The over-arching boughs dripping with wet, closed over him and drew him, as it were, into their dense shadows, — the wind shrieked after him like a scolding fury, but its raging tone grew softer as he penetrated more deeply into the sable-green depths of heavily foliaged solitude. His weary feet trod gratefully on a thick carpet of pine needles and masses of the last year’s fallen leaves, — and a strong sweet scent of mingled elderflower and sweetbriar was tossed to him on every gust of rain. Here the storm turned itself to music and revelled in a glorious symphony of sound.
“Oh ye Winds of God, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever!
“Oh ye Lightnings and Clouds, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever!”
In full chords of passionate praise the hurricane swept its grand anthem through the rustling, swaying trees, as though these were the strings of a giant harp on which some great Archangel played, — and the dash and roar of the sea came with it, rolling in the track of another mighty peal of thunder. Helmsley stopped and listened, seized by an overpowering enchantment and awe.
“This — this is Life!” he said, half aloud— “Our miserable human vanities — our petty schemes — our poor ambitions — what are they? Motes in a sunbeam! — gone as soon as realised! But Life, — the deep, self-contained divine Life of Nature — this is the only life that lives for ever, the Immortality of which we are a part!”
A fierce gust of wind here snapped asunder a great branch from a tree, and flung it straight across his path. Had he been a few inches nearer, it would have probably struck him down with it. Charlie peeped out from under his arm with a pitiful little whimper, and Helmsley’s heart smote him.
“Poor wee Charlie!” he said, fondling the tiny head; “I know what you would say to me! You would say that if I want to risk my own life, I needn’t risk yours! Is that it? Well! — I’ll try to get you out of this if I can! I wish I I could see some sign of a house anywhere! I’d make for it and ask for shelter.”
He trudged patiently onwards, — but he was beginning to feel unsteady in his limbs, — and every now and then he had to stop, overcome by a sickening sensation of giddiness. The tempest had now fully developed into a heavy thunderstorm, and the lightning quivered and gleamed through the trees incessantly, followed by huge claps of thunder which clashed down without a second’s warning, afterwards rolling away in long thudding detonations echoing for miles and miles. It was difficult to walk at all in such a storm, — the youngest and strongest pedestrian might have given way under the combined onslaught of rain, wind, and the pattering shower of leaves which were literally torn, fresh and green, from their parent boughs and cast forth to whirl confusedly amid the troubled spaces of the air. And if the young and strong would have found it hard to brave such an uproar of the elements, how much harder was it for an old man, who, deeming himself stronger than he actually was, and buoyed up by sheer nerve and mental obstinacy, had, of his own choice, brought himself into this needless plight and danger. For now, in utter weariness of body and spirit, Helmsley began to reproach himself bitterly for his rashness. A mere caprice of the imagination, — a fancy that, perhaps, among the poor and lowly he might find a love or a friendship he had never met with among the rich and powerful, was all that had led him forth on this strange journey of which the end could but be disappointment and failure; — and at the present moment he felt so thoroughly conscious of his own folly, that he almost resolved on abandoning his enterprise as soon as he found himself once more on the main road.
“I will take the first vehicle that comes by,” — he said, “and make for the nearest railway station. And I’ll end my days with a character for being ‘hard as nails!’ — that’s the only way in which one can win the respectful consideration of one’s fellows as a thoroughly ‘sane and sensible’ man!”
Just then, the path he was following started sharply up a steep acclivity, and there was no other choice left to him but still to continue in it, as the trees were closing in blindly intricate tangles about him, and the brushwood was becoming so thick that he could not have possibly forced a passage through it. His footing grew more difficult, for now, instead of soft pine-needles and leaves to tread upon, there were only loose stones, and the rain was blowing in downward squalls that almost by their very fury threw him backward on the ground. Up, still up, he went, however, panting painfully as he climbed, — his breath was short and uneasy — and all his body ached and shivered as with strong ague. At last, — dizzy and half fainting, — he arrived at the top of the tedious and troublesome ascent, and uttered an involuntary cry at the scene of beauty and grandeur stretched in front of him. How far he had walked he had no idea, — nor did he know how many hours he had taken in walking, — but he had somehow found his way to the summit of a rocky wooded height, from which he could survey the whole troubled expanse of wild sky and wilder sea, — while just below him the hills were split asunder into a huge cleft, or “coombe,” running straight down to the very lip of ocean, with rampant foliage hanging about it on either side in lavish garlands of green, and big boulders piled up about it, from whose smooth surfaces the rain swept off in sleety sheets, leaving them shining like polished silver. What a wild Paradise was here disclosed! — what a matchless picture, called into shape and colour with all the forceful ease and perfection of Nature’s handiwork! No glimpse of human habitation was anywhere visible; man seemed to have found no dwelling here; there was nothing — nothing, but Earth the Beautiful, and her Lover the Sea! Over these twain the lightnings leaped, and the thunder played in the sanctuary of heaven, — this hour of storm was all their own, and humanity was no more counted in their passionate intermingling of life than the insects on a leaf, or the grains of sand on the shore. For a moment or two Helmsley’s eyes, straining and dim, gazed out on the marvellously bewitching landscape thus suddenly unrolled before him, — then all at once a sharp pain running through his heart caused him to flinch and tremble. It was a keen stab of anguish, as though a knife had been plunged into his body.
“My God!” he muttered— “What — what is this?”
Walking feebly to a great stone hard by, he sat down upon it, breathing with difficulty. The rain beat full upon him, but he did not heed it; he sought to recover from the shock of that horrible pain, — to overcome the creeping sick sensation of numbness which seemed to be slowly freezing him to death. With a violent effort he tried to shake the illness off; — he looked up at the sky — and was met by a blinding flash which tore the clouds asunder and revealed a white blaze of palpitating fire in the centre of the blackness — and at this he made some inarticulate sound, putting both his hands before his face to hide the angry mass of flame. In so doing he let the little Charlie escape, who, finding himself out of his warm shelter and on the wet grass, stood amazed, and shivering pitifully under the torrents of rain. But Helmsley was not conscious of his canine friend’s distress. Another pang, cruel and prolonged, convulsed him, — a blood-red mist swam before his eyes, and he lost all hold on sense and memory. With a dull groan he fell forward, slipping from the stone on which he had been seated, in a helpless heap on the ground, — involuntarily he threw up his arms as a drowning man might do among great waves overwhelming him, — and so went down — down! — into silence and unconsciousness.
CHAPTER XII
The storm raged till sunset; and then exhausted by its own stress of fury, began to roll away in angry sobs across the sea. The wind sank suddenly; the rain as suddenly ceased. A wonderful flush of burning orange light cut the sky asunder, spreading gradually upward and paling into fairest rose. The sullen clouds caught brightness at their summits, and took upon themselves the semblance of Alpine heights touched by the mystic glory of the dawn, and a clear silver radiance flashed across the ocean for a second and then vanished, as though a flaming torch had just flared up to show the troublous heaving of the waters, and had then been instantly quenched. As the evening came on the weather steadily cleared; — and presentl
y a pure, calm, dark-blue expanse of ether stretched balmily across the whole width of the waves, with the evening star — the Star of Love — glimmering faintly aloft like a delicate jewel hanging on the very heart of the air. Far away down in the depths of the “coombe,” a church bell rang softly for some holy service, — and when David Helmsley awoke at last from his death-like swoon he found himself no longer alone. A woman knelt beside him, supporting him in her arms, — and when he looked up at her wonderingly, he saw two eyes bent upon him with such watchful tenderness that in his weak, half-conscious state he fancied he must be wandering somewhere through heaven if the stars were so near. He tried to speak — to move, — but was checked by a gentle pressure of the protecting arms about him.
“Better now, dearie?” murmured a low anxious voice. “That’s right! Don’t try to get up just yet — take time! Let the strength come back to you first!”
Who was it — who could it be, that spoke to him with such affectionate solicitude? He gazed and gazed and marvelled, — but it was too dark to see the features of his rescuer. As consciousness grew more vivid, he realised that he was leaning against her bosom like a helpless child, — that the wet grass was all about him, — and that he was cold, — very cold, with a coldness as of some enclosing grave. Sense and memory returned to him slowly with sharp stabs of physical pain, and presently he found utterance.
“You are very kind!” he muttered, feebly— “I begin to recollect now — I had walked a long way — and I was caught in the storm — I felt ill, — very ill! — I suppose I must have fallen down here — —”
“That’s it!” said the woman, gently— “Don’t try to think about it! You’ll be better presently.”
He closed his eyes wearily, — then opened them again, struck by a sudden self-reproach and anxiety.
“The little dog?” he asked, trembling— “The little dog I had with me —— ?”
He saw, or thought he saw, a smile on the face in the darkness.
“The little dog’s all right, — don’t you worry about him!” said the woman— “He knows how to take care of himself and you too! It was just him that brought me along here where I found you. Bless the little soul! He made noise enough for six of his size!”
Helmsley gave a faint sigh of pleasure.
“Poor little Charlie! Where is he?”
“Oh, he’s close by! He was almost drowned with the rain, like a poor mouse in a pail of water, but he went on barking all the same! I dried him as well as I could in my apron, and then wrapped him up in my cloak, — he’s sitting right in it just now watching me.”
“If — if I die, — please take care of him!” murmured Helmsley.
“Nonsense, dearie! I’m not going to let you die out here on the hills, — don’t think it!” said the woman, cheerily,— “I want to get you up, and take you home with me. The storm’s well overpast, — if you could manage to move — —”
He raised himself a little, and tried to see her more closer.
“Do you live far from here?” he asked.
“Only just on the upper edge of the ‘coombe’ — not in the village,” — she answered— “It’s quite a short way, but a bit steep going. If you lean on me, I won’t let you slip, — I’m as strong as a man, and as men go nowadays, stronger than most!”
He struggled to rise, and she assisted him. By dint of sheer mental force and determination he got himself on his feet, but his limbs shook violently, and his head swam.
“I’m afraid” — he faltered— “I’m afraid I am very ill. I shall only be a trouble to you — —”
“Don’t talk of trouble? Wait till I fetch the doggie!” And, turning from him a moment, she ran to pick up Charlie, who, as she had said, was snugly ensconced in the folds of her cloak, which she had put for him under the shelter of a projecting boulder,— “Could you carry him, do you think?”
He nodded assent, and put the little animal under his coat as before, touched almost to weak tears to feel it trying to lick his hand. Meanwhile his unknown and scarcely visible protectress put an arm round him, holding him up as carefully as though he were a tottering infant.
“Don’t hurry — just take an easy step at a time,” — she said— “The moon rises a bit late, and we’ll have to see our way as best we can with the stars.” And she gave a glance upward. “That’s a bright one just over the coombe, — the girls about here call it ‘Light o’ Love.’”
Moving stiffly, and with great pain, Helmsley was nevertheless impelled, despite his suffering, to look, as she was looking, towards the heavens. There he saw the same star that had peered at him through the window of his study at Carlton House Terrace, — the same that had sparkled out in the sky the night that he and Matt Peke had trudged the road together, and which Matt had described as “the love-star, an’ it’ll be nowt else in these parts till the world-without-end-amen!” And she whose eyes were upturned to its silvery glory, — who was she? His sight was very dim, and in the deepening shadows he could only discern a figure of medium womanly height, — an uncovered head with the hair loosely knotted in a thick coil at the nape of the neck, — and the outline of a face which might be fair or plain, — he could not tell. He was conscious of the warm strength of the arm that supported him, for when he slipped once or twice, he was caught up tenderly, without hurt or haste, and held even more securely than before. Gradually, and by halting degrees, he made the descent of the hill, and, as his guide helped him carefully over a few loose stones in the path, he saw through a dark clump of foliage the glimmer of twinkling lights, and heard the rush of water. He paused, vaguely bewildered.
“Nearly home now!” said his guide, encouragingly; “Just a few steps more and we’ll be there. My cottage is the last and the highest in the coombe. The other houses are all down closer to the sea.”
Still he stood inert.
“The sea!” he echoed, faintly— “Where is it?”
With her disengaged hand she pointed outwards.
“Yonder! By and by, when the moon comes over the hill, it will be shining like a silver field with big daisies blowing and growing all over it. That’s the way it often looks after a storm. The tops of the waves are just like great white flowers.”
He glanced at her as she said this, and caught a closer glimpse of her face. Some faint mystical light in the sky illumined the outlines of her features, and showed him a calm and noble profile, such as may be found in early Greek sculpture, and which silently expresses the lines:
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty, — that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know!”
He moved on with a quicker step, touched by a keen sense of expectation. Ill as he knew himself to be, he was eager to reach this woman’s dwelling and to see her more closely. A soft laugh of pleasure broke from her lips as he tried to accelerate his pace.
“Oh, we’re getting quite strong and bold now, aren’t we!” she exclaimed, gaily— “But take care not to go too fast! There’s a rough bit of bog and boulder coming.”
This was true. They had arrived at the upper edge of a bank overlooking a hill stream which was pouring noisily down in a flood made turgid by the rain, and the “rough bit of bog and boulder” was a sort of natural bridge across the torrent, formed by heaps of earth and rock, out of which masses of wet fern and plumy meadow-sweet sprang in tall tufts and garlands, which though beautiful to the eyes in day-time, were apt to entangle the feet in walking, especially when there was only the uncertain glimmer of the stars by which to grope one’s way. Helmsley’s age and over-wrought condition made his movements nervous and faltering at this point, and nothing could exceed the firm care and delicate solicitude with which his guide helped him over this last difficulty of the road. She was indeed strong, as she had said, — she seemed capable of lifting him bodily, if need were — yet she was not a woman of large or robust frame. On the contrary, she appeared slightly built, and carried herself with that careless grace which betokens perfect form.
Once safely across the bridge and on the other side of the coombe, she pointed to a tiny lattice window with a light behind it which gleamed out through the surrounding foliage like a glow-worm in the darkness.
“Here we are at home,” she said,— “Just along this path — it’s quite easy! — now under this tree — it’s a big chestnut, — you’ll love it! — now here’s the garden gate — wait till I lift the latch — that’s right! — the garden’s quite small you see, — it goes straight up to the cottage — and here’s the door! Come in!”
As in a dream, Helmsley was dimly conscious of the swishing rustle of wet leaves, and the fragrance of mignonette and roses mingling with the salty scent of the sea, — then he found himself in a small, low, oak-raftered kitchen, with a wide old-fashioned hearth and ingle-nook, warm with the glow of a sparkling fire. A quaintly carved comfortably cushioned armchair was set in the corner, and to this his guide conducted him, and gently made him sit down.
“Now give me the doggie!” she said, taking that little personage from his arms— “He’ll be glad of his supper and a warm bed, poor little soul! And so will you!”
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22) Page 670
