Girls of the Forest Part 46

There was a strange sensation in her throat, and a mist before her eyes.

Her feet were so icy cold that it was with difficulty she could keep herself from slipping.

"Which prayer shall we say?" asked Harry. "There's a lot of them. There's our special private prayers in which we say, 'G.o.d bless father and mother;' and then there's 'Our Father.'"

"'Our Father' is best," said Pauline.

The children began repeating it in a sing-song fas.h.i.+on. Suddenly Pen violently clutched hold of Pauline.

"Will G.o.d forgive our badnesses?" she asked.

"He will--I know He will," answered Pauline; and just at that instant there came a cry from Harry.

"A boat! a boat!" he shrieked. "And it's coming our way. I knew Nellie was a brick. I knew she'd do it."

A boat rowed by four men came faster and faster over the waves. By-and-by it was within a stone's-throw of the children. A big man sat in the stern. Harry glanced at him.

"Why, it's father!" he cried. "Oh, father, why did you come home? I thought you had gone away for the day. Father, I wasn't a bit afraid to drown--not really, I mean. I hope Nellie told you."

"Yes, my brave boy. Now, see, when I hold out my hand, spring up carefully or the boat will capsize."

The next instant a stalwart hand and arm were stretched across the rapidly rising waves, and Harry, with a bound, was in the boat.

"Lie down in the boat, and stay as quiet as a mouse," said his father.

Pauline, already up to her waist in water, struggled a step or two and was dragged into the boat; while two of the men bent over, and, catching Penelope round the waist, lifted her into their ark of shelter.

"It was touch-and-go, sir," said one of the sailors who had accompanied Harry's father. "Five minutes later and we could have done no good."

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE DULL WEIGHT.

The rest of that day pa.s.sed for Pauline in a sort of dream. She felt no fear nor pain nor remorse. She lay in bed with a languid and sleepy sensation. Aunt Sophia went in and out of the room; she was all kindness and sympathy. Several times she bent down and kissed the child's hot forehead. It gave Pauline neither pain nor pleasure when her aunt did that; she was, in short, incapable of any emotion. When the doctor came at night his face looked grave.

"The little girl is all right," he said. "She has had a terrible fright, but a good night's rest will quite restore her to her usual health; but I don't quite like the look of the elder girl."

Verena, who was in the room, now came forward.

"Pauline is always pale," she said. "If it is only that she looks a little more pale than usual----"

"It isn't that," interrupted the doctor. "Her nervous system has got a most severe shock."

"The fact is this," said Miss Tredgold. "The child has not been herself for some time. It was on that account that I brought her to the seaside.

She was getting very much better. This accident is most unfortunate, and I cannot understand how she knew about Penelope."

"It was a precious good thing she did find it out," said the doctor, "or Mr. Carver's two little children and your young niece would all have been drowned. Miss Pauline did a remarkably plucky thing. Well, I will send round a quieting draught. Some one had better sleep in the child's room to-night; she may possibly get restless and excited."

When Miss Tredgold and Verena found themselves alone, Miss Tredgold looked at her niece.

"Can you understand it?" she asked.

"No, Aunt Sophy."

"Has Pen told you anything?"

"No."

"We must not question her further just now," said Miss Tredgold. "She will explain things in the morning, perhaps. Why did the children go to the White Bay--a forbidden place to every child in the neighborhood? And how did Pauline know that they were there? The mystery thickens. It annoys me very much."

Verena said nothing, but her eyes slowly filled with tears.

"My dear," said Miss Tredgold suddenly, "I thought it right this afternoon to send your father a telegram. He may arrive in the morning, or some time to-morrow; there is no saying."

"Oh, I'm sure he will come if he remembers," said Verena.

"That's just it, Renny. How long will he remember? Sometimes I think he has a fossil inside of him instead of a heart. But there! I must not abuse him to you, my dear."

"He is really a most loving father," said Verena; "that is, when he remembers. Why he should forget everything puzzles me a good deal; still, I cannot forget that he is my father."

"And you are right to remember it, dear child. Now go and sleep in the same room with Pen, and watch her. I will take care of Pauline."

Pauline was given her sleeping draught, and Miss Tredgold, placing herself in an easy-chair, tried to think over the events of the day. Soon her thoughts wandered from the day itself to the days that had gone before, and she puzzled much over Pauline's character and her curious, half-repellent, half-affectionate att.i.tude towards herself.

"What can be the matter with the child?" she thought. "She doesn't really care for me as the others do, and yet sometimes she gives me a look that none of the others have ever yet given me, just as if she loved me with such a pa.s.sionate love that it would make up for everything I have ever missed in my life. Now, Verena is affectionate and sweet, and open as the day. As to Pen, she is an oddity--no more and no less. I wish I could think her quite straightforward and honorable; but it must be my mission to train her in those important attributes. Pauline is the one who really puzzles me."

By-and-by Pauline opened her eyes. She thought herself alone. She stretched out her arms and said in a voice of excitement:

"Nancy, you had no right to do it. You had no right to send it away to London. It was like stealing it. I want it back. Nancy, I must have it back."

Miss Tredgold went and bent over her. Pauline was evidently speaking in her sleep. Miss Tredgold returned again to her place by the window. The dawn was breaking. There was a streak of light across the distant horizon. The tide was coming in fast. Miss Tredgold, as she watched the waves, found herself shuddering. But for the merest chance Pauline and Pen might have been now lying within their cold embrace. Miss Tredgold shuddered again. She stood up, and was just about to draw the curtain to prevent the little sleeper from being disturbed by the light, when Pauline opened her eyes wide, looked gravely at her aunt, and said:

"Is that you, Nancy? How strange and thin and old you have got! And have you brought it back at last? She wants it; she misses it, and Pen keeps on looking and looking for it. It is so lovely and uncommon, you see. It is gold and dark-blue and light-blue. It is most beautiful. Have you got it for me, Nancy?"

"It is I, dear, not Nancy," said Miss Tredgold, coming forward. "You have had a very good night. I hope you are better."

Pauline looked up at her.

"How funny!" she said. "I really thought you were Nancy--Nancy King, my old friend. I suppose I was dreaming."

"You were talking about something that was dark-blue and light-blue and gold," said Miss Tredgold.

Pauline gave a weak smile.

"Was I?" she answered.