The Earth Trembled Part 42

"Yes; and, as far as I can make out, left you to drown."

When the physician returned Mr. Houghton roused a little, and asked, "What is the matter? Is George ill?"

"No, he's better."

The old man closed his eyes, and at last said dreamily, "Yes, he's better, better off in heaven."

"Mr. Houghton," said the doctor, kindly, "I've just heard that a man was picked up by the steamer running between the city and the islands. I don't give up hope yet."

"Hope! hope! Do you mean to say there is hope?"

"I do. If you will be patient we will soon know. I have taken steps to find out speedily."

"O G.o.d, be merciful! I don't see how I can long survive if he is dead."

Jube, satisfied that George was in the flesh, followed him to his room, and aided him in exchanging his wet clothes for dry ones, meanwhile answering the young man's rapid questions.

Touched to the very soul by the account of his father's frantic grief, George's thoughts centred on him, but he asked, "What happened at Mr.

Bodine's?"

"Dunno, Ma.r.s.e George. Ma.r.s.e Houghton run up de stairs, an' dey took 'im in a room. Den I heerd loud talkin', an' soon he come runnin' out all kin ob gone like, and he gasp, 'Home.' We lif him in de kerrige, an Sam dribe as if de debil was arter 'im. Den we gits de doctor sudden."

Having dressed, George opened his desk and wrote:

"CAPTAIN BODINE,

"Sir--It may relieve you of some natural anxiety to learn that I escaped, and that I am well and at home. My father is very ill, and absolute quiet of mind and body is essential. GEORGE HOUGHTON."

Then he addressed a line to the editor of the daily paper:

"Rumors of an accident in the harbor and of my being drowned may reach you. This note is evidence that I am safe and well. I will esteem it a favor if no mention is made of the affair."

Despatching Sam with these two missives, he held himself in readiness for the summons to his father's bedside.

Dr. Devoe, in his efforts to save his patient from any more nervous shocks, administered another sedative, and then talked quietly of the probability of George's escape.

The old man's mind was far from clear, and in his half dreamy state was inclined to believe what was said to him. Then the physician pretended to hear the return of his messenger, and went out for a few moments. When he came back he saw Mr. Houghton's eyes dilating with fear and hope.

"Take courage, my friend," he said. "Great joys are dangerous as well as great sorrows. You must be calm for your son's sake as well as for your own. He has escaped, as I told you he might, and will see you when you feel strong enough."

"Now, now!"

A moment later the father's arms were about his boy. With gentle, soothing words and endearing terms George calmed the sobs of the aged man, whose stern eyes had been so unaccustomed to tears. At last he slept, holding his son's hand.

The clerk was dismissed with cordial thanks; George and the physician watched unweariedly, for the latter said that everything depended on the patient's condition when he awoke.

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

CLOUDS LIFTING

In Mrs. Bodine's humbler home there was another patient who also had found such respite as anodynes can bring. Ella's fair face had become like the purest marble in its whiteness, but the hot tears had ceased to flow, and the bosom which had heaved convulsively with anguish was now so still that the girl scarcely seemed to breathe at all. Captain Bodine, Mara, and old Hannah were the watchers. Mara now, for the first time, observed how white the veteran's iron-gray hair had become. He had grown old in a night, rather in an hour. The strong lines of his face were graven deep; his troubled eyes were sunken, giving a peculiarly haggard expression to his countenance.

Her heart was full of gentleness and sympathy toward him, and of this he was a.s.sured from time to time by her eloquent glances.

Mrs. Bodine was being cared for by Mrs. Hunter, for she was ill in the reaction from her strong excitement and unwonted exertion.

But few hours had pa.s.sed when there was a ring at the door. All except Ella looked at each other with startled eyes. What did this late summons portend? Mara rose to go to the door, but with a silent gesture the captain restrained her and went down himself.

"Who is this from?" he asked, as he took the letter from Sam.

"Fum young Ma.r.s.e Houghton. He ain't drowned no mo'n I be."

"Thank G.o.d!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Bodine, with such fervor that he was heard in the rooms above.

"Yes," said Sam, "I reckon He de one ter t'ank." Sam had imbibed the impression that Bodine had left his young master to drown.

"What is it?" whispered Mara over the banisters.

"Young Houghton escaped, after all.--Here, my man, is a dollar. Wait a few minutes, for I may wish to send an answer."

The gas was burning dimly in the parlor. Turning it up, he read the brief missive, and recognized from its tone that the young man still had in mind the veteran's former att.i.tude toward him. He sat down and wrote rapidly:

"MR. GEORGE HOUGHTON,

"_Honored Sir_--At this late hour, and with your coachman waiting, I must be brief. My term, 'Honored Sir,' is no empty phrase, for from the depths of my heart I do honor your heroic, generous risk of life for me and mine; and my sentiments are shared by the ladies whom you rescued. I have been harsh and unjust to you, and I ask your forgiveness. You have conquered my prejudice utterly. Do not imagine that a Southern man and a Confederate soldier cannot appreciate such n.o.ble magnanimity.

"Yours in eternal respect and grat.i.tude,

"HUGH BODINE."

As he finished it Mara entered, and was astonished at his appearance. The haggard face, seamed with suffering, that she had looked upon but a few moments before, was transfigured. Anguish of soul was no longer expressed, but rather gladness, and the impress of those divine impulses which lead men to acknowledge their wrong and to make reparation. In the strong light his white hair was like a halo, and his luminous eyes revealed the good and the spiritual in the man, as they are manifested only in the best and supreme moments of life.

He handed Mara the letter. When she had read it she looked at him with tear-dimmed eyes, and said: "It is what I should have expected from you."

After dismissing Sam he returned to the parlor, and, taking the girl's hand again, began, "G.o.d bless you, Mara! You have stood by me, you have sustained me in the most terrible emergency of my life. There were features in this ordeal which it seemed impossible for me to endure, which I could not have endured but for your sympathy and the justice you have done me in your thoughts. Oh, Mara, do not let me err again. You know I love you fondly, but your happiness must be first, now and always. In my wish to make you my wife, let me be sure that I am securing your happiness even more than my own."

At that moment she was exalted by an enthusiasm felt to be divine. In her deep sympathy her heart was tender toward him. She had just seen him put his old proud self under his feet, as he acknowledged heroic action in one whom she had thought incapable of it. Could she fail this loved and honored friend, when a wronged Northern boy had counted his life as naught to save him?

Never had her spirit of self-sacrifice so a.s.serted itself before. Indeed, it no longer seemed to be self-sacrifice, as she gave him her hand, and said, "Life offers me nothing better than to become your wife."

He drew her close to his breast, but at this touch of her sacred person, something deep in her woman's nature shrunk and protested. Even at that moment she was compelled to learn that the heart is more potent than the mind, even though it be kindled by the strongest and most unselfish enthusiasm. Only the deep and subtle principle of love could have given to that embrace unalloyed repose. Nevertheless she had said what she believed true, "Life had nothing better for her."

As Ella still slept quietly, Bodine insisted that Mara should retire, saying, "I and old Hannah can do all that is required."

"But you need rest more than I," Mara protested.