Walladmor, Vol. I (of 2). Alexis Willibald

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СКАЧАТЬ the spinning-wheel; and fell back into her seat. If Bertram had at first felt compassion on witnessing the expressions of her grief and the anguish of her expectation, this feeling was soon put to flight by the frantic explosion of anger which followed. So great was his consternation that he resolved to attempt escaping unobserved from the cottage; and he first hoped to recover his full self-possession when he should find himself at liberty and in the open air. With this intention, it may be readily imagined how much his consternation was increased on finding himself unable to stir either hand or foot. His head even moved with difficulty: and it seemed as though no faculty had been left unaffected but that of eye-sight, which served but to torment him by bringing before him this scene of terror. He could almost have wished to exchange his present situation for his recent exposure to the fury of the elements. He attempted to sleep; but found himself unable; and after the lapse of two long hours he heard a knocking at the door.

      CHAPTER II

      Tit. Fear her not, Lucius; somewhat doth she mean:

      Canst thou not guess wherefore she plies thee thus?

      Boy. My Lord, I know not, I; nor can I guess;

      Unless some fit or frenzy do possess her:

      For I have heard my grandsire say full often,

      Extremity of griefs would make men mad:

      And I have read that Hecuba of Troy

      Ran mad through sorrow: that made me to fear.

Tit. Andron.-Act. iv.

      The knocking grew louder and louder; but the old woman answered not a word; on the contrary she seemed only the more earnestly intent on her spinning. At length a little rustling was heard; by some artifice the door was unbolted from the outside; and somebody stepped in. Even then the old woman did not stir from her seat; and the man who had entered, flinging down a heap of old drift wood, opened the conversation himself:

      "What's the matter now, mother, that you keep me so long waiting?"

      "Waiting!" retorted the old woman without raising her eyes from her wheel, "you waiting! – Humph! A pretty waiting I should have, if I were to wait on every idle fellow that knocks."

      "Aye, mother; but think of the weather and the frost that-"

      "The frost? I tell thee what-a bonnier lad than thou, and one that I loved better far, lies frozen in his grave."

      "Well, here's a brave load of wood! I gathered it on the beach."

      "Wood! aye, ragged fragments! There's many such drifting about in this world."

      "Like enough, mother: and, ragged as they are, there's many a bold fellow with rags on his back that would be glad to warm his hands over them."

      "There's one in his grave will never warm himself again." And here the old woman began to mutter her unintelligible songs.

      "So! – the old crooning!" said the young man to himself: and, going up to the fire, he said-"Mother, you mind nothing: you've no thought for any of us; and one of these days you'll be doing something or other that will bring the police rats upon us: and then all's up; and we shall all go to the old tree."

      "To the tree? go, and welcome! And I'll go with you. All the tribe of you is not worth a hair of him that I knew once. And when the day comes that some are outside and knocking at the door that shall knock (well I wot) one of these days, – and all you are hushed and trembling within, and the proudest of you shaking at the knees, – then comes my time for laughing: and I will open the door, and cry-Here they are!"

      The young man muttered something to himself, pushed aside the cauldron, and laid on some faggots and dry wood, – so that the rude hovel was suddenly illuminated with splendour.

      "Aye!" said the old woman, "best make a beacon-fire, and light all the constables up hither!"

      "Well, better be hanged than freeze! – But, mother-mother, where's the warm broth for the poor perishing soul when he wakes?"

      "What!" said the old woman angrily, "shall I go down on my knees, and tend him like a son of my own? Well I remember the day (woe is me!) that they all scoffed at me when I moaned for one that was not a stranger: as God's my help, I'll be no laughing-stock again: it's my turn to laugh next."

      "But Nicholas, mother-it's Nicholas that bids us tend him; and our souls are pledged for the stranger's."

      "Nicholas! eh? Oh! yes, bonny Nicholas! And his soul is in pledge too. The old one has had him once by the head: and for that time he let him go: but he has him for all that: the noose is fast; and there's no sheers will ever cut that noose."

      Without paying any further regard to her words, the young man filled a kettle with water and placed it on the fire: then, shaking the old woman's arm-as if to rouse her (like a child) into some attention to his words-he said to her earnestly:

      "Mother Gillie, now boil the sea-man's drink of thyme, ground-ivy, pepper, ginger, honey, brandy, and all that belongs to it-you know how: make it, as you make it for ship-wrecked folk; and give it every hour to the poor soul there: and remember this-mother Gillie's life answers for his."

      Like a child that has been told to do something under pain of punishment, the old woman answered-"Aye, aye; thyme, ground-ivy, pepper, ginger" – and went about her work. The young man then came up to the bed; and, laying his hands on Bertram, said-

      "Ah, poor soul! he'll never be warm again: the sea has broke over him too roughly: but no matter: mother Gillie must brew the drink, if the man were a corpse; for Nicholas has said it. – Well, mother, God bless you! and another time when a Christian and one of us knocks at the door on a winter's night, sing out-Come in! and, if he should chance to be cold and thirsty, give him a glass of brandy; and think now and then that a living man is made of flesh as well as bones."

      "Whither away then, Tom? To Grace, I'll warrant-the wench that has snared thee, and carries thee away from all thy kinsfolk."

      "No: I must be gone to the castle; for Sir Morgan hunts in the morning."

      "Ah! that Sir Morgan! that Sir Morgan! He wheedles thee, Tom; and to serve him thou leavest thy old mother. He and the young lady, and that lass Grace build houses for thee; but a mother's curse will pull them down."

      "Mother, the baronet is my good friend: his father gave mine the oat-field by the shore: his grandfather saved mine from death in Canada: and the Walladmors have still been good masters; and we have still been faithful servants: and, let the white hats say what they will, – them that the quality calls radicals, – my notion is that people should stick to their old masters, and be true to them; and that's best for both sides."

      "Go, get thee gone to thy boat, – falsehearted lad; snakes will rear their heads out of the water, and seize on him that honoureth not his parents and that forgetteth his brother!"

      Without shewing the least displeasure at these angry words, Tom took his leave; and the old woman now addressed herself in good earnest to the task of preparing the cordial for the young stranger. He meantime had gradually recovered his entire self-possession; and from the conversation between mother and son, most of which he understood, he had drawn conclusions which tended more and more to alarm him at his total loss of power over his limbs. From the expressions of the old woman, which marked an entire indifference about him, he anticipated that she would be apt to mistake his apparent want of animation for a real one; and busied himself with all the horrors which such an error might occasion. But he was mistaken. The old woman followed the directions of her son to the letter. СКАЧАТЬ