Part 17 (1/2)

So he shrugged his shoulders, and they limped forward up the roofless nave and through the door. She stared at the plain stone altar, at the eastern window, of which part was filled with ancient coloured gla.s.s and part with cheap glazed panes; at the oak choir benches, mouldy and broken; at the few wall-slabs and decaying monuments, and at the roof still strong and ma.s.sive.

”I dreamed of a place very like this,” she said, nodding her head. ”I thought that I was standing in such a spot in a fearful gale, and that the sea got under the foundations and washed the dead out of their graves.”

”Really, Miss Fregelius,” he said, with some irritation, for the surroundings of the scene and his companion's talk were uncanny, ”do you think this an occasion to explore ruins and relate nightmares?” Then he added, ”I beg your pardon, but I think that the cold and wet have affected your nerves; for my part, I have none left.”

”Perhaps; at least forgive me, I did so want to look,” she answered humbly as, arm-in-arm, for she needed support, they pa.s.sed from the altar to the door.

A grotesque imagination entered the numbed mind of Morris. Their slow and miserable march turned itself to a vision of a bridal procession from the altar. Wet, dishevelled, half-frozen, they two were the bride-groom and the bride, and the bride was a seer of visions, and the bridegroom was a dreamer of dreams. Yes, and they came up together out of the bitter sea and the darkness, and they journeyed together to a vault of the dead----

Thank Heaven! they were out of the place, and above was the sun s.h.i.+ning, and, to the right and left, the grey ocean and the purple plough-lands, cold-looking, suggesting dangers and labour, but wholesome all of them, and good to the eye of man. Only why did this woman see visions, and why did he dream dreams? And what was the meaning of their strange meeting upon the sea? And what----

”Where are we going?” asked Stella after a while and very faintly.

”Home; to the Abbey, I mean, where your father lies. Now it is not much more than a mile away.”

She sighed; her strength was failing her.

”You had better try to walk, it will warm you,” he urged, and she struggled on.

It was a miserable journey, but they reached the house at length, pa.s.sing first through a street of the village in which no one seemed to be awake. A wretched-looking couple, they stumbled up the steps into the porch, where Morris rang the bell, for the door was locked. The time seemed an age, but at last steps were heard, the door was unbarred, and there appeared a vision of the lad Thomas, yawning, and clad in a nights.h.i.+rt and a pair of trousers, with braces attached which dangled to the floor.

”Oh, Lord!” he said when he saw them, and his jaw dropped.

”Get out of the way, you young idiot,” said Morris, ”and call the cook.”

It was half-past seven in the evening, that is, dinner time, and Morris stood in the study waiting for Stella, who had announced through the housemaid that she was coming down.

After telling the servants to send for the doctor and attend to his companion, who had insisted upon being led straight to her father's room, Morris's first act that morning on reaching home was to take a bath as hot as he could bear. Then he drank several cups of coffee with brandy in it, and as the office would soon be open, wrote a telegram to Mary, which ran thus:

”If you hear that I have been drowned, don't believe it. Have arrived safe home after a night at sea.”

This done, for he guessed that all sorts of rumours would be abroad, he inquired after Mr. Fregelius and Stella. Having learned that they were both going on well and sent off his telegram, Morris went to bed and slept for ten hours.

Morris looked round the comfortable sitting-room with its recessed Tudor windows, its tall bookcases and open hearth, where burned a bright fire of old s.h.i.+p's timbers supported on steel dogs, and thought to himself that he was fortunate to be there. Then the door opened, he heard the housemaid's voice say, ”This way please, Miss,” and Stella came in. She wore a plain white dress that seemed to fit her very well, though where she got it from he never discovered, and her luxuriant hair was twisted up into a simple knot. On the bosom of her dress was fixed a spray of brilliant ampelopsis leaves; it was her only ornament, but none could have been more striking. For the rest, although she limped and still looked dark and weary about the eyes, to all appearances she was not much the worse for their terrible adventure.

Morris glanced at her. Could this dignified and lovely young lady be that red-cloaked, loose-haired Valkyrie whom he had seen singing at daybreak upon the prow of the sinking s.h.i.+p, or the piteous bedraggled person whom he had supported from the altar in the Dead Church?

She guessed his thought--from the beginning Stella had this curious power of discovering his mind--and said with a smile:

”Fine feathers make fine birds, and even Cleopatra would have looked dreadful after a November night in an open boat.”

”Have you recovered?” he asked.

”Yes, Mr. Monk; that is, I don't think I am going to have inflammation of the lungs or anything horrid of the sort. The remedies and that walk stopped it. But my feet are peeling from being soaked so long in salt water, and my hands are not much better. See,” and she held them towards him.