The strange transfiguration of Hannah Stubbs
upon her mouth. She drew a knife at once from her pocket--he could see
the flash of the blade as she grasped it in her hand. The instinct of
self-preservation made him push her from him--she retreated towards
the stairs and slipped on the yielding carpet, and before he could do
anything to save her, the great unwieldy body, unable to recover
itself, had rolled with a scream of terror, down to the very hall,
where it lay inert and unconscious, crushed into a mass of senseless
clay.
As the Baron realised the accident that had occurred, all his
resentment was merged in compassion. He forgot the mocking evil spirit
that had so lately defied and insulted him, and remembered only that
here lay a suffering fellow-creature--a patient to be relieved.
His medical skill rose paramount to every other consideration, and he
was at the foot of the stairs almost as soon as she was. Three or four
servants appeared upon the scene--all had heard the heavy fall and the
scream which had accompanied it. Karl von Steinberg turned the body
gently over--it was totally unconscious and the limbs fell limply from
it. He could not tell how much or how little she was injured--the
first thing to do was to carry her upstairs again to her room--the
next to dispatch a servant for the best surgeon in Town, to render his
professional assistance.
Meanwhile the body of Hannah lay crumpled up upon the bed, and had not
given a single sign of life. She was not dead, so far Von Steinberg
was able to ascertain, but if she would ever regain her consciousness,
he was unable to say. In a short time, he was joined by the famous
surgeon who had fortunately been disengaged, and between them they
undressed the poor mangled carcase, and ascertained the amount of
injury done to it. It was fearful. One thigh had to be set--two
ribs--the left arm--and an ankle. When the operations were completed,
Hannah lay like a swathed mummy in her bed, with her body broken in
all directions, and still unconscious.
“Will she recover?” demanded her husband, “will she ever speak, or
open her eyes again? What is your opinion?”
“It is hard to say, Baron! _You_ should know the lady’s constitution
better than I can. She appears to have a powerful frame, if her
physical strength corresponds with it, I should think it probable that
she will regain her consciousness by and by--but as to recovery, I
really should not like to express an opinion. You see for yourself the
maimed condition she is in--all I can say is, that a cure is possible,
but not at all probable. How did this sad event occur?”
“We were laughing and playing together on the landing,” replied Von
Steinberg, unwilling to disclose the real cause of the accident to a
stranger, “and the Marchesa went back towards the staircase and
overbalanced herself. I made a rush, with the hope of catching her,
but I was too late to prevent her falling. It is a terrible height,
and she lighted on the marble floor at the bottom, with her head under
her. I made sure at first, that she had broken her neck. I was going
to add, ‘Thank God, it is not so,’ but I really do not know which
would be worse!”
“No! no! you must not be so despairing as all that!” replied the
other, “your wife may recover sufficiently to enjoy her life yet, and
if not--at all events you would like to say a few words to her before
she leaves you! Now, I will send you a good hospital nurse at
once--one quite experienced in these cases--and I shall look in again
before nightfall. You are, of course, perfectly competent to look
after the case yourself, but we all like to take counsel with our
friends on such occasions. For the present then, good-bye!”
He left Von Steinberg sitting by the side of their patient, and he did
not stir thence until the nurse arrived. What strange thoughts coursed
through his mind, as he held that silent, solitary vigil!
He looked at poor Hannah, bandaged from head to foot, with the deepest
compassion. Was this to be the end of it? Was she to pay for the
indulgence of other people’s curiosity, with her life?
The poor girl looked twice as distasteful in her mutilated condition
than heretofore. Her dull, flat face had resumed its normal vacuous
expression, whilst the rosy colour had fled from her cheeks, to be
replaced by a livid, purplish hue. Her large, coarse hands lay outside
the coverlet, and were discoloured and bruised, whilst her beautiful
eyes--her sole point of attraction--were closed, and left her rugged
features without expression.
Yet in Von Steinberg’s sight, she appeared more interesting now than
she had done for a long time past. He gently raised her swollen hand
and held it between his warm palms. How cold and heavy and sodden it
felt, almost as if she were already a corpse. The livid face did not
repulse him, as it had done when Leonora’s evil spirit animated it! It
awoke no feeling in his breast but pity for a young life so spoilt and
mis-used for the sake of others. He resolved that if she recovered he
would take her away to some place far from London, and the
inquisitiveness of strangers, and see if he could not contrive to let
her pass the remainder of her life in peace and quietness, as Hannah
Stubbs, ignorant and uncouth perhaps, but refreshingly simple and
pure, after the experience he had lately had with her.
The time passed on, but the Baron still kept his place by the bedside.
The servants came up to announce that his dinner was ready, but he
declined to partake of it--the housekeeper begged her master to let
her take his place if only for a few minutes, but he shook his head
and told her to leave him to himself. The dusk deepened and they
offered him lights--he said he preferred to sit in the dark till the
nurse arrived. So the door was closed and he remained there by
himself, musing sadly on the events of the day.
Suddenly, when he had spent some fifteen or twenty minutes in these
reflections, not knowing how time went, he mechanically raised his
eyes, and perceived, standing at the foot of the bed, the most
beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her unbound hair, black as the
raven’s wing, fell in thick masses below her waist--her large luminous
eyes glowed like two fires--her white arms and hands were stretched
towards him--whilst her gaze was wistful and melancholy. He stared at
her in return, wondering who she could be, and whence she had come.
Gradually, as he was looking at her, and just about to speak, he saw
the melancholy look on her face change to a bewitching smile, the eyes
sparkled like diamonds, the features assumed an arch expression--she
changed from an angel to a devil--_it was Leonora!_ Von Steinberg felt
murderous--had she been mortal, he would have killed her!
“What are you here for?” he exclaimed. “Have you come to gloat over
your cruel work? Get out of my sight, I command you, and never dare to
trouble her or me again!”
Leonora gave her mocking smile as answer. The Baron felt in despair.
“God Almighty!” he cried, clasping his hands and looking upwards,
“deliver me and mine from the power of this mocking devil!”
As he pronounced the words, with all the fervour of which his soul was
capable, the Spirit gave a shriek, and flew like lightning down the
stairs. The sound was heard all over the house, and the housekeeper
appeared again to inquire if her ladyship had stirred.
“No! Mrs. Marston,” replied the Baron, sorrowfully, “she lies in
exactly the same state. I am beginning to give up all hope!”
“O! don’t say that, Baron! Whilst there’s life, you know, there’s
always hope! But who was it, then, that screamed just now?”
“Screamed!” he echoed, “did you hear a scream?”
“Dear me, yes! we all heard it! I quite thought it was her ladyship
coming to!”
“And did you meet anybody on the stairs?” asked Von Steinberg, with
interest.
“_Meet anybody!_ why, no! Baron! they’re all of them below, and I have
given particular orders that they don’t stir, without my permission,
lest they should disturb her ladyship. But there’s the bell. I
shouldn’t wonder if that was the nurse! I’ll go and see!”
It proved to be the nurse, and Mrs. Marston returned with her to the
bedroom. The new-comer regarded her patient in silence. It was not her
business to pass an opinion of any kind, but an acute observer might
have read from the expression of her eyes, that she had not much hope
of a favourable ending to the case. As soon as she had taken over
charge, Von Steinberg retired to his own room, leaving strict orders
that he was to be called, if there was the slightest change.
His head was confused and dizzy--his heart alternately burning with
indignation and sorrow--he felt as if he was the greatest sinner that
had ever breathed.
He could not rest, but spent the evening pacing up and down the room,
trying to think of some compensation for the unintentional wrong he
had done. The surgeon came at midnight, and pronounced that there was
no change in the Marchesa’s condition--gave a few directions to the
nurse--and promised to visit his patient again on the morrow. Von
Steinberg gave another look at the pale, uninteresting face that had
almost become dear to him--pressed the lifeless hand--and cautioned
the attendant to be sure and call him if necessary.
At about four in the morning, she tapped at his door.
“If you please, Baron, the lady has spoken, and seems to be looking
for some one, but I’m afraid she is not yet in her right mind--a
little light-headed, I mean, but you’d better come and see her.”
Von Steinberg hurried on his clothes and hastened to Hannah’s bedside.
Her eyes were open, and roving round the room in a strange, mystified
manner, but when she caught sight of the Baron, she recognised him at
once and gave a pitiful smile for welcome.
“Lor! Doctor, ’ave they sent for you? I’m sure I dunno what ’ave come
to me, but I feels so bad--as if I was broke all over. Why did you
bring me ’ere? Be it a horspital? And do the Professor know? I should
like to see the Professor, Doctor, for I feel _that_ bad, and ’e was
very good to me!”
“Hush, Hannah! Hush! my dear!” said Von Steinberg, quickly, noting the
bewildered look of the nurse at hearing a Marchioness talk in so
uneducated a manner, “you shall hear everything when you are a little
stronger! Yes! you have met with a bad accident, my dear, and I am
afraid you will have to remain quiet for a few days, but you will get
all right, if you will be patient. Here is your nurse, who will pay
you every attention, and make you well as soon as she can, and I am
here, too, to look after you!”
Hannah regarded him with the limp, stolid expression which he
remembered so well of old, as if she were trying to follow the sense
of what he said to her, without the capability of doing so.
“But where’s the Professor--my ’usband, you know! I wants to see ’im,
’e may be vexed ’cos I said I would get ’im a nice little
supper--tasty, what he likes--and if I don’t get back in time, he
won’t ’ave none.”
“Hannah! Ricardo cannot come to you just now! You must believe what I
tell you! Nurse! have you any beef-tea ready? Give her a teaspoonful
with a little brandy in it. She is growing faint.”
“O! I haches all hover!” groaned poor Hannah, as the weak tears oozed
from her eyes with the pain she was enduring, “I shan’t be able to get
the Professor’s meals, not for days and days, and ’e _will_ be sorry
when ’e ears I’m in the horspital. Was I run over, Doctor? I feels
like it! just as if a great cart wheel ’ad gone right hover me, and
crushed all my bones! O! it’s hagony!”
“I know it must be, poor child, but we are doing all we can to relieve
you! Here! drink this!” said Von Steinberg, as he held the broth, into
which he had dropped some sedative, to her lips, and stood by her,
until she had dropped off into a moaning slumber.