Missing by Mrs. Humphry Ward (scary books to read TXT) 📖

/> So there she sat alone, brooding and planning, too timid to talk to Bridget of her own schemes, and, in her piteous indecision, longing guiltily for Farrell's return. Meanwhile she had written to several acquaintances who were doing V.A.D. work in various voluntary hospitals, to ask for information.

Suddenly, after the rain came frost and north wind--finally snow; the beginning in the north of the fiercest winter Western Europe has known for many years. Over heights and dales alike spread the white Leveller, melting by day in the valley bottoms, and filling up his wastage by renewed falls at night. Nelly ventured out sometimes to look at the high glories of Wetherlam and the Pikes, under occasional gleams of sun. Bridget never put a foot out of doors, except when she went to the garden gate to look for the postman in the road, and take the letters from him.

At last, one evening, when after a milder morning a bitter blast from the north springing up at dusk had, once more, sent gusts of snow scudding over the fells, Nelly's listening ear heard the well-known step at the gate. She sprang up with a start of joy. She had been so lonely, so imprisoned with her own sad thoughts. The coming of this kind, strong man, so faithful to his small friend through all the stress of his busy and important life, made a sudden impression upon her, which brought the tears to her eyes. She thought of Carton, of its splendid buildings, and the great hospital which now absorbed them; she seemed to see Farrell as the king of it all, the fame of his doings spreading every month over the north, and wiping out all that earlier conception of him as a dilettante and an idler of which she had heard from Hester. And yet, escaping from all that activity, that power, that constant interest and excitement, here he was, making use of his first spare hour to come through the snow and the dark, just to spend an hour with Nelly Sarratt, just to cheer her lonely little life.

Nelly ran to the window and opened it.

'Is that really you?' she called, joyously, while the snow drifted against her face.

Farrell, carrying a lantern, was nearing the porch. The light upon his face as he turned shewed her his look of delight.

'I'm later than I meant, but the roads are awful. May I walk in?'

She ran down to meet him; then hung back rather shyly in the passage, while he took off his overcoat and shook the snow from his beard.

'Have you any visitors?' he asked, still dusting away the snow.

'Only Bridget. I asked Hester, but she couldn't come.'

He came towards her along the narrow passage, to the spot where she stood tremulous on the lowest step of the stairs. A lamp burning on a table revealed her slight figure in black, the warm white of her throat and face, the grace of the bending head, and the brown hair wreathed about it. He saw her as an exquisite vision in a dim light and shade. But it was not that which broke down his self-control so much as the pathetic look in her dark eyes, the look of one who is glad, and yet shrinks from her own gladness--tragically conscious of her own weakness, and yet happy in it. It touched his heart so profoundly that whether the effect was pain or pleasure he could not have told. But as he reached the step, moved by an irresistible impulse, he held out his arms, and she melted into them. For one entrancing instant, he held her close and warm upon his breast, while the world went by.

But the next moment she had slipped away, and was sitting on the step, her face in her hands.

He did not plead or excuse himself. He just stood by her endeavouring to still and control his pulses--till at last she looked up. The lamp shewed her his face, and the passion in it terrified her. For there had been no passion in her soft and sudden yielding. Only the instinct of the child that is forsaken and wants comforting, that feels love close to it, and cannot refuse it.

'There, you see!' she said, desperately--'You see--I must go!'

'No! It's I who must go. Unless '--his voice sank almost to a whisper--'Nelly!--couldn't you--marry me? You should never, never regret it.'

She shook her head, and as she dropped her face again in her hands he saw a shudder run through her. At the sight his natural impulse was to let passion have its way, to raise her in his arms again, and whisper to her there in the dark, as love inspired him, his cheek on hers. But he did not venture. He was well aware of something intangible and incalculable in Nelly that could not be driven. His fear of it held him in check. He knew that she was infinitely sorry for him and tender towards him. But he knew too that she was not in love with him. Only--he would take his chance of that, if only she would marry him.

'Dear!' he said, stooping to her, and touching her dark curls with his hand. 'Let's call in Hester! She's dreadfully wise! If you were with her I should feel happy--I could wait. But it is when I see you so lonely here--and so sad--nobody to care for you!--that I can't bear it!'

Through the rush of the wind, a sound of someone crossing the yard behind the farm came to their ears. Nelly sprang to her feet and led the way upstairs. Farrell followed her, and as they moved, they heard Bridget open the back door and come in.

The little sitting-room was bright with lamp and fire, and Farrell, perceiving that they were no longer to be alone, and momentarily expecting Bridget's entrance, put impatience aside and began to talk of his drive from Carton.

'The wind on Dunmail Raise was appalling, and the lamps got so be-snowed, we had to be constantly clearing them. But directly we got down into the valley it mended, and I managed to stop at the post-office, and ask if there were any letters for you. There were two--and a telegram. What have I done with them?' He began to search in his pockets, his wits meanwhile in such a whirl that it was difficult for him to realise what he was doing.

At that point Bridget opened the door. He turned to shake hands with her, and then resumed his fumbling.

'I'm sure they did give them to me'--he said, in some concern,--'two letters and a telegram.'

'A telegram!' said Bridget, suddenly, hurrying forward,--'it must be for me.'

She peremptorily held out her hand, and as she did so, Nelly caught sight of her sister. Startled out of all other thoughts she too made a step forward. What _was_ wrong with Bridget? The tall, gaunt woman stood there livid, her eyes staring at Farrell, her hand unsteady as she thrust it towards him.

'Give me the telegram, please! I was expecting one,' she said, trying to speak as usual.

Farrell turned to her in surprise.

'But it wasn't for you, Miss Cookson. It was for Mrs. Sarratt. I saw the address quite plainly. Ah, here they are. How stupid of me! What on earth made me put them in that pocket.'

He drew out the letters and the telegram. Bridget said again--'Give it me, please! I know it's for me!' And she tried to snatch it. Farrell's face changed. He disliked Bridget Cookson heartily, mainly on Nelly's account, and her rude persistence nettled a temper accustomed to command. He quietly put her aside.

'When your sister has read it, Miss Cookson, she will no doubt let you see it. As it happens, the post-mistress made me promise to give it to Mrs. Sarratt myself. She seemed interested--I don't know why.'

Nelly took it. Farrell--who began to have some strange misgiving--stood between her and Bridget. Bridget made no further movement. Her eyes were fixed on Nelly.

Nelly, bewildered by the little scene and by Bridget's extraordinary behaviour, tore open the brown envelope, and read slowly--'Please come at once. Have some news for you. Your sister will explain. Howson, Base Headquarters, X------, France.'

'Howson?' said Nelly. Then the colour began to ebb from her face. 'Dr. Howson?' she repeated. 'What news? What does he mean? _Oh_!'--the cry rang through the room--'_it's George_!--it's George! he's found!--he's found!'

She thrust the telegram piteously into Farrell's hands. He read it, and turned to Bridget.

'What does Dr. Howson mean, Miss Cookson, and why does he refer Mrs. Sarratt to you?'

For some seconds she could not make her pale lips reply. Finally, she said--'That's entirely my own affair, Sir William. I shall tell my sister, of course. But Nelly had better go at once, as Dr. Howson advises. I'll go and see to things.'

She turned slowly away. Nelly ran forward and caught her.

'Oh, Bridget--don't go--you mustn't go! What news is it? Bridget, tell me!--you couldn't--you _couldn't_ be so cruel--not to tell me--if you knew anything about George!'

Bridget stood silent.

'Oh, what can I do--what can I do?' cried Nelly.

Then her eyes fell on the letters still in her hand. She tore one open--and read it--with mingled cries of anguish and joy. Farrell dared not go near her. There seemed already a gulf between her and him.

'It's from Miss Eustace'--she said, panting, as she looked up at last, and handed the letter to him--it's George--he's alive--they've heard from France--he asks for me--but--but--he's dying.'

Her head dropped forward a little. She caught at the back of a chair, nearly fainting. But when Farrell approached her, she put up a hand in protest.

'No, no,--I'm all right. But, Bridget, Miss Eustace says--you've actually _seen_ him--you've been to France. When did you go?'

'About three weeks ago,' said Bridget, after a moment's pause. 'Oh, of course I know'--she threw back her head defiantly--'you'll all set on me--you'll all blame me. But I suppose I may be mistaken like anybody else--mayn't I? I didn't think the man I saw was George--I didn't! And what was the good of disturbing your mind?'

But as she told the lie, she told it so lamely and unconvincingly that neither of the other two believed it for a moment. Nelly stood up--tottering--but mistress of herself. She looked at Farrell.

'Sir William--can you take me to Windermere, for the night-train? I know when it goes--10.20. I'll be ready--by nine.' She glanced at the clock, which was just nearing seven.

'Of course,' said Farrell, taking up his hat. 'I'll go and see to the motor. But'--he looked at her with entreaty--'you can't go this long journey alone!'

The words implied a bitter consciousness that his own escort was impossible. Nelly did not notice it. She only said impatiently--

'But, of course, I must go alone.'

She stood silent--mastering the agony within--forcing herself to think and will. When the pause was over, she said quietly--'I will be quite ready at nine.' And then mechanically--'It's very good of you.'

He went away, passing Bridget, who stood with one foot on the fender, staring down into the fire.

When the outer door had closed upon him, Nelly looked at her sister. She was trembling all over.

'Bridget--_why_ did you do it?' The voice was low and full of horror.

'What do you mean? I made a mistake--that's all!'

'Bridget--you _knew_ it was George! You couldn't be mistaken. Miss Eustace