Part 109 (2/2)
It was interrupted in its turn.
Julia burst suddenly into the room, pale and violently excited, clasping her hands and crying, ”He is _there._ His voice is like a child's. Oh, Help me! He is hurt. He is dying.”
CHAPTER XLVI
JULIA, as I have said, went to her own room, wounded unintentionally by a chance speech: she sat down sick at heart; and presently opened her window and looked out upon the starry night, and wondered where Alfred was now; that Alfred for whom n.o.body else had a Human heart, it seemed.
”Alfred! my poor Alfred!” she sighed, and half-expected to hear him reply. Then she said to herself, ”They all called you false but me; yet I was right: and now they all call you mad; but not I: I believe nothing against you. You are my own Alfred still. Where have the wretches driven you to?” At this her feelings carried her away, and she cried aloud on him despairingly, and leaned upon the window-sill, and the tears ran fast for him.
Presently out of the silence of the night seemed to struggle a faint but clear voice:
”Julia.”
She started, and a m.u.f.fled scream came from her. Then she listened, all trembling. Again the voice sighed, faintly but clear, ”Julia!”
”Alfred?” said she, quavering.
”Yes. Pray be cautious; give no alarm. The house is watched; bring Edward.”
She flew downstairs, and electrified Edward and Sampson with the news.
”Oh, promise me not to betray him!” she cried.
”Hut!” said the doctor, starting to his feet, ”what should we betray him for? I'll cure him for you. I can cure any lunatic that has lucid intervals. Where is he?”
”Follow me,” gasped Julia. ”Stay. I'll get rid of the servants first.
I'll not play the fool, and betray him to his enemies.” She sent Sarah eastward, and Jane westward, and then led the way through the kitchen door into the yard.
They all searched about, and found nothing. Then Julia begged them to be silent. She whispered, ”Alfred!” And instantly a faint voice issued from the top of a waggon laden with hay and covered with a tarpaulin.
”Julia.”
They all stood staring.
”Who are those with you?” asked Alfred uneasily.
”Only friends, dear! Edward and Dr. Sampson.”
”Ned, old fellow,” groaned Alfred, ”you pulled me out of the fire, won't you help me out of this? I think my leg is broken.”
At this Julia wrung her hands, and Edward ran into the house for his rope, and threw it over the waggon. He told Julia and Sampson to hold on by one end, and seizing the other, was up on the waggon in a moment. He felt about till he came to a protuberance; and that was Alfred under the tarpaulin, in which he had cut breathing-holes with his penknife. Edward sent Julia in for a carving-knife, and soon made an enormous slit: through this a well-known figure emerged into the moonlight, and seemed wonderfully tall to have been so hidden. His hands being uninjured, he easily descended the rope, and stood on one leg, holding it. Then Sampson and Edward put each an arm under his, and helped him into the house.
After the body the mind. That is the rule throughout creation. They examined, not his reason, but his leg. Julia stood by with clasped hands, and a face beaming with pity and anxiety, that repaid his pain.
Sampson announced there were no bones broken, but a bad sprain, and the limb very red and swollen. ”Now,” inquired he briskly of the company, ”what is the practice in sprains? Why, leeches and cold water.”
Edward offered at once to run and get them.
”Are you mad?” was the reply. ”Daun't I tell ye that is the _practice?_ And isn't the practice sure to be th' opposite of the remedy? So get water as hot as he can bear it, and no leeches.”
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