John Ward, Preacher Part 34

"Gifford," he said faintly--"ah--which?"

"They are neither of them hurt, thank G.o.d," answered the young man reverently, "but they owe their lives to you, Mr. Denner."

"Yes--but"--he struggled to say--"which--which was it?"

"He means who was it," said the rector, who had taken his place on the other side of the injured man. "It was my daughter--G.o.d bless you, Denner!--and Mrs. Forsythe."

Mr. Denner groaned, and shut his eyes. "Oh, it wasn't either," he murmured; "that's always the way!"

"His mind is wandering," Gifford said, in a low voice. "I'm afraid this is very serious, doctor. Do you think he can be moved now?"

The lawyer did not try to prove his sanity; he only groaned again, but this time it was partly from pain. They lifted him gently, and carried him into his own house, which he had nearly reached when the runaway overtook him.

Both the women in the carriage had been thrown out, but Lois was able to walk, and so far as could be ascertained Mrs. Forsythe was unhurt, save for the shock, which sent her from one fainting fit into another until late that night. They had carried her back to the rectory, Lois clinging to one limp hand, and crying hysterically.

"Oh, she will die," she sobbed, "I know she will die; and it is my fault, it is my carelessness! You needn't say it isn't, father. I know it is!

Oh, what shall I do!"

But there was nothing to do; and Mrs. Dale, who had been hastily summoned,--for her reputation for nursing was even wider than Miss Deborah's for housekeeping,--only put her to bed, "to get her out of the way," she said, but really because she was filled with sympathy for her niece's remorse, and felt that the forgetfulness of sleep was the only comfort for her.

"I'll tell you what it is, brother," she said,--she had quietly settled herself in authority at the rectory, despite Jean's air of contemptuous dignity--"I believe Arabella Forsythe will have a chance to die, at last.

She's been looking for it these ten years, and as soon as she stops fainting it will be a positive satisfaction to her. I'm afraid she is really a very sick woman."

But no such thought did she impart to Lois, when she tucked her up in bed, giving her a hearty kiss with her soothing draught, and bidding her have some sense and stop crying, for Mrs. Forsythe would be all right in the morning. But the morning brought no comfort; the doctor, who had come from Mercer as quickly as Mrs. Dale's horses could bring him, was very grave.

"The shock to the nervous system," he said,--"we cannot tell what it will do."

Lois was so prostrated by grief at Mrs. Forsythe's condition, no one dared tell her that Mr. Denner was the immediate anxiety. There was an injury to the spine, and the plunging hoofs had done more harm than was at first supposed; things looked very serious for the little gentleman.

The lawyer had fainted when he was lifted over his gloomy threshold, where Mary stood waiting and wringing her hands, and had struggled back to consciousness to find himself on the big, slippery horse-hair sofa, in his dusky library. Dr. Howe was standing at his side, looking anxiously down at him, and a neighbor was trying to slip a pillow under his head.

Gifford had gone to help Mary bring a bed down-stairs, for the slightest movement caused Mr. Denner pain, and they dared not lift him, even to take him up to his bedroom.

"What is the matter?" Mr. Denner tried to say. "I seem to be giving trouble. Ah--pray do not mind me, doctor."

"You were hurt, you know, Denner," said the rector, whose feet were planted wide apart, and his hands thrust down in his pockets, and who felt oppressed by the consciousness of his own superabundant vitality, for the lawyer looked so small and thin, and his voice was hardly more than a whisper. "You've been a little faint. You'll be all right soon.

But Giff's going to put a bed up in here for you, because you might find it uncomfortable to try to get up-stairs, you know."

Mr. Denner looked anxious at this; he wondered if Mary would not be offended; but he was too strangely weary to talk, and his little twinkling eyes were dim and blurred.

Gifford and Mary had carried down the four big posts of Mr. Denner's bed, which looked like mahogany obelisks, and began to put it together, with many interruptions for Mary to wipe her eyes on the corner of her gingham ap.r.o.n, and remark it would soon be over, and she did not know where she would ever get such another place. Once the rector turned and sharply bade her hold her tongue. Mr. Denner opened his eyes at that, though he had scarcely seemed to hear her. Nor did he know why Gifford and the rector talked so long with the doctor on the broad flat stone at the front door, in the fragrant spring twilight. Afterwards he beckoned Gifford to him.

He did not quite like, he said, to leave his rod out over night; he could go and get it in the morning, he knew, but if it wouldn't be too much trouble, he would be obliged if Gifford would bring it in. And there were two trout in the basket: perhaps he would be good enough to present them, with his compliments, to the Misses Woodhouse. Gifford went for the rod, but could not go back without an inquiry at the rectory.

"Arabella Forsythe," said Mrs. Dale,--"well, as I told brother, I think this is her opportunity. She really is in a bad way, Giff. Lois wasn't hurt at all, wonderful to say; but, naturally, she's in great distress, because she blames herself for the whole thing."

"How so?" asked Gifford.

"Well, of course," Mrs. Dale answered, rubbing her little red nose with her handkerchief, and with a suspicious mist in her eyes,--"of course it really was her fault, only we mustn't let her know we think so. You see, she was driving. (I've always said women don't know how to drive; they're too inconsequent.) She wasn't paying attention to her horse, and let a rein slip. Before she could pick it up, the horse s.h.i.+ed at a newspaper blowing along the road. Well, you know the rest. But Lois does not know that we think it was her carelessness."

Gifford hesitated a moment, and then said slowly, "But wouldn't it be better to help her face the truth of it now? There is no use to try to escape self-reproaches that have their root in facts."

"Nonsense!" responded Mrs. Dale sharply. "I thought you had more sympathy!"

Gifford had told his aunts of the accident, when he brought them the offering of the two small fishes, and the ladies were full of distress and anxiety, and the flutter of excited interest which would be sure to be felt in a place like Ashurst. They had gone at once to the rectory, to see if they could be of use, though, as Miss Deborah said to her sister, "with Adele Dale there, of course there is nothing more to be desired."

Nevertheless, the next morning, Miss Ruth ran over with a bowl of wine jelly from Miss Deborah, and brought back word that Mrs. Forsythe was "still breathing;" and that the gravest apprehensions were felt for Mr.

Denner.

Miss Deborah was waiting in the parlor to hear the news; so important an occasion seemed to demand the dignity of the parlor, and in a high-backed armchair, with her feet on a cricket and a fresh handkerchief in her hand, she listened to Miss Ruth's agitated and tearful story.

"I will make some whips for William Denner," she said promptly, as Miss Ruth finished, "and we will take them to him this afternoon."

"Well, but, sister," said Miss Ruth, hesitating, "do you think--we'd better? Ought not we to let Giff take them?"

"Why?" asked Miss Deborah. "He is able to see us, isn't he?"

"It is not quite that," answered the younger sister nervously, taking off her bonnet, and beginning to roll the strings tight and smooth between her fingers, "but--he is in--his chamber, sister. Would it be quite--proper?"

"I think," said Miss Deborah, holding her head very straight, "we are old enough to"--

"You may be," returned Miss Ruth firmly, "but I am not."

Miss Deborah was silent for a moment; then she said, "Well, perhaps you are right, dear Ruth; though he is certainly very ill, and didn't you say he was in the library?"

"Yes," said Miss Ruth, "he is very ill, but the fact of his couch being in the library does not alter it. If anything sad should be going to happen,--it would be different, then."

"Of course," a.s.sented Miss Deborah.

"You see," Miss Ruth explained, "if we saw him, and then he got well, it would be very awkward."

"True," said Miss Deborah. "And certainly single women cannot be too delicate in such matters. We will send the whips by Giff. Poor, poor William Denner! Let me see,--were you to be his partner on Sat.u.r.day? Oh, no, I recollect: it was I,--it was my turn."

"I think not," Miss Ruth replied gently; "you played last week. I should have played with him this time."

"Not at all," said Miss Deborah firmly, "he was mine."

CHAPTER XX.

The suspense was very hard for Lois Howe to bear.

When Mrs. Dale drove her from the sick-room for air and exercise, she wandered restlessly about the rectory, or went to Mr. Denner's door to beg a word of encouragement from Mary, or take a momentary comfort from the messages he sent her that he was better, and he begged she would not allow herself the slightest discomfort; it was really of no consequence,--no consequence at all.

Gifford was almost always with the little gentleman, and scarcely left him, even to walk through the garden to the gra.s.sy street with Lois. On Sunday, however, late in the afternoon, he went home with her; for Mr.

Dale, with whom she had come, was going to sit awhile with Mr. Denner, and Gifford felt he could be spared.