CHAPTER XXXVIThe Rescue.Meanwhile the little ladies at the Parsonage looked anxiously out into the fog, and wondered that Paddy should have gone to Mourne Lodge on such a night.“I suppose they will keep her until to-morrow,” Miss Jane remarked; “but I am rather sorry she went. It is just the weather to take cold.”And at Mourne Lodge Mrs Blake said: “How odd of Lawrence to stay at the Parsonage so late. Did you say he went home with Paddy, Doreen?”Doreen looked worried, but she only replied:“Yes; he said he should not be late.”Another half-hour passed, and then Mrs Blake asked; “What made him go home with Paddy at all, Doreen?”Doreen was now fidgeting nervously, glancing constantly at the clock, and at last she decided to tell her mother exactly what had passed. Almost before she had finished, Mrs Blake was out in the hall peremptorily ordering one of the stable-boys to be sent for at once, and she waited at the open door until he came.“Take a bicycle,” she cried, in the same decisive manner, “and ride as hard as you can to Omeath Parsonage. Go to the back door, and, without making any noise, find out from the servants if Mr Lawrence has been there this evening. If he is there it is all right! but if not, come back here as quickly as possible, and tell them not to let the Misses O’Hara know that you came. Do you understand?”“Yes, m’m,” and in two seconds the boy was gone.Another anxious half-hour passed, during the whole of which Mrs Blake paced the drawing-room, quite unable to sit still a moment. When she heard a step on the gravel, she hurried instantly to the front door.“Is he there?” she asked, quite unable to conceal her anxiety.“No, m’m—he has not been there at all, and they all think Miss Adair is here. I told them not to say anything, but cook is so anxious she is coming here on foot now.”Mrs Blake blanched a death-like hue, but never for an instant lost her head.“Rouse George at once,” she exclaimed, naming the head coachman, who had been with them for years, “and tell him not to lose a second in coming here. Stay—tell him Mr Lawrence and Miss Adair are lost on the mountains, and he must get a search party at once; then come to me.”The boy rushed off, and she turned quickly to the housekeeper, now anxiously waiting near.“Blankets, Mrs Best,” with almost unnatural calmness, “and a flask of brandy, and candles for the lanterns. There is nothing else we can prepare. I think.”George had gone to bed, which made it only the more incredible how he got up and got his party together in the short space before he was at the hall door; but there they stood, four alert men, with poles and lanterns, perfectly ready to risk their lives at a moment’s notice for the master and Miss Adair. Mrs Blake explained in a few short sentences what had occurred and which way they had better take, but it was only at the very last she faltered.“Don’t come back without them, George,” she said, in a low, husky voice, to the faithful old servant, and, with a like huskiness in his own throat, he answered:“I will not, m’m.”Then commenced another terrible watch for the mother and her two daughters, when each tried in vain to frame words that might help the others.There was nothing for it but to endure in silence and continue that restless pacing to and fro. At twelve o’clock the housekeeper came in with hot cocoa and biscuits, but all turned away at once. Mrs Best was another old and privileged servant, however, so she would take no refusal.“Shure, ’tis no good gettin’ fainting,” she said, trying to speak cheerily. “Indeed, m’m, it’s meeself will have to give it ye if ye won’t take it.” And then they tried to drink the cocoa to please her.“There’s Eliza downstairs,” she continued. “About as much use as a child, rocking to and fro under her apron and moaning about little Miss Paddy, and what a wonderful baby she was, as if that would do any one any good. Relating all the mischief she used to be up to in one breath, and what a sainted angel she is in the next.”“Poor Eliza,” said Mrs Blake, with a smile. “She is a faithful old soul. To think of her walking all this way from Omeath upon such a night!”Still the time crept on and no footsteps sounded on the gravel, and away up the mountain Lawrence tended his little fire and began to look round anxiously for the fuel which was fast dwindling away. From time to time he stepped out into the fog and shouted, but sound could scarcely pierce the dense air, and he knew he would not be heard any distance away. Each time when he stepped out Paddy raised her head and watched him, instead of continuing her gaze at the flickering fire, but the last time he noticed that she did not stir.He bent down over her and said her name softly, but there was no answer, and he saw that, worn out with exhaustion, she had fallen into a troubled sleep. For a few moments he was at his wits’ end to know what to do for the best. The fire could not be kept going much longer, and meanwhile the damp cold increased hourly. Should he rouse her and try to make the descent? Which course was the least dangerous?—to crouch in the cold, damp shelter, or try and pierce the black gloom of the night? He looked at the sleeping form a moment, and then made up his mind. In such a strait, all things must be disregarded except whatever might diminish the danger. Whereupon, having come to a decision, he immediately set about carrying it out to the exclusion of all else. First he hunted round for every scrap of possible fuel and made up the fire; then, very tenderly and gently, he gathered Paddy into his arms, as if she had been a child and soothed her into a deep, dreamless slumber.How long they remained thus he did not know. Paddy never stirred after the first half-unconscious resistance, but just slept on in the calmest, childlike sleep, and rather than disturb her he kept the same position, regardless of the severe cramp that seized him first in one limb and then another.The only movement he made was to bend occasionally and touch her hair with his lips, but, apart from this, the fire went out and they remained in absolute silence and stillness—Paddy kept warm and comfortable and soothed into a restful slumber, while he sat upright, without even a coat, numbed with the damp and cold and a martyr to cramp.Only what of it? While she lay in his arms, and every nerve of his body was strained in serving her, could he ask more? Lawrence looked out into the awful gloom, felt the creeping cold through all his bones and the sharp, shooting pains in his limbs, and was content. Of a truth he was not a man to do his loving by halves when it was real.But human nature is not infallible, and it is doubtful if he could have endured much longer by the time a vague sound over the mountain fell on his ear. He raised his head and listened intently.Yes—there it was again—a shout! Good God! some one was coming to them. With the utmost gentleness he managed to disengage himself and then struggle to his feet, but only to collapse ignominiously on to the ground, overcome by cramp through his whole body. He made another effort, and dragged himself up by the wall; then, still clinging to it, shouted with all his might.Instantly rang back an answering shout, and within five minutes the little search party stood in the tumbled-down shelter, almost too overjoyed for words.Old George gripped his young master’s hand and the tears rained down his face.“We were losing heart,” he said. “We were almost giving you up, but I’d never have gone back to face the mistress without you.”“Have you blankets?” Lawrence asked, trying not to show what he was suffering, and still quite unable to stand alone.George took in the situation at a glance, seeing him in shirtsleeves and the deadly pallor on his face.“The young lady won’t hurt for a minute or two,” he said with sudden sharpness to the others. “Come and help me chafe the master’s limbs,” and he almost lifted Lawrence bodily, laying him down on a blanket and setting to work with a will, after first giving him some brandy. After a little while the pain gave and the colour came back to his lips, but meanwhile Paddy had awakened, and, without making any sound, sat watching. She knew instinctively what had happened, and she would not for worlds have attracted any attention to herself until Lawrence was better, his drawn face and blue lips going straight to her heart.After a little, with George’s help, Lawrence managed to get to his feet and stand upright, and then he turned at once to Paddy.“Give me the flask,” he said, and the others waited while he poured out some brandy and held it to her lips. Then he seemed quite himself again, and prepared to start for home, arranging everything, and, as usual, compelling acquiescence. Paddy wanted to try and walk, but he would not hear of it, and finally she had to get into the litter he contrived for her with blankets and be carried down the steep and dangerous slope.At three in the morning the sound of footsteps at last fell on the straining ears at Mourne Lodge, and Mrs Blake hastened wildly to the door, her composure fast giving way.“Lawrence!” she called out into the night. “Lawrence!” And only a mother could have spoken the name so.“We’re all right, mother,” came back the answer cheerily; but as he came up, overcome at last, Mrs Blake fainted into his arms.
Meanwhile the little ladies at the Parsonage looked anxiously out into the fog, and wondered that Paddy should have gone to Mourne Lodge on such a night.
“I suppose they will keep her until to-morrow,” Miss Jane remarked; “but I am rather sorry she went. It is just the weather to take cold.”
And at Mourne Lodge Mrs Blake said: “How odd of Lawrence to stay at the Parsonage so late. Did you say he went home with Paddy, Doreen?”
Doreen looked worried, but she only replied:
“Yes; he said he should not be late.”
Another half-hour passed, and then Mrs Blake asked; “What made him go home with Paddy at all, Doreen?”
Doreen was now fidgeting nervously, glancing constantly at the clock, and at last she decided to tell her mother exactly what had passed. Almost before she had finished, Mrs Blake was out in the hall peremptorily ordering one of the stable-boys to be sent for at once, and she waited at the open door until he came.
“Take a bicycle,” she cried, in the same decisive manner, “and ride as hard as you can to Omeath Parsonage. Go to the back door, and, without making any noise, find out from the servants if Mr Lawrence has been there this evening. If he is there it is all right! but if not, come back here as quickly as possible, and tell them not to let the Misses O’Hara know that you came. Do you understand?”
“Yes, m’m,” and in two seconds the boy was gone.
Another anxious half-hour passed, during the whole of which Mrs Blake paced the drawing-room, quite unable to sit still a moment. When she heard a step on the gravel, she hurried instantly to the front door.
“Is he there?” she asked, quite unable to conceal her anxiety.
“No, m’m—he has not been there at all, and they all think Miss Adair is here. I told them not to say anything, but cook is so anxious she is coming here on foot now.”
Mrs Blake blanched a death-like hue, but never for an instant lost her head.
“Rouse George at once,” she exclaimed, naming the head coachman, who had been with them for years, “and tell him not to lose a second in coming here. Stay—tell him Mr Lawrence and Miss Adair are lost on the mountains, and he must get a search party at once; then come to me.”
The boy rushed off, and she turned quickly to the housekeeper, now anxiously waiting near.
“Blankets, Mrs Best,” with almost unnatural calmness, “and a flask of brandy, and candles for the lanterns. There is nothing else we can prepare. I think.”
George had gone to bed, which made it only the more incredible how he got up and got his party together in the short space before he was at the hall door; but there they stood, four alert men, with poles and lanterns, perfectly ready to risk their lives at a moment’s notice for the master and Miss Adair. Mrs Blake explained in a few short sentences what had occurred and which way they had better take, but it was only at the very last she faltered.
“Don’t come back without them, George,” she said, in a low, husky voice, to the faithful old servant, and, with a like huskiness in his own throat, he answered:
“I will not, m’m.”
Then commenced another terrible watch for the mother and her two daughters, when each tried in vain to frame words that might help the others.
There was nothing for it but to endure in silence and continue that restless pacing to and fro. At twelve o’clock the housekeeper came in with hot cocoa and biscuits, but all turned away at once. Mrs Best was another old and privileged servant, however, so she would take no refusal.
“Shure, ’tis no good gettin’ fainting,” she said, trying to speak cheerily. “Indeed, m’m, it’s meeself will have to give it ye if ye won’t take it.” And then they tried to drink the cocoa to please her.
“There’s Eliza downstairs,” she continued. “About as much use as a child, rocking to and fro under her apron and moaning about little Miss Paddy, and what a wonderful baby she was, as if that would do any one any good. Relating all the mischief she used to be up to in one breath, and what a sainted angel she is in the next.”
“Poor Eliza,” said Mrs Blake, with a smile. “She is a faithful old soul. To think of her walking all this way from Omeath upon such a night!”
Still the time crept on and no footsteps sounded on the gravel, and away up the mountain Lawrence tended his little fire and began to look round anxiously for the fuel which was fast dwindling away. From time to time he stepped out into the fog and shouted, but sound could scarcely pierce the dense air, and he knew he would not be heard any distance away. Each time when he stepped out Paddy raised her head and watched him, instead of continuing her gaze at the flickering fire, but the last time he noticed that she did not stir.
He bent down over her and said her name softly, but there was no answer, and he saw that, worn out with exhaustion, she had fallen into a troubled sleep. For a few moments he was at his wits’ end to know what to do for the best. The fire could not be kept going much longer, and meanwhile the damp cold increased hourly. Should he rouse her and try to make the descent? Which course was the least dangerous?—to crouch in the cold, damp shelter, or try and pierce the black gloom of the night? He looked at the sleeping form a moment, and then made up his mind. In such a strait, all things must be disregarded except whatever might diminish the danger. Whereupon, having come to a decision, he immediately set about carrying it out to the exclusion of all else. First he hunted round for every scrap of possible fuel and made up the fire; then, very tenderly and gently, he gathered Paddy into his arms, as if she had been a child and soothed her into a deep, dreamless slumber.
How long they remained thus he did not know. Paddy never stirred after the first half-unconscious resistance, but just slept on in the calmest, childlike sleep, and rather than disturb her he kept the same position, regardless of the severe cramp that seized him first in one limb and then another.
The only movement he made was to bend occasionally and touch her hair with his lips, but, apart from this, the fire went out and they remained in absolute silence and stillness—Paddy kept warm and comfortable and soothed into a restful slumber, while he sat upright, without even a coat, numbed with the damp and cold and a martyr to cramp.
Only what of it? While she lay in his arms, and every nerve of his body was strained in serving her, could he ask more? Lawrence looked out into the awful gloom, felt the creeping cold through all his bones and the sharp, shooting pains in his limbs, and was content. Of a truth he was not a man to do his loving by halves when it was real.
But human nature is not infallible, and it is doubtful if he could have endured much longer by the time a vague sound over the mountain fell on his ear. He raised his head and listened intently.
Yes—there it was again—a shout! Good God! some one was coming to them. With the utmost gentleness he managed to disengage himself and then struggle to his feet, but only to collapse ignominiously on to the ground, overcome by cramp through his whole body. He made another effort, and dragged himself up by the wall; then, still clinging to it, shouted with all his might.
Instantly rang back an answering shout, and within five minutes the little search party stood in the tumbled-down shelter, almost too overjoyed for words.
Old George gripped his young master’s hand and the tears rained down his face.
“We were losing heart,” he said. “We were almost giving you up, but I’d never have gone back to face the mistress without you.”
“Have you blankets?” Lawrence asked, trying not to show what he was suffering, and still quite unable to stand alone.
George took in the situation at a glance, seeing him in shirtsleeves and the deadly pallor on his face.
“The young lady won’t hurt for a minute or two,” he said with sudden sharpness to the others. “Come and help me chafe the master’s limbs,” and he almost lifted Lawrence bodily, laying him down on a blanket and setting to work with a will, after first giving him some brandy. After a little while the pain gave and the colour came back to his lips, but meanwhile Paddy had awakened, and, without making any sound, sat watching. She knew instinctively what had happened, and she would not for worlds have attracted any attention to herself until Lawrence was better, his drawn face and blue lips going straight to her heart.
After a little, with George’s help, Lawrence managed to get to his feet and stand upright, and then he turned at once to Paddy.
“Give me the flask,” he said, and the others waited while he poured out some brandy and held it to her lips. Then he seemed quite himself again, and prepared to start for home, arranging everything, and, as usual, compelling acquiescence. Paddy wanted to try and walk, but he would not hear of it, and finally she had to get into the litter he contrived for her with blankets and be carried down the steep and dangerous slope.
At three in the morning the sound of footsteps at last fell on the straining ears at Mourne Lodge, and Mrs Blake hastened wildly to the door, her composure fast giving way.
“Lawrence!” she called out into the night. “Lawrence!” And only a mother could have spoken the name so.
“We’re all right, mother,” came back the answer cheerily; but as he came up, overcome at last, Mrs Blake fainted into his arms.