Part 36 (1/2)

”I found this,” said Sir Philip, producing the little flask he had taken from the table.

”To be sure--exactly--graduated too! My dear sir, I don't think there is any cause for alarm. He has evidently taken a strong dose; but, you see, here are ample instructions, and the bottle is nearly empty.”

”But he may have taken all that,” said Sir Philip anxiously.

”My dear sir,” said the doctor, ”if he had taken one-eighth part, he would not be lying as you now see him. Depend upon it, that after a few hours he will wake calm and composed, when, if you are, as I suppose from the likeness,”--here the doctor bowed,--”his father, a little quiet advice would not be out of place. It is a bad sign for a fine young man like this to be resorting to such subtle agencies to procure rest.

Depend upon it, his brain is in a sad state. I should advise change.”

”But do you not think that you had better wait?” said Sir Philip anxiously.

”I would do so with pleasure,” said the doctor; ”but really, my dear sir, there is not the slightest necessity, and, besides, I am within easy call.”

The doctor departed softly, as he had arrived; and taking his seat by the couch, Sir Philip watched hour after hour, forgetful of his own fatigue, till towards morning, when Charley turned, sighed deeply, and then sat up to gaze anxiously in his father's face.

”You here, dad?” he said lightly.

”My dear boy--at last!” cried Sir Philip. ”You have alarmed me terribly! Why do you take that?” And he pointed to the bottle.

”To keep myself sane, father,” said Charley sadly--”because I have lain here night after night waiting for the sleep that would not come. I've smoked; I've drunk heavily; I've walked and ridden till so tired I could hardly stand; and then I've lain here through the long dreary nights, till I felt that I should lose my head altogether.”

The old gentleman rose and began to pace the room.

”But there,” cried Charley cheerfully, ”I've kept you up too. So now go to your room, and I'll turn over a new leaf, dad. Look here!”

As he spoke, he took up the little bottle from where it had been placed by the doctor, and threw it sharply into the grate, where it was smashed to atoms.

”There, I'll be a coward no longer, sir! I'm going to begin a clean page of the book to-morrow. No more blots and random writing, but all ruled fair and straight. There, good-night, or, rather, good-morning!

Breakfast at ten, mind!”

Sir Philip left the room, and Charley plunged his face into a basin of cold water before sitting down quietly to think; and as he thought, he turned over and over again his intentions for the future.

It did seem now certain that Max Bray had supplanted him--there could be hardly a doubt of it, but still there was that shade; and till he was certain he would still hold to his faith. He told himself that he was wanting in no way, that he had done all that man could do; but still he must have the final certainty before he would hide for ever in his breast the sharply-cut wound, and trust to time to do something towards alleviating his suffering.

Then he thought of Max Bray, and his brow lowered as he recalled his words, till those floated before his mind respecting Laura, and his treatment of her.

It was absurd, certainly, but the whole family must have supposed that he had intended to ask her hand. But he had never said word of love to her. What, though, of the lady? There was no doubt that Laura did love him, poor girl! perhaps very earnestly; and if so, he was sorry for her; for it was not his wish to give her pain.

Then once more he thought of Ella. Would she have accepted him, he would have set the world at defiance; but no--under the guise of a modest retirement, she had rejected him to accept Max Bray.

But was it so? No, _no_, no! He would not believe it. He would hold to his faith in her till the last came, and then he knew that he should be a changed man.

Once more he asked himself whether he had done all that man could do; and his heart honestly replied that he had--everything.

”Then my policy now is, to wait and see,” said Charley aloud, and with a bitterness in his tones that told how what he had seen rankled in his breast. Then, throwing himself on his bed, he said once more aloud, ”It can't be long now before I have some proof, and after that--”

He did not finish his sentence--he could not; for ”after that” seemed to him to be such a weary blank, that he almost wondered whether he would be able to live through it all. And there he lay, sleepless now, awaiting the convincing proof; a proof that was to come sooner even than he antic.i.p.ated.

Volume 2, Chapter XXIII.