Part 47 (1/2)

Her eyes were red, and it may be that old Daddo noted this, for midway across, and without any warning, he rested on his oars, scanning her earnestly.

”You have been calling on Rosewarne, miss?--making so bold.”

She nodded.

”I see'd you looking t'ards me just now as we crossed. I see'd you glance up as _they_, in their foolishness, was reckoning they knew the mind o'

G.o.d. Tell me, miss, how he bears it?”

”He bears it; but without hope, for his trouble goes deeper.”

CHAPTER XXVII.

HOME.

Mr. Benny, arriving next morning at the ferry to cross over to his office, opened his eyes very wide indeed to see the boat waiting by the slip and his late master, Samuel Rosewarne, standing solitary within it, holding on to a sh.o.r.e-ring by the boat-hook.

”But whatever has become of Daddo?” Mr. Benny's gaze, travelling round, rested for one moment of wild suspicion on the door of the 'Sailor's Return,' hard by.

”With your leave he has given up his place to me for a while,” said Rosewarne slowly. ”I have come to ask you that favour, Mr. Benny.”

The little man stepped on board, wondering, nor till half-way across could he find speech.

”It hurts me to see you doing this, sir; it does indeed. If old Nicky Vro could look down and see you so demeaning yourself, you can't think but he'd say 'twas too much.”

”I did Nicky Vro an injury once, and a mortal one. But I never gave him licence to know, on earth or in heaven, what my conscience requires.

It requires this, Mr. Benny; and unless you forbid it, we'll say no more.”

The common opinion on both sh.o.r.es was that grief had turned Rosewarne's brain. He had prepared himself against laughter; but no one laughed: and though, as the news spread, curiosity brought many to the sh.o.r.es to see, the groups dispersed as the boat approached. Public penance is a rare thing in these days, and all found it easier to believe that the man was mad. Some read the Lord's retributive hand again in the form his madness took.

In silence he took the pa.s.sengers' coppers or handed them their change.

Few men had ever opened talk with Rosewarne, and none were bold enough to attempt it in the three days during which he plied the ferry.

”You left him lonely to his sinning; leave him alone now,” said old Daddo, tilling his cottage-garden up the hill, to the neighbours who leaned across his fence questioning him about his share in the strange business.

His advice was idle; they could not help themselves. Something in Rosewarne's face forbade speech.

On the evening of the third day he saw the signal for which he waited--the smoke of a tug rising above the low roofs on the town quay, and above the smoke the top-gallants and royals of a tall vessel pencilled against the sunset's glow. With his eyes upon the vision he rowed to sh.o.r.e and silently as ever took the fees of his pa.s.sengers and gave them their change; then, having made fast the boat, he walked up to Mr. Benny's office.

”You have done me one service,” he said. ”I ask you to do me a second.

The _Virtuous Lady_ has come into port; in five minutes or less she will drop anchor. Take boat and pull to her. Tell Mrs. Purchase that I have gone up the hill to Hall, and will be waiting there; and if you can persuade her, bring her ash.o.r.e in your boat.”

Mr. Benny reached up for his hat.

”Say that I am waiting to speak with her alone. On no account must she bring the children.”

Up in the Widows' Houses, high above the murmur of the little port, no ear caught the splash as the _Virtuous Lady's_ anchor found and held her to home again. In Aunt Butson's room Hester sat and read aloud to her patient. The book was the Book of Proverbs, from which Aunt Butson professed that she, for her part, derived more comfort than from all the four Gospels put together. For an hour Hester read on steadily, and then, warned by the sound of regular breathing, glanced at the bed and shut the Bible.

Rising, she paused for a moment, watching the sleeper, opened and closed the door behind her gently, and bent her steps towards Mrs. Trevarthen's room, at the far end of the gallery; but on the way her eyes fell on a group of daffodils in bloom below, in the quadrangle. Two flights of stairs led up from the quadrangle, one at either end of the gallery; and stepping back to the head of that one which mounted not far from Aunt Butson's door, she descended and plucked a handful of the flowers.