The Making of a Soul Part 19

"Yes. And I thought," said Barry eagerly, "that if you and I, and one or two more--Olive, for instance--could give her a helping hand now and then, show her how to make the best of herself and so on, things might turn out all right."

"Ah, Barry!" Herrick looked at him with a half-humorous, half-sad smile.

"You're very young--and youth is always--or should be--courageous. Do you really think that I, or you, or even Miss Lynn, can alter by a fraction the destiny marked out for that pretty child across the river there?"

"Destiny--no, perhaps not," said Barry, taken aback by the big word.

"But we might help her--help her to find herself, as the Ibsenites call it--realize her soul, and all the rest of it. The soul's _there_, all right, but somehow it seems to be hidden, undeveloped, or something of the sort."

For a second the older man said nothing, though his square white teeth clenched themselves on the stem of his pipe. Then, removing the latter, he said slowly:

"Do you remember what Browning says, Barry?

'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls And matter enough to save one's own!'

Well, don't you agree with him--and me--that one's own soul takes a vast deal of salvation?"

"Yes, of course--but still--I thought you would be ready to help...."

His accent of dejection touched the other man's heart.

"Come, don't look so disappointed. Of course I'll help, as much as I can! It ought to be an interesting task, anyway, helping a woman to find her soul. And if I can help her in any way, I will."

"Good! But how?" He wanted to clinch the matter.

"Well, I suppose the first thing to do is to make the lady's acquaintance. I know Rose, slightly, and a call will no doubt be considered neighbourly. And if I can do anything for the child, you may depend on me to do it."

"You're a brick, Jim!" In the midst of his relief Barry remembered the hour and rose hastily. "Well, I must be off, or the house will be shut up. Good-night, old chap. I'm no end obliged to you. I knew you would help, if anyone would."

He had turned towards the door when a thought struck him and he turned back rather awkwardly.

"I say, Jim"--he was looking down at the floor as he spoke--"I hadn't forgotten, but I didn't like to say much. How ... how is--she?"

"My wife, you mean?" Herrick's smile was bitter. "She is pretty well, I believe. They say her health has improved lately."

"I'm glad. And--forgive me if I'm tactless, Jim, but when do you expect her back?"

"When does she come out?" All the youth had died away from his face, leaving it desperately tired and sad. "Some time in the autumn, October, I believe. The time isn't really up quite so soon, but there's some remission for good conduct, I understand, which shortens the sentence."

"Have you seen her lately?"

"No. She refused to see me last time, and I shall not trouble her again."

"I see." Barry fidgeted from one foot to the other, then made a sudden grab at his friend's hand. "Well, good-bye, Jim. Ever so many thanks for promising to help the kid. You can do lots for her if you will, and I do want the marriage to be a success."

"You've come to a queer person to help you, Barry," said the other with a twisted smile. "My own marriage has been so wonderfully successful, hasn't it? But there, don't let's talk about it now. How are you going home? Motor? Ah, all right. Then Olga and I will come and see you safely off the premises."

He had regained his former kindly manner, and bade the boy good-night with all his accustomed heartiness; but as Barry turned for a last look and saw the stooping figure return through the gate, accompanied by the graceful Borzoi, a fury of rage gripped his generous young heart.

"d.a.m.n that woman--oh, _d.a.m.n_ her!" He said the words wildly to himself as he spun down the moonlit road between the fragrant hedges. "She's ruined his life, and will go on doing it as long as they live! October, he said. Well, there's time to give poor little Toni a helping hand before then!"

But in the quiet bungalow behind him Jim Herrick sat alone until the short summer night had given way to the glories of the dawn. And in his face, as he gazed before him, seeing, perhaps the troubled past, perhaps the darkened future, there was now no trace of youth, only a great and weary disillusionment.

CHAPTER XI

After all, Jim Herrick's introduction to Mrs. Rose came about in an unexpected fashion.

Although he had only seen her two or three times, Herrick felt a decided interest in Rose's young wife. From what Barry had told him he concluded that there were breakers ahead for the young couple; and since his own matrimonial misfortunes had made him very pitiful, he determined to try to hold out a helping hand to the girl should the occasion arise.

The occasion arose, indeed, almost before he expected it; but luckily Herrick was a man of action and grappled with the opportunity thus presented.

One sunny afternoon he was returning from a pull up the river in his skiff, when he saw a punt gliding towards him, the pole manipulated, rather unskilfully, it must be confessed, by the girl of whom his thoughts had been full; and he stayed in his mooring to watch her pa.s.s.

To Toni the guiding of a punt was so serious a matter that she had no eyes for anything else, and she never even saw the man in the boat. The river took rather a curve here, and Toni found it a little difficult to negotiate the bend. Becoming somewhat flurried, she directed her punt into the middle of the stream, where it hung for a moment as though undecided whether or no to swing round in the disconcerting manner peculiar to such craft; but Toni, becoming impatient, put fresh vigour into her task, and sent the punt triumphantly forward with a masterful push.

Her triumph was, however, short-lived. With the treacherous suddenness which invariably marks this catastrophe her pole snapped as she drove it downwards; the punt glided away immediately, and Toni, clinging desperately to the broken pole, went down with it into the river itself.

With an exclamation Herrick sculled his boat strongly to the spot where she had gone down, reaching it just as she came to the surface, gasping and spluttering, and with an expression of wild terror in her face.

He guessed that she could not swim, and called out to her rea.s.suringly.

"You're all right--hang on to my boat, and I'll get you out!"

She heard him, even in the midst of her terror, and made a frantic grab at the side of the boat, only to miss by inches and go down again with an involuntary cry.

Hastily shipping his oars, Herrick bent over the boat, causing it to heel to one side rather dangerously; and when next Toni came to the surface he gripped her strongly by the shoulder, bidding her keep quite still, and then lifted her, by sheer force of muscle, into the boat, where she collapsed in a dripping little heap at his feet.

"That's all right!" He seized the oars and with a dozen vigorous strokes propelled the boat back to the landing-place, where he proceeded to tie her up, and then turned his attention to his pa.s.senger.

"Hard luck, Mrs. Rose," he said cheerily. "But there's no harm done, is there? Now you must come into the house and let me find you some dry things to put on. Don't delay--the punt will be rescued somewhere, I've no doubt, and you really must get out of those wet garments."

Shivering, dripping, and feeling more than half inclined to cry, Toni let him help her out of the boat; and seeing that she was really suffering from shock Herrick put his arm round her shoulders in fraternal fashion, and led her up the little sloping lawn on to the verandah of the bungalow.

Here Toni stopped in some embarra.s.sment.

"I ... I don't think I can come in like this." In spite of the sun her teeth were chattering. "I--I shall spoil your carpets!"

"Oh, they're beyond spoiling," he a.s.sured her, with a laugh. "Don't worry about them! I think, though, you had better come into the kitchen, if you don't mind. There happens to be a fire there, and you can get warm."

She followed him obediently through the long window into the shabby sitting-room, which for all its shabbiness had an oddly harmonious effect; and from there he took her into the small, cosy kitchen, which was scrupulously tidy and spotlessly clean.

"Now"--he looked at her a little dubiously--"obviously, the thing to do is to get off those wet clothes, have a hot bath, and put on something dry. Well, if I bring my tub in here and fill it from the boiler, would you mind having it in the kitchen? You see, I don't want you to get cold."

"Oh, I don't think I need do that," said Toni, between laughing and crying. "If you lent me a mackintosh or a big coat I could get home quite well."