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Gwen came to stay at the Rectory. She was much impressed with two things. First she was terribly upset at the look of Rachel. She had had no idea that she had grown so thin and weak. It gave her quite a shock, and she felt disinclined to admire or appreciate anything of her surroundings.
But she was equally struck with the alteration in Luke. She could find nothing with which to find fault in his behaviour to Rachel. He was as thoughtful for her as before he had been negligent.
"What have you done to Luke to change him so?" she asked her sister one evening, as they were sitting in the garden after supper.
"I have done nothing, but you were blind."
"Then if you are not the cause of his alteration I must be," said Gwen. "I believe it was the talk I had with him when I told him the truth about himself. But I must confess I never expected it to have such an effect."
Rachel laughed.
"You had better not remind me of your delinquencies," she said. "I don't think I ever felt more angry with anyone in my life than I did with you that day. However I have forgiven you so we will say no more about it."
"One thing I can't understand," said Gwen. "What could have induced you to have that tiresome old lady to live with you? It isn't as if she were fond of you for I'm sure she rather dislikes you; that is to say if her manner to you means anything. Why did you let her come?"
"I don't think she dislikes me. She has a very kind heart, but she has been ill and finds it a little difficult to be always nice. You must not blame her."
"But I do blame her. Why did you have her?"
"I knew it would make Luke happier. You see she was all alone in rooms in Trowsby."
"I can't see why Luke should be made happy at your expense."
"But you must remember that before I arrived on the scene she had Luke to herself. She is devoted to him, and must have missed him dreadfully when we left Trowsby."
"Well it seems to me that my next move will have to be to tackle her, as my words take such effect. But look there's Luke. Why is he tearing down the drive on his bicycle at such a rate?"
"There's a fire in the village," he shouted, and was gone before there was time to ask questions.
Both girls rose.
"Yes, I smell the smoke," said Gwen. "It comes from the bottom of the hill. I shall run down and see it."
Rachel stood looking in the direction of the fire and had just made up her mind to follow Gwen slowly, when Mrs. Greville appeared.
"I saw Luke rushing off on his bicycle," she said. "What is the matter?"
"It's a fire in the village and I'm afraid it must be near those tumble down cottages in which Mrs. Simpson and Mrs. Grot live. If the fire reaches them they will burn like tinder."
"Well then I shall go and see if I can't help," said Mrs. Greville. "If anyone is hurt I may be of use. I shall put a few things in my bag in readiness. I've some old linen and some carron oil," and she hurried into the house followed by Rachel, who made her way into the nursery and stood for a few minutes looking down at her sleeping boy.
It was a hot evening and he had kicked off the coverlet in his sleep. Rachel kissed the tiny feet gently, holding them in her hand tenderly. Then she covered him up again.
"You'll take care of him I know," she said to Polly as she moved away. "I'm going down to see if there is anything to be done in the village. I'm afraid several cottages must be in danger."
Then as she left the room she looked back once more at her sleeping boy, saying, "I'm so glad, Polly, that I can trust you implicitly. I know you would never leave the house under any circumstances, whatever Emma may do."
Polly looked at her with the brightest of smiles. She knew there was no need for words. Pat was her one thought.
Arrived at the bottom of the hill Rachel found herself in the midst of an excited crowd, and was dismayed to see that the flames had not only reached Mrs. Simpson's cottage but were approaching the one next to it, belonging to Mrs. Grot.
"The Rector has sent a boy off on his bicycle for the fire engines," explained a woman to Rachel in answer to her questions. "But I doubt if they'll come in time."
"Is Mrs. Grot here?"
"No Ma'am, she's half a mile away at the 'Three Swans' and has the key with her. Her baby is still in the cottage."
Rachel was horror struck.
"But somebody must save the baby," she cried. "There's time yet. Where's the Rector?"
Before the woman could answer a cry rang through the crowd, and Mrs. Grot rushed in among them shrieking, "My baby! my baby!"
"You just follow me," said the woman to Rachel, "and I'll find the Rector for you. It's no good that woman 'holloring' like that. It won't mend matters; the Rector is the one to help." As she pushed her way through the crowd Rachel caught sight of Luke placing a ladder against the cottage wall.
"There he is Ma'am," said the woman. "He knows what to do, for the poor mite is in that front upstairs room with the small window."
"Here's Mrs. Grot with the key," shouted a man near by. "Hold on, sir, for a moment, and I'll unlock the door, we may be able to get in this way."
But alas it was too late. A thick cloud of smoke issued from the door and drove the man back. A groan came from the crowd.
Rachel caught sight of Gwen rushing towards Luke and catching hold of his arm.
"You mustn't go Luke," she cried. "You'll be killed. Think of Rachel."
At that moment Rachel saw her husband was on the first step of the ladder. He was going to save the baby! Her heart gave an exultant leap, and then almost stood still.
At Gwen's words Luke took a hurried glance at the crowd beneath and his eyes rested for one moment on his wife's face. Though it was deadly white there was something in its expression that nerved his steps. She was helping him, not for the first time by any means, to do what was his duty, and this time he knew it was at the risk of his life.
He looked down at Gwen as he mounted, with a smile, saying:
"I am thinking of Rachel. That is why I am going to save the baby."
In another moment he was forcing the window out, which gave way easily, and disappeared within the room.
The silent crowd stood spellbound, but Gwen in a panic ran to the side of her sister. Her voice alone was heard, crying:
"Why didn't you call him back, why did you let him go?"
Call him back! Rachel would not have called him back for the world. It was just the brave thing she expected him to do, and knew he would do.
She stood calm and still while the crowd surged around her murmuring.
Suddenly they saw Luke at the window. He dropped a small bundle into the arms of someone below. A cheer went up but was suddenly checked by the sound of timber falling and a lurid flame soaring up into the air. There was only one explanation to give—the floor of the room in which the baby had been sleeping had given way, and the terror-stricken crowd knew that their Rector must be lying buried among the ruins.
At that moment the engines arrived, but Rachel stood dazed and unconscious of what was going on around her. She did not move or speak even when the women gathered about her, neither did she hear their words of sympathy and commiseration.
"You'd better go, my dear," said an old woman with tears streaming down her face, "you'd better go. It don't do any good to him or to you to stay. If your husband, God bless him, has gone to glory why he's with the Lord, and if not they'll bring him safe home to you."
"To think," cried a hard-faced woman, "that he's done it to save a drunkard's baby, that's already half starved to death. He'd have done better to leave it alone."
The old woman turned sharply at the words.
"That baby, I take it, is as dear as the rest of us to the Lord. But come, my dear," she said again, addressing Rachel, "go home, I beg of you. You'd be best at home. And the Lord be with you."
But Rachel did not stir till a touch on her arm suddenly aroused her. She looked round and met the eyes full of anguish of Luke's mother. No words were spoken, but the silent cry found its way at once to Rachel's heart and awoke her from her dazed condition.
"Mother!" she said softly, then taking her arm in hers she slowly moved away. No words were spoken, as they mounted the hill. The only sounds were Gwen's sobs as she followed behind them.
On arriving at the house they made their way automatically into Luke's study and sat down silently together on the sofa—the two women who loved Luke—clinging to one another, and listening for that sound of all sounds, which strikes a chill into the bravest heart.
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Gwen, in the drawing-room, had hidden her face in the sofa cushion. She had not wanted to hear the dreadful steps of the men carrying in the stretcher.
She was feeling frightened and unstrung and as if she had lost Rachel. Since that fearful moment when the floor of the cottage gave way and Luke was buried in its ruins, her sister had not spoken a word to her. Her dazed condition frightened Gwen; and she almost dreaded seeing her.
She knew where she probably was at this moment; for no sooner had the men who had carried in Luke's body left, than Rachel had gone up into the room, where they had laid him. It was now 10 o'clock and she was still there, and there was a deathly silence in the house. Gwen opened the door and listened. Not a sound could be heard. All was still. At last feeling it unbearable she crept upstairs hoping to find Polly in the nursery.
Polly was sitting by Pat's little crib, crying. It was a relief to Gwen to hear her sobs. It broke the terrible silence.
"Is Mrs. Luke still there?" she asked, glancing in the direction of the room in which she knew they had laid him.
Polly could not speak for her tears; but nodded.
"It's ten o'clock," said Gwen. "She ought to be coming to bed. She'll be quite ill to-morrow. Do you think you could go in and persuade her to come? Tell her I want to speak to her. Or where is Mrs. Greville? Perhaps she would go."
"She ain't fit Miss Gwen," said Polly, "and I daren't go to her. She's in her room and maybe in bed for all I know. I guess I'd better go myself."
Gwen stood outside the room while Polly went softly in. The very fact of the door being opened frightened her; all her nerve had left her and she hoped that Polly would not be long.
She was not gone a minute; she came out of the room on tiptoe, closing the door softly behind her. She was trembling so that at first she could not speak and had to lean against the wall for support.
"Oh what is it? What is it?" cried Gwen in a panic, turning white.
It was some moments before Polly could speak, then the words came in gasps.
"She's gone with him," she panted.
"What?"
"She's gone right—away—with him—to Heaven." She could scarcely speak.
"Do you mean she is dead?" cried Gwen.
"Yes; yes, she's dead; and the moon is shining on 'em both."
Gwen appalled at the news, opened the door and looked in. But what she saw was so wonderful and beautiful that all horror subsided. Rachel was kneeling by the bed on which Luke lay, her cheek resting on his dead hand and a smile of rapture on her face. The moonlight was streaming into the room from the open window on to the faces of husband and wife. Once more they were together in its pathway as they had been on that evening on the sea at Southwold, but now they were unconscious of it, as they were together in the city that has no need of the sun neither the moon to shine in it, for the glory of God did lighten it and the Lamb is the Light thereof.
When the villagers heard that Rachel had died of heart failure on the same day as her husband they mourned and wept. So young, they said, to die! Two valuable lives given for the sake of a poor sick baby of a drunken woman! What a waste of life!
But the Bishop, who came to preach the funeral sermon, said, "It was one of the most beautiful things of which he had ever heard, and he felt that instead of mourning and weeping, there should be flowers and singing. Two happy saints treading together the streets of gold! No long parting! No farewells! The Rector," he told the people, "could hardly have had time to reach the gates of Heaven before he was joined by his wife. What could be more joyful for them!"
"But," he added, and with evident emotion, "when we look at it from our own point of view, we cannot help tears. Did not our blessed Lord weep at the tomb of Lazarus? It is not wrong to weep; but in thinking of our loss, we must not forget their gain; for they were lovely and pleasant in their lives and in their death they were not divided!"
THE END.