Part 13 (1/2)

He muttered on.

”Yes,” the stranger broke in, stirring nervously. ”Had I come but five days ago.”

A sudden rising of the gale--the breaking of its fury--filled the room with a dreadful confusion.

”Indeed--I'm--sorry--very sorry,” the stranger stammered; his lips were drawn; in his eyes was the flare of some tragedy of feeling.

My father did not move--but continued vacantly to stare at the floor.

”Really--you know--I am!”

”Is you?” then my father asked, looking up. ”Is you sorry for me an'

Davy an' the la.s.s?” The stranger dared not meet my father's eyes. ”An'

you could have saved her,” my father went on. ”_You_ could have saved her! She didn't have t' go. She died--for want o' you! G.o.d Almighty,” he cried, raising his clenched hand, ”this man come too late G.o.d Almighty--does you hear me, G.o.d Almighty?--the man you sent come too late! An' you,” he flashed, turning on the stranger, ”could have saved her? Oh, my dear la.s.s! An' she would have been here the night? Here like she used t' be? Here in her dear body? Here?” he cried, striking his breast. ”She would have lain here the night had you come afore? Oh, why didn't you come?” he moaned. ”You hold life an' death in your hands, zur, t' give or withhold. Why didn't you come--t' give the gift o' life t' she?”

The stranger shrank away. ”Stop!” he cried, in agony. ”How was I to know?”

”Hush, father!” my sister pleaded.

In a flash of pa.s.sion my father advanced upon the man. ”How was you t'

know?” he burst out. ”Where you been? What you been doin'? Does you hear me?” he demanded, his voice rising with the noise of wind and rain.

”What you been doin'?”

”Stop it, man! You touch me to the quick! You don't know--you don't know--”

”What you been doin'? We're dyin' here for want o' such as you. What you been doin'?”

There was no answer. The stranger had covered his face with his hands.

”O G.o.d,” my father cried, again appealing to Heaven, ”judge this man!”

”Stop!”

It was a bitter cry--the agony sounding clear and poignant above the manifold voices of the storm--but it won no heed.

”O G.o.d, judge this man!”

”Will no one stop him?” the stranger moaned. ”For G.o.d's sake--stop him--some one!”

”O G.o.d, judge this man!”

The stranger fled....

”Oh, my dear wife!” my father sobbed, at last, sinking into the great armchair, wherein the mail-boat doctor had not sat. ”Oh, my dear wife!”

”Father!” my dear sister whispered, flinging her soft arms about his neck and pressing her cheek against his brow. ”Dear father!”