Lucy Carne knocked at Granny Barnes' door, and waited. She had a little
nosegay of flowers in her hand and a plate of fresh fish. Almost every day
she brought granny something, even if it was only a simple flower, and
granny loved her little 'surprises.'
Lucy waited a moment, hearing a voice inside, then she knocked again, and
louder.
"I do believe Mona's reading to her again, and they've forgotten their
tea!"
Getting no answer even now, Lucy opened the door a little way and popped
her head in. "May I come in? I don't know what world you two are living
in to-day, but I knocked twice and I couldn't reach you."
Mona carefully placed the marker in her book and closed it, but
reluctantly. Miss Lester, her Sunday School teacher, had given her the
marker. It was a strip of ribbon with fringed ends, and with her name
painted on it, and a spray of white jessamine. Every girl who had joined
the library had had one. Some were blue, some red, some white, and the
rest orange colour. Mona's was red. She was glad, for she liked red, and
the delicate white flower looked lovely on it, she thought. Miss Lester
had painted them herself, and the girls prized them beyond anything.
Mona's eyes lingered on hers as she closed the book. It was rather hard
to have to leave her heroine just at that point, and set about getting
tea. She did wish Lucy had not come for another ten minutes.
Granny looked up with a little rueful smile. "I felt it was tea-time,"
she said, "but I thought Mona would like to finish out the chapter, and
then before we knew what we were doing we had begun another. It's a
pretty tale. I wish you had been hearing it too, Lucy. It's called
'Queechy.' A funny sort of a name, to my mind."
"'Queechy'!--why, I read that years ago, and I've read it again since I've
been married. I borrowed it from mother when I was so ill that time.
Mother had it given to her as a prize by her Bible-class teacher.
She thinks the world of it. So do I. I love it."
"I'm longing to get to the end," said Mona, turning over the pages
lingeringly. "There's only three chapters more."
"Oh, well, that's enough for another reading or two," said Granny.
"They are long chapters. It would be a pity to hurry over them just for
the sake of reaching the end. We'll have a nice time to-morrow, dearie.
I shall be sorry when it's all done."
But Mona was impatient. "To-morrow! Nobody knows what may happen before
to-morrow. Something is sure to come along and prevent anybody's doing
what they want to do," she said crossly.
Granny looked at her with grieved eyes. "I think you generally manage to
do what you want to, Mona," she said, gravely. "I don't think you can
have profited much by what you've read," she added, and turned to Lucy.
Mona laid down her book with a sigh. "It's much easier to read about
being good than to be good oneself," she thought.
Lucy came in from the scullery with a vase full of water. "I'll have a
few nice flowers for you to take to Miss Lester on Sunday, Mona, if you'll
come and fetch them."
"Thank you," said Mona, but she looked and spoke glumly. She was still
vexed with Lucy for coming in and interrupting them. She did not know
that Lucy came in at meal-times just to make sure that granny had her
meals, for Mona thought nothing of being an hour late with them if she was
occupied in some other way.
"Don't trouble about it, if you don't care to have them," Lucy added
quietly. And Mona felt reproved.
"I'd like to," she said, looking ashamed of herself. "Miss Lester loves
having flowers. I'll run up on Saturday evening for them, mother.
They'll be better for being in water all night."
"That's right. Now, I'll cook the fish while you lay the cloth. Granny'll
be fainting if we don't give her something to eat and drink soon. I
should have been down before, but I had to see father off."
"Will he be out all night?" Granny asked, anxiously. She never got over
her dread of the sea at night.
"Yes. If they get much of a catch they'll take it in to Baymouth to land.
The 'buyers' will be there to-morrow. I'm hoping Peter'll be back in the
afternoon. These are fine whiting. You like whiting, don't you, mother?"
"Yes, very much. It's kind of you to bring them. I feel now how badly I
was wanting my tea. You'll have some with us?"
"I think I will. I was so busy getting Peter off that I didn't have
anything myself."
Mona laid the cloth with extra care. Lucy's vase of stocks stood at one
corner. Though it was August, the wind was cold, and the little bit of
fire in the grate made the kitchen very pleasant and cosy.
"I've got a bit of news for you, Mona," said Lucy, coming back from
putting away the frying-pan. "Mrs. Luxmore told me that Miss Lester is
engaged. Had you heard it?"
"Oh, no! What, my Miss Lester? Miss Grace?" Mona was intensely
interested. "Oh, I am so glad. Who is she engaged to, mother?"
"Why, Dr. Edwards! Isn't it nice! Doesn't it seem just right?" Lucy was
almost as excited as Mona. "I am so glad she isn't going to marry a
stranger, and leave Seacombe."
"Can it be true! really true?"
"It's true enough. Mrs. Luxmore told me. Her husband works two days a
week at Mrs. Lester's, and Mrs. Lester told him her very own self. So it
must be true, mustn't it?"
Mona's thoughts had already flown to the wedding. "We girls in Miss
Grace's class ought to give her a wedding present. What would be a nice
thing to give her? And, oh, mother!" Mona clapped her hands in a fresh
burst of excitement. "I wonder if she will let us all go to the wedding
and strew roses in her path as she comes out of the church--"
"It'll depend a good deal on what time of the year the wedding is to be,"
remarked granny, drily. But Mona's mind was already picturing the scene.
"We ought all to be dressed in white, with white shoes and stockings, and
gloves, and some should wear pink round their waists and in their hats,
and the rest should have blue, and those that wear pink should throw white
roses, and those that wear blue should throw pink roses. Wouldn't it look
sweet? I'd rather wear blue, because I've got a blue sash."
A door banged upstairs, and made them all jump. "Why, how the wind is
rising!" said Lucy, in a frightened voice. She hurried to the window and
looked out anxiously. "Oh, dear! and I was hoping it was going to be
pretty still to-night."
"What I'd give if Peter was a ploughman, or a carpenter!" cried granny,
almost irritably. "I don't know how you can bear it, Lucy, always to have
the fear of the sea dogging you day and night!" Her own face had grown
quite white.
"I couldn't bear it," said Lucy quietly, "if I didn't feel that wherever
he is God's hand is over him just the same." She came back and stood by
the fire, gazing with wistful eyes into its glowing heart.
"But sailors and fishermen do get drowned," urged Mona, putting her fears
into words in the hope of getting comfort.
"And ploughmen and carpenters meet with their deaths, too. We've got our
work to do, and we can't all choose the safest jobs. Some must take the
risks. And no matter what our work is, death'll come to us all one day.
Some of us who sit at home, die a hundred deaths thinking of those
belonging to us and the risks they are facing."
Then, seeing that granny was really nervous, Lucy led the talk to other
things, though, in that little place, with nothing to break the force of
the wind, or deaden the noise of the waves, it was not easy to get one's
mind away from either. "I don't suppose it is very bad, really," said
Lucy, comfortingly. "It always sounds a lot here, but the men laugh at me
when I talk of 'the gale' blowing. 'You must wait till you hear the real
thing,' they say. But I tell them I have heard the real thing, and it
began quietly enough. Now, Mona, you and I will put away the tea things,
shall we?"
"You won't go home before you really need to, will you?" asked granny.
"It'll be a long and wearying time you'll have alone there, waiting for
morning. Oh, I wish it was morning now," she added, almost passionately,
"and the night over, and the storm. I do long for rest."
Lucy looked at her anxiously, surprised by the feeling in her voice. "Why,
mother! you mustn't worry yourself like that. It's nothing of a wind yet,
and it may die down again quite soon. I think it was a mistake letting
you come to live on this side of the road, where you feel the wind so much
more. If I were you I'd move up nearer to us the first time there's a
place to let. You feel just as I do about the storms, and it's only those
that do who understand how hard it is to bear."
Granny nodded, but she did not answer. She turned to Mona. "Wouldn't you
like to go for a run before bedtime?" she asked. "The air'll do you good,
and help you to sleep."
"I didn't want her to get nervous just before bedtime," she confided to
Lucy when Mona had gone. "I try not to let her see how nervous I get--but
sometimes one can't help but show it."
Mona did not need any urging. Her thoughts were full of Miss Lester's
coming marriage and her own plans for it, and ever since she had heard the
news she had been longing to go out and spread it and talk it over.
"Patty ought to wear blue, to match her eyes; Millie will be sure to
choose pink, she has had such a fancy for pink ever since she had that
print frock."
But when she reached the Quay she met with disappointment. There was
hardly anyone there but some boys playing 'Prisoners.' Certainly it was
not very tempting there that evening, the wind was cold and blustery, and
both sea and sky were grey and depressing. Mona was glad to come away
into the shelter of the street.
She looked about her for someone to talk to, but, seeing no one, she made
her way home again. It was very aggravating having to keep her great
ideas bottled up till morning, but it could not be helped. When she
reached home again, Lucy was still there, but she had her hat on ready to
start.
"I wish you hadn't to go," said Granny Barnes, wistfully. "I wish you
could stay here the night."
Lucy looked at her anxiously. "Are you feeling very nervous, mother?
Would you rather I stayed? I will if you wish."
"No,--oh, no," granny protested, though she would have liked it above all
things. "I wasn't thinking about myself; I was thinking about you, up
there all alone."
"Oh, I shall be all right. I am getting used to it. Now you go to bed
early, and try to go to sleep, then you won't notice the weather. You are
looking dreadfully tired. Good night--good night, Mona."
"I think I'll do as Lucy said," said granny a little while later. "I'm
feeling tireder than ever in my life before. If I was in bed now this
minute, I believe I could sleep. If I once got off I feel as if I could
sleep for ever." And by half-past eight the house was shut up, and they
had gone to bed.
Granny, at least, had gone to bed, and had fallen almost at once into a
heavy slumber. Mona was more wakeful. The news of her teacher's
engagement had excited her, and not having been able to talk it out, her
brain was seething with ideas.
She put out her candle, drew back her curtains, and looked out into the
gathering darkness. An air of gloom and loneliness reigned over
everything. Far out she could see white caps on the waves, but not a
boat, or vessel of any kind. The sky looked full and lowering.
With a little shiver Mona drew her curtains again and relighted her
candle. As it flickered and burnt up, her eyes fell on the book so
reluctantly put aside until to-morrow.
"Oh, I wish I could have just a little read," she thought, longingly.
"Just a look to see what happens next."
She took up the book and opened it, glancing over the chapters she had
read--then she turned to the one she and granny were going to read
to-morrow. Her eyes travelled greedily over a few paragraphs, then she
turned the page. Presently she grew tired of standing, and sat on the
side of the bed, lost to everything but the pages she was devouring
hungrily. The wind blew her curtains about, the rain drove against the
panes, but Mona did not heed either. She had drawn herself up on the bed
by that time and, leaning up against her pillows, was reading comfortably
by the light of the candle close beside her. She was miles away from her
real surroundings, and driving with Fleda in England, and no other world
existed for her.
Her eyelids growing heavy, she closed them for a moment. She didn't know
that she had closed them, and imagined she was still reading. She was very
surprised, though, presently, to find that what she thought she had been
reading was not on the open pages before her. She rubbed her tiresomely
heavy lids and looked again; then she raised herself on her elbow and
began again at the top of the mysterious page, and all went well for a
paragraph or two. Fleda was walking now alone, through a grassy glade.
Oh, how lovely it was--but what a long walk to be taking in such a high
wind. Mona forced open one eye, and let the other rest a moment. "The
trees sometimes swept back, leaving an opening, and at other places,"
stretched--stretched, yes it was, "stretched their branches over,"--over
--but how the wind roared in the trees, and what a pity that someone
should have had a bonfire just there, the smell was suffocating--and the
heat! How could she bear it! And, oh, dear! How dazzling the sun was--
or the bonfire; the whole wood would be on fire if they did not take care!
Oh, the suffocating smoke!
Mona--or was she Fleda?--gasped and panted. If relief did--not--come
soon--she could not draw--another breath. She felt she was paralysed--
helpless--dying--and the wind--so much--air--somewhere--she was trying
to say, when suddenly, from very, very far away she heard her own name
being called. It sounded like 'Mona'--not Fleda--and--yet, somehow she
knew that it was she who was meant.
"Oh--what--do they--want!" she thought wearily. "I can't go. I'm----"
"Mona! Mona!" She heard it again; her own name, and called frantically,
and someone was shaking her, and saying something about a fire, and then
she seemed to be dragged up bodily and carried away. "Oh, what rest! and
how nice to be out of that awful heat--she would have--died--if--if--"
Then she felt the cold air blowing on her face, the dreadful dragging pain
in her chest was gone, she could breathe! She opened her eyes and looked
about her--and for the first time was sure that she was dreaming.
The other was real enough, but this could only be a dream, for she was
lying on the pavement in the street, in the middle of the night, with
people standing all about staring down at her. They were people she knew,
she thought, yet they all looked so funny. Someone was kneeling beside
her, but in a strange red glow which seemed to light up the darkness, she
could not recognise the face. Her eyelids fell, in spite of herself, but
she managed to open them again very soon, and this time she saw the black
sky high above her; rain fell on her face. The red glow went up and down;
sometimes it was brilliant, sometimes it almost disappeared, and all the
time there was a strange crackling, hissing noise going on, and a horrible
smell.
By degrees she felt a little less dazed and helpless. She tried to put
out her hands to raise herself, but she could not move them. They were
fastened to her sides. She saw then that she was wrapped in a blanket.
"What--ever--has happened!" she asked sharply.
"There has been an accident--a fire. Your house is on fire--didn't you
know?"
"Fire!--our house--on fire!" Mona sat upright, and looked about her in a
bewildered way. Could it be that she was having those dreadful things
said to her. She had often wondered how people felt, what they thought--
what they did, when they had suddenly to face so dreadful a thing.
"Where's granny?" she asked abruptly--almost violently.
There was a moment's silence. Then Patty Row's mother said in a
breathless, hesitating way, "Nobody--no one knows yet, Mona. Nor how the
house was set on fire," she added, hastily, as though anxious to give Mona
something else to think of. "Some say the wind must have blown down the
kitchen chimney and scattered some red-hot coals about the floor."
"But 'twas the top part of the house that was burning first along," broke
in old Tom Harris. "Mrs. Carne saw smoke and fire coming through the
bedroom windows and the roof."
"The top part!--where granny was sleeping!" Mona threw open the blanket
and struggled to her feet. "Oh, do stop talking, and tell me--hasn't
anyone found granny?" Her question ended almost in a scream.
"They--they're getting her----" said somebody. The rest preserved an
ominous silence.
"There's a chain of men handing up buckets of water through the back
garden," said someone else, as though trying to distract her thoughts.
"They'll soon get the fiercest of the fire down."
"But--but think of granny. We can't wait for that. She's in the fire all
this time. She was in bed. Hasn't anyone been to her? Oh, they must
have. They can't have left her--an old woman--to save herself!"
Mona was beside herself with the horror of the thing.
"They tried," said Mrs. Row, gently, "but they were beaten back.
Mrs. Carne tried until she was--There! She's gone--Mona's gone!"
Her explanation ended in a scream. "Oh, stop her--somebody, do, she'll be
killed."
"It'd have been sensibler to have told her the truth at once," said Tom
Harris, impatiently. "She's got to know, poor maid. Now we shall have
another life thrown away, more than likely, and Mrs. Carne with a broken
leg, and nobody knows what other damage."
Slipping through the crowd in the darkness, Mona, in a perfect frenzy of
fear, dashed into the house. All she was conscious of was hot anger
against all those who stood about talking and looking on and doing
nothing, while granny lay helpless in her bed suffocating, perhaps
burning; were they mad!--did they want granny to die?--didn't they care,
that no one made any attempt to save her. Through the semi-darkness, the
haze of smoke and steam, she heard people, and voices, but she could not
see anyone. The heat was fearful, and the smell of burning made her feel
sick.
She groped her way stumblingly through the kitchen. The furniture seemed
to her to be scattered about as though on purpose to hinder her, but she
kept along by the dressers as well as she could. They would be a guide,
she thought. "Poor tea-set! There will be little of it left now."
Her fingers touched something soft. Lucy's stocks, still in the vase.
At last she found herself at the foot of the staircase. The door was
closed. Someone had wisely shut it to check the rush of air up it.
After a struggle, Mona managed to open it again, and fell back before the
overpowering heat and the smoke which choked and blinded her. She clapped
her hand over her nose and mouth, and crouching down, dragged herself a
little way up, lying almost flat on her face, she was so desperate now
with the horror of it all, beside herself. Ahead of her was what looked
like a blazing furnace. All around her was an awful roaring, the noise of
burning, broken into every now and again by a crash, after which the red
light blazed out brighter, and the roaring redoubled.
How could anyone live in such a furnace. An awful cry of despair broke
from her parched throat. "Granny!" she screamed. "Oh, granny! Where are
you? I can't reach--" Another crash, and a blazing beam fell across the
head of the burning staircase.
"Granny! Oh, God save my----" But before she could finish she was seized
by strong arms and lifted up, and then darkness fell on her brain, and she
knew no more.