LITMIR.BIZ

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at the bottom of the path, and had again laid the body on the rocks. She heard that sound again, as of a long, long sigh, and then, regardless of any of them, she ran to the wounded man’s head.

      “He is not dead,” she said. “There; he is not dead.”

      As she spoke Barty’s eyes opened, and he looked about him.

      “Barty, my boy, speak to me,” said the mother.

      Barty turned his face upon his mother, smiled, and then stared about him wildly.

      “How is it with thee, lad?” said his father. Then Barty turned his face again to the latter voice, and as he did so his eyes fell upon Mally.

      “Mally!” he said, “Mally!”

      It could have wanted nothing further to any of those present to teach them that, according to Barty’s own view of the case, Mally had not been his enemy; and, in truth, Mally herself wanted no further triumph. That word had vindicated her, and she withdrew back to the hut.

      “Dada,” she said, “Barty is not dead, and I’m thinking they won’t say anything more about our hurting him.”

      Old Glos shook his head. He was glad the lad hadn’t met his death there; he didn’t want the young man’s blood, but he knew what folk would say. The poorer he was the more sure the world would be to trample on him. Mally said what she could to comfort him, being full of comfort herself.

      She would have crept up to the farm if she dared, to ask how Barty was. But her courage failed her when she thought of that, so she went to work again, dragging back the weed she had saved to the spot at which on the morrow she would load the donkey. As she did this she saw Barty’s pony still standing patiently under the rock, so she got a lock of fodder and threw it down before the beast.

      It had become dark down in the cove, but she was still dragging back the seaweed when she saw the glimmer of a lantern coming down the pathway. It was a most unusual sight, for lanterns were not common down in Malachi’s Cove. Down came the lantern rather slowly much more slowly than she was in the habit of descending; and then through the gloom she saw the figure of a man standing at the bottom of the path. She went up to him, and saw that it was Mr Gunliffe, the father.

      “Is that Mally?” said Gunliffe.

      “Yes, it is Mally; and how is Barty, Mr Gunliffe?”

      “You must come to ‘un yourself, now at once,” said the farmer. “He won’t sleep a wink till he’s seed you. You must not say but you’ll come.”

      “Sure I’ll come if I’m wanted,” said Mally.

      Gunliffe waited a moment, thinking that Mally might have to prepare herself, but Mally needed no preparation. She was dripping with salt water from the weed which she had been dragging, and her elfin locks were streaming wildly from her head; but, such as she was, she was ready.

      “Dada’s in bed,” she said, “and I can go now, if you please.”

      Then Gunliffe turned round and followed her up the path, wondering at the life which this girl led so far away from all her sex. It was now dark night, and he had found her working at the very edge of the rolling waves by herself, in the darkness, while the only human being who might seem to be her protector had already gone to his bed.

      When they were at the top of the cliff, Gunliffe took her by her hand and led her along. She did not comprehend this, but she made no attempt to take her hand from his. Something he said about falling on the cliffs, but it was muttered so lowly that Mally hardly understood him. But, in truth, the man knew that she had saved his boy’s life, and that he had injured her instead of thanking her. He was now taking her to his heart, and as words were wanting to him, he was showing his love after this silent fashion. He held her by the hand as though she were a child, and Mally tripped along at his side asking him no questions.

      When they were at the farmyard gate he stopped there for a moment.

      “Mally, my girl,” he said, “he’ll not be content till he sees thee, but thou must not stay long wi’ him, lass. Doctor says he’s weak like, and wants sleep badly.”

      Mally merely nodded her head, and then they entered the house. Mally had never been within it before, and looked about with wondering eyes at the furniture of the big kitchen. Did any idea of her future destiny flash upon her then, I wonder? But she did not pause here a moment, but was led up to the bedroom above stairs, where Barty was lying on his mother’s bed.

      “Is it Mally herself?” said the voice of the weak youth.

      “It’s Mally herself,” said the mother, “so now you can say what you please.”

      “Mally,” said he, “Mally, it’s along of you that I’m alive this moment.”

      “I’ll not forget it on her,” said the father, with his eyes turned away from her. “I’ll never forget it on her.”

      “We hadn’t a one but only him,” said the mother, with her apron up to her face.

      “Mally, you’ll be friends with me now?” said Barty.

      To have been made lady of the manor of the cove for ever, Mally couldn’t have spoken a word now. It was not only that the words and presence of the people there cowed her and made her speechless, but the big bed, and the looking-glass, and the unheard-of wonders of the chamber, made her feel her own insignificance. But she crept up to Barty’s side, and put her hand upon his.

      “I’ll come and get the weed, Mally; but it shall all be for you,” said Barty.

      “Indeed, you won’t then, Barty dear,” said the mother; “you’ll never go near the awesome place again. What would we do if you were took from us?”

      “He mustn’t go near the hole if he does,” said Mally, speaking at last in a solemn voice, and imparting the knowledge which she had kept to herself while Barty was her enemy; “‘specially not if the wind’s any way from the nor’ard.”

      “She’d better go down now,” said the father.

      Barty kissed the hand which he held, and Mally, looking at him as he did so, thought that he was like an angel.

      “You’ll come and see us tomorrow, Mally,” said he.

      To this she made no answer, but followed Mrs Gunliffe out of the room. When they were down in the kitchen the mother had tea for her, and thick milk, and a hot cake, all the delicacies which the farm could afford. I don’t know that Mally cared much for the eating and drinking that night, but she began to think that the Gunliffes were good people, very good people. It was better thus, at any rate, than being accused of murder and carried off to Camelford prison.

      “I’ll never forget it on her never,” the father had said.

      Those words stuck to her from that moment, and seemed to sound in her ears all the night. How glad she was that Barty had come down to the cove, oh, yes, how glad! There was no question of his dying now, and as for the blow on his forehead, what harm was that to a lad like him?

      “But Father shall go with you,” said Mrs Gunliffe, when Mally prepared to start for the cove by herself. Mally, however, would not hear of this. She could find her way to the cove whether it was light or dark.

      “Mally, thou art my child now, and I shall think of thee so,” said the mother, as the girl went off by herself.

      Mally thought of this, too, as she walked home. How could she become Mrs Gunliffe’s child; ah, how?

      I need not, I think, tell the tale any further. That Mally did become Mrs Gunliffe’s child, and how she became so the reader will understand; and in process of time the big kitchen and all the wonders of the farmhouse were her own. The people said that Barty Gunliffe had married a mermaid out of the sea; but when it was said in Mally’s hearing, I doubt whether she liked it; and when Barty himself would call her a mermaid, she would frown at him, and throw about her black hair, and pretend to cuff him with her little

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