Part 16 (2/2)

”Davy!” she cried, in mixed horror and distress. ”Oh, dear!

Whereabouts?”

”Do you turn around,” said I, ”an' I'll soon find out.”

She whirled like a top. But I could find nothing awry. She was s.h.i.+pshape from head to toe.

”'Tis very queer,” said I. ”Sure, I thought you'd missed a b.u.t.ton, for the doctor is lookin' at you all the time.”

”At _me_!” she cried.

”Ay, at you.”

She was then convinced with me that there was something amiss, and called the maids to our help, for, as she said, I was only a boy (though a dear one), and ill schooled in such matters. But it turned out that their eyes were no sharper than mine. They p.r.o.nounced her hooked and b.u.t.toned and pinned to the Queen's taste.

”'Tis queer, then,” I persisted, when the maids had gone, ”that he looks at you so hard.”

”Is you sure he does?” she asked, much puzzled, ”for,” she added, with a little frown, ”I'm not knowin' why he should.”

”Nor I,” said I.

At table we were very quiet, but none the less happy for that; for it seemed to me that my mother's gentle spirit hovered near, content with what we did. And after tea my father sat with the doctor on our platform, talking of disease and healing, until, in obedience to my sister's glance, I took our guest away to the harbour, to see (as I said) the greatest glories of the sunset: for, as I knew, my sister wished to take my father within, and change the current of his thought.

Then I rowed the doctor to North Tickle, and let the punt lie in the swell of the open sea, where it was very solemn and quiet. The sky was heavy with drifting ma.s.ses of cloud, aflare with red and gold and all the sunset colours, from the black line of coast, lying in the west, far into the east, where sea and sky were turning gray. Indeed, it was very still, very solemn, lying in the long, crimson swell of the great deep, while the dusk came creeping over the sea.

”I do not wonder,” the doctor muttered, with a shudder, ”that the people who dwell here fear G.o.d.”

There was something familiar to me in that feeling; but for the moment I could not make it out.

”Zur?” I said.

His eyes ranged timidly over the sombre waste--the vasty, splendid heavens, the coast, dark and unfeeling, the infinite, sullen sea, which ominously darkened as he looked--and he covered his face with his hands.

”No,” he whispered, looking up, ”I do not wonder that you believe in G.o.d--and fear Him!”

Then I knew that roundabout he felt the presence of an offended G.o.d.

”And fear Him!” he repeated.

I levelled my finger at him. ”You been wicked!” I said, knowing that my accusation was true.

”Yes,” he answered, ”I have been wicked.”

”Is you goin' t' be good?”

<script>