The Treasure of Heaven Part 31

He glanced at her as she said this, and caught a closer glimpse of her face. Some faint mystical light in the sky illumined the outlines of her features, and showed him a calm and n.o.ble profile, such as may be found in early Greek sculpture, and which silently expresses the lines:

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,--that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know!"

He moved on with a quicker step, touched by a keen sense of expectation.

Ill as he knew himself to be, he was eager to reach this woman's dwelling and to see her more closely. A soft laugh of pleasure broke from her lips as he tried to accelerate his pace.

"Oh, we're getting quite strong and bold now, aren't we!" she exclaimed, gaily--"But take care not to go too fast! There's a rough bit of bog and boulder coming."

This was true. They had arrived at the upper edge of a bank overlooking a hill stream which was pouring noisily down in a flood made turgid by the rain, and the "rough bit of bog and boulder" was a sort of natural bridge across the torrent, formed by heaps of earth and rock, out of which ma.s.ses of wet fern and plumy meadow-sweet sprang in tall tufts and garlands, which though beautiful to the eyes in day-time, were apt to entangle the feet in walking, especially when there was only the uncertain glimmer of the stars by which to grope one's way. Helmsley's age and over-wrought condition made his movements nervous and faltering at this point, and nothing could exceed the firm care and delicate solicitude with which his guide helped him over this last difficulty of the road. She was indeed strong, as she had said,--she seemed capable of lifting him bodily, if need were--yet she was not a woman of large or robust frame. On the contrary, she appeared slightly built, and carried herself with that careless grace which betokens perfect form. Once safely across the bridge and on the other side of the coombe, she pointed to a tiny lattice window with a light behind it which gleamed out through the surrounding foliage like a glow-worm in the darkness.

"Here we are at home," she said,--"Just along this path--it's quite easy!--now under this tree--it's a big chestnut,--you'll love it!--now here's the garden gate--wait till I lift the latch--that's right!--the garden's quite small you see,--it goes straight up to the cottage--and here's the door! Come in!"

As in a dream, Helmsley was dimly conscious of the swis.h.i.+ng rustle of wet leaves, and the fragrance of mignonette and roses mingling with the salty scent of the sea,--then he found himself in a small, low, oak-raftered kitchen, with a wide old-fas.h.i.+oned hearth and ingle-nook, warm with the glow of a sparkling fire. A quaintly carved comfortably cus.h.i.+oned armchair was set in the corner, and to this his guide conducted him, and gently made him sit down.

"Now give me the doggie!" she said, taking that little personage from his arms--"He'll be glad of his supper and a warm bed, poor little soul!

And so will you!"

With a kindly caress she set Charlie down in front of the hearth, and proceeded to shut the cottage door, which had been left open as they entered,--and locking it, dropped an iron bar across it for the night.

Then she threw off her cloak, and hung it up on a nail in the wall, and bending over a lamp which was burning low on the table, turned up its wick a little higher. Helmsley watched her in a kind of stupefied wonderment. As the lamplight flashed up on her features, he saw that she was not a girl, but a woman who seemed to have thought and suffered. Her face was pale, and the lines of her mouth were serious, though very sweet. He could hardly judge whether she had beauty or not, because he saw her at a disadvantage. He was too ill to appreciate details, and he could only gaze at her in the dim and troubled weariness of an old and helpless man, who for the time being was dependent on any kindly aid that might be offered to him. Once or twice the vague idea crossed his mind that he would tell her who he was, and a.s.sure her that he had plenty of money about him to reward her for her care and pains,--but he could not bring himself to the point of this confession. The surprise and sweetness of being received thus unquestioningly under the shelter of her roof as merely the poor way-worn tramp he seemed to be, were too great for him to relinquish. She, meanwhile, having trimmed the lamp, hurried into a neighboring room, and came in again with a bundle of woollen garments, and a thick flannel dressing gown on her arm.

"This was my father's," she said, as she brought it to him--"It's soft and cosy. Get off your wet clothes and slip into it, while I go and make your bed ready."

She spread the dressing gown before the fire to warm it, and was about to turn away again, when Helmsley laid a detaining hand on her arm.

"Wait--wait!" he said--"Do you know what you are doing?"

She laughed.

"Well, now that _is_ a question! Do I seem crazy?"

"Almost you do--to me!" And stirred into a sudden flicker of animation, he held her fast as he spoke--"Do you live alone here?"

"Yes,--quite alone."

"Then don't you see how foolish you are? You are taking into your house a mere tramp,--a beggar who is more likely to die than live! Do you realise how dangerous this is for you? I may be an escaped convict,--a thief--even a murderer! You cannot tell!"

She smiled and nodded at him as a nurse might nod and smile at a fanciful or querulous patient.

"I can't tell, certainly, and don't want to know!" she replied--"I go by what I see."

"And what do you see?"

She patted his thin cold hand kindly.

"I see a very old man--older than my own dear father was when he died--and I know he is too old and feeble to be out at night in the wet and stormy weather. I know that he is ill and weak, and suffering from exhaustion, and that he must rest and be well nourished for a few days till he gets strong again. And I am going to take care of him,"--here she gave a consoling little pressure to the hand she held. "I am indeed! And he must do as he is told, and take off his wet clothes and get ready for bed!"

Something in Helmsley's throat tightened like the contraction of a rising sob.

"You will risk all this trouble,"--he faltered--"for a stranger--who--who--cannot repay you--?----"

"Now, now! You mustn't hurt me!" she said, with a touch of reproach in her soft tones--"I don't want to be repaid in any way. You know WHO it was that said 'I was a stranger and ye took me in'? Well, He would wish me to take care of you."

She spoke quite simply, without any affectation of religious sentiment.

Helmsley looked at her steadily.

"Is that why you shelter me?"

She smiled very sweetly, and he saw that her eyes were beautiful.

"That is one reason, certainly!"--she answered; "But there is another,--quite a selfish one! I loved my father, and when he died, I lost everything I cared for in the world. You remind me of him--just a little. Now will you do as I ask you, and take off your wet things?"

He let go her hand gently.

"I will,"--he said, unsteadily--for there were tears in his eyes--"I will do anything you wish. Only tell me your name!"

"My name? My name is Mary,--Mary Deane."

"Mary Deane!" he repeated softly--and yet again--"Mary Deane! A pretty name! Shall I tell you mine!"

"Not unless you like,"--she replied, quickly--"It doesn't matter!"

"Oh, you'd better know it!" he said--"I'm only old David--a man 'on the road' tramping it to Cornwall."

"That's a long way!" she murmured compa.s.sionately, as she took his weather-beaten hat and shook the wet from it--"And why do you want to tramp so far, you poor old David?"

"I'm looking for a friend,"--he answered--"And maybe it's no use trying,--but I should like to find that friend before I die."

"And so you will, I'm sure!" she declared, smiling at him, but with something of an anxious expression in her eyes, for Helmsley's face was very pinched and pallid, and every now and then he s.h.i.+vered violently as with an ague fit--"But you must pick up your strength first. Then you'll get on better and quicker. Now I'm going to leave you while you change. You'll find plenty of warm things with the dressing gown."

She went out as before into the next room, and Helmsley managed, though with considerable difficulty, to divest himself of his drenched clothes and get on the comfortable woollen garments she had put ready for him.

When he took off his coat and vest, he spread them in front of the fire to dry instead of the dressing-gown which he now wore, and as soon as she returned he specially pointed out the vest to her.

"I should like you to put that away somewhere in your own safe keeping,"--he said. "It has a few letters and--and papers in it which I value,--and I don't want any stranger to see them. Will you take care of it for me?"

"Of course I will! n.o.body shall touch it, be sure! Not a soul ever comes nigh me unless I ask for company!--so you can be quite easy in your mind. Now I'm going to give you a cup of hot soup, and then you'll go to bed, won't you?--and, please G.o.d, you'll be better in the morning!"

He nodded feebly, and forced a smile. He had sunk back in the armchair and his eyes were fixed on the warm-hearth, where the tiny dog, Charlie, whom he had rescued, and who in turn had rescued him, was curled up and snoozing peacefully. Now that the long physical and nervous strain of his journey and of his ghastly experience at Blue Anchor was past, he felt almost too weak to lift a hand, and the sudden change from the fierce buffetings of the storm to the homely tranquillity of this little cottage into which he had been welcomed just as though he had every right to be there, affected him with a strange sensation which he could not a.n.a.lyse. And once he murmured half unconsciously:

"Mary! Mary Deane!"

"Yes,--that's me!" she responded cheerfully, coming to his side at once--"I'm here!"

He lifted his head and looked at her.

"Yes, I know you are here,--Mary!" he said, his voice trembling a little as he uttered her name--"And I thank G.o.d for sending you to me in time!

But how--how was it that you found me?"

"I was watching the storm,"--she replied--"I love wild weather!--I love to hear the wind among the trees and the pouring of the rain! I was standing at my door listening to the waves thudding into the hollow of the coombe, and all at once I heard the sharp barking of a dog on the hill just above here--and sometimes the bark changed to a pitiful little howl, as if the animal were in pain. So I put on my cloak and crossed the coombe up the bank--it's only a few minutes' scramble, though to you it seemed ever such a long way to-night,--and there I saw you lying on the gra.s.s with the little doggie running round and round you, and making all the noise he could to bring help. Wise little beastie!" And she stooped to pat the tiny object of her praise, who sighed comfortably and stretched his dainty paws out a little more luxuriously--"If it hadn't been for him you might have died!"