"What can we do with them?" said John, questioningly to Ursula.
"I see but one course. We must take him in; his mother says hunger is the chief thing that ails the lad. She fancies that he has had the measles; but our children have had it too, so there"s no fear. Come up-stairs, Mary Baines."
Pa.s.sing, with a thankful look, the room where her own boys slept, the good mother established this forlorn young mother and her two children in a little closet outside the nursery door; cheered her with comfortable words; helped her ignorance with wise counsels--for Ursula was the general doctress of all the poor folk round. It was almost midnight before she came down to the parlour where John and I sat, he with little Muriel asleep in his arms. The child would gladly have slumbered away all night there, with the delicate, pale profile pressed close into his breast.
"Is all right, love? How tired you must be!" John put his left arm round his wife as she came and knelt by him, in front of the cheerful fire.
"Tired? Oh, of course; but you can"t think how comfortable they are up-stairs. Only poor Mary Baines does nothing but cry, and keep telling me that nothing ails her lad but hunger. Are they so very poor?"
John did not immediately answer; I fancied he looked suddenly uneasy, and imperceptibly pressed his little girl closer to him.
"The lad seems very ill. Much worse than our children were with measles."
"Yet how they suffered, poor pets! especially Walter. It was the thought of them made me pity her so. Surely I have not done wrong?"
"No--love; quite right and kind. Acting so, I think one need not fear.
See, mother, how soundly Muriel sleeps. It"s almost a pity to waken her--but we must go to bed now."
"Stay one minute," I said. "Tell us, John--I quite forgot to ask till now--what is that "painful business" you mentioned, which called the sheriff to Lord Luxmore"s?"
John glanced at his wife, leaning fondly against him, her face full of sweet peace, then at his little daughter asleep, then round the cheerful fire-lit room, outside which the autumn night-wind went howling furiously.
"Love, we that are so happy, we must not, dare not condemn."
She looked at him with a shocked inquiry. "You don"t mean--No; it is impossible!"
"It is true. She has gone away."
Ursula sank down, hiding her face. "Horrible! And only two days since she was here, kissing our children."
We all three kept a long silence; then I ventured to ask when she went away?
"This morning, early. They took--at least, Mr. Vermilye did--all the property of Lord Luxmore"s that he could lay his hands upon--family jewels and money to a considerable amount. The earl is pursuing him now, not only as his daughter"s seducer, but as a swindler and a thief."
"And Richard Brithwood?"
"Drinks--and drinks--and drinks. That is the beginning and the end of all."
There was no more to be said. She had dropped for ever out of her old life, as completely as a star out of the sky. Henceforth, for years and years, neither in our home, nor, I believe, in any other, was there the slightest mention made of Lady Caroline Brithwood.
All the next day John was from home, settling the Kingswell affair. The ejected tenants--our tenants now--left us at last, giving a parting cheer for Mr. Halifax, the best master in all England.
Sitting down to tea, with no small relief that all was over, John asked his wife after the sick lad.
"He is very ill still, I think."
"Are you sure it is measles?"
"I imagine so; and I have seen nearly all childish diseases, except--no, THAT is quite impossible!" added the mother, hastily. She cast an anxious glance on her little ones; her hand slightly shook as she poured out their cups of milk. "Do you think, John--it was hard to do it when the child is so ill--I ought to have sent them away with the others?"
"Certainly not. If it were anything dangerous, of course Mary Baines would have told us. What are the lad"s symptoms?"
As Ursula informed him, I thought he looked more and more serious; but he did not let her see.
"Make your mind easy, love; a word from Dr. Jessop will decide all. I will fetch him after tea. Cheer up! Please G.o.d, no harm will come to our little ones!"
The mother brightened again; with her all the rest; and the tea-table clatter went on merry as ever. Then, it being a wet night, Mrs.
Halifax gathered her boys round her knee for an evening chat over the kitchen-fire; while through the open door, out of the dim parlour came "Muriel"s voice," as we called the harpsichord. It seemed sweeter than ever this night, like--as her father once said, but checked himself, and never said it afterwards--like Muriel talking with angels.
He sat listening awhile, then, without any remark, put on his coat and went out to fetch the good doctor. I followed him down to the stream.
"Phineas," he said, "will you mind--don"t notice it to the mother--but mind and keep her and the children down-stairs till I come back?"
I promised. "Are you uneasy about Mary Baines"s lad?"
"No; I have full trust in human means, and above all, in--what I need not speak of. Still, precautions are wise. Do you remember that day when, rather against Ursula"s wish, I vaccinated the children?"
I remembered. Also that the virus had taken effect with all but Muriel; and we had lately talked of repeating the much-blamed and miraculous experiment upon her. I hinted this.
"Phineas, you mistake," he answered, rather sharply. "She is quite safe--as safe as the others. I wrote to Dr. Jenner himself. But don"t mention that I spoke about this."
"Why not?"
"Because to-day I heard that they have had the small-pox at Kingswell."
I felt a cold shudder. Though inoculation and vaccination had made it less fatal among the upper cla.s.ses, this frightful scourge still decimated the poor, especially children. Great was the obstinacy in refusing relief; and loud the outcry in Norton Bury, when Mr. Halifax, who had met and known Dr. Jenner in London--finding no pract.i.tioner that would do it, persisted in administering the vaccine virus himself to his children. But still, with a natural fear, he had kept them out of all risk of taking the small-pox until now.
"John, do you think--"
"No; I will not allow myself to think. Not a word of this at home, mind. Good-bye!"
He walked away, and I returned up the path heavily, as if a cloud of terror and dole were visibly hanging over our happy Longfield.
The doctor appeared; he went up to the sick lad; then he and Mr.
Halifax were closeted together for a long time. After he was gone, John came into the kitchen, where Ursula sat with Walter on her knee.
The child was in his little white night-gown, playing with his elder brothers, and warming his rosy toes.
The mother had recovered herself entirely: was content and gay. I saw John"s glance at her, and then--and then I feared.
"What does the doctor say? The child will soon be well?"
"We must hope so."
"John, what do you mean? I thought the little fellow looked better when I went up to see him last. And there--I hear the poor mother up-stairs crying."
"She may cry; she has need," said John, bitterly. "She knew it all the while. She never thought of our children; but they are safe. Be content, love--please G.o.d, they are quite safe. Very few take it after vaccination."