CHAPTER X.

POOR ETHEL.

The day that followed the return of Mr. Basset and Hawkshaw from the perilous exploration of Acton Chine was one of dreadful suffering for poor Ethel.

Kind old Nance Folgate had forced the girls to retire to bed as dawn was breaking; but no sleep closed the eyes of Ethel Basset.

Morning came--a bright May morning--and still no word of Morley; for she could not realise as yet the idea, the dread conviction, of his death--that he had indeed perished so miserably.

Oh! was this the world of yesterday?

Her sister, Rose, weary with watching overnight, was now asleep. Happy Rose, who could gain oblivion in slumber. Ethel quitted her restless bed, opened the window, and looked forth into the sunny morning.

There was still the garden, with its trees and flowers, the first rays of the sun shining through the conservatory, a distant glimpse of the village church through a long vista of oaks, and the blue sea beyond. There, in the distance, she could trace the road that wound over the uplands towards that fatal Chine--the road he must have pursued but yesterday. There also--but tears, hot and blinding, welled up in her eyes, and she nestled again beside her sleeping and unconscious sister.

"Gone! Morley gone--Morley dead--Morley drowned!"

These words seemed ever on her lips, written in the air before her, to be whispered in her ears and in her heart, while fancy drew an agonising picture of his fall from that dreadful cliff into the yawning profundity below, where he would be tossed and dashed upon the rocks, till his poor, uncoffined remains were chafed to pieces by the waves.

As the lagging day drew on, she did not quit her bed; but, after a time, total prostration of mind and body enabled her to sleep soundly and deeply, with her aching head pillowed on the bosom of Rose; while her father, with Hawkshaw and others, pursued a hopeless and fruitless search for the missing man.

This slumber lasted little more than an hour, and waking brought her back to misery--a misery that flashed upon her vividly, keenly, and suddenly, calling all her half dormant faculties into instant life and action.

It was indeed coming back to agony.

Vainly did Rose speak to her of hope, that it might not have been he whom Hawkshaw had watched proceeding towards the Chine, and that the half-smoked cigars might not have been his.

"But the hat, with his name written in it, and the glove--his glove, Rose; see where I sewed it for him yesterday--only yesterday!" she would exclaim, while pressing it to her lips as she sat up in bed, with her dark hair all dishevelled about her white and polished shoulders, pale, worn, and crushed by an anguish there was no alleviating--for the loss of the poor dear heart, who had loved her so truly and so tenderly.

When re-examined by day, the verge of the Chine, by the abrasion of the soil, bore conclusive evidence that a short struggle had taken place, and that some one had fallen or been pushed over there. A few drops of blood were detected on the stones; but of this circumstance Ethel was not informed.

"Eat something, Miss Ethel--a bit of cake; take a little tea, a glass of wine, or anything; you must, darling, you must!" said old Nance Folgate, pillowing her favourite's head on her breast, towards the close of this most dreadful day.

Ethel silently declined, for the smallest crumb would have choked her; but grief is thirsty, so she drank the wine and water with gratitude, or rather permitted Rose to pour it between her pale and passive lips.

Then a shower of tears followed, and she moaned and sobbed aloud, and heavily. Another night followed, another day dawned; but no hope dawned with it, and no tidings came.

The first shock over, there settled on the mind and soul of Ethel a deep and settled grief. She ceased to weep, save when alone. For a time she was reckless of the future, or viewed it with sullen indifference or composure, none knew which. She cared not how soon they quitted Laurel Lodge now, nor how soon she saw the shores of England fade from view, though she thought, with a shudder, of the ocean which she knew must have entombed the corpse of him she loved so long and well.

And Cramply Hawkshaw--how did he comport himself during this painful crisis? Quietly, earnestly, full of apparent solicitude, ready in suggestion and active in inquiry. He remained mostly with Rose; but when Ethel appeared on the evening of the second day in the dining-room, he was ready, with hand and arm, to attend her politely, and silently.

She entered Morley's bed-room, now empty of its tenant. She flung herself upon the couch in an agony of grief, for the place seemed full of his presence, and his beloved form appeared to rise up embodied before her.

There were his travelling bag; his telescope and flask, his hair-brushes, a stray glove or so, and a miniature of herself, which had been the poor fellow's only solace when far away from her in Africa. There were other mementoes of the beloved one she would never see more; he whose poor remains, if they were not lying at the foot of that dreadful Chine, were being, perhaps, swept away to sea--that sea which, at times, she hoped she might not live to traverse.

Here prostrate on the couch she was found by Rose and Nance Folgate, who conveyed her out, and locked the door.

This event, by the confusion and anxiety it created, delayed the departure of the Bassets from Laurel Lodge for a week longer.

There were times when Ethel wished that she might die, though she shrank from the idea of being separated from her father and sister, and from not sharing their perilous journey; but her mother's grave under the close-clipped grass looked so calm and peaceful in the sunshine of the old English churchyard, that she almost longed to be laid by her side. However, as some one says, "Grief rivets the chain of our life instead of breaking it." So Ethel did not die; but she fell into a state of languid apathy, which caused her father and sister the most serious apprehension.

There were other times, when dreadful thoughts occurred to Ethel--thoughts that came to her mind unbidden, and that she dared express to none; but she could not help associating the mysterious and terrible calamity which had befallen Morley with the idea of Hawkshaw, his rival.

She remembered the unusual and unnatural pallor of his cheek, and his strange excitement on the eventful night; how he complained of illness; how thirstily he drank of the champagne; and how his hand shook so that the crystal which contained the wine rattled nervously against his teeth.

The thought of his story of the Barranco Secco; of his having too surely associated in California, and elsewhere, with such men as Pedro and Zuares Barraddas; and she remembered many episodes of his Mexican life, which he had incidentally related, and at which, though she and Rose had been wont to laugh at them, she shuddered now, and knew not why!

She perceived, too, that Hawkshaw wore his own ring once more, so Morley Ashton must have formally returned it to him on that fatal evening.

Prior to Morley's final arrangement to accompany them, Ethel had schooled her little heart to bear the separation, consequent on their anticipated sea voyage, and change of home, contemplating it as a sorrow that might have a happy end when brighter fortune smiled upon them all; but now she had lost him by a separation that would endure while life lasted.

The slight tinge of colour which her delicate cheek usually wore faded completely away. Her eyes lost their brilliant and calm expression, her lips their wonted smile, her spirits all their buoyancy.

Mr. Basset, we have said, saw this with alarm, and by every means in his power hastened to break up his household, and leave Acton-Rennel.

His daughter's thoughts were with the dead; but still the living, and the duties of life, claimed her care. One cannot live in the world and not be of it; thus, one of her last days spent at pleasant Laurel Lodge was occupied in paying farewell visits--supported between Rose and Hawkshaw--to her old pensioners and dependents in the thatched cottages among those lovely green lanes, that ere long were to know her footsteps no more, and these old people mingled their blessings with tearful hopes of her happiness and long life, in the new home to which she was about to depart.

On the tenth day after Morley's disappearance she found herself, with her father, Rose, Hawkshaw, and old Nurse Folgate, seated in a first-class carriage, speeding along the London and North-Western line towards the metropolis.

Laurel Lodge had long since vanished, with its whole locality.

Steeped in summer haze, the landscape flew past like the wind; but Ethel was listless. To her it seemed that the purpose of life, the joy of existence, the romance of love, and the charm of youth, had all gone for ever.

Hawkshaw was seated opposite to her. She lowered her veil to conceal her face; he held the last number of _Punch_ well up to conceal his.

As Morley had disappeared thus, and beyond all trace, and as his berth was secured in their ship, the _Hermione_, which was to sail for the Isle of France, as soon as her cargo was all hoisted in, Hawkshaw availed himself of the circumstance to go in his place; by which means this most enterprising Texan officer secured his passage free.