Aylmer was deeply sensible of the beauty of Geraldine's character, and perhaps at times his thoughts ran in a similar direction to Kathleen's. She wished that she could give Aylmer more than a sister's affection, or that he could feel more than a brother's regard for Geraldine.
"It is just the contrariness of human nature," he said to himself. "Geraldine and I have so much in common. If I could love her as I do Kathleen, I should have a wife who would enter into every plan and hope of mine, always supposing that she cared for me in like manner. We must be too much alike, for Kathleen's very wilfulness charms me more than all Geraldine's excellences put together."
CHAPTER XVII VOWS WRITTEN ON SAND
IN spite of Miss Mountford's affection for Ralph Torrance, the friendship which had grown up between these two who differed so much in age began to have an inconvenient side. Aylmer had always feared this, and that the boy would become, if not exacting, troublesome to deal with. Made free of the Hall, and by Kathleen's wish accustomed to go and come as he chose, it was natural that Ralph should count himself one of the family there.
Taking the boy to the seaside opened the door for another difficulty to arise when an autumn tour was in contemplation, and it would be equally unwise and impracticable to include Ralph in the party.
Ralph was in the grounds with Kathleen and Geraldine one afternoon in July. The boy was telling them that his holidays were about to begin.
"I can be all the time nearly with you, if you want me. Mr. Sinley is going to have a month of Sundays, that will be nearly five weeks, but lessons will not begin even when he comes back."
Kathleen hesitated, for she knew what was coming would distress her favourite. All the same it must be said.
"I would have you a great deal with me if I could, but we are all going away for a few weeks. We shall be travelling about a good deal, so we shall not even take Polly with us. Horses would only be a trouble, and no use."
"And boys would be a trouble too, wouldn't they?" replied Ralph, making a great effort to treat the question from an outsider's point of view.
"We have never had boys with us, dear. We had one boy friend at St. Leonards, and we did not find him a trouble. But there are times when even one boy would not be quite in the right place with a party of grown-up people. Fathers and mothers go without their boys and girls very often. You know that?"
Ralph pondered the matter, and could not deny this. The Stapleton children had been often left behind when their parents went away. And he—well, he owed the most delightful time he had ever enjoyed to those who were just friends—not even relatives. Ralph decided that he must be brave. So he managed to say that he hoped they would all be very happy whilst they were away.
"You must try to be happy too, Ralph," said both the girls. "When we come home we shall have so much to tell you. Besides, your father will be sure to make some plan for your holidays," added Kathleen.
"My birthday will be the day after to-morrow, and I shall be ten years old," said the boy, without attempting to answer Kathleen.
"And this is Wednesday. I am glad it will be before we leave. We will ask some young friends, and have plenty of strawberries and cream out-of-doors. What do you think of that, Ralph?"
Ralph soberly answered, "Thank you very much, Miss Mountford."
"Don't you want to have an outdoor party?" asked Kathleen.
"If I might, I would rather have just you and father," replied the boy, with a beseeching look. "He is coming home to-day."
"Then I think, Ralph, as I have had so much of you for a long time past, you ought to spend the day at home with your father, as he will have a great deal to say to you. You may just run round here in the morning for something I have to show you. I want to wish you 'Happy returns,' but I will not take you from your father."
There was such quiet decision in Kathleen's manner that the boy felt he had in some way made a mistake, and he said—
"I will do just what you tell me, Miss Mountford. I dare say father will want me."
Drawing Kathleen aside, he asked, "May I whisper something?"
"Certainly, Ralph."
"I hope you didn't think I was hinting for father to be asked here. He would be awfully angry if he knew I had said that about having just you and him."
"I am sure you were not hinting," said Kathleen, heartily. "And you shall have that party when we come back, so you will lose nothing by putting it off. Now what is it?"—seeing the old wistful look on the boy's face.
"Will father ever come here with me?"
"Indeed I cannot tell, Ralph," replied Kathleen. "Perhaps when I have a birthday party."
Kathleen had for a moment imagined that Ralph's wish to have only herself and his father had been suggested by the latter. The boy's whispered question convinced her to the contrary. But when she came to think of what she had said about a future birthday of her own, and the possibility of John Torrance's presence, she felt anything but happy. The remark, if repeated by Ralph to his father, might create an impression widely different from what was meant by her. Everybody knew that in a few months she would be of age, and Captain Torrance might imagine that the first use she meant to make of her full womanhood would be to open the doors of the Hall to a guest whom her guardians declined to receive there in the meanwhile.
Yet Kathleen had only thought of pleasing Ralph by speaking of both their birthdays.
Naturally the boy told his father what had passed, and Captain Torrance was more than contented to bide his time.
Though the party was put off, Ralph was made wildly happy by the gift of a beautiful watch, a gold hunter, strong and suitable for a boy's use, but goodly to look upon. There was his monogram on the back, and inside a little inscription to say that it was to "Ralph Torrance, from his friend, K. D. M."
On the whole he was happy, for his father had promised to remain some little time at Monk's How, and then, probably, to take him away.
At the fortnight's end, however, Ralph was left behind, but such neighbours as were at home were kind to the boy.
Kathleen and the others were expected home on the fifteenth of September. She had told Ralph when to look for her, and he in return wrote that she was to look up at a certain favourite tree which bordered the road, as she passed it. He would meet her at the Hall very soon after her arrival there.
Kathleen did not forget the request, and, on looking upwards, noticed a flag dangling from one of the highest boughs; but, instead of waving in the wind, the stick to which it was fastened was uppermost.
"Poor Ralph's signal is reversed," she said with a smile at its limp condition. "What a height he must have climbed to attach it to that bough!"
"A most dangerous height," said Mr. Matheson. "Ralph could not have reached it unassisted. I hope he is unconscious of the ungraceful condition of his signal."
"He will not care for that half an hour hence," said Geraldine. "The sight of Kitty will make the boy forget everything else."
There was no Ralph to greet them on their arrival, and soon Kathleen began to look anxiously for his coming. Mrs. Ellicott suggested that the boy had gone home to don his best suit after fixing the flag.
Aylmer did not answer, but asked the ladies to excuse his leaving them. Something in his face struck Kathleen with dread, and, throwing a soft shawl round her head, she followed him. Aylmer was going towards the tree from which the flag depended, and as he neared it he quickened his pace to a run. When beneath it he knelt, and bent over something which lay motionless on the ground.
A great fear took possession of Kathleen, but hurrying on, she saw that Aylmer was bending over what appeared to be the lifeless body of Ralph Torrance. A broken bough lay beside him, and the boy's arm was partly entangled in it.
"Oh, Ralph, my dear little friend, you have lost your life in trying to show your love for me!" cried Kathleen, almost beside herself with grief, as she saw the deathlike face of her favourite. "I might have known that nothing would keep you from me, if you had the power to come to me."
These words were followed by a paroxysm of grief, and the girl, without heeding what Aylmer said, threw herself on the grass and kissed the pale face again and again, whilst her tears fell like rain on it.
"He is not dead, Kathleen, believe me," said Aylmer. "His heart beats, though feebly."
"Are you sure, Aylmer?"
"Quite sure. Be calm, if you want to be of use."
Kathleen had always trusted Aylmer implicitly, and his quiet firmness had the effect of allaying her excitement, but she said with decision, "He must be carried to the Hall. No one must care for him but myself. For my sake he risked his life, dear, loving-hearted child!"
"Yes, no doubt he wanted to honour his friend's arrival. Sit beside him, Kathleen, but do not move him, or you may do harm."
Not another moment was lost. Aylmer obtained help and sent for the doctor, but he knew well how to convey the unconscious child to the house in the easiest way, and this was done.
Kathleen waited eagerly for the doctor's report, and asked him, "Is there any hope?"
"Certainly there is hope," he replied, "though it will be many a day before our young friend climbs a tree again."
To himself Dr. Burgon added, "if ever," for the boy's injuries were severe. His right shoulder was dislocated, through being entangled in the bough, one rib was broken, but, worst of all, there was concussion of the brain.
"He must have fallen on his head," said Aylmer.
"Not with full force," replied the doctor. "If he had, he must have been killed on the spot. The bough which did so much mischief in one direction just prevented that, by slightly breaking the directness of the fall."
As soon as all had been done that could be done for the present, Kathleen begged to be allowed to sit beside the boy, and announced her intention of watching him through the night.
This Dr. Burgon would not permit.
"If I were anxious to have a second patient on my hands, I would install you as nurse, but the long journey and excitement since have unfitted you for such service. The boy will be well looked after. Nurse Goddard has the experience you lack. She is equally capable handed and tender-hearted, which last quality is not always found in combination with the needful deftness and firmness. You, Miss Mountford, must exercise self-control, try to get a good night's rest, and to-morrow, if you have obeyed me, I will try to make use of you. I shall also look to Miss Ellicott and Matheson here to join the staff of honorary nurses."
The doctor spoke as cheerily as possible to hide his own great anxiety, for Ralph's condition was indeed a grave one.
"Will he get better?" asked Kathleen, eagerly. "I will do anything you bid me."
"That is right, though as to your question, it is impossible to speak with certainty yet. Has Captain Torrance been communicated with?"
The inquiry was addressed to Aylmer, who replied, "We are a little uncertain as to his address, but telegrams have been sent to every likely place."
"You will do all that can be done, and well," said the doctor, then left with the promise to return later at night. There could be no question now as to receiving Captain Torrance at the Hall.
It was Aylmer who met him at the station, and broke the sad news. Geraldine was watching beside Ralph when his father came, for Kathleen's more demonstrative sorrow rendered her unfit for the task for any length of time. She, however, met Captain Torrance as he entered, and extended her hand.
"I am so glad you are come," she said. "Aylmer will have told you everything. As for me, I feel as though I were the cause, though an innocent one, of this great trouble."
Tears streamed down her face. It had been difficult for her to say so much, and she could not utter another word.
Captain Torrance pressed her hand between both his own, as he answered, "To hear you blame yourself adds to my sorrow, for you have been so good to him."
Turning to Aylmer, Captain Torrance began to speak of personal kindnesses received from him, but Mr. Matheson succeeded in interrupting these acknowledgments.
Kathleen had long suspected that John Torrance was deeply indebted to her guardian, and this, together with the silence of the latter and his goodness to Ralph, had increased her admiration for his character. A less noble nature would have done nothing, or tried to make capital out of his services.
Perhaps, had poverty driven away the captain, and Ralph with him, Kathleen's future might have been different, and Aylmer have won the prize dear to him above all others. Now with both under his ward's roof, he lost hope; but still the noble unselfishness remained, and he prayed for Kathleen's true happiness in preference to his own. "If she should give her heart to John Torrance, may God make him worthy of her!" was the honest desire of his heart.
Days and nights of anxious watching and alternate hope and fear prevailed, but at length Ralph was pronounced out of danger.
Once on the way to recovery, he was never happy without Miss Mountford. Then he begged for his father's presence, and, though some one was always in the adjoining room, and the door open between the two, the intimacy increased rapidly.
Naturally John Torrance showed his best side, and, to do him justice, he was battling against self, stirred to this by a sense of the goodness of Miss Mountford and Aylmer. Never had he cared so much for her, and yet all there was left in him of his better nature told him that he ought not to strive for the hand of Kathleen.
Ralph had much to say about his friend.
"If you are sorry I have no mother, why don't you ask Miss Mountford to be my mother?" he asked, when his father and he were alone. "Nobody is so nice as she is."
The captain's face flushed as he answered. "You do not know what you are talking about, Ralph. Miss Mountford is far too good to be your mother."
"I thought mothers never could be too good," he replied, in an injured tone.
"It is not that, Ralph. I could never think even Miss Mountford too good to be your mother, but she would be too good for me."
