Part 10 (1/2)

Slowly and painfully he recalled the date of his first arrival in Wales--the expiration of time since his sojourn with the Teacher began until the date indicated upon the front page of the journal.

There could be no doubt about it, he had been lying unconscious of the outside world, and heedless of the pa.s.sage of time, for at least eight days--possibly even more.

He gave a little gasp of astonishment--a gasp which was almost a moan--and as he did so the door of the bedroom opened, and Mrs. Price, the old housekeeper, entered.

She came straight up to the bedside and looked down upon Joseph. There was something very strange in the expression of the old, wrinkled face.

It was changed from its usual expression of resigned and quiet joy.

There were red circles round the eyes, as if she had been weeping; the kind old mouth was drawn with pain.

”Ah, my dear,” she said to Joseph, ”you've come to yourself at last! It was what the doctor said--that it would be about this time that you would come to. The Lord be praised!”

Joseph tried to answer her. The words came slowly from his lips. He articulated with difficulty, and his voice was strange to his own ears.

”Have I been ill long?”

”For near ten days, sir, you have lain at death's door. The doctor from Penmaenbach said that you would surely die. But the Teacher knew that you would not. And oh, and oh, woe's the day when you came here!”

With a sudden convulsive movement, the old lady threw her hands up into the air, and then burst into a pa.s.sion of weeping.

Joseph had heard her with a languid interest. His question was answered; he knew now exactly what had happened, but he was still too weak and weary for anything to have much effect upon him. Yet the sudden tears and the curious words of the kindly old dame troubled him.

”I am sorry,” he said faintly. ”I know that I must have been a great trouble to you. But I had no idea I should fall ill again.”

For answer she stooped over and kissed him upon the forehead.

”Trouble!” she cried, through her tears. ”That's no word to say to me. I spoke hastily, and what I said I said wrongly. It was the Teacher that was in my mind. But it is all the will of the Lord to Whom all must bow--you'll take your medicine now, if you please.”

So she ended, with a sudden descent from high matters to the practical occupations of the ministering angel.

Joseph drank the potion which the old lady held to his lips. Her arm was round his head as she raised it, her brown, tear-stained face was close to his.

He felt a sudden rush of affection for her. In the past he had ever been a little cold in his relations with all men and women. Save, perhaps, for Hampson, the journalist, he had not experienced anything like love for his kind. Yet now he felt his heart going out to this dear old nurse, and, more than that even, something cold and hard within him seemed to have melted. He realized in his mind, as a man may realize a whole vast landscape in a sudden flash of lightning, how much love there was in the world after all.

Even as his whole weak frame was animated by this new and gracious discovery, the door of the bedroom opened once more and Lluellyn Lys came in.

Mrs. Price turned from the bed upon which Joseph was lying, and went up to the Teacher.

She caught him by the arm--Joseph was witness of it all--and bowed her head upon it. Then once more she began to sob.

”Oh, man, man,” she said, ”I've loved ye and tended ye for many years now. And my father, and my mother, and my people for a hundred years before, have served the house of Lys. But you have led me from the bondage of darkness and sin into peace and light. Ye brought me to the Lord Jesus, Lluellyn Lys. Aye and the Holy Ghost came down upon me when I gave my heart to the Lord! And now, 'tis near over, 'tis all near done, and my heart is bitter heavy, Lys. Master, my heart is bowed down with woe and grief!”

Lluellyn gently took the poor old thing by the arm. He led her to the bedside where Joseph lay.

”Old friend,” he said--”dear old faithful friend and servant, it is not me whom you must call Master any more. My work is nearly done, the time of my departure draws near. Here is your Master.”

The old dame, clinging to Lluellyn's arm, looked down at Joseph. Then she started violently, and began to tremble like an autumn leaf in the wind.

The old face, browned by a thousand days of mountain sun and storm, grew pale under its tan. She looked up into Lluellyn's eyes with an interrogation that was almost fierce in its intensity.

”I see something, Lys!” she said. ”I see something! What does it mean--what is it, Master? I never saw it before!”