from Minerva and all other evil consequences of her immersion, and woke the next morning none the worse for the accident.

It was about a week after the day on which these events had taken place, when, the afternoon being fine, Lewis and Walter proposed to take a ride together. Walter had mounted his pony, and Lewis was strapping a greatcoat in front of his horse’s saddle, when Richards, the groom, who had been elevated to the rank of second coachman (as the illness of the head coachman had rendered his resignation an act of necessity, and the next in command had succeeded to his vacant box), came forward, and touching his hat, asked if he could speak to Lewis a minute.

“Certainly; what is it?” returned Lewis, stepping aside a few paces. “Why, sir, p’r’aps you know as the General’s gone out a-driving?”

“I was not aware of the fact,” returned Lewis; “but what then?”

“He’s a-driving of hisself, sir,--_our_ iron-greys, Mr. Arundel. Master ain’t so young as he used to was, and it’s my belief if any-think startles ’em he won’t be able to hold ’em--they go sweetly now, but they do pull most amazing. I drove ’em yesterday, and afore I got home my arms ached properly.”

“Did you mention this to General Grant?” inquired Lewis.

“Well, I told him I was afeard he’d find ’em pull rather stiff; but he only give me one of his dark looks, as much as to say, ‘Keep youi advice to yourself, and mind your own business.’ Master’s rather a hard gentleman to talk to, you see; he’s always been used to shooting and flogging the blacks, out in the Ingies, till it’s kind a-become natural to him; and _as_ he can’t act the same here with us whites, why it puts him out like.”

“I do not see that anything can be done now,” observed Lewis, after a moment’s reflection. “If I had been here when the General started I would have told him the trick the iron-greys played us, and advised him not to drive them just yet; but I dare say it would have done no good; for, as you say, your master is not over fond of advice gratis. I suppose he has one of the grooms with him?”

“Only a mere boy, sir, and Miss Annie,” was the reply.

“What!” exclaimed Lewis in a quick, excited tone of voice; “is Miss Grant with him? Why did you not say so before? Which road have they taken? How long have they been gone?”

“About twenty minutes, or p’r’aps not so long,” returned Richards. “I think they’re gone to Camfield--leastways, I heard master tell Miss Annie to bring her card-case, ’cos he was going to call on Colonel Norton.”

“That must be eight miles by the road, but not much above five across the fields by Churton Wood,” rejoined Lewis.

“That _is_ right, Mr. Arundel,” was the reply; “and the gates is unlocked, for I rode that way with a note for Colonel Norton the day afore yesterday.”

Ere Richards had finished speaking Lewis was on horseback; and as soon as they reached the park he turned to his pupil, saying, “Now, Walter, sit firmly, guide the pony on to the turf, tighten your reins, and then for a good canter; touch him with the whip--not too hard--that’s it.” Putting his own horse in motion at the same time, they rode forward at a brisk canter, which, as the horses grew excited by the rapid motion, became almost a gallop. Crossing the park at this pace, they turned down a bridle-path which led through a wood and across several grass fields, beyond the last of which lay a wide common. As they approached this Lewis took out his watch. “Above four miles in twenty mintues,--I call that good work for a pony. You rode very well, Walter,--you’ve a capital seat on horseback now.”

“I can leap too,” rejoined Walter. “Richards taught me the days when you were ill in bed.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” returned Lewis, who, while his pupil was speaking, had been endeavouring, unsuccessfully, to open a gate, “for they have fastened this gate with a padlock, and we must find our way over the hedge.”

“Oh! but I can’t----” began Walter.

“Yes you can,” interposed Lewis, “when I have cleared the road for you, and shown you how to do it. Sit still and watch me.” So saying, he selected a place where the hedge was thin and the ditch and bank practicable, and putting his horse into an easy canter, rode at it. Being particularly anxious that nothing should go wrong, and that Walter should be convinced of the feasibility of the attempt, Lewis was not best pleased when his horse, instead of rising to the leap, refused it, and replied to a tolerably sharp application of the spur by plunging violently and turning short round. His rider, however, sat as firmly as if he were part of the animal, and cantering round two sides of the field, got him well in hand and again rode him at the hedge, working his mouth with the bit and giving him the spur. This discipline produced the desired effect; for instead of refusing the leap this time, the horse sprang forward with a bound which would have cleared an obstacle of twice the size, and alighted on the other side several feet beyond the ditch. Lewis rode on a few yards, and then turning, leaped back into the field and rejoined his pupil. “Now, Walter, you must do as I have done. Canter up to that gap, give the pony his head, touch him on the flank as he approaches the hedge, sit firmly and press in your knees, and you’ll go over as nicely as possible.”

But poor Walter’s courage failed him; the conflict between Lewis and his horse had destroyed his confidence, and he was afraid to make the attempt. His tutor read it in his blanched cheek and quailing glance, and being as kind and judicious as he was firm, forbore to press the point, and dismounting, led the pony through the gap, and assisted Walter to scramble over on foot; then remounting his steed, he tested his obedience by once more leaping him over; and having thus achieved the adventure of the locked gate, tutor and pupil cantered off across the common. But this little episode had caused some loss of time, and when Lewis reached the lane leading to the village, near which Colonel Norton’s house was situated, he learned from a man who was mending the road that a phaeton, answering the description of General Grant’s equipage, had passed a few minutes before.

“My friend Richards’ fears were needlessly excited then, it seems, and the old gentleman is a better whip than he gave him credit for being,” thought Lewis. “Come, Walter,” he added aloud, “we will go back by the road. Don’t trot just yet; the horses are warm, we must allow them to get a little cool.”

After proceeding about half a mile along the lane, which was only just wide enough to allow vehicles to pass each other, they overtook an elderly woman in a red cloak most picturesquely perched between two panniers on a donkey’s back. Such an arrangement being a novelty to Walter, he was proceeding to inquire of what use the panniers were, when Lewis’s quick sense of hearing caught a sound which caused him to rein in his horse and, enjoining silence, pause to listen. His ears had not deceived him. Owing to the frosty weather the road was particularly hard, the ruts also had been lately mended with coarse gravel, and as he listened the sound of horses’ feet galloping, and the rattle of a carriage proceeding at unusual speed, became distinctly audible in the lane behind them. The vehicle was evidently rapidly approaching. The lane being in this part extremely narrow, Lewis’s first thought was for Walter’s safety. Seizing the pony’s rein, he set spurs to his horse, and they cantered on a short distance till they reached a gateway leading into a field. The gate was fortunately open, and desiring Walter to ride into the field and wait till he joined him, he turned his horse’s head and began, to retrace his steps. As soon as he had passed an old oak-tree which stood at a corner of the road and prevented any one from seeing beyond it, he perceived the cause of the sounds which had reached him, and which he had already but too correctly divined.

At about a hundred yards from the spot where he was stationed appeared a phaeton drawn by a pair of magnificent iron-grey horses, which Lewis had no difficulty in recognising. From the furious pace at which they were advancing, it was evident that their driver had lost all control over them; while about half-way between Lewis and the equipage in question were the donkey and panniers, with the old woman in the red cloak before alluded to. The gentleman driving the phaeton shouted to her to get out of the way, and Lewis made signs as to which side of the road she had better take; but she appeared either paralysed with fear or unable to guide her donkey; and ere she was able to comply with, or probably to comprehend these directions, the infuriated horses had overtaken her, and dashing against her, flung her, donkey, panniers and all, to the ground with a shock like that of a battering-ram. At the same instant Lewis, availing himself of the temporary check, rode forward, and springing from his saddle, seized the heads of the phaeton horses, and with much difficulty, and no inconsiderable personal risk, succeeded in stopping them.