LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

      “Mally, I’m thinking that he’s dead already,” said old Glos, peering down over the body.

      “No, Dada, he is not dead; but mayhap he’s dying. But I’ll go at once up to the farm.”

      “Mally,” said the old man, “look at his head. They’ll say we murdered him.”

      “Who’ll say so? Who’ll lie like that? Didn’t I pull him out of the hole?”

      “What matters that? His father’ll say we killed him.”

      It was manifest to Mally that whatever anyone might say hereafter her present course was plain before her. She must run up the path to Gunliffe’s farm and get necessary assistance. If the world were as bad as her grandfather said, it would be so bad that she would not care to live longer in it. But be that as it might, there was no doubt as to what she must do now.

      So away she went as fast as her naked feet could carry her up the cliff. When at the top she looked round to see if any person might be within ken, but she saw no one. So she ran with all her speed along the headland of the cornfield which led in the direction of old Gunliffe’s house, and as she drew near to the homestead she saw that Barty’s mother was leaning on the gate. As she approached she attempted to call, but her breath failed her for any purpose of loud speech, so she ran on till she was able to grasp Mrs Gunliffe by the arm.

      “Where’s himself?” she said, holding her hand upon her beating heart that she might husband her breath.

      “Who is it you mean?” said Mrs Gunliffe, who participated in the family feud against Trenglos and his granddaughter. “What does the girl clutch me for in that way?”

      “He’s dying then, that’s all.”

      “Who is dying? Is it old Malachi? If the old man’s bad, we’ll send some one down.”

      “It ain’t Dada, it’s Barty! Where’s himself? Where’s the master?”

      But by this time Mrs Gunliffe was in an agony of despair, and was calling out for assistance lustily. Happily Gunliffe, the father, was at hand, and with him a man from the neighbouring village.

      “Will you not send for the doctor?” said Mally. “Oh, man, you should send for the doctor!”

      Whether any orders were given for the doctor she did not know, but in a very few minutes she was hurrying across the field again towards the path to the cove, and Gunliffe with the other man and his wife were following her.

      As Mally went along she recovered her voice, for their step was not so quick as hers, and that which to them was a hurried movement allowed her to get her breath again. And as she went, she tried to explain to the father what had happened, saying but little, however, of her own doings in the matter. The wife hung behind listening, exclaiming every now and again that her boy was killed, and then asking wild questions as to his being yet alive. The father, as he went, said little. He was known as a silent, sober man, well spoken of for diligence and general conduct, but supposed to be stern and very hard when angered.

      As they drew near to the top of the path the other man whispered something to him, and then he turned round upon Mally and stopped her.

      “If he has come by his death between you, your blood shall be taken for his,” said he.

      Then the wife shrieked out that her child had been murdered, and Mally, looking round into the faces of the three, saw that her grandfather’s words had come true. They suspected her of having taken the life in saving which she had nearly lost her own.

      She looked round at them with awe in her face, and then, without saying a word, preceded them down the path. What had she to answer when such a charge as that was made against her? If they chose to say that she pushed him into the pool, and hit him with her hook as he lay amidst the waters, how could she show that it was not so?

      Poor Mally knew little of the law of evidence, and it seemed to her that she was in their hands. But as she went down the steep track with a hurried step, a step so quick that they could not keep up with her, her heart was very full, very full and very high. She had striven for the man’s life as though he had been her brother. The blood was yet not dry on her own legs and arms, where she had torn them in his service. At one moment she had felt sure that she would die with him in that pool. And now they said that she had murdered him! It may be that he was not dead, and what would he say if ever he should speak again? Then she thought of that moment when his eyes had opened, and he had seemed to see her. She had no fear for herself, for her heart was very high. But it was full also, full of scorn, disdain, and wrath.

      When she had reached the bottom she stood close to the door of the hut waiting for them, so that they might precede her to the other group, which was there in front of them, at a little distance on the sand.

      “He is there, and Dada is with him. Go and look at him,” said Mally.

      The father and mother ran on stumbling over the stones, but Mally remained behind by the door of the hut.

      Barty Gunliffe was lying on the sand where Mally had left him, and old Malachi Trenglos was standing over him, resting himself with difficulty upon a stick.

      “Not a move he’s moved since she left him,” said he, “not a move. I put his head on the old rug as you see, and I tried ‘un with a drop of gin, but he wouldn’t take it, he wouldn’t take it.”

      “Oh, my boy! my boy!” said the mother, throwing herself beside her son upon the sand.

      “Haud your tongue, woman,” said the father, kneeling down slowly by the lad’s head, “whimpering that way will do ‘un no good.”

      Then having gazed for a minute or two upon the pale face beneath him, he looked up sternly into that of Malachi Trenglos.

      The old man hardly knew how to bear this terrible inquisition.

      “He would come,” said Malachi; “he brought it all upon hisself.”

      “Who was it struck him?” said the father.

      “Sure he struck hisself, as he fell among the breakers.”

      “Liar!” said the father, looking up at the old man.

      “They have murdered him! They have murdered him!” shrieked the mother.

      “Haud your peace, woman!” said the husband again. “They shall give us blood for blood.”

      Mally, leaning against the corner of the hovel, heard it all, but did not stir. They might say what they liked. They might make it out to be murder. They might drag her and her grandfather to Camelford gaol, and then to Bodmin, and the gallows; but they could not take from her the conscious feeling that was her own. She had done her best to save him, her very best. And she had saved him!

      She remembered her threat to him before they had gone down on the rocks together, and her evil wish. Those words had been very wicked; but since that she had risked her life to save his. They might say what they pleased of her, and do what they pleased. She knew what she knew.

      Then the father raised his son’s head and shoulders in his arms, and called on the others to assist him in carrying Barty towards the path. They raised him between them carefully and tenderly, and lifted their burden on towards the spot at which Mally was standing. She never moved, but watched them at their work; and the old man followed them, hobbling after them with his crutch.

      When they had reached the end of the hut she looked upon Barty’s face, and saw that it was very pale. There was no longer blood upon the forehead, but the great gash was to be seen there plainly, with its jagged cut, and the skin livid and blue round the orifice. His light brown hair was hanging back, as she had made it to hang when she had gathered it with her hand after the big wave had passed over them. Ah, how beautiful he was in Mally’s eyes with that pale face, and the sad scar upon his brow! She turned her face away, that they might not see her tears; but she did not move, nor did she speak.

      But now, when they had passed the end of

Скачать книгу