Lost Sir Massingberd: A Romance of Real Life. v. 1/2 Page 11

  CHAPTER X.

  LOVE THE LIFEGIVER.

  It was about four o'clock in the morning, or nearly twelve hours afterhis frightful fall, that Marmaduke Heath first woke to consciousness.Mr. Long and myself were passing the night in his apartment, which was avery roomy one, my tutor upon a sofa, and I in a comfortable arm-chair.I had begged that for that once at least it should be so, for I knew thedear lad would like to set his eyes upon me when he first opened them.Dr. Sitwell and his assistant, both agreed that if he woke at all fromhis heavy stertorous slumber, it would be in his sane mind; and it wasso. Mr. Long was asleep, but I had so much to think about in theoccurrences and disclosures of the preceding evening, that slumber hadrefused to visit me.

  I was as unused as happy youth in general is to sleeplessness. I did notknow at that time what it is to lay head upon pillow only to think uponthe morrow with a brain that has done its day's work, and would fain beat rest; or worse, only to let the past re-enact itself under thewearied eyelids; to watch the long procession of vanished forms againfill the emptied scenes, and yet to be conscious of their unreality. Howdifferent in this respect alone is the experience of age and youth, andagain of poverty and competence! A young man in tolerable circumstances,and who does not chance to be a sportsman, may never have seen the sunrise, that commonest of splendid spectacles to all men of humblestation. For my own part, I had never done so in England until theoccasion of which I speak, and I remember it very particularly. Theweary time spent in listening to the various noises of the house, now tothose consequent upon the retiring to rest of its inmates, and then tothose more mysterious ones which do not begin till afterwards--thecrickets on the hearth, the mice in the wainscot, the complaining ofchairs and wardrobes, and the clocks, which discourse in quite anotherfashion than they do in the day. The slow hours consumed in watching therushlight spots, first on the floor and then on the wall, and at lastexchanged for the cool grey dawn, stealing in through cranny and crack,and showing my companions still in the land of dreams; later yet thedrowsy crowing of cocks, and presently, as the light grows and grows,notwithstanding shutter and curtain, the indescribably welcome song ofthe early robin, the busy chirping of the house-sparrow, followed by thewhole tuneful choir of birds; then the lowing of cattle in the distance,and the distant barking of the watch-dog, so strangely different fromthat sad and solitary howl with which the same animal breaks the awfulstillness of the night. About four, I say, as I looked for thethousandth time towards Marmaduke's bed, I saw him sitting up supportinghimself on his elbow, and pushing his other hand across his brow, as iftrying to call to mind where he was. In an instant I was at his bedside."Marmaduke, I am here," said I; "Peter Meredith."

  "I am not at Fairburn Hall, am I?" asked he, in a hoarse whisper.

  "No, Marmaduke, you are amongst friends."

  "Then he is not here," gasped he--"nowhere near."

  "He is miles away, my friend, and he will never come under this roof."

  "Thank Heaven--thank Heaven!" cried the poor boy, sinking back upon thepillow; "it was only a dreadful dream, then. I shall die happy."

  "You need not talk of dying, Marmaduke. On the contrary, let us hope youare about to begin a life unshadowed, natural, without fear."

  "No, Peter, I must die. I feel that; but what is death to what I havebeen dreaming? Do you remember that poem which came down in the box ofbooks, from Mr. Clint, last week, about a wretched man that was boundupon a wild horse and sent adrift in the Ukraine?" And then he repeatedwith some difficulty--

  "'How fast we fled, away, away, And I could neither sigh, nor pray, And my cold sweat-drops fell like rain Upon the courser's bristling mane, But snorting still with rage and fear, He flew upon his far career; At times I almost thought indeed, He must have slackened in his speed; But no; my bound and slender frame Was nothing to his angry might, And merely like a spur became.'

  Well, Peter, that was I. But instead of the wolves which followed uponhis track, it was my uncle Massingberd who followed me. He hadchosen to kill me as the Count Palatine would have killed Mazeppa, buthe wanted also to see it done.

  'All through the night I heard his feet, Their stealing rustling step repeat.'

  Great Heaven, I hear them now!"

  "Nay, Marmaduke, it is only I, your old tutor," said Mr. Long, tenderly,who had not been able to leave his sofa entirely without noise. "Youmust not give way to these fancies; you had a fall from Panther, thatis all."

  "Ay," returned the poor boy, "it was Panther, only I thought he was awild horse, and not my pony at all.

  'But though my cords were wet with gore, Which oozing through my limbs ran o'er; And in my tongue the thirst became A something fiercer far than flame;'

  that was nothing; nothing to the knowledge that that man was closebehind. Now that I am awake, I feel bruised from head to heel, my bonesache, my head seems as though it were about to burst, but that isnothing to--" the poor lad could not finish the sentence, but exclaimedwith piteous vehemence--"do, Mr. Long, do promise me that I shall neversee him more."

  "You shall never see him more, if I can help it," returned my tutor,with unusual energy. "Yes, I think I can promise that you never shall."I well knew that so cautious a man as Mr. Long would not have said somuch without full warrant; it was evident to me at once that he hadheard from Mr. Gerard all that had passed between that gentleman and thebaronet in the drawing-room, and was now determined to act with vigourin Marmaduke's behalf. Perhaps the coincidence of the lad's dream withwhat had in fact occurred, may have helped my tutor's decision, but nowthat he had once passed his word, I felt sure that he would stand byMarmaduke to the last.

  The sick boy seemed to feel this too, for he uttered many expressions ofgratitude and contentment, while he kept fast hold of his newprotector's hand.

  "But mind, Marmaduke, you must now make haste and get well, and not giveway to despondency about yourself. I am going for the doctor, who issleeping in the house, and whom I promised to call as soon as youawoke; and, Peter, don't you let him talk too much. For a boy like thatto talk of death," added Mr. Long, aloud, as he drew on his slippers,"is to go half-way to meet it."

  Marmaduke smiled feebly at this remark of his unconscious tutor's, andwhen he had left the room, observed, "There is no need of any doctors;this is my death-bed, Meredith, I know."

  "Marmaduke," replied I, gravely, "I will not listen to such dreadfulthings; it is wrong, it is wicked, it will do you harm."

  "No, Peter, there is nothing dreadful in the thing I mean, and it seemsto soothe me when I speak of it. Since I have been ill, I have had asign that tells me I must go. We shall not grow up together to befriends through life, as we had planned. I shall watch you perhaps--Ihope I shall--and be happy in your happiness, but you will soon forgetme. There will be a thousand things for you to think of; there havebeen such even now for you while I--it seems hard, does it not, Peter,that I should have grown up under the shadow of that man, and never feltthe Sunshine? They say that boyhood is the blithest time of life, but Ihave never been a boy. I think I could almost tell him, if he stood herenow, how he has poisoned my young life, and sent me to the grave withoutone pleasant memory to moisten my dying eyes. Yes, my friend, dying. Ihave seen a vision in the night far too sweet and fear not to have beensent from heaven itself. If there indeed be angels, such was she. Theysay the Heaths have always ghastly warnings when their hour is come, butthis was surely a gentle messenger. I close my eyes and see that smileonce more."

  "Has she hair of golden brown?" inquired I, gravely, "and hazel eyes,large and pitiful, and does she smile sad and sweet as though one's painwould soon be over?"

  "That is she, that is she," exclaimed Marmaduke, eagerly, while from hisheavy eyelids the light flashed forth as from a thunder-cloud; "oh, tellme who and what she is!"

  "Her name is Lucy Gerard," replied I, quietly, "and we are, at thismoment, in her father's house."

  Marm
aduke's mention of her smile had revealed to me the secret alike ofdream and vision. He must have been dimly conscious of the catastrophethat had occurred to him throughout, although he had confused himself,poor fellow, with Mazeppa, and the daughter of our host with a visionfrom the skies. His eyes were now closed, and with features as pale asthe pillow on which he lay, he was repeating to himself her name asthough it were a prayer.

  "Marmaduke," said I, "we will talk no more, since it exhausts you thus;I hear Mr. Long returning with the doctor, be of good heart, and keepyour thoughts from dwelling--"

  "Yes," interrupted he, as though he would prevent the very mention ofthat grisly king of whom he had been but now conversing so familiarly,"I will, I will. It would indeed be bitter to die now."