Dora Thorne [131]
dead.
The cottager's wife told Lionel how the children out at play had found a man lying in the dank grass near the pond, and how her husband, in his own strong arms, had brought him to their abode. He lay still for many hours, and then asked for pen and ink. He was writing, she said, nearly all night, and afterward prayed her husband to take the letter to Lord Earle. The man refused any nourishment. Two hours later they went in to persuade him to take some food, and found him lying dead, his face turned to the morning sky.
Lionel Dacre entered the room. The hot anger died out of his heart as he saw the anguish death had marked upon the white countenance. What torture must the man have suffered, what hours of untold agony, to have destroyed him in so short a time! The dark, handsome face appeared to indicate that the man had been dying for years.
Lionel turned reverently away. Man is weak and powerless before death. In a few words he told the woman that she should be amply rewarded for her kindness, and that he himself would defray all expenses.
"He was perhaps an old servant of my lord's?" she said.
"No," was the reply; "Lord Earle did not know him--had never seen him; but the poor man was well known to one of Lord Earle's friends."
Thanks to Lionel's words, the faintest shadow of suspicion was never raised. Of the two deaths, that of Miss Earle excited all attention and aroused all sympathy. No one spoke of Hugh Fernely, or connected him with the occurrence at the Hall.
There was an inquest, and men decided that he had "died by the visitation of God." No one knew the agony that had cast him prostrate in the thick, dank grass, no one knew the unendurable anguish that had shortened his life.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
When Lionel returned to the Hall, he went straight to Lord Earle.
"I was too late," he said; "the man had been dead some hours."
His name was not mentioned between them again. Lord Earle never inquired where he was buried--he never knew.
The gloom had deepened at the Hall. Lillian Earle lay nigh unto death. Many believed that the master of Earlescourt would soon be a childless man. He could not realize it. They told him how she lay with the cruel raging fever sapping her life, but he seemed to forget the living child in mourning for the one that lay dead.
In compliance with Lionel's prayer, Lady Helena took him into the sick room where Lillian lay. She did not know him; the gentle, tender eyes were full of dread and fear; the fair, pure face was burning with the flush of fever; the hot, dry lips were never still. She talked incessantly--at times of Knutsford and Beatrice--then prayed in her sweet, sad voice that Lionel would trust her--only trust her; when Beatrice was married she would tell him all.
He turned away; her eyes had lingered on his face, but no gleam of recognition came into them.
"You do not think she will die?" he asked of Lady Helena; and she never forgot his voice or his manner.
"We hope not," she said; "life and death are in higher hands than ours. If you wish to help her, pray for her."
In after years Lionel Dacre like to remember that the best and most fervent prayers of his life had been offered for gentle, innocent Lillian Earle.
As he turned to quit the chamber he heard her crying for her mother. She wanted her mother--why was she not there? He looked at Lady Helena; she understood him.
"I have written," she said. "I sent for Dora yesterday; she will be here soon."
Chapter XLIII
On the second day succeeding that on which Dora had been sent for, Beatrice Earle was to be laid in her grave. The servants of the household, who had dearly loved their beautiful young mistress, had taken their last look at her face. Lady Helena had shed her last tears over it. Lord Airlie had asked to be alone for a time with his dead love. They had humored him, and for three long hours he had knelt by her, bidding her a sorrowful farewell, taking his last look at the face that would never again smile
The cottager's wife told Lionel how the children out at play had found a man lying in the dank grass near the pond, and how her husband, in his own strong arms, had brought him to their abode. He lay still for many hours, and then asked for pen and ink. He was writing, she said, nearly all night, and afterward prayed her husband to take the letter to Lord Earle. The man refused any nourishment. Two hours later they went in to persuade him to take some food, and found him lying dead, his face turned to the morning sky.
Lionel Dacre entered the room. The hot anger died out of his heart as he saw the anguish death had marked upon the white countenance. What torture must the man have suffered, what hours of untold agony, to have destroyed him in so short a time! The dark, handsome face appeared to indicate that the man had been dying for years.
Lionel turned reverently away. Man is weak and powerless before death. In a few words he told the woman that she should be amply rewarded for her kindness, and that he himself would defray all expenses.
"He was perhaps an old servant of my lord's?" she said.
"No," was the reply; "Lord Earle did not know him--had never seen him; but the poor man was well known to one of Lord Earle's friends."
Thanks to Lionel's words, the faintest shadow of suspicion was never raised. Of the two deaths, that of Miss Earle excited all attention and aroused all sympathy. No one spoke of Hugh Fernely, or connected him with the occurrence at the Hall.
There was an inquest, and men decided that he had "died by the visitation of God." No one knew the agony that had cast him prostrate in the thick, dank grass, no one knew the unendurable anguish that had shortened his life.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
When Lionel returned to the Hall, he went straight to Lord Earle.
"I was too late," he said; "the man had been dead some hours."
His name was not mentioned between them again. Lord Earle never inquired where he was buried--he never knew.
The gloom had deepened at the Hall. Lillian Earle lay nigh unto death. Many believed that the master of Earlescourt would soon be a childless man. He could not realize it. They told him how she lay with the cruel raging fever sapping her life, but he seemed to forget the living child in mourning for the one that lay dead.
In compliance with Lionel's prayer, Lady Helena took him into the sick room where Lillian lay. She did not know him; the gentle, tender eyes were full of dread and fear; the fair, pure face was burning with the flush of fever; the hot, dry lips were never still. She talked incessantly--at times of Knutsford and Beatrice--then prayed in her sweet, sad voice that Lionel would trust her--only trust her; when Beatrice was married she would tell him all.
He turned away; her eyes had lingered on his face, but no gleam of recognition came into them.
"You do not think she will die?" he asked of Lady Helena; and she never forgot his voice or his manner.
"We hope not," she said; "life and death are in higher hands than ours. If you wish to help her, pray for her."
In after years Lionel Dacre like to remember that the best and most fervent prayers of his life had been offered for gentle, innocent Lillian Earle.
As he turned to quit the chamber he heard her crying for her mother. She wanted her mother--why was she not there? He looked at Lady Helena; she understood him.
"I have written," she said. "I sent for Dora yesterday; she will be here soon."
Chapter XLIII
On the second day succeeding that on which Dora had been sent for, Beatrice Earle was to be laid in her grave. The servants of the household, who had dearly loved their beautiful young mistress, had taken their last look at her face. Lady Helena had shed her last tears over it. Lord Airlie had asked to be alone for a time with his dead love. They had humored him, and for three long hours he had knelt by her, bidding her a sorrowful farewell, taking his last look at the face that would never again smile