Part 19 (1/2)

”What is the matter, dear? Are you afraid of the storm? I never knew you afraid of thunder and lightning; but perhaps you may be now, because you are ill.”

”No,” sobbed Mildred.

”I cannot help being glad of this storm,” continued Oliver, ”though it is disagreeable, at the time, to people who have no house to go to. I hope it will clear the air, and freshen it; and that is the very thing we want, to make you better.”

”It is not that, Oliver. I don't mind the storm at all.”

”Then what makes you cry so, dear? Is it about Geordie?”

”Yes. Something about him that I don't think you know; something that I shall never bear to think of. It will make me miserable as long as I live. Do you know, I was tired of nursing him, and hearing him cry; and I gave it up--the only thing I could do for him! I asked Ailwin to take him. And in two days he was dead; and I could never do anything for him any more.”

Here a burst of grief stopped her voice. Her brother said, very solemnly,--

”Now, Mildred, listen to me,--to the little I can say--for you know I cannot, in this place, stay and talk with you as we should both like, and as we might have done at home. I think you were almost always very kind to Geordie; and I am sure he loved you very dearly. But I have heard mother say that the worst part of losing dear friends is that we have to blame ourselves, more or less, for our behaviour to them,--even to those we loved the very most. So I will not flatter you, dear: though I don't at all wonder at your being tired of hearing Geordie cry that day. I will not say whether you were right or wrong; but only put you in mind that we may always ask for pardon. Remember, too, that you may meet Geordie again; and perhaps be kinder to him than we ever are to one another here. Now I will go, and come back again soon.”

”Stop one minute,” implored Mildred. ”I dreamed that you all went away from this hill, and left me alone.”

As she said this, she looked at her brother, with such a painful wistfulness, that he saw that she had had a fever-dream, and was not yet quite clear from its remains. He laughed, as at something ridiculous; which Mildred seemed to like: and then he reminded her more gravely, that they could not get away from this place if they would. If an opportunity should occur, he a.s.sured her he would not leave hold of her hand. Nothing should make him step into a boat without her. Poor Mildred had fancied, bewildered as she was this morning, that if Oliver knew of what she had done about George, he would think himself justified in leaving her to perish on the hill; and yet she could not help telling him. Her mind was relieved, for the present, and she let him go.

He found Roger where he first looked for him,--near the mummy. The poor lad was too ill to stand; but he lay on the slimy bank, poking and grubbing, with a stick and with his fingers, as deep in the soft soil as he could penetrate. Oliver saw that he had found some more curiosities;--bunches of nuts,--nuts which were ripening on the tree many hundreds of seasons ago; but which no hand had plucked till now.

Oliver could neither wonder nor admire, at this moment: nor was he vexed (as he might have been at another time) at Roger's crawling hither, in pursuit of gain, to be made more ill by every breath he drew while stooping over the rank mud.

”Don't be afraid, Roger,” said Oliver. ”I am not going to touch your findings, or meddle with you. I want you to change your clothes,--to put off that finery,--and to let me know where the bag of money is that you took out of the chest.”

Roger stared.

”I am going to pack that chest again; and I want to see everything in it, that it may be ready if any boat should come.”

”Boat!” exclaimed Roger.

”Yes: a boat may come, you know; and we must not detain it, if such a thing should happen. If you die without restoring that money, Roger, it will be a sin upon your soul: so tell me where it is, and have an easy mind, I advise you. That will be a good thing, if you live an hundred years.”

”There is a boat here now! You are going to leave me behind!” cried Roger, scrambling up on his feet, and falling again from weakness, two or three times. ”I knew it,” he continued; ”I dreamt it all last night; and it is going to come true to-day.”

”Mildred dreamed the same thing; and it is because you are both ill,”

said Oliver. ”Lean upon me--as heavily as you like--and I will go home with you, as slowly as you will, if you will tell me where the money-bag is. You will find no boat there now, whatever there may be by-and-by: but if you will not tell me where the money-bag is, I will shake you off now, and leave you here. It is another person's money: and I must have it.”

Roger said he would tell, if Oliver would promise him not to leave him alone on the island. Oliver a.s.sured him that there was no danger whatever of the deliverers of some of the party leaving others to perish. He owned that he was bound to make his sister his first care, and Ailwin his next. As boys, Roger and himself must be satisfied to be thought of last; but he hoped they should neither of them do an ill turn by the other. He asked if Roger had ever received an ill turn from him.

”That is the thing,” said Roger, sorrowfully: ”and you have had so many from me and mine!”

”I am sure I forgive them all, now you have once said that,” cried Oliver. ”I forgive and forget them all: and so would father, if he heard you.”

”No! Would he? And he said once that he and his would scorn to be like me and mine.”

”Did you hear him say that? You used to hear every word we said to one another, I think.”

”It was Ailwin that threw that in my teeth.”