The Pines of Lory Part 11

There was no responsive movement. When it became clear that he had not been heard, Pats stepped a very little nearer and repeated, in a louder tone:

"I beg your pardon, sir."

Still the sleeper slept.

Pats glanced at Elinor Marshall, who smiled, involuntarily. Pats also smiled, as he realized that this ceremonious and somewhat labored greeting had a distinctly comic side, especially when so completely thrown away. However, he was about to repeat the salutation and in a louder voice, when he was struck by the color of the hand against the cheek. He went nearer and, stooping down, looked up into the sleeper's face. A glance was enough.

Slowly he straightened up, then reverently removed his hat.

Elinor, with a look of awe, came nearer and whispered:

"Dead! Is it possible!"

For a moment both stood in silence, looking down upon the seated figure.

It was that of an elderly man, short, and slight of frame, with thick gray hair, and a beard cut roughly to a point. The face, brown, thin, and bony, was unduly emphasized by a Roman nose, too large for the other features. But the face, as a whole, impressed the two people now regarding it as almost handsome. He was clad in a dark gray suit, and a soft felt hat lay upon the seat beside him.

"How long has he been here, do you think?" asked Elinor, in a low voice.

"A day or two, I should say. His clothes are a little damp, and there are pine-needles on his shoulders and on his head."

"But how dreadfully sudden it must have come! Not a change in his position, or in his expression, even."

"An ideal death," said Pats. "I have helped bury a good many men this year, both friends and enemies, but very few went off as comfortably as this."

He took out his watch, seemed to hesitate a moment, then said, reluctantly:

"This is bad for us, you know, finding him dead this way."

"Why?"

"It means there is no boat to get away with."

A look of alarm came into her face.

"We may as well face the situation," he continued, looking off over the water. "This man lived here alone, as we know from what we have seen in his house. And he evidently selected this place, not wis.h.i.+ng to be disturbed. We are at the end of a bay at least ten miles deep, with no settlement in sight. There is nothing whatever to bring a visitor in here. The traffic of the gulf is away out there, perhaps thirty miles from here."

She made no reply. Venturing to glance at her face, he saw there were no signs of anger, only a look of anxiety.

"I will tell you just what I think, Miss Marshall, and you can act accordingly. I shall, of course, do whatever you wish. But, as nearly as I can judge, we are prisoners until we can get away by tramping through the wilderness."

He indicated, with a gesture, the broad current at their feet, was.h.i.+ng the western edge of the point. "That river we can never cross without a boat, or a raft; and in that direction--I don't know how many miles away--is Boyd's Island. In the other direction, to the east, there is nothing but wilderness for an indefinite distance. That is, I think so.

Now, if you prefer, I will go up this bank of the river at once, tie some logs together and try for a pa.s.sage; then push on as fast as possible for our place, or the nearest settlement, and come back for you. Or, I will stay until we can go on together. Whatever you decide shall be done."

He had spoken rapidly, and was ill at ease, watching her earnestly all the while.

As for her, she was dismayed by his words. She had been listening with a growing terror. Now, she turned away to conceal a tendency to tears. But this was repressed. With no resentment, but with obvious emotion, she inquired:

"Can you get across the river?"

"Very likely."

"If you fail, or if anything happens to you, what becomes of me?"

"You would be here alone, and in a very bad plight. For that reason I think I would better stay until we can start together."

A slight gesture of resignation was her only reply. There was a pause; uncomfortable for Pats from his consciousness of her low opinion of him.

However, he continued, in a somewhat perfunctory way, turning to the silent occupant of the bench.

"Now, as we take possession of this place, the least we can do is to give the owner a decent burial. Fortunately for us a grave is dug and a coffin ready."

"Yes, _his_ grave and _his_ coffin," and she regarded with a gentler expression the sitting figure. "And I think I know why he dug the grave."

"To save somebody else the trouble?"

"To be sure of resting beside his companion."

"Of course! that explains it all. He knew that strangers might bury him in the easiest place; that they would never chop through all those roots."

He stepped around behind the body, placed his hands under the arms, and made an effort to raise it, but the weight was beyond his strength.

Looking toward his companion with an apologetic smile, he said: "I am sorry to be so useless, but--together we can carry him, if you don't mind."

At this suggestion Elinor, with a look of horror, took a backward step.

"I beg your pardon," he said, "for suggesting it. I have been doing so much of this work that I had forgotten how it affected others."

"What work?"

"Burying people. In the Transvaal. One morning, with a squad, I buried twenty-eight. Nine of them my own friends. So, if I go about this in the simplest way, do not think it is from want of sympathy."

"I shall understand."

"Then I will bring that wheelbarrow I saw behind the house."

He started off, then stopped as if to say something, but hesitated.

"What is it, Mr. Boyd?"

"I am afraid that coffin is too heavy for me. Would you mind helping with it?"

"No. And I can help you with the body, too, if necessary." And together they returned to the cottage.

Never, probably, did simpler obsequies befall a peer of France.

Sitting up in the same position as on the rustic bench, his cheek upon his hand, his elbow on the side of the barrow, the hermit was wheeled to his final resting-place beneath the pines. Beside him, with a helping hand, walked Elinor Marshall, shocked and saddened by these awful incongruities.

Behind came Solomon.