Copyright Story. AT HIGH TIDE.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXX, Issue XXIV, 13 June 1903, Page 1634

Copyright Story. AT HIGH TIDE.

By

CATHERINE MACQUOID.

(Author of “Patty,” etc.)

L Widow Knight’s cottage had a double charge; it guarded the bridge on its left, while its two front lattices, blinking below the thatched eaves, watched on the right the opening of a steeply mounting lane that led to and from the high road; here the tree-branches over head met in such intricate tracery, that they defied both rain and sunshine, except where here and there a bough had perished. Rain and sunshine had, however, worked their will on the old wooden bridge, till they had ripened the structure to an exquisite harmony of tints. The lattice that locked on the bridge was set very low under the eaves; above it. in the broad gable facing the river Stour, projected a subsidiary portion of thatch which roofed an additional chamber built out on this side. Since the widow’s accident, she chiefly occupied this added room. Tn her long hours of forced inaction, she loved to gaze out on the river, where the green sedges look down .nd mingle with the willows, mirrored till they seem to reach the middle of uie stream, shimmering in sunshine. Three ducks taking their morning bath are snowwhite, till raising their wings, and preening out the feathers below, they reveal these sun-tinted a golden cream, bejew* lied with diamond-like water-drops. Someone unlatched the outer door, and came quickly in across the room that lay between the entrance and the widow’s parlour. A tall, dark-browed fellow, broad ami awkward at shoulders,straight limbed and active looking. There was nothing worth noting in Alick Knight’s face, except his big bright eyes, which now rested, full of tenderness, on his mother. She smiled at him. “Rack again, lad? What’s up with you ?’’ He stood still a minute, he had run across the meadows: then he bent over, and kissed her so vehemently that he hurt the thin cheek. She understood: he had come back to tell her good news. Her eyes reflected the brightness in hi<. (hey were of the same deep brown as .Mick’s, but looked narrower from the heavy droop of the lids. “Tell the news, dear lad. ' “I’m raised seven shillings a week, I’m foreman of my room, mother.” She rose, and put both her arms round he]- boy. She could not speak just then, but Alick knew her meaning without words. “T asked leave to run and tell you; hut, mother, you forget, you mavn’t stand yet awhile.” He bent down, and carefully put the slender woman back on her sofa; “I’m off again now,” he said. “Where’s Tilly? She ought to he told.*' Alick turned away, and said gruffly over his shoulder: “Il’s nothing to Tilly: she's— she’s talking to Leonard Wace.” He had reached the parlour door. “Where is she, Alick?” “On the tow-path.” He went out. His mother sighed; she had, poor as she was, adopted this god child, when Tilly Mavor was left at thirteen, an orphan. Some time ago, Mrs Knight had fallen in the stony road, she had been ordered to keep still for awhile. “Tilly doos care for Alack,” she thought, “though she lets him think she don’t, she only amuses herself with that young Wace.” The widow looked out across the river towards Esham. A sharp cry of alarm broke from her; so piercing a sound, that Tilly heard it.

“I must go,” the girl called out to the angler in the boat, “there must be something the matter. My! see how the mist’s rising.” Small and plump, slightly freckled,

tendrils of lovely auburn hair hiding her white forehead, till they almost strayed into her blue eyes, Tilly Mavor hastened to the cottage with a look of concern, that told she was not wholly absorbed by Leonard Wace. She hurried across the bridge, which, except for its uprights, looked so like a collection of old grey hurdles that one less used to its flail aspect might have hesitated to cross it. At the cottage door Tilly cried out, “My!” with the shock of her alarm. Mrs Knight stood there, propped against the door post. “Why? Whatever —” the girl began. “Run, Tilly, run! Alick’s just started for Esham, and I never bid him mind ’tis the high tide this evening; see the mist rising fast. Run, girl, bid him come home by the road to-night.” “But how eame you here, godmother? I must help you back.” “Let me be, child, only run,” was the breathless answer. Tilly Mavor ran till she reached the middle of the bridge; she stopped there and looked to the right, across the meadow behind the tow-path. Alick was ever so far away, striding at double speed over the grass. “I suppose if I run and cry out I may make him hear, but it’s ridiculous, and—” she gave a rapid glance to the left, Leonard Wace had turned his head and was watching her. He now rowed languidly to the bridge. Tilly’s cheeks flushed, her eyes shone with triumph. Just now Mr Wane’s indifferent manner had been mortifying. Now he •was evidently seeking her. “I can’t run after Alick; ’twould look as if I cared for him.” Once more she looked across the meadows, then, as Leonard Wace shot his boat under the bridge, she ran across to the gate leading to the tow-path, “Come back, Alick, come back,” she cried; “your mother wants you.” Her words seemed blown back to her by the wind that rustled among the willows and brought into view the silver linings of their leaves. Alick had reached the bend of the river and was out of site. Tilly shrugged her shoulders. “He’s safe to remember ’tis high tide, and he can’t help seeing the mist. Alick’s not so fttupid as all that. I really couldn’t Make an exhibition of myself before people.” “What was the row about with Mrs Knight. Miss Mavor?” Leonard Wace had come out on the right side of the bridge. He had a clear, good tempered voice, though the drawl in it, and a slight broadening of vowels, suggested an imitation of his superiors in station. He wore smartly eut clothes, and was generally “up-to-dateness” in his talk, but he was son to the miller of Roundford, and lived in the picturesque old house on the mill dam close by. “Mrs Knight wanted me to warn her son; ’tis high tide this evening, and she’s afraid for him in the mist if he comes back by the meadows and the tow-path.” “What rot! Catch my mother squalling after me! Rhe' knows better than that!” Warm colour showed on Tilly’s cheeks. Mr Leonard, no doubt, was a fine gentleman, but her spirit rose at his slighting tone. “ Tis best to keep to what one’s sure of” —her uptilted nose was eloquent—“l fancy you don’t know Mrs Knight’s equal, Mr Wace.” There was a sort of defiance in her tone; she turned towards the eottage. Leonard Wace had been badly snubbed to-day. As one of his father’s best customers got into his trap to drive away he had called out:

“I say, Wace, why don’t you get your lad employment? There ain’t room for

two in this mill. An active young fellow shouldn’t loaf all day.” The miller’s son was close by and heard. He felt sore all over. He now saw a chance of amusement and resolved to take it. “I say, Miss Mavor, would you like a few perch for Mrs Knight’s supper!” Tilly looked over her shoulder. “Have you caught any?” “Not yet, but I’m going to the creek. You’ll come, won’t you?” Then, seeing that she hesitated: “Jump into the boat; there’s plenty of perch in the deep water.” While he spoke he was backing towards the bank. Tilly knew she ought to help Mrs. Knight on to her sofa, but this was the first time Mr. Wace had asked her into his boat, it was a great advance. She was bright and happy-tempered, but of late a vague disquiet had altered the girl; at time she was full of sunshine, but hours of shadow came between; she wanted something, she did not know what it was. Lately, she had developed little irritable outbursts, especially towards Alick Knight. Leonard Wace, like most spoiled people, determined to have his own way. “Aren’t you coming, Miss Tilly?” Tilly was half unwilling; nevertheless, she stepped into the boat, when its owner repeated his question. He hardly gave her time to seat herself. but rowed back in silence past the bridge. At the point where the river forks into a double stream, he rapidly crossed the mill-pool, into the narrow, shaded creek which led to the main stream. “How lovely it is,” the girl said ir» a low voice. “Ah!” he yawned, “you can speak as loud as you please here, you’ll not scare the fish.” Tilly felt mischievous; it was plain that her companion was not impressed by the beauty around them. “My! how grand it must be to fish here every day. I suppose you can’t because of your work ?” He raised his eyebrows in amused wonder : “No one can fish just here, except me, it belongs to the mill: fishing’s my work, and it’s hard enough, too; I had to serve a long apprenticeship to it before I could catch ’em as I do now.” He shrugged his shoulders, and looked contemptuous, he wondered whether that fellow, who termed it loafing, had ever hooked a fish.

Leonard Wace stood up and deftly fastened the boat by a rope to some rushes, took up the rod at his feet, saw to the bait, and skilfully swirled his line over the river. It seemed as though the perch had been waiting for him; hardly ten minutes had passed before he raised the line out of the water, and Tilly, who had watched his proceedings with deep interest, saw quivering in the air a lovely green and silver, scarlet-finned fish, so full of life and movement that the angler had to end his capers by a blow on the head. “There’s number one,” he laughed. “How clever of you! May I really have it for Godmother?” “Wait a bit, you’ll have some more; bless you. I pull ’em out by the seore.” “I wish Alick had time to fish.” “You can’t expect a fellow like him to be able to do it.” He flung his line again over the water; Tilly smiled; it did not displease her to hear Aliek disparaged. She eould not give a reason for her wish, but lately she had often wished he would, as she expressed it, "care for her.” Alick meanwhile had become colder and colder; he had given up all the brotherly little ways which were so dear to her. As Tilly now sat watching the float that lay still on the water, she remembered that Aliek’s coldness had increased since she had been on speaking terms with Leonard Waee. That showed Aliek was indifferent to her, or he would try to keep her for himself; not once had he said a word of blame in regard to the miller’s son, yet Leonard Waee was always having a fling at Alick. Her face flushed as she sat, her blue eyes fixed on the water; with feminine logic she argued, that Mr. Wace really cared for her, and was therefore jealous. “I know jealousy’s a sign of love.” She told herself that Mr. Waee’s languid indifference was as attractive as his handsome face. She, a brisk little creature of eighteen, full of vivacious life, with hidden grit in her enough for two women, was, for the time, subjugated and fascinated by the careless, lazy manner which it pleased her to imagine concealed strength and manliness. She sat musing. If anything were to happen to her dear, kind godmother, she was sure Alick would not trouble as to what became of her: if she encouraged Mr Wace, and surely if she tried she might like him as a husband, she would be provided for. Besides, she bridled, the dimple in her cheek deepened, she

would also become a fine lady, be able to dr.ess like Miss Wace. And then, for Tilly’s early life had grown up in the poverty of a ruined home, she wondered whether her fine gentleman was able to keep a wife, or whether if he married her she would be expected to do the work of the Millhouse, and slave for him and his proud sister. The float bobbed, disappeared, and the line ran out with a whirr. “Hollo!” Waee cried, “what’s that? my word! how he pulls!” he was cautiously winding in the line. Another rush of the fish, out went the line again, and then, after four or five minutes spent in letting out the line, and winding it in, Tilly saw a long, silver, fiercelooking fish being drawn to the side of the boat. “Will you gaff him, Miss Tilly?” Then, as she shook her head, he said, “Please hand me the gaff—quickly, or he’ll be off again!” “So!” he pulled the sharp barb of the gaff rapidly across the fish’s back, and landed in the boat a handsome, savagejawed jack. “ ’Twas a chance I had the gaff today, that fish weighs nigh upon five pound if he weighs an ounce,” he said, with a look of triumph. “Oh, please kill the poor thing and put it out of it’s misery.” Tilly’s eyes were full of tender pity, he thought she looked charming, but wished she was more useful. She turned away her head, and be finished off the jack. Then, placing it in the basket in which he had put the perch, he said he would send both fish to the cottage. “Thank you, but please only the perch, the jack’s too big for us; I must be going home.” She stood up in the boat. “Hang it, that’s too bad; you get all you want, and leave me to amuse myself as best I can.” “I haven’t been amusing you,” she laughed. “I’ve hardly spoken.” He took her hand to help her out of the boat, and held it tight in his own. “Speaking don’t count for much,” ho looked at her with bold admiration, “You’re so dooeed nice to look at.” He bent forward, but Tilly jumped on to the bank. “Good day, Mr Waee, and thank you kindly, she held out her hand for the basket with the perch. “No, I’ll send another or two.” She nodded and tripped off. “Little witeh,” he thought, “I’d no notion she was so pretty, she shall come fishing again with me.” 11. The mist had thickened. Alick was ready to start for home, when he was called back to speak to the foreman of the works, and this delayed him. When he finally began to cross the Esham meadows that lay between him and the towpath, he could scarcely see his own hand held out a couple of feet before him. But he was wrapped in his thoughts; they smiled at him as they had not done for months. He had gone to and fro from his work in the woollen factory of Esham for so many years that he took no heed of the way; even in this blinding mist it seemed to him his feet must follow the right path. He stumbled, and found himself up to his knees in water, it gurgled round him. Feeling about him cautiously he found he was in a large hole; with some trouble he raised himself out of it, but the ground felt rotten and marshy, . as though it would give way beneath him. With a sudden shiver he remembered this was the high tide, remembered, too, how a few years ago the meadow nearest the tow-path had been completely flooded. Surely he had not yet reached it; he must still be in the field close to Esham. He quickly pulled himself together; he must make for the river. He listened; but even if he were near it, the water did not give out a sound. Strain his eyes as he would, he could not pierce the thick white mist. He tried every step before he set his foot firmly down; yet even with this caution he plunged into several holes. He remembered that in these meadows there were no tussocks of rush stems, as there were hearer Manningtree.

Alick again looked carefully round him. Only the same opaque whiteness, so close that it clung to his eyelashes, nothing could be seen. He stooped almost to the ground; there was a faint glimmer to the left. It seemed to l/.m

this must be the river. He turned towards it. Once safe on the low-path, he felt sure he could guide himself, by feeling from cue to another of the willow trunks. If he could but reach it. Tlie mist had wetted him to the skin, his clothes were soaked and heavy, but he was neither alarmed nor discouraged. He had tried to follow God’s Will in his daily life, and that sure trust helped him he could keep his post. Once more he now. He felt, too, a warm glow of hope, his future life lay plain before him; if tilled in taking a wife. Once more he plodded on through the mist. Since Tilly came in from the boat she had been very silent. Mrs Knight had looked questioningly at her, but the girl seemed absorbed in her darning; the increasing mist made the widow too anxious to wish for talk. The little clock in the parlour struck seven. As the striking ceased, Mrs. Knight turned her white, drawn face to the girl. “He never comes as late as this; even if he’s coming by the road, he’d be home by now.” Tilly started. The widow’s voice broke in on a rose-coloured vision. She saw herself mistress of her own cottage, and she tried at first to bring Mr Wace into it; somehow he did not fit with the rest. She had been really happy in her dream; it had so effectually banished the thought of Alick. She frowned at this abrupt reminder of him. “Could he ba back by now, Godmother?” A guilty colour flushed her face. She had not given Alick his mother’s warning. A tap at the outer door, the latch was lifted, a voice said in the languid drawl they both recognised: “So sorry to trouble you, my pipe’s gone out; could you oblige me with a light?” “Please come in, Mr Wace.” The widow’s voice was that of a woman in earnest. He obeyed with a careless bow and smie. While Tilly lit a candle, Mrs Knight went on: “We are anxious about my son, Alick. He is late, even if he came by the road. Is the mist very thick Esham way ?” He did not answer; he was busy lighting his pipe. “I wouldn’t bother about him; he’s as snug as he can be in the Red Lion parlour. Then to Tilly—“ Thanks awfully; my matches, confound ’em, wouldn’t strike in the mist. How cosy you are in here” —he looked covetously at Aliek’s chair, set ready in the corner by the newly kindled fire. Widow Knight’s eyes sparkled. “My son’s not likely to be at the Red Lion, sir; he don’t spend his evenings that way, thank God.” “All right! Well, I’ll wish you good evening. Thank you, Miss Tilly.” To the girl’s surprise, he held out his hand; she put hers in it, saying: “Couldn’t you go to the bridge, Mr Wace, and call out loud; that would help Aliek to find his way.” . Wace looked her straight in the eyes; for the first time he felt jealous of Alick. He held her hand tightly clasped, and said in a low voice: “I’d do anything in reason to please you, Tilly; you know I would.” Tilly pulled her hand roughly away. “I’ll light the lantern in an instant; if you hold that up, and call as loud as you can, it must help him.” She hurried out to find the lantern, and Wace followed her into the front room. “Mrs Knight won’t believe, but you may depend Knight is safe at the Red Lion. Go back to the fire. Tilly, and keep yourself out of the mist. I’ll see you to-morrow.” Tilly had lighted the lantern; she now stood at the open entrance door. “You won’t do it?” She held the lantern towards him. He laughed and patted her hand. “What’s the good; it would be folly. There, good-night. I’ll shut the door.” He closed it behind him. He had meant to kiss Tilly, but the fierce light in her eyes stopped him. This, he told himself, as he went home to the mill, was not a wise moment for love-making. Tilly reached down a cloak with a hood that hung near the door, then, lantern in hand, she slipped softly out, and made her way to the bridge. The air was stilled and the light burned steadily, but as she looked towards Esham the mist seeemd thicker than it was on the bridge; it might be possible that the light would not show through it. Tilly know that there was no time to lose. “Alick! Alick!” she cried, and set her

lantern on the ground, while she fastened her cloak and hood securely; raising the light, she stepped forward till she reached the tow-path. She plunged into a pool of cold water, and shivered with the shock, but it only served to brace her energy. She went bravely on, always in water, for the river had risen considerably, and the meadows of the Esham side were flooded. She had no sense of fear; her mind was concentrated on listening. She again stood still, and called, “Alick! Alick!” as loud as she could, holding the lantern high above her head. Iler voice was choked by the mist; there was not the slightest sound in answer. She hurried on again, but this was now difficult, her skirt dripped with water, and clung round her; she tried to guide herself by feeling for the willow trunks, but a sudden distance had come between them—where had they gonef Ah I—a1—a wild shriek of terror burst from her; her right foot slipped; she lost her balance and fell. Mrs Knight sat beside her fire waiting. It puzzled her that the girl should have gone out with young Wace, but she decided that Tilly would persuade her companion to seek for Alick. The idea that something was being done to help him soothed the widow’s anxiety, and she presently fell into a doze. It was hardly sleep; she quickly roused up at a dull, muffled sound in the outer room, then Alick’s voice: “You’re all right, dear, now, aren’t you ?” Mrs Knight opened the door; there stood Alick. Instead of looking at his mother, his eyes were fixed on Tilly’s whitefaee; she leaned baek and shivered in the chair in which he had placed her. “Carry her to the fire, boy.” When he had placed Tilly in his own big arm-chair, the widow put her arms round her boy’s neck, and hugged him, with a devout “God be thanked.” The warmth soon revived the half unconscious Tilly. At the sight of Mrs. Knight bustling about she rose to her feet, and cried out in protest. “There, there —” Mrs Knight sat down again. “What has happened? Did Mr Wace find Alick?” Alick looked mystified. Tilly shrugged her shoulders in high disdain. “He! Godmother, no! Don’t you know the difference between a man and a make-

believe? Aliek didn’t want anyone’* help; be saved me from drowning, that’* all.” Aliek bent down and kissed her, and Tilly seemed to like it. “You mustn’t believe all that dear girl says, mother. It was she who saved me; I’d slipped into the river, when I heard my name called; then came a scream that fetched me to my feet. I was dizzy; and stupid between the mist and the river, but the scream roused me up. I saw the lantern on the ground, and there was Tilly, as I thought, dead, on the river bank.” Tilly’s mouth puckered as though she longed to cry, then she nestled up to Aliek. He put her arms round her, and she murmured; “I do love you, Aliek; indeed I do: but I don’t deserve you should love me.” He kissed her very tenderly, again and again. “You can finish all that later, my boy,” his mother cried; “she’ll catch her death in her wet clothes, and so will you, if you don’t get into dry ones.”