mother, and she said she would write to tell Mr. Markham that as far as could be reckoned on two such frail people, they would be at Redclyffe the next evening, and he must use his own discretion about giving Mr. Morville the note which she enclosed.
Dr. Mayerne came in time for breakfast, and the letter from Markham was at once given to him.
'A baddish state of things, eh, doctor!' said Charles. 'Well, what do you think this lady proposes? To set off forthwith, both of us, to take charge of him. What do you think of that, Dr. Mayerne?'
'I should say it was the only chance for him,' said the doctor, looking only at the latter. 'Spirits and health reacting on each other, I see it plain enough. Over-worked in parliament, doing nothing in moderation, going down to that gloomy old place, dreaming away by himself, going just the right way to work himself into another attack on the brain, and then he is done for. I don't know that you could do a wiser thing than go to him, for he is no more fit to tell what is good for him than a child.' So spoke the doctor, thinking only of the patient till looking up at the pair he was dismissing to such a charge, the helpless, crippled Charles, unable to cross the room without crutches, and Amabel, her delicate face and fragile figure in her widow's mourning, looking like a thing to be pitied and nursed with the tenderest care, with that young child, too, he broke off and said--'But you don't mean you are in earnest?'
'Never more so in our lives,' said Charles; on which Dr. Mayerne looked so wonderingly and inquiringly at Amabel, that she answered,--
'Yes that we are, if you think it safe for Charles and baby.'
'Is there no one else to go? What's become of his sister?'
'That would never do,' said Charles, 'that is not the question;' and he detailed their plan.
'Well, I don't see why it should not succeed,' said the doctor, 'or how you can any of you damage yourselves.'
'And baby?' said Amy.
'What should happen to her, do you think?' said the doctor with his kind, reassuring roughness. 'Unless you leave her behind in the carriage, I don't see what harm she could come to, and even then, if you direct her properly, she will come safe to hand.' Amabel smiled, and saying she would fetch her to be inspected, ran up- stairs with the light nimble step of former days.
'There goes one of the smallest editions of the wonders of the world!' said Charles, covering a sigh with a smile. 'You don't think it will do her any harm?'
'Not if she wishes it. I have long thought a change, a break, would be the best thing for her--poor child!--I should have sent her to the sea- side if you had been more movable, and if I had not seen every fuss about her made it worse.'
'That's what I call being a reasonable and valuable doctor,' said Charles. 'If you had routed the poor little thing out to the sea, she would have only pined the more. But suppose the captain turns out too bad for her management, for old Markham seems in a proper taking?'
'Hem! No, I don't expect it is come to that.'
'Be that as it may, I have a head, if nothing else, and some one is wanted. I'll write to you according as we find Philip.'
The doctor was wanted for another private interview, in which to assure Amabel that there was no danger for Charles, and then, after promising to come to Redclyffe if there was occasion, and engaging to write and tell Mrs. Edmonstone they had his consent, he departed to meet them by and by at the station, and put Charles into the carriage.
A very busy morning followed; Amabel arranged household affairs as befitted the vice-queen; took care that Charles's comforts were provided for; wrote many a note; herself took down Guy's picture, and laid it in her box, before Anne commenced her packing; and lastly, walked down to the village to take leave of Alice Lamsden.
Just as the last hues of sunset were fading, on the following evening, Lady Morville and Charles Edmonstone were passing from the moor into the wooded valley of Redclyffe. Since leaving Moorworth not a word had passed. Charles sat earnestly watching his sister; though there was too much crape in the way for him to see her face, and she was perfectly still, so that all he could judge by was the close, rigid clasping together of the hands, resting on the sleeping infant's white mantle. Each spot recalled to him some description of Guy's, the church-tower, the school with the two large new windows, the park wall, the rising ground within. What was she feeling? He did not dare to address her, till, at the lodge-gate, he exclaimed--'There's Markham;' and, at the same time, was conscious of a feeling between hope and fear, that this might after all be a fool's errand, and a wonder how they and the master of the house would meet if it turned out that they had taken fright without cause.
At his exclamation, Amy leant forward, and beckoned. Markham came up to the window, and after the greeting on each side, walked along with his hand on the door, as the carriage slowly mounted the steep hill, answering her questions: 'How is he?'
'No better. He has been putting on leeches, and made himself so giddy, that yesterday he could hardly stand.'
'And they have not relieved him?'
'Not in the least. I am glad you are come, for it has been an absurd way of going on.'
'Is he up?'
'Yes; on the sofa in the library.'
'Did you give him my note? Does he expect us?'
'No, I went to see about telling him this morning, but found him so low and silent, I thought it was better not. He has not opened a letter this week, and he might have refused to see you, as he did Lord Thorndale. Besides, I didn't know how he would take my writing about him, though if you had not written, I believe I should have let Mrs. Henley know by this time.'
'There is an escape for him,' murmured Charles to his sister.
'We have done the best in our power to receive you' proceeded Markham; 'I hope you will find it comfortable, Lady Morville, but--'
'Thank you, I am not afraid,' said Amy, smiling a little. Markham's eye was on the little white bundle in her lap, but he did not speak of it, and went on with explanations about Mrs. Drew and Bolton and the sitting-room, and tea being ready.
Charles saw the great red pile of building rise dark, gloomy, and haunted-looking before them. The house that should have been Amabel's! Guy's own beloved home! How could she bear it? But she was eagerly asking Markham how Philip should be informed of their arrival, and Markham was looking perplexed, and saying, that to drive under the gateway, into the paved court, would make a thundering sound, that he dreaded for Mr. Morville. Could Mr. Charles Edmonstone cross the court on foot? Charles was ready to do so; the carriage stopped, Amabel gave the baby to Anne, saw Arnaud help Charles out; and turning to Markham, said, 'I had better go to him at once. Arnaud will show my brother the way.'
'The sitting-room, Arnaud' said Markham, and walked on fast with her, while Charles thought how strange to see her thus pass the threshold of her husband's house, come thither to relieve and comfort his enemy.
She entered the dark-oak hall. On one side the light shone cheerfully from the sitting-room, the other doors were all shut. Markham hesitated, and stood reluctant.
'Yes, you had better tell him I am here,' said she, in the voice, so gentle, that no one perceived its resolution.
Markham knocked at one of the high heavy doors, and softly opened it. Amabel stood behind it, and looked into the room, more than half dark, without a fire, and very large, gloomy, and cheerless, in the gray autumn twilight, that just enabled her to see the white pillows on the sofa, and Philip's figure stretched out on it. Markham advanced and stood doubtful for an instant, then in extremity, began--'Hem! Lady Morville is come, and--'
Without further delay she came forward, saying--'How are you, Philip?'
He neither moved nor seemed surprised, he only said, 'So you are come to heap more coals on my head.'
A thrill of terror came over her, but she did not show it, as she said, 'I am sorry to find you so poorly.'
It seemed as if before he had taken her presence for a dream; for, entirely roused, he exclaimed, in a tone of great surprise, 'Is it you, Amy?' Then sitting up, 'Why? When did you come here?'
'Just now. We were afraid you were ill, we heard a bad account of you, so we have taken you by storm: Charles, your goddaughter, and I, are come to pay you a visit.'
'Charles! Charles here?' cried Philip, starting up. 'Where is he?'
