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THE LEVEL OF THE LYTHE.
Dorothy's faith in Polwarth had in the meantime largely increased. She
had not only come to trust him thoroughly, but gained much strength from
the confidence. As soon as she had taken Juliet her breakfast the next
morning, she went to meet him in the park, for so they had arranged the
night before.
She had before acquainted him with the promise Juliet had exacted from
her, that she would call her husband the moment she seemed in danger--a
possibility which Juliet regarded as a certainty; and had begged him to
think how they could contrive to have Faber within call. He had now a
plan to propose with this object in view, but began, apparently, at a
distance from it.
"You know, Miss Drake," he said, "that I am well acquainted with every
yard of this ground. Had your honored father asked me whether the Old
House was desirable for a residence, I should have expressed
considerable doubt. But there is one thing which would greatly improve
it--would indeed, I hope, entirely remove my objection to it. Many years
ago I noted the state of the stone steps leading up to the door: they
were much and diversely out of the level; and the cause was evident with
the first great rain: the lake filled the whole garden--to the top of
the second step. Now this, if it take place only once a year, must of
course cause damp in the house. But I think there is more than that will
account for. I have been in the cellars repeatedly, both before and
since your father bought it; and always found them too damp. The cause
of it, I think, is, that the foundations are as low as the ordinary
level of the water in the pond, and the ground at that depth is of large
gravel: it seems to me that the water gets through to the house. I
should propose, therefore, that from the bank of the Lythe a tunnel be
commenced, rising at a gentle incline until it pierces the basin of the
lake. The ground is your own to the river, I believe?"
"It is," answered Dorothy. "But I should be sorry to empty the lake
altogether."
"My scheme," returned Polwarth, "includes a strong sluice, by which you
could keep the water at what height you pleased, and at any moment send
it into the river. The only danger would be of cutting through the
springs; and I fancy they are less likely to be on the side next the
river where the ground is softer, else they would probably have found
their way directly into it, instead of first hollowing out the pond."
"Would it be a difficult thing to do?" asked Dorothy.
"I think not," answered Polwarth. "But with your permission I will get a
friend of mine, an engineer, to look into it."
"I leave it in your hands," said Dorothy.--"Do you think we will find
any thing at the bottom?"
"Who can tell? But we do not know how near the bottom the tunnel may
bring us; there may be fathoms of mud below the level of the
river-bed.--One thing, thank God, we shall not find there!"
The same week all was arranged with the engineer. By a certain day his
men were to be at work on the tunnel.
For some time now, things had been going on much the same with all in
whom my narrative is interested. There come lulls in every process,
whether of growth or of tempest, whether of creation or destruction, and
those lulls, coming as they do in the midst of force, are precious in
their influence--because they are only lulls, and the forces are still
at work. All the time the volcano is quiet, something is going on below.
From the first moment of exhaustion, the next outbreak is preparing. To
be faint is to begin to gather, as well as to cease to expend.
Faber had been growing better. He sat more erect on his horse; his eye
was keener, his voice more kindly, though hardly less sad, and his step
was firm. His love to the child, and her delight in his attentions, were
slowly leading him back to life. Every day, if but for a moment, he
contrived to see her, and the Wingfolds took care to remove every
obstacle from the way of their meeting. Little they thought why Dorothy
let them keep the child so long. As little did Dorothy know that what
she yielded for the sake of the wife, they desired for the sake of the
husband.
At length one morning came a break: Faber received a note from the
gate-keeper, informing him that Miss Drake was having the pond at the
foot of her garden emptied into the Lythe by means of a tunnel, the
construction of which was already completed. They were now boring for a
small charge of gunpowder expected to liberate the water. The process of
emptying would probably be rapid, and he had taken the liberty of
informing Mr. Faber, thinking he might choose to be present. No one but
the persons employed would be allowed to enter the grounds.
This news gave him a greater shock than he could have believed possible.
He thought he had "supped full of horrors!" At once he arranged with his
assistant for being absent the whole day; and rode out, followed by his
groom. At the gate Polwarth joined him, and walked beside him to the Old
House, where his groom, he said, could put up the horses. That done, he
accompanied him to the mouth of the tunnel, and there left him.
Faber sat down on the stump of a felled tree, threw a big cloak, which
he had brought across the pommel of his saddle, over his knees, and
covered his face with his hands. Before him the river ran swiftly toward
the level country, making a noise of watery haste; also the wind was in
the woods, with the noises of branches and leaves, but the only sounds
he heard were the blows of the hammer on the boring-chisel, coming dull,
and as if from afar, out of the depths of the earth. What a strange,
awful significance they had to the heart of Faber! But the end was
delayed hour after hour, and there he still sat, now and then at a
louder noise than usual lifting up a white face, and staring toward the
mouth of the tunnel. At the explosion the water would probably rush in a
torrent from the pit, and in half an hour, perhaps, the pond would be
empty. But Polwarth had taken good care there should be no explosion
that day. Ever again came the blow of iron upon iron, and the boring had
begun afresh.
Into her lovely chamber Dorothy had carried to Juliet the glad tidings
that her husband was within a few hundred yards of the house, and that
she might trust Mr. Polwarth to keep him there until all danger was
over.
Juliet now manifested far more courage than she had given reason to
expect. It seemed as if her husband's nearness gave her strength to do
without his presence.
At length the child, a lovely boy, lay asleep in Dorothy's arms. The
lovelier mother also slept. Polwarth was on his way to stop the work,
and let the doctor know that its completion must be postponed for a few
days, when he heard the voice of Lisbeth behind him, calling as she ran.
He turned and met her, then turned again and ran, as fast as his little
legs could carry him, to the doctor.
"Mr. Faber," he cried, "there is a lady up there at the house, a friend
of Miss Drake's, taken suddenly ill. You are wanted as quickly as
possible."
Faber answered not a word, but went with hasty strides up the bank, and
ran to the house. Polwarth followed as fast as he could, panting and
wheezing. Lisbeth received the doctor at the door.
"Tell my man to saddle my horse, and be at the back door immediately,"
he said to her.
Polwarth followed him up the stair to the landing, where Dorothy
received Faber, and led him to Juliet's room. The dwarf seated himself
on the top of the stair, almost within sight of the door.
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