Part 16 (1/2)

The words Sally recognized as an exclamation rather than a prayer, but they brought the rector to her remembrance. If any man could help another in his last agony surely it would be he.

”Mr. Allison,” she said, laying her soft hand on the grimy one that moved up and down so restlessly upon the counterpane, ”I heard you wanted to see me. Let me do something. Is there no one else you would like to see? Shall I fetch Mr. Curzon?”

Allison's eyes unclosed, dimmed already by the gathering haze of death.

”Bless you, missy; this ain't no place for you, though it's good of you to come. Good-bye. G.o.d bless you! You get home again; it will hurt you to see me suffer.”

Once more that half-blind appeal to the Higher Power of which Mr.

Curzon had spoken, and he spoke with no uncertain sound. He seemed to know about it.

”Won't the rector come?” asked Sally again.

But Allison shook his head.

”No, no; we'd words to-day. I can't mind what about; but it don't matter much. I told 'un not to come.”

But as he spoke a step fell on the stair, and the next moment Mr.

Curzon pushed open the door with an expression on his face so pitiful, so strong, that in the tension of her feeling, Sally could only sob, and, withdrawing her hand, slip quietly away to the window.

The rector knelt down, bringing his face to a level with the dying man's.

”Allison, dear fellow, I only heard this minute what had happened; and I came. Will you let me stay?”

”You can please yourself,” said Allison; ”but you can't want to be here. We quarrelled, you and I.”

”Not I,” said the rector, gently.

”I'm mortal bad! I'm dying!” gasped the blacksmith. ”It can't do no good to watch me.”

”You'll let me say a psalm or read a prayer.”

”No. Where's the use? I wouldn't say 'em living and I can't listen now I'm dying. I ain't no worse than others, and I'm better than some; and what's to see on the other side, I'll learn soon enough for myself.

I'm nearly there.”

”But G.o.d is here! close to you, Allison,” pleaded the rector; ”asking you even now to turn to Him, to look Him in the Face!”

Sally's breath came in fitful gasps; she looked round the room half expecting the visible s.h.i.+ning of that Presence. Instead, the wind sobbed in the chimney and the rain dashed against the window-pane.

Death was here, and darkness; but no G.o.d, thought Sally.

The rector's hands covered his face, and through his fingers Sally saw that great tears forced themselves in the agony of his wrestling for that soul with G.o.d.

”You can please yourself,” said Allison, opening his eyes again. ”It will do no good, but it won't do harm.” And the rector, catching at the feeble flicker of a dawning faith, said the twenty-third Psalm slowly on his knees: ”'Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for Thou art with me----'”

A movement from the dying man made him pause and look up.

”I can't see nothing; give me a grip of your hand. Hold tight; I'm mortal cold.”

He did not speak again. Neighbours came and went, moistening the dying lips with brandy; but the eyes had no gleam of recognition in them.