The Ravens and the Angels Part 31

At length the tide drew back, and the Child clambered over the wet rocks to the pool.

There, safe on the ledge where he had placed it, lay the little carved tube. He took it carefully out of the water: the little teredo had done her work well, and in an instant the cover flew open. His heart fluttered fast as he watched to see what would happen next.

But no living creature sprang out; only a roll of parchments, marked all over with strange twisted black lines, fell on the rocks. The Child thrust in his little hand and felt all through the tube, but there was nothing more within, and he was so disappointed he had scarcely heart to thank the teredo.

Tears of vexation would fall fast over his face, and at length he hid his face in his hands and sobbed aloud. His hopes had soared so high!

Soon his sobs subsided into quiet weeping. All the creatures tried to comfort him; he felt grateful to them, but still they could not dry his tears.

At length they gave up speaking to him, and through the silence came on his ear the sound of the old sweet solemn Song. Then the Child thought of his dream, of the Singers in heaven, and of the loving Voice, and he looked up on the sparkling sea and the sunny blue sky, and smiled through his tears. He felt ashamed of having been so cast down, and quietly took up the roll of parchments from the rocks.

It was traced all over with black figures, delicately and carefully drawn; but the Child could not see in them anything more than the delicate traceries he had often observed on the sh.e.l.ls and flowers; and turn it over and gaze on it as he would, he could find nothing in it but a roll of dead leaves.

Nevertheless he took it with him to his cave (leaving the cover to the teredo as an acknowledgment of her kindness), and carefully replaced it in the wooden tube. At all events the little carved basket was beautiful, and still he could not help linking it with his dream, and with the heavenly Singers who knew the words of the Song.

_PART II.--THE WORDS OF THE SONG._

CHAPTER I.

That night there was a great storm on the sea. The Child could not sleep for the tumult. There were thunders and lightnings, and all the winds seemed drawn up in battle, so that he could not distinguish the thunder of the clouds from the roar of the winds or the sullen plunges of the waves as they dashed into the hollows of the rocks, undermining the cliffs. Yet all this was not half so terrible to the Child as the sound of human voices like his own, which came to him wailing through the storm. He rose and stood at the entrance of his cave with his arms clinging to the trunk of an old tree, and looked out over the sea. Not a star was to be seen; and if he tried to speak he could scarcely hear his own voice. Yet through all the roar of the sea and the thunder and the wild raging of the winds, ever and anon came those plaintive human cries straight to the Child's heart. Now and then also he caught the gleam of a light twinkling far out on the waters, but it was extinguished in an instant, and the darkness looked darker than before. At length the wailing voices died away, and the gray morning broke over the foaming waves, and the storm began to lull.

When the day came up, all the sky was calm and bright as if nothing had happened; but the flowers lay exhausted on the mossy bank; the path into the wood was strewn with many branches torn from the trees; all the creatures seemed frightened and cowed by the storm; and the Child sat at his breakfast in silence and alone. He was half afraid to venture to the beach: the sea had not forgotten its last night's battles, and as far out as the Child's eyes could reach, angry waves were tossing their plumed crests, whilst on the sh.o.r.e they curved their proud necks, and foamed as if they would have swallowed the earth, dashing their spray over the tallest cliffs. And to the Child there was something terrible in the calm sunshine, which smiled down so peacefully on all this tumult.

Yet there was a kind of wild joy to him in watching the mighty waves. He stood as close to them as he could, and enjoyed the spray they flung in his face. He felt they were not at play this morning, but he wondered and rejoiced to see his old playfellows in this their hour of strength and daring; his spirit seemed to grow as he looked at them, and he began to feel a new sense of power and a longing to exercise it. So he clambered on among the rocks, breasting the wind, and fronting the waves, till he came to a quiet sandy bay at some little distance from his home. His sea friends, for the most part, kept themselves at home, the sand-borers in their sand-chambers, the fish in their sh.e.l.ls, the crabs under the thick sea-weeds,--not yet feeling any confidence in the weather; so that he was more alone than usual.

And as he stood on the rocks which enclosed the bay, on the other side he caught sight of something white gleaming among the rocks. As fast as his little feet could carry him he hastened across the bay to discover what this could be, skirting the waves which curved towards the sh.o.r.e, and in his haste often plunging into them.

But when he reached the point to which he was hastening, surprise and awe nearly took away his breath, and he stood with parted lips and a sudden paleness in his cheeks. Lashed to a plank lay a little creature like himself,--a little maiden with her eyes closed as if she were asleep, and her lips and face as white as her dress.

The Child watched her in silence a minute to see if she would speak. He felt sure the sweet Singers had sent her to him from the heavens, and he feared to disturb her till she awoke. But at length he ventured to whisper, and then to speak louder and louder, asking her to wake. Still the white lips did not close, nor the pale eyelids open. Then a cold awe crept over the Child, and at last he burst into tears. Was it to be another disappointment, like the silent roll of dead leaves? and should he never find any who would understand him or speak to him? In his tears he forgot all his awe, and stooping down he took one little cold hand in both his warm ones, and said gently, "Speak to me--only one word. Indeed I would understand you, and I would love you so dearly."

Then, as still no answer came, he threw both his arms around the little maiden's neck, and pressed his warm breast to hers, and laid his cheek to hers, and prayed her only to wake, even if she would not speak; until, as he folded her thus, so tight and warm, in his little soft arms, he felt something faintly beating against his heart, and a quiver pa.s.sed through the pale lips, and the Child sobbed aloud, "You hear me!

you are waking! you will speak to me!"

And his tears fell faster than ever for joy.

Then the pale-veined eyelids slowly opened, and two eyes looked into his, as blue as the violets. But they were not flowers; they were sweet human eyes. They looked at him with a strange, bewildered, questioning look, and at length a faint voice murmured, "Is it a dream?--are we in heaven?"

It was the first human voice the Child remembered to have heard, but it did not surprise him. It seemed familiar, as if he had heard it long ago, he knew not where; and he said, "No, we are not in heaven, and it is not a dream; but the sweet Singers in heaven have sent you to me."

Then the Child unfastened the cords which bound the little maiden to the plank, and she sat upright and looked around her. The sun poured down his warmest rays, and soon dried her dress. And when she was able, he led her gently over the rocks to his cave, and laid her on his own warm little bed, and gave her honey and fruits, and sat by her and watched her till she fell asleep. In her sleep she still clung to his hand, and if he moved she would stir uneasily and murmur in her sleep; so the Child made up his mind to sit beside her all night, and not once close his eyes. It was such a joy to feel that she could not do without him.

But he was more tired than he knew, with the storm of last night and the great delight of the day; and before he thought of it, sleep had crept into his eyes and shut them fast; and the little weary head sank down beside the maiden, and he dreamt of the sweet Singers carrying her in their arms through the winds and waves to him.

CHAPTER II.

When the Child opened his eyes he was very much ashamed to find the little maiden awake before him, and gliding quietly about the cave, making herself quite at home. Yet he could not help lying still, and watching what she would do while she thought he was asleep.

And first he saw her kneel down on the white sand, and clasp her hands, and look up, and speak softly to some One. He followed her eyes, but he could see no one; and he wondered to whom she could be speaking. He was sure it must be One who listened, for the little maiden's eyes filled with tears; and yet when she rose she looked so happy.

Then as she was moving silently about, she seemed to see something which gave her great joy, for she clasped her hands, and looked up again, while the tears streamed over her cheeks. And, to the Child's surprise, she took up the little carved wooden tube, and drew out the parchments, and kissed them, and pressed them to her heart. But the Child's surprise increased when he saw her seat herself on the ground, and spread the roll on her knee, and trace her finger along the twisted lines, and smile and sigh, as if the roll of dead leaves were talking to her. And as she sat, every now and then her eyes were lifted up as when she had been kneeling, and the Child felt sure there must be One listening to her. So he rose and went outside the cave, but he could see no one; and then he came back, and sat down by the little girl, and said, "I cannot find any one. Whom are you talking to?"

"Do not you speak to G.o.d?" said the maiden with a look of wonder and sorrow.

The Child gazed earnestly into her face for some moments, and then said in a soft whisper, "_Is that the Name?_"

"What Name?" asked the maiden.

"The Name they are always trying to speak on the sh.o.r.e, and on the sea, and in the wood, and among the stars!"

"Yes; it must be G.o.d!" she replied. "There is no other Name; for He is everywhere, and He made everything!"

The Child sat silent for some time, with a look of awe in his eyes, and then he said, "Was it to Him you were speaking whilst I was asleep?"

"Yes," she said.

"What were you saying?" he asked.

"I was thanking Him for bringing me here, and asking Him to take care of you and me."

"Then it was G.o.d who took care of you in the storm?"

"It is G.o.d who gives us everything good. He is so very good, and He loves us so much!"

"Did you ever hear Him speak?" asked the Child, after another silence.

"You seem to know Him so well."

"No, I never heard Him," replied the maiden; "but when I look at this,"

she added, folding the parchment close to her, "He talks to me in my heart!"

The Child clasped his hands round his knees as he sat on the ground, and looking up into her face, he said, "It is very wonderful. I should like to know more about it. But who told you?"

The little girl could not answer him: she burst into tears, and could only sob, "My mother--oh, my mother!"

The Child was frightened to see her cry so bitterly. He kissed her and told her not to cry, and then he brought her all his prettiest sh.e.l.ls to look at; but she would not look at them, nor be comforted, but kept sobbing, "Mother, mother!--shall I never see you any more?--are you lost in the deep, cold sea?--will you never speak to me again?" So at last he sat down and began to cry too; for he thought of the storm, and the wailing voices, and the little faithful mother-bird spreading her wings over her brood, and he felt something very sad must have happened to the little girl, and she must have lost what was dearest to her in the world. At length, as she wept on, he nestled his hands into hers, and whispered timidly, "Cannot G.o.d help you?--speak to Him!"

Then the little maiden became quieter, and the two little ones knelt down together, and she murmured, "Our Father who art in heaven."

Her tears fell fast, and she could not say any more; but when she rose, her face was beaming, and her eyes smiled gravely through her tears: and the Child felt there was One who loved them and was near them, wherever they were.

But he was afraid to ask her any more questions, so he led her into the wood. He thought she might not like to go beside the sea. And there, among the flowers, and the sunbeams, and the birds, the two children forgot their tears, and rejoiced in the joy of all the happy creatures.

In the evening, when they were sitting hand in hand at the entrance of the cave, the little maiden suddenly said,--

"How long have you been here?"

"I do not know," said the Child, looking up at her in surprise. "Always, I suppose!"