CHAPTER XXV: TIDINGS FROM THE IRON GATES
"He has more cause to be proud. Where is he wounded?"
Coriolanus.
It was a wet autumn day, when the yellow leaves of the poplars infront of the house were floating down amid the misty rain; Dr.Woodford had gone two days before to consult a book in the Cathedrallibrary, and was probably detained at Winchester by the weather;Lady Archfield was confined to her bed by a sharp attack ofrheumatism. Sir Philip was taking his after-dinner doze in his arm-chair; and little Philip was standing by Anne, who was doing herbest to keep him from awakening his grandfather, as she partly read,partly romanced, over the high-crowned hatted fishermen in theillustrations to Izaak Walton's Complete Angler.
He had just, caught by the musical sound, made her read to him asecond time Marlowe's verses,
'Come live with me and be my love,'
and informed her that his Nana was his love, and that she was towatch him fish in the summer rivers, when the servant who had beensent to meet His Majesty's mail and extract the Weekly Gazette camein, bringing not only that, but a thick, sealed packet, the aspectof which made the boy dance and exclaim, "A packet from my papa!Oh! will he have written an answer to my own letter to him?"
But Sir Philip, who had started up at the opening of the door, hadno sooner glanced at the packet than he cried out, "'Tis not hishand!" and when he tried to break the heavy seals and loosen thestring, his hands shook so much that he pushed it over to Anne,saying, "You open it; tell me if my boy is dead."
Anne's alarm took the course of speed. She tore off the wrapper,and after one glance said, "No, no, it cannot be the worst; here issomething from himself at the end. Here, sir."
"I cannot! I cannot," said the poor old man, as the tears dimmedhis spectacles, and he could not adjust them. "Read it, my dearwench, and let me know what I am to tell his poor mother."
And he sank into a chair, holding between his knees his littlegrandson, who stood gazing with widely-opened blue eyes.
"He sends love, duty, blessing. Oh, he talks of coming home, so donot fear, sir!" cried Anne, a vivid colour on her cheeks.
"But what is it?" asked the father. "Tell me first--the restafter."
"It is in the side--the left side," said Anne, gathering up in heragitation the sense of the crabbed writing as best she could. "Theyhave not extracted the bullet, but when they have, he will do well."
"God grant it! Who writes?"
"Norman Graham of Glendhu--captain in his K. K. Regiment ofVolunteer Dragoons. That's his great friend! Oh, sir, he hasbehaved so gallantly! He got his wound in saving the colours fromthe Turks, and kept his hands clutched over them as his men carriedhim out of the battle."
Philip gave another little spring, and his grandfather bade Anneread the letter to him in detail.
It told how the Imperial forces had met a far superior number ofTurks at Lippa, and had sustained a terrible defeat, with the lossof their General Veterani, how Captain Archfield had received ascimitar wound in the cheek while trying to save his commander, buthad afterwards dashed forward among the enemy, recovered the coloursof the regiment, and by a desperate charge of his fellow-soldiers,who were devotedly attached to him, had been borne off the fieldwith a severe wound on the left side. Retreat had been immediatelynecessary, and he had been taken on an ammunition waggon along roughroads to the fortress called the Iron Gates of Transylvania, whencethis letter was written, and sent by the messenger who was to summonthe Elector of Saxony to the aid of the remnant of the army. It hadnot yet been possible to probe the wound, but Charles gave apersonal message, begging his parents not to despond but to believehim recovering, so long as they did not see his servant returnwithout him, and he added sundry tender and dutiful messages to hisparents, and a blessing to his son, with thanks for the prettyletter he had not been able to answer (but which, his friend said,was lying spread on his pillow, not unstained with blood), and healso told his boy always to love and look up to her who had everbeen as a mother to him. Anne could hardly read this, and the scrapin feeble irregular lines she handed to Sir Philip. It was--
With all my heart I entreat pardon for all the errors that havegrieved you. I leave you my child to comfort you, and mine owntrue love, whom yon will cherish. She will cherish you as adaughter, as she will be, with your consent, if God spares me tocome home. The love of all my soul to her, my mother, sister,and you."
There was a scrawl for conclusion and signature, and Captain Grahamadded--
Writing and dictating have greatly exhausted him. He would havesaid more, but he says the lady can explain much, and he repeatshis urgent entreaties that you will take her to your heart as adaughter, and that his son will love and honour her.
There was a final postscript--
The surgeon thinks him better for having disburthened his mind.
"My child," said Sir Philip, with a long sigh, looking up at Anne,who had gathered the boy into her arms, and was hiding her faceagainst his little awe-struck head, "my child, have you read?"
"No," faltered Anne.
"Read then." And as she would have taken it, he suddenly drew herinto his embrace and kissed her as the eyes of both overflowed. "Mypoor girl!" he said, "this is as hard to you as to us! Oh, my braveboy!" and he let her lay her head on his shoulder and held her handas they wept together, while little Phil stared for a moment or twoat so strange a sight and then burst out with a great cry--
"You shall not cry! you shall not! my papa is not dead!" and hestamped his little foot. "No, he isn't. He will get well; theletter said so, and I will go and tell grandmamma."
The need of stopping this roused them both; Sir Philip, heavilygroaning, went away to break the tidings to his wife, and Anne wentdown on her knees on the hearth to caress the boy, and help him tounderstand his father's state and realise the valorous deeds thatwould always be a crown to him, and which already made the littlefellow's eye flash and his fair head go higher.
By and by she was sent for to Lady Archfield's room, and there shehad again to share the grief and the fears and try to dwell on theglory and the hopes. When in a calmer moment the parentsinterrogated her on what had passed with Charles, it was not in thespirit of doubt and censure, but rather as dwelling on all that wasto be told of one whom alike they loved, and finally Sir Philipsaid, "I see, dear child, I would not believe how far it had gonebefore, though you tried to tell me. Whatever betide, you have wona daughter's place."
It was true that naturally a far more distinguished match would havebeen sought for the heir, and he could hardly have carried out hispurpose without more opposition than under their present feelings,his parents supposed themselves likely to make, but they reallyloved Anne enough to have yielded at last; and Lady Nutley, cominghome with a fuller knowledge of her brother's heart, prevented anyreaction, and Anne was allowed full sympathies as a betrothedmaiden, in the wearing anxiety that continued in the absence of allintelligence. On the principle of doing everything to please him,she was even encouraged to write to Charles in the packet in whichhe was almost implored to recover, though all felt doubts whether hewere alive even while the letters were in hand, and this doubtlasted long and long. It was all very well to say that as long asthe servant did not return his master must be safe--perhaps himselfon the way home; but the journey from Transylvania was so long, andthere were so many difficulties in the way of an Englishman, thatthere was little security in this assurance. And so the winter setin while the suspense lasted; and still Dr. Woodford spoke Charles'sname in the intercessions in the panelled household chapel, and hismother and Anne prayed together and separately, and his little sonmorning and evening entreated God to "Bless papa, and make him well,and bring him home."
Thus passed more than six weeks, during which Sir Philip's attentionwas somewhat diverted from domestic anxieties by an uninvited visitto Portchester from Mr. Charnock, who had once been a college mateof Mr. Fellowes, and came professing anxiety, after all these years,to renew
the friendship which had been broken when they tookdifferent sides on the election of Dr. Hough to the Presidency ofMagdalen College. From his quarters at the Rectory Mr. Charnock hadgone over to Fareham, and sounded Sir Philip on the practicabilityof a Jacobite rising, and whether he and his people would join it.The old gentleman was much distressed, his age would not permit himto exert himself in either cause, and he had been too much disturbedby James's proceedings to feel desirous of his restoration, thoughhis loyal heart would not permit of his opposing it, and he hadnever overtly acknowledged William of Orange as his sovereign.
He could only reply that in the present state of his family heneither could nor would undertake anything, and he urgently pleadedagainst any insurrection that could occasion a civil war.
There was reason to think that Sedley had no hesitation in promisingto use all his influence over his uncle's tenants, and considerablymagnifying their extremely small regard to him--nay, probably,dwelling on his own expectations.
At any rate, even when Charnock was gone, Sedley continued to talkbig of the coming changes and his own distinguished part in them.Indeed one very trying effect of the continued alarm about Charleswas that he took to haunting the place, and report declared that hehad talked loudly and coarsely of his cousin's death and his uncle'sdotage, and of his soon being called in to manage the property forthe little heir--insomuch that Sir Edmund Nutley thought itexpedient to let him know that Charles, on going on active servicesoon after he had come of age, had sent home a will, making his son,who was a young gentleman of very considerable property on hismother's side, ward to his grandfather first, and then to Sir EdmundNutley himself and to Dr. Woodford.