The wind of which Julia complained swirled and whistled about her. It increased in force; it plucked at her shawl and slewed it about her throat; it tore at the lace on her dress. It snatched at her hair, it wrenched it away from the pins, the combs that held it in place; one long tress was lashed across the face of Miss Flemming. Then the hair, completely released, eddied up above the girl’s head, and next moment was carried as a drift before her, blinding her. Then – a sudden explosion, as though a gun had been fired into her ear; and with a scream of terror she sank back among the cushions. Miss Flemming, in great alarm, pulled the checkstring, and the carriage stopped. The footman descended from the box and came to the side. The old lady drew down the window and said: ‘Oh! Phillips, bring the lamp. Something has happened to Miss Demant.’
The man obeyed, and sent a flood of light into the carriage. Julia was lying back, white and senseless. Her hair was scattered over her face, neck, and shoulders; the flowers that had been stuck in it, the pins that had fastened it in place, the pads that had given shape to the convolutions lay strewn, some on her lap, some in the rug at the bottom of the carriage.
‘Phillips!’ ordered the old lady in great agitation, ‘tell Rogers to turn the horses and drive home at once; and do you run as fast as you can for Dr. Crate.’
A few minutes after the carriage was again in motion, Julia revived. Her aunt was chafing her hand.
‘Oh, aunt!’ she said, ‘are all the glasses broken?’
‘Broken – what glasses?’
‘Those of the carriage – with the explosion.’
‘Explosion, my dear!’
‘Yes. That gun which was discharged. It stunned me. Were you hurt?’
‘I heard no gun – no explosion.’
‘But I did. It was as though a bullet had been discharged into my brain. I wonder that I escaped. Who can have fired at us?’
‘My dear, no one fired. I heard nothing. I know what it was. I had the same experience many years ago. I slept in a damp bed, and awoke stone deaf in my right ear. I remained so for three weeks. But one night when I was at a ball and was dancing, all at once I heard a report as of a pistol in my right ear, and immediately heard quite clearly again. It was wax.’
‘But, Aunt Elizabeth, I have not been deaf.’
‘You have not noticed that you were deaf.’
‘Oh! but look at my hair; it was that wind that blew it about.’
‘You are labouring under a delusion,[6] Julia. There was no wind.’
‘But look – feel how my hair is down.’
‘That has been done by the motion of the carriage. There are many ruts in the road.’ They reached home, and Julia, feeling sick, frightened, and bewildered, retired to bed. Dr. Crate arrived, said that she was hysterical, and ordered something to soothe her nerves. Julia was not convinced. The explanation offered by Miss Flemming did not satisfy her. That she was a victim to hysteria she did not in the least believe. Neither her aunt, nor the coachman, nor Phillips had heard the discharge of a gun. As to the rushing wind, Julia was satisfied that she had experienced it. The lace was ripped, as by a hand, from her dress, and the shawl was twisted about her throat; besides, her hair had not been so slightly arranged that the jolting of the carriage would completely disarrange it. She was vastly perplexed over what she had undergone. She thought and thought, but could get no nearer to a solution of the mystery.
Next day, as she was almost herself again, she rose and went about as usual. In the afternoon the Hon. James Lawlor called and asked after Miss Flemming. The butler replied that his mistress was out making calls, but that Miss Demant was at home, and he believed was on the terrace. Mr. Lawlor at once asked to see her.
He did not find Julia in the parlour or on the terrace, but in a lower garden to which she had descended to feed the goldfish in the pond.
‘Oh! Miss Demant,’ said he, ‘I was so disappointed not to see you at the ball last night.’
‘I was very unwell; I had a fainting fit and could not go.’
‘It threw a damp on our spirits – that is to say, on mine. I had you booked for several dances.’
‘You were able to give them to others.’
‘But that was not the same to me. I did an act of charity and self-denial. I danced instead with the ugly Miss Burgons and with Miss Pounding, and that was like dragging about a sack of potatoes. I believe it would have been a jolly evening, but for that shocking affair of young Hattersley which kept some of the better sort away. I mean those who know the Hattersleys. Of course, for me that did not matter, we were not acquainted. I never even spoke with the fellow. You knew him, I believe? I heard some people say so, and that you had not come because of him. The supper, for a subscription ball,[7] was not atrociously bad.’
‘What did they say of me?’
‘Oh! – if you will know – that you did not attend the ball because you liked him very much, and were awfully cut up.’
‘I—I! What a shame that people should talk! I never cared a rush for him. He was nice enough in his way, not a bounder, but tolerable as young men go.’
Mr. Lawlor laughed. ‘I should not relish to have such a qualified estimate made of me.’
‘Nor need you. You are interesting. He became so only when he had shot himself. It will be by this alone that he will be remembered.’
‘But there is no smoke without fire. Did he like you – much?’
‘Dear Mr. Lawlor, I am not a clairvoyante,[8] and never was able to see into the brains or hearts of people – least of all of young men. Perhaps it is fortunate for me that I cannot.’
‘One lady told me that he had proposed to you.’
‘Who was that? The potato-sack?’
‘I will not give her name. Is there any truth in it? Did he?’
‘No.’
At the moment she spoke there sounded in her ear a whistle of wind, and she felt a current like a cord of ice creep round her throat, increasing in force and compression, her hat was blown off, and next instant a detonation rang through her head as though a gun had been fired into her ear. She uttered a cry and sank upon the ground, James Lawlor was bewildered. His first impulse was to run to the house for assistance; then he considered that he could not leave her lying on the wet soil, and he stooped to raise her in his arms and to carry her within. In novels young men perform such a feat without difficulty; but in fact they are not able to do it, especially when the girl is tall and big-boned. Moreover, one in a faint is a dead weight. Lawlor staggered under his burden to the steps. It was as much as he could perform to carry her up to the terrace, and there he placed her on a seat. Panting, and with his muscles quivering after the strain, he hastened to the drawing-room, rang the bell, and when the butler appeared, he gasped: ‘Miss Demant has fainted; you and I and the footman must carry her within.’
‘She fainted last night in the carriage,’ said the butler.
When Julia came to her senses, she was in bed attended by the housekeeper and her maid. A few moments later Miss Flemming arrived.
‘Oh, aunt! I have heard it again.’
‘Heard what, dear?’
‘The discharge of a gun.’
‘It is nothing but wax,’ said the old lady. ‘I will drop a little sweet-oil into your ear, and then have it syringed with warm water.’
‘I want to tell you something – in private.’
Miss Flemming signed to the servants to withdraw.
‘Aunt,’ said the girl, ‘I must say something. This is the