CHAPTER LVI.

NO HOPE.

In the same house at Pimlico, and in the same attire as of yore, save that the deeper mourning had been exchanged for rich silks, and the black ribbons on the real _guipure_ caps for white or grey, sat Miss Bettina Davenal. She was not altered. She had the same stately presence, the same pale, refined features; she was of a stamp that changes little, and never seems to grow old. Sara had changed more than her aunt, and the earnest, sweet expression, always characteristic of her face, was mingled now with habitual sadness. She wore a robe of soft grey cashmere, its white collar tied with ribbon, and bows of the same ornamenting the lace sleeves shading her delicate wrists.

Miss Bettina stood, grandly courteous; Sara's cheeks were flushed, and she played with a key which had happened to be in her hand as she rose. Oswald Cray had come in unexpectedly, and was telling the story of Caroline; telling it rapidly, before he took the chair offered him. What with the extraordinary nature of the news, and Miss Bettina's inaptitude for hearing, it was a difficult business as usual.

"Come over from Honfleur in a goods-boat, and it didn't get here?" exclaimed Miss Bettina, commenting on what she did hear--for Oswald repeated the particulars Caroline had disclosed to him on her revival. "And _where_ do you say she's lying, sir?"

"In my sitting-room in Parliament Street."

"The boat is?" questioned Miss Bettina, looking at Oswald keenly, as if she thought he had lost his senses. "I beg your pardon Mr. Oswald Cray, I must have misunderstood."

"Caroline is lying there, not the boat. I fear she is very ill. She looks so; and she says she is suffering from some fatal complaint."

"Fatal mistake! I should think so," returned Miss Bettina. "If ever a man made that, it was Mark Cray when he threw up Hallingham. But what's she come for? And why did she go to you instead of to me?"

But Sara had drawn near to Oswald. _She_ had heard the explanation aright, and the words "fatal complaint" frightened her. "Do you know what it is?" she asked. "Is she very ill?"

"She is so ill, if her looks may be trusted, that I should think she cannot live long," he answered. "I came down to you at once. Something must be done with her; we cannot let her go back to Watton's. If you are unable to receive her, I will get a lodging--"

"But we are not unable to receive her," interrupted Sara. "Of course we are not. My aunt--"

"Caroline doubted whether you had room. She has just told me you were expecting Captain Davenal and his wife."

"We are looking for their arrival daily. Perhaps the ship may be in today. But they will not stay with us: Lady Reid expects them there. Did you not know Edward was coming?" she continued, quitting for a moment the subject of Caroline. "His wife's father is dead, and business is bringing them home. She has come into a large fortune."

"_Will_ you let me understand what this matter is?" interposed Miss Bettina.

It recalled them to the present. But to make Miss Bettina understand--or rather hear--was a work not speedily accomplished. She even was aware of it herself.

"I am not myself today, sir," she said to Oswald Cray. "I have not been myself since yesterday morning. When the tidings were brought to me that--that it was all over with that good Prince--I felt as I had never felt in my life before. It is not a common death, Mr. Oswald Cray, or a common loss, even had we been prepared for it. But we were not prepared. That Royal Lady and her children were not prepared; and we can but pray God, who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, to love and help them."

"Amen!" responded the heart of Oswald.

When there was a real necessity for Miss Bettina Davenal's relenting in her severity, she did relent. She returned with Mr. Oswald Cray, and Sara went with them. On her way she spoke to him about the rise in his prospects, a rumour of which she had heard from Neal.

"Is it true?" she asked, bending forward to catch his answer, as he sat opposite to her in the carriage.

"It is true that my share has been considerably increased. Mr. Bracknell has retired."

"I suppose you will take a house now?"

"I think not," said Oswald. "Single men don't care to set up a house of their own."

"What men don't?"

"Unmarried men."

"Oh," said Miss Bettina. "Do you never intend to marry?"

Oswald laughed. "I have no time to think about it, Miss Bettina."

Miss Bettina did not catch the answer. "Some time ago we had reason given us to think that you were about to marry. Did you change your mind?"

It was a home question. Oswald could have joked it off but for that gentle, conscious, Dent face in the opposite corner. "We have to give up all kinds of fond dreams and visions, you know, Miss Bettina. Youth is very apt to indulge in such: and they mostly turn out vain."

"Turned out vain, did she? I must say I did not think she was in a position worthy of you."

Oswald opened his eyes. "Of whom are you speaking, Miss Davenal?"

"Of you. I was not speaking of any one else."

"But the lady? You alluded to a lady."

"Oh, the lady. You don't want me to tell you her name. You know it well enough. That young Scotch lady whose brother was ill."

He breathed with a feeling of relief. A fear had come over him that his dearest feelings had been exposed to Miss Davenal--perhaps to others. Sara's colour heightened, and she raised her eyes momentarily. They met Oswald's: and she was vexed with herself.

"I shall most likely live a bachelor all my days, Miss Davenal. I believe I shall."

"More unwise of you, Mr. Oswald Cray! Bachelors are to be pitied. They never get a cup of decent tea or a button on their shirts."

"I am independent of buttons; I have set up studs. See," he continued, showing his wrists. "And tea I don't particularly care for."

Miss Bettina thought he was serious. "You'd be happier as a married man, with somebody to take care of your comforts. It is so different with women; _they_ are happiest single--at least, such is my belief--and their comforts are in their own hands."

"The difficulty is to find somebody suitable, Miss Bettina. Especially to us busy men, who have no time to look out."

"True," she answered. But whether she heard or not was another matter. "What's Mark Cray about?" she presently asked, somewhat abruptly. "Doing any more harm?"

"I hear he is not doing any good. There's no practice in Honfleur."

"No politics?"

"Practice."

"Nobody in their senses would have thought there was. Perhaps he expects to get up a mining scheme there, and dazzle the French."

"If he is to do any good for himself, he must come over and get clear of the mining scheme here," observed Oswald.

Miss Davenal nodded her head and drew in her lips. It was not often that she condescended to make the slightest allusion to Mark Cray.

Mrs. Cray was asleep when they entered. She lay on the couch hastily improvised for her, dressed, and covered with a warm counterpane. One hand was under her wan cheek, the other lay outside, white, attenuate, cold. Miss Bettina Davenal took one look; one look only with those keen eyes of hers. It was quite enough, and an exclamation of dismay broke from her lips. Caroline opened her eyes and gazed around in bewilderment.

"Aunt Bettina! Have they brought you to see me? Will you take me in for a day or two until I can go back?"

"I have come for you," said Miss Bettina.

Until I can go back! Poor thing! what had she to go back to? A lodging in a foreign land that they might be turned from at any hour, for the rent could not be paid up; scanty nourishment, care, trouble, almost despair. Only Mark to lean upon, with his wavering instability: his vague chatter of the something that was to "turn up." Better depend upon a reed than upon Mark Cray.

Sara Davenal had drawn back for a moment, that the shock on her own face might be subdued before presenting it to Caroline. Oswald passed round to her.

"Is she dying?" came the frightened whisper.

"Do not be alarmed," he answered. "She looked worse than this when I first brought her in. She has had a good deal of excitement and fatigue these last few days, and that tells upon her appearance."

"Yes--but--do you know there's a look in her face that puts me in mind of papa's. Of papa's as it was the night he died."

It was not often that Sara gave way to emotion. The moisture had gathered on her brow, and her hands were trembling. Oswald gently laid his hand upon her shoulder.

"_You_ are not going to faint, surely, Sara!"

"No, no "--and the slightest possible smile parted her trembling lips. "I used to think I was very brave, but lately--at times--I have found myself a coward. I seem to become afraid at trifles," she continued in a dreamy tone, as if debating the question with herself why it should be so.

"Where's Sara? I thought I saw her."

Sara moved forward at the words. She suppressed all sign of emotion as she stooped over her cousin. Caroline was the one to show it now. She burst into tears and sobbed hysterically.

"If Uncle Richard were but alive! He could cure me."

"Don't, Caroline, don't distress yourself. There are doctors as clever as papa was."

"I kept thinking"--she turned her colourless face to Sara as she spoke--"I kept thinking at Honfleur of Uncle Richard; that if the old days could come back again, and I were at home with him at Hallingham in the old house as it used to be, I should be well soon. The thought kept haunting me. And, Sara, I am sure if my uncle were alive he _could_ cure me. I shall never believe otherwise."

She paused. Sara knew not what reply to make. Miss Davenal did not catch the words, and Oswald leaned on the back of a chair in silence, only looking at her as she lay.

"Why should this conviction have haunted me? Uncle Richard was gone. Mark kept dinning in my ears that there were other doctors as good as Dr. Davenal, and at last I grew to think so too, because they were English. So I came over; I should have had a fever or died if I had not come; and now I see how foolish the hope was, for they _can't_ cure me. Nobody could do it but Uncle Richard."

Miss Bettina had been bending her ear close to the invalid, and caught the sense of the words. "Why do you think nobody can cure you?"

"I feel that they can't. No: Uncle Richard's gone, and there's no chance for me."

They got her ready, Oswald helped her down to the carriage, and she was conveyed home. The only home she would henceforth know in this world. Dorcas stood in the passage, and looked on askance as she entered the house. _That_ the blooming young bride whom she had received into the Abbey at Hallingham little more than two short years before!

Sara gave up her room to her as the most commodious one in the house, herself taking the chamber at the back of it, which had been occasionally occupied by Dick and Leo. Caroline looked round the room as she lay in bed, a curious, inquiring sort of gaze in her eyes.

"Have I been in this room before?" she suddenly asked.

She had never been in it. Her visits to Miss Bettina's, during the prosperity in Grosvenor Place, were not sufficiently familiar to allow of her entering the bedrooms. Sara told her she had never yet been in it.

"I seem to know it all; I seem to have seen it before. I suppose it's a sign that I shall die in it."

She spoke dreamily, alluding to a foolish superstition that she had heard in her childhood, and probably had never thought of since. It was not a very promising beginning.

Miss Davenal wrote a line to Mr. Welch, the surgeon, and he called in the evening. Caroline was better then, calm and cheerful. Her spirits had revived in a wonderful manner; but it was in her nature to be subject to these sudden fluctuations.

"Shall I get well?" she asked, when his examination was over.

"I will do what I can for you. The pain I think can be very considerably alleviated."

It was not a satisfactory answer. To most ears it might have savoured of considerate evasion, but it did not to Caroline's. "Must there be an operation?" she resumed.

"No."

She looked up at him from the depths of her violet eyes, pausing before she spoke again. "Monsieur Le Bleu said there must be an operation, if it could be performed. _If_, he said; he did not seem sure. It was the only chance, he said."

The surgeon met the remark jokingly. "Monsieur Le Bleu's very clever--as he no doubt thinks. I will see you again tomorrow, Mrs. Cray."

"But--stay a moment. Tell me at least by which day I shall be ready to go back. You can put me in the proper way of treatment, and I will pursue it over there."

"Not by any day. You must not think of returning to France."

She looked puzzled: there was a wild expression in her eyes. "Do you mean that I shall not be able to return at all?"

"Yes, I do. I say that you must not venture upon the shores of France again. We can't think of trusting you to the care of that clever French doctor, you know."

And before Caroline had recovered her surprise sufficiently to rejoin, Mr. Welch had left the chamber and was down in the drawing-room with Miss Davenal. She bent her head as she waited for his opinion.

"Do you wish for the truth, ma'am?" he asked.

"Wish for what?" repeated Miss Bettina, putting her hand to her ear.

"The truth."

"Do I wish for the truth?" she retorted, affronted at the question. "Sir, I am the daughter of one surgeon and the sister of another; I don't know to whom the truth may be told if not to me. It is _necessary_ that I should know it."

Mr. Welch gave her the truth: that there was no hope whatever. At least, what he said was equivalent to that.

"And the operation that she talks of?"

"It cannot be performed. The case is not an ordinary one."

Miss Bettina was for a minute silent. "My brother, Dr. Davenal, always said Caroline had no constitution."

"Dr. Davenal was right," returned the surgeon. "Mrs. Cray is one--if I may form a judgment upon so short an acquaintance--who could never, even under the most auspicious surroundings, have lived to grow old."

"I remember a remark he made to me after Caroline's marriage with Mark Cray was fixed--that it was well she should marry a doctor, for she'd need watching. A fine doctor, indeed!" continued Miss Bettina, irascibly, as she recalled Mark's later career. "If my poor brother had but known! I suppose it is all this disgrace that has brought it on!"

"It may have hastened it," said the surgeon. "But this, or some other disease, would inevitably have developed itself sooner or later. The germs were within her."

"And now what can be done for her?"

"Nothing in the world can be done for her, as regards a cure. We must try and alleviate the pain. That she will now grow worse rapidly there's not a doubt. Miss Davenal, she must be kept tranquil."

It was all very well for Mr. Welch to say she must be kept tranquil; but Caroline Cray was one who had had an absolute spirit of her own all her life, and an excitable one. When Miss Bettina went up to her room after the departure of the surgeon she found her in a wild state. Her cheeks were crimson with incipient fever, her eyes glistening. Sara, terrified, was holding her down in bed: begging her to be reasonable.

"I want to go back at once, Aunt Bettina," she exclaimed, throwing out her arms in a sort of frenzy. "He says I can't go back to France, but I will go. What does he know about it, I wonder? I was well enough to come, and I am well enough to go back! Be quiet, Sara! Why do you wish to prevent my speaking? You'll send me back today, won't you, Aunt Bettina?"

"I'll send for a strait waistcoat and put you into that," shrilly cried Miss Bettina in her vexation. "This is a repetition of the childishness of the old days."

"I won't be separated from Mark. Though he has been mistaken and imprudent, he is still my husband. It's a shame that Mr. Welch should want to keep me here! Don't you be so cruel as to side with him, Aunt Bettina."

For once in her life Miss Bettina Davenal lent herself to an evasive compromise. She promised Caroline that she should go back when she was a little stronger, perhaps in two or three days, she said. And it had the desired effect. It soothed away the invalid's dangerous excitement, and she turned round on her pillow and went to sleep quietly.

But as the days went on, and the disease--as the surgeon had foretold--rapidly developed itself, it became plain to Mrs. Cray herself that returning to France was out of the question. And then her tone changed. She no longer prayed in impatient words to be sent: she bewailed in impassioned tones that she must die away from her husband. One day, towards the end of December, it almost seemed that her brain was slightly affected, perhaps from weakness. She started suddenly from the sofa in the drawing-room, where she was reclining, and seized hold of the hands of her aunt in a wild manner.

"O Aunt Bettina! Aunt Bettina! if I had not to go over there to die!"

"Over where?" cried Miss Bettina. "What are you talking of, child?"

"_There_. Honfleur. If I had not to go! If I could but stop in my own land, among you to the last! It may not be for long!"

Miss Bettina, what with the suddenness of the attack and her own deafness, was bewildered. "I don't hear," she helplessly said.

"They have got two cemeteries, but I'd not like to lie in either," went on Caroline. "Mark won't stop in the town for ever, and there'd be nobody to look at my grave. Aunt, aunt, I can't go over there to die!"

"But you are not going there," returned Miss Bettina, catching the sense of the words. "You must be dreaming, Caroline. You are not going back to Honfleur."

"I must go. I can't die away from Mark. Aunt, listen!" she passionately continued, clasping the wrist of Miss Bettina until that lady felt the pain. "It is one of two things: either I must go to Honfleur, or Mark must come here. I _cannot_ die away from him."

The cry was reiterated until it grew into a wail of agony. She was suffering herself to fall into that excess of nervous agitation so difficult to soothe, so pernicious to the sick frame. Sara came in alarmed, and learned the nature of the excitement. She leaned over the sofa with a soothing whisper.

"Dear Carine! only be quiet: only be comforted! We will manage to get Mark here."

The low tone, the gentle words, seemed partially to allay the storm of the working brain. Caroline turned to Sara.

"What do you say you'll do?"

"Get Mark over to London."

She thought for a moment, and then shook her head and spoke wearily, a wailing plaint in her tone.

"You will never get him over. He is not to be got over. I know Mark better than you, Sara. So long as that miserable Wheal Bang hangs over his head he will not set his foot on English ground. I have heard him say so times upon times since he left these shores, and he will not break his word. He is afraid, you see. O Aunt Bettina!" throwing up her arms again in renewed excitement--"what an awful mistake it was!"

"What was a mistake?" returned Miss Bettina, catching the last word and no other.

"_What!_" echoed the unhappy invalid in irritation. "The quitting Hallingham; the past altogether. It was giving up the substance for the shadow. If we had but listened to you! If Mark had never heard of the Great Wheal Bang!"

Oh, those ifs, those ifs! how they haunt us through life! How many of us are perpetually giving up the substance for the shadow!