there was no movement up-stairs; and Yorke seemed to be the only person awake, as standing by the window he looked out on the dull winter landscape — the swollen river flowing by, the view bounded by the leafless branches of the trees which bordered its banks, the smouldering ruins of the burnt house in the foreground, while the past history of the two unfortunate beings who shared the little chamber with him passed swiftly through his mind. Ruin indeed! What picture could depict the ruin which had fallen on these two — the best, the noblest, as he used to think, of all he knew?
Presently the sound of wheels could be heard, and a carriage stopped before the inn, on the road which ran by the back of the house.
Yorke went out to see who had come, and turning round as he left the room, he saw that Olivia, still on her knees, did not appear to notice his departure.
As he came up to the carriage, Mr. Hanckes, who had just got down, was helping Lucy to alight, followed by her maid.
Lucy had come to fetch the lady and children, the news of whose escape and homeless condition had been conveyed to "The Beeches" by the engine-party returning from their fruitless errand. The carriage was full of cloaks and shawls. Mrs. Peevor would have come, but was not ready. "I was dressed first," Lucy explained, "and papa thought I had better start at once, so that no time might be lost, and Mr. Hanckes was kind enough to come too, and says he will walk back to make room." There was more to the same effect, messages "of condolence, and inquiries after the poor gentleman who was so dreadfully hurt. Mr. Peevor would come down presently with Johnson to see if he could be moved to "The Beeches;" but there were pressing entreaties that the lady and children would return at once in the carriage.
Mr. Hanckes moved off to have a look at the fire, while Yorke thought for a moment what would be best to do. A woman might perhaps supply the consolation and help for Olivia, of which she must be sorely in need, but which he felt unable to give; but he shrank from letting Lucy witness the scene within; nor, he felt sure, would Olivia be persuaded to leave her post at present. Above all, the secret must be kept if possible. He replied, therefore, that the lady would not wish to leave at present, till the doctor came from town, who was expected very soon. He was an old friend, and would advise what to do. The injured man lay between life and death, and there was the deepest anxiety till Dr. Maxwell should arrive and propose some treatment. But he would tell Mrs. Wood of the kind plans suggested, and would urge her to accept the offer later in the day, unless indeed a lady, an old friend, who had been telegraphed for, or Dr. Maxwell, should propose to take her away. At any rate she would feel deeply the kindness of Lucy and the family.
Lucy asked if she could not take back the children — they at any rate would be better out of the way; and Yorke explained that they had been put to bed, and were asleep. But later in the day it might be a great kindness to send for them.
"And you yourself?" asked Lucy, whose earnestness in the matter had so far kept her free from embarrassment, and who was talking to her lover with more self-possession than she could have commanded a few hours before.
"I will stay, at any rate till Dr. Maxwell arrives. I will then send word what is proposed, or come to tell Mr. Peevor myself. Pray ask him not to be at the trouble of coming himself, or sending again till he hears from me; perfect quiet is the best thing for the injured man." Yorke wanted to keep the family away till he could arrange a plan with Maxwell.
"The poor gentleman was an old friend of Mrs. Wood, we hear," said Lucy.
"Yes, they knew each other in India some years ago; we were all intimate together; that accounts for the interest I take in them: it is a strange story." As Yorke said this with as much indifference of manner as he could command, he could see that Lucy was conscious that more was meant than was implied. There was a moment's embarrassment, and then Lucy, stepping back to the carriage, produced his dressing-bag. "Rundall, the man who waits on you," she said with a little blush, "has put up your things for you. I thought perhaps you might be wanting to stay for a time, and that it might be useful to bring this." And as Yorke took the bag from her he could not forbear from pressing the little hand, accompanying the action with a kindly glance which sent Lucy's eyes dancing with pleasure. The next moment he felt ashamed of doing so; was this a time for love-making, when those he professed to hold so dear to him were close by, the victims of a dreadful fate?
And yet something was due to his gentle
