Chapter 6 HELP AT HAND.

Dick Causton's cottage—as it was called by courtesy, being, in truth, only a better sort of cabin—stood on a sandy corner of the estate that he had formerly owned. At first, he had begged to remain there only until he could fix upon some more eligible place of abode; but the owner was good natured, and Dick was indolent to the point not only of letting well enough alone, but bad enough, too; so it gradually came to be understood that he was a life-tenant, by sufferance, of the place. Nor did the owner deem it worth while to interfere, when, in course of time, Dick made the discovery that the sand composing this small domain was of superior quality, and proceeded to convert it into cash, at the rate of two or three pennies a load, and to swallow it a second time, in the shape of alcohol. The process ceased only when the digging threatened to undermine the cottage; which was thus left high and dry upon a triangular sand promontory, with a deep excavation on each side. The base of the triangle—a part of it, at least—touched the boundary line of Oakstead, very near the point where Bergan had been left for dead by "Big Ben."

Dick had risen unusually early on that morning. Owing to his sudden flight from the Rat-Hole, he had failed to replenish his stock of brandy, as he had designed; and the small quantity on hand had been insufficient to blunt the thorns in his pillow, planted partly by Doctor Remy's threats, and partly by the reproaches of his own conscience. He had tossed about on their sharp points for the better part of the night, and was glad when dawn brought such a measure of relief as was to be derived from movement and occupation. In the absence of stronger stimulant, he was fain to brace his nerves with a cup of tea; to which end a fire was unfortunately necessary, and fuel must be sought in the adjoining woods of Oakstead. While engaged in this task, he, caught sight of a prostrate form, half-hidden in the underbrush.

"Quien busca, hallará,—He who seeks will find, but he cannot tell what," he muttered, peevishly. "Is the fellow drunk, or only asleep, I wonder?"

He stole some paces nearer, then gave a start and stopped; he had seen blood stains on the man's clothing. At the same moment, the lines of the figure struck him as familiar, and while he strove to identify them, a light breeze lifted the leaves of an overhanging bush, and revealed an easily recognized profile. Immediately he was kneeling by Bergan, trying his best to discover some sign of life.

He was unsuccessful; yet, thanks to his store of proverbs, he did not quite despair. "No barber shaves so close that another cannot find work," he said, encouragingly, to himself, and bent all his energies to the difficult task of dragging Bergan into his cabin. He dared not wait to call assistance, none being within easy reach; besides, he reasoned that the transit, if not too ungently managed, would tend to restoration rather than, otherwise. Moreover, having at once connected Doctor Remy with Bergan's condition, and being thereby inspired with an inordinate dread of the doctor's power to harm, he fancied that the first necessity was to get the young man into a place of concealment.

"A good heart rids work," he murmured exultingly, when, panting and exhausted, after many a pause for breath, and many a start of fright, he at length dragged Bergan across his threshold, and closed and locked the door.

He next applied himself, with good will and not unskilfully, to the task of restoring animation. The wound, it appeared, had touched no vital part—Big Ben's intention having been better than his aim—and, being helped by the position in which Bergan had lain, it had stanched itself. The blows of Ben's heavy fist had been much more effective. Dick wellnigh gave up in despair before his efforts were rewarded by the faintest sign that the soul had not forever quitted its earthly house. Taking heart then, he worked on till the eyes opened and the lips moved, but not with intelligent sight or coherent speech. The one beheld only the misty phantoms, as the other gave utterance but to the wild fancies, of a fevered and delirious imagination. Now, his uncle's death-bed was the gloomy subject of Bergan's ravings; now, he beheld Carice in danger or distress, and sought to hasten to her relief, making it necessary for Dick to hold him in bed by main strength.

For two nights and three days, Dick had thus been forced to keep watch over him, not daring to leave him for a moment, lest he should do himself irremediable harm, during his absence. Nor was he disinclined to the task. Bergan had won all his heart by the courtesy and consideration with which he had uniformly treated him, no less than his admiration by his fearless, upright character. "Your nephew has all my best proverbs in his life, whereas, I only have them in my head," he had once remarked to the Major, by way of lavishing his choicest encomium upon the rejected heir; and he now did his best for the young man's comfort and cure, with the somewhat meagre appliances at his command. In the way of nourishment, the cabin afforded only a little tea and beef broth; in the way of medicine, nothing but two or three soothing herb-drinks, cold water, pure air, and perfect silence. With the three last, however, nature can work wonders; and, in this case, she wrought so effectively that, on the afternoon of the third day, Bergan sank into a quiet sleep, to awake in great weakness, but fully himself.

"Where am I?" he asked, feebly, glancing wonderingly around him.

"Where charity begins—at home," answered Dick, graciously; "that is, if you will continue to make yourself so, as you have been doing for the last three days."

"Three days!" exclaimed Bergan, trying to spring up, but failing by reason of his weakness;—"what do you mean?"

Dick saw his mistake, but it was too late to retreat. Bergan's mind had at once recurred to the last item in his memory,—namely, Big Ben's uplifted fist,—and had easily connected it with his present condition. Being now made aware of the lapse of time since then by Dick's incautious admission, nothing remained but to give truthful answers to the questions that he rapidly put. Quick at logical inference, the facts that he had disappeared suddenly, and that no trace of him had been found, were soon patent to him. He was filled with dismay. What distress his mysterious absence must have cost his friends! What evil use of it might have been made by his enemy! At the thought, he made another attempt to rise, and partially succeeded, but only to fall back again, half fainting.

"Take care. Quien mas corre, menos vuela,—the more haste the worst speed," said Dick, warningly. "Stay a little, and news will find you."

"Not until it is too late, I fear," returned Bergan. "Since I cannot do it myself, I must beg you to go immediately to my Uncle Godfrey, and let him know that I am here, and ask him to come and see me at once, if possible. Tell him privately, so as not to startle anybody else," he added, with a thought of Carice; "and leave him to extend the information to whomsoever he pleases."

"I would much rather go to your Uncle Harry," objected Dick, loath to present himself at Oakstead, lest he should encounter Doctor Remy.

"He is dead," answered Bergan gravely.

Dick looked astonished, but muttered, resignedly,—"God sends no more than can be borne." Then he bowed low to Bergan. "Dopo un papa, se ne fa un altro," said he,—"The King is dead, long live the King; I congratulate you."

"Upon what?" asked Bergan, with a keen glance;—"Doctor Remy's succession?"

"Of course not," replied Dick, coloring and laughing. "Doctor Remy will find out that Den sviges vaerst, som sviger sig selv,—He is worse cheated who cheats himself. But," he added, with a quick change of countenance, "he must have found it out already."

The thought was a startling one. Much as Dick had enjoyed the certainty of the doctor's final discomfiture, he had not expected that it would come so soon; nor had he known, as now, the extent of the doctor's resources in the way of his interest or his vengeance. As he pondered the matter, he was dismayed to recognize in the false will, the Major's death, and the attempt on Bergan's life, apparent parts of the same plan, and to infer therefrom the subtle and determined character of the man whom he had ventured to try to outwit. Had he succeeded? If so, he had everything to dread from the doctor's resentment; if not—if Doctor Remy had found means to carry out his plans to the end, and cover his tracks, as he seemed to have done thus far—would he dare to open his mouth against him, only to take a share in his punishment? Right and honor were good things, but could they make a prison a pleasant abode?

Here, Bergan broke in upon his troubled reflections. "I must remind you," said he, "that no time should be wasted. My disappearance must have caused much anxiety, and my uncle should be informed where I am, without delay."

"Very well," said Dick, glad, on the whole, to be relieved from further consideration of his difficulties. "I'll be off instanter, if you'll promise not to stir while I'm gone. And if anybody knocks, don't speak, or even breathe loud;—likely enough it will be Doctor Remy, and, in your case, discretion is the better part of valor. I'll make all fast behind me, so that no one can get in. And I'll hurry back, and bring your uncle with me, if I can."

At Oakstead, Dick was informed that Mr. Bergan was at the Hall, and wherefore. He dared not go after him, knowing that Doctor Remy would certainly be there also. He debated with himself, for a moment, whether it would not be well to make his errand known to Mrs. Bergan; but murmuring cynically, "A woman conceals only what she don't know," he decided to entrust her with a message simply. This was so mysteriously and solemnly given, however, as necessarily to suggest to her, after his departure, that he might possibly have found some clue to the mystery of Bergan's absence; whereupon she dispatched a servant to the Hall with the message,—though not without a strict injunction that he should deliver it to his master privately. But this, as has been seen, was not so well observed as to prevent some portion of the message from reaching Doctor Remy's ears, and exciting his suspicions.