"Ah, me! What have I done, what have I said?" cried Mrs Brandon. "My poor child, I must have been mad to have let my foolish lips utter those words!" And she gently raised the fainting girl in her arms; for at those bitter words, Ella had uttered that faint sigh, her face had been contracted as by a violent spasm, and her eyes had closed.

"It is nothing," sighed Ella, reviving. "If he is only happy!"

"Happy!" cried Mrs Brandon, her breast heaving with pa.s.sion. "It is some cruel conspiracy. But tell me--if you can bear to speak--tell me all."

It was a long recital; for it was told in a faint whisper, and spread over some time, Ella's strength seeming often to fail her. Twice over Mrs Brandon would have arrested her, but she begged to be allowed to proceed.

"It will make me happier," she whispered. And Mrs Brandon could only bend her head.

Three o'clock had struck by the pendule, whose slow beat seemed to be numbering off Ella's last minutes, when Mrs Brandon left her in the charge of the nurse she had summoned, sleeping now calmly, and as if relieved by confiding her sad little last month's history to another breast.

It was late; but Mrs Brandon had another duty to perform, one which she did, with her mind now confused, now seeming to see plainly the whole of the plot. But there was that letter--those lines in Charley Vining's hand. But for them, all would have been plain.

At times she was moved by a burning indignation; at others she weakly wept; but before returning to Ella's bedside, she took a large sheet of paper, secured to it the three missives she had brought from the bedside, and then wrote under them:

"Charles Vining,--The victim of a cruel plot--Ella Bedford--was enticed from the home I had found for her by Maximilian Bray, from whom she escaped, to crawl, _dying_, to my house, where she now lies, to breathe her last in peace. As an English gentleman, I ask you, Have you had any hand in this? If not, explain how a letter should be sent to her in your handwriting. I can see part; but the rest remains for you to clear. Emily Brandon."

This letter Mrs Brandon carefully sealed, with its contents, and then returned to watch by Ella's bedside.

Soon after eight that morning she dispatched the note by a trusty messenger, to be delivered into no other hands than Charley Vining's-- little wotting the events to take place that day--and into Charley Vining's hands that letter was placed, as we have seen.

Sir Philip Vining's coachman was the first to recover himself and to go to his master's a.s.sistance, just as, half stunned and confused, Sir Philip was struggling to his feet.

"Not much hurt, I think!" said Sir Philip. "But where is Mr Bray?"

"There he lies, Sir Philip," said the coachman.

And together they went to raise the unfortunate companion of their ride, insensible now, and bleeding from a cut on the temple.

"Beg pardon, Sir Philip," said the coachman appealingly. "I've been with you fifteen years now; I hope you won't turn me off for this job.

I was driving as carefully as I could."

"My good fellow, no; of course not. I was to blame. Thank Heaven there are some men coming!--Bray, my dear friend, how is it with you?"

Mr Bray looked up on being addressed, and, with a little a.s.sistance, rose to his feet; but he was weak and helpless, seating himself directly after.

In spite of the serious aspect of affairs, a little examination proved that, though cut about, and some of the harness injured, the horses were very little the worse; while, with the exception of the loss of some paint and a smashed panel, the carriage, on being placed in its normal position, was found to be quite capable of continuing its journey.

Plenty of help had arrived, and the labourers had worked with a will; but upon Mr Bray being a.s.sisted to his seat, he seemed so ill and shaken, that Sir Philip gave orders for the carriage to make the best of its way home.

"But you will come too?" said Mr Bray feebly.

"No," said Sir Philip, frowning angrily; "I shall go forward."

And then, without another word, he strode off in the direction of Laneton.

Mr Bray was for following him; but the coachman shook his head.

"Master's as good and true-hearted a gentleman as ever breathed, sir.

Here's fifty--ah, with the way them horses are marked, a hundred and fifty-pounds' worth of damage done in a moment. And does he do what ninety masters out of a hundred would have done--tell me to leave to-morrow? Not he, sir. He just claps me on the shoulder, and says it was his own fault--which it really was, sir, though lots wouldn't have owned to it. But no, sir; Sir Philip's orders was to take you home, and disobeying his orders means throwing away a good place."

So, as Sir Philip disappeared down the lane, the carriage was once more put in motion, and dragged heavily through the muddy rutty by-way back towards Lexville.

It was a long and dreary ride, performed in a slow and spiritless way, Mr Bray shrinking back in his seat as they reached and drove through the town; for, in addition to bodily pain, there was the mental suffering--the blow at his pride; for it seemed, though he could not penetrate the mystery, that there was something radically wrong, and that all prospect of the wedding taking place was at an end.

In spite of his shrinking back, he could not avoid seeing the curiosity-moved faces at door and window; and, in his heart, he fancied he could make out what was said respecting pride and its fall, for his family was not very popular at Lexville; while the state of horses, carriage, and coachman all tended to make people hurry out to gaze upon this sequel to the broken-off wedding, the theme now of every gossip in the place.

"It never rains but it pours," says the old saw; and so it seemed to be here; for upon Mr Bray alighting at the Elms, stiff and bruised and giddy, it was to find Laura--now that she was hidden from the public gaze, where she had held up so bravely, even to taking her place calmly in the waiting carriage--falling from one violent hysterical fit into another, shrieking and raving against Max, and crying out that what had befallen her was a judgment.

Mother, sister, friends, all listened in weeping amazement as they tried to soothe and minister to her, but in vain; and it was not until the coming of the family medical man, and a soothing draught had been administered, that Laura sank back, silent and overcome.

The doctor was still busy, when Sir Philip Vining's carriage drove up with a fresh patient, one who sadly needed his services; while, as Mr Bray was lying bandaged, and at length somewhat more at ease, a servant brought up a telegram.

"News, then, at last, from Charley Vining!" exclaimed Mrs Bray excitedly, breaking the official envelope.

But Mrs Bray was wrong. The telegram contained news, startling news-- such as made the father forget his own sufferings, and rise again to prepare for a journey; and upon its being inadvertently conveyed to Laura some time after, she threw up her hands, shrieked aloud, and then seemed to shrink, trembling within herself, as if expecting momentarily that some great blow would fall crushingly upon her.

Volume 3, Chapter XXIV.

SLEEP OR DEATH?

The telegram to the Bray family was from the little Gloucestershire town, telling what the hotel-keepers were at length able to impart, through a letter they had found in his portmanteau, after missing it in previous searches, that Max Bray was lying in a precarious state, the result of an accident upon the railway.

For Max had so far escaped with lifer but he had not yet awoke to consciousness, and to know that he was occupying the couch of her whom he had long marked down as his victim. As the railway pa.s.senger had remarked, Max had fallen where the platform sloped; but he was suffering from concussion of the brain; and one maimed limb had been removed by the surgeon's knife.

But we must leave him to his slow recovery, while the landlady declared in confidence to her husband every night, that she had always known that Williams was an a.s.sumed name, because there was a "B" on the gentleman's socks.

Sir Philip Vining reached Laneton at last, to see his chariot standing in the inn-yard; but he knew, without questioning the grooms, where Charley would be; and fierce now with the anger that burned within him, he made his way to Copse Hall, to be told that his son was by Miss Bedford's couch, where he had been since he arrived.

For, after a furious gallop, the chariot had dashed up to Copse Hall covered with mud, the horses in a foam and ready to drop, while, springing up more like, a madman than one in possession of his full senses, Charley had leaped out, and almost forced his way to Ella's side, to fall sobbing on his knees as he clasped her thin transparent hand, a faint smile welcoming his coming, as, with her soul seeming to leap from her longing eyes, she vainly strove to turn towards him.

Mrs Brandon stayed to ask no explanation then; for she was alarmed at the fierce rage that flashed from Charley's eyes at her first words, as he stood there in his wedding garments.

She left the explanation for some other time, and, trembling and excited, she left them alone, to find from the servants, upon descending, that this was to have been Charley Vining's wedding-morn.

But Ella must have heard some explanation; for when, nearly two hours after, Mrs Brandon went to the room to whisper to the son of the father's coming, that softly-shaded head was lying upon Charley's arm, and there was a sweet satisfied smile upon those pale lips. But as Ella's eyes opened, and she saw Mrs Brandon approach, they wore that old piteous appealing look, and she whispered, "For I love him!"

The words were meant for Mrs Brandon; but they went no farther than Charley's ear, to bring a wild convulsive sob from his breast, as in his despair he felt that it was too late.

"Let him come here!" cried Charley sternly, as Mrs Brandon whispered of his father's coming. "Let him come here!" And then, as, black and frowning, Sir Philip strode into the room, he turned towards him.

"Well!" exclaimed Charley, staying the flood of reproaches Sir Philip was about to heap upon his head; and, as he gazed upon the pale face, the father's aspect changed, his stride became a gentle step, and he gazed from one to the other. "Well," cried Charley, "have you come to look upon their work? Have you come to commune once more with the sweet gentle spirit before it pa.s.ses away? I tell you they have murdered her--murdered my own darling who would have died for me; whilst I, poor, weak, pitiful idiot that I was, believed all I saw--walked blindly into their traps like a foolish child. Curse them--curse them!" he raged, as he ground his teeth together, and spoke in a low hoa.r.s.e voice, that was awful in its deep suppressed hatred. "You want to know why I dashed off this morning. I tell you, it was to save myself from being a murderer.

I tell you, father, that after what I learned on leaving you, if I had faced that cursed Jezebel, it would have been to strangle her. There-- there, read those letters!" he cried, tearing the papers from his breast, and dashing them at Sir Philip. "Read how brother and sister could plot to delude this poor child--plot with a diabolical cunning that was nearly crowned with success; for they had a simple unworldly man to deal with; read how we were to be torn asunder by their cursed malice--how I was to be poisoned at heart by seeing her appear to flee with that scoundrel Max Bray; while I, like a simple sheep, was led by that false wretch to see it all. She played her cards well--to become Lady Vining, forsooth! And then read on how this poor angel was beguiled by lying forgeries to hurry away with Max to Cornwall, to see me--me--dying from injuries; while, to give force to his lies, the villain added to, and then sent, the note, that must have been lying in his desk above a year--the note I sent to him, telling him to come to me, for I was half-killed, when I had my hunting fall. G.o.d!" he hissed forth in a fierce way, that made his hearers tremble, "G.o.d! that my right hand had withered away before it penned a line! But no, no!" he exclaimed, and his teeth grated, "I shall want this right hand yet; for the day of reckoning shall surely come!"

There was something fearful in the young man's aspect, as down there upon one knee by the bedside, his left arm beneath that fair golden-cl.u.s.tered head, he clenched his right hand, and, gazing before him at vacancy, he shook that clenched hand fiercely, and his mad rage was such that could he have grasped Max Bray then, he would have dashed him down, and crushed his heel upon his false cruel face, for he knew not of the retribution that had already fallen to the deceiver's lot.

But the next moment Charley Vining turned to look down upon the pale horror-stricken face at his side, when the rugged brow was smoothed, the clenched hand dropped, and a deep groan burst from the young man's breast.

"O, heaven forgive me! What am I saying? Father, father," he cried, in pitiful tones, "they've broken my heart!"