The Silver Lining Part 9

CHAPTER VI.

NEW ACQUAINTANCES.

For a week or so Frank Mathers grieved about his misfortune. At the end of that time, an event occurred which completely distracted him.

He was taking a walk a few miles from his home, not far from the Forest Church. When he came near the farm of "Les Marches," he perceived a man, who, seated on a branch, was sawing it. This branch projected over a quarry which was filled with water.

Suddenly, the branch gave way, and Mr. Rougeant (such was this man's name), fell into the water.

Frank at once ran towards the spot, taking off his coat as he hastened along. He was a good and plucky swimmer. When he came near the quarry, the drowning man was struggling for dear life. Frank seized the position in a moment. He saw that it would be useless to jump into the water, because, when once in, he would not be able to reach the edge of the quarry, for the water's surface was quite four feet below that of the ground. There was not a moment to lose. The man had already gone down twice; he was coming up for the second time. Frank took his coat in one hand, and, leaning over the edge of the quarry at the risk of falling in himself, he caught hold of a tuft of gra.s.s with the other hand, and awaited the drowning man's appearance.

The farmer rose to the surface, struggling. His eyes were dilated, his whole countenance presented a frightened and imploring appearance.

He uttered a cry, 'twas a cry in which he poured forth all his soul; his last and supreme appeal to heaven and earth; but one word, but ah! what a deep prayer to one, what an earnest appeal to the other, were centred in that word: "Help."

"Seize this, seize this," cried Frank.

The drowning man saw the dangling sleeve, his last chance of salvation. Frantically he clutched at it. Ah! he has missed it. No, as he was going down for the third time he threw out his arm once more. It was a forlorn hope, but it was successful. He caught hold of the coat with both his hands and raised himself. He found a creek in which he placed his foot, and with Frank's manly help, was soon extricated from his perilous position.

Mr. Rougeant was panting for breath, and exhausted, but saved from a watery grave.

Frank bent over the man he had rescued, dried his face and took off his boots, examining him meanwhile. Mr. Rougeant, whom we did not describe when we first met him, was a man of medium height. He had broad shoulders, a powerful chest, an almost square head and a formidable nose. Under his nasal organ, there bristled a short moustache.

When he had partly recovered his senses, he looked around him.

"Where is my saw?" he questioned, then he added: "My hat, where is it?"

The hat, probably a leaky one, had gone to the bottom.

Frank was as much amused as he was astonished to hear him. He replied: "I suppose they must both be given up as lost."

"It is a pity," said the prostrate man, "it was a good saw, and a brand new one too."

The man spoke in the patois of the island, a kind of old Norman French which the young man understood very well. He, therefore, answered in the same language.

"Shall I go and call your people?" Frank said after a while.

"No, thank you, I think I can walk home."

He stood up and they both proceeded towards the farm-house.

"Not a word of thanks," soliloquized Frank, as he surveyed the strong frame and the powerful limbs of his companion.

Just then the farmer turned abruptly to him: "A good thing you were pa.s.sing near at the time of the accident. I might have been drowned," he said.

"I am very glad of having been of service to you," answered Frank.

"You're a good fellow," resumed the farmer looking at him and nodding. "It's not everybody," he continued, "who would have had the sense to do as you have done."

They arrived at the farm-house, a two-storeyed house, without any pretence at architecture, and with a slate covering: the house was surrounded by stables, pig-sties, a small garden and a conservatory.

In front of the house was a parterre, most tastefully arranged with flowers which surrounded an immense fuschia, five feet in height and covering an area of about fifty square feet.

The two men entered by the front door. Mr. Rougeant led his rescuer into the kitchen. Here was Jeanne, a French servant, occupied in poking the fire.

"Ah, but dear me," she exclaimed as she caught sight of the pair, "what has Mr. Rougeant been doing now?"

"I fell in the quarry," said the farmer gruffly, "go and prepare some dry clothing, be quick, make haste."

Jeanne immediately did as she was bid. She did not leave the room, however, without casting an inquisitive glance at Frank.

"Adele," shouted Mr. Rougeant in a voice of thunder, "where are you?"

"Miss Rougeant is gone, she told me she would not be long," answered the servant from upstairs.

"Oh, yes, always gone," said the father of Adele, in none too pleasant a tone; "those young girls are always out when most wanted."

Then he began to talk about his quarry. "Only a year ago that quarry was being worked. There were twenty men employed in it. It paid well then. But it's all over now. The man who worked it found a little bit of rubbish in his way, and, like a fool, he got frightened and left working it, and now you see it's full of water. Are the clothes ready?" This was said, or rather shouted to the servant.

"Yes, Sir, they're ready; I'm coming," said Jeanne.

"It's time," said Mr. Rougeant rising, "I am trembling all over now." He had been shivering for the last quarter of an hour.

When he was half way up the stairs he called out: "Of course you will wait till I come down again, I shall not be long Mr. ----."

"All right, Sir, don't hurry," answered Frank.

Left alone in the kitchen, the young man had time to examine the room. He had never been in a farm-house before.

On one side, ranged along the wall, was an oblong table which was bare. Above it, against the wall, was a shelf on which Frank could discern three or four big home-made loaves of bread.

On the opposite side, was a deal dresser on which were ranged saucers and plates, while cups and mugs were hung upon nails driven into the edge of the shelves; He was in the midst of his examination when someone entered the house by a back door. "Is it the girl of whom Mr. Rougeant spoke?" he wondered. Then he pictured her to himself: a tall overgrown country-la.s.s, with hands like a working man's, and feet! well, one might just as well not think about them, they were repulsively large; it was a blessing that they were hidden from view.

He was in the midst of his imaginations when Adele Rougeant stepped into the kitchen. On perceiving Frank she was a little astonished, but soon recovered her self-control and a.s.sumed a well-bred smile.

The young man immediately hastened to explain the cause of his presence. He was greatly astonished. Here, then, was the corpulent country-girl his imagination had fancied! Before him stood a young lady altogether different to anything he had pictured her to be. "A girl of about seventeen," he tells himself, but later on he discovered that she was one year older than that; plainly, but well dressed. Her gown fitted her slender form to perfection. Every detail in her dress was arranged with such taste, her small shoes, the exquisite lace round her throat and such a charming face peeping out of it all. She was not beautiful, but she was pretty and attractive, she opened her mouth when she smiled as well as when she spoke.

"Pray be seated," said the young lady to Frank who had risen on her approach.

Frank sat down, quite confused and ready to run out of the room. He felt very timid, so far, as to be uncivil; in the presence of Adele.

A young man who has spent most of his time alone, studying, will be timid when he meets a representative of the softer s.e.x.

He scarcely lifted his eyes from the floor. He knew she would think him ill-bred, he was ashamed of himself, but he could not help it.

He was full of bashfulness. Now, bashfulness is almost always a sure sign of _amour-propre_.

He scolded himself, but his red face grew redder. It was soon of a colour resembling peac.o.c.k-blue.

Noticing his discomposure, Miss Rougeant could not help sharing some of it, and, doubtless, things would soon have come to an awkward point for both, if Mr. Rougeant had not put in an appearance.

"So this is the gentleman who saved your life?" said his daughter, speaking in English.