JULIA, as I have said, went to her own room, wounded unintentionally by a chance speech: she sat down sick at heart; and presently opened her window and looked out upon the starry night, and wondered where Alfred was now; that Alfred for whom nobody else had a Human heart, it seemed. “Alfred! my poor Alfred!” she sighed, and half-expected to hear him reply. Then she said to herself, “They all called you false but me; yet I was right: and now they all call you mad; but not I: I believe nothing against you. You are my own Alfred still. Where have the wretches driven you to?” At this her feelings carried her away, and she cried aloud on him despairingly, and leaned upon the window-sill, and the tears ran fast for him.
Presently out of the silence of the night seemed to struggle a faint but clear voice:
“Julia.”
She started, and a muffled scream came from her. Then she listened, all trembling. Again the voice sighed, faintly but clear, “Julia!”
“Alfred?” said she, quavering.
“Yes. Pray be cautious; give no alarm. The house is watched; bring Edward.”
She flew downstairs, and electrified Edward and Sampson with the news. “Oh, promise me not to betray him!” she cried.
“Hut!” said the doctor, starting to his feet, “what should we betray him for? I’ll cure him for you. I can cure any lunatic that has lucid intervals. Where is he?”
“Follow me,” gasped Julia. “Stay. I’ll get rid of the servants first. I’ll not play the fool, and betray him to his enemies.” She sent Sarah eastward, and Jane westward, and then led the way through the kitchen door into the yard.
They all searched about, and found nothing. Then Julia begged them to be silent. She whispered, “Alfred!” And instantly a faint voice issued from the top of a waggon laden with hay and covered with a tarpaulin. “Julia.”
They all stood staring.
“Who are those with you?” asked Alfred uneasily.
“Only friends, dear! Edward and Dr. Sampson.”
“Ned, old fellow,” groaned Alfred, “you pulled me out of the fire, won’t you help me out of this? I think my leg is broken.”
At this Julia wrung her hands, and Edward ran into the house for his rope, and threw it over the waggon. He told Julia and Sampson to hold on by one end, and seizing the other, was up on the waggon in a moment. He felt about till he came to a protuberance; and that was Alfred under the tarpaulin, in which he had cut breathing-holes with his penknife. Edward sent Julia in for a carving-knife, and soon made an enormous slit: through this a well-known figure emerged into the moonlight, and seemed wonderfully tall to have been so hidden. His hands being uninjured, he easily descended the rope, and stood on one leg, holding it. Then Sampson and Edward put each an arm under his, and helped him into the house.
After the body the mind. That is the rule throughout creation. They examined, not his reason, but his leg. Julia stood by with clasped hands, and a face beaming with pity and anxiety, that repaid his pain. Sampson announced there were no bones broken, but a bad sprain, and the limb very red and swollen. “Now,” inquired he briskly of the company, “what is the practice in sprains? Why, leeches and cold water.”
Edward offered at once to run and get them.
“Are you mad?” was the reply. “Daun’t I tell ye that is the practice? And isn’t the practice sure to be th’ opposite of the remedy? So get water as hot as he can bear it, and no leeches.”
Julia remonstrated angrily. “Is this a case for jesting?”
“Deevil a jest in it,” replied the doctor. “‘Well then, if ye must know, th’ opera-dancers apply hot water to sprains: now what is their interest? T’ expedite the cure: and the faculty apply cold water: and what is their interest? To procrastinate the cure, and make a long job of it. So just hold your toungues, and ring for hot water.”
Julia did not ring; she beckoned Edward, and they flew out and soon brought a foot-pan of hot water. Edward them removed Alfred’s shoes and stockings, and Julia bared her lovely arms, and blushed like a rose.
Alfred divined her intention. “Dear Julia,” he said, “I won’t let you: that is too high an honour. Sarah can do that.”
But Julia’s blood was up. “Sarah?” said she contemptuously; “she is too heavy handed: and — hold your tongue; I don’t take my orders from you;” then more humbly to the doctor, “I am a district visitor: I nurse all manner of strangers, and he says I must leave his poor suffering leg to the servants.”
“Unnatural young monster,” said the doctor. “G’im a good nip.”
Julia followed this advice by handling Alfred’s swollen ankle with a tenderness so exquisite, and pressing it with the full sponge so softly, that her divine touch soothed him as much or more than the water. After nursing him into the skies a minute or two, she looked up blushing in his face, and said coaxingly, “Are you mad, dear Alfred? Don’t be afraid to tell us the truth. The madder you are, the more you need me to take care of you, you know.”
Alfred smiled at this sapient discourse, and said he was not the least mad, and hoped to take care of her as soon as his ankle was well enough. This closed that sweet mouth of hers exceeding tight, and her face was seen no more for a while, but hid by bending earnestly over her work, only as her creamy poll turned pink, the colour of that hidden face was not hard to divine.
Then Edward asked Alfred how in the world he had escaped and got into that waggon. The thing was incredible. “Mirawculous,” said Dr. Sampson in assent.
“No,” said Alfred, “it looks stranger to you than it is. The moment I found my pistol was gone, I determined to run. I looked down and saw a spout with a great ornamental mouth, almost big enough to sit on; and, while I was looking greedily at it, three horses came into the yard drawing a load of hay. The waggoner was busy clearing the pavement with his wheel, and the waggon almost stopped a moment right under me. There was a lot of loose hay on the top. I let myself down, and hung by the spout a moment, and then leaped on to the loose hay. Unfortunately there were the hard trusses beneath it, and so I got my sprain. Oh, I say, didn’t it hurt? However, I crept under the hay and hid myself, and saw Wolf’s men come into the yard. By-and-by a few drops of rain fell, and some fellows chucked down a tarpaulin from the loft, and nearly smothered me: so I cut a few air-holes with my penknife. And there I lay, Heaven knows how long: it seemed two days. At last I saw an angel at a window I called her by the name she bears on earth: to my joy she answered, and here I am, as happy as a prince among you all, and devilish hungry.”
“What a muff I was not to think of that,” said Edward, and made for the larder.
“Dear doctor,” said Julia, lifting a Madonna-like face with swimming eyes, “I see no change in him: he is very brave, and daring, and saucy. But so he always was. To be sure he says extravagant things, and stares one out of countenance with his eyes: well, and so he always did — ever since I knew him.”
“Mayn’t I even look my gratitude?” whined Alfred.
“Yes, but you need not stare it.”
“It’s your own fault, Miss Julee,” said Sampson. “With you fomenting his sprain the creature’s fomenting his own insensate passion. Break every bone in a puppy’s body, and it’s a puppy still; and it doesn’t do to spoil puppies, as ye’re spoiling this one. Nlist me, ye vagabin. Take yonr eyes off the lady; and look me in the face — if ye can: and tell me how you came to leave us all in the lurch on your wedding morn.”
Julia fired up. “It was not his fault, poor thing; he was decoyed away after that miserable money. Ah, you may laugh at me for hating money; but have I not good reason to hate it?”
“Whist, whist, y’ impetuous cracter; and let him tell his own tale.”
Alfred, thus invited, delivered one of his calm, luminous statements; which had hitherto been listened to so coldly by one official after another. But the effect was mighty different, falling now on folk not paid to pity. As for Dr. Sampson, he bounced up very early in the narrative, and went striding up and down the room: he was pale with indignation, and his voice trembled with emotion, and every now and then he broke in on the well-governed narrative with oaths and curses, and observations of this kind —“Why dinnt ye kill um? I’d have killed um. I’d just have taken the first knife and killed um. Man, our Liberty is our Life. Dith to whoever attacks it!”
And so Edward coming in with Alfred’s dinner on a tray, found the soi-disant maniac delivering his wrongs with the lofty serenity of an ancient philosopher discussing the wrongs of another, Julia crying furtively into the tub, and the good physician trampling and raving about the room, like what the stoical narrator was accused of being. Edward stopped, and looked at them all over the tray. “Well,” said he, “if there’s a madman in the room, it is not Hardie. Ahem.”
“Madman? ye young ijjit,” roared the doctor, “he’s no madder than I am.”
“Heaven forbid,” said Alfred drily.
“No madder than you are, ye young Pump.”
“That’s an ungenerous skit on Edward’s profession,” objected the maniac.
“Be quite now, chattering,” said the excited doctor; “I tell ye ye niver were mad, and niver will be. It’s just the most heartless imposture, the most rascally fraud I’ve ever caught the Mad Ox out in. I’ll expose it. Gimme pninkpapr. Man, they’ll take y’ again if we don’t mind. But I’ll stop that: these ineequities can only be done in the dark. I’ll shed the light of day on ’em. Eat your dinner, and hold your tongue a minute — if ye can.” The doctor had always a high sense of Alfred’s volubility.
He went to work, and soon produced a letter headed, “PRIVATE MADHOUSES.” In this he related pithily Alfred’s incarceration, and the present attempt to recapture him, with the particulars of his escape. “That will interest th’ enemy,” said he drily. He vouched for Alfred’s sanity at both dates, and pledged himself to swear to it in a court of law. He then inquired what it availed to have sent one tyrant to Phalaris and another to Versailles in defence of our Liberty, since after all that Liberty lies grovelling at the mercy of Dr. Pill-box and Mr. Sawbones, and a single designing relative? Then he drew a strong picture of this free-born British citizen skulking and hiding at this moment from a gang of rogues and conspirators, who in France and other civilised countries that brag less of liberty than we do, would be themselves flying as criminals from the officers of justice; and he wound up with a warm appeal to the press to cast its shield over the victim of bad laws and foul practices. “In England,&r............