A Stumble by the Way,

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 653, 9 December 1908, Page 2

A Stumble by the Way,

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

By L.T. MEADE, Author of " The Siren," " The Woo ing of Monica," " The Blue Diamond," " Scamp and I," " Daddv's Boy," " The Yellow Drawing Room,"

etc*, ttc

(Copyright.)

UUAPIEJi XlX.—Gontuiuved. " Five hundred pounds on dress! n said Florence. " I have never certain]y hitherto spent thirty pounds a year on dress. Why, mother, darling, it cannot be 'done; it could not be spent." * "\ »' Could it a*»g Florence? Ask Lady Archie what .she thinks on the subject." f Just then there came an invitation for Florence to go and stay with Lady Archie.in town. "Write to her, mummy, and say n©;" exclaimed the wayward girL " 1 won't be dressed, and bedizened, and below ruiied, and have all my rusticity taken out of me by that horrid little woman. Phil. likes me because lam young and fresh and unlike an orchid; Lady Archie is like the most terribly wicked orchid in the orchid house. Say I can't leave home. Say 1 cannot and won't come. Be rude if you like, mumsey, but teli Lady Archie 1 won't." 11 Well done, Florence i " exclaimed her brother. "I am right glad you are so determined. 1,.t00, hate Lady Archie." "We must go back to Pinewood Cottage to-morrow,"'said "Mrs. Eardiey. ."We shall have now barely a month before the wedding, and it will be better, darling, for you to spend that time at home." "' I don't see the necessity, mother. 1 love being here. Philip won't mind. We can be married from here just as well as from Pinewood Cottage. Why should we got*' " The bride is always married from her mother's house," replied that mother, with some dignity. "Let this somewhat uncommon bride, on the ere of her uncommon marriage, change the custom/ 2 exclaimed the wayward girl. " 1 am so happy now, and it does you good and Stace good, too." Mrs. Eardley was, however, determined not to yield. While she was arguing with Florence, Wingate came in.

*J Eustace," he exclaimed, " your horse is ready, and the morning happens to be specially fine. Will you go for a ride?" t Horse exercise bad been specially ordered for the invalid boy, as giving him necessary exertion without unnecessary fatigue. He was to go out now, followed by the groom. Florence and Wiagate were to join him presently. He got ap slowly, looking at bis sister as he did so. "I am certain mother is right," he said, " and you ought to come home to-morrow, Florence." "Home to-morrow!" said Wingate. "What in the world for, Florence? We are enjoying ourselves immensely." " But there is a great deal to be done before the wedding," said Mrs. Eardiey, looking at him in her gentle ' <%ay, " and Florence ought to be at home for the sake of * ! "What, in heaven's name?" cried Wingate, with some impatience. " Well, the proprieties of life; perhaps thai is too strong a word. It is the custom for the bride to get her things together and take the farewell »f her home life and to be married from the shelter of her father's or mother's home." " But we don't care for customs, do we, Florence?" "That is what I say," said Florence. " And there is another thing, mother. Pinewood Cottage is not as healthy for Stace as Wych Hall; it is so damp in the cottage in the winter; and it ntust be bad for him. You know he often suffers from rheumatic pains round the'beart." Mrs. Eardiey looked annoyed. " You ought to come, Florence; you ought not to make things more difficult for me," she said.

" Very well, if you wish it," answered the girl, who was always easily repentant when she saw that wan expression on her mother's face. "She is thinking now that.perhaps Stace will die. How wicked—how selfish I am!" thought the girl. "I will come home now, if you like, mother darling," and she ran up to Mrs. Eardley and kissed her. But after all matters were to arrange themselves according to Florence's wishes, although in a very un-looked-for way. Eustace Eardley, feeling very much better, went briskly towards the stables, where he met a groom, who told him that the pretty, gentle mare which Wingate had presented him with was waiting for him by the south gate. He went there, expecting to see the servant who usually accompanied the delicate boy on his rides. The mare was haltered to a post which happened -to be near, and to Eustace's astonishment there was no servant in sight. He waited for a moment, then,, impatient at the delay, mounted his steed and set off. • He knew very little about riding, and the mare happened to be fresh. They soon got out of the immediate neighbourhood of the grounds, and Eardley, who felt his own spirits rise each moment, set spurs to his steed, and was soon cantering over the country. They were going in the direction of some moors which lay about ten miles to the right of Wych Hall. Tnese moors clothed several low-lying hills; gorse and dead ferns crept up their sides and clothed them again down to their base. The boy had always a strange fancy, which is almost a mania with some of those whose hearts are affected, to get to the heights. He turned his mare—Stella by name—and felt the relief and pleasure of being absolutely on his own account. They bad gone the distance of about five miles, when the mare, for the first time in her life, showed symptoms of being unmanageable. She

shied violently at an innocent piece of white paper in the road, all but unseated Eustace, and then, when he touched her with his riding-crop, bolted. He did all he could to pull her in, but in vain; she took the bit between her teeth, and became at once absolutely unmanageable. She made fast and straight for the moorland country. Eardiey kept his head, for he was a lad with plenty of pluck, but he very soon, in his efforts to pull in the troublesome and reckless beast, lost his breath, his heart panted with heavy throbs, a mist rose before his eyes, he turned giddy, and presently, as the mare began to descend a steep incline, he fell forward over the saddle and became unconscious. He came to himself in a very few minutes; he found that he was lying on the ground with a considerably sprained ankle, and that his horse was quietly feeding a few hundred yards off. Having got nd of her burden Stella became quiet; she might easily have owned to a sense of self-reproach as she saw the sou, slight figure lying motionless on the grass. But when Eustace moved slowly and uttered a groan, Stella felt sure there was nothing of any consequence the matter, and began to browse on the choicest bits of young furze she could find. Eardiey lay for a minute or two in severe pain, then he remembered what had happened, and tried to struggle to his feet. His ankle, however gave him the most severe torture, and he found he could scarcely put his foot to the ground. His heart, too, was beating irregularly, and as he stoati up the giddiness returned with a force, accompanied by sharp pains in the region of the heart. He sank back, the cold dews on his forehead, and wondered for a minute if the end

had really come. He had no restoratives by him, although he generally carried a small brandy flask in his pocket. He thought, with a feeble longing, of his dearly-loved mother/ and then, with a • more passionate quickening of the heart, of Sister Antonia. :•'

quiet. Dr. Stanmore says I am not to talk to you." /

"You fidget me, you know. 1 '

"Oh! if Sister Antonia were here now! She, with her s'trength and her patience, and that intangible power which she possesses, could lift me up and strengthen and uphold me," he thought " Oh! if I must die, might not this good angel be near, to help me to the very edge of the valley? May I not see her smile as I pass over to the other side ? "

Eustace was lying in utter solitude. Except for the distant browsing of the mare, he could not hear any sound whatever. It was a still day, no wind rustled the ferns, nor moved the great trees in the distance. The sun was still shining overhead, it was a summer's day in mid-winter. To poor Eustace, however, all things were fraught with pain; he raised his dim eyes to the skies, and wondered faintly how long he should live. He was lying on a damp patch of grass, and had already become chilly. After a time, from lying perfectly still his heart quieted down, the intense pain in his ankle passed off, and he began gravely to consider the chance of getting home. If he could only induce Stella to come to his side, and by some method get back to the saddle, he could then return to Wych Hall. But suppose he could not coax the mare back. Very slowly, and with a great effort, he raised himself to a sitting position. He called Stella by name. She was a gentle creature, and she turned her soft,, full dark eye in his direction. He plucked a handful of grass and held it,out to her. She approached him with a slightly dancing movement, looked as if she meant to come-nearer, and then changed her mind and backed away again. Once' more he called her, and then she did steal up near enough to accept the grass. He tried to catch her' reins, which were falling low over her head, but the moment she'saw this movement she went off again and began to nibble the heads of the young furze. Eustace saw that he must not expect Stella to help him home.

"Do I? I am ever so sorry. But you can't expect a great strong girl like, myself to sit motionless all the time." " No, I don't expect it,',' .said the poor lad, "only you fidget me." She looked at him with some compunction in her grey eyes. During lunch an old servant sat with the hoy, and Florence complained to Wingate. "Phil.," she said, "if ever you are ill, woe betide you. I have none of the makings of a nurse in me. I have worried that poor darling upstairs almost beyond endurance. I could not sit still."

•" Oh, fie, Florence," he answered. He looked at her, and then he smiled. "You want a long, walk," he said; " you want to stretch your limbs."

"And yet I cannot stay here," he thought. " I shall die if I do, and what would mother say? However great the pain, I must manage to get at least as far as the high road," How he did he never knew; but at last he found himself standing on his feet. His ankle pained him, but the troublesome suffocating sensation in his heart was worse than the pain of* the sprained ankle. He went slowly forward, a step at a time. Presently he saw a gnarled branch from a furze bush lying on the ground. He stooped, picked it up, found jt was strong enough to support him, and got as far as the high road. There he sat down in terrible pain, and awaited events. •He did not know how long the time was, but at last he heard the cantering feet of horses approaching. He looked up, and to his ecstacy, saw Philip and Florence riding to meet him. They both uttered a shocked exclamation, dismounted, and came immediately to his side. He told his story as best he could. A moment or two later he was mounted on Philip's steed, and Wingate himself was leading him home.

CHAPTER XX. But that night the delicate boy was very ill. High fever had set in. His ankle was swollen and intensely painful, and the action of the heart was the reverse of satisfactory. The best doctor in the neighbourhood was summoned, and shook his head over the case. "He was ill before; he was not fit to encounter an accident of that sort," said Dr. Stanmore. " He must have a nurse immediately." Mrs. Eardiey presently came to the bedside. Eustace, who knew every expression of that face, guessed, even though he could not see her very distinctly in the shaded light, that she had been crying. " Mater," he said—she bent oyer him—" there is only one other person who must nurse me except yourself." " And who is that, my darling? " " Sister Antonia. Perhaps she would come. I think I should get well if she came." " I will nurse you myself to-night," said Mrs. Eardiey. She sat up with him all night, and was unwearied in her attentions. In the morning she was so dead tired she could not move. Florence now took her place. Florence was fresh, healthy, full of sympathy, full of compunction that she had not arrived earlier on the scene, and the very worst nurse in the world. She could do nothing quietly. Her constrained position by the bedside gave her fidgets; she jumped up constantly for any pretence; she looked out of the window, she poked the fire, she shook the bed when she passed it, she gave the medicine too soon and the nourishment not often enough. Eustace was fond of Florence, but he felt that there were limits to all affections, and to have her as nurse when he was seriously ill was beyond endurance. " When will the mother be rested enough to come back to me? " he said. " How selfish you are, Stace! She won't be rested enough until to-night; she is lying down all day. The doctor says you are to have a trained nurse." "That is what I should like," he said, with a gasp. "I am really very ill, Florence; I don't know whether I shall ever be better." " That you will, poor Stace. You arc just shaken up. You must lie very

" That is just it. I nearly go mad in the house. In a sick room lam most beside myself." "He ought to have a nurse," said Wingate. "I haVe been speaking to Stanmore, and he says that Eustace will be some time before he gets better, and you and your mother cannot be worn. out. I will speak to Stanmore ; he is coming back this afternoon." ' • " Eustace said himself he would like a trained nurse," said Florence. " Then that is capital* We will have one in this evening—or at the latest to-morrow morning. And now, my dear girl, you must go and take a long walk. I will sit with your brother this afternoon." ?' " Oh, Philip, but can you stand it?" " Stand it, little girl? Of course. I have nursed sick people before now." So Philip went quietly to the sick room, and made a complete change. He was as perfect a nurse as Florence was imperfect. He drew down the blinds to keep the sunshine from entering; he made the room tidy, placing flowers where tired eyes might rest on them whenever those tired eyes were well enough to look at anything He gave the nourishment and the medicine without tormenting the patient. He put the bedclothes straight and smoothed the 1 pillows, and lifted the fragile form into a more comforable attitude, and then he sat down and remained immovable. Eustace might sleep or talk or do anything he pleased, Philip would not inconvenience him. , \ " Philip," said the boy, suddenly.

"Yes, my dear lad." . " I wish you could get me one thing more than all the many things you have given me." " What do you want now ?" asked Wingate. "Mother will be tired out nursing me. Mother is a splendid nurse, but even she is not quite so good as Sister Antonia: Gould—may Sister Antonia come here? May she nurse me?" ; '

"Who is Sister Antonia?" asked Wingate. j." "She is the superintendent of one of the wards in the Donnyworth Hospital. You know I was very ill there, and she was with me. She, made everything- nice.; Can't you get her to come? 5 !

"Doubtless a woman in her position could not possibly get away." "But if she knew I was —dying!" said the lad, his lips trembling, ,and tears of self-pity filling his eyes. "Would she not come 7 just'for' a few days? Don't you think so? Could you not ask her?" ■

"We can write for her, of course. There, Eustace, don't fret. I will do my best to get her to come." When Wingate next saw the doctor, the report of the patient was even more gloomy* ■■ >\

" The fever .is increasing," he said. " As long as he has a very high temperature he will live; but when the reaction sets in, I greatly fear heart failure. He ought not to be agitated. He is restless. He seems to have some unfulfilled wish. I cannot make out what is the matter. I suggested a trained nurse, and he said at once : 'Sister Antonia—only Sister Antonia.' Who is this wonderful Sister Antonia —and can we get her for him?" "I greatly fear we cannot. She is a nurse who was extremely kind to him at the Donnyworth Hospital, at Scarfield. He took a great fancy to her, and she seemed to have a wonderful influence over him. But she is in a responsible position there, and would not be allowed to leave."

" She might be allowed a day or two off for a special case of this kind," said the doctor. " I know Donnyworth Hospital at Scarfield very well, I know one of the doctors on the staff. I might write to him—Dr. Johns. I will send him a letter at once, if —'' one can take it."

"I could, if necessary," said Wingate. He thought for a moment. "It might be better," he said, "if Price went. Clement Price is always at our beck and call. You know him. He is in London now, and could so easily get to Scarfield and put the whole case before Sister Antonia." " Then. I will wire to Johns, and tell him that the case is most urgent; and you will wire to Price ? The Sister ought to be here by the morning if she is to be much good. He might be told that she is coming; and I think you, Wingate, ought to sit up with him to-night." " You don't surely apprehend anything?" "I shall look in again at ten o'clock. I should not like the mother to be frightened. If there is a sudden collapse he must have hot bottles and hot brandy and water to drink. I will also leave a special medicine." "As the case is so very serious, perhaps you will come and help us yours*' *•-"-night, Dr. Stanmore?"

He thought for a moment', and then 1 he- said,' '•■•'-'■ ' '■ , '•.> ? c * -s?hat ; will depend upon how I- find' the patient" at., ten this evening';, but if necessary" I will remain for the night;'*; .The doctor went away, and Wingate immediately took -jsteps to carry out his instructions. He wired to Price. His wire was short and emphatic : . . .'"'"•

"If you can,; go immediately to Dohnyworth Hospital, .Scarfield, and get Sister Antonia to come here. Poor Eardley "very ill; met sudden accident ; not expected to live many days; all depends on Sister Antonia's nursing and influence. Get her to come" at any cost. Don't delay a moment." This, telegram was to Price, and he received it about five that afternoon. He happened to be in when it came. He read it over twice, and the second time he felt a'dictinct sensation, of something between pleasure, curiosity, and dread. He did not quite know why' he was affected by this curious mingled feeling, he only knew that it was so., The messenger was waiting for an answer. Price wired back to Wych Hall that he was going immediately to secure the services of Sister .Antonia, ind then he took the very next train o Scarfield. _

He was unfortunate in not being *. ble to catch an express train, and in .onsequence did . hot reach the big manufacturing town until about eight o'clock in the evening. He took a cab and drove straight to the hospital. Sister was busy attending to, some of the wants of one or two patients who were very ill. She was standing in the long ward, and giving directions to a probationer in that calm voice of hers,fwhich never sank to a whisper yet never rose to irritate anyone. Nurse Kathleen was seen coming up the room bearing a card on a salver. *

(To be continued.)