HOMELESS
STILL the water mounted. Would Brian never come, and would the night
never end? After a time, Hope began to fear lest something had happened
to her brother. She eyed the window nervously and apprehensively.
That, and that only, was their means of exit now, unless the water
sank as quickly as it had risen. She went once more to the stairs, and
found it was nearly to the top. Then she feared that the old walls
of the cottage might be so undermined with the water that it would
all collapse. She shook the casement window. Brian had brought up his
toolbox, so she very deliberately began to loosen the hinges and the
frame. She was thankful the wood was so old and rotten that it gave
away under her blows. Her father seemed unconscious of the noise, and
indeed the storm of wind and rain that still shrieked down the chimneys
and round the cottage drowned everything else.
"They must come to our rescue," she repeated to herself; and then, as
she raised her eyes for the hundredth time, she saw lanterns flashing
in the distance. She caught her breath in suspense.
Were they coming towards the cottage? Would they pass her by? And then
with relief and thankfulness she heard Brian's shout, and the splash
of oars. They were coming along the road in a boat. Every now and then
obstacles got in their way, and they were caught in trees and bushes;
but once she was convinced that rescue was near, she began to make her
preparations. When they eventually reached the window, Brian looked up.
"I have been delayed, but I never thought the water would rise so
rapidly. Are you ready? We have a ladder; I will come up."
It seemed only a few minutes now before Brian and the two men with him
accomplished the rescue. It was a difficult task carrying Mr. St. Clair
down, and when he was in the boat, Brian bent over him anxiously.
"He is bad!" he said shortly to Hope.
"I am afraid he is. I don't like his breathing. He seems quite
unconscious; but he has spoken quite plainly twice."
No more was said. It was as much as the men could do to steer the boat
safely along. Hope looked back at the cottage.
"Are we leaving it to its fate?" she asked.
"We must till the morning. This will mean ruin to a good many besides
ourselves."
"Where can we go?"
"Mrs. Goddles' cottage is safe, being above the level of the river. She
is prepared to take you in."
Half an hour later, Mr. St. Clair was comfortably settled in bed in
Mrs. Goddles' best bedroom.
The good woman seemed too scared to be garrulous. But when she had done
all that was required of her, and brought Hope a cup of tea, her tongue
was unloosed.
"'Tis an awful visitation, miss! My 'usband, 'e be up at the weir
diggin' and workin' hisself to death. There be five cottages, bottom
end of village, covered right up; 'The Crown' be crowded out with the
women and children; an' Mr. Brian have covered 'imself with glory this
night. He have saved life after life! He swims like a fish, and is so
hard an' strong. Why, the men have bin takin' his orders right through.
Dr. Rush come along an hour gone. 'Doctor,' says I, 'the work be nearly
done, an' the waters, accordin' to Scripture, be abatin'.' 'E says—"
"Stop!" cried Hope. "Is Doctor Rush in the village? Can we find him? He
ought to see my father."
Brian had gone out again. Dawn was breaking, and there was plenty of
work for him, for the damage to cattle and crops was great, and the
farmers and villagers were working hard, trying to save all they could.
"He be gone to old Squire Spencer. My 'usband 'ave been in an' told me
it all. T' old Squire went down to his stables, an' the river bursted
an' caught him betwixt the stable an' the house; an' he climbed a tree,
the Squire did; but 'e hollers, an' no one heard 'im, an' then 'e lost
his 'old an' tumbled into the water, an' 'e hollered agen an' Mr. Brian
heard 'im, an' he run along an' dashed in the water, an' took 'im on
his back, an' got 'im safe 'ome; but the old man have broke his leg,
an' Doctor Rush be with 'im now a-putting it together agen."
"Oh!" said Hope. "Could any one go and tell him we want him? Could you
go, Mrs. Goddles?"
"If so be the water will keep out of my way. 'Usband, 'e says we be
ten foot out o' danger, but what the road will be like I can't reckon.
Any-ways, I'll have a try, for I be likely to get the news, an' that be
worth 'earin'!"
She put on her bonnet and cloak and departed.
Again it was Hope's duty to watch by her father's bedside. It seemed to
her as if the past night had been one long nightmare; she even now felt
as if she might wake up and find it all a dream.
A man presently ran by in the road.
"'Tis over, the river be easin' down," he said, as he saw Hope's head
at the window.
She heaved a sigh of relief.
Before very long Mrs. Goddles returned with the doctor. He came
straight in, and without a word went to Mr. St. Clair's bedside.
"I can't rouse him," said Hope; "he has been in this stupor for quite
two hours. I'm afraid the move was too much for him."
"I expect it was," Dr. Rush said gravely. Then he looked at Hope in
silence for a minute.
"You never will rouse him now," he said, "he is sinking fast!"
Hope's heart nearly stopped beating; she could not believe it.
"He spoke to me in the night twice! Surely he cannot be dying, Doctor?
Oh, where is Brian?"
"I will try to find him, and send him to you. There is nothing to be
done. I will come in again shortly. It has been a terrible business,
this flood!"
"But surely you will do something?" Hope asked desperately.
"There is nothing to be done," was the quiet reply. "He does not
suffer, and the end will be peaceful."
Hope put her head into her hands and burst into tears. The suspense of
the long night had thoroughly unnerved her.
"I will send your brother to you," Dr. Rush repeated, and he left the
cottage.
Poor Hope struggled for composure. She felt as if an end had come to
everything. Mrs. Goddles stood looking at her as if she hardly knew
what to say.
"The poor dear gentleman!" she ejaculated at last. "Well, I ain't one
o' those who object to corpses in the house; the last one—"
Hope broke away from her, shuddering, and locked herself into the
bedroom with her dying father. She opened the door a little later to
Brian. He was wet to the skin, his clothes saturated and heavy with
water, and his whole appearance dishevelled and weary.
"I must change," he whispered, "if I can get a dry suit of clothes from
Mrs. Goddles, and then I will come to you."
He stood for a second looking down upon his father with tender pitying
eyes. Then he disappeared, and when he came in again he was attired in
Bob Goddles' black broadcloth Sunday suit. Hope could have laughed, if
she had not been so sad, at the comical figure he cut.
Together brother and sister watched by the inanimate form of their
father. Occasionally a whispered word passed between them. Hope told
Brian of her father's last words.
"I so little thought they would be his last. I suppose he knew more
than I did that he was going to pass so soon from us, 'Even for
evermore.'"
Two hours afterwards Mr. St. Clair quietly drew his last breath, and
Brian persuaded Hope to go into another room and take a rest. "Mrs.
Goddles and I will do everything that is necessary. You have been up
all night. Try to get some sleep."
"The boys?" said Hope wearily.
"I will go to the Vicarage. They will have to stay there for the
present. I'm sure the Vicar will keep them."
Hope said no more. She was physically and mentally worn out. She threw
herself upon a small iron bed in the little attic room, and sleep came
mercifully to her at once. It was late in the afternoon when she awoke,
and then there was much to decide and arrange with her brother.
The village, though still inundated in its low parts, was rapidly
recovering from the excitement into which it had been thrown. The water
was ebbing fast away, for a band of willing workers had cut channels
through the low-lying fields that took the water back to the river
lower down. Only one death had occurred besides Mr. St. Clair's, and
that was a baby of a few weeks old, who had been dropped by its mother
in her frantic flight, and had in falling struck its head against a
stone and expired instantly. But numbers of sheep had been drowned, and
several young bullocks.
In a day or two, all signs of the flood had disappeared. But King's
Dell Cottage was too damp to live in. Hope and Brian found lodgings
with Mrs. Goddles, whilst the boys were made at home in the Vicarage.
Mr. St. Clair's funeral was a very quiet one. After it was over, Hope
and Brian began to discuss the future. Their father's lawyer came down
from town, and he read the will that Mr. St. Clair had made the first
week he landed in England. To Hope's dismay, there was absolutely
no mention of her in it. Everything was left to Brian to be equally
divided between himself and his brothers. It was but a very small sum,
something under £3,000, and when Brian turned apologetically to his
sister, saying:
"You see, father was entirely persuaded that Aunt Gertrude would
provide for you."
She smiled and said:
"It is not enough to divide at all, Brian. I am so glad you have it."
"Well," he said, "of course you'll be going out to India soon."
"And will you go back to Canada?"
"Yes, I think so. Our cottage is such a wreck, and it's such hard work
in England, that I'll sell it cheap to any one who wants it."
"Oh," said Hope, "don't give it up yet. I feel it will be a harbour of
refuge for me. There is no rent to pay, and we have the furniture, and
we have still the poultry."
The lawyer went back to town, and the next morning Hope went over to
the cottage. Brian had received a summons to go to Mr. Spencer, so she
went alone.
It was a sad sight. The orchard was a sea of mud and water; the
fowl-houses had all been swept away. Several apple-trees had been
rooted up. All Brian's careful tilling of the soil for vegetables had
come to nothing; the kitchen smelt and reeked with damp, tables and
chairs had become unglued and lay about the floor in bits, bedding and
small knick-knacks had been washed out of the windows upon the grass;
the red-bricked path was the only thing that seemed to have stood the
raging flood.
Hope stood, feeling the desolation of it keenly. And then a fresh young
voice sounded in her ear. "Miss St. Clair, please don't look so sad! I
haven't had any talk with you alone yet since that dreadful flood! May
I stay with you a little, or would you rather be alone?"
Hope turned and kissed Kitty affectionately.
"We have been in such trouble, dear. I'm afraid I have been selfish. I
can't tell you how good it is of you to keep the boys at the Vicarage.
I hope they give no trouble."
"No, I see they don't. They're awfully frightened of me, I can tell
you. I locked the imps in that night. Oh, how splendid your brother
was! Did you know all he did?"
"I was too much engrossed with—"
"Yes, I forgot. Forgive me, and though I can't spout sympathy like
Avice, I really am awfully sorry for you. I little thought what
tragedy would be mixed up with my time of excitement. And death is so
dreadful, it seems so horribly unnatural; and of course you're missing
him awfully, only I suppose he is having a much better time where he
is, isn't he? I can't talk religion, but you'll remember all that, of
course. Oh, you dear, do let me give you a hug; and be sure to send me
off if I worry you!"
Hope was smiling through her tears. She drew Kitty's arm in hers, and
walked up and down the path, the only dry spot for their feet.
"You're doing me good already. I won't be miserable. Death is not
horrible when you have hope through it for others."
"Do you know that it was just a chance I'm not dead?" said Kitty
solemnly. "Do let me tell you. Of course I didn't go to bed that night,
and I slipped out of the house directly I heard the horn. You see, I
was dreadfully uneasy about old Mrs. Pitman, for I knew if the dam
burst by the weir, she would be flooded at once. So I tore off to her,
and sure enough the water was rushing into her little garden and all
round her house. She was in bed and asleep, poor old thing. You've no
idea what a business it was to wake her and dress her. She wouldn't
understand, and when the water at last came into her kitchen, then she
insisted upon being dressed in her very best.
"'And my boots, me dear,' she said—'my Sunday 'lastic boots, they wants
a deal o' pulling. I gen'elly allows half-hour to that, for me feet are
so tender!'
"When I'd got her out, we had to wade through the water up to our
knees. And then the poor old thing tumbled down, and a rush and swirl
of water carried her clean away from me. I saw her being washed away
in the current; I was so thankful I could swim, for I followed her and
caught hold of her, and then managed to get her up on the top of a
hayrick, which was half under water.
"We sat on the top and shouted for help, and the water got higher and
higher. Then I heard your brother's voice. He told me to hold on, for
he was coming, but he couldn't get his boat very near us, for there was
a huge hedge between. So he got out and swam to us, and took old Mrs.
Pitman on his back in safety to his boat. Then he came back for me, but
before he could reach me, a great rushing wave swept me off and carried
me with the current just like Mrs. Pitman had gone. I struggled, but
it was no good, and then I felt I was drowning, and then in the nick
of time your brother gripped hold of me. I was so thankful, and so
grateful to him, for I made quite sure I was going to die. They say
in the village he saved quite a dozen people altogether, Mr. Spencer
included. He is quite a hero!"
"I wish I had known," said Hope regretfully; "I had hard thoughts of
him when he left me."
"He didn't forget you, for he kept saying, 'I must get back to Hope.'
Oh, dear, when it comes, I don't think a flood at all nice. The mud and
wet everywhere is awful, and what a ruin your pretty little cottage is!
Don't you feel inclined to cry over it? Shall we light some fires and
try to dry it up?"
"I thought of doing that, but there are no dry sticks anywhere.
Everything is soaked with the water."
"When are you coming back to it?"
"I don't know our plans," Hope said sadly. "Now my father has gone,
Brian wants to go back to Canada. We shall stay on with Mrs. Goddles
for the present."
Kitty was singularly silent. She seemed quite dismayed with such
tidings.
"I thought you would be here always," she said at last. "It's too bad,
for I do like you all so much."
They did not stay much longer at the cottage, and when they parted,
Hope said:
"Don't look so unhappy, Kitty. We have not gone yet; and I do not mean
to go out to Canada, it is only Brian."
"Only Brian!" repeated Kitty to herself, as she walked disconsolately
home. "But then he isn't 'only Brian' to me!"
That same evening Hope and her brother sat in Mrs. Goddles' best
parlour over the fire, and discussed their plans for the future.
"That old Spencer is a rum chap," said Brian. "What do you think he
wants me to do? To live with him and manage his farms. Be a kind of
bailiff, in fact."
"But that would be a good thing, would it not?"
Brian shook his head.
"No, his farms are going to pieces; he's so miserly that he won't
spend one penny unless it is forced from him by law. His bailiff is
to be pitied, I can tell you! He said he would treat me like a son. I
concluded I should make my home with him and receive no wages. That
wouldn't suit me. I told him I wanted to be independent."
"Poor old man!" said Hope pityingly. "I believe he has taken a fancy to
you. I hope you refused his offer nicely."
"Oh, it isn't me upon whom he has fixed his fancy. It is you. He can do
nothing but talk about you. He wants you to go and see him to-morrow.
It struck me that if I and the boys go back to Canada, you will not
want to come with us, for I suppose you will go out to India to be
married very soon."
"I don't know," said Hope, quietly, "what I shall do."
"Well, if you had only a month or two to wait, perhaps you could listen
to his proposal. I was made to promise I would say nothing till he had
seen you himself."
"I am afraid I would not agree to any proposal," said Hope proudly.
"Mr. Spencer is a complete stranger to me."
Then she was ashamed of herself.
"Tell me," she said gently, "what you think of doing with the boys.
Father was so anxious they should have an English training."
"I know, but how can we give it to them? There's no money to spare. As
it is, I shall have hard work to get sufficient for our passages. If
you had not been going to be married—"
He paused.
"Well, in that case what would you have done?"
"I think I should have struggled on with our poultry for a bit."
"And why are you in such a hurry to leave it?"
"Because it will be so expensive to put all the outbuildings together
again. And as none of us mean to live there eventually, the sooner we
clear out the better. Have you written to Dane?"
"No," Hope said. "The mail does not go till to-morrow, and I am
expecting to hear from him."
"Can you go round to the old Squire to-morrow?"
"Yes; if he really expects me, I must."
Silence fell between them, which Hope broke by getting up from her seat.
"I am very tired, Brian, so I think I will go to bed. Good-night!"
She went upstairs to her tiny attic room, then bolted her door and gave
way to tears.
"I don't know what I shall do! Brian evidently wants to do nothing for
me. I am absolutely penniless, and I cannot rush off to Lancelot at
a moment's notice. I can't bear Brian's eagerness for me to see Mr.
Spencer. I will not accept any favour from him. If only I could do
something to earn my living! How helpless and forlorn I feel! And what
would I not give for Lancelot at this moment!"
Then her eyes fell upon her Bible. She took it up, and in reading
her evening portion and in pouring out her troubles to the One who
was ordering all things for her, she was comforted. She fell asleep
repeating to herself:
"'Peace, perfect peace, our future all unknown?
Jesus we know, and He is on the throne.'"