Peter's Mother Part 46

"Bring her to see me in London, and bring her as soon as you can,"

said. Lady Tintern. "She is the friend I have dreamed of, and never met. When is it going to be?"

"At once," said John, calmly.

"You are the most sensible man I have seen for a long time," said Lady Tintern.

Peter and Sarah hardly exchanged a word during their return journey from the moors after the unlucky picnic; and at the door of Happy Jack's cottage in Youlestone village she commanded her obedient swain to deposit the luncheon basket, and bade him farewell.

The aged road-mender, to his intense surprise and chagrin, had one morning found himself unable to rise from his bed. He lay there for a week, indignant with Providence for thus wasting his time.

"There bain't nart the matter wi' I! Then why be I a-farced to lie thic way?" he said faintly. "If zo be I wor bod, I cude understand, but I bain't bod. There bain't no pain tu speak on no-wheres. It vair beats my yunderstanding."

"Tis old age be the matter wi' yu, vather," said his mate, a young fellow of sixty or so, who lodged with him.

"I bain't nigh so yold as zum," said Happy Jack, peevishly. "Tis a nice way vor a man tu be tuke, wi'out a thing the matter wi' un, vor the doctor tu lay yold on."

Dr. Blundell soothed him by giving his illness a name.

"It's Anno Domini, Jack."

"What be that? I niver yeard till on't befar," he said suspiciously.

"It's incurable, Jack," said the doctor, gravely.

Happy Jack was consoled. He rolled out the word with relish to his next visitor.

"Him's vound it out at last. 'Tis the anny-dominy, and 'tis incurable.

You'm can't du nart vor I. I got tu go; and 'taint no wonder, wi' zuch a complaint as I du lie here wi'. The doctor were vair beat at vust; but him worried it out wi' hisself tu the last. Him's a turble gude doctor, var arl he wuden't go tu the war."

Sarah visited him every day. He was so frail and withered a little object that it seemed as though he could waste no further, and yet he dwindled daily. But he suffered no pain, and his wits were bright to the end.

This evening the faint whistle of his voice was fainter than ever, and she had to bend very low to catch his gasping words. He lay propped up on the pillows, with a red scarf tied round the withered scrag of his throat, and his spotless bed freshly arrayed by his mate's mother, who lived with them and "did for" both.

"They du zay as Master Peter be _carting_ of 'ee, Miss Zairy," he whispered. "Be it tru?"

"Yes, Jack dear, it's true. Are you glad?"

"I be glad if yu thinks yu'll git 'un," wheezed poor Jack. "'Twude be a turble gude job var 'ee tu git a yusband. But doan't 'ee make tu shar on 'un, Miss Zairy. 'Un du zay as him be turble vond on yu, and as yu du be playing vast and loose wi' he. That's the ways a young maid du go on, and zo the young man du slip thru' 'un's vingers."

"Yes, Jack," said Sarah, with unwonted meekness.

She looked round the little unceiled room, open on one side to the wooden staircase which led to the kitchen below; at the earth-stained corduroys hanging on a peg; at the brown mug which held Happy Jack's last meal, and all he cared to take--a thin gruel.

"'Twude be a grand marriage vor the likes o' yu, Miss Zairy, vor the Crewys du be the yoldest vambly in all Devonsheer, as I've yeard tell; and yure volk bain't never comed year at arl befar yure grandvather's time. Eh, what a tale there were tu tell when old Sir Timothy married Mary Ann! 'Twas a vine scandal vor the volk, zo 'twere; but I wuden't niver give in tu leaving Youlestone. But doan't 'ee play the vule wi'

Master Peter, Miss Zairy. Take 'un while yu can git 'un, will 'ee? And be glad tu git 'un. Yu listen tu I, vor I be a turble witty man, and I be giving of yu gude advice, Miss Zairy."

"I am listening, Jack, and you know I always take your advice."

"Ah! if 'twerent' for the anny-dominy, I'd be tu yure wedding," sighed Happy Jack, "zame as I were tu Mary Ann's. Zo I wude."

She took his knotted hand, discoloured with the labour of eighty years, and bade him farewell.

"Thee be a lucky maid," said Happy Jack, closing his eyes.

The tears were yet glistening on Sarah's long lashes, when she met the doctor on his way to the cottage she had just quitted.

She was in no mood for talking, and would have pa.s.sed him with a hasty greeting, but the melancholy and fatigue of his bearing struck her quick perceptions.

She stopped short, and held out her hand impulsively.

"Dr. Blunderbuss," said Sarah, "did you _very_ much want Peter to find out that--that he could live without his mother?"

"Has anything happened?" said the doctor; his thin face lighted up instantly with eager interest and anxiety.

"Only _that_" said Sarah. "You trusted me, so I'm trusting you.

Peter's found out everything. And--and he isn't going to let her sacrifice her happiness to him, after all. I'll answer for that. So perhaps, now, you won't say you're sorry you told me?"

"For G.o.d's sake, don't jest with me, my child!" said the doctor, putting a trembling hand on her arm. "Is anything--settled?"

"Do I ever jest when people are in earnest? And how can I tell you if it's settled?" said Sarah, in a tone between laughing and weeping.

"I--I'm going there to-night. I oughtn't to have said anything about it, only I knew how much you wanted her to be happy. And--she's going to be--that's all."

The doctor was silent for a. moment, and Sarah looked away from him, though she was conscious that he was gazing fixedly at her face. But she did not know that he saw neither her blus.h.i.+ng cheeks, nor the groups of tall fern on the red earth-bank beyond her, nor the whitewashed cob walls of Happy Jack's cottage. His dreaming eyes saw only Lady Mary in her white gown, weeping and agitated, stumbling over the threshold of a darkened room into the arms of John Crewys.

"You said you wished it," said Sarah.

She stole a hasty glance at him, half frightened by his silence and his pallor, remembering suddenly how little the fulfilment of his wishes could have to do with his personal happiness.

The doctor recovered himself. "I wish it with all my heart," he said.

He tried to smile. "Some day, if you will, you shall tell me how you managed it. But perhaps--not just now."

"Can't you guess?" she said, opening her eyes in a wonder stronger than discretion.

How was it possible, she thought, that such a clever man should be so dull?

The doctor shook his head. "You were always too quick for me, little Sarah," he said. "I am only glad, however it happened, that--she--is to be happy at last." He had no thoughts to spare for Sarah, or any other. As she lingered he said absently, "Is that all?"

She looked at him, and was inspired to leave the remorseful and sympathetic words that rushed to her lips unsaid.

"That is all," said Sarah, gently, "for the present."

Then she left him alone, and took her way down to the ferry.