The Sapphire Cross

The Doctor’s Answer

It was with a sense of waking from a dream that Brace Norton opened his eyes to gaze upon lights and faces dancing around him; but it was long before he could collect his thoughts sufficiently to reply to questions that were asked. By degrees, though, he could make out that it was Sir Murray Gernon who was speaking, and then there arose a loud, wailing woman’s cry, followed by a voice Brace recognised.

“Ye’re reet, lassie – it is, sure enew. It’s Jock Gurdon come back to get his deserts.”

“Blast you! – a doctor – I’m – I’m dy – Here, quick! – a doctor, or I shall bleed to death!” groaned the wretched man.

“Has any one gone for a medical man?” said a stern voice.

“Yes, Sir Mooray, I’ve sent for a doctor and the police, too. It’s gude for us that the loons were quarrelling over the spoil.”

“Isa, my child, this is no place for you!” exclaimed Sir Murray.

“That’s right,” cried Lord Maudlaine, who was also present; “I’ve been asking her to go. My dear Miss Gernon – Isa – what are you about? Don’t go near him!”

Lord Maudlaine might well exclaim, for Isa Gernon, pale and scared, was slowly advancing towards where Brace Norton lay. The eyes of love were more piercing than those of the bystanders; and in those swollen and bleeding features Isa had recognised those of the man who had told her again and again of his love.

“Brace!” she cried, in a low, husky voice, as, falling upon her knees at his side, heedless of all present, she laid her hands upon his; for this could be no burglar, as they had told her – there must be some horrible mystery here.

“Isa!” he whispered, as his eyes met hers for an instant, ere they closed.

“Quick! – quick!” cried the agitated girl. “Father – dear papa – oh, what is this? You have shot him, and he is dying. Oh, quick! – quick! – a doctor!”

Her cries seemed to drive away the fainting sensation that oppressed Brace Norton; and as Sir Murray – astounded at his daughter’s words – hurried to her side, the young man’s eyes again unclosed, for his lips to part in a faint smile.

“No, no,” he whispered – “not shot – that man – Gurdon – I followed him – stabbed, I fear – perhaps to death – the cross, Sir Murray; look! Lady Gernon’s – my father’s innocence – left for me to prove – I know – old story – take it, Isa, love – if I pass away, recollect – not – son – dishonoured man – saved – ”

“The brae laddie has fainted, and, Gude save us! it’s young Brace Norton. Here, quick! – some water, and don’t all stand staring like daft fules!” cried McCray. But, at the same moment, with his mind a chaos of wild thoughts, Sir Murray Gernon had sunk upon his knees by the young man, whose hands still clutched the sparkling cross, the jewels glittering brightly yet, though partly encrusted with soot. It was some few minutes, during which he had been striving to stanch the young man’s wound, before he could arrange his thoughts into something like their proper sequence.

This man, then – this Gurdon – had, indeed, stolen the cross; picked it up the night of the great party – more than twenty years ago – and concealed it here, behind the stove; for it was plain enough from whence it had been taken. Here, then, was the key to Gurdon’s attempted burglaries – the man who, with the knowledge of a hidden treasure, had never been able to take it from the spot where it had been placed. Had he, then, – he, Sir Murray Gernon, – been wrong in his suspicions, and was this young man’s father, after all, innocent? No; impossible! he was clear of one foul stain, but the other mystery was unsolved.

The unwonted feeling of gentleness that had come upon him, for a few minutes, as he knelt by the injured man, soon passed away, and the old, hard frown came fiercely back.

There was no one there he could speak to, and say that he was glad the jewels were found, and that he hoped the other mystery might be cleared up; but he rose, with a half-shudder, from his knees, as Jane McCray came forward, pale and trembling, her eyes fixed on his; and as the recollection of the past came back, he would have turned and left the room. But Jane’s hand was on his arm, and, in a voice that was only heard by Isa, she said, beseechingly:

“Oh, Sir Murray, don’t be hard upon your poor child, as you were on my own dear lady! I’ll never say a word – I’ll take all with me to the grave; only, now that it has pleased Heaven to make all this clear, and to show you what you would never believe, try and repent, and ask forgiveness of those you so cruelly wronged! You can’t do much now – it’s too late; but oh! Sir Murray – dear master – do something! Twenty years and more ago, now, since the wrongs were done; and yet, you see, how judgment comes at last for the wicked. You know now how cruelly wrong you were; there it all is. You thought, between them, there had been something done with that cross, and now you see. I hoped that man had died repenting, in a far-off land; but it was to be his fate to come and clear this up first – to show you how ill you treated my poor, sweet lady – to show you her innocence and – ”

“Loose your hold, woman!” whispered Sir Murray, hoarsely.

“No,” she said, holding his arm tightly – “not yet. You know how I promised her, Sir Murray, that I’d be, as far as I could, a mother to that child; and I’ve tried to. Haven’t I, for her sake, sealed my lips, and kept hid a secret that has made the white come in my hair? Am I not an old and faithful servant? After what I have done, can you not trust me when I say that I will carry all I know to the grave? But, Sir Murray, you will try – you will make right what you can. Don’t break their hearts. Look at that brave boy. You know how he loves her; you know how you injured his father. Promise me that you will repent of it all, and try to make them happy.”

“Confound the woman!” cried Sir Murray, angrily – “she is mad! Lord Maudlaine, this is no place for your betrothed; take her away. Ha! here is the doctor at last.”

As Jane McCray covered her face with her hands, and fell back with a groan, Lord Maudlaine advanced to where Isa, who had heard all that had passed, still knelt by Brace Norton’s side.

“Miss Gernon – Isa,” he said, anxiously; “let me lead you away. Sir Murray wisely says that this is no place for you.”

“No place!” she cried, her soft eyes flashing into light. “Is it not a woman’s place beside the man she loves, when he is stricken down and helpless? Keep back, sir! I do not require your forced attentions!”

The aspect of Lord Maudlaine’s face was a mingling of the ludicrous and the enraged; but no one seemed to heed it, for, evidently violently agitated, Sir Murray had left the room, while all eyes were now directed to the doctor, whose ministrations were rapid, and orders issued sharply, as if he meant to have them obeyed.

“Gude-sake, sir!” said McCray, at last, unable to restrain his feelings, for he had read the anxiety in his young lady’s countenance – “Gude-sake, sir, tell’s how they all are!”

“Burglar – bad shot through shoulder, but not dangerous; Mr Norton – serious stab, knife pierced the – ”

“Gude-sake, sir, never mind that!” exclaimed McCray. “Tell’s the warst at once: is he likely – ”

McCray did not finish his sentence in words, but with his eyes; while, with an anxious troubled look, the doctor glanced towards the figure of Isa Gernon, before he replied:

“Well, McCray, I – There, I’ll give you my opinion to-morrow.”

Crushed Down

Die? What, with those sweet imploring eyes bidding him live? – with hope telling him that now one part of the mystery was cleared the other must soon be swept away? – with his own heart whispering energy, and patience, and desire for life? No; his spirit had well-nigh been drained away by that cruel stab, but Brace Norton smiled at the pain he suffered, and fought back the black shade that bade him succumb.

They bore him from the Castle to his own home; for as soon as the news spread of the late adventure, Captain and Mrs Norton, who had passed an anxious night, had themselves driven over to the Castle, and, in spite of the doctor’s remonstrance, insisted upon bringing their son away.

“I cannot help it, Challen,” said Captain Norton – “the risk must be run. You must do your best to avert danger, for he cannot stay here.”

“As you will,” said the doctor; and he proceeded to superintend the young man’s removal to the carriage.

Sir Murray Gernon knew of their coming, but he did not meet them. He shut himself up in his study, and as Brace was being placed in the carriage, McCray came forward, and handed a note to Captain Norton, who started as he saw the cipher on the great seal.

He tore it open and read the following lines:

“Sir Murray Gernon feels it to be his duty to apologise to Captain Norton for having done him one grievous wrong. The Sapphire Cross was stolen by Sir Murray’s butler, and is once more in its owner’s hands.

“Sir Murray Gernon asks Captain Norton’s pardon.”

Without a word, Captain Norton handed the note to his wife, who read it; and then, with the proud blood rushing to her temples, she handed it back, watching him to see what he would do.

There was a look almost of passion in Captain Norton’s eye, and the great broad scar looked red and angry, as he stood there biting his lip for a few brief instants before he spoke.

The library door was ajar, and every word of his sharp, military speech was plainly heard by the occupant, as, drawing himself up, Captain, Norton turned to McCray.

“You are Sir Murray Gernon’s confidential servant,” he said. “I will not write, but tell him this from me: he asks my pardon for a wrong, and I have waited over twenty years till the truth should appear. I go now to wait for the fellow-letter to this; when he shall ask my forgiveness for another wrong, then I will send him my reply.”

He turned and walked slowly and proudly down the great steps of the main entrance, while their owner cowered in his room, shrinking back into the far corner, as he watched and saw through the window that Isa was at the carriage-door, holding one of Brace’s hands in hers, as she looked appealingly in Dr Challen’s face. His brow darkened as he saw it, for it seemed as if his efforts were to be set at nought, and that the more he battled against the stream of events the more it swept him back. But he did not hear his child’s plaintive words, as she spoke to the doctor.

“Pray – pray tell me!” she whispered: “Is he in danger?”

“Danger? Well, yes, of course he is,” said the doctor, taking her in his arms and kissing her as he would one of his own children. “But there, bless your bright little face, go in, and don’t fidget and make those eyes dull with crying, and I’ll cure him right off for you. Now, Captain Norton,” he continued, lightly – “slow march for the horses – two miles an hour – with the windows all down, and I must ride inside.”

Brace fainted as the carriage-door was closed, but it was with the sense of his hand being kissed by two soft, warm lips, ere all became misty and confused; and then it was that Dr Challen’s light, flippant manner gave place to a quiet, serious aspect, as he plied restoratives, and prepared for the battle that his experience told him was imminent.

It was a long and fierce fight, but youth, with hope shining now in upon the young man’s heart, prevailed; and though no encouraging letter from Isa – no communication came from the Castle but a formal inquiry or two made on the part of Sir Murray – Brace daily grew stronger, telling himself that he would yet, perhaps, see the day when all would be made plain. There was a feeling of exultation that came upon the young man, when he saw the proud, happy bearing that seemed to have come upon his father? and more than once there was a fond blessing from her who had held faith when all the world disbelieved. This exultation did more than all Dr Challen’s medicaments, but the doctor took to himself the credit, all the same.

Brace’s ship sailed without him, and he could not but rejoice at the time afforded him for further investigation, while he prayed earnestly that accident might again favour him, though at times his heart sank, as rumours came of the state of affairs at the Castle. For though he had dismissed them as impossible, utterly refusing them credence, at times charging Sir Murray Gernon with subterfuge, at others giving him the credit of believing the words he had whispered, they began now, as he approached convalescence, to make a deep and lasting impression upon him. He had not seen her – he had not heard from her, and the gap between the families seemed almost to have widened since the discovery of the cross; but there was no Lord Maudlaine at the Castle now: he had taken his departure, and Brace was hopeful that it was for good; when one day, when he had regained his strength, his heart leaped tumultuously, for he saw Isa approaching him, on her favourite mare, attended as usual by Peter Barlow.

It might be wrong, but he could not help it, and he hurried forward to meet her, his hands outstretched, and face bright and eager, but to his utter despair she touched the mare with her whip, averted her head, and cantered by, leaving him, almost giddy with misery, by the road-side.

Why Isa Gernon Avoided Brace

Lord Maudlaine had indeed left the Castle, but not for the reason Brace Norton had hoped. The time was getting on, and a hint or two to that effect from his friend in London had induced him to seek an opportunity for speaking to Isa alone.

The opportunity was soon afforded him, for Sir Murray, guessing his wish, and himself anxious that the marriage should take place, left them one evening together in the drawing-room, while he sought his study, where, a quarter of an hour after, the Viscount came to him.

“What! so soon?” said Sir Murray.

“Utter refusal – appeal to my feelings – impossible to accept me – and all that sort of thing,” said the Viscount, angrily. “I’m being played with, Sir Murray Gernon,” he exclaimed, bitterly – “led on and trifled with!”

“Are you willing to take her as she is – to risk all?” said Sir Murray, quietly.

“Quite – yes, of course,” said his lordship.

“Stay here, then, till I return,” said Sir Murray.

He went to the drawing-room, where he found Isa, vainly striving to keep back her tears.

“Come here and sit down, Isa,” he said, in quiet, measured tones. “There, don’t tremble,” he said, as he took her hand. “I’m not very angry with you, and I’m not going to scold and play the tyrant. You have just refused Lord Maudlaine, when you know that for months past it has been an understood thing that he was to be your husband. I do not ask you why you have done this, because I know. While we were in Italy there was no opposition shown upon your side; since we have returned you have often made me blush for the coldness – almost rudeness – with which you have treated him.”

“Oh, papa!” exclaimed Isa, appealingly.

“You must hear me out,” he said sternly. “I will tell you why you are cold to him: it is because you think that you love this Brace Norton; and, irrespective of the feeling between our houses, were he a man of honour, he would, after my words to him, have ceased his persecution.”

“Your words!” faltered Isa.

“My words,” he said sternly. “I saw him, and I have appealed to him in every way, but only to meet with an obstinate refusal. Then I brought to bear means that at the time I believed to be effectual. This is no silly romance of love, my child, but stern fact, that I have to deal with. I have chosen Lord Maudlaine to be your husband. You will be a titled lady, and some day wear a Countess’s coronet. You will both be wealthy, and let me tell you that it is an alliance to be proud of. Now, promise me that, if I send him in, you will accede to his proposals.”

Isa was silent.

“You hear me, Isa,” he said, gently – “why do you not reply? You will accede to his wishes, will you not?”

“I cannot,” said Isa, in a whisper. “It would be a mockery!”

“Absurd, silly, romantic nonsense, my child! You must accept him, and at once. I wish to have your marriage off my mind before I return to Italy; for I cannot stay in this place.”

“Let us go, then, together!” said Isa, eagerly. “Why do you trouble about this matter at all?”

“It is my wish to see you married, and to Lord Maudlaine,” he said, firmly. “I cannot live with the constant harass of this man’s pretensions. I tell you, on my honour as a gentleman – since you set at nought my word as your father – that a marriage between you and Brace Norton is an impossibility. I told him – lowering myself even to giving him the reasons; and the man’s character is such that – here, look, I have his letter to you, and which I refuse to let you read. I tell you, Isa, that in spite of my moroseness at times, I have a love for you from the way in which you recall your mother; but I would see you in your coffin sooner than the wife of this man!”

“But, papa – dear papa,” sobbed Isa, “you are prejudiced – you are cruel! You do not know how good, and brave, and true he is, and I love him so – so dearly!”

She threw herself, sobbing, upon his breast, hiding her burning cheeks; while, apparently softened, he held her to him – a sad, wild, pained look in his face, as he kissed and smoothed her long, dark tresses.

“My child,” he said, sadly, “I own I hate father and son with a fierce, undying hatred; but it is not that alone which makes me tell you that Brace Norton can never be your husband. Can you not believe me when I tell you that every word I utter is solemn truth?”

“Yes – oh yes!” sobbed Isa.

“Then you will see Lord Maudlaine?”

“Indeed – indeed, I cannot!” sobbed Isa. “I – ”

“Hush!” said Sir Murray, sternly, as, rising, he stood holding her hand. “In plain terms, you must. Hearken to me, Isa. You know me only as a cold, harsh, and bitter man; an unhappy life has made me what I am. Proud I was always: but I might have been amiable – loving and loved – but it was not to be. I have still some traces of better feeling left; and I ask you – I implore you – not to force me to make revelations that shall prove the impossibility of your wedding Brace Norton. I might look over his father having been the bane of my life, and, did I see that it was for your happiness, give way; but once again, I tell you that it is impossible. Will you take my word?”

Isa looked up into his face with an aspect that was pitiable.

“Can you feel no pity for me?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said, gently; “I am having pity on you, though you cannot see it, and are obliged blindly to take my word. And now I ask you, can you not have pity on me?”

Isa sat as if stunned, while, throwing her hand from him, Sir Murray strode for awhile up and down the room. Then, returning to her, he again seated himself by her side.

“Look here, Isa,” he said, “Lord Maudlaine wishes this affair to take place at the end of this month. I may tell him that you consent, may I not?”

“No!” she said, her spirit rising at the thought of being forced into accepting a man she despised. “I will not consent.”

“You are blind, Isa – blind!” he said, sadly; and then a groan seemed to tear itself from his breast, as he bent over her, speaking in low, hoarse tones.

“I would have spared you,” he said; “for whatever you might have felt for this young man, Isa, you had the one good excuse, that you had obeyed me in accepting Lord Maudlaine. Time will not allow that the wedding should longer be deferred. It is his wish that it should take place at once – and mine; for my life is a burden to me here. I lead the life of one haunted by the past; and it was only when, moved by some strange impulse that I could not counteract, I returned, to find, what? – misery, and disappointment, and scenes that remind me of what should have been my happier days. But, once more, do you force me to this avowal? I ask you again to spare yourself and me, taking it for granted that what I tell you is right. May I refrain, and then tell Lord Maudlaine to come to you?”

“I cannot – indeed I cannot!” imploringly exclaimed Isa.

Sir Murray rose, his face working and his whole aspect speaking of the careworn, broken man. Then waiting a few moments, he stood with one hand shading his eyes, before again speaking.

“Isa,” he said, “Jane McCray has acted the part of a mother to you, at your own mother’s wish; and I have ever kept her at your side. Go to her now, and ask her why I have never shown you a father’s love – a parent’s tender care; and though she will utter a strenuous defence of the dead, you may read in her words my reason for saying that Brace Norton can never be your husband. You will know yourself that it is impossible that such an union can take place; for, before Heaven, my child, I believe every word I utter to be true!”

With Trouble Looming

“Dinna be fashed with me, lassie, I ainly say what I think and feel, and I do believe that it is perhaps better things should tak’ their course. If ye could ha’ married the man ye chose, Jenny, first aff, I dinna think, my lassie, there’d ha’ been this nice, smooth auld face under your cap, and the grey ainly sprunk lightly among your hair, just like to set it aff. Why, your e’en are bright as ay they were, when I had a sair heart aboot Jock Gurdon, who’s got well again, and Sir Mooray is na gane to prosecute him; but, Jenny, lassie, he’s na sae bad a man, aifter all, Sir Mooray is na, for there, lassie – there they air, ten new crisp five-pound notes, and all for Jock Gurdon, to take him ower to America, and start life as a new man.”

“Heaven bless Sir Murray for it!” said Jane, fervently.

“Amen to that, lassie; and I hope Jock Gurdon will mend his ways. And I’ve been thinking, lassie, that if I tak’ the money, it will rise up some of the auld anger in the man, so ye shall e’en do it yer ainsel’, and give him a few words for his benefit; for ye’re a gude woman, Jane, and Heaven was verra kind to me when He gave me sic a wife.”

Jane McCray did not speak, but her comely face was raised to her husband’s, and a few bright tears fell from her eyes as she returned his loving kiss.

“I should be a happy woman if it were not for that poor bairn,” said Jane. “She believes it, though I scolded her, and told her how cruel and false it all was, and that my own dear, sweet lady – ”

“Hoot, lassie! ye’re getting excited. The puir child has said ‘yes’ to his lordship at last, and they’re to be married. Marriages air made in heaven, lassie, so let’s hope it’s all for the best.”

“For the best!” sobbed Jane McCray, wringing her hands. “Oh! Alexander, dear husband! can’t we stop it, for I foresee all sorts of misery and unhappiness for them both in the days to come; and it’s cruel – cruel to force the poor child!”

“Nay, my lassie, but it is na force. She is only giving way to Sir Mooray’s wishes, and if my laird here were a proper man, I wad na say a word. But there, he’s gane to town for some days – till the wedding time, noo – and the sooner its ower the better. Peter tells me that the puir bairn met young Norton, when they were oot laist, and he tried to speak to her, but she turned her head, and cantered on.”

Jane groaned, and wrung her hands. “I wish I was in my grave, sooner than see it all come to pass,” she sobbed.

“Weel, it’s perhaps a sair potion to swaller, Jenny; but be a woman. What does the puir bairn say?”

“Say? Nothing; only goes about the place pale and wan, with her poor heart breaking,” said the housekeeper; “and when that creature – ”

“Hoot, lassie! what creature?” said McCray.

“That popinjay lord,” said Jane scornfully. “When – ”