Who knows? And then got shipwrecked, very likely. There are rapids and falls farther along the river. It will do no harm to go down there and look about, at any rate."On Saturday morning, therefore, Mr. Byles Gridley set forth to procure a conveyance to make a visit, as he said, dawn the river, and perhaps be gone a day or two. He went to a stable in the village, and asked if they could let him have a horse.
The man looked at him with that air of native superiority which the companionship of the generous steed confers on all his associates, down to the lightest weight among the jockeys.
"Wal, I hain't got nothin' in the shape of a h'oss, Mr. Gridley.
I've got a mare I s'pose I could let y' have.""Oh, very well," said the old master, with a twinkle in his eye as sly as the other's wink,--he had parried a few jokes in his time,--"they charge half-price for mares always, I believe."That was a new view of the subject. It rather took the wind out of the stable-keeper, and set a most ammoniacal fellow, who stood playing with a currycomb, grinning at his expense. But he rallied presently.
"Wal, I b'lieve they do for some mares, when they let 'em to some folks; but this here ain't one o' them mares, and you ain't one o' them folks. All my cattle's out but this critter, 'n' I don't jestly want to have nobody drive her that ain't pretty car'ful,--she's faast, I tell ye,--don't want no whip. --How fur d' d y' want t' go?"Mr. Gridley was quite serious now, and let the man know that he wanted the mare and a light covered wagon, at once, to be gone for one or two days, and would waive the question of sex in the matter of payment.
Alderbank was about twenty miles down the river by the road. On arriving there, he inquired for the house where a Mr. Lindsay lived.
There was only one Lindsay family in town,--he must mean Dr. William Lindsay. His house was up there a little way above the village, lying a few rods back from the river.
He found the house without difficulty, and knocked at the door. Amotherly-looking woman opened it immediately, and held her hand up as if to ask him to speak and move softly.
"Does Mr. Clement Lindsay live here?"
"He is staying here for the present. He is a nephew of ours. He is in his bed from an injury.""Nothing very serious, I hope?"
"A bruise on his head,--not very bad, but the doctor was afraid of erysipelas. Seems to be doing well enough now.""Is there a young person here, a stranger?"
"There is such a young person here. Do you come with any authority to make inquiries?""I do. A young friend of mine is missing, arid I thought it possible I might learn something here about it. Can I see this young person?"The matron came nearer to Byles Gridley, and said: "This person is a young woman disguised as a boy. She was rescued by my nephew at the risk of his life, and she has been delirious ever since she has recovered her consciousness. She was almost too far gone to be resuscitated, but Clement put his mouth to hers and kept her breathing until her own breath returned and she gradually came to.""Is she violent in her delirium?"
"Not now. No; she is quiet enough, but wandering,--wants to know where she is, and whose the strange faces are,--mine and my husband's,--that 's Dr. Lindsay,--and one of my daughters, who has watched with her.""If that is so, I think I had better see her. If she is the person Isuspect her to be, she will know me; and a familiar face may bring back her recollections and put a stop to her wanderings. If she does not know me, I will not stay talking with her. I think she will, if she is the one I am seeking after. There is no harm in trying."Mrs. Lindsay took a good long look at the old man. There was no mistaking his grave, honest, sturdy, wrinkled, scholarly face. His voice was assured and sincere in its tones. His decent black coat was just what a scholar's should be,--old, not untidy, a little shiny at the elbows with much leaning on his study-table, but neatly bound at the cuffs, where worthy Mrs. Hopkins had detected signs of fatigue and come to the rescue. His very hat looked honest as it lay on the table. It had moulded itself to a broad, noble head, that held nothing but what was true and fair, with a few harmless crotchets just to fill in with, and it seemed to know it.
The good woman gave him her confidence at once. "Is the person you are seeking a niece or other relative of yours?"(Why did not she ask if the girl was his daughter? What is that look of paternity and of maternity which observing and experienced mothers and old nurses know so well in men and in women?)"No, she is not a relative. But I am acting for those who are.""Wait a moment and I will go and see that the room is all right."She returned presently. "Follow me softly, if you please. She is asleep,--so beautiful,--so innocent!"Byles Gridley, Master of Arts, retired professor, more than sixty years old, childless, loveless, stranded in a lonely study strewed with wrecks of the world's thought, his work in life finished, his one literary venture gone down with all it held, with nobody to care for him but accidental acquaintances, moved gently to the side of the bed and looked upon the pallid, still features of Myrtle Hazard. He strove hard against a strange feeling that was taking hold of him, that was making his face act rebelliously, and troubling his eyes with sudden films. He made a brief stand against this invasion.
