While this was going on in that struggling
heart a black shadow had crept close to the man, and
Agnes Barker stood between him and Mabel, leaving
her in the firelight, but shutting it out from him.
He did not feel the darkness, and
the girl stood by him more than a minute before he
looked up.
Mabel moved with a faint expression
of pain, as if she felt the shadow of some evil thing
falling athwart the light; but she did not unclose
her eyes, and Agnes, who had been for some time within
earshot, spoke before her presence was recognized.
“Is there anything I can do?”
she said in her usual low tones.
James lifted his head, bowed almost
to the dust in the humility of his prayer, and saw
this strange girl standing before him, her red garments
glowing in the firelight, her arms folded on her bosom,
and her eyes glittering beneath their long lashes,
like half-buried diamonds. She seemed so like
an embodiment of the evil passions he had prayed against,
that he sat mute and pale, gazing upon her.
“You look deathly. You
are hurt,” she said, stooping toward him with
a gesture at once subtle and fascinating. “I
saw her boat engulphed I saw you plunge
into the stream the storm was raging through
the woods, but I came through it all.”
Still Harrington remained silent,
gazing fixedly upon her, so astonished by her presence
that he did not heed her words.
“The lady is not dead,”
continued the girl, looking over her shoulders, while
her garment grew dusky, and lurid in the waning light.
“I heard her speaking, but a few moments ago.”
James Harrington arose to his feet with grave dignity.
“You have come in good time,
Miss Barker,” he said. “If your cloak
is dry throw it around her; even in this warmth she
shivers.”
Agnes looked back as she drew off
her short cloak, and held the garment irresolutely
in her hand.
“But you are wet and cold, too,
wrap the cloak around yourself. What life can
be more precious!”
She said this in a low voice, and
moved towards him. He put the garment aside,
and passing Agnes, stooped over Mrs. Harrington, addressing
her in a grave, gentle voice.
“Are you stronger, now, dear lady?”
“I think so!” answered
Mabel, moving uneasily, “but some one else is
here I heard speaking!”
“It was me,” answered
Agnes, spreading her cloak softly over Mabel; “I
saw your peril, dear Mrs. Harrington, and came to offer
help. My old nurse lives upon the hill if
you can walk so far, she will be glad to shelter you.”
Mabel attempted to sit up. The
presence of Agnes Barker excited her with new strength.
She pushed aside the cloak with a feeling of repulsion,
and looked pleadingly on Harrington.
“You will not take me up there!”
she said. “It is a dreary, dreary place!”
“But it is the only shelter at hand,”
urged Harrington.
“I know; but that woman don’t
place me, helpless as I am, with that strange woman!”
“You will find a capital nurse
there; I left her preparing a warm bed!” whispered
Agnes, stooping toward Harrington, till her breath
floated across his face; “the walk is a little
toilsome, but short; between us, I think she could
manage it.”
Mabel heard the whisper, and sinking
back on her bed of leaves, pleaded against the measure.
“I cannot go up there,”
she said with some resolution, “I could not rest
with that woman near.”
“Of whom does she speak?” inquired Harrington.
“It is impossible for me to
guess; the fright has unsettled her mind, I fear,”
answered Agnes.
“No, I am sane enough,”
murmured Mrs. Harrington, “but I have been warned.
No human voice ever spoke more plainly than that lone
night bird, as I went up the hollow he
knew that it was unholy ground I trod upon!”
“But you are not strong enough
to reach home,” persisted the girl Agnes, “the
river is yet rough the wind unsettled.”
“She is well enough to go just
where she’s a mind to, I reckon,” said
Ben Benson, crashing through the undergrowth, “and
I’m here to help her do it.”
“Thank you,” said Mabel, gently, “I
wish to go home!”
Ben turned towards Harrington, and,
without regard to the presence of Agnes, spoke his
mind.
“I don’t like the cut
of things up yonder, somehow. The woman looks
like a female Judas Iscariot. She’s eager
but not kind. The madam is better off here with
the old tree to warm her.”
Agnes kept her eyes steadily on Ben
as he spoke; when he had finished, she laughed.
“You are complimentary to my
mammy!” she said, “I will tell her your
opinion. But have your own way. We have offered
hospitality to the lady in good faith if
she prefers other shelter, I dare say we shall find
the means of reconciling ourselves to her wishes and
to your very flattering opinion, Mr. Boatman.”
Ben threw back his right foot and
made the young lady a nautical bow, accompanied with
an overwhelming flourish of the hand.
“Delighted to hear as you and
the old woman is agreeable. Now if you’d
just as lieves, we’ll try and get madam down
to the boat; I’ve just bailed it out. The
river may be a trifle roughish yet, but there’s
no danger.”
Ben directed this portion of his speech
to Mr. James Harrington, who stood by in silence,
without appearing to regard the conversation.
He now stepped forward, and stooping
over Mabel, inquired if she was willing, and felt
strong enough to attempt a return home by water.
“Yes,” answered Mabel,
sitting up and striving to arrange her dress, “I
am stronger now take me home by all means.
General Harrington will be terrified by my absence,
and Lina dear, dear Lina, how grateful she
will be to have her mother back again!”
“And your son!” said Harrington gently.
“Oh, if I did not mention him,
he is always here!” answered Mabel, pressing
a hand to her heart, and looking upward with a face
beaming with vivid tenderness; “I never knew
how much of love was in my soul before.”
How unconscious the noble woman was
of her dreamy wanderings of speech how
pure and trustful was the look which she fixed upon
Harrington’s face as she said this. A holy
thankfulness pervaded her whole being; from the black
deep she seemed to have gathered a world of beautiful
strength.
“Come,” she said, struggling
to her feet and smiling in gentle derision of her
weakness, as she felt her head begin to reel, “I
am not afraid to try the boat again, if some one will
help me.”
Harrington did not move, and after
a perplexed look from one to the other, Ben stooped
his shoulder that she might lean upon it.
When they reached the boat, Mabel
was almost exhausted, but she found strength to think
of Agnes, who had silently followed them.
“Will you not get in?”
she said, faintly, “I should be glad to have
you with me.”
“No,” answered the girl,
in the sweetest of all accents, “nurse would
be terrified to death. I will return home.”
“Not alone,” said James Harrington, “that
must not be.”
“Oh, Mr. Harrington, I am used
to being alone. It is the fate of a poor girl
like me!”
There was something plaintive in her
voice, and she drooped meekly forward, as if imploring
pardon for having said so much.
Harrington remained a moment thoughtful;
at last he addressed Ben.
“Proceed up the river,”
he said, “slowly it must be, for the stream is
against you. I will see that Miss Barker reaches
home safely, and overtake you.”
Ben looked up in astonishment.
“Why, Mister James, she’s allers alone
in these ere woods. No blackbird knows the bush
better, what’s the use?”
Mabel said nothing, but her eyes turned
upon Harrington with a wistful and surprised look.
“No matter, she must not go
through the woods alone,” answered Harrington.
“Keep snug to the shore, and be ready to answer
my hail; I will overtake you in a few minutes.”
Harrington moved away as he uttered
these words, following Agnes into the woods.
Mabel looked after them with sadness
in her eyes; then, bowing her face softly upon her
folded arms, she remained motionless, save that her
lips moved, and broken whispers which the angels of
Heaven gathered and laid before the throne of God,
stole through them. They had advanced some distance
up the shore, when Harrington hailed the boat; Ben
did not pretend to hear him, but Mabel, lifting her
face, now full of gentleness, said, with a smile
“Stop, Ben, he is calling for you!”
“Let him call and be ”
Ben caught the profane word in his teeth, and swallowing
it with a great struggle, commenced again
“Let him call till he’s
tired, why didn’t he stay with that old Judas
and the young witch. To think of going off with
sich like, and madame just a dying halloo
away, Ben Benson ’ll sink afore he hears you!”
Ben muttered this between his teeth,
and worked away at the oars, doggedly resolved to
continue his fit of deafness, and give his master a
midnight walk through the dripping and rough woods,
but Mabel addressed him again with a quiet firmness
which he could not find the heart to resist.
“Put on shore, Ben, and take your master in.”
“I begin to thing he’s
took us all in a little too often!” muttered
Ben; but he turned reluctantly for the shore, and
Harrington, without speaking, took his place in the
boat.
The moon had broken through the drift-clouds
left by the storm, before the little party reached
the cove below General Harrington’s dwelling.
The front of the house was entirely dark, but lights
wandered to and fro along the hollow, and anxious
voices were heard calling to each other along the
bank.
“They’re out searching
for us!” said Ben, dropping his oars and making
an impromptu speaking-trumpet of his hand. Directly
his voice rang along the shore.
“Ben Benson, and passengers from down stream.
All well!”
A shout answered from the shore, and
directly eager voices and rapid footsteps rushed toward
the little cove; first came Ralph, wild with joy,
leaping downward like a panther.
“Is she safe! is she here!”
he cried, pausing with dread upon the bank.
“Ralph, Ralph!”
He knew the voice. He sprang
into the boat, and fell upon his knees before his
mother.
“Thank God, oh mother, mother!”
He could say no more. Unspeakable
joy choked his utterance. He kissed her hands,
her face, and her wet robes.
“Mother, mother, tell me what
has happened! You are cold you tremble all
your clothes are wet your bonnet is off that
dear pale face, oh mother, you have been in danger,
and I not there!”
His love gave her strength. She
took his head between her trembling hands, and kissed
him again and again on the forehead.
“Oh, yes, my Ralph, I have been
very near death but with all this to live
for, God would not let me die.”
“No, no, he could not make us
so wretched. Oh, mother, what would home be without
you? It is only an hour or two since we missed
you; but those hours were full of desolation.
Tell me tell me how it was!”
“They did it they
will tell you I was in the depths of the
river, but they drew me out.”
“They, my brother James, and
that blessed old rogue, Ben Benson, did they save
you, mother, while I I, your only son was
dreaming at home? Oh, James, must I thank you
for my mother, with all the rest!”
“Thank God, Ralph, for He has saved your mother!”
His voice was impressive and solemn.
It seemed like a rebuke to the ardent gratitude of
the young man.
“I do thank God, brother James,”
he answered reverently, uncovering his head.
“But, to be grateful to God’s creatures
is, so far, giving thanks to Him! How often have
you told me this?”
“You are right,” answered
James gently, “but see, your mother needs assistance!”
Mabel had risen, and was making ready
to step from the boat. Ralph turned, flung one
arm around her.
“Lean on me, dear mother.
Lay your head on my shoulder; don’t mind the
weight; I can carry you, if needful!”
Mabel submitted herself to the affectionate
guidance of her son, with a sigh of pleasure, and
proceeded towards the house.