“She’s finished, Antony,” he cried, and in the elate eager face before me I seemed to see some one quite different to the stern, quiet compositor I met daily at the great printing-office by Fetter Lane.
I was as delighted as he, and together we stood gazing down at the bright, beautiful bit of mechanism – the fruit of years of toil and endless thought; but as I gazed at it a strange dull feeling of anxiety came over me, and I glanced timorously at Hallett, for the thought flashed across my mind:
“What will he say now if it fails?”
I literally trembled with dread as this thought forced its way home, and with a choking sensation at my throat I watched his eager, elated face each moment becoming more joyous and full of pride; and the more I witnessed his pleasure, the more I feared lest his hopes should be dashed.
“Why, it’s daybreak, Antony,” he said, drawing up the blind. “My poor boy, what a thoughtless wretch I am. It is cruel to you. Come and lie down directly.”
“No,” I said eagerly, “I want to see the model going.”
“And so do I, Antony,” he cried passionately; “but now the time has come, my boy, I dare not try. I feel a horrible dread of failure, and I must cover it over with a cloth, and leave it till I feel more calm.”
He took up the large black cloth with which he had been in the habit of covering it from the dust, and stood gazing down at the bright brass model which had begun to glisten in the soft pure morning light now stealing in from amidst the London chimney-pots, while a couple of sparrows seated upon the parapet set up a cheery chirp.
I felt that I dared not speak, but as if I should have liked to lead him away from the infatuation of his life. Somehow I knew that it would break down, and the anguish he must feel would be something I could not bear to see; and yet, combined with this, I shared his longing to see the model at work – the beautiful little piece of mechanism that was to produce a revolution in printing – turning easily, smoothly, and well.
As I gazed at his eager, anxious face, the pale light in the sky changed to a soft warm flush; bright flecks of orange and gold sent their reflections into the dingy garret, and seemed to illumine Hallett’s countenance, as with straining eyes and parted lips he stood there cloth in hand.
“Antony,” he said, in a low hoarse voice, “I am a coward. I feel like a gambler who risks his all upon a stake, and dare not look upon the numbers – upon the newly cast dice. No, no, I dare not try it now; let it rest till to-night.”
As he spoke he covered it carefully with the black cloth, but only to snatch it away, apostrophising it the while.
“No, no,” he cried; “it is like covering you with a pall and saying you are dead, when, you, the birth of my brains, are ready to leap into new life – new life indeed – the life of that which has had no existence before. Antony, boy,” he said exultingly, “what time could be more fitting than the birth of a new day for my invention to see the light? Throw open the window and let in the glow of sunshine and sweet fresh air. It is unsullied yet, and it will give us strength for our – for our – ”
He hesitated, and his exulting tone changed to one of calm resignation. It was as if he had felt the shadow of failure coming on, and he said softly:
“Our triumph, Antony; or, God help me, fortitude to bear our failure!”
I had opened the window, and the soft, refreshing morning air floated into the room, seeming to bring with it a suggestion of the scents of the sweet, pure country; and now, in the midst of the silence, broken only by the chirping of the sparrows, and the distant rattle of the wheels of some market-cart, I saw Hallett’s countenance grow stern as he placed a little reel of thin paper, narrow as a ribbon, upon a spindle, and then, motioning to me to go to the handle which was to set the model in motion, he stood there with set teeth, and I turned.
There was a clicking, humming noise, the whirring of wheels, and the rattle of the little cogs; the ribbon of paper began to run off its spool, and pass round a tiny cylinder; and at that moment the little model seemed illumined by a brilliant ray of sunshine, which darted in at the open window. Then the light seemed to be glorifying Hallett’s face, and I was about to utter a cheer, when I felt a jar, and a shock from the fingers that held the handle run right up my arm. There was a sharp, grating noise, a tiny, piercing shriek as of tortured metal; and in place of the busy glistening, whirring wheels an utter stillness. A cloud crossed the rising sun, and with a bitter sigh Hallett stooped down and picked up the black cloth, which he softly and reverently drew over the wreck of his work, as I stood with dilated eyes looking at him aghast.
“Poor model,” he said softly, “dead so soon!” and with a sad, weary air of resignation as he smiled at me: “it was a very short life, Antony. Let us go down, my boy. You must be wearied out.”
I followed him on to the landing without a word, and after he had locked up the attic he led the way softly to the sitting-room, where he lit a fire and we had some breakfast, for it was too late to think of bed. Shortly afterwards we walked down together to the office, and I saw him no more till the day’s work was done.
Chapter Twenty Nine.
Another Wakeful Night
Stephen Hallett was in too much trouble to speak to me about the model that evening. Mrs Hallett was in tears, and full of repinings, and Linny was out, it seemed, when her brother had returned.
I soon found that he did not wish me to stay, and being tired out, I made the best of my way back to Caroline Street, and went to bed to sleep heavily, dreaming that Hallett and I were working away at the model, but as fast as ever we got it nearly to perfection, Mr Blakeford came and stood by to throw in the pieces of the stick with which he had been beaten by Mr Wooster, and every time he did so the little model was broken.
Then the whole scene of the flogging seemed to take the place of Hallett’s attic, and I saw Mr Blakeford sit down in a chair, panting, bloody, and exhausted, and he kept on saying in a low hoarse voice, “Antony, lad, water!”
It was very terrible to see him sitting there by the light of the office gas, for though I wanted to help him, the power was not there, and, strive how I would, I could not get to his side, or fetch what he asked for.
“Antony, lad, water!”
His voice sounded like a groan, and I knew he must be very bad; but still I could not help him, and the bitter moan with which he appealed to me seemed to cut me to the heart.
“Antony, lad, water!”
There it was again, and I started up to find myself in bed, with a candle burning in the room, and Revitts, with his hat on the floor, his coat torn open, and his face besmeared with the blood flowing from a cut in the forehead, was seated close beside his bed, evidently half fainting.
“Antony, lad, water?” he moaned; and leaping out of bed and hurrying on some clothes, I tried to give him what help I could, but in a strangely confused way; for I was, as it were, in a dream, consequent upon the deep sleep succeeding a night without my usual rest. I held a glass of water to his lips, however, from which he drank with avidity. And then, awakening more to the state in which he was, and realising that it was not a dream, I set to work and sponged and bound up the cut with a handkerchief, to find, however, to my horror, that there was another terrible cut on the back of his head, which was also bleeding profusely.
My next idea was to go for a doctor, but I reflected that I ought to first bind up the other wound, and this I did, leaving him in the chair, with his chest and head lying over on the bed, looking so white that a chill of horror shot through me, for I fancied that he was dying.
I knew there was a doctor’s two streets off, and I ran to where the red bull’s-eye in the lamp shone out like a danger signal; rang the night-bell; heard a window above me open, and, after explaining my business and what was the matter, the medical man promised to come.
I ran back to find that Revitts had not moved, but that my attempts to bandage his wounds had proved to be ineffectual. I did what more I could, though, and then sat horror-stricken and silent, holding the poor fellow’s hand, speaking to him at intervals, but eliciting nothing but a moan.
It seemed as if the doctor would never come, and I was about to rouse up some of the people in the house when I heard the bell, and ran to admit him.
He looked curiously at me as I stood there, candle in hand, and as I closed the door he said gruffly:
“A drunken fall, I suppose?”
“Oh no, sir,” I said hastily. “Mr Revitts never drinks.”
“Humph?” he ejaculated; and I led him up to where Revitts sat.
“Policeman, eh?” said the doctor; “this is a job for the surgeon to the division, my man. Mustn’t leave him to bleed to death, though.”
He slipped off his coat, and, exerting his strength, lifted poor Revitts on to the bed, after which he removed my bandages and made an examination.
“Hold the candle nearer, boy, nearer still. That’s right. You won’t singe his hair. If you do it won’t matter, for I must clip it off short. Humph! some one has given him a pretty topper with a thick stick, and he must have fallen with his head on the edge of a step. Terrible cuts?”
“But will they kill him, sir?” I faltered, feeling quite sick at the sight of the wounds.
“We won’t let them, my man. Come, hold up, you mustn’t, let that turn you faint.”
“I – I won’t, sir,” I said.
“That’s right, my man. Nothing like a little will and determination. We men must leave fainting to the girls. That’s right; basin and sponge and towel. We’ll soon put him straight. Now that case out of my pocket. That’s well. Hold the candle nearer. No snuffers? Well, use your fingers. Dirty trick, but handy – fingery, I ought to say.”
He kept on talking – half-playfully, while with his bright scissors he clipped the hair away close from Revitts’ forehead, and then, cutting up some plaister in strips, he rapidly bandaged the cuts, after bringing the edges of the wounds together with a few stitches from a needle and some silk.
“Poor fellow! he has got a sad knocking about,” the doctor said kindly, for now the annoyance at being called out of bed was over he was deeply interested in his case. “I wonder some of his fellow-constables did not take him to the hospital. Where did you find him?”
I told him how I was astonished by finding Revitts at my bedside.
“Ah yes, I see,” he said. “Hurt and half-insensible, and nature intervenes. Education says, Take him to the hospital; instinct bids him, animal-like, creep to his hole to die.”
“To die, sir?” I cried, catching his hand.
“Die? No: nonsense, boy. I was only speaking metaphorically. Don’t you see?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“No, you don’t, you young humbug,” he retorted sharply. “You don’t know what a metaphor is.”
“Yes, sir, it’s a figure of speech in which one idea is used instead of another.”
“Hallo!” he said; “why, how do you get your living?”
“I’m a reading-boy at a printer’s, sir.”
“Oh! Are you? I should have thought you were reading-boy to a professor of language. Well, we mustn’t forget our patient. Give me a glass, boy.”
“Will a teacup do, sir?”
“Oh yes, and a teaspoon. That’s right,” he said; and, emptying a little phial into the cup, he proceeded to give poor Revitts some of the stimulus it contained.
“There,” he said, “he’s coming round, poor fellow; but I daresay he’ll be a bit shaky in the head. He mustn’t get up; and you must give notice at his station as soon as it’s light, or to the first policeman you see.”
“But you don’t think he’ll die, sir?”
“Die, my man? No. A great stout fellow like that is not likely to die from a crack or two on the head.”
I drew a long breath of relief, and soon after the doctor left, bidding me not be alarmed if I found his patient slightly delirious.
It was no pleasant task, sitting there alone, watching by my poor friend, and many times over I felt so alarmed at his condition that I rose to go and rouse up some of the people of the house; but whenever I reached the door the doctor’s reassuring words came back, and, feeling that he must know what was right, I sat by the bedside, holding Revitts’ hand till towards morning, when he began to move uneasily and to mutter and throw about his arms, ending by seeming to wake from a troubled sleep.
“Where am I?” he said sharply.
“Here at home, in bed,” I said.
“Who’s that?”
“It is I, Bill, don’t you know me?”
“Yes, yes, I know you!” he said. “Oh, my head, my head!”
“What was it? How was it done?” I said.
There was a pause, and then, in a weary way:
“I don’t know – I can’t recollect. Everything’s going round. Yes, I know: I heard a little girl call out for help, and I saw a fellow dragging her towards an open door, and I went at him.”
“Yes, Bill. Well?”
“That’s all. I don’t know anything else. Oh, my head, my head!”
“But did he hit you?” I asked.
“Yes, I think so, and I went down,” he groaned; “and I don’t know any – any more, but I should know that fellow out of a thousand, and – ”
He began muttering to himself, and as I bent over him I fancied I made out the word “staff,” but all else was unintelligible, and the poor fellow sank into a heavy sleep which seemed likely to last.
Soon after seven I got the landlady to come and sit with him while I ran to the police-station, and told the inspector on duty about Revitts’ state.
“There,” he exclaimed to another officer, “I told you so. He’s too steady a fellow to have gone wrong. All right, my man, I’ll send on the surgeon, and we’ll see what’s to be done. You don’t know how it was?”
I told him all I knew, and then ran on to Hallett’s to ask him to get me excused at the office.
I found him looking very pale, but Linny was not visible; and then I told him about Revitts’ state.
“It’s very strange,” he exclaimed. “Linny came home in trouble last night. She said some man had insulted her, and when she called for help a policeman ran up; and she left them struggling together while she made her escape and came home.”
“Then it must have been Revitts who helped her,” I said; and I then told him that I wanted to stay with the poor fellow.
“I’ll arrange all that for you, Antony,” he said quietly; and I made the best of my way back to Caroline Street, to find that poor Revitts had not moved, only kept on muttering where he had been laid by the doctor; and I took the watcher’s place, made tea for him, and spoke to him again and again, but without result.
The police surgeon came soon after with the inspector I had seen, asked me a few questions as he examined the injuries, and then I saw him tighten his lips.
“Hadn’t he better be taken to the infirmary, sir?” the inspector asked.
“No,” was the reply; “he must not be moved.” Then, turning to me: “You had better get some one to come and nurse him, my lad,” he said; “mother, sister, or somebody. I’ll call in again in the evening.”
I knew from this that the poor fellow must be seriously hurt, and had I wanted confirmation, I had it in the delirious mutterings that now came from his lips.
I sat by him in great trouble, wondering what I should do, when the doctor I had fetched called in, who, on learning that the divisional surgeon had been, nodded his satisfaction and turned to go.
“Please tell me, sir,” I said, “is he very, very bad?”
“Well, bad enough, my lad; you see, he has got concussion of the brain, and I daresay he will be ill for some time, but I do not anticipate anything serious. He must have a nurse.”
As soon as he had gone I sat and thought for a few minutes what I ought to do. Miss Carr was very kind and generous. If I asked her she would pay for a nurse; but no, I would not ask her without first consulting Hallett. He would help me in my difficulty, I felt sure, especially as it was probable that Linny was the girl poor Revitts had protected. But Hallett would not be back till evening, and then perhaps he would – no, he would be sure to come in.
I sat thinking, and the landlady came up, full of bewailings about her injured lodger, and in her homely way promised to come and wait on him from time to time. Then a bright thought occurred to me. I would write and tell Mary that Revitts was hurt, for I felt that she ought to know, and hastily taking pen and paper, I wrote her word that my friend was very ill, and asked her to tell me the address of some of his relations, that I might send them word. I did not forget to add a postscript, urging her to secrecy as to my whereabouts, for my dread of Mr Blakeford was as great as ever.
Seizing my opportunity when Revitts was more quiet, I slipped out and posted the letter, running back panting to find that a lady had come – so the landlady said – during my absence, and, rushing upstairs I stood staring with amazement on finding Linny in the room taking off her jacket and hat.
“You here, Linny?” I exclaimed.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “Why not?”
“Was it you, then, that poor Revitts helped last night?”
“Yes,” she said, with a shiver, and she turned white. “Yes, poor fellow. It was very brave of him, and I have come to help him in return.”
“But does – does Stephen know?”
“How can he,” she said meekly, “when he is at the office?”
“But I am sure he would not approve of your coming,” I said stoutly.
“I can’t help that,” she replied quietly. “He will think it his duty to find fault, and I think it mine to come and help to nurse this poor fellow who was hurt in serving me.”
“But your mother – Mrs Hallett?”
“I have arranged for some one to go in and wait upon her till I go back,” said Linny quietly. “Now, what had I better do?” I could think of nothing better than to suggest some beef-tea, and she snatched at the notion, running out to fetch the material; and soon after having it simmering by the fire, while she tidied the room in a way only possible to a woman; and as she busied herself in a quiet, quick fashion, I could not help noticing how pale and subdued she seemed. It was very evident that her nerves had had a severe shock on the previous night, and as I gazed at the pretty, soft little face and figure, bending themselves so earnestly to the task in hand, I could hardly believe it was the same giddy, coquettish girl who caused her brother so much concern.
The day wore slowly by, and in spite of my efforts and real anxiety, I could not keep awake, but caught myself dozing off sometimes to start up, feeling horribly guilty, and ready to excuse myself to Linny on the plea that I had had hardly any sleep for two nights.
“The more need for me to come, Antony,” she said quietly, and bidding me lie down for an hour or two, she took out her work and, seated herself by the sick man’s pillow.
She woke me up at last to have a sort of tea-dinner with her, after I had seen that Revitts remained perfectly insensible, and then the evening wore on, the surgeon came and nodded his satisfaction at finding a nurse there, said that the patient was going on all right, but must have time, and took his leave.
At half-past eight, just as I had anticipated, Hallett arrived, and started with surprise on seeing his sister.
“You here?” he said, with an angry look upon his brow.
“Yes, Stephen,” she said quietly; “I have come to help nurse him.”
“It was an ill-advised step,” he said sternly. “You did not know that this was the man who protected you.”
“I felt so sure of it that I came to see,” she replied. “Don’t be angry with me, Stephen,” she whispered. “I owned to you last night that I was in fault, and meant to do better.”
“Yes, and refused to answer my questions,” he replied. “You do not tell me whom you went to see.”
“Is it not enough that I have promised you I’ll go no more?” she replied with quivering lips.
“Yes, yes, my child,” he said tenderly, as he took her in his arms and laid his cheek against her forehead. “It is enough, and I will not press you. Dear Linny, indeed I strive for your good.”
“I know that, Stephen,” she cried with a wild burst of tears, and, flinging her arms round his neck, she kissed him again and again. “My own brave, good brother,” she said; “and I’ve been so ungrateful and selfish! Oh, Stephen, I’m a beast – a wretch!” she sobbed.
“Hush, hush, little one,” he said; and then, starting, he held her at arm’s length and gazed full in her eyes. “Why, Linny,” he exclaimed, as a light seemed to have flashed across his mind, “it was that man – you went to meet – who insulted you.”
She turned away her face, and hung her head, shivering as he spoke, and weeping bitterly.
“It was,” he cried; “you do not deny it. The villain!”
“Please, please don’t, Stephen,” she sobbed in a low, piteous voice.
“Linny!” he cried hoarsely; and his face looked terrible. “If I knew who it was, I believe I should kill him?”
“Stephen,” she wailed, “pray – pray! We are not alone.”
“There is only Antony here,” he said, “and he is like a brother.” Then, making an effort over himself, he strained the little panting figure to his breast, and kissed her tenderly. “It is all past, my darling,” he said to her softly, and he smoothed her hair with his hand, as if she had been his child. “I’ll say no more, dear, for you have promised me.”
“Yes; and I will keep my word, Stephen.”
He kissed her again, and loosed her, to stand with brows knit with trouble.
“I do not like your coming here, Linny,” he cried at last.
“Why not, dear?” she said, laying her hands upon his shoulder. “It is an earnest of my promise. He came to me when I was in trouble.”
“Yes,” he said; “you are right,” and after looking at the patient he sat down and talked to us in a low tone.
“Is it not nearly time for you to go back, Linny?” Hallett said at last.
“Back!” she said; “I am going to sit up with Antony; the poor fellow must not be left. The doctor said so.”
Hallett took a turn up and down the room, and then stopped.
“You have had no sleep for two nights, Antony,” he said. “Lie down. I will sit up with my sister, and watch by poor Revitts’ side.”
I protested, but it was in vain; and at last I lay down in my clothes to watch the faces of brother and sister by the shaded lamp, till my eyes involuntarily closed, and I opened them again to see the two faces in the same positions, but without the lamp, for there was the morning light.
Chapter Thirty.
Revitts’ Nurse Arrives
Hallett left quite early, to see that Mrs Hallett was properly attended to, and he moreover undertook to speak to either Mr Ruddle or Mr Lister about my absence, as, joined to my desire to stay with poor Revitts, Hallett wished me to bear his sister company.
Our patient was on the whole very quiet, but at times he moved his head to and fro and talked loudly, much being unintelligible, but I saw Linny’s countenance change several times as she heard him threaten the man he looked upon as an enemy.
“Can I do anything for you?” said Linny to him on one occasion, as he tried to raise himself upon his arm and stared at her wildly.
“’Taint as if I’d got my staff out to him, you know,” he said in a whisper. “He’s a coward, that’s what he is, and I shall know him again, and if I do come acrost him – ah!”
Linny shrank away, with her eyes looking wild and strange, so that I thought she was frightened by his words, and I interposed and put my arm under the poor fellow’s head.
“Lie down, Bill,” I said. “Does your head hurt you?”
“I don’t mind about my head,” he muttered, “but such a coward; treat a little bit of a girl like that. Where’s my notebook? Here, it’s time I went. Where’s that boy?” he cried angrily; “I know what London is. I won’t have him stop out of a night.”
He sank back exhausted, and as I turned from him to speak to Linny, I saw that she was in tears.
“He frightens you,” I said; “but you needn’t be afraid.”
“Oh no! I’m not,” she cried; “it’s only because I’m low and nervous. I shall be better soon.”
The surgeon came twice that day, and said the case was serious, but that there was no cause for alarm.
“He gives no clue, I suppose, to who struck him, my boy?” he said.
“No, sir,” I replied; “he talks about some man, and says he would know him again.”
