The Daltons; Or, Three Roads In Life. Volume II. Lever Charles James

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СКАЧАТЬ was already past noon when Grounsell reached Florence. He was delayed at the gate by the authorities examining a peasant’s cart in front of him, – a process which appeared to take a most unusual degree of care and scrutiny, – and thus gave the doctor another occasion for inveighing against the “stupid ignorance of foreigners, who throw every possible impediment in the way of traffic and intercourse.”

      “What have they discovered now?” cried he, testily, as in a crowd of vehicles, of all sorts and sizes, he was jammed up like a coal-vessel in the river. “Is the peasant a revolutionary general in disguise? or has he got Bibles or British cutlery under the straw of his baroccino?”

      “No, Eccellenza.” (Every one in a passion in Italy is styled Eccellenza, as an “anodyne.”) “It’s a sick man, and they don’t know what to do with him.”

      “Is there a duty on ague or nervous fever?” asked he, angrily.

      “They suspect he’s dead, Eccellenza; and if so, there’s no use in bringing him into the city, to bring him out again by and by.”

      “And don’t they know if a man be dead or alive?”

      “Not when he’s a foreigner, Illustrissimo; and such is the case here.”

      “Ah, very true!” said Grounsell, dryly, as if acquiescing in the truth of the remark. “Let me have a look at him; perhaps I can assist their judgment.” And with this he descended, and made his way through the crowd, who, in all the eagerness of curiosity, thronged around the cart A peasant’s great-coat was drawn over the figure and even the face of the sick man, as he lay at full length on the mat flooring of the baroccino; and on his chest some pious hand had deposited a rosary and a wooden crucifix.

      Grounsell hastily drew back the covering, and then clutching an arm of those at either side of him, he uttered a faint cry, for the pale and deathlike features before him were those of George Onslow. The instincts of the doctor, however, soon rose above every other feeling, and his hand seized the wrist and felt for the pulse. Its beatings were slow, labored, and irregular, denoting the brain as the seat of injury. Grounsell, therefore, proceeded to examine the head, which, covered with clogged and matted blood, presented a terrific appearance; yet neither there nor elsewhere was there any trace of injury by fire-arms. The history of discovery was soon told. A shepherd had detected the body as he passed the spot, and, hailing some peasants on their way to Florence, advised their taking charge of it to the city, where they would be surely recompensed. The natural suggestion of Grounsel’s mind was that, in making his escape from the gendarmes, Onslow had fallen over a cliff. To convey him home, and get him to bed, if possible, before Sir Stafford should hear of the misfortune, was his first care; and in this he succeeded. It was the time when Sir Stafford usually slept; and Grounsell was able to examine his patient, and satisfy himself that no fatal injury was done, long before the old Baronet awoke.

      “Sir Stafford wishes to see you, sir; he asked for you repeatedly to-day,” said Proctor.

      “Has he heard – does he know anything of this?” said Grounsell, with a gesture to the bed where George lay.

      “Not a word, sir. He was very cheerful all the morning, but wondering where you could have gone, and what Mister George was doing.”

      “Now for it, then,” muttered Grounsell to himself, as, with clasped hands and knitted brows, he walked along; his mind suffering the very same anxieties as had oftentimes beset him on the eve of some painful operation in his art.

      “Well, Grounsell,” said the old man, with a smile, as he entered, “is it to give me a foretaste of my altered condition that you all desert me to-day? You have never come near me, nor George either, so far as I can learn.”

      “We’ve had a busy morning of it, Stafford,” said the doctor, sitting down on the bed, and laying his finger on the pulse. “You are better – much better to-day. Your hand is like itself, and your eye is free from fever.”

      “I feel it, Gronnsell, – I feel as if, with some twenty years less upon my back, I could like to begin my tussle with the world, and try issue with the best.”

      “You ‘re young enough, and active enough yet, for what is before you, Stafford. Yesterday I told you of everything in colors perhaps gloomier than reality. The papers of to-day are somewhat more cheery in their tidings. The hurricane may pass over, and leave us still afloat; but there is another trial for you, my old friend, and you must take heart to bear it well and manfully.”

      Sir Stafford sat up in his bed, and, grasping Grounsell by either shoulder, cried out, “Go on – tell it quickly.”

      “Be calm, Stafford; be yourself, my old friend,” said Grounsell, terrified at the degree of emotion he had called up. “Your own courageous spirit will not desert you now.”

      “I know it,” said the old man, as, relaxing his grasp, he fell back upon the pillow, and then, turning on his face, he uttered a deep groan. “I know your tidings now,” cried he, in a burst of agony. “Oh, Grounsell, what is all other disgrace compared to this?”

      “I am speaking of George – of your son,” interposed Gronnsell, hastily, and seizing with avidity the opportunity to reveal all at once. “He left this for Pratolino this morning to fight a duel, but by some mischance has fallen over a cliff, and is severely injured.”

      “He’s dead, – you would tell me he is dead!” said the old man, in a faint, thrilling whisper.

      “Far from it Alive, and like to live, but still sorely crushed and wounded.”

      “Oh, God!” cried the old man, in a burst of emotion, “what worldliness is in my heart when I am thankful for such tidings as this! When it is a relief to me to know that my child – my only son – lies maimed and broken on a sick-bed, instead of – instead of – ” A gush of tears here broke in upon his utterance, and he wept bitterly.

      Grounsell knew too well the relief such paroxysms afford to interfere with their course; while, to avoid any recurrence, even in thought, to the cause, he hurriedly told all that he knew of George’s intended meeting with the Frenchman, and his own share in disturbing the rendezvous.

      Sir Stafford never spoke during this recital. The terrible shock seemed to have left its stunning influence on his faculties, and he appeared scarcely able to take in with clearness the details into which the other entered.

      “She’s gone to Como, then,” were the first words he uttered, – “to this villa the Prince has lent her?”

      “So I understand; and, from what Proctor says, the Russian is going to marry the Dalton girl.”

      “Miss Dalton is along with Lady Hester?”

      “To be sure; they travel together, and George was to have followed them.”

      “Even scandal, Grounsell, can make nothing of this. What say you, man?”

      “You may defy it on that score, Stafford. But let us talk of what is more imminent, – of George.”

      “I must see him, Grounsell; I must see my poor boy,” said he, rising, and making an effort to get out of bed; but weakness and mental excitement together overcame him, and he sank back again, fainting and exhausted. To this a deep, heavy sleep succeeded, and Grounsell stole away, relieved in mind by having acquitted himself of his painful task, and free to address his thoughts to other cares.

      “Lord Norwood wishes to see you, sir,” said a servant to the doctor, as he at last seated himself СКАЧАТЬ