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The Trial

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Trial




However, she was up and dressed by the middle of the next day, and,
contrary to her wont since the first time, she sent Ella out of the
room when her doctor came to see her.

'I wanted to speak to you,' she said, 'I have a great favour to ask
of you. You will soon be going home. Would you, could you take Ella
with you? I know it is a great, a too great thing to ask. But I
would not have her in any one's way. I am going to write to Mrs.
Wills, at the school where I was, and Ella's means are quite enough
to keep her there, holidays and all, till Leonard can give her a
home. It will be much better for her, and a relief to Henry; and it
will be giving back one--one to Leonard! It will be one thing more
that I shall be happy about.'

Tom had let her go on with her short gentle sentences, because he
knew not how to answer; but at last she said, 'Forgive me, and do not
think of it, if I have asked what I ought not, or would be
troublesome.'

Troublesome! no, indeed! I was only thinking--if it might not be
better managed,' he answered, rather by way of giving himself time to
debate whether the utterance of the one thought in his heart would
lead to his being driven away.

'Pray do not propose Leonard's coming for her! He must come to this
feverish place in spring. And if he came, and I were not here, and
Henry not wanting him! Oh no, no; do not let me think of his
coming!'

'Averil,' he said, kneeling on one knee so as to be nearer, and to be
able to speak lower, 'you are so unearthly in your unselfishness,
that I dare the less to put before you the one way in which I could
take Ella home to him. It is if you would overlook the past, and
give me a brother's right in them both.'

She turned in amazement to see if she had heard aright. He had
removed his glasses, and the deep blue expressive eyes so seldom
plainly visible were wistfully, pleadingly, fixed on her, brimming
over with the dew of earnestness. Her face of inquiry gave him
courage to go on, 'If you would only let me, I think I could bring
you home to see him; and if you would believe it and try, I believe I
could make you happier,' and with an uncontrollable shake in his
voice he ceased--and only looked.

She sat upright, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes shut, trying
to collect her thoughts; and the silence lasted for several seconds.
At last she said, opening her eyes, but gazing straight before her,
not at him, 'I do not think I ought. Do you really know what you are
saying? You know I cannot get well.'

'I know,' he said. 'All I ask is, to tend and watch over you while I
may, to bring you home to Leonard, and to be Ella's brother.'

His voice was still and low, and he laid his hand on her folded ones
with reverent solemnity; but though it did not tremble, its touch was
cold as marble, and conveyed to Averil an instant sense of the force
of his repressed emotion. She started under it, and exclaimed with
the first agitation she had shown, 'No, no; it would cost you too
much. You, young, beginning life--you must not take a sorrow upon
you.'

'Is it not there already?' he said, almost inaudibly. 'Would it
lessen it to be kept away from you?'

'Oh, do not go on, do not tempt me,' she cried. 'Think of your
father.'

'Nay, think what he is yourself. Or rather look here,' and he took
out a part of a letter from Ethel, and laid it before her.

'As to papa not guessing your object,' she said, 'that was a vain
delusion if you ever entertained it, so you must not mind my having
explained. He said if he had been you, it was just what he should
have done himself, and he is quite ready to throw his heart into it
if you will only trust to his kindness. I do so want you really to
try what that is.'

'And you came for this,' faltered Averil, leaning back, almost
overcome.

'I did not come meaning to hurry the subject on you. I hoped to have
induced Henry to have brought you all home, and then, when I had done
my best to efface the recollection of that unpardonable behaviour, to
have tried whether you could look on me differently.'

'I don't like you to say that,' said Averil, simply but earnestly; 'I
have felt over and over again how wrong I was--how ungrateful--to
have utterly missed all the nobleness and generosity of your
behaviour, and answered in that unjust, ill-tempered way.'

'Nothing was ever more deserved,' he answered; 'I have hated myself
ever since, and I hope I am not as obnoxious now.'

'It was I!' she said; 'I have lived every bit of the winter over
again, and seen that I was always ready to be offended, and somehow I
could not help caring so much for what you said, that lesser things
from you hurt and cut as other people's did not.'

'Do you know what that proves?' said Tom, with an arch subsmile
lighting on his eyes and mouth; and as a glow awoke on her pale
cheek, he added, 'and won't you believe, too, that my propensity to
"contemptuous irony" was all from my instinctive fear of what you
could do to me!'

'Oh, don't repeat that! I have been so bitterly ashamed of it!'

'I am sure I have.'

'And I have longed so to ask your pardon. I thought I would leave a
letter or message with Ella that you would understand.'

'You can do better than that now. You can forgive me.'

'Oh!' said Averil, her hands suddenly joined over her face, 'this is
one joy more! I cannot think why it is all growing so bright just at
last--at last. It is all come now! How good it is!'

He saw that she could bear no more. He pressed no more for a
decisive answer; he did not return to the subject; but from that time
he treated her as what belonged to him, as if it was his business to
think, act, and judge for her, and to watch over her; and her
acquiescence was absolute.

There was not much speaking between them; there were chiefly
skirmishes between him and Cora, to which she listened in smiling
passive amusement; and even when alone together they said little--
actually nothing at all about the future. He had written to Ethel on
his first arrival, and on the reply, as well as on Averil's state,
all must depend. Meanwhile such a look of satisfied repose and peace
shone upon Averil's face as was most sweet to look upon; and though
extremely feeble, and not essentially better, she was less suffering,
and could in great languor, but in calm enjoyment, pass through day
by day of the precious present that had come to crown her long trial.




CHAPTER XXX



Oh, when its flower seems fain to die,
The full heart grudges smile or sigh
To aught beside, though fair and dear;
Like a bruised leaf, at touch of fear,
Its hidden fragrance love gives out.--Lyra Innocentum


'The letters at last! One to Ethel, and three to Leonard! Now for
it, Ethel!'

Ethel opened--read--ran out of the room without a word, and sought
her father in his study, where she laid before him Tom's letter,
written from Massissauga the day after his arrival.


'Dear Ethel,

'I have found my darling, but too late to arrest the disease--the
work of her brother's perverseness and wrong-headedness. I have no
hope of saving her; though it will probably be a matter of several
months--that is, with care, and removal from this vile spot.

'I am writing to Henry, but I imagine that he is too much charmed
with his present prospects to give them up; and in her angelic self-
sacrifice she insists on Leonard's not coming out. Indeed, there
would be no use in his doing so unless she leaves this place; but
should no unforeseen complication supervene, it is my full persuasion
that she could be removed, safely make the voyage, and even be spared
for this summer among us. Surely my father will not object! It will
be but a short time; and she has suffered so much, so piteously needs
love and cherishing, that it is not in him to refuse. He, who
consented to Margaret's engagement, cannot but feel for us. I would
work for him all my life! I would never cast a thought beyond home,
if only once hallowed by this dear presence for ever so short a time.
Only let the answers be so cordial as to remove all doubts or
scruples; and when they are sent prepare for her. I would bring her
as quickly as her health permits. No time must be lost in taking her
from hence; and I wait only for the letters to obtain her consent to
an immediate marriage. Furnish the house at once; I will repay you
on my return. There is £200 for the first floor, sitting, and
bedrooms; for the rest the old will do. Only regard the making these
perfect; colouring pink--all as cheerful and pleasant as money can
accomplish. If Flora will bear with me, get her to help you; or else
Mary, if Cheviot forgives me. Only don't spare cost. I will make it
up some way, if you find more wanted. I saw an invalid sofa, an
improvement on Margaret's, which I will write to Gaspard to send from
Paris. If you could only see the desolateness of the house where she
has wasted away these three years, you would long to make a bower of
bliss for her. I trust to you. I find I must trust everything to
you. I cannot write to my father; I have made nine beginnings, and
must leave it to you. He has comforted her, he knows her sorrows; he
could not see her and bid me leave her. Only there must be no
hesitation. That, or even remonstrance, would prevent her from
consenting; and as to the objections, I cannot know them better than
I do. Indeed, all this may be in vain; she is so near Heaven, that I
dare not talk to her of this; but I have written to Leonard, dwelling
chiefly on the chance of bringing her to him. Her desire to keep him
from attempting to come out will I trust be an inducement; but if you
could only see her, you would know how irreverent it seems to
persecute one so nearly an angel with such matters. If I may only
tend her to the last! I trust to you. This is for my father.

'Ever yours,
'THOMAS MAY.'


The last sentence referred to a brief medical summary of her
symptoms, on a separate paper.

'Can this be Tom?' was the Doctor's exclamation. 'Poor boy! it is
going very hard with him!'

'This would soften it more than anything else could,' said Ethel.

'Oh yes! You write. Yes, and I'll write, and tell him he is free to
take his own way. Poor child! she would have been a good girl if she
had known how. Well, of all my eleven children that Tom should be
the one to go on in this way!'

'Poor dear Tom! What do you think of his statement of her case? Is
she so very ill?'

Dr. May screwed up his face. 'A sad variety of mischief,' he said;
'if all be as he thinks, I doubt his getting her home; but he is
young, and has his heart in it. I have seen her mother in a state
like this--only without the diseased lungs. You can't remember it;
but poor Ward never thought he could be grateful enough after she was
pulled through. However, this is an aggravated case, and looks bad--
very bad! It is a mournful ending for that poor boy's patience--it
will sink very deep, and he will be a sadder man all his days, but I
would not hinder his laying up a treasure that will brighten as he
grows older.'

'Thank you, papa. I shall tell him what you say.'

'I shall write--to her I think. I owe him something for not proving
that it is all as a study of pneumonia. I say, Ethel, what is become
of the "Diseases of Climate?"' he added, with a twinkle in his eye.

'In the nine beginnings.'

'And how about the Massissauga Company?'

'You heartless old worldly-minded father!' said Ethel. 'When you
take to prudence for Tom, what is the world coming to?'

'Into order,' said the Doctor, shaking himself into the coat she held
for him. 'Tom surrendered to a pet patient of mine. Now for poor
Leonard! Good-bye, young people! I am off to Cocksmoor!'

'Please take me, grandpapa,' cried Dickie, hopping into the hall.

'You, you one-legged manikin! I'm going over all the world; and how
are you to get home?'

'On Leonard's back,' said the undaunted Dickie.

'Not so, master: poor Leonard has news here that will take the taste
of nonsense out of his mouth.'

'I am his friend,' said Dickie, with dignity.

'Then your friendship must not disturb him over his letters. And can
you sit in the carriage and twirl your thumbs while I am at Fordham?'

'I shall not twirl my thumbs. I shall make out a problem on my ship
chess-board.'

'That's the boy who was sent from the Antipodes, that he might not be
spoilt!' quoth Aubrey, as the Doctor followed the child into the
carriage.

'Granting reasonable wishes is not spoiling,' said Ethel.

'May the system succeed as well with Dickie as with--' and Aubrey in
one flourish indicated Gertrude and himself.

'Ay, we shall judge by the reception of Ethel's tidings!' cried
Gertrude. 'Now for it, Ethel. Read us Tom's letter, confute the
engineer, hoist with his own petard.'

'Now, Ethel, confute the Daisy, the green field daisy--the simple
innocent daisy, deluded by "Diseases of Climate."'

'Ethel looks as concerned as if it were fatal truth,' added Gertrude.

'What is it?' asked Aubrey. 'If Henry Ward has gone down in a
monitor at Charleston, I'll forgive him.'

'Not that,' said Ethel; 'but we little thought how ill poor Ave is.'

'Dangerously?' said Aubrey, gravely.

'Not perhaps immediately so; but Tom means to marry at once, that he
may have a chance of bringing her home to see Leonard.'

'Another shock for Leonard,' said Aubrey, quite subdued, 'why can't
he have a little respite?'

'May they at least meet once more!' said Ethel; 'there will be some
comfort in looking to that!'

'And what a fellow Tom is to have thought of it,' added Aubrey.
'Nobody will ever dare to say again that he is not the best of the
kit of us! I must be off now to the meet: but if you are writing,
Ethel, I wish you would give her my love, or whatever he would like,
and tell him he is a credit to the family. I say, may I tell George
Rivers?'

'Oh yes; it will soon be in the air; and Charles Cheviot will be down
on us!'

Away went Aubrey to mount the hunter that George Rivers placed at his
service.

Gertrude, who had been struck dumb, looked up to ask, 'Then it is
really so?'

'Indeed it is.'

'Then,' cried Gertrude, vehemently, 'you and he have been deceiving
us all this time!'

'No, Gertrude, there was nothing to tell. I did not really know, and
I could not gossip about him.'

'You might have hinted.'

'I tried, but I was clumsy.'

'I hate hints!' exclaimed the impetuous young lady; 'one can't
understand them, and gets the credit of neglecting them. If people
have a secret attachment, they ought to let all their family know!'

'Perhaps they do in Ireland.'

'You don't feel one grain for me, Ethel,' said Gertrude, with tears
in her eyes. 'Only think how Tom led me on to say horrid things
about the Wards; and now to recollect them, when she is so ill too--
and he--' She burst into sobs.

'My poor Daisy! I dare say it was half my fault.'

Gertrude gave an impatient leap. 'There you go again! calling it
your fault is worse than Charles's improving the circumstance. It
was my fault, and it shall be my fault, and nobody else's fault,
except Tom's, and he will hate me, and never let me come near her to
show that I am not a nasty spiteful thing!'

'I think that if you are quiet and kind, and not flighty, he will
forget all that, and be glad to let you be a sister to her.'

'A sister to Ave Ward! Pretty preferment!' muttered Gertrude.

'Poor Ave! After the way she has borne her troubles, we shall feel
it an honour to be sisters to her.'

'And that chair!' broke out Gertrude. 'O, Ethel, you did out of
malice prepense make me vow it should be for Mrs. Thomas May.'

'Well, Daisy, if you won't suspect me of improving the circumstance,
I should say that finishing it for her would be capital discipline.'

'Horrid mockery, I should say,' returned Gertrude, sadly; 'a gaudy
rose-coloured chair, all over white fox-gloves, for a person in that
state--'

'Poor Tom's great wish is to have her drawing-room made as charming
as possible; and it would be a real welcome to her.'

'Luckily,' said Gertrude, breaking into laughter again, 'they don't
know when it began; how in a weak moment I admired the pattern, and
Blanche inflicted it and all its appurtenances on me, hoping to
convert me to a fancy-work-woman! Dear me, pride has a fall! I
loved to answer "Three stitches," when Mrs. Blanche asked after my
progress.'

'Ah, Daisy, if you did but respect any one!'

'If they would not all be tiresome! Seriously, I know I must finish
the thing, because of my word.'

'Yes, and I believe keeping a light word that has turned out heavy,
is the best help in bridling the tongue.'

'And, Ethel, I will really try to be seen and not heard while I am
about the work,' said Gertrude, with an earnestness which proved that
she was more sorry than her manner conveyed.

Her resolution stood the trying test of a visit from the elder
married sisters; for, as Ethel said, the scent of the tidings
attracted both Flora and the Cheviots; and the head-master
endeavoured to institute a kind of family committee, to represent to
the Doctor how undesirable the match would be, entailing
inconveniences that would not end with the poor bride's life, and
bringing at once upon Tom a crushing anxiety and sorrow. Ethel's
opinion was of course set aside by Mr. Cheviot, but he did expect
concurrence from Mrs. Rivers and from Richard, and Flora assented to
all his objections, but she was not to be induced to say she would
remonstrate with her father or with Tom; and she intimated the
uselessness thereof so plainly, that she almost hoped that Charles
Cheviot would be less eager to assail the Doctor with his arguments.

'No hope of that,' said Ethel, when he had taken leave. 'He will
disburthen his conscience; but then papa is well able to take care of
himself! Flora, I am so thankful you don't object.'

'No indeed,' said Flora. 'We all know it is a pity; but it would be
a far greater pity to break it off now--and do Tom an infinity of
harm. Now tell me all.'

And she threw herself into the subject in the homelike manner that
had grown on her, almost in proportion to Mary's guest-like ways and
absorption in her own affairs.

Six weeks from that time, another hasty note announced that Dr. and
Mrs. Thomas May and Ella were at Liverpool; adding that Averil had
been exceedingly ill throughout the voyage, though on being carried
ashore, she had so far revived, that Tom hoped to bring her home the
next day; but emotion was so dangerous, that he begged not to be met
at the station, and above all, that Leonard would not show himself
till summoned.

Dr. May being unavoidably absent, Ethel alone repaired to the newly-
furnished house for this strange sad bridal welcome.

The first person to appear when the carriage door was opened was a
young girl, pale, tall, thin, only to be recognized by her black
eyes. With a rapid kiss and greeting, Ethel handed her on to the
further door, where she might satisfy the eager embrace of the
brother who there awaited her; while Tom almost lifted out the veiled
muffled figure of his bride, and led her up-stairs to the sitting-
room, where, divesting her of hat, cloak, muff, and respirator, he
laid her on the sofa, and looked anxiously for her reassuring smile
before he even seemed to perceive his sister or left room for her
greeting.

The squarely-made, high-complexioned, handsome Averil Ward was
entirely gone. In Averil May, Ethel saw delicately refined and
sharpened features, dark beautiful eyes, enlarged, softened, and
beaming with perilous lustre, a transparently white blue-veined skin,
with a lovely roseate tint, deepening or fading with every word,
look, or movement, and a smile painfully sweet and touching, as first
of the three, the invalid found voice for thanks and inquiries for
all.

'Quite well,' said Ethel. 'But papa has been most unluckily sent for
to Whitford, and can't get home till the last train.'

'It may be as well,' said Tom: 'we must have perfect quiet till after
the night's rest.'

'May I see one else to-night?' she wistfully asked.

'Let us see how you are when you have had some coffee and are
rested.'

'Very well,' she said, with a gentle submission, that was as new a
sight as Tom's tenderness; 'but indeed I am not tired; and it is so
pretty and pleasant. Is this really Dr. Spencer's old house? Can
there be such a charming room in it?'

'I did not think so,' said Tom, looking in amazement at the effect
produced by the bright modern grate with its cheerful fire, the warm
delicate tints of the furniture, the appliances for comfort and
ornament already giving a home look.

'I know this is in the main your doing, Ethel; but who was the hand?'

'All of us were hands,' said Ethel; 'but Flora was the moving spring.
She went to London for a week about it.'

'Mrs. Rivers! Oh, how good!' said Averil, flushing with surprise;
then raising herself, as her coffee was brought in a dainty little
service, she exclaimed, 'And oh, if it were possible, I should say
that was my dear old piano!'

'Yes,' said Ethel, 'we thought you would like it; and Hector
Ernescliffe gave Mrs. Wright a new one for it.'

This was almost too much. Averil's lip trembled, but she looked up
into her husband's face, and made an answer, which would have been
odd had she not been speaking to his thought.

'Never mind! It is only happiness and the kindness.' And she drank
the coffee with an effort, and smiled at him again, as she asked,
'Where is Ella?'

'At our house,' said Ethel; 'we mean her to be there for the
present.'

Knowing with whom Ella must be, and fearing to show discontent with
the mandate of patience, Averil again began to admire. 'What a
beautiful chair! Look, Tom! is it not exquisite? Whose work is it?'

'Gertrude's.'

'That is the most fabulous thing of all,' said Tom, walking round it.
'Daisy! Her present, not her work?'

'Her work, every stitch. It has been a race with time.' The
gratification of Averil's flush and smile was laid up by Ethel for
Gertrude's reward; but it was plain that Tom wanted complete rest for
his wife, and Ethel only waited to install her in the adjoining bed-
room, which was as delightfully fitted up as the first apartment.
Averil clung to her for the instant they were alone together, and
whispered, 'Oh, it is all so sweet! Don't think I don't feel it!
But you see it is all I can do for him to be as quiet as I can! Say
so, please!'

Ethel felt the throb of the heart, and knew to whom she was to say
so; but Tom's restless approaching step made Averil detach herself,
and sink into an arm-chair. Ethel left her, feeling that the short
clasp of their arms had sealed their sisterhood here and for ever.

'It is too sad, too beautiful to be talked about,' she said to
Gertrude, who was anxiously on the watch for tidings.

Obedient as Averil was, she had not understood her husband's desire
that she should seek her pillow at once. She was feeling brisk and
fresh, and by no means ready for captivity, and she presently came
forth again with her soft, feeble, noiseless step; but she had nearly
retreated again, feeling herself mistaken and bewildered, for in the
drawing-room stood neither Tom nor his sisters, but a stranger--a
dark, grave, thoughtful man of a singularly resolute and settled cast
of countenance. The rustle of her dress made him look up as she
turned. 'Ave!' he exclaimed; and as their eyes met, the light in
those brown depths restored the whole past. She durst not trust
herself to speak, as her head rested on his shoulder, his arms were
round her; only as her husband came on the scene with a gesture of
surprise, she said, 'Indeed, I did not mean it! I did not know he
was here.'

'I might have known you could not be kept apart if I once let Leonard
in,' he said, as he arranged her on the sofa, and satisfied himself
that there were no tokens of the repressed agitation that left such
dangerous effects. 'Will you both be very good if I leave you to be
happy together?' he presently added, after a few indifferent words
had passed.

Averil looked wistfully after him, as if he were wanted to complete
full felicity even in Leonard's presence. How little would they once
have thought that her first words to her brother would be, 'Oh, was
there ever any one like him?'

'We owe it all to him,' said Leonard.

'So kind,' added Averil, 'not to be vexed, though he dreaded our
meeting so much; and you see I could not grieve him by making a fuss.
But this is nice!' she added, with a sigh going far beyond the effect
of the homely word.

'You are better. Ella said so.'

'I am feeling well to-night. Come, let me look at you, and learn
your face.'

He knelt down beside her, and she stroked back the hair, which had
fulfilled his wish that she should find it as long, though much
darker than of old. Posture and action recalled that meeting, when
her couch had been his prison bed, and the cold white prison walls
had frowned on them; yet even in the rosy light of the cheerful room
there was on them the solemnity of an approaching doom.

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