“No, my father’s infirmity renders him no fighting man, and I--I may not challenge my superior officer.”
“But your uncle?” said Betty, much fearing that such a scene might have led to his being forgotten.
“I should have told you. We had not made many steps from hence before we met poor Jumbo wandering like a dog that had lost his master. Mr. Belamour had taken the precaution of giving Jumbo the pass-key, and not taking him into that house (some day I will pull every brick of it down), so he watched till by and by he saw a coach come out with all the windows closed, and as his master had bidden him in such a case, he kept along on the pavement near, and never lost sight of it till he had tracked it right across the City to a house with iron-barred windows inside a high wall. There it went in, and he could not follow, but he asked the people what place it was, and though they jeered at him, he made out that it was as we feared. Nay, do not be alarmed, sister, he will soon be with us. My poor father shut me out, and I know not what passed with my mother, but just as I could wait no longer to return to my dearest, he came out and told me that he had found out that my uncle was in a house at Moorfields, and he is gone himself to liberate him. He is himself a justice of the peace, and he will call for Dr. Sandys by the way, that there may be no difficulty. He is gone in the coach-and-four, with Jumbo on the box, so that matters will soon be righted.”
“And a heroic champion set free,” said Betty moving to return to her sister, when the others would not be denied having another look at the sweet slumberer, on whose face there was now a smile as if her dreams were marvellously lovely; or, as Betty thought, as if she knew their voices even in her sleep.
Sir Amyas had not seen his mother again. He only knew that Mr. Wayland had come out with a face as of one stricken to the heart, a sad contrast to that which had greeted him an hour before, and while the carriage was coming round, had simply said, “I did wrong to leave her.”
It would not bear being talked over, and both son and kinsman took refuge in silence. Two hours more of this long day had passed, and then a coach stopped at the door. Sir Amyas hurried down in his eager anxiety, and came back with his uncle, holding him by the hand like a child, in his gladness, and Betty came out to meet them in the outer room with a face of grateful welcome and outstretched hands.
“Sir! sir! you have done more than all of us.”
“Yet you and your young champion here were the victors,” said Mr. Belamour.
“Ah, we dared and suffered nothing like you.”
“I hope you did not suffer much,” said the major, looking at the calm face and neatly-tied white hair, which seemed to have suffered no disarrangement.
“No,” said Mr. Belamour, smiling, “my little friend Eugene, ay, and my nephew himself, are hoping to hear I was released from fetters and a heap of straw, but I took care to give them no opportunity. I merely told them they were under a mistake, and had better take care. I gave them a reference or two, but I saw plainly that was of no use, though they promised to send, and then I did exactly as they bade me, so as to deprive them of all excuse for meddling with me, letting them know that I could pay for decent treatment so long as I was in their hands.”
“Did you receive it?”
“I was told in a mild manner, adapted to my intelligence, that if I behaved well, I might eat at the master’s table, and have a room with only one inmate. Of the former I have not an engaging experience, either as to the fare, the hostess, or the company. Of the latter, happily I know little, as I only know that my comrade was to be a harmless gibbering idiot; of good birth, poor fellow. However, the sounds I heard, and the court I looked into, convinced me that my privileges were worth paying for.”
He spoke very quietly, but he shuddered involuntarily, and Betty, unable to restrain her tears, retreated to her sister’s side.
CHAPTER XXXVI. WAKING.
So Love was still the Lord of all.--SCOTT.
The summer sun was sinking and a red glow was on the wall above Aurelia’s head when she moved again, upon the shutting of the door, while supper was being taken by the gentlemen in the outer room.
Presently her lips moved, and she said, “Sister,” not in surprise, but as if she thought herself at home, and as Betty gently answered, “Yes, my darling child,” the same voice added, “I have had such a dream; I thought I was a chrysalis, and that I could not break my shell nor spread my wings.”
“You can now, my sweet,” said Betty, venturing to kiss her.
Recollection came. “Sister Betty, is it you indeed?” and she threw her arms round Betty’s neck, clinging tight to her in delicious silence, till she raised her head and said: “No, this is not home. Oh, is it all true?”
“True that I have you again, my dear, dearest, sweetest child,” said Betty. “Oh, thank God for it.”
“Thank God,” repeated Aurelia. “Now I have you nothing will be dreadful. But where am I? I thought once I was in a boat with you and Eugene, and some one else. Was it a dream? I can’t remember anything since that terrible old woman made me drink the coffee. You have not come there, have you?”
“No, dear child, it was no dream that you were in a boat. We had been searching everywhere for you, and we were bringing you back sound, sound asleep,” said Betty, in her tenderness speaking as it to a little child.
“I knew you would,” said Aurelia; “I knew God would save me. Love is strong as death, you know,” she added dreamily: “I think I felt it all round me in that sleep.”
“That was what you murmured once or twice in your sleep,” said Betty.
“And now, oh! it is so sweet to lie here and know it is you. And wasn’t _he_ there too?”
“Sir Amyas? Yes, my dear. He came for you. He and my father and the others are in the other room waiting for you to wake.”
“I hear their voices,” cried Aurelia, with a start, sitting up. “Oh! that’s my papa’s voice! Oh! how good it is to hear it!”
“I will call him as soon as I have set you a little in order. Are you sure you are well, my dearest? No headache?”
“Quite, quite well! Why, sister, I have not been ill; and if I had, I should skip to see you and hear their voices, only I wish they would speak louder! That’s Eugene! Oh! they are hushing him. Let me make haste,” and she moved with an alacrity that was most reassuring. “But I can’t understand. Is it morning or evening?”
“Evening, my dear. They are at supper. Are not you hungry?”
“Oh, yes, I believe I am;” but as she was about to wash her hands: “My rings, my wedding-ring? Look in my glove!”
“No, they are not there my dear, they must have robbed you! And oh! Aurelia, what have you done to your hair?”
“My hair? It was all there this morning. Sister, it was that woman, I remember now, I was not quite sound asleep, but I had no power to move or cry out, and the woman was snipping and Loveday crying.”
“Vile creature!” burst out Betty.
“My hair will grow!” said Aurelia; “but I had so guarded my wedding-ring--and what will he, Sir Amyas, think?”
Their voices were at this moment heard, and in another second Aurelia was held against her father’s breast, as in broken words he sobbed out thanks for her restoration, and implored her pardon for having trusted her out of his care.
“Oh! sir, do not speak so! Dear papa, I have tried hard to do you no harm, and to behave well. Please, sir, give me your blessing.”
“God bless you indeed, my child. He has blessed you in guarding you as your innocence deserved, though I did not. Ah! others are impatient. The poor old father comes second now.”
After a few minutes spent in repairing the disorder of her dress, and her hands in those of her father and little brother, she was led to the outer room where in the twilight there was a rapturous rush, an embrace, a fondling of the hand in the manner more familiar to her than the figure from before whom it proceeded. She only said in her gentle plaintive tone, “Oh, sir, it was not my fault. They took away your rings.”
“Nay,” said a voice, new to her, “here are your rings, Lady Belamour. I must trust to your Christian charity to pardon her who caused you to be stripped of them.”
The name of Lady Belamour made her start as that of her enemy, but a truly familiar tone said, “You need not fear, my kind friend. This is Mr. Wayland, who, to our great joy, has returned, and has come to restore your jewels.”
“Indeed I am very glad yours is not lost,” said Aurelia, not a little bewildered.
Mr. Wayland said a few words of explanation that his wife’s agent at Greenwich had brought them back to her.
“Pray let me have them,” entreated Sir Amyas; “I must put them on again!”
“Stay,” said Major Delavie; “I can have such things done only under true colours and in the full light of day. The child is scarcely awake yet, and does not know one from the other! Why neither of you so much as know the colour of the eyes of the other! Can you tell me sir?”
“Heavenly,” exclaimed the youth, in an ecstatic tone of self-defence, which set the Major laughing and saying, “My silly maid knows as little which gentleman put on the ring.”