Chapter XX: At Parson Wheeler's

It was Coxon who reminded them that some one still was down the mine. There was Duke, who still seemed as easy and as quiet in his mind as though nothing out of the way had happened, in the arms of those who loved him dearly. It was not many seconds ere they noticed that his was unnatural ease and quietude. He could not move a limb, although he spoke to them in the most matter-of-fact and conversational of tones. He complained of no pain, though he was manifestly helpless as a child. A new terror seized their hearts; they longed to get away with him to where shelter and physicians might be had.

It was at this point that Coxon interposed with his reminder that there still was some one down the mine.

"I think, madam," he said, "there was another young gentleman with Mr. Marmaduke; do you wish to leave him there to drown?"

There was biting irony, whether intentional or not, in the tone of orthodox, well-trained politeness in which the question was put.

"To drown?" cried Winnie, "do we wish to leave him there to drown?" She stood up in front of him with small palms clenched, and the hot blood came to the maiden's face.

Duke, hearing the mention of some one else being down the mine, put in his word.

"It is Lionel," he said; "he's been the best fellow in the world to me. He has held me in his arms above the sea all night. You must not let him drown."

"Do you think," said Winnie, and her tone was hot as fire, and every word was distinct and clear as though it were cut out of her with a knife, "that we would let him drown? Why, you might as well say out at once that we are murderers! To think that we would let him drown! What wretched creatures do you take us for?"

She approached the shaft and cried, "Lionel! Lionel Pollyon! you brave, brave boy! Let down the rope"--this was to Coxon--"he will take hold of it."

If so, he gave no sign of any kind. Down went the rope, but no one touched it from below; all within the shaft was still as death. Winifred cried out again--

"Lionel! Lionel! take the rope! There it is in reach of you; put out your hands and grasp at it." Then with a sort of spasm, for there still was not a word, "Oh, speak to us! speak to us, you best of boys!" But Pollyon never spoke to them.

"Perhaps he's drowned," said Duke, in the same contented, even tones. "I know that he was tired; he held me well above the sea. He said that we should both be dead to-night, and meet again in heaven."

"O Duke! don't talk like that, my darling boy!" and the mother burst into a flood of tears; it seemed so hard and cruel, so terrible, to hear him speak in such a fashion.

"I must go down to him," said Winnie, in the clear ringing voice which was singularly like Duke's was wont to be when the forlorn-hope mood was come to him. "He has no doubt swooned, and cannot hear us call to him. Mother, you must help Coxon with the rope. I'm no great weight, but it is better you should help him."

While she spoke she tied her habit round her and prepared for the descent. No one strove to move her from her purpose; they knew, in the first place, that to attempt it would be vain; some one must go, and they knew she had resolved that it would be better that that some one should be her; in the second, time was precious, and it might be that every moment turned the balance for life or death. It never occurred to them that it was in any way strange for a lass like Winifred Tregowan to be let down into a mine, which, for all they knew, might be filled almost to the mouth with water, to effect the rescue of a lad. The lad was to be rescued; Winifred would do it, and God go with her! It is not the stronger vessels only who have courage of the arm and of the hand.

Winnie stood on the very brink of the shaft to see how far she could look into it, then she knelt down, and, her fair face flushed with rosy tints, took the rope in her little hands, and began to let herself down over the edge; and at the same moment she prayed the Lord that the adventure might go well with her; and doubtless the mother prayed the self-same prayer, although she held her peace and tried to stop the tears from flowing; but Coxon said--

"Be careful, miss; hold tight; put your feet against the side, and walk down, as it were."

And Winnie did as he suggested; she put her feet against the wall and went down steadily hand over hand. It was not a pleasant feeling as she went lower down and lower, and found that all around was dark, and knew not where she was nor what might be her company; but she refused a hearing to unprofitable thoughts, and thought only of God and the work which brought her there. None the less she could not but give a little cry when all at once she came upon the water, dark and cold, and touched it, and knew she must go into it. Yet she went, and at last she touched the bottom; it was time, for, as it was, it was almost to her shoulders. Then she said, "Lionel! Lionel!" and was frightened at the sound of her own voice; and then an awful fear came over her that the lad might indeed be dead, and she prisoned there with him; but despite her fear, with one hand she felt for any signs of him, and came upon him all at once, and as she did so gave so great a cry that from above the mother cried back to her in sympathy; but Coxon shouted--

"Steady, miss, steady! It's all right if you are steady."

But Winifred was not so sure of that. She had put her hand upon Pollyon's face, and it was cold and wet and still. What should she do with him? Was he actually dead? He seemed to have no life left in him. She had to bite her sweet lips till the blood came through to keep herself from behaving as is the way with girls, and swooning then and there. She would not be dismayed--she would be brave. She drew him towards her, and fastened the rope around him as doubtless he had fastened it round Duke not so long ago. This she did with trembling hands and frightened face, but still she fastened it. Then she gave the word to those above.

"Ready!" she cried. Then, with a trembling eagerness which she could not conceal, "Mind that you let the rope down soon again for me."

Then Coxon replied, forgetting for once his orthodox propriety of language--

"Yes, miss; it shall be down again in half a jiffey."

So they began to haul up Pollyon. It was a hard thing for Winnie to have to stand there almost to her neck in the icy water, and to watch him dangling in mid-air. Nor was the process long; they could scarcely have done more than bring him safely to the top ere the rope came down again. As a matter of fact, it was the end they had been holding which Coxon let down--Lionel was still tied to the other. But Winnie was ignorant of that: she caught at it as though it were the best of friends (as, indeed, for the time it was), and deftly as you please, although it cut her gloves to pieces and tore her little hands, clambered to the top. And when she reached the mouth, she in an instant was a girl again, with all a lass's ways; for now that it was over, she sat down on the sand and began to cry with all her might and main.

But her tears were quickly dried--there was no time for tears. When a woman loves, be she sister or be she mother, and those she loves are in sore straits, she hides all her feminine weaknesses away, and thinks only of the loved ones. With the tears still wet upon her cheeks--and yet one or two would still steal down--she rose up to do what had best be done. Duke was for a time left in the shade. Eddie Mason, who by now was a little more himself, was the only one who paid any heed to him: the mother and Coxon were busy with Pollyon, and now Winnie rose and joined them. They had stripped off the upper part of his clothing, and were rubbing his naked flesh, in the hope to win him back to animation.

"I think, madam," said Coxon, when there were still no signs of life in him, "that we had better take him to Parson Wheeler's at Gwithian. It will be better for him and Mr. Marmaduke as well. I will wrap my coat around him to keep him warm." And he took off his thick outer coat to do with it as he had said.

"Yes, I think that we had better," said the mother. She was pale as death. Between her son and her son's friend she had to the full as much as she could bear. "O Lord God! grant he is not dead! Have mercy on us, Lord! What a Christmas is this one to be!"

"If we only had a doctor! Hayle is the nearest we shall have to go for one." And Coxon wrapped Pollyon up as warmly as he could, and prepared to carry him across the desert.

"I will go for one!" cried Winnie.

"But, child," replied the mother, "you are soaked with wet."

"Why, mother, it is nothing!" and Miss Winifred shook herself in proof of it. "I'll be dry almost before I start. Her ladyship will travel like the wind. You see, I'll soon be warm. And as I go through Gwithian I will tell them what is wrong, and they will send and help you with Duke and Lionel."

Then she took the reins to put them on her ladyship. But "Lady Belle," because she had been left in that cold, dark place unnoticed for so long, was saucy, and would none of her; so Winnie strove to coax her into good behaviour.

"What, Belle! Belle! My Lady Belle! Ladyship, thou horse of mine! You do not mean to say you will not come to your mistress?"

But that was exactly what she meant to say, and in her way she said it too. Coxon had to catch her in the end, and put the reins on her; then Winnie was soon upon her back, and on the road to Hayle through Gwithian. Across the desert it was impossible to travel fast, nor was "My Lady Belle" enamoured of the sand at all. When she got into the village, Winnie stopped at the "Fisher's Haven," and rapped with her riding-whip against the door. The "Haven" was kept by Jacob Pyles, who was as much fisherman as publican, and as decent a fellow as you should care to see. A window was opened above, and Mr. Pyles put out his head.

"Now, then, who's that knocking there? It's no good, you know--not another drop do you get here to-night. It's closing time two hours ago."

"It's I, Mr. Pyles, Winifred Tregowan."

"Bless my soul and body! sure, my lady, and I'm very sorry." Never was man more astonished than was Mr. Jacob Pyles; his amazement was too great for his powers of speech. But Winnie could not wait for his apologies.

"There's an accident upon the desert at Wheal Galore. My brother and Lionel Pollyon have fallen down the mine; we fear that Lionel is drowned. They want your help and as many more as you can get to go with you--three or four will do. They are bringing them to Mr. Wheeler's."

And away she sped, leaving Mr. Pyles with his mouth stretched to its widest capacity, his eyes as round and as wide open as an owl's, the wind penetrating through his scanty clothing, utterly at a loss to understand the thing.

"Mr. Marmaduke Tregowan on the desert--down Wheal Galore--drowned--bringing him to Mr. Wheeler's! Well, I never did--no, I never did in all my days before!"

But Winifred sped on. She stopped at Mr. Wheeler's--Parson Wheeler's. He was the curate in charge. Gwithian has no cure of its own, but is in Phillack parish. Mr. Wheeler lived in the by no means magnificent parsonage just by the ancient church. Mrs. Wheeler answered Winnie's knocking, thrusting her night-capped head out of her bedroom window. The partner of her joys and sorrows, who was a prudent man, and over-worked and under-paid to boot, feared that this was some one to summon him to duty at this uncanny hour of the night, and preferred to keep himself snug and warm in bed. But when he heard that it was Miss Tregowan and what it was had brought her there, in an instant he had left the sheets, and both of them--husband and wife--were bustling about, doing their best to prepare for the lad for whom their hospitality was asked; and Winifred sped on.

Sped on--on through the Gwithian lanes, which have nothing but sand on either side of them--fields they are ironically called, where the sheep snatch a precarious livelihood from the scanty grass; on towards the arsenic works, whose furnaces all the year round cast sullen radiance upon the midnight sky; on towards Copperhouse, which is, as it were, twin brother to Hayle. And "My Lady Belle," as Winnie said she would, travels like the wind, faster indeed than the wind is travelling to-night. She goes so swiftly and so free, she scarcely seems to touch the earth; all her sulks have vanished now. Winnie leans forward in the saddle and pats her bonny neck, and says, "Well done, my ladyship, well done!" And "My Lady Belle," who dearly loves a word of praise--as, indeed, which one of us does not?--just lifts her head, as who would say, "Though indeed it is well done, I will soon do better, so look and see!" And straightway her pace, which was as the wind before, becomes the whirlwind now, and she flies along as though she indeed were flying and there was no such thing as earth at all. And Winnie decides within herself that sure "My Lady Belle" shall have a goodly time of it for this; hers shall be the great reward; hers shall be the freshest hay, the sweetest sugar, and the best of kisses; hers shall be a bed of down; hers shall be the best manger which the stable can provide; and holidays--aye, what holidays "My Lady Belle's" shall be!

And the lass's heart grows lighter as she goes, for it is almost impossible to be on such a steed as hers and to ride at such a pace and yet for one's heart to be as heavy as it was of yore. Then her thoughts go back to the group at Wheal Galore, and all at once she clasps her hands upon the reins and prays--aye! how she prays to God that all this sorrowing may end in joy! And she throws back her dainty hand and trusts "My Lady Belle" to know the way she ought to go, and looks up to heaven, and a great tear stands like a pearl in either eye; and she says no word, but all her prayer is mute. Yet it has its eloquence in spite of that; in silence she acknowledges that all the issue is with God, and whatever He shall will is best; yet--yet--"O my Father! if it be possible, let this cup pass from me! Nevertheless not as I will, but as Thou wilt!" And with that dumb petition filling all her heart, "My Lady Belle" bravely speeds her on.

And fortunately she finds the doctor in; indeed, it were strange, considering the season of the night, if she did not. He is a young man with sunny face and merry eyes, nor has he long been married. It is hard to drag him out of bed at such a time; yet when he understands the pressing need there is of him, he hastens down, and is dressed and with her in three minutes. He goes himself to the little stable which is attached to his house, saddles his own small cob--who shows his displeasure much more emphatically than does his master, and eyes "My Lady Belle" and her mistress on her back with anything but looks of love--and in another two minutes they are off. Although he presses on his cob to do his best, and that unwilling animal, yielding to necessity, does as he is bidden, he is nowhere beside "My Lady Belle," and they go back much more slowly than Winnie came. And as they go the doctor questions her about the accident, and she tells him all she can, although she finds it hard to keep her voice from faltering or to conceal her fears, which, like a barricade, still keep the blood out of her dainty cheeks; and in this way they reached the parson's house at Gwithian.

"How is he?" asked Winnie, as they pulled up before the door, and she sprang lightly from her saddle. Mr. Jacob Pyles, who was standing there with a select number of his acquaintances, who seemed to consider that since they were up they might as well stay up to learn the latest news, took on himself to answer. Despite the cold, he took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Begging your pardon, miss, but which 'un? Mr. Marmaduke, there don't seem much wrong with him; but as for t'other chap, the parson's son----" and Mr. Pyles shook his head and screwed his countenance into a woful form.

Hardly knowing whether to be glad or sorry, Winifred went in. The doctor had gone in in front of her. All the house was up and bustling. The little Wheelers, of whom there were a dozen at the least, had one and all got out of bed, and were all agog with curiosity. They were not remarkable for too much clothing, but they did not seem to heed the cold, and were on the stairs and everywhere.

Mr. Wheeler met them as they entered. He, good man, seemed to have fairly lost his wits. There was no mistaking the fact that he had been suddenly aroused from bed. His hair was tangled. There was a heavy look about his eyes. He seemed to have slipped his trousers on, his everyday coat, which he had buttoned to the chin over his night-shirt, a pair of slippers on his feet, and then to have considered himself prepared for visitors. He rubbed his hands together when he saw them, and seemed to be in an altogether nervous frame of mind.

"I'm sure," he said, "I'm sure I'm very sorry." He did not say for what. "You will find them all upstairs. Your brother, my dear young lady, seems to be doing well. He appears to have received no injury at all; but young Pollyon----" and, as Mr. Pyles had done, he shook his head and said no more.

He led the way upstairs, and in so doing came into immediate collision with the little Wheelers.

"Really," he said, and the poor man seemed quite staggered by their appearance in such strength, "this will not do at all; this is very wrong of you, my dears!--s--s--ssh!" No one was making the slightest sound except himself. They were all too much occupied with staring at the doctor and Miss Winifred; but he held his finger up to them as a sort of warning signal. "Not a word! not a word! All good children should be in bed at such a time of night." And with this sage observation he scrambled past them as best he could, and Winnie and the doctor followed his example. As Lionel's case was the most pressing, they went to him the first. The mother met them on the threshold. Her eyes were red with tears.

"Thank God! thank God!" she said, and she put her hand upon the doctor's arm. "We think he breathes."

And what they thought proved actually to be the case. After all, Lionel Pollyon was coming back, as it were, out of the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Warmth and care and tenderness had done their work, and there could be no doubt he breathed. There could, if possible, be still less when, a little later, he unclosed his eyes and looked at them. And as he did so he put out his hand, and said in the hoarse, husky tones which had answered them when they had first called down the mine--

"The water! the water! Dear Lord, help us boys! Give me strength to hold Duke above the sea!"

And at sound of that the mother's heart welled over, and she sank upon her knees beside the bed and burst into a flood of tears. And of course Winnie cried too, and Mrs. Wheeler joined for sympathy. So all three of them were crying; and perhaps, if Parson Wheeler had been there, he would have cried as well. For there could be no doubt that this lad had made up his mind to save the life of Marmaduke Tregowan, though he had to do it at the sacrifice of his own.

The doctor had to remind them that they had still Duke to visit.

"Oh, he's all right," said Parson Wheeler, who at that moment put his head inside the door; "he's merry as a grig."

Though the word was scarcely clerical, it conveyed his meaning perhaps as well as any other. Cheered by his assurance, the doctor and the three women trooped off to Marmaduke.

Duke was lying in the parson's own bedroom. There was a cheerful fire in the grate. He lay propped up by pillows, with one hand lying outside upon the counterpane. He smiled as the doctor came to him.

"It's so warm in here," he said, still in the same queer, quiet tones. "It is so different to what it if outside. Does it seem to you like Christmas-time?"

The doctor said never a word. He laid his hand upon the lad's wrist. This was what Parson Wheeler called being "merry as a grig!"

"I heard the bells," continued Marmaduke, who seemed bent on talking--"I heard the bells at midnight. Lionel said that at midnight the tide was at the full. As Christmas Day was born into the world, the tide, he said, was at the full."

"Yes," agreed the doctor, although he did it absently, "the tide was at the full."

Then, with an odd look upon his face, he turned to them and said--

"Just leave us for a minute. I will let you know when I am ready. I want to have a talk alone with him."

Instinctively Winnie put her arm through the mother's, and both of them turned white as death. They had neither of them power to speak a word, but, like dumb creatures, left the room, and the parson and his wife went after them. So the doctor was left alone with Marmaduke, and without the mother cried for her son before the Lord. It was the old cry of the Israelitish king--"Deal gently with the young man, even with Absalom." But it was not to be for her sake, or not for her sake only, but for the sake of the Son of God, who on that day was born into the world!