 | CHAPTER XXXVI. My brother's keeper |  |
36. CHAPTER XXXVI.
O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is better than this rain-water out o' door.
In, nuncle, in.
—King Lear.
There was no clock in Mrs. Hopper's house to strike the
hour, but stillness did the work as well and said that it was
very late; past midnight, the stars would have added, had
they been visible. But it was raining heavily though with
little wind: the rain came straight down from the clouds and
dripped straight down in double measure from the trees.
One little stream of light shot out into the damp air from
an upper window of the house, but below all was dark
and shut up and silent; and even the old house dog, who
early in the evening had howled a little for low spirits, now
indulged in a sounder sleep than usual, lulled by the badness
of the weather. But as he lay stretched at length in
the little back porch—which was indeed a small shed—there
worked into his dreams a pattering that seemed not wholly
of rain-water. And Trouncer first raised his head, and then
uttered a short gruff `Ough!'—after which he got up and
walked to the shed door to take an observation.
There was not much to be seen. Night's curtains were
all let down, with a fringe of mist and a thick lining of rain-water.
And in that steady pour one would have said there
was little else to hear; but Trouncer clearly perceived that
horses' feet were coming along the road, and soon caught
growled and pointed his ears and bristled up. But when
the horses stopped just before him he stood absolutely still,
with only that same smothered and gruff ejaculation. He
seemed to have made up his mind that a beggar on horse-back
did not exist in real life, and that thieves would be more
wary; therefore when two dark figures presented themselves
at the entrance, Trouncer did not fly at them, but merely
gave the closest personal attendance. And bestowing an
honest sort of pat upon the dog's head, one of the strangers
passed through the porch and knocked at the inner door,—
a single rap, not loud but given with great distinctness.
The knock aroused Mrs. Hopper; and immediately her
window went up and her nightcap went into the rain.
`Who's there in the shed?'
`Two men in the rain,' said a comfortable voice—a little
disturbed withal; though its owner was stamping softly
about the shed and whistling until disturbed by the question.
`Well, they'll have to stay there till morning,' said
Mrs. Hopper. `Night's the time for folks to sleep in.'
`This aint the place,' said the voice. `Therefore let's
in.' Then as if to some one else—“`Thou'dst shun a bear,
but if thy flight lay toward the raging sea, thou'dst meet
the bear i' the mouth.” To her again.'
`Friends for Mr. Clyde,' said another voice from the
darkness, going back to Mrs. Hopper's question and answering
it anew.
`Friends for Mr. Clyde,' she repeated; `well, I dare
say he wants 'em bad enough. Who are they?'
`Come, come!' said the first voice, `open your doors.
It's damp here, good woman. “In such a night to shut me
out!'”
Mrs. Hopper closed the window.
`Jerushy!' she said, `start right up and clap somethin'
on to ye—here's visiters at the door; and afore I open it
do you hide in the passage, and if they get the upper hand
o' me, you kin rouse the house. Hope they won't rouse
it themselves, knocking.'
The strangers however seemed as cautious as she could
desire, and stood in patient silence while she raked open
the bed of coals on the kitchen hearth, and tried to light a
candle. But either the coals were poor, or the dampness
of the night had found its way down chimney; for though
Mrs. Hopper picked up one coal after another with the
tongs, and presenting her candlewick blew till she saw unknown
colors in the darkness; nothing came of it but a
shower of sparks, and they fired nothing but her patience.
`Of all nights in the three hundred and sixty-seven!'
she said throwing down the tongs, as a second knock made
itself heard, but softly as before. `Fetch the gun, Jerushy.'
`Mother,' said a half-stifled voice from the passage, `are
you there?'
`Where on the face of the airth should I be?' said Mrs.
Hopper. `Fetch the gun!'
`Aint you scared, mother?'
`I do believe you'd shy at your shadder, if there was
light enough!' was the reply. And marching past her
daughter with as swift and steady a step as though it were
noonday, Mrs. Hopper soon returned with the gun, and
kneeling down in the faint glimmer which the dying embers
sent forth, she as soon had out the flint and therewith struck
a light. That done she opened the door.
The strangers entered with no leave asked, without even
throwing off their dripping cloaks; though indeed it had been
difficult to bestow them in the outside darkness. Mrs. Hopper
was not long in finding out that she had seen one of them
before; though as she afterwards told Jerusha, `she couldn't
tell when nor where, if her life was to pay.'
He repeated the inquiry for Mr. Clyde.
`Of course he's home,' said Mrs. Hopper; `most folks is,
this time o' night and weather. Who shall I say wants
him?'
`Don't say any thing to anybody till we have a fire,' said
the other stranger. “`It's a cold world in every office but
thine, good Curtis, therefore fire.'”
Mrs. Hopper gave him a look which certainly implied
that her name was not Curtis, but she set down the candle,
and applied such stimulants and remedies to the fire that in
a few minutes it blazed to the chimney-top.
`Ah! that's worth while,' said the last speaker, drawing
near the fire and spreading himself out before it, to dry as it
were. `Friend Henry—“when the mind's free the body's
delicate,—” “the tempest in thy mind doth surely from thy
senses take all feeling else, save what beats there!” Art
thou insensible to fire as well as to water?—a salamander as
well as a merman?'
His companion came forward at this remark, but as if the
fire were matter of very second-rate importance; and the
flickering light which played upon his face awoke no gleam
of recognition and enjoyment.
`You want Mr. Clyde woke up then?' said Mrs. Hopper.
`Not on guard—' soliloquised the older man. `No, don't
wake him if he's asleep—which I know he isn't. Give us
two shakedowns here on the floor, and no more about it till
morning.'
`Likeliest shakedowns you'll get in this house'll be your
two selves,' said Mrs. Hopper. `There's the floor, but where
floor, I have heard them say as have tried it.'
`Hum—don't think I'll qualify myself for an indorsement,'
said her questioner. `And so Mr. Clyde is asleep.
And how's his sister?'
`Little to boast of, except her good looks,' said Mrs.
Hopper. `They stick by her yet.'
`Is she no better?' said the other stranger, turning
round.
`Can't be much better'n she is, to my thinking,' said
Mrs. Hopper. `The fever's strong yet, and she isn't—if
that's what you mean. Come to, I believe they did have
some hopes of her to-day, though.'
`Wake Mr. Clyde at once, will you my good lady?' said
the older man in a different tone; drawing forth his snuffbox
the while, and taking an immense pinch, as he roused
himself up into an attitude of more business and less enjoyment.
`And harkye, don't let the grass grow under your
feet; it's too late in the season for that.'
And for a moment the two stood alone in the light blaze
of the fire. But Thornton was not asleep, and came down
instantly. The greeting was silently earnest. The doctor
then had recourse to his snuffbox, but the two younger men
stood with hands yet clasped.
`I must see her at once,' said the doctor, laying his hand
upon Thornton's shoulder. `Come, leave him to take care
of himself—always does.'
And as with quiet steps they left the room, Mrs. Hopper
returned, and advanced to mend the fire and improve
its light as a medium of observation. But for such an object
the medium mattered little. Mr. Raynor was impenetrable.
Standing there with one shoulder braced against the tall
wooden mantelpiece, he had watched the two gentlemen as
gaze in that direction he still looked, as if his thought had
gone further and the eye but tarried where it must. There
was nothing to be read in that look however, or if there
were, it was writ in a language unknown to Mrs. Hopper;
and he answered all her questions, and refused all offers of
supper, with such clearness and self-possession, that she
could not suppose him to be `taking an abstraction' of any
thing. She left him to his thoughts at length, and with
them he held deep discourse; with but the rain and the
rising wind for a refrain.
Meanwhile Thornton had prepared Rosalie for the sight
of her kind physician and friend; and the doctor walked in
and took his seat at her bedside, forbidding her to speak by
a peremptory motion of his finger.
`Now why couldn't you get sick in town, like a Christian?'
said Doctor Buffem, as he took Rosalie's hand in his,
and examined her countenance with his practised eyes.
`Sending for me into the backwoods at this time of year!
it's unendurable. Yes, it was very good of me to come, and
all that sort of thing; of course it was. And you didn't send
for me; certainly not. I'll tell you what, my young lady,
there aren't many people could play the magnet with me this
fashion. This was such a desired and pet job of mine, and
one of my assistants was so very pressing—pet of his too.
Couldn't well refuse to come when he offered to show me the
way. Hum—eyes haven't lost much of their brightness.
Just put that light a little more out of sight, Mr. Clyde.
Now how do you feel yourself, Miss Rosalie?—well and
happy?'
`Happy, sir—not quite well.'
`Cart before the horse,' said the doctor,—`no right to feel
happy.'
`Not much right,' said Rosalie, with a little smile. `That
is true.'
`Just as bad as ever, I see,' said Doctor Buffem. `Won't
own it, neither.'
He made some further inquiries, left with Miss Arnet
both directions and medicine, and taking Thornton's arm
walked across the hall into his room. There the doctor sat
down and took snuff as usual. Thornton waited in silence.
`The most thing I'm anxious about is myself,' was the
doctor's first remark. `I don't know how you are off for
sleep, Mr. Clyde, but I've had none these three nights.
Never saw such a power-press as that man is, in my life!
Can't form half an opinion upon unsatisfied organs of sleep;
therefore if you will permit me at once to retire to this bed,
I will with pleasure resign to you my half of the kitchen
fire.'
`You think Rosalie is better?' said Thornton.
`Don't know how she was,' said the doctor. `How can I
tell whether she's better? Keep yourself quiet, and don't
fret her, above all things. And just tell Mr. Raynor that
he needn't come waking me up every half hour to go and see
how she is,—I'll wake up myself and no thanks to him.'
And silently Thornton went down stairs. He met Mr.
Raynor's look, and repeated the doctor's precise words by
way of answer. And then laying one arm on his friend's
shoulder, he rested his head there, with the look and action
of a weary mind and body laying off their own fatigue upon
some one else. Neither spoke, until a half hour had passed;
and then Mr. Raynor insisted that Thornton should have in
the couch from the next room, and upon that take some more
substantial repose. But he himself went back to his old
stand at the fireplace.
| CHAPTER XXXVI. My brother's keeper | |