Part 30 (2/2)

”But he cannot walk quicker than we are going?”

”Going? Why, we're standing still. So we were at the top of the hill where the horses, poor beasts, wanted a long rest to get their wind again, seeing how they had come all the way without as much as a five minutes' break since we started. You were sleeping through it all so peacefully I had not the heart to disturb you, but sent the old man on ahead while I climbed up here. Sure we're nearly there; I can see the light of the lamp s.h.i.+ning out of the window. Just keep quiet and rest now till we're there.”

She started the horses again, and Durham lay back on his blankets till he felt the waggonette turn off the main road and drive slowly up to the house.

As it stopped, he managed to raise himself into a sitting position.

There was a momentary humming in his head, and he gripped the seats to steady himself. The cessation of the noise made by the moving wheels and trotting horses accentuated to his ears the still silence of the night.

So quiet was it that as the humming pa.s.sed from him the creaking of the springs when Mrs. Burke swung herself down from the box-seat seemed an actual noise.

Patsy's heavy tread echoed on the bare boards of the verandah. For a second they stopped, and through Durham's brain there rang a curious stifled sound, something like a cry coming from afar, a cry indistinct and choked as if it were m.u.f.fled.

The loud tones of Mrs. Burke's voice, speaking quickly and decisively, drowned it before the dulled brain could either locate whence it came or decide whether it was anything more than a variation of the humming in his ears.

”Come along now, Patsy. Hasten, you slow old fool. Don't you know Mr.

Durham will be tired?”

The old man stumbled and blundered down the steps, and Mrs. Burke came to the end of the waggonette.

”Oh, now, now! Sure is it wise to do that?” she exclaimed, as she saw Durham sitting up. ”Why didn't you wait till we could help you?”

She leaned in and took hold of his arm.

”If you back the waggonette against the steps, I can get out easier,” he said.

”Of course, of course. Now then, Patsy, why didn't you think of that?”

she exclaimed. ”Turn the horses round while I stay with Mr. Durham.”

She sat on the floor of the vehicle, still holding Durham's arm.

The touch of her hands, the sound of her voice as she maintained a steady stream of directions to Patsy, the fact of being so near to her, filled Durham with a gentle soothing. The dreaminess which had been upon him when the journey began, and before he sank into the contented slumber, returned. Her voice reached him as from a distance; his grip of the seats loosened, and as the waggonette turned he swayed until his head drooped upon the shoulder of the woman by his side.

Thereafter all was vague and misty until he came to himself and knew he was ascending the short flight of steps leading to the verandah, with Mrs. Burke supporting him on one side and Patsy the other.

As he reached the verandah his legs trembled beneath him, and he stood for a moment, leaning heavily upon the arms which supported him.

Again there came to his dulled brain the sound like a distant stifled cry.

”What's that?” he muttered. ”What's that?”

”Oh, lean on me. Don't fall now. Oh, keep up, keep up. Sure what will the doctor say when he comes if you've hurt yourself?” the voice of Mrs.

Burke said in his ear.

”But that--that cry,” he gasped. A cold s.h.i.+ver ran through him.

”There's no cry; there's nothing but me and old Patsy. Keep up, now. If you're worse, oh, what will the doctor say?”

The glare from the lamp s.h.i.+ning through the open window grew dim; the floor of the verandah rose and fell; his arms dropped nerveless to his sides and, with the faint m.u.f.fled cry still ringing in his ears, Durham went down into oblivion.

<script>