CHAPTER XXXIII

Otago Witness, Issue 679, 3 December 1864, Page 17

CHAPTER XXXIII

.—AN OLD ENEMY COMB

BACK AGAiy.

So Stephen Grey could not struggle with the fate which seemed to be working against him, arid he quitted his home of years, and betook himself to London. John Grey found a suitable pnrtner in Mr Charles Lycett, the brother of the curate of St. Mark's, who was seeking a practice for himself, and Frederick Grey remained with his uncle in South Wennock to pursue bis medical studies.

Mr John Grey's advice to his brother wa3 : — "Establish yourself well wherever you settle down, whether in London or elsewhere. Spend money in doing so, and the probability is that you will get it returned to you with interest ; but if you begin in a little, poking^ niggardly way, it's ten chances to one if you ever get on"" Stephen took the advice ; and circum -stances favored him. At the very time of his removal to London, a physician died suddenly in Savile Row. Stephen Grey stepped ia, secured the lease of the house at the cost of a trifling outlay, and the practice came flowing in almost without exertion or solicitation on his part. Then be took his degree : and in a few months after he had quitted South Wennock, he found he was gaining a much larger income than he and his brother had counted together.

Nearly a twelvemonth elapsed subse-. <juent to the return of Lady Jane Chesney to South Wennock, and September was come round again. The past year had brought little of event in its wake. An infant, bora to Lady Laura Carlton, had <lied at its birth, and she was one of the gay South .Wennoek world again. " Mr Carlton's practice was a very good one now, for fresh people were ever coming to the new buildings springing up around South Wennock, and he was obliged to take an assistant. No further tilt at arms had occurred between him and Frederick <}rey. He had, perhaps wisely, overlooked the boy's dangerous insolence ; and sinee 1 then they had passed each other in the street without speaking. Frederick Grey's dislike of Mr Carl'ton was made a sort oi joke iv the Grey family ; none of them (save his mother, and she was away, now) knew its origin ; and South Wennock set the dislike down to Mr Carl ton's somewhat underhand conduct to Stephen Grey. Thus nearly a twelvemonth rolled on with but little to mark it.

' On the grand bed of state, which Jane Chesney had lovingly chosen for her father when the newly-taken house was being furnished in Portland Place, lay Eliza] Countess of Oakburn, an infant cradled by her side. There is an old saying, " After a wedding comes a burying ;" but it more frequently happens that after a wedding «omes % christening. Buryings, however, do follow all too surely when their turn comes, and one was not far off that house now.

There had been as little of event to mark the past twelvemonth in the Earl of Oakburn's house, as there had been in South Wennock. Lady Oakburn had made him a good wife ; she had been as solicitous for his comforts as Jane could have been. She made an excellent mistress of his household, a judicious and kind step-mother to Lucy, and the little girl had learnt to love her.

But all her anxious care had not been able to keep the earl's old enemy from him ~gout. He lay in the room above, suffering under an aggravated attack ; an attack ■which threatened danger. Two days only had the little fellow in the cradle by the countess's bed seen the light : he was the young heir to Oakburn. Lucy Chesney sat near, touching now and again the wonderful little red face as she talked to her step-mother. " It is very good of you to Jet me come ia, mamma. What shall his name be ?" They were thinking of the christening, you see.

" Francis, of course, Lucy." " But I have heard papa say that the heir to Oakbnrn should be John. It has been— oh, for ages, * John, Earl of Oakburn.'" " Papa shall decide, dear." "We can't ask him to-day, he is so much worse. He "

" Worse ?" echoed the countess in a - startled tone, whilst an attendant, sitting in the room, raised her finger with a ■warning gesture. Lucy colored with contrition ; she saw that she had said what ought not to have been spoken. ' ' "Nurse, you told me the earl was better this morning !" cried the countess. m The woman rose. "My lady, there was not much difference ; he was better, if any thing," she responded, endeavoring to put all evasion from her voice. "My lord is .in pain, and that's why Lady Lucy may call him worse ; but it is in the nature of gout to be painful." " Lucy, tell me the truth. I ask you in y ur father's name. I see that he is worse,

"and they are keeping it from me. How much worse?"

Lucy stood in distress, not knowing what to-do; blaming herself for her incaution. The eyes of fear are quick, and Lady Gakb'urn saw her dilemma.

"Child," she continued, her emotion rising, "you remember the day, three months ago, when your papa was thrown from his horse in the park, and they sent on here an obscure account of the accident, so that we could not tell whether he was much or little hurt, whether he was alive or dead ? Do you recollect that hour ?—? — the dreadful suspense? — how we prayed to know the worst, rather than to be kept in it ?" *

"Oh, mamma," interrupted Lucy, placing her hand on her eyes, as if she would shut out some unwelcome sight, "do not talk of it. I never could bear to think of it, but that papa cama home, after all, only a little bruised. That was suspense !"

" Lucy, dear child, you are keeping me in the same now," spoke the countess. "I cannot bear it ; I can bear the certain evil, but not the suspense. Now tell me the truth."

Lucy thought she saw her way plain before her ; anything was better than suspense, now that fear had been alarmed.

"I will tell you all I know, mamma. Papa is worse, but I do not think he is so much worse as to cause uneasiness. I have often known him in as much pain as this, before — before" — Lucy in her delicacy of feeling scarcely knew how to word the phrase — " before you came here." Lucy, should your papa become worse, and danger supervene, you will let me know. Mind! I rely upon you. No" — for Lucy «ag drawing away her hand — "you cannot go uutil you have promised." "I do promise, mamma," was Lucy's honest answer. And Lady Oakburn heaved a relieved sigh.

Of course tne nurse had now to plot and plan to counteract this promise, and she sought M ; ss Snow. For Miss Sqow was in the house still, Lucy's governess. Lord Oakburn had not allowed his wife to take the full charge of Lucy's education^ so Miss Snow whs retained : but the countess superintended all.

" My Lady Lucy must not be let know that his lordship's in danger, miss," grumbled the nurse. " She comes tattling everything to my lady, and it won't do. A pretty thing to have her worried!" she concluded, indignantly. " Is the earl in danger ?" quickly asked Mies Snow.

" He's in awful pain, if that's danger," wa3 the answer. "I'm not a sick nurse, miss ; only a monthly : but if ever I saw gout in the stomach, he has got it." "Why that is certain death," uttered Miss Snow, in an accent of alarm.

" Oh, no, it's not ; not always. The worst sign, they say, is that all my lord's snappishnes3 is gone out of him !" " Who says so ? Who says it is ?" "The attendants. That black fellow does nothing but atand behind the bed and cry and sob. He'd like his master to rave at him as is customary. But you'll keep things dark from Lady Lucy, please. I'll speak to the servants."

Miss Snow nodded, and the nurse warned the rest of the house, and took her way back to Lady Oakburn's chamber.

The day closed j the night drew on, and the earl's state was an ominous one. Agonies of pain, awful pain, lasted him throughout it : and but for the well built walls and floors, Lady Oakburn must have heard the groans.

With the morning, he waa calmer, easier; nevertheless, three physicians went in to him. The two in regular attendance had sent for another. 1 "The ship's sinking," said the earl to them. "No more splicing of the timbers; they are rotten, and won't bear it."

The earl was right, and the doctors knew it; but they would not admit to him, in so many words, that he was dying. The earl, in his_ blunt way, blunt still, told them of their craft hood.

" It's all in your day's work to go about deceiving people," cried he ; " telling them they are getting their sea-legs on again, while all the while you know that before the next eight bells stake they'll be gone down to Davy Jones's/locker. It may be the right sort of steering for some patients, delicate women and children, perhaps, but it's not for me, and you are a long way out of your reckoning." The earl's voice grew faint. They administered some drops in a glass, and wiped his brow.

"I am an old sailor, sirs," he continued, "and 1 have turned into my hammock night after night for the best part of my life, knowing there was but a plank between me and eternity. D'ye tnink, then, I have not learnt to face death — that you should be afraid to acknowledge it to me, now it's come ? If I had not made up my accounts for my Maker before, there wouldn't be much time to doit now. I have been headstrong and .irritable, giving my tongue the reins, but the Great Commander knows that poor Jack Tar acquires that in his hard life at sea. He

looks to the heart, and He is merciful to a slip word or two. Pompey."

The man came forward and threw himself by the bedside; his whole attitude expressing the keenest grief and love.

"Pompey, tell them, though I have mao> you fly at my voice, whether I have been a bad master. What sort of a master have I been ?"

Poor Pompey ! his wailing sobs nearly choked him as he knelt and covered the earl's hand with hi 3 tears and kisses.

" Never a better masaa ! never a better massa ! Potnpey like to go with him."

" You'd keep it from me that my voyage is run, sirs ! We seamen have got a ' Saviour as well as you. He chose fishermen ior his friends; d'ye think, then, He'd reject a poor knocbed-about sailor, who goes to Him with his hat in hand and lays his sins at his feet ? No ! He'll steer our boat through the last quicksands, and be on shore to receive us, as He once received His own fishermen, and had a fire of coals ready for them, and fish laid thereon, and bread. And that was after he He had suffered ! Never you be backward again in telling a tired sailor that he's nearing the port. Shall I last the day out ?"

More than that, they thought. • "One of you will send a despatch for my daughter, and— l suppose my wife cannot come to me.,"

The attendant of Lady Oakburn was in the room, one of those round the earl, and he pronounced it "Impossible." Neither must her ladyship be suffered to know of the danger, he added: for a day or two at all events it must be kept from her, or he would not answer for the consequences. The young Lady Lucy must not be allowed to learn it, or she would carry the tidings. The earl listened, and nodded his head. Very good, be said, and he dictated a message to his daughter Jan". As the medical men went out, they encountered Lucy. She was sitting on the stairs waiting for them, deeply anxious. The, summoning of the third- doctor had caused commotion in the house, and Lucy did not know what to thiuk. Gliding up to the one who 'attended Lady Oakbufii, whom she knew best, she eagerly questioned him. But Dr. James was upon his guard, told Lucy the pain had left her papa, and she might go in for a minute to see him.

The "child, delighted, went in. The earl stroked her head and kissed her ; told her to take a kiss to mamma and to the "young blue-jacket," and to say that his voyage was going, on to a prosperous end. Then, remindful of what the medical men had said about its being kept from his wife, or it might cost her her life, and afraid of a slip- word on his own part, he dismissed the child, telling her he was to remain quiet all day. ' . Lucy flew to the countess's chamber, encountering the angry nurse at the door, who looked ready for a pitched battle.

"It's quite impossible that you can enter, my lady." Lucy pleaded. And the nurse found that the child had only come to ' bring glad news, and to talk of the little " bluejacket ;" and she allowed her to go in. And when Dr. James came to pay his morning visit to the countess, his answers to her inquiries were full of reassuring suavity, calculated to give ease ta her mind. No idea did they impart that the earl was dying; indeed, Lady Oakburn rather gathered from them that he might be taking a renewed lease of life.