_ CHAPTER XXI. DOCTOR DANTON'S GOOD WORKS
The two women stood in the bleak twilight looking at each other--Agnes with piteous, imploring eyes, Kate dazed and hopelessly bewildered.
"My brother's wife!" she repeated. "You! Agnes Darling!"
"Oh, dear Miss Danton, have pity on me! Let me see him. Let me tell him I am innocent, and that I love him with my whole heart. Don't cast me off! Don't despise me! Indeed, I am not the guilty creature he thinks me!"
"Agnes, wait," Kate said, holding out her hand. "I am so confounded by this revelation that I hardly know what to do or say. Tell me how you found out my brother was here? Did you know it when you came?"
"Oh, no. I came as seamstress, with a lady from New York to Canada, and when I left her I lived in the Petite Rue de St. Jacques. There you found me; and I came here, never dreaming that I was to live in the same house with my lost husband."
"And how did you make the discovery? Did you see him?"
"Yes, Miss Danton; the night you were all away at the party, you remember. I saw him on the stairs, returning to his room. I thought then it was a spirit, and I fainted, as you know, and Doctor Danton was sent for, and he told me it was no spirit, but Harry himself."
"Doctor Danton!" exclaimed Kate, in unbounded astonishment. "How did Doctor Danton come to know anything about it?"
"Why, it was he--oh, I haven't told you. I must go back to that dreadful night when my cousin was shot. As I told you, the room was filled with people, and among them there was a young man--a Doctor, he told us--who made them lift poor Will on the bed, and proceeded to examine his wound. It was not fatal."
She stopped, for Kate had uttered a cry and grasped her arm.
"Not fatal!" she gasped. "Oh, Agnes! Agnes! Tell me he did not die!"
"He did not, thank Heaven. He lived, and lives still--thanks to the skill and care of Doctor Danton."
Kate clasped her hands with a fervent prayer of thanksgiving.
"Oh, my poor Harry!" she cried, "immured so long in those dismal rooms, when you were free to walk the world. But perhaps the punishment was merited. Go on, Agnes; tell me all."
"The wound was not fatal, but his state was very critical. Doctor Danton extracted the bullet, and remained with him all night. I was totally helpless. I don't remember anything about it, or anything that occurred for nearly a fortnight. Then I was in a neighbour's room; and she told me I had been very ill, and, but for the kindness and care of the young Doctor, must have died. She told me William lived, and was slowly getting better; but the good Doctor had hired a nurse to attend him, and came to the house every day. I saw him that very afternoon, and had a long talk with him. He told me his name was Doctor Danton, that he had come from Germany on business, and must return in a very few days now. He said he had friends in Canada, whom he had intended to visit, but this unfortunate affair had prevented him. He had not the heart to leave us in our forlorn and dangerous state. He would not tell his friends of his visit to America at all, so they would have no chance to feel offended. Oh, Miss Danton, I cannot tell you how good, how noble, how generous he was. He left New York the following week; but before he went he forced me to take money enough to keep me six months. I never felt wholly desolate until I saw him go, and then I thought my heart would break. Heaven bless him! He is the noblest man I ever knew."
Kate's heart thrilled with a sudden response. And this was the man she had slighted, and perhaps despised--this hero, this great, generous, good man!
"You are right," she said; "he is noble. And after that, Agnes, what did you do?"
"I dismissed the hired nurse, and took care of poor Will until he fully recovered. Then he resumed his business; and I went back, sick and sorrowful, to my old life. I can never tell you how miserable I was. The husband I loved was lost to me forever. He had gone, believing me guilty of the worst of crimes, and I should never see him again to tell him I was innocent. The thought nearly broke my heart; but I lived and lived, when, I only prayed, wickedly, I know, to die. I came to Canada--I came here; and here I met my best friend once more. I saw Harry, or an apparition, as I took it to be, until Doctor Danton assured me to the contrary. He did not know, but he suspected the truth--he is so clever; and now that he has seen him, and knows for certain, he told me to tell you who I was. Miss Danton, I have told you the simple truth, as Heaven hears me. I have been true and faithful in thought and word to the husband I loved. Don't send me away; don't disbelieve and despise me."
She lifted her streaming eyes and clasped hands in piteous supplication. There were tears, too, in the blue eyes of Kate as she took the little supplicant in her arms.
"Despise you, my poor Agnes! What a wretch you must take me to be! No, I believe you, I love you, you poor little broken-down child. I shall not send you away. I know Harry loves you yet; he calls for you continually in his delirium. I shall speak to papa; you shall see him to-night. Oh! to think how much unnecessary misery there is in the world."
She put her arm round her slender waist, and was drawing her towards the house. Before they reached it, a big dog came bounding and barking up the avenue and overtook them.
"Be quiet, Tiger," said Kate, halting. "Let us wait for Tiger's master, Agnes."
Tiger's master appeared a moment later. One glance sufficed to show him how matters stood.
He lifted his hat with a quiet smile.
"Good evening, Miss Danton; good evening, Mrs. Danton. I see you have come to an understanding at last."
"My brother--we all owe you a debt we can never repay," Kate said gravely; "and Agnes here pronounces you an uncanonized saint."
"So I am. The world will do justice to my stupendous merits by-and-by. You have been very much surprised by Agnes' story, Miss Danton?"
"Very much. We are going in to tell papa. You will come with us, Doctor?"
"If Mrs. Agnes does not make me blush by her laudations. Draw it mild, Agnes, won't you. You have no idea how modest I am."
He opened the front door and entered the hall as he spoke, followed by the two girls. The drawing-room door was ajar, but Eeny and her teacher were the only occupants of that palatial chamber.
"Try the dining-room," suggested Kate; "it is near dinner-hour; we will find some one there."
Doctor Frank ran down-stairs, three steps at a time, followed more decorously by his companions. Grace seated near the table, reading by the light of a tall lamp, was the only occupant. She lifted her eyes in astonishment at her brother's boisterous entrance.
"Where is papa?" Kate asked.
"Upstairs in the sick-room."
"Then wait here, Doctor; wait here, Agnes! I will go for him."
She ran lightly upstairs, and entered the sick man's bedroom. The shaded lamp lit it dimly, and showed her her father sitting by the bedside talking to his son. The invalid was better this evening--very, very weak, but no longer delirious.
"You are better, Harry dear, are you not?" his sister asked, stooping to kiss him; "and you can spare papa for half an hour? Can't you, Harry?"
A faint smile was his answer. He was too feeble to speak. Miss Danton summoned Ogden from one of the outer rooms, left him in charge, and bore her father off.
"What has happened, my dear?" the Captain asked. "There is a whole volume of news in your face."
Kate clasped her hands around his arm, and looked up in his face with her great earnest eyes.
"The most wonderful thing, papa! Just like a play or a novel! Who do you think is here?"
"Who? Not Rose come back, surely?"
"Rose? Oh, no!" Kate answered, with wonderful quietness. "You never could guess. Harry's wife!"
"What!"
"Papa! Poor Harry was dreadfully mistaken. She was innocent all the time. Doctor Frank knows all about it, and saved the life of the man Harry shot. It is Agnes Darling, papa. Isn't it the strangest thing you ever heard of?"
They were at the dining-room door by this time--Captain Danton in a state of the densest bewilderment, looking alternately at one and another of the group before him.
"What, in the name of all that's incomprehensible, does this mean? Kate, in Heaven's name, what have you been talking about?"
Miss Danton actually laughed at her father's mystified face.
"Sit down, papa, and I'll tell you all about it. Here!"
She wheeled up his chair and made him be seated, then leaning over the back, in her clear, sweet voice, she lucidly repeated the tale Agnes Darling had told her. The Captain and his wife sat utterly astounded; and Agnes, with her face hidden, was sobbing in her chair.
"Heaven bless me!" ejaculated the astonished master of Danton Hall. "Can I believe my ears? Agnes Darling, Harry's wife!"
"Yes, Captain," Doctor Frank said, "she is your son's wife--his innocent and deeply-injured wife. The man Crosby, in what he believed to be his dying hour, solemnly testified, in the presence of a clergyman, to her unimpeachable purity and fidelity. It was the evil work of that villain Furniss, from first to last. I have the written testimony of William Crosby in my pocket at this moment. He is alive and well, and married to the lady of whom he was speaking when your son shot him. I earnestly hope you will receive this poor child, and unite her to her husband, for I am as firmly convinced of her innocence as I am of my own existence at this moment."
"Receive her!" Captain Danton cried, with the water in his eyes. "That I will, with all my heart. Poor little girl--poor child," he said, going over and taking the weeping wife into his arms. "What a trial you have undergone! But it is over now, I trust. Thank Heaven my son is no murderer, and under Heaven, thanks to you, Doctor Danton. Don't cry, Agnes--don't cry. I am heartily rejoiced to find I have another daughter."
"Oh, take me to Harry!" Agnes pleaded. "Let me tell him I am innocent! Let me hear him say he forgives me!"
"Upon my word, I think the forgiveness should come from the other side," said the Captain. "He was always a hot-headed, foolish boy, but he has received a lesson, I think, he will never forget. How say you, Doctor, may this foolish little girl go to that foolish boy?"
"I think not yet," the Doctor replied. "In his present weak state the shock would be too much for him. He must be prepared first. How is he this evening?"
"Much better, not at all delirious."
"I will go and have a look at him," said Doctor Frank, rising. "Don't look so imploringly, Agnes; you shall see him before long. Miss Danton, have the goodness to accompany me. If we find him much better, I will let you break the news to him and then fetch Agnes. But mind, madame," raising a warning finger to the sobbing little woman, "no hysterics! I can't have my patient agitated. You promise to be very quiet, don't you!"
"Oh, yes! I'll try."
"Very good. Now, Miss Danton."
He ran up the stairs, followed by Kate. The sick man lay, as he had left him, quietly looking at the shaded lamp, very feeble--very, very feeble and wasted. The Doctor sat down beside him, felt his pulse, and asked him a few questions, to which the faint replies were lucid and intelligible.
"No fever to-night. No delirium. You're fifty per cent. better. We will have you all right now, in no time. Kate has brought an infallible remedy."
The sick man looked at his sister wonderingly.
"Can you bear the shock of some very good news, Harry darling?" Kate said stooping over him.
"Good news!" he repeated feebly, and with an incredulous look. "Good news for me!"
"Yes, indeed, thou man of little faith! The best news you ever heard. You won't agitate yourself, will you, if I tell you?"
Doctor Frank arose before he could reply.
"I leave you to tell him by yourself. I hear the dinner-bell; so adieu."
He descended to the dining-room and took his place at the table. Captain Danton's new-found daughter he compelled to take poor Rose's vacant place; but Agnes did not even make a pretence of eating anything. She sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes fixed steadily on the door, trying with all her might to be calm and wait.
The appetite of the whole family was considerably impaired by the revelation just made, and all waited anxiously the return of Kate. In half an hour the dining-room door opened, and that young lady appeared, very pale, and with traces of tears on her face, but smiling withal.
Agnes sprang up breathlessly.
"Come," Kate said, holding out her hand; "he is waiting for you!"
With a cry of joy Agnes hurried out of the room and upstairs.
At the green baize door Kate restrained her a moment.
"You must be very quiet, Agnes--very calm, and not excite or agitate him."
"Oh, yes! yes! Oh, let me go!"
Miss Danton opened the door and let her in. In a moment she was kneeling by the bedside, her arms around his weak head, showering kisses and tears on his pale, thin face.
"Forgive me!" she said. "Forgive me, my own, my dear, my lost husband. Oh, never think I was false. I never, never was, in thought or act, for one moment. Say you forgive me, my darling, and love me still."
Of course, Kate did not linger. When she again entered the dining-room, she found one of those she had left, gone.
"Where is Doctor Frank?" she asked.
"Gone," Grace said. "A messenger came for him--some one sick in the village. Do take your dinner. I am sure you must want it."
"How good he is," Kate thought. "How energetic and self-sacrificing. If I were a man, I should like to be such a man as he."
After this night of good news, Harry Danton's recovery was almost miraculously rapid. The despair that had deadened every energy, every hope, was gone. He was a new man; he had something to live for; a place in the world, and a lost character to retrieve. A week after that eventful night, he was able to sit up; a fortnight, and he was rapidly gaining vigour and strength, and health for his new life.
Agnes, that most devoted little wife, had hardly left these three mysterious rooms since she had first entered them. She was the best, the most untiring, the most tender of nurses, and won her way to the hearts of all. She was so gentle, so patient, so humble, it was impossible not to love her; and Captain Danton sometimes wondered if he had ever loved his lost, frivolous Rose as he loved his new daughter.
It had been agreed upon that, to avoid gossip and inquiry, Harry was not to show himself in the house, to the servants, but as soon as he was fully recovered, to leave for Quebec, with his wife, and take command of a vessel there.
His father had written to the ship-owners--old friends of his--and had cheerfully received their promise.
The vessel was to sail for Plymouth early in March, and it was now late in February.
Of course, Agnes was to go with him. Nothing could have separated these reunited married lovers now.
The days went by, the preparations for the journey progressed, the eve of departure came. The Danton family, with the Doctor and Father Francis, were assembled in the drawing-room, spending that last evening together. It was the first time, since his return to the Hall, Harry had been there. How little any of them dreamed it was to be the last!
They were not very merry, as they sat listening to Kate's music. Down in that dim recess where the piano stood, she sat, singing for the first time the old songs that Reginald Stanford had loved. She was almost surprised at herself to find how easily she could sing them, how little emotion the memories they brought awoke. Was the old love forever dead, then? And this new content at her heart--what did it mean? She hardly cared to ask. She could not have answered; she only knew she was happy, and that the past had lost power to give her pain.
It was late when they separated. Good-byes were said, and tender-hearted little Agnes cried as she said good-bye to Doctor Frank. The priest and the physician walked to the little village together, through the cold darkness of the starless winter night.
At the presbytery-gate they parted, Father Francis going in, Doctor Danton continuing his walk to the distant cottage of a poor sick patient. The man was dying. The young doctor lingered by his bedside until all was over, and morning was gray in the eastern sky when he left the house of death.
But what other light was that red in the sky, beside the light of morning? A crimson, lurid light that was spreading rapidly over the face of the cloudy heavens, and lighting even the village road with its unearthly glare? Fire! and in the direction of Danton Hall, growing brighter and brighter, and redder with every passing second. Others had seen it, too, and doors were flying open, and men and women flocking out.
"Fire! Fire!" a voice cried. "Danton Hall is on fire!"
And the cry was taken up and echoed and reëchoed, and every one was rushing pell-mell in the direction of the Hall.
Doctor Frank was one of the first to arrive. The whole front of the old mansion seemed a sheet of fire and the red flames rushed up into the black sky with an awful roar. The family were only just aroused, and, with the servants, were flocking out, half-dressed. Doctor Frank's anxious eyes counted them; there were the Captain and Grace, Harry and Agnes, and last of all, Kate.
The servants were all there, but there was one missing still. Doctor Frank was by Grace's side in a moment.
"Where is Eeny?"
"Eeny! Is she not here?"
"No. Good Heaven, Grace! Is she in the house?"
Grace looked around wildly.
"Yes, yes! She must be! Oh, Frank--"
But Frank was gone, even while she spoke, into the burning house. There was still time. The lower hall and stairway were still free from fire, only filled with smoke.
He rushed through, and upstairs; in the second hall the smoke was suffocating, and the burning brands were falling from the blazing roof. Up the second flight of stairs he flew blinded, choked, singed. He knew Eeny's room; the door was unlocked, and he rushed in. The smoke or fire had not penetrated here yet, and on the bed the girl lay fast asleep, undisturbed by all the uproar around her.
To muffle her from head to foot in a blanket, snatch her up and fly out of the room, was but the work of a few seconds. The rushing smoke blinded and suffocated him, but he darted down the staircases as if his feet were winged. Huge cinders and burning flakes were falling in a fiery shower around him, but still he rushed blindly on. The lower hall was gained, a breeze of the blessed cold air blew on his face.
They were seen, they were saved, and a wild cheer arose from the breathless multitude. Just at that instant, with his foot on the threshold, an avalanche of fire seemed to fall on his head from the burning roof.
Another cry, this time a cry of wild horror arose from the crowd; he reeled, staggered like a drunken man; some one caught Eeny out of his arms as he fell to the ground. _