CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW.
It was one o'clock in the morning when a carriage drove up to the doorof the Larches, and Mrs Asplin alighted, all pale, tear-stained, andtremulous. She had been nodding over the fire in her bedroom when theyoung people had returned with the news of the tragic ending to thenight's festivity, and no persuasion or argument could induce her towait until the next day before flying to Peggy's side.
"No, no!" she cried. "You must not hinder me. If I can't drive, I willwalk! I would go to the child to-night, if I had to crawl on my handsand knees! I promised her mother to look after her. How could I stayat home and think of her lying there? Oh, children, children, pray forPeggy! Pray that she may be spared, and that her poor parents may bespared this awful--awful news!"
Then she kissed her own girls, clasped them to her in a passionateembrace, and drove off to the Larches in the carriage which had broughtthe young people home.
Lady Darcy came out to meet her, and gripped her hand in welcome.
"You have come! I knew you would. I am so thankful to see you. Thedoctor has come, and will stay all night. He has sent for a nurse--"
"And--my Peggy?"
Lady Darcy's lips quivered.
"Very, very ill--much worse than Rosalind! Her poor little arms! I wasso wicked, I thought it was her fault, and I had no pity, and now itseems that she has saved my darling's life. They can't tell us about ityet, but it was she who wrapped the curtain round Rosalind, and burnedherself in pressing out the flames. Rosalind kept crying, `Peggy!Peggy!' and we thought she meant that it was Peggy's fault. We hadheard so much of her mischievous tricks. My husband found her lying onthe floor. She was unconscious; but she came round when they weredressing her arms. I think she will know you--"
"Take me to her, please!" Mrs Asplin said quickly. She had to waitseveral moments before she could control her voice sufficiently to add,"And Rosalind, how is she?"
"There is no danger. Her neck is scarred, and her hair singed andburned. She is suffering from the shock, but the doctor says it is notserious. Peggy--"
She paused, and the other walked on resolutely, not daring to ask forthe termination of that sentence. She crept into the little room, bentover the bed, and looked down on Peggy's face through a mist of tears.It was drawn and haggard with pain, and the eyes met hers without a rayof light in their hollow depths. That she recognised was evident, butthe pain which she was suffering was too intense to leave room for anyother feeling. She lay motionless, with her bandaged arms stretchedbefore her, and her face looked so small and white against the pillowthat Mrs Asplin trembled to think how little strength was there tofight against the terrible shock and strain. Only once in all that longnight did Peggy show any consciousness of her surroundings, but then hereyes lit up with a gleam of remembrance, her lips moved, and Mrs Asplinbent down to catch the faintly whispered words--
"The twenty-sixth--next Monday! Don't tell Arthur!"
"`The twenty-sixth!' What is that, darling? Ah, I remember--Arthur'sexamination! You mean if he knew you were ill, it would upset him forhis work?"
An infinitesimal movement of the head answered "Yes," and she gave thepromise in trembling tones--
"No, my precious, we won't tell him. He could not help, and it wouldonly distress you to feel that he was upset. Don't trouble about it,darling. It will be all right."
Then Peggy shut her eyes and wandered away into a strange world, inwhich accustomed things disappeared, and time was not, and nothingremained but pain and weariness and mystery. Those of us who have comenear to death have visited this world too, and know the blackness of it,and the weary waking.
Peggy lay in her little white bed, and heard voices speaking in her ear,and saw strange shapes flit to and fro. Quite suddenly, as it appeared,a face would be bending over her own, and as she watched it with languidcuriosity, wondering what manner of thing it could be, it would meltaway and vanish in the distance. At other times again it would growlarger and larger, until it assumed gigantic proportions, and she criedout in fear of the huge, saucer-like eyes. There was a weary puzzle inher brain, an effort to understand, but everything seemed mixed up andincomprehensible. She would look round the room and see the sunshinepeeping in through the chinks of the blinds, and when she closed hereyes for a moment--just a single fleeting moment--lo! the gas was lit,and someone was nodding in a chair by her side. And it was by no meansalways the same room. She was tired, and wanted badly to rest, yet shewas always rushing about here, there, and everywhere, striving vainly todress herself in clothes which fell off as soon as they were fastened,hurrying to catch a train to reach a certain destination; but in eachinstance the end was the same--she was falling, falling, falling--alwaysfalling--from the crag of an Alpine precipice, from the pinnacle of atower, from the top of a flight of stairs. The slip and the terrorpursued her wherever she went; she would shriek aloud, and feel softhands pressed on her cheeks, soft voices murmuring in her ear.
One vision stood out plainly from those nightmare dreams--the vision ofa face which suddenly appeared in the midst of the big grey cloud whichenveloped her on every side--a beautiful face which was strangely like,and yet unlike, something she had seen long, long ago in a world whichshe had well-nigh forgotten. It was pale and thin, and the golden hairfell in a short curly crop on the blue garment which was swathed overthe shoulders. It was like one of the heads of celestial choir-boyswhich she had seen on Christmas cards and in books of engravings, yetsomething about the eyes and mouth seemed familiar. She stared at itcuriously, and then suddenly a strange, weak little voice faltered out awell-known name.
"Rosalind!" it cried, and a quick exclamation of joy sounded from theside of the bed. Who had spoken? The first voice had been strangelylike her own, but at an immeasurable distance. She shut her eyes tothink about it, and the fair-haired vision disappeared, and was seen nomore.
There was a big, bearded man also who came in from time to time, andPeggy grew to dread his appearance, for with it came terrible stabbingpain, as if her whole body were on the rack. He was one of the SpanishInquisitors, of whom she had read, and she was an English prisoner whomhe was torturing! Well, he might do his worst! She would die beforeshe would turn traitor and betray her flag and country. The Savilleswere a fighting race, and would a thousand times rather face death thandishonour.
One day, when she felt rather stronger than usual, she told him so tohis face, and he laughed--she was quite sure he laughed, thehard-hearted wretch! And someone else said, "Poor little love!" whichwas surely an extraordinary expression for a Spanish Inquisitor. Thatwas one of the annoying things in this new life--people were soexceedingly stupid in their conversation! Now and again she herself hadsomething which she was especially anxious to say, and when she set itforth with infinite difficulty and pains the only answer which shereceived was a soothing, "Yes, dear, yes!"
"No, dear, no!" or a still more maddening, "Yes, darling, I quiteunderstand!"--which she knew perfectly well to be an untruth. Really,these good people seemed to think that she was demented, and did notknow what she was saying. As a matter of fact, it was exactly the otherway about; but she was too tired to argue. And then one day came asleep when she neither dreamt nor slipped nor fell, but opened her eyesrefreshed and cheerful, and beheld Mrs Asplin sitting by a tabledrinking tea and eating what appeared to be a particularly temptingslice of cake.
"I want some cake!" she said clearly; and Mrs Asplin jumped as if acannon had been fired off at her ear, and rushed breathlessly to thebedside, stuttering and stammering in amazement--
"Wh-wh-wh-what?"
"Cake!" repeated Peggy shrilly. "I want some! And tea! I want mytea!"
Surely it was a very natural request! What else could you expect from agirl who had been asleep and wakened up feeling hungry? What on earthwas there in those commonplace words to make a grown-up woman cry like ababy, and why need everyone in the house rush in
and stare at her as ifshe were a figure in a waxwork? Lord Darcy, Lady Darcy, Rosalind, theold French maid--they were all there--and, as sure as her name was PeggySaville, they were all four, handkerchief in hand, mopping their eyeslike so many marionettes!
Nobody gave her the cake for which she had asked. Peggy considered itexceedingly rude and ill-bred; but while she was thinking of it she grewtired again, and, rolling round into a soft little bundle among theblankets, fell afresh into sweet refreshing slumbers.