Part 56 (1/2)

”Ah, me! What have I done, what have I said?” cried Mrs Brandon. ”My poor child, I must have been mad to have let my foolish lips utter those words!” And she gently raised the fainting girl in her arms; for at those bitter words, Ella had uttered that faint sigh, her face had been contracted as by a violent spasm, and her eyes had closed.

”It is nothing,” sighed Ella, reviving. ”If he is only happy!”

”Happy!” cried Mrs Brandon, her breast heaving with pa.s.sion. ”It is some cruel conspiracy. But tell me--if you can bear to speak--tell me all.”

It was a long recital; for it was told in a faint whisper, and spread over some time, Ella's strength seeming often to fail her. Twice over Mrs Brandon would have arrested her, but she begged to be allowed to proceed.

”It will make me happier,” she whispered. And Mrs Brandon could only bend her head.

Three o'clock had struck by the pendule, whose slow beat seemed to be numbering off Ella's last minutes, when Mrs Brandon left her in the charge of the nurse she had summoned, sleeping now calmly, and as if relieved by confiding her sad little last month's history to another breast.

It was late; but Mrs Brandon had another duty to perform, one which she did, with her mind now confused, now seeming to see plainly the whole of the plot. But there was that letter--those lines in Charley Vining's hand. But for them, all would have been plain.

At times she was moved by a burning indignation; at others she weakly wept; but before returning to Ella's bedside, she took a large sheet of paper, secured to it the three missives she had brought from the bedside, and then wrote under them:

”Charles Vining,--The victim of a cruel plot--Ella Bedford--was enticed from the home I had found for her by Maximilian Bray, from whom she escaped, to crawl, _dying_, to my house, where she now lies, to breathe her last in peace. As an English gentleman, I ask you, Have you had any hand in this? If not, explain how a letter should be sent to her in your handwriting. I can see part; but the rest remains for you to clear. Emily Brandon.”

This letter Mrs Brandon carefully sealed, with its contents, and then returned to watch by Ella's bedside.

Soon after eight that morning she dispatched the note by a trusty messenger, to be delivered into no other hands than Charley Vining's-- little wotting the events to take place that day--and into Charley Vining's hands that letter was placed, as we have seen.

Sir Philip Vining's coachman was the first to recover himself and to go to his master's a.s.sistance, just as, half stunned and confused, Sir Philip was struggling to his feet.

”Not much hurt, I think!” said Sir Philip. ”But where is Mr Bray?”

”There he lies, Sir Philip,” said the coachman.

And together they went to raise the unfortunate companion of their ride, insensible now, and bleeding from a cut on the temple.

”Beg pardon, Sir Philip,” said the coachman appealingly. ”I've been with you fifteen years now; I hope you won't turn me off for this job.

I was driving as carefully as I could.”

”My good fellow, no; of course not. I was to blame. Thank Heaven there are some men coming!--Bray, my dear friend, how is it with you?”

Mr Bray looked up on being addressed, and, with a little a.s.sistance, rose to his feet; but he was weak and helpless, seating himself directly after.

In spite of the serious aspect of affairs, a little examination proved that, though cut about, and some of the harness injured, the horses were very little the worse; while, with the exception of the loss of some paint and a smashed panel, the carriage, on being placed in its normal position, was found to be quite capable of continuing its journey.

Plenty of help had arrived, and the labourers had worked with a will; but upon Mr Bray being a.s.sisted to his seat, he seemed so ill and shaken, that Sir Philip gave orders for the carriage to make the best of its way home.

”But you will come too?” said Mr Bray feebly.

”No,” said Sir Philip, frowning angrily; ”I shall go forward.”

And then, without another word, he strode off in the direction of Laneton.

Mr Bray was for following him; but the coachman shook his head.

”Master's as good and true-hearted a gentleman as ever breathed, sir.

Here's fifty--ah, with the way them horses are marked, a hundred and fifty-pounds' worth of damage done in a moment. And does he do what ninety masters out of a hundred would have done--tell me to leave to-morrow? Not he, sir. He just claps me on the shoulder, and says it was his own fault--which it really was, sir, though lots wouldn't have owned to it. But no, sir; Sir Philip's orders was to take you home, and disobeying his orders means throwing away a good place.”