Part 7 (1/2)
”No, no; not much, I hope,” he said, springing up, but looking very pale. ”It's an awkward blow rather, but don't distress yourself--we'll make the best of our way home at once--just one of you see to the horses.”
He spoke with effort, for he was evidently in great pain. Mary's heart ached for him, but exhaustion and anxiety quite deprived her of the power of speaking or thinking collectively.
The horses were speedily brought. Frank held out his uninjured arm to help Mary Oliphant to mount her pony.
”I'm so very, very sorry,” she said, ”to have caused this disaster, and spoiled our happy day through my foolish timidity.”
”Nay, nay; you must not blame yourself,” said Frank. ”I am sure we all feel for you. It was that rascal of a dog that did the mischief, but I gave him such a mark of my respect as I don't think he'll part with for a long time.”
Poor Frank, he tried to be cheerful; but it was plain to all that he must be suffering severely. They were soon on their way home, but a cloud rested on their spirits. Few words were said till they reached the spot where the roads to the hall and the rectory parted. Then Frank turned to Mary and said, with a look full of tenderness, rendered doubly touching by his almost ghastly paleness,--
”Farewell; I hope you'll be none the worse, dear Mary, for your fright.
I shall send over to-morrow to inquire how you are. It was a happy escape.”
”Good-bye, good-bye!” she cried; ”a thousand thanks for your n.o.ble and timely rescue! Oh, I hope--I hope--”
She could not say more, but burst into tears.
”All right--never fear for me!” he cried cheerily as he rode off, leaving Mary and a groom to make their way to Waterland, while himself and the rest of the party hastened on to Greymoor Park.
They had not far to ride, but Frank was evidently anxious to reach home as speedily as possible. With clenched teeth and knit brow, he urged on his pony to a gallop. Soon they reached the lodge; a few moments more and they had pa.s.sed along the drive and gained the grand entrance. Lady Oldfield had just returned from a drive, and was standing on the top step.
”You're early home,” she remarked. ”Dear Frank, I hope there's nothing amiss,” she added, noticing the downcast looks of the whole party.
Her son did not answer, but, dismounting with difficulty, began to walk up the steps. She observed with dismay that he tottered as he approached her. Could he have been drinking so freely as to be unable to walk steadily? Her heart died within her. The next moment he staggered forward, and fainted in her arms.
CHAPTER FIVE.
GOOD RESOLUTIONS.
”What--what is this?” cried Lady Oldfield in bitter distress. ”Frank-- my child--my beloved boy--oh, open your eyes--look at me--speak--what has happened? Oh, he's dying, he's dying--James--Richard--carry him up to his room. One of you tell Tomkins to ride off immediately for Dr Portman. Thomas, fetch me some brandy--quick--quick!”
They carried him in a state of complete insensibility to his room, and laid him on the bed. His mother stood over him, bathing his temples with eau-de-cologne, and weeping bitterly. The brandy was brought; they raised him, and poured a little through his blanched lips; slowly he began to revive; his lips moved. Lady Oldfield stooped her ear close to his face, and caught the murmured word, ”Mary.”
”Oh, thank G.o.d,” she exclaimed, ”that he is not dead! Does any one know how this has happened?”
”I believe, my lady,” replied one of the servants, ”that Mr Frank was. .h.i.t by a big stone which fell on him from the top of the ruins. I heard Juniper Graves say as much.”
”Ay, my lady,” said another; ”it were a mercy it didn't kill Mr Frank outright.”
The object of their care began now to come more to himself. He tried to rise, but fell back with a groan.
”What _can_ I do for you, my poor boy?” asked his mother; ”the doctor will be here soon, but can we do anything for you now? Where is your pain?”
”I fear my left arm is broken,” he whispered; ”the pain is terrible.”
”Take some more brandy,” said his mother.
He took it, and was able to sit up. Then with great difficulty they undressed him, and he lay on the bed pale and motionless till the doctor arrived. On examination, it was found that the arm was terribly bruised, but not broken. There were, however, other injuries also, though not of a serious character, which Frank had sustained in his perilous climbing to the rescue of Mary Oliphant. Fever came on, aggravated by the brandy injudiciously administered. For some days it was doubtful what would be the issue; but at last, to the great joy of Sir Thomas and his wife, the turning-point was pa.s.sed, and Dr Portman p.r.o.nounced their child out of danger--all he needed now was good nursing, sea-air, and proper nourishment. During the ravings of the fever his mind was often rambling on the scene in the ruins--at one time he would be chiding the dog, at another he would be urging Mary to cling firmly to the ivy; and there was a tone of tenderness in these appeals which convinced Lady Oldfield that her son's heart was given to the rector's daughter. This was confirmed by a conversation which she had with him at the sea-side, where he was gone to recruit his strength.