Chapter XIV: Gloomy Forebodings

When Fred came back to himself again after he had, as it seemed to him, gone through ages of time, and lived in scenes and places remotely apart from his present uncomfortable position, he found himself lying on some cold flagging oil-cloth in a dimly lighted passage, with his head supported on some one's knees, and two eager, anxious eyes, glaring into his face with a scrutiny which, though it was awestruck and terrified, yet had no threatening or sinister expression.

"Fred, Fred, old fellow, are you better? do say you're better," cried a voice whose anxious tones corresponded with the anxious gaze above him; but the dizziness was so great and the faintness so oppressive, Fred could not respond, and closed his eyes again with a shuddering sigh.

"I do believe he's off again; what are we to do? I say, Kathleen, has that place stopped bleeding yet?"

"Not quite," replied a very sorrowful voice behind his head; and then Fred felt that some one was stanching a wound behind his ear with a handkerchief.

"If he does not come round soon, we must rouse up some one or other: it's awful having him here, perhaps dying, all by ourselves in the middle of the night;" and Fred heard distinctly the dry sob which finished this hopeless remark.

"Wait a minute," he managed to say, while he tried to raise his head a little from his sister's knee. "If you give me time I shall be all right." A fearful remembrance was beginning to dawn on his mind, and a rising sense of jeopardy and danger close at hand. He moaned aloud.

"There, then, don't hurry, and you'll soon be all right, old man. There is no good trying to sit up until you are able, so lie still a bit longer."

"But we shall have the whole place about our ears if we don't hurry?" and Fred looked up inquiringly at his brother.

"Not a fear of it; it is only four o'clock, and there won't be a soul stirring for another hour and a half."

Then Fred drew a deep sigh and closed his eyes, lying back heavily on his sister's arm till they thought he had almost fallen asleep; but by-and-by he asked, in a tremulous, anxious voice, "Harry, I suppose I made an awful smash of it."

"Of what?"

"Of the chess-box and everything."

"To tell you the truth I don't know, for I just hauled you out the best way I could; and precious hard work it was too, to get you over that brutal shelf, and the whole place a mess of honey and bees-wax."

"Did you close the door after you even?"

"How could I, when I had you in my arms?"

"And you left it standing wide open for every one to know what has happened!" and Fred covered his face with his hands in the misery of his recollections.

"It's not too late to shut it now, if that's all you want," said Harry, leaping to his feet.

"And cut off the ends of the string while you are about it, like a good fellow," moaned Fred.

"What string?"

"The string fastened to the bolts."

"I have not a notion what you mean; but I suppose I shall find out." And Harry soon disappeared round the corner of the passage which led to the store-room door.

He was a long time away, and when he came back Fred was sitting up and watching for him anxiously.

"There!" he cried, tossing three or four ends of cord on his brother's knees. "It took me a good ten minutes to gnaw these ruffians across. If they were the ropes of a four-master, they could not be tougher or harder to break."

"Did you chink the bolts back again into their place?" asked Fred uneasily.

"Ay did I; and one fellow squeaked like blue murder. But I say, Fred, if you are all right now, we had better peg on, for I thought I heard a stir in the lower regions, and the place will soon be alive with housemaids and besoms."

Thus admonished, Fred rose from the ground, and with the assistance of Harry and Kathleen stood straight up on his feet.

"How do you feel now?"

"Just a little shaky in the upper story. But never mind; once I am in bed I shall be all right."

Harry blew out his candle, as the dawn was now on the increase; and the three slowly and cautiously made their way along passages and through doorways, until at last they stood in the main hall, with its statues and grim warriors keeping guard at the foot of the staircase. Fred's knees were shaking beneath him, and his heart sickened at the sight of the numerous steps before him.

"Gather up all your courage, and you'll be there before you know where you are," whispered Harry, whose brotherly eyes read every thought of Fred's heart.

"I know I wish I never had come down them," murmured Fred despondingly; and, leaning heavily on the supporting arms held out to him, he wearily plodded on to the top, when, with one more almost despairing effort, he staggered forward to the door of his own room, which Harry pushed open, and Fred, stretching out his hand in the gloom of the closely darkened room, sank helplessly on the nearest chair, with closed eyes and a gray pallor spreading over all his face.

"Safe at last!" gasped Harry, as he felt his way over to the window, and turned back one leaf of the shutter to admit some light. "But oh what an awful night it has been! I would not go through it again for twenty pounds!"

"Yes; and what will happen to us to-morrow, when Aunt Marian finds it all out?" continued Kathleen, in a dolorous whisper--

"For goodness' sake, do stop talking!" cried Fred piteously. "Don't you see how miserable I am already! Could not you lend me an arm one of you to help me into bed?"

Harry instantly came forward and gave his brother his arm, assisting him across the room, and laying him down tenderly in the bed, where he covered him up with the clothes; and having examined the wound behind his ear, to see that it was no longer bleeding, he moved quietly away.

"Kathleen, go to your bed now," he said, turning round to his sister, who stood trembling in her night-dress and bare feet in the centre of the room. "I am afraid you will have caught your death of cold in these passages. Roll yourself up as warmly as you can in the blankets, and the first person I hear stirring in the house I'll send and get you a hot cup of tea."

Kathleen lingered, however, a few minutes, just to see that Fred was all right, and settling comfortably for sleep; and as there was no movement, and his breathing sounded tolerably easy and regular, she presently turned away, and with a glance cast towards Harry, expressive of the most gloomy forebodings, she opened the door of her own room and retired to bed.

Harry, however, could not think of rest: he drew his chair over beside the open shutter, and looked out over the parterre beneath, with its still sleeping flowers, on to the gray and drowsy world beyond.

Even the crows in the rookery were not stirring yet; only the sentinels on the outermost branches gave an occasional "caw," and flapped their black wings ominously.

But the daylight was close at hand, for all that; and he had not sat there long before the sun rose up behind the hills, and with it the whole face of nature grew bright and beautiful. The birds began to sing vigorously, and the gloom and mystery of the twilight disappeared.

Yet somehow this glow and cheerful sunlight brought no comfort to Harry's mind. On the contrary, in exact proportion to the increased glory and beauty of the outside world the darkness and despair of his heart deepened, and the consequences of the last night's adventure assumed every moment more terrible proportions.

Oh what a jolly time they might have had if things had not gone wrong! How beautiful and grand and splendid a place it was, with its gardens, and fountains, and woods, and gymnasium, and every pleasure that could be thought of! And Harry's eyes roamed over all the demesne with an overpowering melancholy, as he thought of the leave-taking which his heart told him only too surely was close at hand.

And how had all this misery come about, which for the last few days had been hedging them in closer and closer, round and round, and which now seemed to hide out all that was peaceful and bright. It was a subject for deep thought and consideration, and the disentangling of all the wretchedness of the last few days was by no means an agreeable or lively task; and Harry's sighs followed so quickly and unconsciously one upon the other, that at length there was a stir in the far-off bed, and Fred cried out in a voice of anguish,--

"Harry, do stop groaning and sighing over there at the window! If you were as miserable as I am, you might sigh till your heart burst, and it would do you no good in the end."

"You cannot be more miserable than I am," said Harry quickly, while he bent his head down upon his folded arm on the window-sill.

"Why, what have _you_ to be unhappy about, I'd like to know? _You_ have done nothing wrong: you have not got into a single row since you came into the house, while I have been plunging out of one only to fall into another twice as bad. I'd give all I have in the world this moment to be safe at home, and awake in the morning and find the whole thing had been a beastly nightmare. If mother had been here, that's all: but there is no use in thinking of 'ifs;' only what a difference it would have made! And yet," added Fred; and then followed a long pause, during which time his face grew unusually grave and thoughtful, and undeniable tears came up into his eyes.

"And yet what?" asked Harry timidly, for Fred did not always like having his thoughts "fished up into the light," as he called it; but this time he only stretched out his arms kindly towards his brother, and said in a softened voice:--

"I remember when I was first revelling in the thought of coming here and staying with Aunt Marian, I thought nearly the best of the whole thing, if not quite, was, that neither father nor mother would be with us, and that we should be able to have everything and to do everything just as we liked ourselves; and now I feel exactly the opposite way. If you only knew the longing I have this moment--the actually cruel longing--for mother to come and sit beside my bed, you'd pity me. I fell asleep a moment ago, just for a second, and dreamt she was going over my Delectus with me outside in the dear old verandah at home; and when I awoke, and saw the corner of the wall paper beside my bed, and knew I was here instead of with her, I actually writhed under the clothes with misery and wretchedness." And as he spoke, Fred threw himself suddenly back in the bed, and covered up his head with the clothes, and Harry could see by the heaving of the counterpane that once more his brother was seeking in his despair to smother down the grief which oppressed him.

At length the time came when it was necessary to think of washing and dressing. The footman came in with hot water, and carried down their clothes to be brushed; nor did Harry discover that he was still partially dressed in his evening costume until John asked him politely if he would not like his black trousers to be taken down to be cleaned. And then he remembered with a start of horror how he had drawn on the first pair that came to his hand the night before; and now, as he gave them up into the man's keeping, he felt convinced that soon the whole affair would be known and talked of downstairs, and that these very garments, which he so reluctantly yielded, would become, as it were, proofs of his complicity. It was impossible, however, to defer the ordeal of breakfast and prayers; and he slowly began to draw on his stockings and clothes, wondering all the time whether he ought to rouse Fred, who seemed to have fallen asleep, or at least to be in a more composed and tranquil frame of mind.

Fred, however, needed no reminder of the hour. It was only a question of sickness and faintness which had kept him so still and silent; and now that this was beginning to pass off he slowly raised himself up in his bed, and began with evident effort to look matters in the face, and make up his mind what course of conduct he ought to pursue.

"Harry, throw me over one of my suspenders,--there's a good fellow," he said presently. "I must get up and dress and go down and face them all, or they'd be suspecting something, and getting wind of the whole affair before I've had time to think the matter out, and settle what's best to be done. My own idea is, that the moment breakfast is over I'll just cut and run and make the best of my way home somehow. I don't care how, so as I can bolt before the thing is discovered, and my name turned into a laughing-stock for the amusement of the company at large."

"Fred, you are only humbugging; you would not really do such a cowardly thing."

"Cowardly! how do you mean? It's not a bit cowardly. I just ask you, now, is a fellow supposed to sit down quietly on a barrel of gunpowder and wait till it explodes? Nonsense; of course not. 'He who fights and runs away, will live to fight another day;' and on that principle I shall certainly cut and run. But oh, I say, Harry, shove us over a chair; I'm so dead sick I cannot stand. Ugh!" and Fred sank down on the top of a portmanteau and closed his eyes, while the deadly paleness crept again over his face.

At this moment there was a knock at the bedroom door, and Harry, scarcely conscious of what he was saying or doing, so engrossed was he by Fred's sudden faintness, cried out, "Come in." The door accordingly opened, and Maurice walked in.

"Well, Fred, old fellow," he cried heartily, "I just came to look after you, as I heard from John you weren't quite the thing--but--;" here Maurice stood quite still in the centre of the room, aghast at the pallor of Fred's face, and the evident distress and anxiety depicted in his cousin's countenance. "Good gracious, Fred, what's the matter with you? you do look ill, and no mistake."

"It's nothing, nothing in the least to signify," cried Fred nervously, and waving back his cousin. "I don't want anything, I assure you: please go downstairs and never mind me; I'll follow presently."

"Nonsense, man, you must not think of coming downstairs when you're so ill; get back into bed, and I'll bring you up a cup of coffee. Do, that's a good fellow; indeed, you are not well enough to be up and going about."

"Yes, do go back to bed," urged Harry. "You know you are as faint as ever you can be; and even if you did make your way downstairs, you would have to come up again."

Thus urged, and feeling himself too miserable to argue, Fred consented to return to the bed; but he utterly refused to lean on Maurice's extended arm, not through pride or vexation, but because he feared Maurice might see the wound behind his ear, and question him about it.

"I say, what a smell of honey there is everywhere," observed Maurice, as he stood by the chair on which Fred had cast his socks. "I have noticed it over the whole place ever since I got up this morning."

No one replied to this remark. Harry was assisting Fred into bed, and pale as was Fred's face, it was well for him it was turned towards the wall, or the shudder caused by a sudden renewal of his fears must have been apparent even to his unsuspecting cousin.

The gong for prayers happily sounding at this moment came to the relief of all parties, and Harry, with many promises of a speedy return, left the room in company with Maurice, who, not understanding the restraint and gravity of his cousin's manner, felt uneasy and constrained.

As they went down the broad staircase, Maurice once more spoke about the strong odour of honey through the hall and along the passages, and expressed some curiosity and surprise about the matter; but even these apparently innocent remarks seemed unfortunately chosen, for Harry coloured crimson, and freeing his arm from his cousin, pushed his way down the stairs in front of him.

Lady Brinsley greeted Harry very affectionately on his entrance; and only thinking that Fred was a little late, made no remark on his absence until prayers were finished, when Maurice having told her of Fred's illness, she inquired most anxiously about him, and offered, when breakfast was over, to go up and see him, and then, if necessary, to send for advice to the neighbouring town.

Harry listened to her kind and thoughtful suggestions in almost total silence; only a stray "Thank you," or, "I am sure you are very kind, aunt," dropping from his lips like so many stones instead of words. Not till Lady Brinsley paused and questioned him whether he was ill himself did he rouse himself up sufficiently to give a definite answer.

He assured her he was quite well; he had not slept much, that was all, and that after breakfast they would both be as right as trivets. And so anxious was he to take his place at the table, and thus avoid further questioning, that he became entirely oblivious of Fred and his breakfast, and unobservant of the fact that Maurice had already poured out the coffee and carried the tray up to his cousin's room.