the little hands relaxed their grasp, and the child fell fast asleep: "Dark grow the windows, And quench'd is the fire; Darker and darker The black shadows fall; CHAPTER VIII. "How far that little candle throws his beams- Merchant of Venice. THROUGH storm and darkness Mary struggled on. Battling with the rain, which descended in one unbroken sheet, driven hither and thither like a leaf, by the tempestuous blasts of wind, she fought her way, inch by inch, never forsaking her plan for one moment. A mountaineer might have quailed at the terrors of the gale; but Mary, lowland born and lowland bred, stood her ground manfully; urged on by the strong call of duty and affection. With a deep sigh of relief she hailed a faint glimmering light in the distance-a beacon of hope to her fainting spirit. She pushed on with redoubled zeal, and, in a comparative lull of the elemental strife, she reached the farm. The family were assembled in the stone kitchen; they were about to sit down to supper, when a faint knock at the house-door excited a general exclamation of astonishment. 66 Pray God no poor creature is out in such a storm,” exclaimed Mrs. Jones anxiously. "Faith, 'tis an ugly night!" quoth the farmer. "Lads, open the door." The door flew open, and Mary rushed into the house; she fell into, rather than sat down upon, the nearest seat. Her garments were drenched with rain; her cloak was torn in half a dozen places, and hung around her in tattered folds; her bonnet had been carried off by an irresistible whirl of the hurricane, leaving her head exposed to the pitiless drenching of the storm. Her hair, saturated with moisture, hung wildly over her deathlike features. Farmer Jones hastily mixed a tumbler of hot brandy-and-water and forced a few drops down Mary's throat. His wife repeated her query,—" For Heaven's sake, what has brought you out on such a night?" "Oh, my master, my poor master!" cried Mary, with a sob of hysterical weakness, "save him, save him!" "What is the matter?" cried the farmer impatiently. Compose yourself, my good woman, and speak out. If Mr. Dudley be in danger, I am ready to help him, so help me, Heaven, in my hour of need." In broken sentences Mary gasped out her fears for her master's safety. She told of his intention of returning from Bethgelert on foot,of the words he had let fall about the mountain-path. Farmer Jones started to his feet,-"Boys! there is not a moment to be lost. Two of you take the road to Bethgelert, the rest follow me to the mountain. Carry lanterns, poles, ropes, and blankets. We must be prepared for everything." The men set off, followed by the prayers and blessings of Mary. The storm gradually abated in its fury; the gusts of wind were less frequent and less violent; the rain and hail well-nigh ceased. Mary had braved the stormiest hour of that stormy night. Good-natured Mrs. Jones, her pretty niece, Rose, and the blooming Welsh maidens busied themselves in preparations for the reception of the hoped-for traveller, not however before they had changed Mary's sodden garments. They wrapped her in a blanket and placed her, with kindly care, in the warmest corner of the chimney. She sat, with her head resting on her hand, striving to pray for her master's safety. Her thoughts wandered from him to poor little Florence, deserted in the grim old castle. At one time she was on the point of starting up and rushing back to the poor child, but dread of meeting her anxious inquiries about her father-inquiries she had no means of answering satisfactorily— joined to her own physical weakness, detained her. The time dragged heavily on. The household arrangements complete, the women had nothing to do but watch and wait. No sound broke the silence save the faint sobbing of the wind-the storm had ere this exhausted its fury— and the melancholy ticking of the old time-piece, intoning its monotonous chant "For ever-never. Three mortal hours passed away. Faint with the sickness of hope deferred, Mary still watched and prayed. Suddenly she started up, with a low cry of speechless agitation; she heard a faint sound in the far distance; it drew nearer and nearer. Presently there was a trampling of feet, a buzz of voices. The dogs moaned and whined pitifully. A mortal terror chilled her blood; she strove to rush to the door; she could not stir; her limbs failed her, and she fell back into the chair from which she had just risen. There was a strange rushing sound in her ears-the room and its occupants swam before her eyes—but she did not faint. She felt rather than saw the women rush to the door-the group of men enter, bearing something stretched on a litter-a faint whisper reached her ear; "Is he quite dead? The spell was broken; with a piercing shriek which rent the rafters, she fell senseless on the floor. After all, Mr. Dudley was neither dead nor dyinghe was only in a deep swoon. In a few hurried words the farmer confided to his wife the circumstances under which he had rescued the unfortunate traveller. They had followed the mountain-path (according to agreement) for some time, without success, and were on the point of retracing their steps, when Madoc, who was scouring the mountain-side, set up a succession of deep, angry barks, which speedily subsided into long, plaintive howls. They followed the dog; and on the very edge of a precipice, they discovered the insensible form of him they sought. It appeared certain that Mr. Dudley, overtaken by storm and darkness, had wandered from the path, and fainted either from exhaustion, exposure to cold, or in consequence of a blow inflicted in the fall. Another step in the direction he was pursuing must have precipitated him some hundred feet. "Poor gentleman! he has had a providential escape. Now, good wife, use your skill to bring him to." A considerable time elapsed before Mr. Dudley showed any signs of consciousness. The first word which passed his lips when he rallied from his fainting-fit was "Florence." Mary, long since recovered from her swoon, was watching by her master's couch. With tears of joy she implored Mrs. Jones to send to the castle for Florence. She felt that her own trembling limbs would refuse to carry her. Kind-hearted Mrs. Jones, who shed tears for sympathy, declared that she would fetch the young lady herself. She started forthwith on her errand of love. The sky was covered with grey, filmy clouds, but the storm was over and gone. A profound hush wrapped the valley in grim repose; a faint rosy hue in the east proclaimed that daybreak was not far distant. Every turn and bend of the path bore marks of the violence of the hurricane. Mrs. Jones waded through streams of water, and stumbled over huge masses of rock which had been hurled from a considerable distance; but she pushed on with unabated vigour. In the immediate neighbourhood of Emrys Castle, the storm had raged with terrible fury-trees were torn up by the roots, and the upper part of Gwendaline's Tower was precipitated into the moat. Poor Florence! how had she weathered the storm? |