"You are wounded, poor stranger," cried Beebee compassionately. "Are
you much hurt?"
She spoke in English.
"I fear I am a little," was the faint reply. "They have attacked and
robbed me, and they have slain my faithful servant, and, indeed, they
left me here for dead."
"But pray," he continued, "save yourselves, young ladies. The bandits
may quickly come again."
This was no time for false modesty. The poor fellow was bleeding to
death. But Miss Morgan had that which no English man or woman should be
without. She possessed a little skill in surgery.
So with her own handkerchief, and that of Beebee's, she quickly
staunched the bleeding, then commanded her patient to lie flat upon the
grass in order to lessen the force of the circulation.
"And now," said Beebee, "what are we to do? We cannot take this poor
stranger to the palace. Jazr would kill him, and father would kill me."
Here Beebee blushingly restored her veil to its place.
"But," she continued, "we cannot leave him thus to perish here in the
wilderness. I have it, dear governess. Ride back quickly, and at once,
to the house of the priest, and cause him to send immediately his
servants with a litter. At the priest's house the stranger will be
safe, and the good priest himself will be well rewarded."
"But, Beebee, my dear pupil, will you not be afraid?"
"No, no, no," cried Beebee, and at that moment I thought my little
mistress looked all a queen. She spoke to Miss Morgan impatiently,
almost imperiously.
"Go immediately," she cried, "ride as hard as you safely can. Do not
fear for me. I shall be safe until you return."
Next minute Miss Morgan mounted her horse and quickly disappeared.
The stranger seemed slightly better now, that he was no longer losing
blood, and would have tried to sit up in order to talk, but Beebee held
up a warning finger.
"You must rest," she said. "Miss Morgan would be displeased were you to
sit up."
He obeyed as if he had been a child.
Although pale and sickly-looking with the loss of blood, very handsome
indeed was this stranger, dark brown hair cut short, a dark moustache,
well-chiselled features, and beautiful eyes, quite as blue as mine,
Warlock.
"You have saved my life," he murmured. "May I ask whom I have to thank,
and who is Miss Morgan?"
"I am the only daughter of an officer of the Shah," said Beebee. "I
have no mother. I may say I have no father. He--he is travelling now
to Europe with our great king. Miss Morgan is the dearest friend I have
on earth; an English lady who came to me as a companion, and to teach me
your beautiful language."
"You speak it well, Miss--"
"They simply call me Beebee."
"May God bless and keep you, Beebee, for ever and ay. You have to-day
saved my life, and I feel very grateful. A soldier should ever be ready
to die. But if he is doomed to be slain he should fall in battle, with
his back to the field and his feet to the foe, and not by the hand of
wretched bandits, who stab men to death for a few handfuls of gold."
"You are a soldier then? But you wear no uniform? You carry no arms?"
The wounded officer smiled feebly.
"I have been travelling for my health in your lovely country. It is not
usual for British soldiers to wear uniforms or carry swords when not on
duty."
"And your name, brave soldier?"
"How know you I am brave?"
"You must be brave," said Beebee innocently and naively, "because you
are handsome, nay, even as beautiful as my father. Yes, you are brave,
Mr--"
"My name is Edgar."
"It is a strange name, but somewhat musical. Edgar, I shall often think
of you. I may even dream of you, but I shall dream of you and think of
you as you must appear in battle leading on your men to storm a breach.
But now, talk no longer lest you faint with weakness."
"One question more, lady. You are going to have me taken to the house
of a priest. But where do you yourself dwell?"
"Oh, many miles from here."
"But will you never come to see me? My wounds may take many weeks to
heal."
"I do not know."
Beebee's eyes were downcast now. She was petting and smoothing my head,
Warlock.
"I shall die if you do not come sometimes to see me."
"I shall send Miss Morgan, she is English."
"I will die if you do not accompany her."
"Then you must live. Oh, I would not have you die on any account. Now,
be still. See, I have a little book of English poems. This is `The
Lady of the Lake.' I will read to you."
Beebee sat herself innocently down on the grass close beside the wounded
stranger, and in her sweet musical young voice commenced to read that
romantic and spirited poem, while Edgar listened, his eyes on her face,
or on the portion of it visible.
She read on and on and on, and the time flew quietly, quickly past.
Presently, however, her quick ears detected the sound of horses' hoofs,
soft though their footfall was upon the long greensward.
"They come," she cried, rising, and just at that moment the boughs were
dashed aside, and Miss Morgan entered the glade, speedily followed by
four or five men bearing a litter. The priest himself was with them.
"Ah!" he said in French, "one poor fellow has had his _coup de grace_.
He has gone, I trust, to a better world than this; but you, Monsieur--"
Me bent down and felt Edgar's pulse, long and anxiously.
A finely-formed man was this French Catholic priest. Very tall, brown
with the sun, and bearded.
"You will live," he said. "You have youth and strength, and you shall
have rest and quiet. All will combine to restore you."
"Thank Heaven," said Beebee.
She was bending down over me, and I noticed that she was weeping. I
licked her hand, and she then took me up and embraced me.
Very gently indeed was the wounded stranger placed on that litter of
soft green boughs and borne away, to the priest's house.
This house was on the edge of the forest, built on a green brae-land at
the head of a bushy dell or glen, adown which went a silver thread of a
river winding in and winding out among its green banks, and forming many
a rapid and cascade ere it finally disappeared and rolled on in its
search for the sea.
Edgar was surprised at the comfort and even elegance of everything about
the French Catholic priest's house, and that evening, as the good man
sat by his bedside, he took occasion to express his wonderment in as
delicate language as he could command.
"You think it strange that I should dwell here almost alone. Ah! but,
dear sir, I have a mission. I fill a niche. I think I even do good,
and have taught souls to find Christ. The present Shah is tolerant of
religions not his own, else would I soon be banished.
"You were surprised also, dear young sir," he continued, "at the
deftness with which I bound up your wound and dressed your bruises, but
I was not always a priest. I was a surgeon. But I loved and I lost.
Oh, it is a common story enough. Then I joined the priesthood and came
here an exile, and almost a hermit, to cure souls and bodies. Yes, many
seek my assistance, and I never refuse it. But, believe me, my dear
sir, I can be just, as well as generous, and the scoundrels who attacked
you and so basely murdered your servant shall not go unpunished. And
now, my friend, go to sleep. You have nothing to do but get well."
Edgar was in a burning fever next day nevertheless, and for nearly two
weeks lay in bed hovering betwixt death and life.
When he recovered sufficiently to look about him, one beautiful
afternoon, the evening sunshine stealing in through his window and
falling on a bouquet of flowers beside him on the table, the first face
he recognised was that of Miss Morgan.
She sat not far off, quietly embroidering a piece of work.
Seeing him awake and sensible, she approached his pillow smiling, and
held something to his lips, which he swallowed without a murmur.
"How good you have been, dear Miss Morgan!" he murmured. "You have been
near to me all the time. No, I have not been quite insensible. And
Beebee, was she not here also?"
"She was. Sometimes. I myself have only come to see you now and then.
We--we had a difficulty in getting away."
"How good! How good! But the difficulty?"
"It is in the fact," said Miss Morgan mournfully, "that my sweet young
friend and pupil is sold to the Shah."
"Sold to the Shah!" cried Edgar. "She, a mere child, so beautiful, so
winning! Oh, Miss Morgan, I have dreamt of her every hour, and indeed--
I--I--have got to love her. And she is gone. Oh, how horrible!"
"Nay, nay, you misunderstand me somewhat. Beebee has not gone. She is
but promised to the Sultan or King. When she comes of age, or rather
when she is two years older, then--she will be a slave indeed. Oh, I
assure you, sir, it breaks my heart to lose her."
At this moment the door quietly opened, and Beebee herself entered,
followed by the priest-physician. She started slightly when she noticed
that Edgar was now awake and sensible.
He held out his hand. It was a very thin and a very white one.
"I know all, Beebee," he said. "I cannot thank you enough for your
kindness, and you have come to me at great risk too. I understand what
that risk has been, and I understand also Persian laws and Persian
fathers. You have risked your honour and your life."
"I could not help coming," said Beebee innocently, "because I thought
you would die. But now, we must part. We must never meet again. It is
fate."
"Must it, indeed, be so?" said Edgar gloomily.
"Indeed, I fear it must," put in Miss Morgan.
"And I," said Edgar. "I--am a soldier. I must try not to repine. But
I cannot bear to think that we shall never meet again. I will pray that
it may be otherwise, and that there may be happy days yet in store for
you, Beebee--may I even say for _us_."
He paused for a moment.
Beebee was silent, and weeping quietly as women-folks do, Warlock.
I had jumped up on the couch where poor Edgar lay, and was rubbing my
head against his shoulder.
"This cat, Beebee," continued Edgar, "is she very dear to you?"
"She is a friend. Poor Shireen! Sometimes when I am solitary and alone
her affection and kindness is a great solace to me. But she is very
young."
She had drawn closer to the couch, and was patting my head.
"I think she loves me," she added.
"I think," said Edgar, touching her hand lightly, "this puss, Shireen,
is a medium. Else how could you have read my thoughts?"
"Shireen is yours."
"But I dare not deprive you of a friend so good and beautiful."
"Nay, nay, do not speak thus. She will be a soldier's cat."
"On one condition only shall I accept the gift, Beebee."
"And that condition?"
"That I may be permitted to bring her back to you at some future time.
Within two years, Beebee?"
Once more he touched her hand.
"Two years," she said, as if speaking to herself. "I will be dead ere
then."
"Nay, nay, nay," he cried, almost fiercely, "for the wrong that your
parents would do you must never be accomplished."
"Speak no more, sir. Speak no more, Edgar."
"Adieu, Edgar. Adieu, Shireen."
"Adieu!"
Then they led her weeping away.
Did I ever see my sweet mistress again? Was that what you asked me,
Warlock? Well, I will tell you another day. For see, my master is
getting up to go. No, Vee-Vee, I do not want your convoy. Go home with
master, and you, too, Dick and Warlock.
"Well, good afternoon, old friend," said Colonel Clarkson, shaking hands
with Uncle Ben. "You'll come up to-morrow evening to the Castle, won't
you?"
"That will I. Ha, your old puss is off then."
"Yes," said the Colonel. "She has queer ways altogether. She is going
now on a round of visits. I do wish she were not so old. We shall all
miss poor Shireen when she dies. Good-day."
Dick at once flew on to his master's shoulder. Tabby cocked her tail
and trotted along by his side, and the dogs followed.
It may seem strange to some readers that a starling should become so
tame, but I wish the reader to remember that Dick is a study from the
real life, and not a bird of the author's imagination.
The road homewards was about two miles in all. During the walk Dick
kept on his master's shoulder until about half-way to the castle. They
were then between two hedges, and just beyond was a field of turnips.
Among these Dick knew right well he would find some of his favourite
tit-bits, so without saying, by your leave, to his master, he flew off
over the hedge.
Colonel Clarkson waited a reasonable time, but as Dick did not reappear,
he bent down towards the Tabby cat and smoothed her.
"Go, find," he said.
In a moment the cat was off through the hedge.
The Colonel listened with an amused smile on his face. He knew right
well what would happen.
Then he heard Dick's voice, and knew that pussy had found the truant.
"Eh? Eh? What is it?" These are his very words. "Tse, tse, tse!
Sugar and snails! You r-r-rascal!"
Then back flew Dick to his master. Tabby herself appeared next minute,
and the journey was resumed without further incident or adventure.
Meanwhile, where was Shireen?
When Shireen left Uncle Ben's bungalow, she kept along inside the
railing for some time. It was about the hour at which the butcher's dog
came out for his evening run, and Shireen knew right well he would be
revenged on her if he possibly could, so she was determined not to give
him the chance. But the coast was clear, and soon she was in the
village. She trotted into the blacksmith's shop, and he had a very
kindly greeting for her, Shireen was very fond of spending half-an-hour
with the blacksmith. Cats like pleasant people, and he was always
laughing or singing, and often beating time to his song with the hammer
on a red-hot horse-shoe, while the yellow sparks flew in all directions.
Besides, there was always a nice fire here, and an air of comfort in
the place--to Shireen's way of thinking. She was a high-bred cat, it is
true, and a cat of ancient lineage, as we know, but she was not at all
aristocratic in the choice of her friends.
Shireen left the blacksmith at last, and went to see the sick child. It
is strange, but true as well as strange, that cats never fail to
sympathise with human beings in grief or suffering.
But little Tom Richards was better to-night, and sitting up in his chair
by the fireside. He was delighted when Shireen came in, and made his
mother place a saucer of milk down for her, and puss drank a little just
to please the boy.
Then she permitted him to nurse her for quite a long time. Tom, child
though he was, quite appreciated the value of this compliment; for
although Shireen would permit a child to take her up, and even to pull
her about and tease her, no grown-up person, with the exception of the
Colonel and his wife, must dare to handle her.
But Shireen jumped down at last, and begged Tommy's mother to open the
door to her.
"Oh, don't let pussy go yet!" pleaded the boy.
"I must, dear, I must," said his mother, "else she may not come again."
This was very true, for cats cannot bear restraint of any kind. If they
are to be truly happy they must be allowed to go and come as they
please.
Before going home Shireen had still another fireside to visit. And this
was Emily's.
A very humble hearth indeed; but poor Emily's eyes sparkled with joy
when Shireen came trotting in.
"Oh, Shireen dear, is it you?" she cried. "Oh, you beautiful good puss,
and I haven't seen you since Cracker nearly killed the butcher's dog.
Look, pussy, here is Cracker."
Yes, there was Cracker, sure enough, and the dog and cat at once
exchanged courtesies. Had you seen them lying together in front of the
fire a few minutes after this, reader, you would never again have made
use of that silly phrase--a cat and dog life. Cats and dogs, if brought
up together, _do_ agree. It is mankind that causes them to be enemies.
A dog is far too noble an animal to touch a cat, unless he has been
trained to look upon her as vermin.
"You see, I'm very busy to-night, Shireen," said Emily. "Mending
stockings for father. But baby is asleep, and so I have all the evening
to myself, for I have already done my lessons."
Poor Emily! her life was a somewhat hard one. Her mother had died but
recently, and her father, who was only a labouring man, had been left
all alone with Emily and her baby sister. All day long the child was
taken care of by a neighbour, but as soon as school was dismissed Emily
went for her, and then her work, indeed, began. Board Schools, as a
rule, are a benefit to the nation, but there are cases when compulsory
attendance falls heavy on children and parents too.
Emily's father was sitting on the other side of the fire smoking his
humble clay.
He bent down and stroked the cat.
"Ay, pussy," he said, "Emily _is_ very busy, and the Lord Himself knows
what I should do without her. The Lord be thankit for a good kind
daughter."
So Shireen sat there nodding and singing by the fire, until she sang
herself asleep. But when Emily arose at last, she asked to go, and her
request was immediately granted.
"Good-night, pussy," said Emily. "Mind to come again."
And while pussy went trotting homewards through the darkness of a
starless autumn night, Emily went in to prepare her father's supper.
No, it is true, Emily was not a very good-looking girl, but she had a
right kind heart of her own. And this is even better than beauty.