XXXIV. THE HUT CHANGES ITS NAME
That night Oswald was taken very ill. For three days his life hung inthe balance, then youth and healthy living triumphed over shock andbereavement, and he came slowly back to his sad and crippled existence.
He had been conscious for a week or more of his surroundings, and of hisbitter sorrows as well, when one morning he asked Doris whose face itwas he had seen bending over him so often during the last week: "Haveyou a new doctor? A man with white hair and a comforting smile? Or haveI dreamed this face? I have had so many fancies this might easily be oneof them."
"No, it is not a fancy," was the quiet reply. "Nor is it the face ofa doctor. It is that of friend. One whose heart is bound up in yourrecovery; one for whom you must live, Mr. Brotherson."
"I don't know him, Doris. It's a strange face to me. And yet, it's notaltogether strange. Who is this man and why should he care for me sodeeply?"
"Because you share one love and one grief. It is Edith's father whom yousee at your bedside. He has helped to nurse you ever since you came downthis second time."
"Edith's father! Doris, it cannot be. Edith's father!"
"Yes, Mr. Challoner has been in Derby for the last two weeks. He hasonly one interest now; to see you well again."
"Why?"
Doris caught the note of pain, if not suspicion, in this query, andsmiled as she asked in turn:
"Shall he answer that question himself? He is waiting to come in. Notto talk. You need not fear his talking. He's as quiet as any man I eversaw."
The sick man closed his eyes, and Doris watching, saw the flush riseto his emaciated cheek, then slowly fade away again to a pallor thatfrightened her. Had she injured where she would heal? Had she pressedtoo suddenly and too hard on the ever gaping wound in her invalid'sbreast? She gasped in terror at the thought, then she faintly smiled,for his eyes had opened again and showed a calm determination as hesaid:
"I should like to see him. I should like him to answer the question Ihave just put you. I should rest easier and get well faster--or not getwell at all."
This latter he half whispered, and Doris, tripping from the room may nothave heard it, for her face showed no further shadow as she ushered inMr. Challoner, and closed the door behind him. She had looked forwardto this moment for days. To Oswald, however, it was an unexpectedexcitement and his voice trembled with something more than physicalweakness as he greeted his visitor and thanked him for his attentions.
"Doris says that you have shown me this kindness from the desire youhave to see me well again Mr. Challoner. Is this true?"
"Very true. I cannot emphasise the fact too strongly."
Oswald's eyes met his again, this time with great earnestness.
"You must have serious reasons for feeling so--reasons which I do notquite understand. May I ask why you place such value upon a life which,if ever useful to itself or others, has lost and lost forever, the onedelight which gave it meaning?"
It was for Mr. Challoner's voice to tremble now, as reaching out hishand, he declared, with unmistakable feeling:
"I have no son. I have no interest left in life, outside this room andthe possibilities it contains for me. Your attachment to my daughter hascreated a bond between us, Mr. Brotherson, which I sincerely hope to seerecognised by you."
Startled and deeply moved, the young man stretched out a shaking handtowards his visitor, with the feeble but exulting cry:
"Then you do not blame me for her wretched and mysterious death. Youhold me guiltless of the misery which nerved her despairing arm?"
"Quite guiltless."
Oswald's wan and pinched features took on a beautiful expression and Mr.Challoner no longer wondered at his daughter's choice.
"Thank God!" fell from the sick man's lips, and then there was a silenceduring which their two hands met.
It was some minutes before either spoke and then it was Oswald who said:
"I must confide to you certain facts. I honoured your daughter andrealised her position fully. Our plight was never made in words, norshould I have presumed to advance any claim to her hand if I had notmade good my expectations, Mr. Challoner. I meant to win both her regardand yours by acts, not words. I felt that I had a great deal to do andI was prepared to work and wait. I loved her--" He turned away his headand the silence which filled up the gap, united those two hearts, as theold and young are seldom united.
But when a little later, Mr. Challoner rejoined Doris, in her littlesitting-room, he nevertheless showed a perplexity she had hoped to seeremoved by this understanding with the younger Brotherson.
The cause became apparent as soon as he spoke.
"These brothers hold by each other," said he. "Oswald will hear nothingagainst Orlando. He says that he has redeemed his fault. He does noteven protest that his brother's word is to be believed in this matter.He does not seem to think that necessary. He evidently regards Orlando'spersonality as speaking as truly and satisfactorily for itself, as hisown does. And I dared not undeceive him."
"He does not know all our reasons for distrust. He has heard nothingabout the poor washerwoman."
"No, and he must not,--not for weeks. He has borne all that he can."
"His confidence in his older brother is sublime. I do not share it; butI cannot help but respect him for it."
It was warmly said, and Mr. Challoner could not forbear casting ananxious look at her upturned face. What he saw there made him turn awaywith a sigh.
"This confidence has for me a very unhappy side," he remarked. "It showsme Oswald's thought. He who loved her best, accepts the cruel verdict ofan unreasoning public."
Doris' large eyes burned with a weird light upon his face.
"He has not had my dream," she murmured, with all the quiet of anunmoved conviction.
Yet as the days went by, even her manner changed towards the busyinventor. It was hardly possible for it not to. The high stand he took;the regard accorded him on every side; his talent; his conversation,which was an education in itself, and, above all, his absorption in awork daily advancing towards completion, removed him so insensibly andyet so decidedly, from the hideous past of tragedy with which his name,if not his honour, was associated, that, unconsciously to herself, shegradually lost her icy air of repulsion and lent him a more or lessattentive ear, when he chose to join their small company of an evening.The result was that he turned so bright a side upon her that tolerationmerged from day to day into admiration and memory lost itself inanticipation of the event which was to prove him a man of men, if notone of the world's greatest mechanical geniuses.
Meantime, Oswald was steadily improving in health, if not in spirits. Hehad taken his first walk without any unfavourable results, and Orlandodecided from this that the time had come for an explanation of hisdevice and his requirements in regard to it. Seated together in Oswald'sroom, he broached the subject thus:
"Oswald, what is your idea about what I'm making up there?"
"That it will be a success."
"I know; but its character, its use? What do you think it is?"
"I've an idea; but my idea don't fit the conditions."
"How's that?"
"The shed is too closely hemmed in. You haven't room--"
"For what?"
"To start an aeroplane."
"Yet it is certainly a device for flying."
"I supposed so; but--"
"It is an air-car with a new and valuable idea--the idea for which thewhole world has been seeking ever since the first aeroplane found itsway up from the earth. My car needs no room to start in save that whichit occupies. If it did, it would be but the modification of a hundredothers."
"Orlando!"
As Oswald thus gave expression to his surprise, their two faces werea study: the fire of genius in the one; the light of sympatheticunderstanding in the other.
"If this car, now within three days of its completion," Orlandoproceeded, "does not rise from the oval of my hangar like a bird fromits nest, and aft
er a wide and circling flight descend again into theself same spot without any swerving from its direct course, then have Ifailed in my endeavour and must take a back seat with the rest. But itwill not fail. I'm certain of success, Oswald. All I want just now is asympathetic helper--you, for instance; someone who will aid me withthe final fittings and hold his peace to all eternity if the impossibleoccurs and the thing proves a failure."
"Have you such pride as that?"
"Precisely."
"So much that you cannot face failure?"
"Not when attached to my name. You can see how I feel about that by thesecrecy I have worked under. No other person living knows what I havejust communicated to you. Every part shipped here came from differentmanufacturing firms; sometimes a part of a part was all I allowed to bemade in any one place. My fame, like my ship, must rise with one boundinto the air, or it must never rise at all. It was not made for pettyaccomplishment, or the slow plodding of commonplace minds. I muststartle, or remain obscure. That is why I chose this place for myventure, and you for my helper and associate."
"You want me to ascend with you?"
"Exactly."
"At the end of three days?"
"Yes."
"Orlando, I cannot."
"You cannot? Not strong enough yet? I'll wait then,--three days more."
"The time's too short. A month is scarcely sufficient. It would befolly, such as you never show, to trust a nerve so undermined as minetill time has restored its power. For an enterprise like this you needa man of ready strength and resources; not one whose condition you mightbe obliged to consider at a very critical moment."
Orlando, balked thus at the outset, showed his displeasure.
"You do not do justice to your will. It is strong enough to carry youthrough anything."
"It was."
"You can force it to act for you."
"I fear not, Orlando."
"I counted on you and you thwart me at the most critical moment of mylife."
Oswald smiled; his whole candid and generous nature bursting into view,in one quick flash.
"Perhaps," he assented; "but you will thank me when you realise myweakness. Another man must be found--quick, deft, secret, yet honourablyalive to the importance of the occasion and your rights as a greatoriginal thinker and mechanician."
"Do you know such a man?"
"I don't; but there must be many such among our workmen."
"There isn't one; and I haven't time to send to Brooklyn. I reckoned onyou."
"Can you wait a month?"
"No."
"A fortnight, then?"
"No, not ten days."
Oswald looked surprised. He would like to have asked why suchprecipitation was necessary, but the tone in which this ultimatum wasgiven was of that decisive character which admits of no argument. He,therefore, merely looked his query. But Orlando was not one to answerlooks; besides, he had no reply for the same importunate question urgedby his own good sense. He knew that he must make the attempt upon whichhis future rested soon, and without risk of the sapping influence oflengthened suspense and weeks of waiting. He could hold on to those twodemons leagued in attack against him, for a definite seven days, butnot for an indeterminate time. If he were to be saved from folly,--fromhimself--events must rush.
He, therefore, repeated his no, with increased vehemence, adding, as hemarked the reproach in his brother's eye, "I cannot wait. The test mustbe made on Saturday evening next, whatever the conditions; whatever theweather. An air-car to be serviceable must be ready to meet lightningand tempest, and what is worse, perhaps, an insufficient crew." Thenrising, he exclaimed, with a determination which rendered him majestic,"If help is not forthcoming, I'll do it all myself. Nothing shall holdme back; nothing shall stop me; and when you see me and my car riseabove the treetops, you'll feel that I have done what I could to makeyou forget--"
He did not need to continue. Oswald understood and flashed a gratefullook his way before saying:
"You will make the attempt at night?"
"Certainly."
"And on Saturday?"
"I've said it."
"I will run over in my mind the qualifications of such men as I know andacquaint you with the result to-morrow."
"There are adjustments to be made. A man of accuracy is necessary."
"I will remember."
"And he must be likable. I can do nothing with a man with whom I'm notperfectly in accord."
"I understand that."
"Good-night then." A moment of hesitancy, then, "I wish not onlyyourself but Miss Scott to be present at this test. Prepare her for thespectacle; but not yet, not till within an hour or two of the occasion."
And with a proud smile in which flashed a significance which startledOswald, he gave a hurried nod and turned away.
When in an hour afterwards, Doris looked in through the open door, shefound Oswald sitting with face buried in his hands, thinking so deeplythat he did not hear her. He had sat like this, immovable and absorbed,ever since his brother had left him.