Part 5 (2/2)

”No, no,” she screamed, ”I won't let him touch me. Go away, go away, you ugly man,” she cried, pus.h.i.+ng him back with her tiny hands when he tried to come near. ”I _won't_ let you touch me or carry me,” for that now seemed to be the gipsy's intention, ”leave me here with Duke; we don't want you any more.”

The man's dark face grew darker with the scowl that came over it. For half a moment he seemed on the point of seizing Pamela in his arms in spite of her cries and resistance. But there was Duke too to be considered; Pamela alone it would be easy to cover up, so that her cries should not be heard; but he could not carry both, and if the boy ran after them screaming, or if he tried to run home, to ask for help--for ”home” was really not far off--there was no knowing what trouble the anything but blessed ”brats” might bring upon worthy Mick and his horde!

So that respectable gentleman decided on different tactics.

”You're a very naughty little girl,” he said--speaking, however, not roughly, but more as if Pamela's behaviour really shocked and hurt him.

”After all the trouble I've give myself for you--a-goin' out of my road, and a-unpackin' all the pots and crocks down there, for to please you.

Not even to let me tie up your foot or carry you to the missus for her to do it! Well, if you lie there till you bleed to death, it's no fault o' mine.”

But Duke's presence of mind had returned by this time.

”I'll tie up her foot with my hankercher,” he said, producing the little twelve-inch square of linen, which for a wonder he found in his pocket, on the whole much cleaner than could have been expected. And though he grew white and sick with the sight of the streaming blood, he managed without any opposition from his sister to strap it up after a fas.h.i.+on, the gipsy looking on in silence.

”You can go now, thank you,” said Duke, his voice trembling in spite of himself. ”Us don't mind about the bowl--it's too far to go. Us will tell Grandmamma all about it--Oh how I do wish us had told her at first,” he broke off suddenly. ”Please go,” he went on again to the pedlar; ”sister's frightened. I'll stay here with her till her foot's better, and then us'll go home.”

”And how will ye do that, I'd like to know, my young master?” said the pedlar, and there was a mocking tone in his voice that made the boy look up at him with fresh alarm. ”Ye're furder from 'home' than ye think for.

No, no; here ye'll have to stay till I fetch the donkey to carry you both. And to think of all that trouble and time lost for nothing.”

”They'll give you something at home for bringing us back; they will indeed,” said Duke. ”Grandpapa and Grandmamma will be so pleased to see us safe again, I _know_ they'll give you something,” he repeated, while a sob rose in his throat at the thought that already perhaps dear Grandpapa and Grandmamma--never had they seemed _so_ dear!--were wondering and troubled about their absence. And somehow he quite forgot that he himself could reward the gipsy, for in attending to Pamela's wounded foot he had laid down the money-box, and no longer remembered that he had it with him.

The gipsy grunted, and muttered something about ”making sure” that Duke scarcely heard. Then he turned to go.

”I'm off for the donkey then. But mind you the stiller you stays in this here wood the better,” he added impressively. ”That's why I didn't like missy crying out so loud. It's a queer place--a _very_ queer place. I'se warrant your Nurse never brought you this way when you were out a-walking.”

”No, never,” said Duke, startled, and even Pamela left off sobbing to stare up at him with her tearful blue eyes, as if fascinated by these mysterious hints.

”Ah, I thought not,” he said, nodding his head. ”Well, stay where you are, and make no sound whatsumnever, and no harm'll come to ye. But if you stir or speak even above a whisper,” and he lowered his own voice, ”there's no saying. There's beasts you never heard tell of in this wood--worsest of all, snakes, that think nothing of twisting round a child and off with it for their supper afore one could cry out. But if you stop quite still they'll not find you out before I'm back with the donkey. It's about their time o' day for sleeping just now, I'm thinking,” and with this crumb of consolation the cruel-hearted gipsy turned on his heel.

Words would fail me to describe the terror of the two poor little children: a cry of appeal to the pedlar to stay beside them, not to leave them to the dreadful creatures he spoke of, rose to their lips, but stopped there. For were they not almost as terrified of him as of the snakes? Pamela forgot all about her wounded foot, though it was growing stiff with pain, and the blood, which Duke's unskilful binding had not succeeded in checking, was still flowing in a way that would have alarmed more experienced eyes. It was cold too--and terror made them colder--for the evening was drawing on, and it was only April. Yet they dared not move--Pamela indeed could not have stood up--and so there they stayed, Duke crouched beside his sister, who lay almost at full length on the short tufty gra.s.s, among the roots and stumps, for just here a good deal of wood had been cut down. There was no fear of their moving--the s.h.i.+vers and sobs that they could not control added to their fears--they would have left off breathing even, if they could have managed it, rather than risk betraying their presence to the snakes!

But after some minutes--not more than five probably, though it seemed more like five hours--had pa.s.sed the silence and strain grew unbearable to Duke. He peeped at Pamela; her eyes were closed, she looked so dreadfully white!--his heart gave such a thump that he looked round for a moment in terror, it seemed to him such a loud noise,--what could make her look so? Could the fear and the pain have killed her?

”Pamela,” he whispered, in what he meant to be a very low whisper indeed; ”Oh, sister, are you dead?”

Her eyelids fluttered a little, and she half opened them.

”No, bruvver; at least I don't fink so,” she said, and her whisper was very faint without her trying to make it so, for she was really quite exhausted. ”I wasn't sure a minute ago, but I fink now I'm only dying.

But don't speak, for the snakes might hear.”

”They're asleep, he said,” returned Duke, with a sob of anguish at Pamela's words.

”But some might be awake. If it wasn't for that, oh, bruvver, you might run away, and perhaps you'd get safe home. Couldn't you _try_, bruvver?”

and Pamela half raised herself on her arm.

”And leave _you_, sister!” cried Duke indignantly, forgetting to whisper; ”how could you think I'd ever do such a thing? If I could _carry_ you--oh what a pity it is I'm not much bigger than you!” ”You couldn't carry _me_,” said Pamela feebly, and her head sank back again; ”and the snakes would hear us and catch us. But oh, bruvver, I'm afraid I'll be quite dead before the man comes back again, and yet I don't want him to come.”

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