BY THE BOY'S BEDSIDE.
Kate Mellor, lying beside her child on the bed, suddenly became aware
of footsteps approaching the cottage along the canal face of the
island. She had been fondling and talking to Frank, and he was now
half awake.
Between the bed and the wall there was the space of a foot. The mother
slipped down through this space to the floor, and there lay in terror,
trying to hush her breathing and still the beatings of her heart. She
could not tell herself exactly what it was she dreaded more than
discovery. Her fears took no definite form.
The footsteps came up to the cottage, and then stopped. Through the
open window sounded voices, the voices of a man and a girl. As the
concealed woman listened her heart stood still, for she recognised the
male voice as that of her brother.
"Go in, Hetty," said the male voice, "and I'll wait for you here. The
room is on the left-hand side."
"You won't come in?" asked the girl.
"No. Of course all is right. If you speak in the room I shall hear
you."
The girl came into the cottage, opened the door of the sleeping-room,
and approached the bed.
"Mother," said the boy, who was now covered up.
The concealed woman grew cold with fear.
"Are you awake, Frank?"
"Yes, mother," said the boy, stretching himself, yawning, and rubbing
his eyes. "Are you going to take me away again? If you do, take
Freddie too."
"I'm not your mother, Frank. Don't you know me?" said the girl.
"You said you were my mother, and I know you are, though you have
spots on your face."
"Rouse up, Frank," said the girl in a tone of alarm. "Look at me. Who
am I? Don't you know me?"
"You're mother, and you said you'd take me away to Mrs. Pemberton's,
only father wouldn't let you," said the boy, with another yawn.
There sounded a tumult in the ears of the mother, and she thought she
should go mad if she did not scream out.
The visitor went to the window and spoke to the man outside. "The
child has been dreaming, and fancies I'm his mother."
"Heaven forbid!"
"Why?"
"His mother is not to be spoken of. His mother was the basest, the
worse woman that ever lived. She, fortunately for herself and every
one else, died a little while ago. You are not to mention her name,
dear. It sullies wherever it is uttered."
The hiding woman shrank into herself as if struck by an icy blast.
Was it thus she deserved to be spoken of by her only brother?
Yes--yes--yes! As the basest, the worst woman who ever lived? whose
name sullied the place in which it was uttered? O yes--yes--yes! It
was true! Too true.
The boy's eyes were now wide open, and he was looking at the tall
slender figure of the girl standing out black against the lamp in the
window.
"Aunt Hetty."
"That's my own boy. Now you know me," said the girl in a soothing and
encouraging tone as she went back to the bed.
"Aunt Hetty, where's mother gone?"
"She wasn't here, Frank. You were only dreaming."
"O, but I wasn't. I saw her. She lay down beside me on the bed, and
she had red spots on her face."
The girl shuddered.
The woman gasped and felt as if her heart would burst through her
ribs.
"Philip," said the girl, once more going to the window, "I don't like
this at all. I think the child must be a little feverish. He says his
mother was here, and that she lay down beside him on the bed, and that
she has spots on her face. What do you say ought to be done?"
"Nothing at all. Get the child to sleep if you can. As you say, he has
been dreaming."
"But, indeed, I don't like it. He's so very circumstantial. He says
his mother told him she'd take him back to Mrs. Pemberton's, only his
father won't let her. Who is Mrs. Pemberton?"
"I don't know. Some lodging-house keeper, no doubt."
"Well, I don't know what ought to be done. There is no chance of the
child going to sleep soon, and either he is raving or--or--or--" the
girl's voice trembled--"something very dreadful indeed has occurred
here. The child cannot certainly be left alone now." She looked around
her with apprehension. She was pale and trembling.
"You seem uneasy, Hetty."
"I am terrified."
"I assure you the child has been dreaming, that is all. It is quite a
common thing, I have read, for children to believe what they see in
dreams has real existence."
"O, talking in that way is no use. I am miserable and frightened out
of my wits, Philip."
"What would you wish me to do?"
"I think you had better go for Mr. Bramwell."
"Very well."
"But no--no--no, I should die of fright. What should I do if _that_
came again and lay down on the bed beside the child?" moaned the girl
in terror and despair.
"You really ought not to think of anything so much out of reason.
There was nothing in it but the uneasy dream of a child."
"Indeed, indeed I shall go frantic. Can nothing be done?"
"Well, you know, I could not think of letting you cross over the stage
by yourself. Nothing on earth would induce me to let you attempt such
a thing. And you do not wish me to go away, and you will not have the
two of us go. I cannot see any way out of the difficulty."
"O dear, O dear, O dear!" cried the girl. "I shall go crazy! Stop! I
have it. Didn't we leave the back door open?"
"We did, so as to have the benefit of the hall-lamp."
"Well, you stay here and watch the boy, and I'll go and call for Mr.
Bramwell across the bay. They will hear my voice easily in the
dining-room. That's the best plan, isn't it."
"Yes, if any plan is wanted, which I doubt."
The girl ran out of the room with a shudder.
The concealed woman had fainted. She lost consciousness when it was
decided to summon her husband without watch being removed from the
room.
As Hetty passed Ray he caught her for a moment and said, "Mind, on no
account whatever are you to attempt to cross the stage by yourself. If
you cannot make yourself heard, dear, won't you come back to me?"
"O, I promise; but please let me go. I am beside myself with terror."
He loosed his hold, and in a minute she disappeared round the corner
of the old timber-yard. Philip Ray went up to the window, and with his
face just above the sill kept guard. He heard her call eagerly two or
three times, and then he caught the sound of a response. After that he
knew a brief and hurried conversation was held, and then came
footsteps, and the form of Bramwell hastening along the wharf.
"You are to go to Miss Layard at once and take her over. She would
not come back. She is fairly scared. She told me all that has
happened here. Run to her, and get her away from this place quickly.
Good-night."
"It is nothing at all. The boy has had a nightmare."
"Nothing more? Do not delay. Good-night."
"Good-night."
The father then went into the cottage, and, having bolted the outer
door, stole softly to the room where little Frank lay.
The child was wide awake.
"Well, my boy," said the father, kissing him tenderly, and smoothing
the child's dark hair with a gentle hand. "So your Aunt Hetty has been
to see you."
"Yes, and mother too."
"That was a dream, Frank, and you mustn't think any more about it."
The boy shook his head on the pillow. "No dream," he said. "She lay
down on the bed there beside me, and put her arms round me like at
Mrs. Pemberton's, where we lived before I came here; and she cried
like at Mrs. Pemberton's, and I asked her to take me back to Mrs.
Pemberton's, and she said she would, only you wouldn't let me go.
Won't you let me go?"
"We'll see in the morning."
"And won't Aunt Hetty let Freddie come too? for I had no little boy to
play with at Mrs. Pemberton's."
"We'll talk to Aunt Hetty about it."
"And mother has spots, red spots, on her face now, and there used to
be no spots. And why won't you let me go? for I love my mother more
than I love you."
"We'll talk about all that in the morning; but it is very late now,
and all good little boys are asleep."
"And all good fathers and mothers asleep too?"
"Well, yes; most of them."
"And why aren't you asleep?"
"Because I'm not sleepy. But as you have had a dream that woke you
I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll move the stretcher away, and sit down
beside you and hold your hand until you go to sleep again." He did as
he said, and when he had the little hand within his own he said, "Now,
shut your eyes and go to sleep."
"Father."
"Yes, my child?"
"Didn't you know mother once?"
"Yes, my boy."
"A long time ago?"
"A long time ago."
"And when you knew her she had no ugly red spots over her face?"
"No, child."
"Well, she has now--all over her face."
"Go to sleep like a good boy. I will not talk to you any more.
Good-night."
"Good-night;" and with one little hand under his cheek and the other
clasped lightly in his father's, little Frank lay still awhile, and
then fell off into tranquil slumber.
For a long time the father sat motionless. He was afraid to stir lest
he might wake the little fellow. His mind went back to the evening he
had just spent. How bright and cheerful it had been compared with the
loneliness and gloom of those evenings with which he had been so long
sadly familiar!
What a charming girl that was, and how she had brightened up the whole
evening with her enchanting presence! What a home her presence would
make! He had admired her as he had seen her on Crawford's Quay with
little Freddie, but then she was bending her mind down to a child's
level. That night he had seen her among men, the perfect complement of
them, and the flower of womanhood. He felt his face, his whole being
soften when he thought of her. Even to think of her was to feel the
influence of a gracious spirit.
She was twenty and he was only thirty--who knows!
And then his head fell forward on his chest, and he slept. But Hetty
followed him into his sleep--into his dreams.
He was walking along a country road in May, dejected and
broken-spirited, thinking of the miserable past three years, when
suddenly at a turning he met Hetty holding his boy by the hand and
coming to meet him. And then, with a laugh, he knew that all these
three years which tortured him so cruelly had been nothing but a
dream, and that this sweet and joyous and perfect Hetty had been the
wife of his young manhood. With outstretched arms and a cry he rushed
to meet her.
The cry awoke him, and he looked up.
Between the bed and the wall rose a thin black figure sharp against
the white of the wall, and above the figure a pale haggard face
dabbled with large red spots like gouts of blood.
With a shriek of horror he sprang to his feet and flung himself
against the wall farthest from this awful apparition.
"In the name of God, who or what are you?"
"Nothing to you, I know, except a curse and a blight, but _his_
mother," pointing to the child.
"Living?"
"I could not die."
He thrust both arms upward with a gesture of desperate appeal.
"Merciful God! am I mad?"