Part 11 (1/2)

The gloomy day drew to its close; by the clocks, evening had come.

There was more breathing-s.p.a.ce now between the lightning flashes and the following thunder; the wind was no longer violent; the rain still fell heavily; its torrent, striking the pavement below, sent up a loud hollow sound. One of the doctors left the house, and came back with a fresh supply of candles and various things, vaguely frightful, because hidden, concealed in a sheet. Then the other doctor went out to get something to eat. Finally they were both on guard again. And the real night began.

Then, to the waiting group in the lighted silent room, there entered a tall figure--Azubah Ash; drenched, without bonnet or shawl, she stood there before them. Her frightened look was gone forever: she faced them with unconscious majesty. ”My son is dead”--this was her announcement.

She walked forward to the bed, and gazed at the man lying there.

”Perhaps he will not die,” she said, turning her head to glance at the others. ”G.o.d is kind--sometimes; perhaps he will not die.” She bent over and stroked his hair tenderly with her large hand. ”Dear heart, live!

Try ter live!” she said; ”we want yer to, so much!”

Then she left him, and faced them again. ”I thought of warning you,” she began; ”you”--and she looked at Mrs. Preston; ”and you”--she turned towards the figure at the end of the room. ”My son was not himself when he was in a pa.s.sion--I have known it ever sence he was born. Even when he was a little fellow of two and three I used ter try ter guard him; but I couldn't do much--his will was stronger than mine. And he was always very clever, my son was--much cleverer than me. Twice before, three times before, I've ben afraid he'd take some one's life. You see, he didn't care about life so much as some people do; and now he has taken his own.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE OLD WATCH-TOWER]

There was an involuntary stir among the boys.

Mrs. Ash turned her eyes towards them. ”Would you like ter see him, so's ter be sure? In one moment.”

She went towards the bed again, and clasped her hands; then she knelt down, and began to pray beside the unconscious man in hushed tones. ”O G.o.d, O our Father, give us back this life: do, Lord--O do. It's so dear ter these poor boys, and it's so dear ter many; and perhaps there's a mother too. O Lord, give it back to us! And when he's well again, help him ter be all that my poor son was not. For Christ's sake.”

She rose and crossed to where the boys were standing. ”Will you come now?” she said. ”I'm taking him away at dawn.” Then, very simply, she offered her hand to Mrs. Preston. ”He was a great deal at your house; he told me that. I thank you for having ben so kind ter him. Good-bye.”

”But I too will go with you,” answered Mrs. Preston, in her deep tones.

She rose, leaning on her cane. Mrs. Ash was already crossing the room towards the door.

The boys followed her; then came Mrs. Preston, looking bent and old. The figure of Pauline in her dark corner rose as they approached.

”No,” said Mrs. Ash, seeing the movement. She paused. ”Don't come, my dear; I really can't let you; you'd think of it all the rest of your life if you was ter see him now, and 'twould make you feel so bad. I know you didn't mean no harm. But you mustn't come.”

And Pauline, shrinking back into the shadow, was held there by the compa.s.sion of this mother--this mother whose n.o.bler nature, and large glance quiet in the majesty of sorrow, made her, made all the women present, fade into nothingness beside her. In the outer room Isabella and the excited, peering Abercrombies were like four unimportant, unnoticed ghosts, as the little procession went by them in silence, and descended the stairs. Then it pa.s.sed out into the storm.

Mrs. Ash walked first, leading the way, the rain falling on her hair; the three boys followed; behind them came Mrs. Preston, leaning on her nephew's arm and helping herself with her cane. They pa.s.sed down the narrow street, and the people brought their small lamps to the doorways to aid them in the darkness. The street ended, but the mother went on: apparently she was going out on the broad waste. They all followed, Mrs.

Preston merely shaking her head when Arthur proposed that she should turn back.

At some distance beyond the town there was a grove of oaks; they went round an angle of this grove, stumbling in the darkness, and came to a mound behind it; on the summit of the mound there was something--a square structure of stone. Mrs. Ash went up, and entered a low door.

Within there was but one room, empty save for a small lighted lamp standing on the dirt floor; a stairway, or rather a flight of stone steps, ascended to a room above. Mrs. Ash took the lamp and led the way up; Mrs. Preston's cane sounded on the stones as she followed.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”THE CART WAS GOING SLOWLY ACROSS THE FIELDS, FOR THE ROAD WAS OVERFLOWED.”]

The room above was square, like the one below; it was the whole interior of the ancient house, or rather the ancient watch-tower; its roof of beams was broken; the rain came through in several places and dropped upon the floor. There was a second small lamp in the room besides the one which Mrs. Ash had brought; the two shed a dim ray over a peasant's rude bed, where something long and dark and straight was stretched out.

Mrs. Ash went up to the bed, and motioning away the old peasant who was keeping watch there, she took both lamps and held them high above the still face. The others drew near. And then they saw that it was John Ash--dead!

There were no signs of the horror of it; his mother had removed them all; he lay as if asleep.

The mother held the lights up steadily for a long moment. Then she placed them on a table, and coming back, took her son's lifeless hand in hers.

”Now that you've seen him, seen that he's really gone, will you leave me alone with him?” she said. ”I think there's nothing more.”