XXX
Another Fall
Felix Graham had plenty of nurses, but Madeline was not one of them. Augustus Staveley came home while the Alston doctor was still busy at the broken bones, and of course he would not leave his friend. He was one of those who had succeeded in the hunt, and consequently had heard nothing of the accident till the end of it. Miss Tristram had been the first to tell him that Mr. Graham had fallen in leaving the covert, but having seen him rise to his legs she had not thought he was seriously hurt.
“I do not know much about your friend,” she had said; “but I think I may comfort you by an assurance that your horse is none the worse. I could see as much as that.”
“Poor Felix!” said, Staveley. “He has lost a magnificent run. I suppose we are nine or ten miles from Monkton Grange now?”
“Eleven if we are a yard,” said the lady. “It was an ugly country, but the pace was nothing wonderful.” And then others dropped in, and at last came tidings about Graham. At first there was a whisper that he was dead. He had ridden over Orme, it was said; had nearly killed him, and had quite killed himself. Then the report became less fatal. Both horses were dead, but Graham was still living though with most of his bones broken.
“Don’t believe it,” said Miss Tristram. “In what condition Mr. Graham may be I won’t say; but that your horse was safe and sound after he got over the fence, of that you may take my word.” And thus, in a state of uncertainty, obtaining fresh rumours from every person he passed, Staveley hurried home. “Right arm and two ribs,” Peregrine said to him, as he met him in the hall. “Is that all?” said Augustus. It was clear therefore that he did not think so much about it as his sister.
“If you’d let her have her head she’d never have come down like that,” Augustus said, as he sat that evening by his friend’s bedside.
“But he pulled off, I fancy, to avoid riding over me,” said Peregrine.
“Then he must have come too quick at his leap,” said Augustus. “You should have steadied him as he came to it.” From all which Graham perceived that a man cannot learn how to ride any particular horse by two or three words of precept.
“If you talk any more about the horse, or the hunt, or the accident, neither of you shall stay in the room,” said Lady Staveley, who came in at that moment. But they both did stay in the room, and said a great deal more about the hunt, and the horse, and the accident before they left it; and even became so far reconciled to the circumstance that they had a hot glass of brandy and water each, sitting by Graham’s fire.
“But, Augustus, do tell me how he is,” Madeline said to her brother, as she caught him going to his room. She had become ashamed of asking any more questions of her mother.
“He’s all right; only he’ll be as fretful as a porcupine, shut up there. At least I should be. Are there lots of novels in the house? Mind you send for a batch tomorrow. Novels are the only chance a man has when he’s laid up like that.” Before breakfast on the following morning Madeline had sent off to the Alston circulating library a list of all the best new novels of which she could remember the names.
No definite day had hitherto been fixed for Peregrine’s return to The Cleeve, and under the present circumstances he still remained at Noningsby assisting to amuse Felix Graham. For two days after the accident such seemed to be his sole occupation; but in truth he was looking for an opportunity to say a word or two to Miss Staveley, and paving his way as best he might for that great speech which he was fully resolved that he would make before he left the house. Once or twice he bethought himself whether he would not endeavour to secure for himself some confidant in the family, and obtain the sanction and special friendship either of Madeline’s mother, or her sister, or her brother. But what if after that she should reject him? Would it not be worse for him then that anyone should have known of his defeat? He could, as he thought, endure to suffer alone; but on such a matter as that pity would be unendurable. So as he sat there by Graham’s fireside, pretending to read one of poor Madeline’s novels for the sake of companionship, he determined that he would tell no one of his intention;—no one till he could make the opportunity for telling her.
And when he did meet her, and find, now and again, some moment for saying a word alone to her, she was very gracious to him. He had been so kind and gentle with Felix, there was so much in
