 | CHAPTER XLVIII.
CHRISTINE'S GRAVE. Barriers burned away |  |
48. CHAPTER XLVIII.
CHRISTINE'S GRAVE.
After a moment Christine returned to her charge
and said gently:
“I think I can take better care of you now.”
The poor woman looked at her in a bewildered way,
half fearing she had lost her senses. But there was that
in Christine's tone and manner now that went like sunlight
and warmth to the heart, and in broadest German
the grateful creature was soon blessing her again and
again, and Christine felt that she was blessed beyond even
her wildest dreams.
Dennis now felt that she must have food and rest. She
appeared, in the ghostly light of the distant flames, so pale
and spirit-like, that he almost feared she would slip away
to heaven at once, and he commenced looking for some
one stronger, older and more suitable to take her place.
At a little distance farther north, he at last found a stout
German woman sitting with her two children on a large
feather bed, the sole relic of her household goods. Dennis
aquainted her with the case and she soon took the matter
out of his and Christine's hands in a very satisfactory way.
South and west opportunity of escape was utterly cut
off; eastward were the waters of the lake, so that their
only chance was to push northward. After making their
way slowly for a short distance among the thickly scattered
shore for safety, Dennis thought he heard a familiar voice.
“Dr. Arten,” he cried.
“Hallo! who wants me:” answered the good old physician,
bustling up in rather incongruous costume, consisting
of a dress coat, white vest, red flannel drawers, and
a very soiled pair of slippers.
“Oh, Doctor, the very sight of you inspires hope and
courage.”
“Surely a young fellow like you can be in no want of
those articles?”
“If he is lacking,” cried Christine, “it must be for the
reason that he has given hope and courage to every one
he has met, and so has robbed himself.”
“Heigho!” exclaimed the Doctor, “you here?”
“Yes, thanks to the heroism of Mr. Fleet.”
“Fleet, is that all you have saved from the fire?”
asked the Doctor, with a humorous twinkle, pointing to
Christine.
“I am well satisfied,” said Dennis quietly but with
rising color.
“I should have perished, had not Mr. Fleet come to
my rescue,” continued Christine warmly, glad of an opportunity
to express a little of her gratitude.
The Doctor turned his genial humorous eye on her and
said: “Don't be too grateful, Miss Ludolph; he is a young
man and only did his duty. Now if I had been so fortunate
you might have been as grateful as you pleased.”
It was Christine's turn to grow rather rosier than even
the red fire warranted, but she said:
“You would have your joke, Doctor, if the world were
burning up.”
“Yes, and after it burned up,” he replied. “What do
you think of that, Miss Ludolph, with your German
skepticism?”
Tears came in Christine's eyes and she said in a low
tone:
“I am glad to say that I have lost my German skepticism
in the fire also.”
“What!” cried the Doctor, seizing both her hands in
his hearty way. “Will you accept of our Christian superstition?”
“I think I have accepted your glorious Christian truth,
and the thought makes me very happy.”
“Well, now, I can almost say, Praise God for the fire,
though old Dr. Arten must commence again where the
youngsters are who kick up their heels in their office all
day.”
With professional instinct he slipped his finger on
Christine's pulse, then rumaged in his pocket and soon
drew out some powders, and in his brusque way made her
take one.
“Oh, how bitter!” she exclaimed.
“That is the way the ladies treat me,” began the merry
bachelor: “not an ounce of gratitude when I save their
lives. But let a young fellow like Fleet come along and
get them out of danger by mere brute strength instead of
my delicate skilful way, and language breaks down with
their thanks. Very well, I shall have compensation—I
shall present my bill before long. And now, young man,
since you have set out to rescue the young lady, you had
better carry the matter through, for several reasons which
I need not urge. Your best chance is to make your way
northward, and then get around to the west where you can
get food and shelter.” And with a hearty grasp of the
hand, the brave genial old man wished them “God speed!”
Dennis told him of the poor German woman, and then
pushed on in the direction indicated. But Christine was
growing weak and exhausted. At last they reached the
fire to the northwest yet cut off all escape, even if Christine's
strength had permitted further exertion. It was now
approaching midnight, and she said wearily:
“Mr. Fleet, I am very sorry, but I fear I cannot take
another step. The powder Dr. Arten gave me, strengthened
me for a time, but its effect is passing away, and I
feel almost paralyzed with fatigue. I am not afraid to stay
here, or indeed anywhere now.”
“It seems a very hard necessity that you should have
to remain in such a place, Miss Ludolph, but I see no help
for it. We are certainly as well off as thousands of others,
and so I suppose ought not to complain.”
“I feel as if I could never complain again, Mr. Fleet.
I only hope my father is as safe and as well as we are. I
cannot tell you how my heart goes out toward him now
that I see everything in a different light. I have not been
a true daughter, and I do long to make amends. He
surely has escaped, don't you think?”
“Mr. Ludolph was possessed of unusual sagacity and
prudence,” said Dennis evasively. “What any man could
do, he could. And now, Miss Ludolph, I will try to find
you a resting-place. There are such crowds here that I
think we had better go nearer that side, where early in the
evening the fire drove people away.”
The cemetery had not been used of late years, and many
of the bodies had been removed. This caused excavations
here and there, and one of these from which the gathered
leaves and grass had been burned, Dennis thought might
answer for Christine's couch, as in the hollow of this vacant
and nearly filled grave she would be quite sheltered from
the wind, and the sand was still warm from the effects of
the fire. To his surprise she made no objection.
“I am so weary that I can rest anywhere,” she said,
“and a grave is not to me what it was once.”
He arranged her shawl so that it might be both mattress,
pillow and covering, and wrapped her up.
“And how will you endure the long cold hours, my
friend?” she asked, looking up most sympathetically.
“Thanks to your kindness, I had such a good sleep
this afternoon that I feel strong and rested,” he replied
with a smile.
“I fear you say so to put my mind at rest,” but even
as she spoke her eyes closed and she went to sleep like a
tired and trusting child. As with Dennis a few hours before,
the limit of nature's endurance had been reached, and
the wealthy, high-born, Miss Ludolph, who on Sabbath
night had slept in the midst of artistic elegance and luxury,
now, on Monday night, rested in a vacant grave under the
open and storm-gathering sky. Soon (to be accurate), at
two o'clock on the morning of Tuesday, rain began to fall.
But with all the discomfort it brought, never was it more
welcome.
Christine shivered in her sleep, and Dennis looked
around vainly for some additional covering. The thronging
fugitives were all in a similar plight, and their only
course was simply to endure till some path of escape
opened.
The night was indeed a long one to him; at first excitement
and happiness kept him awake and unconscious
of time and discomfort. But he soon felt how weary and
hungry he was, for he had eaten nothing since his slight
supper on Sabbath evening. The heat of the fire perceptibly
lessened as the rain commenced falling, and without
his coat Dennis was soon chilled to the bone. On every
side he heard moans of discomfort, and he knew that he
had far more reason to endure patiently than many near
him. He tried to keep himself warm by walking around,
but at last he grew too weary for that, and sat, a patient
listening sadly betimes to the pitiful crying of little children,
and the sighs and groans of older sufferers.
At last the light of welcome day streaked the eastern
horizon, and Christine opened her eyes in a bewildered
way, but on seeing him swaying backward and forward
with half-closed eyes, sprang up and said:
“And have you sat and watched there all the long
night?”
“I hope you feel rested and better, Miss Ludolph,” he
replied, startled by her voice from drowsiness.
“It has been raining, too. I fear you are wet through.
Oh, how much you must have suffered on my account.”
“I imagine you are as wet as I am, Miss Ludolph.
This has been a very democratic experience for you. We
are all about alike in this strange camping-ground.”
“No, your kindness made me quite comfortable. Indeed,
I never slept better. And you, without any coat or
shelter, have watched patiently hour after hour.”
“Well, you did as much for me yesterday afternoon, so
we are quits.”
“I think there is a great difference,” she said. “And
remember what a watcher I made; I let those drunken
creatures run over you.”
“I don't see how you could have helped it,” said he
laughing. “That you should have cared for me as you
did, was a favor that I never expected,” he added, blushing.
She blushed too, but made no reply, at the same time
she was vexed with herself that she did not. Dennis, with
a lover's blindness, misunderstood her silence, and thought
that, as a friend, she was more grateful than he could wish,
but he must speak in no other light.
Then he remembered that it would be dishonorable to
urge his suit under the circumstances; it would be a
of obligation, to put aside expressions of his deeper regard,
and he resolved to avoid if possible any manifestations of
his feelings. While she was dependent upon him he would
treat her as a brother might, and if his human love could
never find its consummation, he would bear his loss as
patiently as possible. But in spite of himself a tinge of
sadness and restraint came into his manner, and Christine
sighed to herself:
“If he only knew, and I only knew, just the truth, how
much happier we might be.”
There was a general movement now among the
strangely assorted multitude. The fire had swept everything
away so completely on the north side that there
were no hot blazing ruins to prevent crossing. Accordingly
men came pouring over, looking for their families.
On every side were cries of joy on recognition of those
whom fear and terrible forebodings had buried under the
blackened remains of once happy homes. But mingled
with exclamations of joy were sobs and wails of anguish,
as some now realized in the lapsing hours that absent
members of the household were lost.
Christine looked in vain for her father; at last Dennis
said:
“Miss Ludolph, do you feel equal to the effort of crossing
to the west side? you must be faint with hunger, and
there only can we hope for help.”
“Oh, yes, let us go at once, for your sake as well as
mine,” for she saw that his long fasting and great fatigue
had made him very haggard.
They urged their way across the burned district as fast
as their exhausted state would permit, carefully avoiding
burning brands that still lay in the street.
“I hope you will have patience with me in my slow
Winkle must, after his twenty years' nap.”
“I think you have borne up heroically, Miss Ludolph,”
said Dennis warmly.
“Oh, no! I am not in the least heroic, but I confess
that I am very hungry. I never knew what hunger was
before. Well, I can now appreciate what must often be
the condition of the poor, and hope not to be so forgetful
of them hereafter.”
“I am glad to hear you say that you are hungry, Miss
Ludolph, for it proves that with care you will rally after
this dreadful exposure, and be your former self.”
“Ah! Mr. Fleet, I hope I shall never be my old self
again. I shudder when I think what I was when you
awakened me that dreadful night.”
“But I have feared,” said he, ever avoiding any reference
to his own services, “that though you might escape
the fire, the exposure would be greater than you could
endure. I trembled for you last night when it began to
rain, but could find no additional covering.”
No brother could be kinder or more thoughtful of me,”
she said, turning upon him a glad, grateful face.
“That is it,” thought Dennis. “She hints to me what
must be our relationship. She is the Baroness of Ludolph,
and is pledged to a future that I cannot share.”
But as he saw her gratitude, he resolved all the more
resolutely not to put it to the hard test of refusing his love.
A little after he unconsciously sighed wearily, and she
looked at him wistfully.
“Oh that I knew if he felt toward me as he once did,”
she said to herself.
They now reached the unscathed streets of the west
side, which were already thronged with fugitives as
hungry and gaunt as themselves. Mingling with this
humanity, they at last reached Dr. Goodwin's beautiful
church. Here already had commenced the noble charity
dispensed from that place during the days of want and
suffering that followed.
| CHAPTER XLVIII.
CHRISTINE'S GRAVE. Barriers burned away | |