The day was drawing to a close when the storm, which had been
threatening all the morning on which Paul Trefusis died, swept fiercely
up the harbour, showing that the wind had again shifted to the westward.
Poor Nelly, though cast down with grief at her father's death, could not
help trembling as she thought of Michael, exposed as she knew he must be
to its rage. Was he, too, to be taken away from them?
She was left much alone, as Dame Lanreath had been engaged, with the
assistance of a neighbour, in the sad duty of laying out the dead man.
Nelly several times had run out to look down the harbour, hoping against
hope that she might see Michael's boat sailing up it.
At length, in spite of the gale, she made her way to Reuben Lanaherne's
cottage. His wife and daughter were seated at their work, but he was
not there. Agitated and breathless from encountering the fierce wind,
she could scarcely speak as she entered.
"Sit down, maiden; what ails thee?" said Dame Lanaherne, rising, and
kindly placing her on a stool by her side.
Nelly could only answer with sobs.
Just then old Reuben himself entered, shaking the spray from his thick
coat.
"How is thy father, Nelly?" he asked.
"He has gone," she answered, sobbing afresh. "And, O Uncle Reuben, have
you seen Michael's boat? can you tell me where he is?"
"I have not forgotten him, Nelly, and have been along the shore as far
as I could make my way on the chance that he might have missed the
harbour, and had run for Kynance Cove, but not a sign of him or his boat
could I see. I wish I had better news for you, Nelly. And your good
father gone too! Don't take on so--he is free from pain now--happy in
heaven; and there is One above Who will look after Michael, though what
has become of him is more than I can tell you."
The old fisherman's words brought little comfort to poor Nelly, though
he and his wife and daughter did their best to console her. They
pressed her to remain with them, but she would not be absent longer from
her granny, and, thanking them for their kindness, hurried homewards.
The wind blew fiercely, but no rain had as yet fallen.
Their neighbour, having rendered all the assistance required, had gone
away, and the old dame and her young grandchild sat together side by
side in the outer room. They could talk only of Michael. The dame did
not dare to utter what she thought. His small boat might have been
swamped in the heavy sea, or he might have fallen overboard and been
unable to regain her; or, attempting to land on a rocky coast, she might
have been dashed to pieces, and he swept off by the receding surf. Such
had been the fate of many she had known.
As each succeeding gust swept by, poor Nelly started and trembled in
spite of her efforts to keep calm.
At length down came the rain battering against the small panes of glass.
At that instant there was a knocking at the door.
"Can you give us shelter from the storm, good folks?" said a voice; and,
the latch being lifted, an elderly gentleman, accompanied by two ladies,
one of whom was young and the other more advanced in life, appeared at
the entrance.
They evidently took it for granted that they should not be denied.
"You are welcome, though you come to a house of mourning," said Dame
Lanreath, rising, while Nelly hastened to place stools for them to sit
on.
"I am afraid, then, that we are intruders," said the gentleman, "and we
would offer to go on, but my wife and daughter would be wet through
before we could reach any other shelter."
"We would not turn any one away, especially you and Mistress Tremayne,"
said the dame, looking at the elder lady.
"What! do you know us?" asked the gentleman.
"I know Mistress Tremayne and the young lady from her likeness to what I
recollect of her mother," answered Dame Lanreath. "I seldom forget a
person I once knew, and she has often bought fish of me in days gone
by."
"And I, too, recollect you. If I mistake not you used to be pretty
widely known as Polly Lanreath," said the lady, looking at the old
fish-wife.
"And so I am now, Mistress Tremayne," answered the dame, "though not
known so far and wide as I once was. I can still walk my twenty miles
a-day; but years grow on one; and when I see so many whom I have known
as children taken away, I cannot expect to remain hale and strong much
longer."
"You have altered but little since I knew you," observed Mrs Tremayne,
"and I hope that you may retain your health and strength for many years
to come."
"That's as God wills," said the dame. "I pray it may be so for the sake
of my little Nelly here."
"She is your grandchild, I suppose," observed Mrs Tremayne.
"Ay, and the only one I have got to live for now. Her father has just
gone, and she and I are left alone."
"O granny, but there is Michael; don't talk of him as gone," exclaimed
Nelly. "He will come back, surely he will come back."
This remark of Nelly's caused Mr and Mrs Tremayne to make further
inquiries.
They at first regretted that they had been compelled to take shelter in
the cottage, but as the dame continued talking, their interest in what
she said increased.
"It seemed strange, Mistress Tremayne, that you should have come here at
this moment," she observed. "Our Michael is the grandson of one whom
you knew well in your childhood; she was Nancy Trewinham, who was nurse
in the family of your mother, Lady Saint Mabyn; and you, if I mistake
not, were old enough at the time to remember her."
"Yes, indeed, I do perfectly well; and I have often heard my mother
express her regret that so good and gentle a young woman should have
married a man who, though apparently well-to-do in the world, was more
than suspected to be of indifferent character," said the lady. "We
could gain no intelligence of her after she left Penzance, though I
remember my father saying that he had no doubt a noted smuggler whose
vessel was lost off this coast was the man she had married. Being
interested in her family, he made inquiries, but could not ascertain
whether she had survived her unhappy husband or not. And have you,
indeed, taken charge of her grandson in addition to those of your own
family whom you have had to support?"
"It was not I took charge of the boy, but my good son-in-law, who lies
dead there," said the dame. "He thought it but a slight thing, and only
did what he knew others would do by him."
"He deserved not the less credit," said Mr Tremayne. "We shall,
indeed, be anxious to hear that the boy has come to no harm, and I am
sure that Mrs Tremayne will be glad to do anything in her power to
assist you and him should he, as I hope, have escaped. We purpose
staying at Landewednach for a few days to visit the scenery on the
coast, and will send down to inquire to-morrow."
While Mr and Mrs Tremayne and the old dame had been talking, Miss
Tremayne had beckoned to Nelly to come and sit by her, and, speaking in
a kind and gentle voice, had tried to comfort the young girl. She,
however, could only express her hope that Michael had by some means or
other escaped. Though Nelly knew that that hope was vain, the sympathy
which was shown her soothed her sorrow more than the words which were
uttered.
Sympathy, in truth, is the only balm that one human being can pour into
the wounded heart of another. Would that we could remember that in all
our grief and sufferings we have One in heaven Who can sympathise with
us as He did when He wept with the sorrowing family at Bethany.
The rain ceased almost as suddenly as it had commenced, and as Mr and
Mrs Tremayne, who had left their carriage on the top of the hill, were
anxious to proceed on their journey, they bade Dame Lanreath and Nelly
good-bye, again apologising for having intruded on them.
"Don't talk of that please, Mistress Tremayne," said the old dame.
"Your visit has been a blessing to us, as it has taken us off our own
sad thoughts. Nelly already looks less cast down, from what the young
lady has been saying to her, and though you can't bring the dead to life
we feel your kindness."
"You will let me make it rather more substantial, then, by accepting
this trifle, which may be useful under the present circumstances," said
the gentleman, offering a couple of guineas.
The old dame looked at them, a struggle seemed to be going on within
her.
"I thank you kindly, sir, that I do," she answered; "but since my
earliest days I have gained my daily bread and never taken charity from
any one."
"But you must not consider this as charity, dame," observed Mrs
Tremayne; "it is given to show our interest in your little granddaughter
and in the boy whom your son-in-law and you have so generously protected
so many years. I should, indeed, feel bound to assist him, and
therefore on his account pray receive it and spend it as you may
require."
The dame's scruples were at length overcome, and her guests, after she
had again expressed her feelings of gratitude, took their departure.
They had scarcely gone when Eban Cowan appeared at the door.
"I have just heard what has happened, and I could not let the day pass
without coming to tell you how sorry I am," he said, as he entered.
Nelly thanked him warmly.
"Father has gone to heaven and is at rest," she said, quietly.
"I should think that you would rather have had him with you down on
earth," observed Eban, who little comprehended her feelings.
"So I would, but it was God's will to take him, and he taught me to say,
`Thy will be done;' and I can say that though I grieve for his loss,"
answered Nelly. "But, O Eban, when you came I thought that you had
brought some tidings of Michael."
"No! Where is he? I did not know that he was not at home."
Nelly then told Eban how Michael had gone away with the boat in the
morning and had not returned. "I will go and search for him then," he
said. "He has run in somewhere, perhaps, along the coast. I wonder,
when you spoke to Uncle Lanaherne, that he did not set off at once. But
I will go. I'll get father to send some men with me with ropes, and if
he is alive and clinging to a rock, as he may be, we will bring him
back."
Nelly poured out her thanks to Eban, who, observing that there was no
time to be lost, set off to carry out his proposal.
Dame Lanreath had said but little. She shook her head when he had gone,
as Nelly continued praising him.
"He is brave and bold, Nelly, but that could be said of Captain Brewhard
and many others I have known, who were bad husbands and false friends,
and there is something about the lad I have never liked. He is inclined
to be friendly now; and as you grow up he will wish, maybe, to be more
friendly; but I warn you against him, Nelly dear. Though he speaks to
you ever go fair, don't trust him."
"But I must be grateful to him as long as I live if he finds Michael,"
answered Nelly, who thought her grandmother condemned Eban without
sufficient cause.
Had she known how he had often talked to Michael, she might have been of
a different opinion.
The storm continued to blow as fiercely as ever, and the rain again came
pelting down; ever and anon peals of thunder rattled and crashed
overhead, and flashes of lightning, seen more vividly through the
thickening gloom, darted from the sky.
Dame Lanreath and Nelly sat in their cottage by the dead--the old woman
calm and unmoved, though Nelly, at each successive crash of thunder or
flash of lightning, drew closer to her grandmother, feeling more secure
in the embrace of the only being on whom she had now to rely for
protection in the wide world.