The Admirable Lady Biddy Fane

"Falmouth bells! – Falmouth bells!"

"Yes," says I, touched by the plaintive joy in her voice, "they are calling us. We must go." So the next morning we rowed over to the gap in the mountains to see if the waters were suitable for our departure yet awhile; and there we found a great bar of refuse brought down by the winter flood and no water flowing into the lake; nor was there sufficient depth to float our canoe. This proved to me that we ought to have gone the moment I saw the water sinking, but for shame I dared not admit the truth.

"In a few days," says I, "the plain will be dry, and we shall be able to march well enough to the Baraquan."

"We must leave our canoe behind us, musn't we, Benet?" says my lady quietly.

"Ay, but what of that?" says I, shortly; "can not we make another?"

"Yes," says she; but not a word of reproach passed her lips, though she must have seen that I was to blame not to have started while there was yet water to float us back to the river. And so we returned to the cave without a word, for I was in a despicably bad temper, because I knew I was in fault for not going when my conscience bade me. This ill-humor possessed me all day, though frequently my lady essayed to return to our customary free and cordial understanding; only when night came and I lay awake I felt remorse and grief for my wicked delay in the first place, and my foolish perversity after. "Fool," says I to myself bitterly, "not content with robbing your dear lady of freedom, you have marred a day she would have rendered happy. It may be the last she will ever care to lighten for you."

I could not rest for the torment of my self-reproach. Getting out of my net I went softly in the dark to her kitchen, and passed my hand over the things she was wont to use.

"Here," says I to myself, touching her dresser – "here have we stood side by side grinding our cassavy, mirthful and light-hearted. Why were we so happy and content? Because I had none but good intent towards her; because she was confident in me. Will she ever have faith in me again, knowing I have let slip her chance to escape? Can we ever more be happy together?"

Before daybreak I rowed over to the gap, and thence as soon as it was light I perceived that vast plain green as far as the eye could reach with the young shoots of reeds, laid bare by the further sinking of the water; but for some distance round and about the gap and extending by the hill, where the water had flowed in from the Baraquan, was a great bed of yellow mud, neither firm enough for the foot nor liquid enough for the canoe. Seeing, therefore, that no escape was possible until this mud grew hard (if ever it should), I went back very desolate to the cavern. And there was our morning meal spread on fair fresh leaves, which Lady Biddy employed for a table-cloth, and that dear creature waiting to greet me with a cheerful bright countenance, as if she had naught to reproach me with, though I marked a shade of anxiety beneath her sweet smile.

I told her where I had been, and, putting as good a face on it as well I could, added that we must wait a few days for the ground to harden ere we started again upon our journey. "But," thinks I, "'twill never harden, for surely from those hills there must dribble streams that flow into the lake; and here must my dear patient lady linger another whole year." And with this reflection, despite all my efforts to seem easy and hopeful, I fell into a despondent mood.

CHAPTER LX

WE TRY ANOTHER MEANS OF ESCAPE, WHEREBY WE ARE AS NEARLY UNDONE AS MAY BE

Presently my little comrade (as I call her) got up from her chair, and seating herself beside me on my stone stool, laid her hand very tenderly on my arm, and says she gently:

"You will tell me what is amiss, Benet, won't you?"

Upon this I told her my trouble, and how I must blame myself night and day for not having started to get back into the Baraquan when the rains first gave over and the water began to sink.

"Why," says she, "'twas too late; for sure the water must have ceased to overflow from the great river before it ceased to flow into the lake, and, therefore, we must have found at the entrance to the Baraquan just such a deposit of impassable mud as lies at the entrance of the lake. Thus, had we started when your conscience very unwisely bade you, we should have been finely served, for there must we have stuck betwixt two barriers, neither able to go forward nor to get back. Nor do I see," adds she, "how we were to have mended matters, for it had been madness to start before the rains ceased, and 'twas too late when they had."

In this manner did she reason with me, to my ineffable comfort, for naught that she urged was less cogent than tenderly considerate. But what delighted me even more than getting this heavy load of responsibility taken from my shoulders was the evidence of her admirable judgment and good sense in this matter; for though her wealth of goodness beggared me indeed by comparison, I was better pleased a hundredfold to admire her wisdom and feeling than if I had suddenly discovered myself blessed with these excellent qualities.

"Cousin," says I, "the justice of your conclusions leaves me no ground for regrets, save that I had not previously consulted you in this business."

"Why," says she with a merry laugh, "that is a regret I would not remove, for it may prompt you not to leave your 'little comrade' at home in perplexity next time you go a-boating in the dark."

After that we went together day after day across the lake to examine the ground; but 'twas no better on the seventh day than on the first, but worse, for then we gave up all hope of the ground ever getting firm enough to traverse. As I feared, the springs and rills from the hills kept it continually moist, and the ground, being nothing but filthy ooze, gave no hold whatever to the foot, as I found to my cost, when I attempted it, sinking up to my middle ere I had gone two paces, and with the greatest difficulty getting back with no worse misfortune. In addition to this, as the sun grew in power, this slough began to fester and putrefy, throwing off stinking vapors that raised our gorge. But that which made this pestilent belt more abhorrent to my lady then all else was the prodigious number of great worms and hideous reptiles that came hither to writhe and wallow in the foul slime. So (as I say) at the end of a week we decided that no issue by that part was possible.

And now I began to cast my eye at the mountains that hemmed us in, for I was bent upon getting away, and would harbor no thought of staying there, however I might be tempted by inclination that way; and spying one part which looked more broken than any other, I begged my lady to let me go and see if it were any way passable. But she would not hear of my going alone, though willing enough to go anywhere if she might share the peril; so provided with a store of food for the day and a stout stick apiece, we started off early one morning to make the venture.

For the first few hours we got on well enough, by the help of our sticks and such shrubs as grew in the fissures and cracks; but when we reached that part where the mountain was less broken and no herbs grew, our troubles began; and to tell of all our difficulties – how we had to leap like goats in one part, and climb with hands and feet like cats in another; how we had to go back and try new ways time out of mind – would be tedious indeed; but, to cut this matter short, we came about three in the afternoon to where the mountain rose sheer up on one side, and lay in a great smooth flat table, inclining towards the lake, on the other, and there was no way to go forward but upon this sloping table. And here I would have my lady desist from further adventuring; "for," says I, "if our foot slip, naught can save us from sliding down this rock as down the roof of a house, and shooting ourselves a thousand feet on to the crags below."

"But our foot must not slip, Benet," says she. "And there is no more danger here than we have encountered before."

Still I hesitated, but she, thinking I was concerned only for her, urged me to go on; and I, on the other hand, considering that this was our last and only chance of escape, at length consented, only bargaining that she should give me her hand to hold.

"Ay," says she, "that will I willingly; for if you go I have no mind to stay behind."

"Nor I neither," says I. And so, recommending ourselves to Providence, we went forward with our hands locked together.

Now went we along in this sort without accident a hundred yards, maybe, and then to my horror (I being ahead, with my eyes fixed on the rock under my feet) I discovered that we had come to the end of that sloping rock, and that another step would have plunged me down a great yawning fissure that showed no bottom; all was black below.

"What is it, Benet?" says my lady, as I came to a stand, for she dared not take her eyes from the ground, lest she should be seized with a vertigo.

"We must go back," says I quietly; "there is an abyss beside me which we can not cross."

"Very well," says she after a moment's pause. "Tell me when you are ready."

"We will wait a minute till your strength comes back," says I, for I felt her fingers quivering, despite my close hold.

"Nay, let us go at once, lest my courage fail," says she faintly. "But have a care when you come to the little ledge: it is loose; I felt it slide under my foot."

"Let me change places, that I may go first," says I.

"No, no!" cries she in an agony, as I was about to move; "for Heaven's sake, do not venture down the slope to pass me – do not leave go of my hand."

"So be it," says I; "but do prythee await till you feel stouter of heart." And then I tried to restore her confidence by all the means I could; but indeed my own heart quailed within me. For to realize our terrible position, you must fancy yourself standing on the steep roof of the highest cathedral, with no parapet to arrest your fall, and one of the slates so loose that it may slip under your foot, no matter how carefully you step.

"Thank you, Benet," says my dear lady. "You have brought my courage back. Come, let us go."

So with that she begins that backward journey; but now, instead of looking to the rock under my own feet, I was casting my eyes to my dear lady's for that loose rock she had spoken of. Presently I caught sight of it – a great slab that lay on the slope, with no space behind for a footing, and too wide to step across. And seeing this I sought with an eager fury for some means of stopping our fall if this slab should slide under our feet, but I could spy nothing but a fissure behind the slab, into which I might by chance thrust my arm in falling.

Now scarcely had my eye made this out when my dear lady stepped on the slab, and, to my sickening horror, I perceived it tilt a little, being very nicely poised; and doubtless had I set my foot firmly upon it at that moment, our combined weight would have held it firm and stationary, as it had in passing over it before, until it was released of my weight. But this did not occur to my slow wit at the right time – nay, rather, seeing this movement, I held back, and would have drawn my lady away. This hesitation (and maybe a little jerk I gave in my terror to her hand) was fatal, for ere I could cry aloud to her the great slab slid, and my dear lady, in striving to keep her balance, lost her footing and fell; then seeing that I was like to be drawn down the slope myself, when nothing in the world could have saved us from sliding with the slab to perdition, I threw myself on my face, and, flinging aside my stick, thrust my arm down that rent in the rock of which I have made mention. Thus I lay sprawled on that steep incline, half the length of my left arm wedged in the fissure above my head, and my right hand linked to my Lady Biddy's as she lay prone upon the slab.

My sole thought was to hold my dear lady, and this was no slight matter, for the edge of the slab had caught in her waist-belt, so that for a moment she and that great mass of rock hung, as I may say, on my bent arm. In that moment the bone of my forearm snapped like a dry stick, and indeed I thought my muscles must be torn asunder also, so sharp and strong was the strain upon it; but, thanks be to God, my lady's belt bursting, the slab slid from beneath her, and so was I relieved of that prodigious weight.

We heard the slab screech as it grated down the slope; then followed an interval of silence, in which one might have counted a score, followed by a great crash as the rock fell upon the crags below, smiting my soul with awe to think how we had surely been hurled down with it to our utter destruction but for a mercy of Providence.

But my arm was powerless to draw myself up, and fearing the torment of it might take away my senses, so that I might let my lady's hand slip, I called to her.

"Cousin," says I, "are you hurt sorely?"

"No," replies she faintly, "only frightened, Benet."

"God be praised!" says I. "And so do, if you may, roll hither and climb up by my body to the rock above, for I have no strength left."

And this she did, but with great pain and trouble, for the dear soul trembled in every limb, and was faint from the shock. I helped her as well as I might with my right arm, yet could I do but little for my own sickness. However, she presently got strength from a source which never fails to invigorate such hearts as hers; for, coming as high as my shoulder, she cries:

"Dear Benet, your arm is broken"; and with that she quits my body and starts to her feet, which had she not dared to do under other conditions.

"Nay," says I, "take no heed of that, but do place your feet upon that crevice, which will give you a good hold."

"Ay, surely," says she, stepping up briskly. "Now may I help you, my poor Benet; give me your right hand, and have no fear. See how strong I am!"

Indeed, in helping me to my feet she proved herself as lusty as any man; and in getting from that horrid slope to a place of safety I owed more to her a hundredfold than she to me.

Of her readiness and tenderness in making a sling to bear my arm; of her gentle, encouraging words as she led the way down the rocks to our cavern, ever choosing the way most direct and least difficult for me; of her thoughtfulness in running forward to fetch me cool water from a spring to sup; of these things, I say, and many others, I have no words to speak, for no words that I know of can do her justice.

CHAPTER LXI

I FALL INTO A DISMAL SICKNESS, AND RECOVER THEREOF

When we were got into our cavern, my dear lady, of her own hand and wit, cut some strips of bark to serve as splints, and some of that grass which she used to shred for threads; then ripping up the sleeve of my doublet she, with her gentle, soft fingers, set the bone of my broken arm, and bound it up in the bark as ably and well as any clever surgeon could have served me. After that, seeing that the sweat of agony stood on my face, despite the joy it gave me to feel the touch of her sweet hand, and to note how admirably skillful she was in this business (as in all else), she would have me lie down awhile; and to this end she spread one of our mats on the floor of our living-room, that I might get the benefit of the air, and made up a pillow for my head with a bundle of soft herbs that we kept in store for the conies; and scarce had I laid my head down with a look and a little murmur to express my heartfelt gratitude (for I had no power to speak) when the things about me seemed to swim round and round, and I lost consciousness.

I lay in a foolish dream some time (though what absurdity was in my mind I cannot recall), and waking at length to my proper senses, the first thing I observed was that something cool and soft pressed my forehead, and looking up I perceived my little comrade kneeling beside me, with grave wistfulness in her deep eyes.

"What o'clock is it?" says I, like any fool.

"Nay, never mind about the hour, dear Benet," says she tenderly; and with that she shifts her hand, which was that I felt so gratefully cool on my forehead. But she shifted it only to set the other in its place, whereupon I sighed with comfort. Seeing I was pleased, she smiled sweetly, and says she:

"D'ye know me, Benet?"

"Ay, cousin," says I, "why should I not?"

"'Tis three days since you last called me 'cousin.' Your mind has been wandering away from me."

"Is it possible?" says I.

"I feared you were going to leave me here alone for ever," says she, her voice trembling, and her eyes twinkling with a tear. "But you've come back to me after all," adds she with a faint laugh, and a little gulp as she turned aside to dash the tears away with her unoccupied hand.

"God be praised!" says I.

"Amen, amen, amen!" says she with passion. "And now do you taste of this broth I have made."

So I quickly made a shift to sit up, with her help, and eagerly emptied the gourd of the broth she had prepared; for not only was I prodigious hungry, but a stout determination seized me that I would overcome my weakness, and give this dear, dear companion no further anxiety.

"Give me some more if you have it, cousin," says I.

"To be sure I have more," says she. "What sort of a housewife should I be if my larder were empty when I expected company?"

Watching her narrowly as she hurried herself to refill the gourd, I observed, with a keen pang of sorrow, that her sweet face was thin and worn with care, albeit her fair countenance was overspread with a glow of happy contentment.

She bade me lie down again when I had emptied the second bowl of broth; and then, to please me, she brought her breakfast (for 'twas early morning), and ate it sitting on the ground beside me, which was her will and not mine. And when I asked her what had been amiss with me, she told me I had been light-headed, and would for ever be a-starting off to find my uncle Sir Bartlemy, though too weak to rise, and obedient to her hand, though I knew her not. "But," says she, "since yesterday morning you have had no strength even to speak, and I have heard no sound but – " She stopped, but I knew by the sound that rose from her tender bosom it was her own sobs she had heard. "But all that is past," says she cheerily; "and now you will soon be well again, and strong, won't you?"

"Ay," says I, "I promise you I'll be master of those mountains in a week."

"Benet," says she earnestly, "you must grant me a favor."

"With all my soul," says I.

"Then promise me you will never again essay to pass those terrible mountains. Promise!" says she. "And this also – that you will not approach that pestilent marsh, for I do think 'tis the fetid mists from the corruption there which has thrown you into this sickness."

"You ask too much of me," says I, "for how, but by one of these ways, can I hope to carry you hence? You have not reflected on that."

"Yes, I have," says she quietly. "I know that I am asking you to stay with me in the captivity to which our fortunes have brought us. Have we not sought by all the means in our power to escape? If Providence willed us to go hence, should we be thus cruelly rebuffed? Is it not better, Benet, to live here together than to perish singly? Oh, I cannot bear the thought of that. To be left alone – no one to speak to – no voice to cheer me! Have we been unhappy? Can we ever be without comfort, striving each to make the other happy? We may yet improve our cabin: the summer is at hand."

"Say not another word," says I; "I ask no more than to continue as we have lived." Indeed, I was like to have become light-headed again with the prospect revealed to me and the overflow of joy in my heart; and this tumult of emotion threw me back again, not yet being quit of my fever, so that I lay down exhausted in a kind of lethargy, from which I could not arouse myself even to taste the food from my dear lady's hand, which she has prepared for me. Nay, towards evening I felt as if my last hour had come for weakness, and when she, kneeling by my side, laid her sweet, cool hand upon my head as before, asking me how I did, 'twas with much ado I could open my eyes to reply by a look that I was very easy in my mind, as indeed I was, suffering no sort of pain, but only a very sweet dreaminess to think she was to be my companion always. So I lay with my drowsiness growing on me, never moving a hand-stir till the moon rose and shone upon me through the mouth of the cavern, where doubtless I looked like one dead, as I think, for my dear lady, still kneeling beside me, began to weep softly, which, though I heard it, I could find no check by any hopeful sign, because of my heaviness. Then, taking my hand and bending low, she murmurs with a broken voice, and such disconsolate tones as were enough to move the heart of the dead:

"You won't leave me, Benet dear – you won't leave me!"

And at that I managed to open my eyes and say "No"; therewith making bold to lift her hand a little. Then she, seeing what I would be at, aided me, so that I laid her lovely hand on my mouth and kissed it.

So, animated with a new vigor, and a sturdy determination that I would not yield to this faintness, but would master it for her sake, I contrived to ask her if she would make me a potion of those herbs the Ingas had given us, which I thought would do me good.

"I have it here ready," says she, "if you can but raise your head to drink of it. Wait; let me slip my arm under your head and around your neck – so."

In this tender fashion she helped me to rise, and set the gourd to my lips, from which I drank the brew to the bottom, which was as good as any apothecaries' drugs, and full as bitter.

This potion, together with my persevering resolution, did me a world of good, so that in a couple of hours I felt strong enough to get up on my feet, if needs be; perceiving which, my lady acceded to my entreaty, and laid herself down to take some repose, which she needed sorely, for I doubt if she had closed an eye all through my sickness. For my own part, I had no longer inclination to sleep, but lay devising means for improving our cavern as my lady had suggested, for one thing resolving I would try to make a partition to my lady's chamber that would let in the light, and yet secure her privacy, which I proposed to do with a sash of canes stretched over with bladder-skin; "and thereon," thinks I, "may she paint some pretty devices with such juice-stains as we can get, that it may have all the pleasant gay look of a painted glass window."

'Twas a great pleasure to me devising all this, but the telling of it the next morning to my lady was yet greater joy, for the delight she showed in the scheme. She brought her chair up, and sitting beside me listened with sparkling eyes a whole hour to all I had to say on this trumpery; but no matter seemed paltry to her which interested me, and I do believe she would have given her serious thought to discourse on a fiddlestick's end if my mind had been bent that way, so entire was her sympathy.

"Benet," says she in the end, "I do think there is no man in the world so ingenious as you in the service of a friend, nor so unselfish neither. For while you thought I wished to quit this place, naught could exhaust your patience in seeking the means; and now that you find I would stay, your first moments of consciousness are devoted to making my life here agreeable. Nay, it seems to me that you have overcome your sickness because you saw that my happiness, my very life, depended on it."

"Why, so I have," said I; and therewith I told her how that I had taken that resolution to live when I felt myself sinking into the heaviness of death.

She looked at me with kind, wondering eyes as I spoke, and for some moments sat in silence, her hands folded on her knees, and bending towards me. Then says she, "Oh! Benet, if we all strove to live for our friends as readily as we offer to die for them, how much more should we merit their love!"

Soon after this she took her bow and arrows and went off in the canoe to seek food for our supper in the wooded slope; but the dear girl did so steer her course that I might as long as possible see her from where I lay by the mouth of the cavern.

CHAPTER LXII

I AM PUT TO GREAT TORMENT BY MY PASSION

As soon as I was strong enough to get about, I went daily with my lady into the woods a-hunting; but as yet my left arm was useless, though getting strong apace, so that I could but play the part of squire to her. But, Lord! to see how dexterous she was with the bow, did give me more pride and pleasure than any of my own prowess. Yet from the tenderness of her love for all living things she was averse from this practice, which we men regard as an amusing pastime, and therefore would she kill nothing but that which was necessary to our existence.