A LONG NIGHT
TO Hope, the brief time she had had with Lancelot before he sailed, now
seemed like a dream. But she could write to him; she had some one to
whom she could unbosom herself, and she no longer felt her loneliness.
In spite of his absence, she was able to go about her daily duties with
a shining radiant face. Kitty said to her one day:
"I think your name ought to have been Peace, there's such a look of
that in your eyes. But perhaps hope brings peace, does it?"
"I think a certain hope does," rejoined Hope, looking at Kitty
thoughtfully.
"Now how can hope be certain?" Kitty enjoyed an argument. "Hope always
seems to me," she went on, "to necessitate doubt. Otherwise, you would
do more than hope."
"What is the dictionary definition?" said Hope. "Isn't it anticipation,
a desire or expectation? I always think our hope as Christians is
anticipation, and certain anticipation of the future fills one with
peace."
"I shall never, never be filled with peace," asserted Kitty. "You
are like a sweet clear lake, and I am a hot mineral spring, always
bubbling, fizzing, and spouting, when I ought to be quiet. I am in a
perpetual fizz, and unless I can work off my energy I explode, as you
know."
"But, dear Kitty, the peace is for you as well as for me."
"Yes, but our natures are different."
"And our circumstances," added Hope.
Yet in thought she looked back, and saw herself rushing through her
London seasons, always gay, always ready for everything, and yet always
painfully restless in her spirit. She began to wonder at herself, then
she said:
"My quiet life here helps me, Kitty. I have no one to worry me."
"Not the imps, as I call them? You wait till their holidays begin, and
that will be in three days' time, now!"
"Well, perhaps I shall find their element very disturbing, but I don't
know; nothing really touches your inner life, if it is given up to Him
Who is our peace."
But Hope found that her serenity was sadly tried that Christmas, and
not being perfect by any means, it broke down more than once. The boys
were in rollicking spirits, and the tiny cottage could not contain them
sometimes. Brian set them to work sawing wood, and taking the poultry
to the railway station. He had bought the little donkey and donkey-cart
from Miss Rill, and nothing delighted the boys more than to drive it
about. But they could not be doing that every day, and Hope counted
each day, as it went by, to the end of the holidays.
Christmas was a very quiet time at the cottage. Hope had no money to
spend on luxuries, and told the boys that they must expect no presents.
However, on Christmas Eve, to their astonishment, a neighbour informed
them that a hamper for them had arrived at the station, and was waiting
there to be fetched. The boys were frantic with excitement, and Brian
being away with the cart, they started off at once, and arrived an hour
later breathless and exhausted, having carried the hamper between them
the whole of the way.
"It's directed to us, Hope!" they screamed, as soon as they saw her.
"And we couldn't wait, and we've opened it; and there's nothing but
parcels of all sorts in it."
"You had better unpack it at once," suggested their sister; "perhaps
you will find a note from some one in it."
But there was no clue. It had been sent from the Army and Navy Stores.
There were books and games for the boys, preserved fruits, chocolates,
a large iced cake, a thick soft rug for Mr. St. Clair, a book for
Brian, and in a small box a gold bracelet for Hope. The names were
printed on the respective gifts.
Hope took her bracelet and walked to the window to look at it. And then
the words engraved inside told her what she had already guessed. They
were these:
"Num. vi. 24, 25, 26."
Only Lancelot could have sent her that. She went out of the room and
got hold of her Bible, and she read the words with tears dimming her
eyes.
"The Lord bless thee and keep thee.
The Lord make His face shine upon thee, and be gracious
unto thee.
The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee and give
thee peace."
When she told the boys who had sent the hamper, they wondered if it had
come all the way from India. Hope explained that he must have ordered
it before he left London; and his thoughtfulness in the rush of his
last day in town was very sweet to her. The hamper was a great success.
And the Christmas Day that followed, though quietly spent, was a very
happy one.
Peace, the great Christmas gift, reigned in Hope's heart, and through
her was reflected on those around her. She was able to go to church in
the morning, and Kitty, who had been like a bit of quicksilver all the
week, met her outside and pressed a packet into her hand.
"I'm very poor, but I sat up last night and made it for you, after we
had finished the decorations in the church. I wish it was a better
offering."
It was a dainty work-bag, with her initials worked in holly-berries
across it. Kitty's clever fingers had made a great success of it, and
Hope came home feeling that she was rich in friends.
After Christmas, there was a long spell of wet. Mr. St. Clair, who had
seemed to be improving in health, flagged again, and a doctor had to
be summoned. He looked grave, enjoined great quiet, and informed Brian
that he feared another seizure.
Of course Brian carried this verdict to his sister, and some anxious
days and nights followed.
Hope's spirits sank a little; the weather outside and her cares within
proved hard to combat. She watched her father anxiously, and spent the
greater part of her days in his room. Their orchard became swamped with
water, and Brian had hard work to keep his fowl-houses dry.
One afternoon, Kitty arrived in great excitement. It was streaming with
rain, but she seemed impervious to weather.
"Isn't this rain awful?" she said. "We have had three weeks on end; and
do you know the river is rising so high that people are afraid of it
flooding? Father can remember a flood twenty years ago. The weir burst
and overflowed. Isn't it exciting! I can't help hoping it will do it
again."
"You dreadful child!" said Hope, with a smile. "You don't realise what
it would be, or you would not talk so. We should fare very badly here,
for we are close to the weir, and below the level of it."
"I suppose you are. I shouldn't like you to be inconvenienced, but I
wouldn't mind our old Vicarage being flooded. We ought to get some
boats ready. There's one cottage much lower than you, and that's old
Mrs. Pitman's. She's right in a hole, and the water would be sure to
flood her. I've been up to the weir. All the village boys are watching
it, and old John Strong told me that the river has never been so high
since the last flood."
"You are making me quite anxious," said Hope.
Brian, standing by, laughed.
"Well," he said, "time enough when it comes to be that; but this
long spell of wet is bad for everything, and the wind is getting up.
There'll be a good storm to-night. I don't think you'll be troubled at
the Vicarage, Miss Kitty. You're too high up."
"No," said Kitty, sadly, "I'm afraid we are. I do love a fresh
sensation. Old people talk of the flood of seventy-three. I should like
to have one to talk about when I get old!"
"You won't suffer from lack of subjects to talk about!" said Brian,
looking at her with twinkling eyes.
"No, life is so full. I must be going home. I just thought I would run
down and warn you. They're actually going to have a watchman by the
river to-night. Father thought it wise."
Kitty disappeared, and Hope, as evening drew on, felt strangely nervous.
"Do you really think there is danger?" she asked her brother, when he
came in from his evening round.
He did not answer for a moment, then he said, "I've just been to the
river to have a look. If it rises a few inches higher, it will be
over its banks. I'm afraid it will be awfully serious for us. I'm
thinking of the fowls. We can't afford to lose them. And I'm more than
half-inclined to move father upstairs. I wander if we could manage it!"
"Oh, Brian!"
Hope's tone was full of dismay.
"The doctor said he must be kept so very quiet, and he has been so
restless and excited to-day. I believe it would be the finishing
stroke. And how could we get him up those narrow stairs?"
"We could take him up in a blanket. Well, we can wait; Joe Garth is
watching. You'll be amused; he has got an old huntsman's horn, and if
he blows it, we shall know the weir has burst!"
"I think it is quite dreadful!" said Hope. "I feel that nothing could
amuse me at this crisis."
At this juncture the boys burst into the cottage. They were half an
hour late.
"We've been watching the river!" Jerry cried excitedly. "The weir is
like Niagara; the water is rushing and swirling like mad. We're going
to have a flood. Everybody says so. Isn't it jolly!"
"Hurrah!" shouted Toby, dancing round the kitchen. "And Joe says we'd
better look out, for the water will come straight down to us!"
"Hush, boys, be quiet, because of father! I wouldn't let him hear of
this for worlds!"
The little party sat down to supper, but Hope's ears were strained to
listen to the tempest that increased in violence every moment. And when
she thought of her sick helpless father, she shuddered. Brian also was
ill at ease. At last he got up from the table.
"Come, youngsters," he said to his small brothers; "I'm going to move
the fowls up to the loft above the old barn at the back of us. Bring
the lantern and help me!"
The boys were delighted. Hope said nothing. At another time she would
have thought of the streaming clothes she would have to dry, now she
did not seem to care. She went back to her father's room, and was glad
to find him half-asleep. The wind and rain did not disturb him. She sat
down by the window and prayed that they might be kept safely through it
all, and then she listened with beating heart to the rush of the river
in the distance. An hour had passed before Brian returned, and then he
called to Hope.
She came out quickly.
"We've got all the poultry safe. What do you think about father?"
"He is sleeping. Don't let us disturb him unless it is absolutely
necessary."
"It seems," said Brian, "that the Vicar wanted to keep the boys there
to-night. Shall we send them up? It would be a relief to get rid of
them: They're so excited that they'll never go to bed."
"It would be a good thing," said Hope, "except that they are wet
through."
"Oh, that doesn't matter; they would get wet again going up there. It's
coming down in torrents!"
The boys had overheard this whispered discussion, and met it with a
howl of indignation. "We won't go! We shall miss all the fun; besides,
we can be so useful helping to take the furniture out!"
"There'll be none of that, if there is a flood," rejoined Brian
sharply. "Give them what they want for the night, Hope, and let them go
at once!"
With many protests, the boys were packed off.
Hope made up the kitchen fire. Nine o'clock, ten o'clock came, and then
Brian suggested her going to bed.
"I think the rain is stopping," he said. "Lie down somewhere at any
rate. I'll call you if anything happens. I shall be sitting with
father!"
"I would rather be here. You see, we should have so little time. Do you
think we should be safe upstairs, Brian, if we were flooded?"
"Oh yes, it wouldn't be so bad as all that. At all events, we could try
it. They say they have boats ready if it comes to the worst."
"It would kill father!" said Hope quietly.
"I fancy it must be going down, or we should have heard the alarm
before this."
Hope settled herself in the easy chair by the fire. She tried not to
think. Brian went to his father, and the cottage settled down into
perfect quiet. The ticking of the kitchen clock was the only thing that
broke the monotony of silence; occasionally a coal fell on the hearth,
and Hope found herself starting as if a pistol had been going off in
her ear. Eleven o'clock struck. Hope began to feel sleepy. Her head
nodded, and then suddenly she sprang to her feet. The horn was sounding!
"Oh, God help us!" was her prayer.
Hanging on a chair by the fire was a blanket which she had thoughtfully
placed there. She was at the door of her father's room with it on her
arm, as Brian opened it.
"That's right!" he said in a whisper. "Keep cool and steady, Hope, and
we shall manage it."
They went into the sick-room. Mr. St. Clair opened his eyes wonderingly
at Hope.
"We're going to move you upstairs to-night, father, dear," she said,
steadying her trembling voice. "We think it will be better for you."
Mr. St. Clair shook his head violently. Hope was beginning to explain
when Brian stopped her.
"Act, don't talk!" he said. "We haven't a moment to lose."
In an incredibly short time Brian, as deftly as any woman, had rolled
his father up in a blanket, and instructed Hope how to hold one
corner of it. It was a breathless task. The invalid got very excited,
and began to babble incoherently. The narrow staircase made it very
difficult to carry him up, but Brian seemed to have the strength of
a Hercules, and it was done at last, and Mr. St. Clair was laid upon
Hope's bed. Brian had thought it all out; he did not say so to his
sister, but her room had the biggest window, in case of the need of an
exit through it.
And then, while Hope was trying to make her father comfortable, Brian
dragged upstairs all the food he could find, and a good deal of the
furniture from below. When Hope could stop to listen, she had hard work
to repress the shiver that ran through her.
The roar and rush of water seemed to come nearer and nearer. She looked
out of the window, and saw by the light that came through the clouds
from the moon, a silver stream coming down a narrow lane that led up
from their orchard to the road above.
And then resolutely she turned away from the sight, and gave all her
attention to her father, who was needing it. Brian was on his knees now
lighting up the fire with some kindling he had brought from the kitchen.
"You'll be all right here, Hope, for a bit. You won't mind if I leave
you? I want to find out the extent of the mischief outside, and my help
may be needed."
Hope's heart sank.
"You won't leave us here to drown?" she said, and then she was ashamed
of herself. "We shall be all right. You will not be very long. Go by
all means."
"I want to find out if a boat could be had. Of course we may not need
it, but it is well to be prepared."
He went downstairs and out into the stormy night.
Hope wished for a moment that she were a man.
"They always have the easiest part to play, the active part," she said
to herself. "It is much harder to sit still in suspense and wait."
There was a loud outburst of wind and water, Mr. St. Clair opened his
eyes, then suddenly called out:
"Hope, where am I?"
Hope bent over him, startled. He had not spoken for months; now she
wondered if it were a good or bad sign that he had recovered his speech.
"We have moved you upstairs, father."
"Why? Am I dying? Is that the rush of water I hear? Put me back in my
own bed again. At once, at once!"
He spoke quickly and excitedly, and struggled to move himself.
Hope tried to soothe him.
"You hear the river, father; it is a stormy night. We were afraid of
the damp coming in downstairs; that was why we moved you. You are quite
comfortable, are you not? Brian will be here soon. He has just gone
out."
"Is it night or day? Why'sh—all a muddle—ish oughtn't to be dark'sh—"
His voice thickened and died away. He seemed to be falling asleep.
Hope did not try to rouse him, but she watched him anxiously. She did
not like the sound of his heavy breathing. And meanwhile the water was
creeping nearer and nearer; it had filtered down through the orchard,
it had reached the cottage door, and was washing and lapping against
the doorposts like the waves of the sea. Hope opened the casement
window cautiously, but only the roar of the wind and the rush of the
water met her ears. She shut it hastily, then leaving her father for a
moment, went down the narrow stairs into the kitchen.
She stared, candle in hand, at the threshold. The water was pouring in,
the swirling, sucking sound of it as it found its way under the door
made her shudder. She snatched up a few of her books that were lying on
the window-sill and went upstairs again.
"It's a gruesome experience!" she thought. "I wonder if we were wise to
move father up here! What shall I do if the water rises to us! It is so
dreadful to be tied here, and yet, of course, father was unfit to be
carried further."
She peered out of the window again, but the clouds had obscured the
moon, and she could see nothing. Then she heard the bleating of sheep,
and fancied she could distinguish men's voices above the raging storm.
She paced her bedroom softly, praying for quietness of spirit, and
every moment or two she would listen to the lap and splash of the
water below. Soon she went out to the staircase again, and to her
horror found the water had filled the kitchen and was slowly but surely
mounting the stairs. Then she set herself the task of timing its rise.
There were twelve steps. She found it took ten minutes to cover one of
them. If it went on rising at that same rate, the water would reach
them in two hours' time. Then if Brian were not back, what should she
do?
[Illustration: THE WATER WAS SLOWLY BUT SURELY MOUNTING THE STAIRS.]
Would he never return? She felt angry with him for deserting her at
such a crisis.
Again Mr. St. Clair spoke, and this time she had to bend her head and
listen, though his words were perfectly clear.
"Read me the Bible."
Thankfully she sat down and obeyed. She turned to the Psalms for the
evening. Was it merely a coincidence that she should have to read the
121st Psalm?
"'I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence
cometh my help.
My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and
earth.
He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: He that keepeth
thee will not slumber.'"
And so on to the end. As she repeated the last verse—
"'The Lord shall preserve thy going out, and thy coming
in, from this time forth, and even for evermore,'"
her father repeated drowsily:
"'Even for evermore.'"
Hope bent over him, a little anxious at his tone. He was lying back
peacefully, but when she asked him if she could do anything for him, he
did not reply. She hoped from his breathing that he was settling off to
sleep again, and once more she went to the top of the stairs.
The rise of the water fascinated her. She went into the boys' room, and
flung the window wide open. Here she had a more extensive view than in
her own room, but it was not a reassuring one. Everywhere round the
cottage was a shining expanse of water, the apple-trees looked ghostly
as they reared their gnarled trunks and leafless boughs out of the
water. Hope almost imagined they were human creatures raising their
limbs and crying out for help. The cottage was so much in a hollow
that no other house was in sight; she looked in vain for a twinkling
light that might tell her of a lantern approaching. At last she closed
the window with a weary sigh, but as she did so, a sudden rift in the
clouds disclosed the silver moon, and Hope took it as an omen for good.
Looking upwards she repeated:
"'I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.
My help cometh from the Lord.'"
And she went back to her father with a smile upon her lips, and peace
in her heart.