The Unknown Sea Part 24

Christian, answer--say, "I will."'

'What worth has any word of mine?' he said in his despair; but her arms were round his neck fixing the knot, and stayed to clasp, but her rare terrible sobs rose as she cried, 'Oh, G.o.d help you, my son!' and 'I will, I will!' flew strong to a.s.sure her that that word would never have to be fulfilled.

Near was the time that would put him to the test, and he knew it. A day pa.s.sed and a day pa.s.sed, out of eternity into eternity, and the moon filled up to Diadyomene's account.

'Rhoda,' he said, 'do you know what day this is?'

'Christmas Eve.'

'Yes--but to my mother--her child was born----'

'Yes,' said Rhoda hurriedly, and bent her head: she for the first time knew her own birthday.

'Listen, Rhoda! She has aged and weakened so; the day and night of prayer and fasting she has now begun I fear may outdo her strength. Will you keep ever at hand to listen and be careful of her?'

'And you?' asked Rhoda.

'I may not stay. I cannot.'

She flashed a look of amazed indignation, for instinctively she knew that he would be leaving his mother to seek the strange-named woman, and such filial misconduct in him was hardly credible. No kind word or look would Rhoda grant him. He never felt the lack: his mother's blessing he did greatly desire, but he dared not intrude on the day of her mourning to ask it.

Short was the day and long the way, but over soon by some hours was he footing it. The singular incidence of the day encouraged belief that a special mercy of Heaven was ordering his goings for the comforting of a long sorrow. Ah! G.o.d grant her a soul from the sea, and ah! G.o.d grant it by me for a token. All his steps were taken to prayer, and the least thing he asked of his G.o.d was that, though his sins were so heavy, he might not die till he had seen that salvation. His head and his heart told him that if he failed in his high endeavour he must surely perish.

Over the wold came a harsh call, and again till he answered and stayed.

He was making for waste stretches, gashed athwart by long gullies preventing any fair paths. Already, though but half a league forward, tracks had grown rough and uncertain. The voice came from a mudded hollow, where a loaded cart stuck fast, an old horse and an old man striving with it in vain. Though loath to be hindered, Christian turned aside to give help.

He was not graciously welcomed. The old man scowled, and swore under his breath. 'The Alien, deuce take it, he will not serve!'

But he stared, and words failed when Christian promptly laid hand on the load, saying, 'Here's bad balancing, Gaffer; we had best uncord first and set it right.'

'Ay, it shifted. Have it that way, if so you can and will. My two boys did the cording, and two fools they be.'

He sidled away, muttering wonderful oaths as curiously he watched the Alien's tackling. The load was a tree brought down by the recent gale; protruding roots clawed the mud behind; piled branches nodded to the fore, orange-red berries bright as coral dangling there. Christian's great strength made light of the work, and soon the cart went crawling out of the mire. He snapped off a twig to sc.r.a.pe the mud from his shins, and the gaffer's mutter then caught his ear.

'He's done it--sure! Be danged if I reckoned he could. Well, well, some be liars!'

'In your best days, Gaffer, you might have done as much.'

The old face wrinkled with a sour grin.

''Twas said you couldn't abide the rowan.'

'Why?'

'Well, I never asked. May be they lie who swear that never a twig of the rowan goes in your boat. Some have taken to say so.'

'None, true enough. What then?' said Christian, and he noticed that the man had thrust a bunch of berries into his belt.

'Well, there, 'tis not I that can give the reason.'

'Can you think mine the only boat that goes without that garnish?'

'I swear the only one.'

Christian did not know how on his very account a prevalent custom had gained ground. He brought out a string of names.

'Why, most of those from this very tree have had takings. 'Tis an ill wind that blows nowhere; for I reckon now to get a good price off this timber--ay, to the last sc.r.a.p, and 'tis you I owe some thanks for that.

So, look you, I have a mind, after I have made my profit, to open out of your doing here with me and take the laugh. Hey? Ah! it seems to me that some of your wits are left, so may be all I heard tell of was lies, when 'twas said you had had games with the Evil One, and had lost to him both wits and soul.'

Christian said slowly, 'You thought I had no soul?'

'Never thought at all; why should I? Let fools think; I see. You, I see, but now handle the rowan freely, and pa.s.s it to and fro, as never could you have done had your soul known unholy tampering.'

Christian stood stock-still, with an unseeing stare, till the old man called back to him, 'Come on, just to lend a hand up this pitch.' Then he ran after, and so eagerly bore, that one spoke he broke.

On the level he said, strangely breathless, 'Now I want payment.'

'What! A great hulking fellow can't go two steps out of his way and lift a hand for one with old age in his bones but he asks payment!'

'Yes,' said Christian, 'and for the love of G.o.d, give me the payment I shall ask.'

'No promise, but what's your asking?'

'Give me berries of the rowan.'

With his sour grin the old fellow muttered, 'Well, well, no wits after all!' as he plucked some bunches and chucked them across.

'More! more! and oh! quick; I lose time. See, fill up my cap.'

'All you can't have. My brats have been promised their handfuls, and want you may.'

When all that entreaty could get he had, Christian parted at a run, and the way he took was home.

Rhoda wondered, seeing him pa.s.s the window. Presently, laying aside resentment, she went out to seek him in the linhay. The door resisted her hand.

'Christian,' she called, and after his answer, 'Come in. What are you about? Bring in your work; there is fire still.'

He said 'No' so forcibly, that she went away aggrieved, and a little curious.

All was very quiet; of Lois she heard and saw nothing, and Christian made no noise at all. She wondered if he too were engaged in prayer; she wondered if she ought also to be so devoted.

From the window she saw two figures on the road, and watched them idly.

They neared, and from the opposite approach came two others. All four were known to her by sight, though hailing from some distance; they were kin to Philip; two were father and son, two were brothers. At the gate they stood, and turned in.

Rhoda's heart dropped as she guessed their errand. To her a word from Christian were enough; but what solemnest oath, what evidence short of Philip's self, would convince these?

They were knocking, while still her countenance was out of command; and when they asked for Christian, her wits were so troubled, that she said lamely, 'It is Christmas Eve; can you want him now?

'Wait then--I will go--wait here, and he will come.'