To The West is a Webnovel created by George Manville Fenn.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
“I say, mother, you’re going it. Hot rolls! Are they b.u.t.tered?”
“Yes, my dear, and in the oven.”
“Did you cut ’em in three?”
“Yes, dear, and put plenty of b.u.t.ter in, as you like them.”
“Hooray! Come on then, and let’s begin.”
“But, Esau dear, if you’ll only promise to stop, you shall have hot rolls for breakfast every morning. You shall, if I work night and day.”
“Then Esau and I would rather have hard biscuit and dry bread out yonder, Mrs Dean,” I said warmly; and Esau shouted–
“Hear, hear!”
Two days pa.s.sed, then a third, and we had been out, and, to please Esau’s mother, tried in several places to get engagements. But we soon found that it was hopeless, and after tramping about for hours went back to the cottage.
“Such waste of time, and such a lot of trouble,” grumbled Esau. “Why, we might have done a lot of good work hunting, or shooting, or gardening, out in Merriky yonder.”
But Mrs Dean only shook her head, and told us to try again; and we tried.
I think it was on the fourth evening that we were sitting in the little kitchen, tired, discontented, and miserable, with Mrs Dean st.i.tching away more quickly than ever, when we all started, for there was a double knock at the door, “Hullo!” cried Esau.
“Hush! my dear,” said his mother, mysteriously; “I know. It’s either Mr Dempster to beg you to go back, or news about a new place.”
She smoothed her ap.r.o.n and went to the door, picking off threads and ravelings from her dress so as to look neat, though that she always looked; and the next moment I ran to the door too, for I heard a familiar voice, and to my surprise found both Mr and Mrs John.
“Ah, my dear boy,” he cried eagerly, “we were getting uneasy about you, and thought you must be ill. My wife could not rest till we came.”
I led them into the little parlour, and placed chairs; while Mrs Dean, after a humble courtesy, went away into the kitchen.
“Is that your landlady?” continued Mrs John, as she glanced quickly round; and, before I could answer, “How beautifully neat and clean.”
“Yes, beautifully,” a.s.sented Mr John, hurriedly. “Have you heard of an engagement, Mayne?”
“No, sir,” I said sadly.
“Then you have not tried?”
“Indeed, sir, both Esau and I have tried very hard, as his mother is so averse to his going abroad.”
“Then you have given up all thought of going abroad, my dear boy?”
I shook my head.
“But you should, Mayne,” said Mrs John, in rather a low voice. “We are forced to go for my health’s sake, but you are young and strong, and with energy you ought to succeed here.”
“I should like to do what you think right, ma’am,” I said sadly.
“And we both think it right, my boy,” said Mr John. “We should dearly like to have you with us; but it would be unjust to you to encourage you to take a step which you might afterwards bitterly repent, and we should feel ourselves to blame.”
I looked at Mrs John, and she took my hand, and said sadly–
“Yes, we have had many talks about it, Mayne, and we can only come to that conclusion.”
“Then you are both going away, and I shall never see you again?” I said bitterly.
“Who can say?” said Mrs John, smiling. “You know why I am going. I may come back in a few years strong and well, to find you a prosperous and–Ah!”
“Alexes! my child!” cried Mr John in agony, for Mrs John, who had been speaking in a low voice, suddenly changed colour, raised her hands to her throat, as she uttered a low sigh, and would have fallen from her chair if I had not caught and supported her.
We were lifting her to the little horse-hair couch, when there was a tap at the door, and Mrs Dean appeared.
“Is anything the–“
“Matter,” she would have said, but as she caught sight of Mrs John’s white face, she came forward quickly, and with all the clever management of a practised nurse, a.s.sisted in laying the fainting woman back on the couch.
“She’s weak, and been trying to do too much, sir.”
“Yes, yes, I was afraid,” cried Mr John. “But she would come–to see you, Mayne. Tell me where–I’ll run for a doctor.”
“Oh no, sir,” said Mrs Dean, quietly; “I’ll bathe her temples a bit.
She’ll soon come round.”
Mrs Dean hurried out of the room, and was back directly with basin, sponge, towels, and a tiny little silver box.
“You hold that to her nose, Mr Gordon, while I sponge her face. Mind– it’s very strong.”
“But a doctor,” panted Mr John in agony. “She has been so terribly ill. This was too much for her.”
“If you fetched a doctor, sir, he’d tell us to do just what we’re a-doing. Bathe her face and keep her head low. There, poor dear! she’s coming round. Oh, how thin and white she is!”
Mrs Dean was quite right, for under her ministrations the patient soon opened her eyes, to look vacantly about for a few moments, and murmur–
“So weak–so weak.”
“Are you better, dearest?” whispered her husband.
She smiled feebly, and closed her eyes for a time. Then with a deep sigh she looked up again, and made an effort to rise.
“Ah, that’s right,” said Mr John; “you feel better.”
“No, no,” said Mrs Dean, firmly, “not yet. She must lie still till the faintness has gone off, or she’ll bring it back,” and, with a sigh, Mrs John resigned herself to the stronger will, Mr John nodding at me, and saying in a whisper–
“Yes, Mayne; she knows best.”
A few minutes later Mrs Dean went towards the door.