_ CHAPTER XXII. AFTER THE CROSS, THE CROWN
The glare of a brilliant April sunset shone in the rainbow-hued western sky, and on the fresh, green earth, all arrayed in the budding promise of spring.
Grace Danton stood by the window of a long, low room, looking thoughtfully out at the orange and crimson dyes of the far-off sky.
The room in which she stood was not at all like the vast old-fashioned rooms of Danton Hall. It was long and narrow, and low-ceilinged, and very plainly furnished. There was the bed in the centre, a low, curtainless bed, and on it, pale, thin, and shadowy, lay Grace's brother, as he had lain for many weary weeks. He was asleep now, deeply, heavily, tossing no longer in the wild delirium of brain-fever, as he had tossed for so many interminable days and nights.
Grace dropped the curtain, and went back to her post by the bedside. As she did so, the door softly opened, and Kate, in a dark, unrustling dress and slippers of silence, came in. She had changed in those weeks; she looked paler and thinner, and the violet eyes had a more tender light, a sadder beauty than of old.
"Still asleep," she said, softly, looking at the bed. "Grace, I think your prayers have been heard."
"I trust so, dear. Is your father in?"
"No; he has ridden over to see how the builders get on. You must want tea, Grace. Go, I will take your place."
Grace arose and left the room, and Kate seated herself in the low chair, with eyes full of tender compassion. What a shadow he was of his former self--so pale, so thin, so wasted! The hand lying on the counterpane was almost transparent, and the forehead, streaked with damp brown hair, was like marble.
"Poor fellow!" Kate thought, pushing these stray locks softly back, and forgetting how dangerously akin pity is to love--"poor fellow!"
Yes, it has come to this. Sick--dying, perhaps--Kate Danton found how dear this once obnoxious young Doctor had grown to her heart. "How blessings brighten as they take their flight!" Now that she was on the verge of losing him forever, she discovered his value--discovered that her admiration was very like love. How could she help it? Women admire heroes so much! And was not this brave young Doctor a real hero? From first to last, had not his life in St. Croix been one list of good and generous deeds?
The very first time she had ever seen him, he had been her champion, to save her from the insults and rudeness of two drunken soldiers. He had been a sort of guardian angel to poor Agnes in her great trouble. He had saved her brother's life and honour. He had perilled his own life to save that of her sister. The poor of St. Croix spoke of him only to praise and bless him. Was not this house besieged every day with scores of anxious inquirers? He was so good, so great, so noble, so self-sacrificing, so generous--oh! how could she help loving him? Not with the love that had once been Reginald Stanford's, whose only basis was a fanciful girl's liking for a handsome face, but a love far deeper and truer and stronger. She looked back now at the first infatuation, and wondered at herself. The scales had fallen from her eyes, and she saw her sister's husband in his true light--false, shallow, selfish, dishonourable.
"Oh," she thought, with untold thanksgiving in her heart, "what would have become of me if I had married him?"
There was another sore subject in her heart, too--that short-lived betrothal to Sir Ronald Keith. How low she must have fallen when she could do that! How she despised herself now for ever entertaining the thought of that base marriage. She could thank Father Francis at last. By the sick-bed of Doctor Frank she had learned a lesson that would last her a lifetime.
The radiance of the sunset was fading out of the sky, and the gray twilight was filling the room. She rose up, drew back the green curtains, and looked for a moment at the peaceful village street. When she returned to the bedside, the sleeper was awake, his eyes calm and clear for the first time. She restrained the exclamation of delight which arose to her lips, and tried to catch the one faint word he uttered:
"Water?"
She gently raised his head, her cheeks flushing, and held a glass of lemonade to his lips. A faint smile thanked her; and then his eyes closed, and he was asleep again. Kate sank down on her knees by the bedside, grateful tears falling from her eyes, to thank God for the life that would be spared.
From that evening the young man rallied fast.
The Doctor, who came from Montreal every day to see him, said it was all owing to his superb constitution and wondrous vitality. But he was very, very weak. It was days and days before he was strong enough to think, or speak, or move. He slept, by fits and starts, nearly all day long, recognizing his sister, and Kate, and Eeny, and the Captain, by his bedside, without wondering how they came to be there, or what had ailed him.
But strength to speak and think was slowly returning; and one evening, in the pale twilight, opening his eyes, he saw Kate sitting beside him, reading. He lay and watched her, strong enough to think how beautiful that perfect face was in the tender light, and to feel a delicious thrill of pleasure, weak as he was, at having her for a nurse.
Presently Kate looked from the book to the bed, and blushed beautifully to find the earnest brown eyes watching her so intently.
"I did not know you were awake," she said, composedly. "Shall I go and call Grace?"
"On no account. I don't want Grace. How long have I been sick?"
"Oh, many weeks; but you are getting better rapidly now."
"I can't recall it," he said, contracting his brows. "I know there was a fire, and I was in the house; but it is all confused. How was it?"
"The Hall was burned down, you know--poor old house!--and you rushed in to save Eeny, and--"
"Oh, I remember, I remember. A beam or something fell, and after that all is oblivion. I have had a fever, I suppose?"
"Yes, you have been a dreadful nuisance--talking all day and all night about all manner of subjects, and frightening us out of our lives."
The young man smiled.
"What did I talk about? Anything very foolish?"
"I dare say it was foolish enough, if one could have understood it, but it was nearly all Greek to me. Sometimes you were in Germany, talking about all manner of outlandish things; sometimes you were in New York, playing Good Samaritan to Agnes Darling."
"Oh, poor Agnes! Where is she?"
"Taken to the high seas. She and Harry had to go, much against their inclination, while you were so ill."
"And Eeny--did Eeny suffer any harm that night?"
"No; Doctor Frank was the only sufferer. The poor old house was burned to the ground. I was so sorry."
"And everything was lost?"
"No, a great many things were saved. And they are building a new and much more handsome Danton Hall, but I shall never love it as I did the old place."
"Where are we now?"
"In the village. We have taken this cottage until the new house is finished. Now don't ask any more questions. Too much talking isn't good for you."
"How very peremptory you are!" said the invalid, smiling; "and you have taken care of me all this weary time. What a trouble I must have been!"
"Didn't I say so! A shocking trouble. And now that you are able to converse rationally, you are more trouble than ever, asking so many questions. Go to sleep."
"Won't you let me thank you first?"
"No, thanks never would repay me for all the annoyance you have been. Show your gratitude by obedience, sir--stop talking and go to sleep!"
Perhaps Doctor Frank found it very pleasant to be ordered, for he obeyed with a smile on his face.
Of course, with such a nurse as Miss Danton, the man would be obstinate, indeed, who would not rally. Doctor Frank was the reverse of obdurate, and rallied with astonishing rapidity. His sister, Eeny, and Kate were the most devoted, the most attentive of nurses; but the hours that Captain Danton's eldest daughter sat by his bedside flew like so many minutes. It was very pleasant to lie there, propped up with pillows, with the April sunshine lying in yellow squares on the faded old carpet, and watch that beautiful face, bending over some piece of elaborate embroidery, or the humble dress of some village child. She read for him, too, charming romances, and poetry as sweet as the ripple of a sunlit brook, in that enchanting voice of hers; and Doctor Frank began to think convalescence the most delightful state of being that ever was heard of, and to wish it could last forever.
But, like all the pleasant things of this checkered life, it came to an end all too soon. The day arrived when he sat up in his easy chair by the open window, with the scented breezes blowing in his face, and watched dreamily the cows grazing in the fields, and the dark-eyed French girls tripping up and down the dusty road. Then, a little later, and he could walk about in the tiny garden before the cottage, and sit up the whole day long. He was getting better fast; and Miss Danton, concluding her occupation was gone, became very much like the Miss Danton of old. Not imperious and proud--she never would be that again--but reserved and distant, and altogether changed; the delightful readings were no more, the pleasant
tête-à-têtes were among the things of the past, the long hours spent by his side, with some womanly work in her fingers, were over and gone. She was very kind and gentle still, and the smile that always greeted him was very bright and sweet, but that heavenly past was gone forever. Doctor Frank, about as clear-sighted as his sex generally are, of course never guessed within a mile of the truth.
"What a fool I was!" he thought, bitterly, "flattering myself with such insane dreams, because she was grateful to me for saving her sister's life, and pitied me when she thought I was at death's door. Why, she nursed every sick pauper in St. Croix as tenderly as she did me. She is right to put me back in my place before I have made an idiot of myself!"
So the convalescent gentleman became moody, and silent and generally disagreeable; and Grace was the only one who guessed at his feelings and was sorry for him. But he grew well in spite of hidden trouble, and began to think of what he was to do in the future.
"I'll go back to Montreal next week, I think," he said to his sister; "now that the fever has gone, it won't pay to stay here. If I don't get on in Montreal, I'll try New York."
Man proposes, etc. That evening's mail brought him a letter that materially altered all his plans. He sat so long silent and thoughtful after reading it, that Grace looked at him in surprise.
"You look as grave as an owl, Frank. Whom is your letter from?"
Doctor Frank started out of his reverie to find Kate's eyes fixed inquiringly upon him too.
"From Messrs. Grayson & Hambert, my uncle's solicitors. He is dead."
Grace uttered a little cry.
"Dead! Frank! And you are his heir?"
"Yes."
"How much has he left?" Mrs. Danton asked, breathlessly.
"Twenty thousand pounds."
Grace clasped her hands.
"Twenty thousand pounds? My dear Frank! You have no need to go slaving at your profession now."
Her brother looked at her in quiet surprise.
"I shall slave at my profession all the same. This windfall will, however, alter my plans a good deal. I must start for Montreal to-morrow morning."
He rose and left the room. Grace turned to her step-daughter.
"I am afraid you must think us heartless, Kate; but we have known very little of this uncle, and that little was not favourable. He was a miser--a stern and hard man--living always alone and with few friends. I am so thankful he left his money to Frank."
Doctor Frank left St. Croix next morning for the city, and his absence made a strange blank in the family. The spring days wore on slowly. April was gone, and it was May. Captain Danton was absent the best part of every day, superintending the erection of the new house, and the three women were left alone. Miss Danton grew listless and languid. She spent her days in purposeless loiterings in and out of the cottage, in long reveries and solitary walks.
The middle of May came without bringing the young Doctor, or even a letter from him. The family were seated one moonlight night in the large, old-fashioned porch in front of the cottage, enjoying the moonlight and Eeny's piano. Kate sat in a rustic arm-chair just outside, looking up at the silvery crescent swimming through pearly clouds, and the flickering shadows of the climbing sweetbrier coming and going on her fair face. Captain Danton smoked and Grace talked to him; and while she sat, Father Francis opened the garden gate and joined them.
"Have you heard from your brother yet?" he asked of Grace, after a few moments' preliminary conversation.
"No; it is rather strange that he does not write."
"He told me to make his apologies. I had a letter from him to-day. He is very busy preparing to go away."
"Go away! Go where?"
"To Germany; he leaves in a week."
"And will he not come down to say good-bye?" inquired Grace, indignantly.
"Oh, certainly! He will be here in a day or two."
"And how long is he going to stay abroad?"
"That seems uncertain. A year or two, probably, at the very least."
Grace stole a look at Kate, but Kate had drawn back into the shadow of the porch, and her face was not to be seen. Father Francis lingered for half an hour, and then departed; and as the dew was falling heavily, the group in the porch arose to go in. The young lady in the easy-chair did not stir.
"Come in, Kate," her father said, "it is too damp to remain there."
"Yes, papa, presently."
About a quarter of an hour later, she entered the parlour to say good-night, very pale, as they all noticed.
"I knew sitting in the night air was bad," her father said. "You are as white as a ghost."
Miss Danton was very grave and still for the next two days--a little sad, Grace thought. On the third day, Doctor Frank arrived. It was late in the afternoon, and he was to depart again early next morning.
"What are you running away for now?" asked his sister, with asperity. "What has put this German notion in your head?"
The young man smiled.
"My dear Grace, don't wear that severe face. Why should I not go? What is to detain me here?"
This was such an unanswerable question that Grace only turned away impatiently; and Kate, who was in the room, fancying the brother and sister might wish to be alone, arose and departed. As the door closed after her, Captain Danton's wife faced round and renewed the attack.
"If you want to know what is to detain you here, I can tell you now. Stay at home and marry Kate Danton."
Her brother laughed, but in rather a constrained way.
"That is easier said than done, sister mine. Miss Danton never did more than tolerate me in her life--sometimes not even that. Impossibilities are not so easily achieved as you think."
"Suppose you try."
"And be refused for my pains. No, thank you."
"Very well," said Mrs. Grace with a shrug; "a wilful man must have his way! You cannot tell whether you will be refused or not until you ask."
"I have a tolerably strong conviction, though. No, Mrs. Grace, I shall go to Germany, and forget my folly; for that I have been an idiot, I don't deny."
"And are so still! Do as you please, however; it is no affair of mine."
Doctor Frank rode over to the new building to see how it progressed. It was late when he returned with the Captain, and he found that Kate had departed to spend the evening with Miss Howard. If he wanted further proof of her indifference, surely he had it here.
It was very late, and the family had retired before Miss Danton came home. She was good enough though, to rise, very early next morning to say good-bye. Doctor Frank took his hasty breakfast, and came into the parlour, where he found her alone.
"I thought I was not to have the pleasure of seeing you before I went," he said, holding out his hand. "I have but ten minutes left: so good-bye."
His voice shook a little as he said it. In spite of every effort, her fingers closed around his, and her eyes looked up at him with her whole heart in their clear depths.
"Kate!" he exclaimed, the colour rushing to his face with a sudden thrill of ecstasy, and his hand closing tight over the slender fingers he held. "Kate!"
She turned away, her own cheeks dyed, not daring to meet that eager, questioning look.
"Kate!" he cried, appealingly; "it is because I love you I am going away. I never thought to tell you."
* * * * *
Five minutes later Grace opened the door impetuously.
"Frank, don't you know you will be la--Oh, I beg pardon."
She closed it hastily, and retreated. The Captain, standing in the doorway, looked impatiently at his watch.
"What keeps the fellow? He'll be late to a dead certainty."
Grace laughed.
"There is no hurry, I think. I don't believe Frank will go to Germany this time." _