AT SLEEP AT LAST.
Mingled feelings--Sore perplexity--Cherishing vengeance--'Ware the
dog--Want of reflection--In the churchyard--Footsteps--A strange bed.
He did not stop running till he had put nearly three-quarters of a mile
between him and the school. And then two considerations brought him to
a standstill. Firstly, he was out of breath; he could scarcely run a
step farther; and secondly, he was now close into the heart of the
village, and the groups of lounging figures he espied in the distance
warned him he must be careful how he proceeded. About two hundred
yards in advance was a public house--"The Blue Anchor;" and here, of
course, was a goodly knot of men, some inside drinking, some outside
smoking, and all making a most disreputable noise. There were also one
or two women in amongst the crowd, evidently searching for truant sons
or husbands, and Harry feared their inquisitive eyes even more than he
feared the men. For he remembered he was covered with dust and dirt
from his scramble; his hair all rough; hatless, and generally untidy.
Besides, what business had a boy of his age and station in life to be
wandering about a village, alone, at half-past nine?
So he retraced his steps a short distance, until he came to a stile
leading to a lane which skirted the village; and which, running past
the farm and the church, as before-mentioned, joined the highroad at
the further end of the village.
Once in the lane, and safe from sight, he slackened his pace; and then,
with the feeling of comparative safety, came very mingled feelings of
exultation, loneliness, and fear--each striving to have the uppermost
in the poor boy's heart.
Hitherto the excitement of achieving that vague performance of running
away from school had pre-occupied him, and kept away all thoughts of
the future. But the dangers of the escape were now all overcome, or at
least Harry thought they were. What, then, was the next thing to be
done? Should he go to Mrs Valentine? If he went there, perhaps she
would send him back to school. And besides, the farm would be shut up,
and every one gone to bed. How should he attract Mrs Valentine's
attention; and make her come down and let him in? The dog was always
loose at night, to keep intruders off. He would be sure to fly at him,
if he attempted to go near the place.
So Harry was very sore perplexed, and began to think that running away
was not such an easy thing after all. And he remembered that Egerton
was the cause of all this trouble. Had it not been for him, he would
have been at school; motherless, it is true, but not in disgrace as he
was; sad at heart, but not hated and suspected by boys and masters.
Egerton! Egerton had caused it all! And Harry longed for revenge. He
would treasure up his hatred, his thirst for vengeance, and some day,
perhaps, he would meet the one who had done him this wrong, and then
the debt should be paid off. This feeling of revenge was already
firmly rooted in his heart, already beginning to be the one purpose of
his life.
He would go on towards the farm, at any rate, and see how things stood.
Perhaps the dog was not loose that night, or if it were, might
recognise him.
So, plucking up his spirits, he ran along the lane towards the little
farm, where he had been so happy with his dear dead mother, and towards
the quiet churchyard, whose coverlet of green was over her.
He was not long reaching the farm, and went cautiously up to the gate.
Not a sound! not a light in any window! There was the great silver
moon making everything as bright almost as day, and there was the slow
munching of the cows in the adjoining orchard. Harry's heart rose
higher. No dog! not a sign of him! He put his hand to open the gate.
The latch stuck. He pushed harder; it flew open with a sharp click,
and he had not time to listen whether the sound had been heard or no,
when a dog's low growl solved the question.
He started back from the gate, which fell to with a loud crash. It was
all up now. Out rushed the dog, barking fiercely, and off rushed Harry
simultaneously. And naturally enough, too. It is not pleasant to be
mauled by a huge mastiff.
Had the idea struck him, he would have kept at a respectful distance,
and there waited in hopes that the baying of the dog would disturb the
inmates of the house, and that on their coming out to discover the
reason, he would gain his object of being let in.
But it is very doubtful whether a much older and, therefore, more
thoughtful person than Harry would have considered anything but the
fierceness of the dog, and the desirability of getting away as quickly,
and as far, as possible.
So Harry bolted down the lane at headlong speed, while the dog, seeing
the intruder depart, only uttered a few self-satisfied growls, and
returned to his mat in the porch, conscious that he had done his duty.
At the same moment, Mrs Valentine opened her window and put out a
night-capped head into the moonlight, and craning it all round, to see
what was the matter, and seeing nothing extraordinary, put it in again,
with a slight shiver.
Good soul! how little she dreamt of the apparently-trifling episode
enacted underneath her window! How gladly would she have welcomed the
runaway frightened boy! And how different that boy's after life would
have been had she but wakened sooner.
Meanwhile, Harry was stopping at the churchyard-gate. He longed to go
in. He hesitated. On another occasion, and in his mother's lifetime,
he would not have dared to go inside the wicket after dark. But now,
now he was going away, he knew not where! Out into the world, and that
seemed a very long way off to Harry. It was like another country.
Besides, what would hurt him while she was there, he asked himself?
So, without more ado, he passed through the creaking gate, up the
lime-tree avenue, heedless of the ghost-like shadows of the tombstones,
and the rustle of the fragrant leaves.
It was soon found, that little grassy mound in the corner by the
ivy-covered porch. And then he could bear up no longer. He burst into
tears, and throwing himself on the dewy moonlit sward, wept bitterly.
"Oh, mamma, mamma, why did you die? why did you die? What shall I do?"
he sobbed in a low, excited tone, "I'm so lonely, mamma! mamma!"
And the quiet night stole on, and the soft winds of June whispered over
the motherless boy, weeping there alone in the churchyard.
The sound of footsteps! Harry jumped up and listened, eager, and
frightened. The churchyard wicket was opened and shut again, and then
he heard a steady measured tread of persons slowly approaching. He was
riveted to the spot, and a cold perspiration broke upon his forehead.
The steps were nearing, and then, rounding the corner of the tower, the
new comers came into sight.
One look was enough, and Harry was off down the other path that led
from the churchyard to the further end of the village.
It was only a funeral of a drowned man who had been picked up the
previous night upon the shore of Wilton. But the dark, slow-moving
figures of the bearers, and the flickering gleam of the lanthorns, made
dim by the moonshine, froze his heart with terror, and drove him away
from his mother's grave without one word of parting. Perhaps it was
better so. It saved him the difficulty and sorrow of having to decide
to say good-bye for ever to that grassy sleeping-place where slept the
one so dear to him.
Away he ran, heedless, frightened, through the straggling remainder of
the village. Not a light was burning, not a person stirring, which was
fortunate, though he never paused to see; or think, but hastened on
till he fancied he had gone miles; and then, seeing an inviting barn
close by the roadside, turned in, and, worn out with fatigue and
excitement, soon slept heavily in a low, broken manger full of hay--a
strange but welcome bed.