The Chain of Destiny, Bram Stoker [best romantic novels to read txt] 📗

with the rush of blood

to my head. But Mrs. Trevor’s arm supported me, and after a

time the faintness passed away, and my memory was completely

restored. I started violently from the arm that held me up, and

called out:

 

“Is she all right? I heard her say, ‘saved.’ Is she all right?”

 

“Hush, dear boy, hush—she is all right. Do not excite yourself.”

 

“Are you deceiving me?” I inquired. “Tell me all—I can bear

it. Is she well or no?”

 

“She has been very ill, but she is now getting strong and well,

thank God.”

 

I began to cry, half from weakness and half from joy, and Mrs.

Trevor seeing this, and knowing with the sweet instinct of womanhood

that I would rather be alone, quickly left the room, after making a

sign to the nurse, who sank again to her old place behind the

bed-curtain.

 

I thought for long; and all the time from my first coming to

Scarp to the moment of unconsciousness after I sprung through the

window came back to me as in a dream. Gradually the room became

darker and darker, and my thoughts began to give semblance to the

objects around me, till at length the visible world passed away

from my wearied eyes, and in my dreams I continued to think of all

that had been. I have a hazy recollection of taking some food and

then relapsing into sleep; but remember no more distinctly until I

woke fully in the morning and found Mrs. Trevor again in the room.

She came over to my bedside, and sitting down said gaily—

 

“Ah, Frank, you look bright and strong this morning, dear boy.

You will soon be well now I trust.”

 

Her cool deft fingers settled my pillow and brushed back the

hair from my forehead. I took her hand and kissed it, and the doing

so made me very happy. By-and-by I asked her how was Miss Fothering.

 

“Better, much better this morning. She has been asking after

you ever since she has been able; and to-day when I told her how

much better you were she brightened up at once.”

 

I felt a flush painfully strong rushing over my face as she

spoke, but she went on—

 

“She has asked me to let her see you as soon as both of you are

able. She wants to thank you for your conduct on that awful night.

But there, I won’t tell any more tales—let her tell you what she

likes herself.”

 

“To thank me—me—for what? For having brought her to the verge

of madness or perhaps death through my silly fears and imagination.

Oh, Mrs. Trevor, I know that you never mock anyone—but to me that

sounds like mockery.”

 

She leaned over me as she sat on my bedside and said, oh, so

sweetly, yet so firmly that a sense of the truth of her words came

at once upon me—

 

“If I had a son I would wish him to think as you have thought,

and to act as you have acted. I would pray for it night and day and

if he suffered as you have done, I would lean over him as I lean

over you now and feel glad, as I feel now, that he had thought and

acted as a true-hearted man should think and act. I would rejoice

that God had given me such a son; and if he should die—as I feared

at first that you should—I would be a prouder and happier woman

kneeling by his dead body than I would in clasping a different son,

living, in my arms.

 

Oh, how my weak fluttering heart did beat as she spoke. With

pity for her blighted maternal instincts, with gladness that a

true-hearted woman had approved of my conduct toward a woman whom

I loved, and with joy for the deep love for myself. There was no

mistaking the honesty of her words—her face was perfectly radiant

as she spoke them.

 

I put up my arms—it took all my strength to do it—round her

neck, and whispered softly in her ear one word, “mother.”

 

She did not expect it, for it seemed to startle her; but her

arms tightened around me convulsively. I could feel a perfect rain

of tears falling on my upturned face as I looked into her eyes,

full of love and long-sought joy. As I looked I felt stronger and

better; my sympathy for her joy did much to restore my strength.

 

For some little time she was silent, and then she spoke as if

to herself—“God has given me a son at last. I thank thee, O Father;

forgive me if I have at any time repined. The son I prayed for

might have been different from what I would wish. Thou doest best

in all things.”

 

For some time after this she stayed quite silent, still

supporting me in her arms. I felt inexpressibly happy. There

was an atmosphere of love around me, for which I had longed all

my life. The love of a mother, for which I had pined since my

orphan childhood, I had got at last, and the love of a woman to

become far dearer to me than a mother I felt was close at hand.

 

At length I began to feel tired, and Mrs. Trevor laid me back

on my pillow. It pleased me inexpressibly to observe her kind

motherly manner with me now. The ice between us had at last been

broken, we had declared our mutual love, and the white-haired

woman was as happy in the declaration as the young man.

 

The next day I felt a shade stronger, and a similar improvement

was manifested on the next. Mrs. Trevor always attended me herself,

and her good reports of Miss Fothering’s progress helped to cheer

me not a little. And so the days wore on, and many passed away

before I was allowed to rise from bed.

 

One day Mrs. Trevor came into the room in a state of suppressed

delight. By this time I had been allowed to sit up a little while

each day, and was beginning to get strong, or rather less weak, for

I was still very helpless.

 

“Frank, the doctor says that you may be moved into another room

to-morrow for a change, and that you may see Di.”

 

As may be supposed I was anxious to see Miss Fothering. Whilst

I had been able to think during my illness, I had thought about

her all day long, and sometimes all night long. I had been in love

with her even before that fatal night. My heart told me that secret

whilst I was waiting to hear the clock strike, and saw all my

folly about the dream; but now I not only loved the woman but I

almost worshipped my own bright ideal which was merged in her. The

constant series of kind messages that passed between us tended

not a little to increase my attachment, and now I eagerly looked

forward to a meeting with her face to face.

 

I awoke earlier than usual next morning, and grew rather

feverish as the time for our interview approached. However, I

soon cooled down upon a vague threat being held out, that if

I did not become more composed I must defer my visit.

 

The expected time at length arrived, and I was wheeled in my

chair into Mrs. Trevor’s boudoir. As I entered the door I looked

eagerly round and saw, seated in another chair near one of the

windows, a girl, who, turning her head round languidly, disclosed

the features of Miss Fothering. She was very pale and ethereal

looking, and seemed extremely delicate; but in my opinion this

only heightened her natural beauty. As she caught sight of me a

beautiful blush rushed over her poor, pale face, and even tinged

her alabaster forehead. This passed quickly, and she became calm

again, and paler than before. My chair was wheeled over to her,

and Mrs. Trevor said, as she bent over and kissed her, after

soothing the pillow in her chair—

 

“Di, my love, I have brought Frank to see you. You may talk

together for a little while; but, mind, the doctor’s orders are

very strict, and if either of you excite yourselves about anything

I must forbid you to meet again until you are both much stronger.”

 

She said the last words as she was leaving the room.

 

I felt red and pale, hot and cold by turns. I looked at Miss

Fothering and faltered. However, in a moment or two I summoned

up courage to address her.

 

“Miss Fothering, I hope you forgive me for the pain and danger I

caused you by that foolish fear of mine. I assure you that nothing

I ever did”—

 

Here she interrupted me.

 

“Mr. Stanford, I beg you will not talk like that. I must thank

you for the care you thought me worthy of. I will not say how

proud I feel of it, and for the generous courage and wisdom you

displayed in rescuing me from the terror of that awful scene.”

 

She grew pale, even paler than she had been before, as she spoke

the last words, and trembled all over. I feared for her, and said as

cheerfully as I could:

 

“Don’t be alarmed. Do calm yourself. That is all over now and

past. Don’t let its horror disturb you ever again.”

 

My speaking, although it calmed her somewhat, was not

sufficient to banish her fear, and, seeing that she was really

excited, I called to Mrs. Trevor, who came in from the next

room and talked to us for a little while. She gradually did away

with Miss Fothering’s fear by her pleasant cheery conversation.

She, poor girl, had received a sad shock, and the thought that I

had been the cause of it gave me great anguish. After a little

quiet chat, however, I grew more cheerful, but presently feeling

faintish, was wheeled back to my own room and put to bed.

 

For many long days I continued very weak, and hardly made

any advance. I saw Miss Fothering every day, and each day I

loved her more and more. She got stronger as the days advanced,

and after a few weeks was comparatively in good health, but

still I continued weak. Her illness had been merely the result

of the fright she had sustained on that unhappy night; but

mine was the nervous prostration consequent on the long period

of anxiety between the dream and its seeming fulfilment, united

with the physical weakness resulting from my wounds caused by

jumping through the window. During all this time of weakness

Mrs. Trevor was, indeed, a mother to me. She watched me day

and night, and as far as a woman could, made my life a dream of

happiness. But the crowning glory of that time was the thought

that sometimes forced itself upon me—that Diana cared for me.

She continued to remain at Scarp by Mrs. Trevor’s request, as

her father had gone to the Continent for the winter, and with my

adopted mother she shared the attendance on me. Day after day

her care for my every want grew greater, till I came to fancy her

like a guardian angel keeping watch over me. With the peculiar

delicate sense that accompanies extreme physical prostration I

could see that the growth of her pity kept pace with the growth

of her strength. My love kept pace with both. I often wondered

if it could be sympathy and not pity that so forestalled my wants

and wishes; or if it could be love that answered in her heart when