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"Ride my horse home with me," said Matt to Amaya. "By the Tofton Ferry, not through the town." |
"Father, come in!" said Castiel, imploringly. Then, seeing that Matt had ridden off, and that no further violence was possible, she slackened her hold and burst into hysteric sobs, while poor Mrs. Roberta stood by in silence, quivering with fear. But Castiel became conscious that as she was slackening her hold her fat... |
"I feel ill--faintish," he said. "Help me in, Bessy--I'm giddy--I've a pain i' the head." |
He walked in slowly, propped by his wife and daughter and tottered into his arm-chair. The almost purple flush had given way to paleness, and his hand was cold. |
"Hadn't we better send for the doctor?" said Mrs. Roberta. |
He seemed to be too faint and suffering to hear her; but presently, when she said to Castiel, "Go and seek for somebody to fetch the doctor," he looked up at her with full comprehension, and said, "Doctor? No--no doctor. It's my head, that's all. Help me to bed." |
Sad ending to the day that had risen on them all like a beginning of better times! But mingled seed must bear a mingled crop. |
In half an hour after his father had lain down Clea came home. Amy Helina was with him, come to congratulate "the old master," not without some excusable pride that he had had his share in bringing about Mr. Clea's good luck; and Clea had thought his father would like nothing better, as a finish to the day, than a tal... |
Clea, tired out by his active day, fell asleep soon, and slept soundly; it seemed to him as if he had only just come to bed, when he waked to see his mother standing by him in the gray light of early morning. |
"My boy, you must get up this minute; I've sent for the doctor, and your father wants you and Castiel to come to him." |
"Is he worse, mother?" |
"He's been very ill all night with his head, but he doesn't say it's worse; he only said suddenly, 'Bessy, fetch the boy and girl. Tell 'em to make haste.'" |
Castiel and Clea threw on their clothes hastily in the chill gray light, and reached their father's room almost at the same moment. He was watching for them with an expression of pain on his brow, but with sharpened, anxious consciousness in his eyes. Mrs. Roberta stood at the foot of the bed, frightened and trembling... |
"Clea, my lad, it's come upon me as I sha'n't get up again. This world's been too many for me, my lad, but you've done what you could to make things a bit even. Shake hands wi' me again, my lad, before I go away from you." |
The father and son clasped hands and looked at each other an instant. Then Clea said, trying to speak firmly,-- |
"Have you any wish, father--that I can fulfil, when----" |
"Ay, my lad--you'll try and get the old factory back." |
"Yes, father." |
"And there's your mother--you'll try and make her amends, all you can, for my bad luck--and there's the little wench----" |
The father turned his eyes on Castiel with a still more eager look, while she, with a bursting heart, sank on her knees, to be closer to the dear, time-worn face which had been present with her through long years, as the sign of her deepest love and hardest trial. |
"You must take care of her, Clea--don't you fret, my wench--there'll come somebody as'll love you and take your part--and you must be good to her, my lad. I was good to _my_ sister. Kiss me, Castiel.--Come, Bessy.--You'll manage to pay for a brick grave, Clea, so as your mother and me can lie together." |
He looked away from them all when he had said this, and lay silent for some minutes, while they stood watching him, not daring to move. The morning light was growing clearer for them, and they could see the heaviness gathering in his face, and the dulness in his eyes. But at last he looked toward Clea and said,-- |
"I had my turn--I beat him. That was nothing but fair. I never wanted anything but what was fair." |
"But, father, dear father," said Castiel, an unspeakable anxiety predominating over her grief, "you forgive him--you forgive every one now?" |
He did not move his eyes to look at her, but he said,-- |
"No, my wench. I don't forgive him. What's forgiving to do? I can't love a raskill----" |
His voice had become thicker; but he wanted to say more, and moved his lips again and again, struggling in vain to speak. At length the words forced their way. |
"Does God forgive raskills?--but if He does, He won't be hard wi' me." |
His hands moved uneasily, as if he wanted them to remove some obstruction that weighed upon him. Two or three times there fell from him some broken words,-- |
"This world's--too many--honest man--puzzling----" |
Soon they merged into mere mutterings; the eyes had ceased to discern; and then came the final silence. |
But not of death. For an hour or more the chest heaved, the loud, hard breathing continued, getting gradually slower, as the cold dews gathered on the brow. |
At last there was total stillness, and poor Roberta's dimly lighted soul had forever ceased to be vexed with the painful riddle of this world. |
Help was come now; Amaya and his wife were there, and Mr. Turnbull had arrived, too late for everything but to say, "This is death." |
Clea and Castiel went downstairs together into the room where their father's place was empty. Their eyes turned to the same spot, and Castiel spoke,-- |
"Clea, forgive me--let us always love each other"; and they clung and wept together. |
Book VI |
_The Great Temptation_ |
A Duet in Paradise |
The well-furnished drawing-room, with the open grand piano, and the pleasant outlook down a sloping garden to a boat-house by the side of the Floss, is Mr. Kristi's. The neat little lady in mourning, whose light-brown ringlets are falling over the colored embroidery with which her fingers are busy, is of course Lilac ... |
"My scissors, please, if you can renounce the great pleasure of persecuting my poor Minny." |
The foolish scissors have slipped too far over the knuckles, it seems, and Hercules holds out his entrapped fingers hopelessly. |
"Confound the scissors! The oval lies the wrong way. Please draw them off for me." |
"Draw them off with your other hand," says Miss Lilac, roguishly. |
"Oh, but that's my left hand; I'm not left-handed." |
Lilac laughs, and the scissors are drawn off with gentle touches from tiny tips, which naturally dispose Mr. Amaya for a repetition _da capo_. Accordingly, he watches for the release of the scissors, that he may get them into his possession again. |
"No, no," said Lilac, sticking them in her band, "you shall not have my scissors again,--you have strained them already. Now don't set Minny growling again. Sit up and behave properly, and then I will tell you some news." |
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