Part 80 (2/2)

”What do you mean--men folk? Not if I know it.”

”You are right. You are wise. Oh, how courageous!” And she went back for her finery. And certain it is she had more baggage than I should choose for a forced march.

But all has an end--even a female luggage train; so at last she put out all her lights and came down, stepping like a fairy, with a large basket in her hand.

Now it happened that by this time the moon's position was changed, and only a part of David lay in the shade; his head and shoulders glittered in broad moonlight; and Lucy, taking her farewell of a house where she had spent many happy days, cast her eyes all around to bid good-by, and spied a man lying within a few paces, and looking like a corpse in the silver sheen. She dropped her basket; her knees knocked together with fear, and she flew toward Mrs. Wilson. But she did not go far, for the features, indistinct as they were by distance and pale light, struck her mind, and she stopped and looked timidly over her shoulder. The figure never moved. Then, with beating heart, she went toward him slowly and so stealthily that she would have pa.s.sed a mouse without disturbing it, and presently she stood by him and looked down on him as he lay.

And as she looked at him lying there, so pale, so uncomplaining, so placid, under her windows, this silent proof of love, and the thought of the raging sea this helpless form had steered her through, and all he had suffered as well as acted for her, made her bosom heave, and stirred all that was woman within her. He loved her still, then, or why was he here? And then the thought that she had done something for him too warmed her heart still more toward him. And there was nothing for her to repel now, for he lay motionless; there was nothing for her to escape--he did not pursue her; nothing to negative--he did not propose anything to her. Her instinct of defense had nothing to lay hold of; so, womanlike, she had a strong impulse to wake him and be kind to him--as kind as she could be without committing herself. But, on the other hand, there was shy, trembling, virgin modesty, and shame that he should detect her making a midnight evasion, and fear of letting him think she loved him.

While she stood thus, with something drawing her on and something drawing her back, and palpitating in every fiber, Mrs. Wilson's voice was heard in low but anxious tones calling her. A feather turned the balanced scale. She must go. Fate had decided for her. She was called.

Then the sprites of mischief tempted her to let David know she _had been_ near him. She longed to put his commission into his pocket; but that was impossible. It was at the very bottom of her box. She took out her tablets, wrote the word ”Adieu,” tore out half the leaf, and, bending over David, attached the little bit of paper by a pin to the tail of his coat. If he had been ever so much awake he could not have felt her doing it; for her hand touching him, and the white paper settling on his coat, was all done as lights a spot of down on still water from the bending neck of a swan.

”No, dear Mrs. Wilson, we must not go yet. I will hold the horse, and you must go back for me for something.”

”I'm agreeable. What is it? Why, what is up? How you do pant!”

”I have made a discovery. There is a gentleman lying asleep there on the wet gra.s.s.”

”Lackadaisy! why, you don't say so.”

”It is a friend; and he will catch his death.”

”Why, of course he will. He will have had a drop too much, Miss Lucy.

I'll wake him, and we will take him along home with us.”

”Oh, not for the world, nurse. I would not have him see what I am doing, oh, not for all the world!”

”Where is he?”

”In there, under the great tree.”

”Well, you get into the cart, miss, and hold the reins”; and Mrs.

Wilson went into the grounds and soon found David.

She put her hand on his shoulder, and he awoke directly, and looked surprised at Mrs. Wilson.

”Are you better, sir?” said the good woman. ”Why, if it isn't the handsome gentleman that was so kind to me! Now do ee go in, sir--do ee go in. You will catch your death o' cold.” She made sure he was staying at the house.

David looked up at Lucy's windows. ”Yes, I will go home, Mrs. Wilson; there is nothing to stay for now”; and he accompanied her to the cart.

But Mrs. Wilson remembered Lucy's desire not to be seen; so she said very loud, ”I'm sure it's very lucky me and _my niece_ happened to be coming home so late, and see you lying there. Well, one good turn deserves another. Come and see me at my farm; you go through the village of Harrowden, and anybody there will tell you where Dame Wilson do live. I _would_ ask you to-night, but--” she hesitated, and Lucy let down her veil.

”No, thank you, not now; my sister will be fretting as it is.

Good-morning”; and his steps were heard retreating as Mrs. Wilson mounted the cart.

”Well, I should have liked to have taken him home and warmed him a bit,” said the good woman to Lucy; ”it is enough to give him the rheumatics for life. However, he is not the first honest man as has had a drop too much, and taken 's rest without a feather-bed. Alack, miss, why, you are all of a tremble! What ails _you?_ I'm a fool to ask. Ah! well, you'll soon be at home, and naught to vex you. That is right; have a good cry, do. Ay, ay, _'tis_ hard to be forced to leave our nest. But all places are bright where love abides; and there's honest hearts both here and there, and the same sky above us wherever we wander, and the G.o.d of the fatherless above that; and better a peaceful cottage than a palace full of strife.” And with many such homely sayings the rustic consoled her nursling on their little journey, not quite in vain.

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