Chapter XVI: Lionel's Accident

MISS Warren was so overcome when she found that Dick had learnt the cause of the ill-feeling between his father and grandfather that the pretty colour left her cheeks, and she sat down on a moss-covered bank beneath a hazel-bush by the hedge-side, whilst the tears ran down her face. "Oh, my dear," she cried, "what a wicked, cruel boy your cousin must be to deliberately wound you like that! I am glad Sir Richard heard what he said, though—very glad! It does people good to hear the truth about themselves sometimes!"

"But grandfather doesn't hate mother, he doesn't indeed!" Dick interposed eagerly. "He seemed so sorry Lionel spoke like that! I think he is very lonely and unhappy. He wishes father was coming home sooner than next year, and he said he should like bygones to be bygones. What did he mean, Aunt Mary Ann?"

"Did he really say that?" Miss Warren asked, greatly astonished. "Then he must mean to forgive your father for—for—Oh, Dick, it's no good our trying to keep it from you any longer? It was your father's marriage that offended Sir Richard!"

"Won't you tell me about it?" Dick said coaxingly, his face expressive of mingled anxiety and curiosity.

"Perhaps I had better try to make you understand," Miss Warren replied with a sigh. "It was ten years ago, and Sir Richard was abroad in Egypt—he often wintered abroad in those days. Your father had leave, and came down to the Manor House for a few weeks' shooting and hunting. He met your mother, they grew to love each other, and one day he came and told your Uncle Theophilus she had promised to be his wife. Your Uncle Theophilus gave his consent to the match, providing Sir Richard did the same. Well, Dick, your father wanted to be married at once, because his regiment had been ordered on foreign service, and, of course, he wished to take your mother with him. He wrote to Sir Richard, but no answer came—afterwards we learnt the letter had been delayed in the post through the negligence of an official. Your father said he should take silence for consent, and pointed out to us that if the marriage did not take place then, our niece would have to go out to him to India to be married. We did not like that idea at all, and so, Dick, your dear parents were married; and later—a few days after they had sailed—your Uncle Theophilus received a letter from Sir Richard saying he would never give his consent to his son marrying our niece."

Miss Warren paused. She had no intention of telling Dick all his grandfather had said in that letter; although the words had been written so long ago, the remembrance of them made her angry still. She proceeded:—

"Your Uncle Theophilus wrote and told Sir Richard the marriage had taken place; and when your grandfather came home in the spring, he gave us to understand that he never meant to have anything to do with your mother."

"Why not?" Dick questioned in amazement.

"My dear, your grandfather considered she was beneath his son in position!"

"Oh, Aunt Mary Ann, I wish you could have heard how he spoke of mother this afternoon! He didn't say much; but he was very nice about her—he was indeed! He said he didn't hate her now God has shown him how wrong it was!"

"It gives me great pleasure to hear it," Miss Warren said, a trifle dubiously. "No one would be more glad than your dear mother if your father and grandfather were on good terms again, and I am sure, judging from the conversation I had with Mrs. Compton the other day, that she would be pleased. Dear me! I wonder what Theophilus will think!"

She rose as she spoke, and they proceeded homewards, Dick asking dozens of questions which Miss Warren found some difficulty in answering, for she did not like to tell him that Sir Richard's pride had been at the root of his dislike to his son's marriage. He had felt that his heir should have looked above a country surgeon's adopted niece in choosing a wife. Dick, who realised how good and loving his mother was, and had been taught by her to respect all who were honourable and true-hearted, whatever their station in life might be, would have faint sympathy with his grandfather's pride, Miss Warren knew; and she felt, with a thrill of deep joy and satisfaction, that the boy was happier at No. 8 Fore Street than he would ever have been at the Manor House; and in her heart she prayed that God would keep his soul so unspotted from the world that he would be always able to judge people apart from their surroundings and belongings.

The village street was empty as Miss Warren and her nephew turned into it; and the shops were shut with the exception of the post-office, which had to be kept open till half-past eight. Miss Tidy was peering disconsolately over the wire blind; her queer little face brightened perceptibly as Miss Warren and Dick came in sight, but clouded again as they passed by—she had hoped they might have had an errand at the post-office, so that the monotony of the evening would have been broken.

"Look, Aunt Mary Ann!" cried Dick, as they reached their own door. "What a lot of people! All coming this way too!"

Miss Warren glanced hastily up the street in the direction indicated. Not a person had been in sight a few moments before; but now quite a small crowd had appeared around the bend of the hill above the village. She immediately concluded something had happened, and sent Dick into the house to ascertain if her brother was in, whilst she stood on the doorstep waiting.

The crowd, mostly composed of village children, with a few of their elders, drew nearer and nearer.

Upon seeing Miss Warren, a man hurried forward, and enquired eagerly if Dr. Warren was at home.

"Yes," the doctor answered for himself, as he appeared with Dick. "Am I wanted? What is it? An accident?"

"Yes, sir! Master Compton has been found in the woods above the village, insensible, and Bill Coysh—'twas he who found him—says he's been shot, he thinks! They're bringing him here because it's so far to the Manor House!"

Dr. Warren turned to his sister and gave her some whispered directions; then he told Dick to go into the sitting-room, and wait there. The little boy obeyed reluctantly.

He was pale and trembling in every limb, and very frightened, for he did not doubt but that Lionel had met with some accident in connection with firing off the blunderbuss. Looking out of the window, he watched the crowd draw up in front of the house, and recognised Lionel's figure stretched out on a hurdle carried by four stalwart villagers. He could not see his cousin's face, for it was covered with a pocket-handkerchief; he shuddered as the idea presented itself to his mind that the unfortunate boy might be already dead.

Only a short while before Dick had been full of bitterness and resentment against Lionel, but now his naturally sympathetic heart could find no room for any sentiment but pity. He knew from the sounds in the house that Lionel was being carried upstairs; then someone went to the front door and asked the crowd to disperse; and soon only one or two lingerers remained.

After that everything was very still for a long time. Dick was beginning to fear he had been forgotten altogether, when he heard light footsteps coming downstairs, and in another instant Miss Warren, looking pale and scared, entered the room. The little boy rushed to her and began asking for particulars of Lionel's accident. Had he really been shot? Was he much hurt?

"He's living, and that's all I can tell you yet," she replied, shaking her head sadly. "He has been badly shot in the right thigh, and has lost a lot of blood. How it happened I have not heard, and Lionel is perfectly unconscious still. Your Uncle Theophilus has extracted some of the shots, and has dressed the wounds—I am thankful he was at home to see to the poor boy at once! Oh dear, this is a bad business, I fear!"

"Oh, what will Aunt Arabella say!" Dick cried distressfully. "Oh, poor, poor Lionel!"

"We have sent a message to the Manor House to let them know there what has happened," Miss Warren said, her bright eyes full of tears. "I expect Mrs. Compton will be here directly! Poor woman! It will be a terrible shock for her!"

When Mrs. Compton arrived a little later, in company with her father, she insisted upon at once going upstairs to see Lionel. Sir Richard joined Dick in the sitting-room, and listened in silence to the rather incoherent story the little boy told him.

"I'm afraid he is dreadfully hurt," Dick said in conclusion. "Oh, I do hope he won't die! It would be so awful, especially after Aunt Arabella telling us—"

He paused abruptly, mindful that his grandfather knew nothing of Lionel's intentions with regard to the blunderbuss.

"What did she tell you?" Sir Richard asked sternly, noticing the uneasy look on Dick's telltale countenance. "Come, speak out!"

"She-she said we were not to fire off the blunderbuss," Dick replied, coming to the conclusion that everything would be discovered, and therefore he could not help his cousin by keeping silence. "That was what we quarrelled about this afternoon. I had promised to help Lionel, but when Aunt Arabella said that, I told him I wouldn't go to the woods with him to fire off the blunderbuss without her knowing, and he was angry with me, and so—and so—"

"And so he went by himself, I conclude!" Sir Richard exclaimed, frowning.

"I don't know, but I expect he did!" Dick responded in a low tone, looking deeply distressed.

"Unhappy boy!" groaned the old man. "He is indeed severely punished for his disobedience! God grant his life may be spared for his mother's sake!"

"Here comes Uncle Theophilus!" Dick cried, as he heard the doctor's slow footsteps descending the stairs. He ran to the door, and went into the hall to meet him, followed by his grandfather.

"How is he?" asked Sir Richard somewhat nervously, as he shook hands with Dr. Warren. "Not seriously injured, I trust?"

"Seriously, but not necessarily fatally," was the grave reply. "We must hope for the best. He has been badly shot in the thigh, and is very weak from loss of blood; he will be ill for many weeks even if all goes well."

"There is danger?" Sir Richard questioned, whilst Dick listened with breathless anxiety.

"There is always danger from gunshot wounds," the doctor answered. "It would not be right for me to hide the fact that he is very seriously ill, but I am hopeful that I may be able to save his leg, and that he will recover."

"Do you mean it may be necessary to amputate his leg?" Sir Richard said in a tone of horror, whilst Dick shuddered at the thought.

"It may be necessary, but I hope not. Mrs. Compton will remain here to nurse her son, and to-morrow we can get a trained nurse to assist. It was very fortunate the boy was brought here, for much valuable time would have been lost if he had been taken to the Manor House. I need hardly tell you, Sir Richard, that I shall do my best for him!"

"As you do for all your patients," Sir Richard said, with unexpected cordiality. "But having Lionel in the house will upset your domestic arrangements, I fear! What does Miss Warren say?"

"The same as I do—that it was providential the poor lad was brought here. Don't look so frightened, Dick! Why, you are trembling like a leaf!" —and Dr. Warren laid his big gentle hand on the little boy's shoulder, and smiled as he met the gaze of the troubled dark eyes.

"Oh, Uncle Theophilus, will he die?" breathed Dick with a painful sob. "Oh, I hope God won't let him die!"

"I hope not!" was the fervent reply.

For a few minutes there was silence, save for the ticking of the tall clock. Dick raised his eyes to its face, and watched the ship in full sail rocking to and fro; then Sir Richard remarked that as he could do no good there, he should go home. He was profuse in his thanks to the doctor, who saw him into his carriage, and said he would send early in the morning for news of Lionel, adding that he hoped Dick would come to the Manor House on the morrow, and try to comfort Ruth, who was in terrible distress about her brother.

As the carriage disappeared from sight, a slouching figure, followed by a lurcher, approached the doctor and Dick, and requested to know if the young gentleman was dead.

"No, no," Dr. Warren replied, "he is badly hurt, but I have hopes of his recovery. Why, it was you who found him, was it not?"

Bill Coysh—for it was he—nodded assent, and was turning away, when the doctor asked him if he had any idea how the accident happened. At first he declared he knew nothing about it; but, seeing he was not believed, he wavered in his statement, and finally acknowledged that he had been with Lionel when he was shot.

After his quarrel with Dick, Lionel had slipped out of the house, and returning a little later, had fetched the blunderbuss and ammunition, armed with which he had gone off to the woods in search of a suitable place for putting his plans into execution. He had found a secluded spot in a fir plantation, situated at the top of the hill above the village, where he had met Bill Coysh, and there had proceeded to load the blunderbuss according to his grandfather's directions; after which he had tied the gun securely to a tree with a stout piece of rope, and making a squib of gunpowder, had lit it and applied it to the touch-hole, so firing the charge.

"'Twas exactly like letting off a cannon," Bill Coysh said; "I never heard such a report from any gun before. Master Compton fired it several times, and then he agreed to let me do it. I shall never forget it, never! He went a little distance away to hear what the sound was like further off; and I suppose I took longer than he expected, and he was coming to see what I was doing, for just as I'd lit the squib, he came right in a line with the gun, and the next thing I knew was he'd been shot, and was lying groaning, looking like death. It wasn't my fault! I wouldn't have injured him for anything! I ran to him, and asked him if he was hurt, but he didn't answer, and then I saw he'd fainted, and I went to get help. There, I've told the truth, doctor, and if I'm had up for murder—" He broke off, shuddering at the thought, then added:— "If Master Compton lives, he'll tell you the same tale!"

There was a genuine ring of truth in Bill Coysh's voice which Dr. Warren was quick to notice. Dick enquired what had become of the blunderbuss, and was told it was still attached to the tree in the fir plantation. It was found there the next day by the village policeman, who had serious thoughts whether he ought not to arrest Bill Coysh. But by that time Lionel had recovered consciousness, and was able to say that Bill had told the truth about his accident; no one was to blame but himself, he solemnly declared. He confessed everything to his mother, the sight of her pale tear-stained face awakening remorse and repentance in his wayward heart; needless to say he had no difficulty in obtaining her forgiveness.

But Lionel had to suffer from the consequences of his sin during the weary weeks which followed, when, racked with pain and fever, he lay upon his sick-bed with plenty of time for reflection. How he regretted the many occasions when he had disobeyed the mother who nursed him with such untiring care! He felt he had never loved her half enough, and hoped God would spare his life that he might try to make amends to her for his wilfulness in the past.