Part 56 (2/2)
”Speak! Is he-hurt-much?”
”Much!” said Audrey. ”The doctor does not know whether he will ever recover. Oh, what have I done to you?”
”Nothing,” said Evelyn. ”Get out of my way.”
Like a wild creature she darted from her cousin, and, fast and fleet as her feet could carry her, rushed back to Castle Wynford.
It took a good deal to touch a heart like Evelyn's, but it was touched at last; nay, more, it was wounded; it was struck with a blow so deep, so sudden, so appalling, that the bewildered child reeled as she ran.
Her eyes grew dark with emotion. She was past tears; she was almost past words. By and by, breathless, scared, bewildered, carried completely out of herself, she entered the Castle. There was no one about, but a doctor's brougham stood before the princ.i.p.al entrance. Evelyn looked wildly around her. She knew her uncle's room. She ran up-stairs. Without waiting for any one to answer, she burst open the door. The room was empty.
”He must be very badly hurt,” she whispered to herself. ”He must be in his little room on the ground floor.”
She went down-stairs again. She ran down the corridor where often, when in her best moments, she had gone to talk to him, to pet him, to love him. She entered the sitting-room where the gun had been. A great shudder pa.s.sed through her frame as she saw the empty case. She went straight through the sitting-room, and, unannounced, undesired, unwished-for, entered the bedroom.
There were doctors round the bed; Lady Frances was standing by the head; and a man was lying there, very still and quiet, with his eyes shut and a peaceful smile on his face.
”He is dead,” thought Evelyn-”he is dead!” She gave a gasp, and the next instant lay in an unconscious heap on the floor.
When the unhappy child came to herself she was lying on a sofa in the sitting-room. A doctor was bending over her.
”Now you are better,” he said. ”You did very wrong to come into the bedroom. You must lie still; you must not make a fuss.”
”I remember everything,” said Evelyn. ”It was I who did it. It was I who killed him. Don't-don't keep me. I must sit up; I must speak. Will he die? If he dies I shall have killed him. You understand, I-I shall have done it!”
The doctor looked disturbed and distressed. Was this poor little girl mad? Who was she? He had heard of an heiress from Australia: could this be the child? But surely her brain had given way under the extreme pressure and shock!
”Lie still, my dear,” he said gently; and he put his hand on the excited child's forehead.
”I will be good if you will help me,” said the girl; and she took both his hands in hers and raised her burning eyes to his face.
”I will do anything in my power.”
”Don't you see what it means to me?-and I must be with him. Is he dead?”
”No, no.”
”Is he in great danger?”
”I will tell you, if you are good, after the doctor from London comes.”
”But I did it.”
”Excuse me, miss-I do not know your name-you are talking nonsense.”
”Let me explain. Oh! there never was such a wicked girl; I do not mind saying it now. I loaded the gun just to show him that I could shoot a bird on the wing, and-and I forgot all about it; I forgot I had left the gun loaded. Oh, how can I ever forgive myself?”
The doctor asked her a few more questions. He tried to soothe her. He then said if she would stay where she was he would bring her the very first news from the London doctor. The case was not hopeless, he a.s.sured her; but there was danger-grave danger-and any shock would bring on hemorrhage, and hemorrhage would be fatal.
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