When she got to his bedside she found that a great change had taken place during her absence. Her father turned his dim eye towards her as she entered, but had scarcely strength to speak, or beckon her with his hands. She bent over him.
"Nelly dear, where is Michael?" he asked, "I want to bless him, he must come quickly, for I have not long to stay."
"He has not come on sh.o.r.e yet, father, but Uncle Lanaherne is looking out for him," said Nelly.
"I wanted to see him again," whispered Paul. "It will be too late if he does not come now; so tell him, Nelly, that I do bless him, and I bless you, Nelly, bless you, bless you;" and his voice became fainter.
Nelly, seeing a change come over her father"s features, cried out for her granny. Dame Lanreath hastened into the room. The old woman saw at a glance what had happened. Paul Trefusis was dead.
Closing his eyes, she took her grandchild by the hand, and led her out of the room.
Some time pa.s.sed, however, before Nelly could realise what had happened.
"Your father has gone, Nelly, but he has gone to heaven, and is happier far than he ever was or ever could be down on earth even in the best of times. Bad times may be coming, and G.o.d in His love and mercy took him that he might escape them."
"But, then, why didn"t G.o.d take us?" asked Nelly, looking up. "I would have liked to die with him. Bad times will be as hard for us to bear as for him."
"G.o.d always does what is best, and He has a reason for keeping us on earth," answered the dame. "He has kept me well-nigh fourscore years, and given me health and strength, and good courage to bear whatever I have had to bear, and He will give you strength, Nelly, according to your need."
"Ah, I was wicked to say what I did," answered Nelly; "but I am sad about father and you and myself, and very sad, too, about Michael. He will grieve so when he comes home and finds father gone, if he comes at all. And, O granny, I begin to fear that he won"t come home! what has happened to him I cannot tell; and if you had seen the heavy sea there was rolling outside you would fear the worst."
"Still, Nelly, we must trust in G.o.d; if He has taken Michael, He has done it for the best, not the worst, Nelly," answered Dame Lanreath.
"But when I say this, Nelly, I don"t want to stop your tears, they are given in mercy to relieve your grief; but pray to G.o.d, Nelly, to help us; He will do so--only trust Him."
CHAPTER FIVE.
The day was drawing to a close when the storm, which had been threatening all the morning on which Paul Trefusis died, swept fiercely up the harbour, showing that the wind had again shifted to the westward.
Poor Nelly, though cast down with grief at her father"s death, could not help trembling as she thought of Michael, exposed as she knew he must be to its rage. Was he, too, to be taken away from them?
She was left much alone, as Dame Lanreath had been engaged, with the a.s.sistance of a neighbour, in the sad duty of laying out the dead man.
Nelly several times had run out to look down the harbour, hoping against hope that she might see Michael"s boat sailing up it.
At length, in spite of the gale, she made her way to Reuben Lanaherne"s cottage. His wife and daughter were seated at their work, but he was not there. Agitated and breathless from encountering the fierce wind, she could scarcely speak as she entered.
"Sit down, maiden; what ails thee?" said Dame Lanaherne, rising, and kindly placing her on a stool by her side.
Nelly could only answer with sobs.
Just then old Reuben himself entered, shaking the spray from his thick coat.
"How is thy father, Nelly?" he asked.
"He has gone," she answered, sobbing afresh. "And, O Uncle Reuben, have you seen Michael"s boat? can you tell me where he is?"
"I have not forgotten him, Nelly, and have been along the sh.o.r.e as far as I could make my way on the chance that he might have missed the harbour, and had run for Kynance Cove, but not a sign of him or his boat could I see. I wish I had better news for you, Nelly. And your good father gone too! Don"t take on so--he is free from pain now--happy in heaven; and there is One above Who will look after Michael, though what has become of him is more than I can tell you."
The old fisherman"s words brought little comfort to poor Nelly, though he and his wife and daughter did their best to console her. They pressed her to remain with them, but she would not be absent longer from her granny, and, thanking them for their kindness, hurried homewards.
The wind blew fiercely, but no rain had as yet fallen.
Their neighbour, having rendered all the a.s.sistance required, had gone away, and the old dame and her young grandchild sat together side by side in the outer room. They could talk only of Michael. The dame did not dare to utter what she thought. His small boat might have been swamped in the heavy sea, or he might have fallen overboard and been unable to regain her; or, attempting to land on a rocky coast, she might have been dashed to pieces, and he swept off by the receding surf. Such had been the fate of many she had known.
As each succeeding gust swept by, poor Nelly started and trembled in spite of her efforts to keep calm.
At length down came the rain battering against the small panes of gla.s.s.
At that instant there was a knocking at the door.
"Can you give us shelter from the storm, good folks?" said a voice; and, the latch being lifted, an elderly gentleman, accompanied by two ladies, one of whom was young and the other more advanced in life, appeared at the entrance.
They evidently took it for granted that they should not be denied.
"You are welcome, though you come to a house of mourning," said Dame Lanreath, rising, while Nelly hastened to place stools for them to sit on.
"I am afraid, then, that we are intruders," said the gentleman, "and we would offer to go on, but my wife and daughter would be wet through before we could reach any other shelter."
"We would not turn any one away, especially you and Mistress Tremayne,"
said the dame, looking at the elder lady.
"What! do you know us?" asked the gentleman.
"I know Mistress Tremayne and the young lady from her likeness to what I recollect of her mother," answered Dame Lanreath. "I seldom forget a person I once knew, and she has often bought fish of me in days gone by."
"And I, too, recollect you. If I mistake not you used to be pretty widely known as Polly Lanreath," said the lady, looking at the old fish-wife.
"And so I am now, Mistress Tremayne," answered the dame, "though not known so far and wide as I once was. I can still walk my twenty miles a-day; but years grow on one; and when I see so many whom I have known as children taken away, I cannot expect to remain hale and strong much longer."
"You have altered but little since I knew you," observed Mrs Tremayne, "and I hope that you may retain your health and strength for many years to come."
"That"s as G.o.d wills," said the dame. "I pray it may be so for the sake of my little Nelly here."
"She is your grandchild, I suppose," observed Mrs Tremayne.
"Ay, and the only one I have got to live for now. Her father has just gone, and she and I are left alone."
"O granny, but there is Michael; don"t talk of him as gone," exclaimed Nelly. "He will come back, surely he will come back."
This remark of Nelly"s caused Mr and Mrs Tremayne to make further inquiries.
They at first regretted that they had been compelled to take shelter in the cottage, but as the dame continued talking, their interest in what she said increased.
"It seemed strange, Mistress Tremayne, that you should have come here at this moment," she observed. "Our Michael is the grandson of one whom you knew well in your childhood; she was Nancy Trewinham, who was nurse in the family of your mother, Lady Saint Mabyn; and you, if I mistake not, were old enough at the time to remember her."
"Yes, indeed, I do perfectly well; and I have often heard my mother express her regret that so good and gentle a young woman should have married a man who, though apparently well-to-do in the world, was more than suspected to be of indifferent character," said the lady. "We could gain no intelligence of her after she left Penzance, though I remember my father saying that he had no doubt a noted smuggler whose vessel was lost off this coast was the man she had married. Being interested in her family, he made inquiries, but could not ascertain whether she had survived her unhappy husband or not. And have you, indeed, taken charge of her grandson in addition to those of your own family whom you have had to support?"
"It was not I took charge of the boy, but my good son-in-law, who lies dead there," said the dame. "He thought it but a slight thing, and only did what he knew others would do by him."