"Well, I am very much obliged to you," said the little girl. "Here"s two apples, real beauties, and here"s my new penny. Now, please lead pony out, and help me to mount him."
Johnson did so. The hoofs of the forest pony clattered loudly on the cobble stones of the yard. Johnson led the pony to the entrance of a green lane which ran at the back of Silverbel. Here the little girl mounted. She jumped lightly into her seat. She was like a feather on the back of the forest pony. Johnson arranged her skirts according to her satisfaction, and, with her long legs dangling, her head erect, and the reins in her hands, she started forward. The basket was securely fastened; and the pony, well pleased at having a little exercise, for he had been in his stable for nearly two days, started off at a gentle canter.
Sibyl soon left Silverbel behind her. She cantered down the pretty country road, enjoying herself vastly.
"I am so glad I did it," she thought; "it was brave of me. I will tell my ownest father when he comes back. I"ll tell him there was no one to go with me, and I had to do it in order to keep my promise, and he"ll understand. I"ll have to tell darling mother, too, to-night. She"ll be angry, for mother thinks it is good for me to bear the yoke in my youth, and she"ll be vexed with me for going alone, but I know she"ll forgive me afterward. Perhaps she"ll say afterward, "I"m sorry I forgot, but you did right, Sibyl, you did right." I am doing right, aren"t I, Lord Jesus?" and again she raised her eyes, confident and happy, to the evening sky.
The heat of the day was going over; it was now long past six o"clock.
Presently she reached the small cottage where the sick boy lived. She there reined in her pony, and called aloud:
"Are you in, Mrs. Scott?"
A peevish-looking old woman wearing a bedgown, and with a cap with a large frill falling round her face, appeared in the rose-covered porch of the tiny cottage.
"Ah! it"s you, Missy, at last," she said, and she trotted down as well as her lameness would let her to the gate. "Has you brought the apples?" she cried. "You are very late, Missy. Oh, I"m obligated, of course, and I thank you heartily, Miss. Will you wait for the basket, or shall I send it by Scott to-morrow?"
"You can send it to-morrow, please," answered Sibyl.
"And you ain"t a-coming in? The lad"s expecting you."
"I am afraid I cannot, not to-night. Mother wasn"t able to come with me. Tell Dan that I brought him his apples, and I"ll come and see him to-morrow if I possibly can. Tell him I won"t make him an out-and-out promise, "cos if you make a promise to the poor and don"t keep it, Lord Jesus is angry, and you get cursed. I don"t quite know what cursed means, do you, Mrs. Scott?"
[Ill.u.s.tration: An old woman wearing a bedgown, and with a cap with a large frill, appeared in the porch of the tiny cottage.--Page 224.
_Daddy"s Girl_.]
"Oh, don"t I," answered Mrs. Scott. "It"s a pity you can"t come in, Missy. There, Danny, keep quiet; the little lady ain"t no time to be a-visiting of you. That"s him calling out, Missy; you wait a minute, and I"ll find out what he wants."
Mrs. Scott hobbled back to the house, and the pony chafed restlessly at the delay.
"Quiet, darling; quiet, pet," said Sibyl to her favorite, patting him on his arched neck.
Presently Mrs. Scott came back.
"Dan"s obligated for the apples, Miss, but he thinks a sight more of a talk with you than of any apples that ever growed. He "opes you"ll come another day."
"I wish, I do wish I could come in now," said Sibyl wistfully; "but I just daren"t. You see, I have not even my riding habit on, I was so afraid someone would stop me from coming at all. Give Danny my love.
But you have not told me yet what a curse means, Mrs. Scott."
"Oh, that," answered Mrs. Scott, "but you ain"t no call to know."
"But I"d like to. I hate hearing things without understanding. What is a curse, Mrs. Scott?"
"There are all sorts," replied Mrs. Scott. "Once I knowed a man, and he had a curse on him, and he dwindled and dwindled, and got smaller and thinner and poorer, until nothing would nourish him, no food nor drink nor nothing, and he shrunk up ter"ble until he died. It"s my belief he haunts the churchyard now. No one likes to go there in the evening. The name of the man was Micah Sorrel. He was the most ter"ble example of a curse I ever comed acrost in my life."
"Well, I really must be going now," said Sibyl with a little shiver.
"Good-by; tell Dan I"ll try hard to come and see him to-morrow."
She turned the pony"s head and cantered down the lane. She did not consider Mrs. Scott a specially nice old woman.
"She"s a gloomy sort," thought the child, "she takes a gloomy view. I like people who don"t take gloomy views best. Perhaps she is something like old Scott; having lived with him so long as his wife, perhaps they have got to think things the same way. Old Scott looked very solemn when he said that it was a terrible thing to have the curse of the poor. I wonder what Micah Sorrel did. I am sorry she told me about him, I don"t like the story. But there, why should I blame Mrs. Scott, for I asked her to "splain what a curse was. I "spect I"m a very queer girl, and I didn"t really keep my whole word. I said positive and plain that I would take a basket of apples to Dan, and go and sit with him. I did take the apples, but I didn"t go in and sit with him. Oh, dear, I"ll have to go back by the churchyard. I hope Micah Sorrel won"t be about. I shouldn"t like to see him, he must be shrunk up so awful by now. Come along, pony darling, we"ll soon be back home again."
Sibyl lightly touched the pony"s ears with a tiny whip which Lord Grayleigh had given her. He whisked his head indignantly at the motion and broke into a trot, the trot became a canter, and the canter a gallop.
Sibyl laughed aloud in her enjoyment. They were now close to the churchyard. The sun was getting near the horizon, but still there was plenty of light.
"A little faster, as we are pa.s.sing the churchyard, pony pet," said Sybil, and she bent towards her steed and again touched him, nothing more than a feather touch, on his arched neck. But pony was spirited, and had endured too much stabling, and was panting for exercise; and, just at that moment, turning abruptly round a corner came a man waving a red flag. He was followed by a procession of school children, all shouting and racing. The churchyard was in full view.
Sibyl laughed with a sense of relief when she saw the procession.
She would not be alone as she pa.s.sed the churchyard, and doubtless Micah Sorrel would be all too wise to make his appearance, but the next instant she gave a cry of alarm, for the pony first swerved violently, and then rushed off at full gallop. The red flag had startled him, and the children"s shouts were the final straw.
"Not quite so fast, darling," cried Sibyl; "a little slower, pet."
But pet and darling was past all remonstrances on the part of his little mistress. He flew on, having clearly made up his mind to run away from the red flag and the shouting children to the other end of the earth. In vain Sibyl jerked the reins and pulled and pulled. Her small face was white as death; her little arms seemed almost wrenched from their sockets. She kept her seat bravely. Someone driving a dog-cart was coming to meet her. A voice called--
"Hullo! Stop, for goodness" sake; don"t turn the corner. Stop! Stop!"
Sibyl heard the voice. She looked wildly ahead. She had no more power to stop the nameless pony than the earth has power to pause as it turns on its axis. The next instant the corner was reached; all seemed safe, when, with a sudden movement, the pony dashed madly forward, and Sibyl felt herself falling, she did not know where. There was an instant of intense and violent pain, stars shone before her eyes, and then everything was lost in blessed unconsciousness.
CHAPTER XV.
On a certain morning in the middle of July the _Gaika_ with Ogilvie on board entered the Brisbane River. He had risen early, as was his custom, and was now standing on deck. The lascars were still busy washing the deck. He went past them, and leaning over the taffrail watched the banks of low-lying mangroves which grew on either side of the river. The sun had just risen, and transformed the scene. Ogilvie raised his hat, and pushed the hair from his brow. His face had considerably altered, it looked worn and old. His physical health had not improved, notwithstanding the supposed benefit of a long sea voyage.
A man whose friendship he had made on board, and whose name was Harding, came up just then, and spoke to him.
"Well, Ogilvie," he cried, "we part very soon, but I trust we may meet again. I shall be returning to England in about three months from now.
When do you propose to go back?"
"I cannot quite tell," answered Ogilvie. "It depends on how soon my work is over; the sooner the better, as far as I am concerned."
"You don"t look too well," said his friend. "Can I get anything for you, fetch your letters, or anything of that sort?"
"I do not expect letters," was Ogilvie"s answer; "there may be one or two cables. I shall find out at the hotel."
Harding said something further. Ogilvie replied in an abstracted manner. He was thinking of Sibyl. It seemed to him that the little figure was near him, and the little spirit strangely in touch with his own. Of all people in the world she was the one he cared least to give his thoughts to just at that moment.
"And yet I am doing it for her," he muttered to himself. "I must go through with it; but while I am about it I want to forget her. My work lies before me--that dastardly work which is to stain my character and blemish my honor; but there is no going back now. Sibyl was unprovided for, and I have an affection of the heart which may end my days at any moment. For her sake I had no other course open to me. Now I shall not allow my conscience to speak again."
He made an effort to pull himself together, and as the big liner gradually neared the quay, he spoke in cheerful tones to his fellow-pa.s.sengers. Just as he pa.s.sed down the gangway, and landed on the quay, he heard a voice exclaim suddenly--
"Mr. Ogilvie, I believe?"
He turned, and saw a small, dapper-looking man, in white drill and a cabbage-tree hat, standing by his side.
"That is my name," replied Ogilvie; "and yours?"