_ CHAPTER TWENTY. THE DOCTOR'S DICTUM
Dick leaped up and came to the window as soon as he heard the beating of the horse's hoofs; and to his great joy, as the mounted man turned the corner he saw that it was the doctor, whom he ran down to meet.
"Hah, my lad! here is a bad business!" exclaimed the doctor as he dismounted. "Well, come, they cannot say this was your doing. You wouldn't shoot your own father, eh?"
"Oh, pray, come up, sir, and don't talk," cried Dick excitedly. "Poor father is dying!"
"Oh, no," said the doctor; "we must not let him die."
"But be quick, sir! You are so long!" cried Dick.
"Don't be impatient, my lad," said the doctor smiling. "We folks have to be calm and quiet in all we do. Now show me the way."
Dick led him to the room, the doctor beckoning Hickathrift to follow; and as soon as he reached the injured man's side he quietly sent Mrs Winthorpe and Dick to wait in the next room, retaining the great wheelwright to help him move his patient.
The time seemed interminable, and as mother and son sat waiting, every word spoken in the next room sounded like a moan from the injured man. Mrs Winthorpe's face appeared to be that of a woman ten years older, and her agony was supreme; but like a true wife and tender mother--ah, how little we think of what a mother's patience and self-denial are when we are young!--she devoted her whole energies to administering comfort to her sorely-tried son.
A dozen times over Dick felt that he could not keep the secret that troubled him--that he must tell his mother his suspicions and ask her advice; but so sure as he made up his mind to speak, the fear that he might be wrong troubled him, and he forebore.
Then began the whole struggle again, and at last he was nearer than ever to confiding his horrible belief in their neighbour's treachery, when the doctor suddenly appeared.
Dick rose from where he had been kneeling by his mother's side, and she started from her seat to grasp the doctor's hand.
She did not speak, but her eyes asked the one great question of her heart, and then, as the doctor's hard sour face softened and he smiled, Mrs Winthorpe uttered a piteous sigh and clasped her hands together in thankfulness to Heaven.
"Then he is not very bad, doctor?" cried Dick joyfully.
"Yes, my boy, he is very bad indeed, and dangerously wounded," replied the doctor; "but, please God, I think I can pull him through."
"Tell me--tell me!" faltered Mrs Winthorpe piteously.
"It is a painful thing to tell a lady," said the doctor kindly; "but I will explain. Mrs Winthorpe, he has a terrible wound. The bullet has passed obliquely through his chest; it was just within the skin at the back, and I have successfully extracted it. As far as I can tell there is no important organ injured, but at present I am not quite sure. Still I think I may say he is in no immediate danger."
Mrs Winthorpe could not trust herself to speak, but she looked her thanks and glided toward the other room.
"Do not speak to him and do not let him speak," whispered the doctor. "Everything depends upon keeping him perfectly still, so that nature may not be interrupted in doing her portion of the work."
Mrs Winthorpe bowed her head in acquiescence, and with a promise that he would return later in the day the doctor departed.
Dick found, a short time after, that the news had been carried to the works at the drain, where Mr Marston was busy; and no sooner did that gentleman hear of the state of affairs than he hurried over to offer his sympathy to Mrs Winthorpe and Dick.
"I little thought that your father was to be a victim," he said to the latter as soon as they were alone. "I have been trying my hand to fix the guilt upon somebody, but so far I have failed. Come, Dick, you and I have not been very good friends lately, and I must confess that I have been disposed to think you knew something about these outrages."
"Yes, I knew you suspected me, Mr Marston."
"Not suspected you, but that you knew something about them; but I beg your pardon: I am sorry I ever thought such things; and I am sure you will forgive me, for indeed I do not think you know anything of the kind now."
Dick quite started as he gazed in Mr Marston's face, so strangely that the engineer wondered, and then felt chilled once more and stood without speaking.
Mr Marston took a step up and down for a few moments and then turned to Dick again.
"Look here, my lad," he said. "I don't like for there to be anything between us. I want to be friends with you, for I like you, Richard Winthorpe; but you keep on making yourself appear so guilty that you repel me. Speak to me, Dick, and say out downright, like a man, that you know nothing about this last affair."
Dick looked at him wildly, but remained silent.
"Come!" said Mr Marston sternly, and he fixed the lad with his eye; "there has been a dastardly outrage committed and your father nearly murdered. Tell me plainly whether you know whose hand fired the shot."
No answer.
"Dick, my good lad, I tell you once more that I do not suspect you--only that you know who was the guilty party."
Still no answer.
"It is your duty to speak, boy," cried Mr Marston angrily. "You are not afraid to speak out?"
"I--I don't know," said Dick.
"Then you confess that you do know who fired at your father?"
"I did not confess," said Dick slowly. "I cannot say. I only think I know."
"Then who was it?"
No answer.
"Dick, I command you to speak," cried Mr Marston, catching his arm and holding him tightly.
"I don't know," said Dick.
"You do know, cried Mr Marston angrily, and I will have an answer. No man's life is safe, and these proceedings must be stopped."
For answer Dick wrested himself free.
"I don't know for certain," he said determinedly, "and I'm not going to say who it is I suspect, when I may be wrong."
"But if the person suspected is innocent, he can very well prove it. Ah, here is Tom Tallington! Come, Tom, my lad, you can help me here with your old companion."
"No," cried Dick angrily, "don't ask him."
"I shall ask him," said Mr Marston firmly. "Look here, Tom; our friend Dick here either knows or suspects who it was that fired that shot; and if he knows that, he can tell who fired the other shots, and perhaps did all the other mischief."
"Do you know, Dick?" cried Tom excitedly.
"I don't know for certain, I only suspect," said Dick sadly.
"And I want him to speak out, my lad, while he persists in trying to hide it."
"He won't," said Tom. "He thinks it is being a bit of a coward to tell tales; but he knows it is right to tell, don't you, Dick?"
"No," said the latter sternly.
"You do, now," said Tom. "Come, I say, let's know who it was. Here, shall I call father?"
"No, no," cried Dick excitedly, "and I won't say a word. I cannot. It is impossible."
"You are a strange lad, Dick Winthorpe," said the engineer, looking at them curiously.
"Oh, but he will speak, Mr Marston! I can get him to," cried Tom. "Come, Dick, say who it was."
Dick stared at him wildly, for there was something so horrible to him in this boy trying now to make him state what would result in his father's imprisonment and death, that Tom seemed for the moment in his eyes quite an unnatural young monster at whose presence he was ready to shudder.
"How can you be so obstinate!" cried Tom. "You shall tell. Who was it?"
Dick turned from him in horror, and would have hurried away, but Mr Marston caught his arm.
"Stop a moment, Dick Winthorpe," he said. "I must have a few words with you before we part. It is plain enough that all these outrages are directed against the persons who are connected with the drainage scheme, and that their lives are in danger. Now I am one of these persons, and to gratify the petty revenge of a set of ignorant prejudiced people who cannot see the good of the work upon which we are engaged, I decline to have myself made a target. I ask you, then, who this was. Will you speak?"
Dick shook his head.
"Well, then, I am afraid you will be forced to speak. I consider it to be my duty to have these outrages investigated, and to do this I shall write up to town. The man or men who will be sent down will be of a different class to the unfortunate constable who was watching here. Now, come, why not speak?"
"Mr Marston!" cried Dick hoarsely.
"Yes! Ah, that is better! Now, come, Dick; we began by being friends. Let us be greater friends than ever, as we shall be, I am sure."
"No, no," cried Dick passionately. "I want to be good friends, but I cannot speak to you. I don't know anything for certain, I only suspect."
"Then whom do you suspect?"
"Yes; who is it?" cried Tom angrily.
"Hold your tongue!" said Dick so fiercely that Tom shrank away.
"I say you shall speak out," retorted the lad, recovering himself.
"For your father's sake speak out, my lad," said Mr Marston.
Dick shook his head and turned away, to go back into the wheelwright's cottage, where, suffering from a pain and anguish of mind to which he had before been a stranger, he sought refuge at his mother's side, and shared her toil of watching his father as he lay there between life and death. _