"I mean it, Susan. You shall come with me now if you like. I will take you up to London and marry you, and then n.o.body can take you away. Will you come?"

"Will I?" she repeated with emotion; "I will go anywhere with you." And she clung to his arm with a child's touching trust.

They took the train at Bigglethorpe and in due time arrived at the Waterloo Station, where Mr Begg, looking like a very respectable old gentleman, but small and spare, met them. Markworth introduced him as "his uncle," and they drove together to the lodgings in Bloomsbury Street. On the way he led out Susan and made her converse with the ex-marker, who was much struck with her appearance, and her timid, hesitating way.

"Well, what do you think of her?" asked Markworth, when Susan had gone up-stairs to take her things off, under the charge of the old landlady.

"What do I think, Mister Markworth? Well, I think you are put in luck's way. She's as pretty a young lady, and as ladylike a one as I ever seed."

"You don't see anything about her, do you?" he asked anxiously.

"Queer? not I; she's a bit nervous, in course, but I'd bet she's as sensible a lady as you or I."

"Thank you, Joe, good day; I want you to be here at ten o'clock to-morrow morning. You must not be late; it will be my marriage day."

"Never fear, sir; I'll be here sharp ten," and the confederates separated--the marker to go back to his billiard-room, where he had left a friend watching over the interest of his pool table, and Markworth to think over the day and study his plans.

On the next morning, Wednesday, August 28th, 1867, Susan Hartshorne was married to Allynne Markworth, at the church of St. Catherine's Cross the Less, Johnson's Lane, E.C., in the presence of Joseph Begg and the parish clerk, witnesses.

END OF VOLUME ONE.

Volume 2, Chapter I.

"A PRETTY KETTLE OF FISH!"

Imagine the unexpected arrival of the murdered Duncan's wraith at Macbeth's correct little dinner party, just after the soup had been removed--a break-down of the Prima Donna at the Opera, while executing some grand _scena_--or, in these High Church days of fashionable banns-publishing, the sudden uprising of some stern parent or Nemisitical Mawworm, to interrupt the glib utterance of the hair-parted-down-the-middle and lavender-kid-gloved curate of the period with the solemn veto, in ba.s.so profundo voice, "I forbid the banns!"-- and you will have some idea of the alteration and effect which the young imp's mischief created in the programme of Lady Inskip's pic-nic.

The whole company soon hurried after the doctor in real alarm; even Captain Curry Cuc.u.mber, forgetting his liver, and the not-fit-for-much-exertion officers, their lisp and laziness, were in a few moments on the scene of the accident: whither too, Laura presently appeared, leaning on Pringle's arm; for she honestly was nervous, and had been really frightened.

It was a very dramatic _pose_.

Tom was lying on the ground, half-supported in Lizzie's arms, a red stream of blood trickling down from his right side, while Doctor Jolly was bending over him, dashing water in his face.

It is wonderful how much more composed in scenes of suffering and danger women are than men, that is when their services are required. Tell a girl that a man is shot or someone drowned, and she will immediately, perhaps, burst into tears, and wail and ring her hands; but tell her to hold his head up, or fetch water--only to do something, and she will be as composed as you please, and will set about doing the work far more steadily and usefully--in a workmanlike manner, so to speak--than you could get any man to do it.

Women are all nurses and sick-attendants at heart: there are more Florence Nightingale's among us than we know of, until time and occasion draws them out of seclusion, and displays them in their true colours.

Here was Lizzie, who a moment before had been crying, wringing her hands and inclined to faint, now as composed as possible, although very pale and tearful, just because the doctor had employed her services, and showed her how to be useful.

"Bless my soul! little girl; don't stop crying there. Hold his head up, while I get some water." And Lizzie had raised Tom's head as tenderly as if it had been a piece of Sevres china, and moved it on to her lap, while her arm pa.s.sed round him. She did not mind his weight a bit, and could have thus supported him all day without feeling tired, although Tom was pretty heavy. Love lightens loads wonderfully!

The doctor bustled off down to the river's brink, and quickly fetched back some water in his smart new white hat; he did not mind that, however, for he would at any time sacrifice anything he had to give ease or pleasure to another.

By the time the others came up, Tom opened his eyes, and looked dreamily around.

"Hullo! what's the row? where am I?"

"Bless my soul! you're a nice fellow you are, alarming us all like this.

Do you feel better now? Where's the pain? Does that hurt you, eh! or that?" said the doctor, who had removed Tom's waistcoat, and was poking him about in the side with his fat fore-finger.

"Ugh!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Tom, as Aesculapius bore rather heavily on a tender spot in his ribs, but he took no further notice of his enquiries, for he was gazing up into Lizzie's anxious face; unless you take a murmured "Lizzie, my darling," spoken so softly that only one person heard it, as an answer to the doctor's questions.

"Speak, you young rascal! You can speak well enough; I heard you, you rogue. Bless my soul! I heard you."

Tom laughed faintly, and a little pink colour came into Lizzie's face.

"I'm all right, doctor, thanks. I'll be well in a minute." He made an effort to rise, as the others gathered around, and a perfect gabble of questions without answers ensued. "I'm all right;" but his head fell back again in Lizzie's lap, and a dead-like pallor once more overspread his face.

Tom's actions belied his words. He was not by any means all right. Two of his ribs were broken by the heavy shot, nearly the size of slugs, that the young imp, Sir Mortimer had loaded his gun with; and if Tom had been hit on the left side, it would have been a case of _requiescat in pace_ for him and all his troubles. As it was, he would be laid up for some time, perhaps for months.

The doctor saw this, and interrupted the old campaigner, as she was saying for Lizzie's especial benefit, in her honeyed accents, which had a concealed sting beneath them--"How very sad! What a very charming picture; but if I were a young girl--"

"We would try and make ourselves useful? Bless my soul! my lady, we must try and get him home. Here, one of you," he said, turning to the males, who stood aloof looking at one another, and doing nothing, in the manner customary to them on such occasions--"run up to the cottage where the carriages are left--"

Three or four immediately started off, without an idea of what they were about.

"Stop!" shouted the doctor, "what are you going for? Ask for a door, mind you; take one off the hinges, by Gad! if you can't get it any other way; and steal a mattress and some pillows! Lay them inside the largest of the pony carriages, and bring it down here as quick as you can.

Bless my soul! and don't walk as if your legs did not belong to you!"

whereupon all, with the exception of the Reverend Jabez Heavieman and the Indian warrior, hied them off on the errand, although one or two could have easily performed the service. The ladies, however, still grouped themselves in picturesque att.i.tudes round the wounded man, and gazed on him as if he were a rare geological specimen, to be inspected scientifically. "Ah! he moves," said one; "I think he raised his arm,"

put in Aliquis; "He breathes! he breathes!" exclaimed Lady Inskip, with tragic joy, such as the "heavy old lady" of the piece admirably puts on when she throws her arms round the villain's neck, and putting her chin on his left shoulder, gives vent to the agonised words--"My chee-ild! my chee-ild!"

The doctor, however, was too full of common sense to make any allowance for heroics.

"Move aside, can't ye?" he shouted out stentorially, "move aside, can't ye? and let the poor fellow have some air. It's enough to stifle him, all of you sticking around like this, doing nothing, and preventing a breath of wind from coming past your krinlins! The poor chap wants air; and he must have it!" And the doctor, rising up, and stretching out his hands, like street acrobats when they wish to clear a s.p.a.ce for their performance amidst the encircling crowd, the ladies retreated, headed by the campaigner, who held her nose in the air, as if the whole thing was "much beneath her," leaving the doctor and his patient, and Miss Lizzie, for awhile to themselves. Only the young imp remained behind to gaze with eyes of curiosity on his handiwork, until the doctor sent him to the right-about, by asking him the pertinent question, "What the doose are you stopping for? By Gad! don't you think you've done enough for one day?" when he, too, drew on one side, and left the trio alone.

After a few moments' pause, by dint of having repeated handfuls of water dashed into his face, Tom again revived and opened his eyes.

Shortly he looked much better, and was able to answer the doctor's enquiries. He raised himself half up, turning over on his left side--"Oh, yes, doctor, I'm nearly all right. By Jove! though, don't that hurt," he said, as our friend still continued to examine him--"I'll soon be right, won't I, doctor? Thank you, but don't press so hard!

And thank you," he said, turning his eyes round and upon her--"my darling"--he murmured, softly, "what a trouble I am to you." But, strange to say, Lizzie did not look as if she thought it a trouble at all!

The doctor was plunged in deep thought, "Humph! very serious, very serious," he exclaimed, shaking his head solemnly, at the same time with a sly twinkle in his eyes--"Very serious, very serious, Master Tom.

You've got two ribs smashed, sir, and I think you want to have another.

Ha! Ha! Sly dog, sly dog. Never mind, it's a beautiful contusion!

Luckily it wasn't the other side, or we would have had your heart gone."

"I'm afraid it's gone already, doctor," observed the wounded hero, gazing artfully round at Lizzie, who looked very conscious, "but shall I be able to get round soon?" and he tried to get up, but fell back again into his former position, and looked as if he were going to faint.

"Oh, don't move, pray don't move," Lizzie said, laying her hand on his shoulder entreatingly: Tom seized that opportunity to make the little hand a prisoner. Very interesting, was it not, for the old campaigner, who was looking on grimly from a distance?

"Don't budge, you young rascal; don't you stir, or we'll have you fainting again, and looking interesting, like my lady, yonder," and the doctor sn.i.g.g.e.red, for his eyes were sharp, and, I believe, he had fathomed the campaigner's little game--"Don't stir, my boy. You must keep quiet now, but we'll have you on your legs again in a few days."

The biggest of the pony carriages, accompanied by a band of gentlemen followers, now drew up in the glen, close to the gnarled old oak, by the stump of which the unlucky object of young Sir Mortimer's gun practice was reclining.

Doctor Jolly inspected the vehicle to see whether all his directions had been obeyed; and, finding an old door laid across the seats, on which was a mattress and a bundle of pillows, he said, "That's right, boys.

Now bear a hand, and we'll get him in."

Supported by the brawny Aesculapius, and the offered arms of a score of others, Tom was lifted carefully into the chaise, and arranged comfortably amidst the pillows.

"Now," said the doctor aloud, for the benefit of the company, apparently, but in reality, I think, for little Lizzie's sake, "I want some lady to go along with us, to hold his head up, and carry the salts--I want smelling salts, too--or a vinaigrette, or something of that sort."