HIS CHANCE
Betty walked much alone upon the marshes with Roland at her side.At intervals she heard from Mr.Penzance, but his notes were necessarily brief, and at other times she could only rely upon report for news of what was occurring at Mount Dunstan.Lord Mount Dunstan's almost military supervision of and command over his villagers had certainly saved them from the horrors of an uncontrollable epidemic; his decision and energy had filled the alarmed Guardians with respect and this respect had begun to be shared by many other persons.A man as prompt in action, and as faithful to such responsibilities as many men might have found plausible reasons enough for shirking, inevitably assumed a certain dignity of aspect, when all was said and done.Lord Dunholm was most clear in his expressions of opinion concerning him.Lady Alanby of Dole made a practice of speaking of him in public frequently, always with admiring approval, and in that final manner of hers, to whose authority her neighbours had so long submitted.
It began to be accepted as a fact that he was a new development of his race--as her ladyship had put it, "A new order of Mount Dunstan."The story of his power over the stricken people, and of their passionate affection and admiration for him, was one likely to spread far, and be immensely popular.The drama of certain incidents appealed greatly to the rustic mind, and by cottage firesides he was represented with rapturous awe, as raising men, women, and children from the dead, by the mere miracle of touch.Mrs.Welden and old Doby revelled in thrilling, almost Biblical, versions of current anecdotes, when Betty paid her visits to them.
"It's like the Scripture, wot he done for that young man as the last breath had gone out of him, an' him lyin' stiffening fast.`Young man, arise,' he says.`The Lord Almighty calls.You've got a young wife an' three children to take care of.Take up your bed an' walk.' Not as he wanted him to carry his bed anywheres, but it was a manner of speaking.
An' up the young man got.An' a sensible way," said old Mrs.Welden frankly, "for the Lord to look at it--for I must say, miss, if I was struck down for it, though Is'pose it's only my sinful ignorance--that there's times when the Lord seems to think no more of sweepin' away a steady eighteen-shillin' a week, and p'raps seven in family, an' one at the breast, an' another on the way--than if it was nothin'.
But likely enough, eighteen shillin' a week an' confinements does seem paltry to the Maker of 'eaven an' earth."But, to the girl walking over the marshland, the humanness of the things she heard gave to her the sense of nearness--of being almost within sight and sound--which Mount Dunstan himself had felt, when each day was filled with the result of her thought of the needs of the poor souls thrown by fate into his hands.In these days, after listening to old Mrs.
Welden's anecdotes, through which she gathered the simpler truth of things, Betty was able to construct for herself a less Scriptural version of what she had heard.She was glad--glad in his sitting by a bedside and holding a hand which lay in his hot or cold, but always trusting to something which his strong body and strong soul gave without stint.There would be no restraint there.Yes, he was kind--kind--kind --with the kindness a woman loves, and which she, of all women, loved most.Sometimes she would sit upon some mound, and, while her eyes seemed to rest on the yellowing marsh and its birds and pools, they saw other things, and their colour grew deep and dark as the marsh water between the rushes.
The time was pressing when a change in her life must come.
She frequently asked herself if what she saw in Nigel Anstruthers' face was the normal thinking of a sane man, which he himself could control.There had been moments when she had seriously doubted it.He was haggard, aging and restless.
Sometimes he--always as if by chance--followed her as she went from one room to another, and would seat himself and fix his miserable eyes upon her for so long a time that it seemed he must be unconscious of what he was doing.Then he would appear suddenly to recollect himself and would start up with a muttered exclamation, and stalk out of the room.He spent long hours riding or driving alone about the country or wandering wretchedly through the Park and gardens.Once he went up to town, and, after a few days'
absence, came back looking more haggard than before, and wearing a hunted look in his eyes.He had gone to see a physician, and, after having seen him, he had tried to lose himself in a plunge into deep and turbid enough waters; but he found that he had even lost the taste of high flavours, for which he had once had an epicurean palate.The effort had ended in his being overpowered again by his horrors--the horrors in which he found himself staring at that end of things when no pleasure had spice, no debauchery the sting of life, and men, such as he, stood upon the shore of time shuddering and naked souls, watching the great tide, bearing its treasures, recede forever, and leave them to the cold and hideous dark.
During one day of his stay in town he had seen Teresita, who had at first stared half frightened by the change she saw in him, and then had told him truths he could have wrung her neck for putting into words.
"You look an old man," she said, with the foreign accent he had once found deliciously amusing, but which now seemed to add a sting."And somesing is eating you op.You are mad in lofe with some beautiful one who will not look at you.