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Pixie O'Shaughnessy

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<h3>Chapter Twenty Five.</h3> <h4>Trouble at Knock.</h4> The Major was lying on the bank of the stream, white and motionless, while Black Bess was pawing the air in agony a few yards away. Esmeralda slipped from her saddle and ran to his side, and he opened his eyes and smiled at her feebly. “Joan, my girl! That’s right. My—own—fault! I had no business to try it, but I was—mad, I think. That poor beast!” and he turned away his head, unable to look upon the animal’s struggles. “I can’t move. Get a cart—O’Brien’s farm.” “I’ll go! I can see the chimneys. I’ll bring help at once. I’ll bring back men with me, and we’ll lift him with less pain.” Hilliard dashed off in the direction of the farm, and Joan knelt down and lifted her father’s head on to her knee. He tried to smile encouragement into the ashen face. “It might have been worse, dear! She threw me clear of the water, and I’ve no pain. I shall be all right when I get home, and have a rest.” “Yes, darling, yes. Of course you will,” answered Esmeralda bravely. Accidents in the hunting-field were unfortunately no new thing to her, and her heart died within her as she looked at the helpless limbs, and heard her father’s words. Over and over again had she heard old huntsmen marvel at the unconsciousness of those who were most mortally injured. Absence of pain, combined with loss of power in the limbs, meant serious injury to the spine, yet it seemed as if, with the comparative comfort of the body, there must be a dulling of the mental powers, since the victim frequently congratulated himself on his escape, and seemed to forget the experiences of others! As Esmeralda sat holding her father’s head on her knee, the future stretched before her, transformed by the accident of a moment. The Major would never again ride by her side, never again mount his horse and gallop over the wide green land; while he lived he must lie even as he lay now, still and straight, a child in the hands of his nurses! Poor father! oh, poor, poor father! what a death in life, to one of his restless nature! what grief, what agony to see his sufferings! The spring would come, and the summer, and the autumn, but there would be no sunshine at Knock Castle, nothing but clouds and darkness, and dull, settled gloom. Esmeralda had been her father’s darling, and had returned his love with all the fervour of a passionate Irish heart, so that the sight of him in his helplessness hurt like a physical pain, and the moments seemed endless until Hilliard returned accompanied by the farmer and three of his men. An hour later the Major was carried upstairs to his own room in the Castle, and laid gently upon the old four-poster bed. Hilliard had ridden on in advance to prepare the young mistress, and there she stood at the doorway, white to the lips, but smiling still, a smile of almost motherly tenderness as she bent over the prostrate form. “More trouble to ye, Bridgie!” murmured the Major faintly. “A little rest—that’s all I need; but that poor beast! Tell Dennis to go and put her out of her misery.” He shut his eyes and remained silent until the doctor arrived, galloping up to the door on Hilliard’s horse, which he had lent to save time, and tearing up the staircase to the sick-room with the unprofessional speed of an old and devoted friend. The examination was soon over, and fortunately the patient asked no questions; he was tired and inclined for sleep, unperturbed on his own account, but greatly distressed for the noble animal for whose agony he held himself responsible. He was soothed by the assurance that everything possible should be done to cure, or, if that were impossible, to end its sufferings, and was then left to rest while the doctor returned to the morning-room to face the sisters with what courage he might. Bridgie lay back in a deep, old-fashioned chair, a slight, almost childlike figure, her hands clasped in her lap, her shoulders bowed as by too heavy a burden—the burden of all those five motherless,—it might soon be fatherless?—children. Esmeralda, straight and defiant by the fireplace, her stormy eyes challenging his face. “I—I—there is very little to say!” The doctor passed his hands helplessly through his grey locks and wished himself at the other end of the county. “I didn’t want to fatigue him to-day, but to-morrow we can have a better examination. Perhaps Trevor would come over in consultation. He seems quite easy—quite easy and comfortable. I think he will sleep. You must keep up your hearts, and not let him think you are anxious. A great thing to keep up the spirits!” “Why do you talk like that? Why do you try to deceive us? My father will never get better. You know perfectly well that it is hopeless!” Esmeralda’s voice sounded clear and cold as falling water; her lips did not tremble, she looked the doctor full in the face with hard, defiant eyes. “I have seen other accidents before this, and know what it means. It is useless to pretend. He has no pain because his spine is too much injured. If he suffered, there might be some hope; as it is, there is none. He will lie there days, weeks, months, whichever it may be, but he will never move out of that room. He is dead already, my father, the father I love, and it will be cruel and wicked of you if you try to keep him alive!” “Joan, Joan! Oh, darling, don’t! Think what you are saying!” Tender-hearted Bridgie burst into tears, but Esmeralda would not be restrained. She turned to her sister ablaze with righteous anger. “What! You too? Would you keep him here, existing—merely existing—not able to do anything—he who has been so active all his life! It’s cruel, I tell you—cruel and selfish! You ought not even to wish such a thing!” “My child, the issues of life and death are not in our hands!” The voice of the old man sounded solemn and deep after the girl’s heated accents, and she caught her breath as she listened. “It is not for you to decide what is best. If your father lingers in helplessness, it will be for some wise purpose, and you will see that it will be less trying than you expect. Nature herself will work in his favour, for, when paralysis comes, on the brain is mercifully deadened against the worst. He will not suffer, and in all probability he will be patient and resigned. Is not that something for which to be thankful?” Bridgie covered her face with a low, heart-broken cry, for the doctor’s silent assent to Esmeralda’s verdict—the undisguised conviction that the case was hopeless—came to her with a shock of surprise before which her courage wavered. “Mother dead—father dead! All those children alone in the world, and no money for them, and only me—only me—” Her heart swelled with a great wave of protecting love; she held out her arms and cried brokenly, “Esmeralda, come—come to me. Darling, if we are to be alone, we must help each other, we must love each other more! Oh, Esmeralda, be brave, for I am frightened—I can’t do everything alone!” And at that Esmeralda gave a great cry and rushed across the room, and the old doctor groped his way downstairs, leaving the sisters sobbing in each other’s arms. <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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