The Story of Antony Grace

She shook her head.

“No; my path lies here,” she said quietly. “Antony, I want your help to-morrow.”

“Yes: what shall I do?” I asked.

“Will you ask Miss Hallett to come here to me – will you bring her?”

“Bring Linny Hallett here?” I exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes: bring her here,” she said softly; and there was a peculiar tone in her voice as she spoke. “And now about yourself. Do you feel well enough to go home? Shall one of the servants see you safely back?”

“Oh no,” I said; “I am better now. I shall take a cab. But I do not feel comfortable to leave you alone.”

“You need not fear,” she said quietly. “The house will be closed as soon as you leave. To-morrow I shall take steps for my protection.”

I left her soon after, thinking about her request, and as far as I could make out she intended to keep Linny with her, feeling that Lister would not dare to face her again, when the woman he had sought to injure had been made her companion.

Still I did not feel satisfied, and the only consoling thing was to be found in Lister’s own words, that he had sent for Miss Carr’s relative; and, in the hope that he might soon arrive, I reached home and went up at once to see Hallett, who looked very ill, but smiled sadly, as I sat down by his side.

“Better,” he said; “I think I’m better, but I don’t know, Antony: sometimes I feel as if it would be happier if I could be altogether at rest.”

“Oh, Hallett!” I cried.

“Yes, you are right,” he said. “What would become of them? I must get better, Antony, better, but sometimes – sometimes – ”

“Don’t speak to him any more,” whispered Mary; “he is so weak that his poor head wanders.”

“But, Mary, the doctor; does he say there is any danger?”

“No, no, my dear. He is to sleep all he can. There, go down now. I’m going to sit up to-night.”

I went down, leaving Mary to her weary vigil; for my head ached terribly, and I was very giddy.

Linny was in the sitting-room, and she uttered an exclamation.

“Why, how bad you look, Antony!” she cried.

“Do I?” I said with a laugh; “I had a bit of a fall, and it has shaken me. But, Linny dear, I have a message for you.”

“For me, Antony?” she said, turning white.

“Yes; Miss Carr bade me ask you to come with me to her house to-morrow.”

“I go to her house!” faltered Linny.

“Yes, dear, you will – will you not? I am sure it is important.”

“But I could not leave poor Steve.”

“It need not take long,” I said; “you will go and see what she wants?”

Linny looked at me in silence for a few moments, and there was something very dreamy in her face.

“If you think it right that I should go, Antony,” she said at last, “I will. Shall I speak to Stephen first?”

“No,” I said. “Hear first what she has to say.”

She promised, and I went down to my own room, glad to lay my aching head upon the pillow; where I soon fell into a troubled sleep, dreaming of my encounter with John Lister, and feeling again the heavy blow as we fell, and my head struck the broad, flat fender with a sickening crash, that seemed to be repeated again and again.

Chapter Fifty Eight.

This Crisis

By my advice, then, Linny said nothing to Hallett about where she was going, and as I had stayed at home from the works on purpose, we started in pretty good time for Westmouth Street, my companion’s flushed cheeks making her look extremely bright and pretty. She was terribly nervous though, and when we neared the door I feared that she would not muster up courage enough to enter.

“I feel as if I dare not meet her, Antony,” she faltered.

“What nonsense!” I said, smiling. “Why, she is gentleness and tenderness itself. Come, be a woman.”

“It is not that,” she whispered. “There is so much more behind. Take me back, Antony. Why does she want to see me?”

“I don’t know,” I replied; “but you may be sure that it is for some good purpose.”

“Do – do you think she will be angry with me – about – about, you know whom I mean? Do you think it is to reproach me?”

“I am sure it is not, Linny. Come, come, make an effort. I don’t know, but I feel sure it is to try and help poor Hallett.”

“Do you think so?” she faltered, “or is this only to persuade me to go on? Oh, Antony, you cannot think how my heart beats with dread. I am afraid of this Miss Carr, and feel as if I ought to hate her.”

“Come along, you foolish girl,” I said; and, yielding to me, I led her up to the door, when we were admitted, and at once ushered into the drawing-room.

I did not at first see Miss Carr, but the door had hardly closed before I heard the rustle of her dress, and the next moment Linny was folded in her arms, and returning the embrace.

I stood for a moment listening to Linny’s passionate sobs, and then stole softly away, going down into the dining-room to stand gazing out of the window, but seeing nothing of the passers-by, only in imagination the scene upstairs, and wondering why Miss Carr had sent for Linny.

I was kept in doubt for quite an hour, and then the servant came and asked me to step upstairs, where, to my surprise, I found Miss Carr dressed for going out.

She held out her hand to me as I entered, and pressed mine.

“Don’t speak to me, Antony,” she whispered, in a broken voice. “I am going home with Linny Hallett.”

“You – going home – with – ”

The rest died on my lips as I saw her draw down her veil to hide her convulsed face, and then, without a word, she rang the bell, the door was opened for us, and, feeling like one in a dream, I walked in silence by their side to the house in Great Ormond Street, where, as I placed my latchkey in the door, it was snatched open, and Mary, with her face red with weeping, stood there.

“Oh, Miss Linny! Oh, Master Antony!” she sobbed, “I’m so glad you’ve come. The doctor sent me out of the room, and I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Is my brother worse?” sobbed Linny hysterically.