CHAPTER X.
TAKING REFUGE.
For a minute or two I seemed to feel nothing; then there came over me asort of shiver, partly of cold, for it _was_ very cold, partly ofmisery. I roused myself, however. With the remembrance of that otherevening had come to me also the knowledge of where I was. Only a fewyards down the sloping street on the left-hand side came a wide stretchof pavement, and there, in a kind of angle, stood a double door, open onboth sides, leading into a small outer hall, from which again anotherdoor, glazed at the top, was the entrance to Cranston's show-rooms.
I remembered it all perfectly. Just beyond the inner entrance stood thetwo carved lions that Haddie and I admired so much. I wished I could seethem again, and--yes--a flash of joy went through me at the thought--Icould get Mrs. Selwood's address quite as well from old Mr. Cranston asfrom the big grocer!
As soon as the idea struck me I hurried on, seeming to gain freshstrength and energy. It was almost dark, but a gas-lamp was burningdimly above the lintel, and inside, on the glass of the inner door, werethe large gilt letters "Cranston and Co."
I ran up the two or three broad shallow steps and pushed open the door,which was a swing one. It was nearly time for closing, but that I didnot know. There was no one to be seen inside, not, at least, in thefirst room, and the door made no noise. But there stood the dearlions--I could not see them very clearly, for the place was not brightlylighted, but I crept up to them, and stroked softly the one nearest me.They seemed like real friends.
I had not courage to go into the other show-room, and all was soperfectly still that I could scarcely think any one was there. I thoughtI would wait a few minutes in hopes of some one coming out, of whom Icould inquire if I could see Mr. Cranston. And I was now beginning tofeel so tired--so very tired, and so cold.
In here, though I did not see any fire, it felt ever so much warmer thanoutside. There was no chair or stool, but I found a seat for myself onthe stand of the farther-in lion--each of them had a heavy woodenstand. It seemed very comfortable, and I soon found that by moving on alittle I could get a nice rest for my head against the lion's body. Astrange pleasant sense of protection and comfort came over me.
"How glad I am I came in here," I said to myself. "I don't mind if Ihave to wait a good while. It is so cosy and warm."
I no longer made any plans. I knew I wanted to ask for Mrs. Selwood'saddress, but that was all I thought of. What I should do when I had gotit I did not know; where I should go for the night, for it was now quitedark, I did not trouble about in the least. I think I must have beenvery much in the condition I have heard described, of travellers lost inthe snow--the overpowering wish to stay where I was and rest, was all Iwas conscious of. I did not think of going to sleep. I did not know Iwas sleepy.
And for some time I knew nothing.
The first thing that caught my attention was a very low murmur--so lowthat it might have been merely a breath of air playing in the keyhole; Iseemed to have been hearing it for some time before it took shape, as itwere, and grew into a softly-whispering voice, gradually gathering intowords.
"Poor little girl; so she has come at last. Well, as you say, brother,we have been expecting her for a good while, have we not?"
"Yes, indeed, but speak softly. It would be a pity to awake her. Andwhat we have to do can be done just as well while she sleeps."
"I don't agree with you," said the first speaker. "I should much preferher being awake. She would enjoy the ride, and she is an intelligentchild and would profit by our conversation."
"As you like," replied number two. "I must be off to fetch the boy. Shewill perhaps be awake by the time I return."
And then--just as I was on the point of starting up and telling them I_was_ awake--came a sound of stamping and rustling, and a sort of whirrand a breath of cold air, which told me the swing door had been opened.And when I sat straight up and looked about me, lo and behold, there wasonly one lion to be seen--the stand of his brother was empty!
"I--please I _am_ awake," I said rather timidly. "It was me you weretalking about, wasn't it?"
"_I_--'it was _I_'--the verb to be takes the same case after it asbefore it," was the reply, much to my surprise and rather to my disgust.Who would have thought that the carved lions bothered about grammar!
"It was I, then," I repeated meekly. I did not want to give any offenceto my new friend. "Please--I heard you saying something--something aboutgoing a ride. And where has the--the other Mr. Lion gone? I heardabout--a boy."
"You heard correctly," my lion replied, and I knew somehow that he wassmiling, or whatever lions do that matches smiling. "My brother has goneto fetch _your_ brother--we planned it all some time ago--we shall meeton the sea-shore and travel together. But we should be starting. Can youclimb up on to my back?"
"Oh yes," I said quite calmly, as if there was nothing the least out ofthe common in all this, "I'm sure I can."
"Catch hold of my mane," said the lion; "don't mind tugging, it won'thurt," and--not to my surprise, for nothing surprised me--I felt myhands full of soft silky hair, as the lion shook down his long wavy maneto help my ascent.
Nothing was easier. In another moment I was cosily settled on his back,which felt deliciously comfortable, and the mane seemed to tuck itselfround me like a fleecy rug.
"Shut your eyes," said my conductor or steed, I don't know which to callhim; "go to sleep if you like. I'll wake you when we meet the others."
"Thank you," I said, feeling too content and comfortable to disagreewith anything he said.
Then came a feeling of being raised up, a breath of colder air, whichseemed to grow warm again almost immediately, and I knew nothing moretill I heard the words, "Here they are."
I opened my eyes and looked about me. It was night--overhead in the deepblue sky innumerable stars were sparkling, and down below at our feet Iheard the lap-lap of rippling waves. A dark, half-shadowy figure stoodat my right hand, and as I saw it more clearly I distinguished the formof the other lion, with--yes, there was some one sitting on his back.
"Haddie," I exclaimed.
"Yes, yes, Geraldine, it's me," my brother's own dear voice replied."We're going right over the sea--did you know?--isn't it splendid? We'regoing to see father and mamma. Hold out your hand so that you can feelmine."
THE BROTHER LIONS ROSE INTO THE AIR.]
I did so, and my fingers clasped his, and at that moment the brotherlions rose into the air, and down below, even fainter and fainter, camethe murmur of the sea, while up above, the twinkling stars looked downon what surely was one of the strangest sights they had ever seen in alltheir long, long experience!
Then again I seemed to know nothing, though somehow, all through, I feltthe clasp of Haddie's hand and knew we were close together.
A beautiful light streaming down upon us, of which I was conscious eventhrough my closed eyelids, was the next thing I remember. It seemed warmas well as bright, and I felt as if basking in it.
"Wake up, Geraldine," said Haddie's voice.
I opened my eyes. But now I have come to a part of my story which I havenever been able, and never shall be able, to put into fitting words. Thescene before me was too beautiful, too magically exquisite for me evento succeed in giving the faintest idea of it. Still I must try, thoughknowing that I cannot but fail.
Can you picture to yourselves the loveliest day of all the perfectsummer days you have ever known--no, more than that, a day like summerand spring in one--the richness of colour, the balmy fragrance of theprime of the year joined to the freshness, the indescribable hopefulnessand expectation which is the charm of the spring? The beauty and delightseemed made up of everything lovely mingled together--sights, sounds,scents, feelings. There was the murmur of running streams, the singingof birds, the most delicious scent from the flowers growing in profusionand of every shade of colour.
Haddie and I looked at each other--we still held each other by the hand,but now, somehow, we were standing together on the grass, though I couldn
ot remember having got down from my perch on the lion's back.
"Where are the lions, Haddie?" I said.
Haddie seemed to understand everything better than I did.
"They're all right," he replied, "resting a little. You see we've come along way, Geraldine, and so quick."
"And where are we?" I asked. "What is this place, Haddie? Is itfairyland or--or--heaven?"
Haddie smiled.
"It's not either," he said. "You'll find out the name yourself. Butcome, we must be quick, for we can't stay very long. Hold my hand tightand then we can run faster."
I seemed to know that something more beautiful than anything we had seenyet was coming. I did not ask Haddie any more questions, even though Ihad a feeling that he knew more than I did. He seemed quite at home inthis wonderful place, quite able to guide me. And his face was shiningwith happiness.
We ran a good way, and very fast. But I did not feel at all tired orbreathless. My feet seemed to have wings, and all the time the gardenaround us grew lovelier and lovelier. If Haddie had not been holding myhand so fast I should scarcely have been able to resist stopping togather some of the lovely flowers everywhere in such profusion, or tostand still to listen to the dear little birds singing so exquisitelyoverhead.
"It must be fairyland," I repeated to myself more than once, in spite ofwhat Haddie had said.
But suddenly all thought of fairyland or flowers, birds and garden, wentout of my head, as Haddie stopped in his running.
"Geraldine," he half whispered, "look there."
"There" was a little arbour a few yards from where we stood, and there,seated on a rustic bench, her dear face all sunshine, was mamma!
She started up as soon as she saw us and hastened forward, her armsoutstretched.
"My darlings, my darlings," she said, as Haddie and I threw ourselvesupon her.
She did look so pretty; she was all in white, and she had a rose--one ofthe lovely roses I had been admiring as we ran--fastened to the front ofher dress.
"Mamma, mamma," I exclaimed, as I hugged her, "oh, mamma, I am so happyto be with you. Is this your garden, mamma, and may we stay with youalways now? Wasn't it good of the lions to bring us? I have been sounhappy, mamma--somebody said you would get ill far away. But nobodycould get ill here. Oh, mamma, you will let us stay always."
She did not speak, but looking at Haddie I saw a change in his face.
"Geraldine," he said, "I told you we couldn't stay long. The lions wouldbe scolded if we did, and you know you must say your French poetry."
And then there came over me the most agonising feeling ofdisappointment and misery. All the pent-up wretchedness of the lastweeks at school woke up and overwhelmed me like waves of dark water. Itis as impossible for me to put this into words as it was for me todescribe my exquisite happiness, for no words ever succeed in expressingthe intense and extraordinary sensations of some dreams. And of course,as you will have found out by this time, the strange adventures I havebeen relating were those of a dream, though I still, after all the yearsthat have passed since then, remember them so vividly.
It was the fatal words "French poetry" that seemed to awake me--to bringback my terrible unhappiness, exaggerated by the fact of my dreaming.
"French poetry," I gasped, "oh, Haddie, how can you remind me of it?"
Haddie suddenly turned away, and I saw the face of one of the lionslooking over his shoulder, with, strange to say, a white frilled capsurrounding it.
"You must try to drink this, my dear," said the lion, if the lion itwas, for as I stared at him the brown face changed into a rather ruddyone--a round good-humoured face, with pleasant eyes and smile, remindingme of mamma's old nurse who had once come to see us.
I stared still more, and sat up a little, for, wonderful to relate, Iwas no longer in the lovely garden, no longer even in the show-roomleaning against the lion: I was in bed in a strange room which I hadnever seen before. And leaning over me was the owner of the frilled cap,holding a glass in her hand.
"Try to drink this, my dearie," she said again, and then I knew it wasnot the lion but this stranger who had already spoken to me.
I felt very tired, and I sank back again upon the pillow. What did itall mean? Where was I? Where had I been? I asked myself this in a vaguesleepy sort of way, but I was too tired to say it aloud, and before Icould make up my mind to try I fell asleep again.
The room seemed lighter the next time I opened my eyes. It was in factnearly the middle of the day, and a fine day--as clear as it ever was inGreat Mexington. I felt much better and less tired now, almost quitewell, except for a slight pain in my throat which told me I must havecaught cold, as my colds generally began in my throat.
"I wonder if it was with riding so far in the night," I first said tomyself, with a confused remembrance of my wonderful dream. "I didn'tfeel at all cold on the lion's back, and in the garden it was lovelilywarm."
Then, as my waking senses quite returned, I started. It had been only adream--oh dear, oh dear! But still, _something_ had happened--I wascertainly not in my little bed in the corner of the room I shared withEmma and Harriet Smith at Green Bank. When had my dream begun, or was Istill dreaming?
I raised myself a little, very softly, for now I began to remember thegood-humoured face in the frilled cap, and I thought to myself thatunless its owner were a dream too, perhaps she was still in the room,and I wanted to look about me first on my own account.
What there was to see was very pleasant and very real. I felt quite sureI was not dreaming now, wherever I was. It was a large old-fashionedroom, with red curtains at the two windows and handsome dark woodfurniture. There was a fire burning cheerfully in the grate and thewindows looked very clean, even though there was a prospect ofchimney-tops to be seen out of the one nearest to me, which told me Iwas still in a town. And then I began to distinguish sounds outside,though here in this room it was so still. There were lots of wheelspassing, some going quickly, some lumbering along with heavyslowness--it was much noisier than at Miss Ledbury's or at my own oldhome. Here I seemed to be in the very heart of a town. I began to recallthe events of the day before more clearly. Yes, up to the time Iremembered leaning against the carved lion in Mr. Cranston's show-roomall had been real, I felt certain. I recollected with a little shiverthe scene in the drawing-room at Green Bank, and how they had allrefused to believe I was speaking the truth when I declared that theFrench poetry had entirely gone out of my head. And then there was themaking up my mind that I could bear school no longer, and the secretlyleaving the house, and at last losing my way in the streets.
I had meant to go to Mrs. Selwood's, or at least to get her address andwrite to her--but where was I now?--what should I do?
My head grew dizzy again with trying to think, and a faint miserablefeeling came over me and I burst into tears.
I did not cry loudly. But there was some one watching in the room whowould have heard even a fainter sound than that of my sobs--some onesitting behind my bed-curtains whom I had not seen, who came forwardnow and leant over me, saying, in words and voice which seemed curiouslyfamiliar to me,
"Geraldine, my poor little girl."
The Carved Lions Page 10
