Part 16 (2/2)

Charlotte Dexter still stood in the rapidly darkening air, a stem, rigid, immovable figure. It was too soon for remorse. That would come in good time. But a certain pity stole over her as she gazed at the huddled ma.s.s on the ground before her, which a short time ago, had been the gay, laughing, upright Mr. Joseph.

”Are you suffering very much?” She said at length in her ordinary voice.

”Good G.o.d! How--how--can you ask? Again--tell me--was it--an accident?”

”No,” she replied still in her most ordinary voice. ”No. It was no accident. It _is_ vitriol, and I _did_ mean to throw it.”

”It is horrible,” groaned Mr. Joseph, still in agony on the ground where he had sunk at first. ”And you will not--fiend that you appear now to be--though Heaven knows--I thought you sweet and womanly enough once--you will not--tell me why! It is infamous!”

”Yes, it _is_ infamous,” returned Charlotte Dexter. ”It _is_ horrible, and I am a fiend. I am not a woman any longer. I once was, as you say, sweet and womanly enough for--for what? Joseph Foxley. For you to come to any house and my sister's house, and blast _her_ life and strike _her_ down as you thought you would strike me, for this and that and for much more, but not enough for truth and honesty and an offer of marriage in fair form, not enough for common respect and decent friends.h.i.+p.”

”My dear lady,” said Mr. Joseph with great difficulty, ”there was no one I--”

”And all that time, when I thought you at least free, at least your own master, at least unbiased and unbound, for unlike a gentleman you never hinted to me of these--other ties--you were engaged to this miserable girl, this common drudge, the scullery-maid of a country inn. You, you, you!”

”My dear lady,” said Mr. Joseph again with greater difficulty than before, ”I--upon my word--I have--I--”

Charlotte Dexter, suddenly regaining the use of her limbs, bent down quickly and peered into the poor sightless face. Mr. Joseph had fainted.

She owned no fear yet however, though it was now quite dark, and five miles lay between them and her own door. Pity was just giving away to remorse. What if she had killed him? She bent down again but found that there was no fear of that and even consciousness appeared to be returning. At this moment the sound of wheels struck her ear. Nearer and nearer it came and she soon descried a waggon coming along the road sharply in which sat one man. The rest of the waggon was empty and as it was proceeding in the direction of the village, into that, she made up her mind, should Mr. Joseph be put. As it drew near, she stepped out of the dark shade of the pines and bade the man stop.

”Whose there!” said he, ”What's here? What's the matter? Why, if it ain't Miss Dexter!”

”Yes,” said she, stooping to a.s.sist her unfortunate companion. ”How do you do, Farmer Wise! I--do you know Mr. Foxley--Mr. Joseph Foxley--is here--can you just see him--if you have a lantern, or, will you help me to get him into the waggon?”

Farmer Wise forgot Miss Dexter and her family pride in an instant, though at first sight the feeling of injury had somewhat revived, and he made haste to come to her relief. He found Mr. Joseph just coming to himself.

”Why, why, what's the matter?” said the Farmer. ”It minds me of old times, this, when highway-men and tramps were a-infestin' the road and a-lyin' in wait for honest travellers--in the Old Country of course, Miss Dexter, not here, not here. Yet somethin's been at work here, eh!

Mr. Joseph, or else I'm much mistaken. Here, lend an 'and, Miss Dexter; now, sir, can you see me?”

”Not very well,” gasped poor Mr. Joseph. ”It's dark, I know,” said the farmer, ”and I hadn't begun carrying my lantern yet. Never mind Here, now, place your foot there--are ye hurt anywhere that I may touch ye--tell me where I hurt ye, if I do--now then, the other foot--

”There, now it's done! Miss Dexter, ma'am there's an old blanket at the back there, lie him on that. Put his head down and let him look straight up at them stars and he'll soon get himself, I warrant. If I knew where ye were hurt, perhaps I could bind ye up. There's no wound,” anxiously.

”No,” said Mr. Joseph. ”Thank you, Farmer Wise. I am--much--better--really.

I was unconscious!”

”Ay,” said the farmer, ”A little, and can you stand the joltin' now, are ye sure? For if ye are, we'll drive on.”

”Stay a moment,” said Mr. Joseph. ”I had some flowers--a bouquet--in my hands when I--fell. I can't see--very well--in this light--look for me, will you!”

”I do spy somethin' white on yonder ground where you was when I came up.

Maybe it's a pocket-handkerchief, may be it's the flowers you dropped.”

The former sprang down and returned with two articles one of which--the bouquet he gave to Mr. Joseph, the other, a small bottle--he put in his own pocket The bouquet was as fresh and untumbled as when it emerged from the careful florist who had prepared it. Not a single drop of the fiery liquid had fallen upon it nor scorched its fragrant beauty and it presently lay upon the face of the suffering man, healing with its cool moist sweet leaves and petals his poor scarred skin.

”I won't ask him,” thought the farmer, ”I won't ask him. But what are they doin' here together? Well, I won't ask that neither. And why did not she came out by the stage as she said? I won't ask that neither.

There's three things I needn't go for to enquire into. But a little general conversation in a nice kind of way, neither spyin' nor lyin' may do him good and not be altogether despised by the--the other party.” He looked back and could dimly see Mr. Joseph sitting up on the blanket. He had removed his hat, and his hands were pressed to his head. Charlotte Dexter was in the furthest corner of the waggon, a dark, stern, ominous figure.

”Strange that you and me _are_ goin' home together, Miss Dexter, after all,” said the farmer.

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