_AT PARSON WHEELER'S._
It was Coxon who reminded them that some one still was down the mine.
There was Duke, who still seemed as easy and as quiet in his mind as
though nothing out of the way had happened, in the arms of those who
loved him dearly. It was not many seconds ere they noticed that his
was unnatural ease and quietude. He could not move a limb, although
he spoke to them in the most matter-of-fact and conversational of
tones. He complained of no pain, though he was manifestly helpless
as a child. A new terror seized their hearts; they longed to get
away with him to where shelter and physicians might be had.
It was at this point that Coxon interposed with his reminder that
there still was some one down the mine.
"I think, madam," he said, "there was another young gentleman with
Mr. Marmaduke; do you wish to leave him there to drown?"
There was biting irony, whether intentional or not, in the tone of
orthodox, well-trained politeness in which the question was put.
"To drown?" cried Winnie, "do we wish to leave him there to drown?"
She stood up in front of him with small palms clenched, and the hot
blood came to the maiden's face.
Duke, hearing the mention of some one else being down the mine, put
in his word.
"It is Lionel," he said; "he's been the best fellow in the world to
me. He has held me in his arms above the sea all night. You must
not let him drown."
"Do you think," said Winnie, and her tone was hot as fire, and every
word was distinct and clear as though it were cut out of her with a
knife, "that we would let him drown? Why, you might as well say out
at once that we are murderers! To think that we would let him drown!
What wretched creatures do you take us for?"
She approached the shaft and cried, "Lionel! Lionel Pollyon! you
brave, brave boy! Let down the rope"--this was to Coxon--"he will
take hold of it."
If so, he gave no sign of any kind. Down went the rope, but no one
touched it from below; all within the shaft was still as death.
Winifred cried out again--
"Lionel! Lionel! take the rope! There it is in reach of you; put
out your hands and grasp at it." Then with a sort of spasm, for
there still was not a word, "Oh, speak to us! speak to us, you best
of boys!" But Pollyon never spoke to them.
"Perhaps he's drowned," said Duke, in the same contented, even tones.
"I know that he was tired; he held me well above the sea. He said
that we should both be dead to-night, and meet again in heaven."
"O Duke! don't talk like that, my darling boy!" and the mother burst
into a flood of tears; it seemed so hard and cruel, so terrible, to
hear him speak in such a fashion.
"I must go down to him," said Winnie, in the clear ringing voice
which was singularly like Duke's was wont to be when the forlorn-hope
mood was come to him. "He has no doubt swooned, and cannot hear us
call to him. Mother, you must help Coxon with the rope. I'm no
great weight, but it is better you should help him."
While she spoke she tied her habit round her and prepared for the
descent. No one strove to move her from her purpose; they knew, in
the first place, that to attempt it would be vain; some one must go,
and they knew she had resolved that it would be better that that some
one should be her; in the second, time was precious, and it might be
that every moment turned the balance for life or death. It never
occurred to them that it was in any way strange for a lass like
Winifred Tregowan to be let down into a mine, which, for all they
knew, might be filled almost to the mouth with water, to effect the
rescue of a lad. The lad was to be rescued; Winifred would do it,
and God go with her! It is not the stronger vessels only who have
courage of the arm and of the hand.
Winnie stood on the very brink of the shaft to see how far she could
look into it, then she knelt down, and, her fair face flushed with
rosy tints, took the rope in her little hands, and began to let
herself down over the edge; and at the same moment she prayed the
Lord that the adventure might go well with her; and doubtless the
mother prayed the self-same prayer, although she held her peace and
tried to stop the tears from flowing; but Coxon said--
"Be careful, miss; hold tight; put your feet against the side, and
walk down, as it were."
And Winnie did as he suggested; she put her feet against the wall and
went down steadily hand over hand. It was not a pleasant feeling as
she went lower down and lower, and found that all around was dark,
and knew not where she was nor what might be her company; but she
refused a hearing to unprofitable thoughts, and thought only of God
and the work which brought her there. None the less she could not
but give a little cry when all at once she came upon the water, dark
and cold, and touched it, and knew she must go into it. Yet she
went, and at last she touched the bottom; it was time, for, as it
was, it was almost to her shoulders. Then she said, "Lionel!
Lionel!" and was frightened at the sound of her own voice; and then
an awful fear came over her that the lad might indeed be dead, and
she prisoned there with him; but despite her fear, with one hand she
felt for any signs of him, and came upon him all at once, and as she
did so gave so great a cry that from above the mother cried back to
her in sympathy; but Coxon shouted--
"Steady, miss, steady! It's all right if you are steady."
But Winifred was not so sure of that. She had put her hand upon
Pollyon's face, and it was cold and wet and still. What should she
do with him? Was he actually dead? He seemed to have no life left
in him. She had to bite her sweet lips till the blood came through
to keep herself from behaving as is the way with girls, and swooning
then and there. She would not be dismayed--she would be brave. She
drew him towards her, and fastened the rope around him as doubtless
he had fastened it round Duke not so long ago. This she did with
trembling hands and frightened face, but still she fastened it. Then
she gave the word to those above.
"Ready!" she cried. Then, with a trembling eagerness which she could
not conceal, "Mind that you let the rope down soon again for me."
Then Coxon replied, forgetting for once his orthodox propriety of
language--
"Yes, miss; it shall be down again in half a jiffey."
So they began to haul up Pollyon. It was a hard thing for Winnie to
have to stand there almost to her neck in the icy water, and to watch
him dangling in mid-air. Nor was the process long; they could
scarcely have done more than bring him safely to the top ere the rope
came down again. As a matter of fact, it was the end they had been
holding which Coxon let down--Lionel was still tied to the other.
But Winnie was ignorant of that: she caught at it as though it were
the best of friends (as, indeed, for the time it was), and deftly as
you please, although it cut her gloves to pieces and tore her little
hands, clambered to the top. And when she reached the mouth, she in
an instant was a girl again, with all a lass's ways; for now that it
was over, she sat down on the sand and began to cry with all her
might and main.
But her tears were quickly dried--there was no time for tears. When
a woman loves, be she sister or be she mother, and those she loves
are in sore straits, she hides all her feminine weaknesses away, and
thinks only of the loved ones. With the tears still wet upon her
cheeks--and yet one or two would still steal down--she rose up to do
what had best be done. Duke was for a time left in the shade. Eddie
Mason, who by now was a little more himself, was the only one who
paid any heed to him: the mother and Coxon were busy with Pollyon,
and now Winnie rose and joined them. They had stripped off the upper
part of his clothing, and were rubbing his naked flesh, in the hope
to win him back to animation.
"I think, madam," said Coxon, when there were still no signs of life
in him, "that we had better take him to Parson Wheeler's at Gwithian.
It will be better for him and Mr. Marmaduke as well. I will wrap my
coat around him to keep him warm." And he took off his thick outer
coat to do with it as he had said.
"Yes, I think that we had better," said the mother. She was pale as
death. Between her son and her son's friend she had to the full as
much as she could bear. "O Lord God! grant he is not dead! Have
mercy on us, Lord! What a Christmas is this one to be!"
"If we only had a doctor! Hayle is the nearest we shall have to go
for one." And Coxon wrapped Pollyon up as warmly as he could, and
prepared to carry him across the desert.
"I will go for one!" cried Winnie.
"But, child," replied the mother, "you are soaked with wet."
"Why, mother, it is nothing!" and Miss Winifred shook herself in
proof of it. "I'll be dry almost before I start. Her ladyship will
travel like the wind. You see, I'll soon be warm. And as I go
through Gwithian I will tell them what is wrong, and they will send
and help you with Duke and Lionel."
Then she took the reins to put them on her ladyship. But "Lady
Belle," because she had been left in that cold, dark place unnoticed
for so long, was saucy, and would none of her; so Winnie strove to
coax her into good behaviour.
"What, Belle! Belle! My Lady Belle! Ladyship, thou horse of mine!
You do not mean to say you will not come to your mistress?"
But that was exactly what she meant to say, and in her way she said
it too. Coxon had to catch her in the end, and put the reins on her;
then Winnie was soon upon her back, and on the road to Hayle through
Gwithian. Across the desert it was impossible to travel fast, nor
was "My Lady Belle" enamoured of the sand at all. When she got into
the village, Winnie stopped at the "Fisher's Haven," and rapped with
her riding-whip against the door. The "Haven" was kept by Jacob
Pyles, who was as much fisherman as publican, and as decent a fellow
as you should care to see. A window was opened above, and Mr. Pyles
put out his head.
[Illustration: "A WINDOW WAS OPENED ABOVE, AND MR. PYLE PUT OUT HIS
HEAD."]
"Now, then, who's that knocking there? It's no good, you know--not
another drop do you get here to-night. It's closing time two hours
ago."
"It's I, Mr. Pyles, Winifred Tregowan."
"Bless my soul and body! sure, my lady, and I'm very sorry." Never
was man more astonished than was Mr. Jacob Pyles; his amazement was
too great for his powers of speech. But Winnie could not wait for
his apologies.
"There's an accident upon the desert at Wheal Galore. My brother and
Lionel Pollyon have fallen down the mine; we fear that Lionel is
drowned. They want your help and as many more as you can get to go
with you--three or four will do. They are bringing them to Mr.
Wheeler's."
And away she sped, leaving Mr. Pyles with his mouth stretched to its
widest capacity, his eyes as round and as wide open as an owl's, the
wind penetrating through his scanty clothing, utterly at a loss to
understand the thing.
"Mr. Marmaduke Tregowan on the desert--down Wheal
Galore--drowned--bringing him to Mr. Wheeler's! Well, I never
did--no, I never did in all my days before!"
But Winifred sped on. She stopped at Mr. Wheeler's--Parson
Wheeler's. He was the curate in charge. Gwithian has no cure of its
own, but is in Phillack parish. Mr. Wheeler lived in the by no means
magnificent parsonage just by the ancient church. Mrs. Wheeler
answered Winnie's knocking, thrusting her night-capped head out of
her bedroom window. The partner of her joys and sorrows, who was a
prudent man, and over-worked and under-paid to boot, feared that this
was some one to summon him to duty at this uncanny hour of the night,
and preferred to keep himself snug and warm in bed. But when he
heard that it was Miss Tregowan and what it was had brought her
there, in an instant he had left the sheets, and both of
them--husband and wife--were bustling about, doing their best to
prepare for the lad for whom their hospitality was asked; and
Winifred sped on.
Sped on--on through the Gwithian lanes, which have nothing but sand
on either side of them--fields they are ironically called, where the
sheep snatch a precarious livelihood from the scanty grass; on
towards the arsenic works, whose furnaces all the year round cast
sullen radiance upon the midnight sky; on towards Copperhouse, which
is, as it were, twin brother to Hayle. And "My Lady Belle," as
Winnie said she would, travels like the wind, faster indeed than the
wind is travelling to-night. She goes so swiftly and so free, she
scarcely seems to touch the earth; all her sulks have vanished now.
Winnie leans forward in the saddle and pats her bonny neck, and says,
"Well done, my ladyship, well done!" And "My Lady Belle," who dearly
loves a word of praise--as, indeed, which one of us does not?--just
lifts her head, as who would say, "Though indeed it is well done, I
will soon do better, so look and see!" And straightway her pace,
which was as the wind before, becomes the whirlwind now, and she
flies along as though she indeed were flying and there was no such
thing as earth at all. And Winnie decides within herself that sure
"My Lady Belle" shall have a goodly time of it for this; hers shall
be the great reward; hers shall be the freshest hay, the sweetest
sugar, and the best of kisses; hers shall be a bed of down; hers
shall be the best manger which the stable can provide; and
holidays--aye, what holidays "My Lady Belle's" shall be!
And the lass's heart grows lighter as she goes, for it is almost
impossible to be on such a steed as hers and to ride at such a pace
and yet for one's heart to be as heavy as it was of yore. Then her
thoughts go back to the group at Wheal Galore, and all at once she
clasps her hands upon the reins and prays--aye! how she prays to God
that all this sorrowing may end in joy! And she throws back her
dainty hand and trusts "My Lady Belle" to know the way she ought to
go, and looks up to heaven, and a great tear stands like a pearl in
either eye; and she says no word, but all her prayer is mute. Yet it
has its eloquence in spite of that; in silence she acknowledges that
all the issue is with God, and whatever He shall will is best;
yet--yet--"O my Father! if it be possible, let this cup pass from me!
Nevertheless not as I will, but as Thou wilt!" And with that dumb
petition filling all her heart, "My Lady Belle" bravely speeds her on.
And fortunately she finds the doctor in; indeed, it were strange,
considering the season of the night, if she did not. He is a young
man with sunny face and merry eyes, nor has he long been married. It
is hard to drag him out of bed at such a time; yet when he
understands the pressing need there is of him, he hastens down, and
is dressed and with her in three minutes. He goes himself to the
little stable which is attached to his house, saddles his own small
cob--who shows his displeasure much more emphatically than does his
master, and eyes "My Lady Belle" and her mistress on her back with
anything but looks of love--and in another two minutes they are off.
Although he presses on his cob to do his best, and that unwilling
animal, yielding to necessity, does as he is bidden, he is nowhere
beside "My Lady Belle," and they go back much more slowly than Winnie
came. And as they go the doctor questions her about the accident,
and she tells him all she can, although she finds it hard to keep her
voice from faltering or to conceal her fears, which, like a
barricade, still keep the blood out of her dainty cheeks; and in this
way they reached the parson's house at Gwithian.
"How is he?" asked Winnie, as they pulled up before the door, and she
sprang lightly from her saddle. Mr. Jacob Pyles, who was standing
there with a select number of his acquaintances, who seemed to
consider that since they were up they might as well stay up to learn
the latest news, took on himself to answer. Despite the cold, he
took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair.
"Begging your pardon, miss, but which 'un? Mr. Marmaduke, there
don't seem much wrong with him; but as for t'other chap, the parson's
son----" and Mr. Pyles shook his head and screwed his countenance
into a woful form.
Hardly knowing whether to be glad or sorry, Winifred went in. The
doctor had gone in in front of her. All the house was up and
bustling. The little Wheelers, of whom there were a dozen at the
least, had one and all got out of bed, and were all agog with
curiosity. They were not remarkable for too much clothing, but they
did not seem to heed the cold, and were on the stairs and everywhere.
Mr. Wheeler met them as they entered. He, good man, seemed to have
fairly lost his wits. There was no mistaking the fact that he had
been suddenly aroused from bed. His hair was tangled. There was a
heavy look about his eyes. He seemed to have slipped his trousers
on, his everyday coat, which he had buttoned to the chin over his
night-shirt, a pair of slippers on his feet, and then to have
considered himself prepared for visitors. He rubbed his hands
together when he saw them, and seemed to be in an altogether nervous
frame of mind.
"I'm sure," he said, "I'm sure I'm very sorry." He did not say for
what. "You will find them all upstairs. Your brother, my dear young
lady, seems to be doing well. He appears to have received no injury
at all; but young Pollyon----" and, as Mr. Pyles had done, he shook
his head and said no more.
He led the way upstairs, and in so doing came into immediate
collision with the little Wheelers.
"Really," he said, and the poor man seemed quite staggered by their
appearance in such strength, "this will not do at all; this is very
wrong of you, my dears!--s--s--ssh!" No one was making the slightest
sound except himself. They were all too much occupied with staring
at the doctor and Miss Winifred; but he held his finger up to them as
a sort of warning signal. "Not a word! not a word! All good
children should be in bed at such a time of night." And with this
sage observation he scrambled past them as best he could, and Winnie
and the doctor followed his example. As Lionel's case was the most
pressing, they went to him the first. The mother met them on the
threshold. Her eyes were red with tears.
"Thank God! thank God!" she said, and she put her hand upon the
doctor's arm. "We think he breathes."
And what they thought proved actually to be the case. After all,
Lionel Pollyon was coming back, as it were, out of the Valley of the
Shadow of Death. Warmth and care and tenderness had done their work,
and there could be no doubt he breathed. There could, if possible,
be still less when, a little later, he unclosed his eyes and looked
at them. And as he did so he put out his hand, and said in the
hoarse, husky tones which had answered them when they had first
called down the mine--
"The water! the water! Dear Lord, help us boys! Give me strength to
hold Duke above the sea!"
And at sound of that the mother's heart welled over, and she sank
upon her knees beside the bed and burst into a flood of tears. And
of course Winnie cried too, and Mrs. Wheeler joined for sympathy. So
all three of them were crying; and perhaps, if Parson Wheeler had
been there, he would have cried as well. For there could be no doubt
that this lad had made up his mind to save the life of Marmaduke
Tregowan, though he had to do it at the sacrifice of his own.
The doctor had to remind them that they had still Duke to visit.
"Oh, he's all right," said Parson Wheeler, who at that moment put his
head inside the door; "he's merry as a grig."
Though the word was scarcely clerical, it conveyed his meaning
perhaps as well as any other. Cheered by his assurance, the doctor
and the three women trooped off to Marmaduke.
Duke was lying in the parson's own bedroom. There was a cheerful
fire in the grate. He lay propped up by pillows, with one hand lying
outside upon the counterpane. He smiled as the doctor came to him.
"It's so warm in here," he said, still in the same queer, quiet
tones. "It is so different to what it if outside. Does it seem to
you like Christmas-time?"
The doctor said never a word. He laid his hand upon the lad's wrist.
This was what Parson Wheeler called being "merry as a grig!"
"I heard the bells," continued Marmaduke, who seemed bent on
talking--"I heard the bells at midnight. Lionel said that at
midnight the tide was at the full. As Christmas Day was born into
the world, the tide, he said, was at the full."
"Yes," agreed the doctor, although he did it absently, "the tide was
at the full."
Then, with an odd look upon his face, he turned to them and said--
"Just leave us for a minute. I will let you know when I am ready. I
want to have a talk alone with him."
Instinctively Winnie put her arm through the mother's, and both of
them turned white as death. They had neither of them power to speak
a word, but, like dumb creatures, left the room, and the parson and
his wife went after them. So the doctor was left alone with
Marmaduke, and without the mother cried for her son before the Lord.
It was the old cry of the Israelitish king--"Deal gently with the
young man, even with Absalom." But it was not to be for her sake, or
not for her sake only, but for the sake of the Son of God, who on
that day was born into the world!