Chapter XVII: Homeless

STILL the water mounted. Would Brian never come, and would the night never end? After a time, Hope began to fear lest something had happened to her brother. She eyed the window nervously and apprehensively. That, and that only, was their means of exit now, unless the water sank as quickly as it had risen. She went once more to the stairs, and found it was nearly to the top. Then she feared that the old walls of the cottage might be so undermined with the water that it would all collapse. She shook the casement window. Brian had brought up his toolbox, so she very deliberately began to loosen the hinges and the frame. She was thankful the wood was so old and rotten that it gave away under her blows. Her father seemed unconscious of the noise, and indeed the storm of wind and rain that still shrieked down the chimneys and round the cottage drowned everything else.

"They must come to our rescue," she repeated to herself; and then, as she raised her eyes for the hundredth time, she saw lanterns flashing in the distance. She caught her breath in suspense.

Were they coming towards the cottage? Would they pass her by? And then with relief and thankfulness she heard Brian's shout, and the splash of oars. They were coming along the road in a boat. Every now and then obstacles got in their way, and they were caught in trees and bushes; but once she was convinced that rescue was near, she began to make her preparations. When they eventually reached the window, Brian looked up.

"I have been delayed, but I never thought the water would rise so rapidly. Are you ready? We have a ladder; I will come up."

It seemed only a few minutes now before Brian and the two men with him accomplished the rescue. It was a difficult task carrying Mr. St. Clair down, and when he was in the boat, Brian bent over him anxiously.

"He is bad!" he said shortly to Hope.

"I am afraid he is. I don't like his breathing. He seems quite unconscious; but he has spoken quite plainly twice."

No more was said. It was as much as the men could do to steer the boat safely along. Hope looked back at the cottage.

"Are we leaving it to its fate?" she asked.

"We must till the morning. This will mean ruin to a good many besides ourselves."

"Where can we go?"

"Mrs. Goddles' cottage is safe, being above the level of the river. She is prepared to take you in."

Half an hour later, Mr. St. Clair was comfortably settled in bed in Mrs. Goddles' best bedroom.

The good woman seemed too scared to be garrulous. But when she had done all that was required of her, and brought Hope a cup of tea, her tongue was unloosed.

"'Tis an awful visitation, miss! My 'usband, 'e be up at the weir diggin' and workin' hisself to death. There be five cottages, bottom end of village, covered right up; 'The Crown' be crowded out with the women and children; an' Mr. Brian have covered 'imself with glory this night. He have saved life after life! He swims like a fish, and is so hard an' strong. Why, the men have bin takin' his orders right through. Dr. Rush come along an hour gone. 'Doctor,' says I, 'the work be nearly done, an' the waters, accordin' to Scripture, be abatin'.' 'E says—"

"Stop!" cried Hope. "Is Doctor Rush in the village? Can we find him? He ought to see my father."

Brian had gone out again. Dawn was breaking, and there was plenty of work for him, for the damage to cattle and crops was great, and the farmers and villagers were working hard, trying to save all they could.

"He be gone to old Squire Spencer. My 'usband 'ave been in an' told me it all. T' old Squire went down to his stables, an' the river bursted an' caught him betwixt the stable an' the house; an' he climbed a tree, the Squire did; but 'e hollers, an' no one heard 'im, an' then 'e lost his 'old an' tumbled into the water, an' 'e hollered agen an' Mr. Brian heard 'im, an' he run along an' dashed in the water, an' took 'im on his back, an' got 'im safe 'ome; but the old man have broke his leg, an' Doctor Rush be with 'im now a-putting it together agen."

"Oh!" said Hope. "Could any one go and tell him we want him? Could you go, Mrs. Goddles?"

"If so be the water will keep out of my way. 'Usband, 'e says we be ten foot out o' danger, but what the road will be like I can't reckon. Any-ways, I'll have a try, for I be likely to get the news, an' that be worth 'earin'!"

She put on her bonnet and cloak and departed.

Again it was Hope's duty to watch by her father's bedside. It seemed to her as if the past night had been one long nightmare; she even now felt as if she might wake up and find it all a dream.

A man presently ran by in the road.

"'Tis over, the river be easin' down," he said, as he saw Hope's head at the window.

She heaved a sigh of relief.

Before very long Mrs. Goddles returned with the doctor. He came straight in, and without a word went to Mr. St. Clair's bedside.

"I can't rouse him," said Hope; "he has been in this stupor for quite two hours. I'm afraid the move was too much for him."

"I expect it was," Dr. Rush said gravely. Then he looked at Hope in silence for a minute.

"You never will rouse him now," he said, "he is sinking fast!"

Hope's heart nearly stopped beating; she could not believe it.

"He spoke to me in the night twice! Surely he cannot be dying, Doctor? Oh, where is Brian?"

"I will try to find him, and send him to you. There is nothing to be done. I will come in again shortly. It has been a terrible business, this flood!"

"But surely you will do something?" Hope asked desperately.

"There is nothing to be done," was the quiet reply. "He does not suffer, and the end will be peaceful."

Hope put her head into her hands and burst into tears. The suspense of the long night had thoroughly unnerved her.

"I will send your brother to you," Dr. Rush repeated, and he left the cottage.

Poor Hope struggled for composure. She felt as if an end had come to everything. Mrs. Goddles stood looking at her as if she hardly knew what to say.

"The poor dear gentleman!" she ejaculated at last. "Well, I ain't one o' those who object to corpses in the house; the last one—"

Hope broke away from her, shuddering, and locked herself into the bedroom with her dying father. She opened the door a little later to Brian. He was wet to the skin, his clothes saturated and heavy with water, and his whole appearance dishevelled and weary.

"I must change," he whispered, "if I can get a dry suit of clothes from Mrs. Goddles, and then I will come to you."

He stood for a second looking down upon his father with tender pitying eyes. Then he disappeared, and when he came in again he was attired in Bob Goddles' black broadcloth Sunday suit. Hope could have laughed, if she had not been so sad, at the comical figure he cut.

Together brother and sister watched by the inanimate form of their father. Occasionally a whispered word passed between them. Hope told Brian of her father's last words.

"I so little thought they would be his last. I suppose he knew more than I did that he was going to pass so soon from us, 'Even for evermore.'"

Two hours afterwards Mr. St. Clair quietly drew his last breath, and Brian persuaded Hope to go into another room and take a rest. "Mrs. Goddles and I will do everything that is necessary. You have been up all night. Try to get some sleep."

"The boys?" said Hope wearily.

"I will go to the Vicarage. They will have to stay there for the present. I'm sure the Vicar will keep them."

Hope said no more. She was physically and mentally worn out. She threw herself upon a small iron bed in the little attic room, and sleep came mercifully to her at once. It was late in the afternoon when she awoke, and then there was much to decide and arrange with her brother.

The village, though still inundated in its low parts, was rapidly recovering from the excitement into which it had been thrown. The water was ebbing fast away, for a band of willing workers had cut channels through the low-lying fields that took the water back to the river lower down. Only one death had occurred besides Mr. St. Clair's, and that was a baby of a few weeks old, who had been dropped by its mother in her frantic flight, and had in falling struck its head against a stone and expired instantly. But numbers of sheep had been drowned, and several young bullocks.

In a day or two, all signs of the flood had disappeared. But King's Dell Cottage was too damp to live in. Hope and Brian found lodgings with Mrs. Goddles, whilst the boys were made at home in the Vicarage. Mr. St. Clair's funeral was a very quiet one. After it was over, Hope and Brian began to discuss the future. Their father's lawyer came down from town, and he read the will that Mr. St. Clair had made the first week he landed in England. To Hope's dismay, there was absolutely no mention of her in it. Everything was left to Brian to be equally divided between himself and his brothers. It was but a very small sum, something under £3,000, and when Brian turned apologetically to his sister, saying:

"You see, father was entirely persuaded that Aunt Gertrude would provide for you."

She smiled and said:

"It is not enough to divide at all, Brian. I am so glad you have it."

"Well," he said, "of course you'll be going out to India soon."

"And will you go back to Canada?"

"Yes, I think so. Our cottage is such a wreck, and it's such hard work in England, that I'll sell it cheap to any one who wants it."

"Oh," said Hope, "don't give it up yet. I feel it will be a harbour of refuge for me. There is no rent to pay, and we have the furniture, and we have still the poultry."

The lawyer went back to town, and the next morning Hope went over to the cottage. Brian had received a summons to go to Mr. Spencer, so she went alone.

It was a sad sight. The orchard was a sea of mud and water; the fowl-houses had all been swept away. Several apple-trees had been rooted up. All Brian's careful tilling of the soil for vegetables had come to nothing; the kitchen smelt and reeked with damp, tables and chairs had become unglued and lay about the floor in bits, bedding and small knick-knacks had been washed out of the windows upon the grass; the red-bricked path was the only thing that seemed to have stood the raging flood.

Hope stood, feeling the desolation of it keenly. And then a fresh young voice sounded in her ear. "Miss St. Clair, please don't look so sad! I haven't had any talk with you alone yet since that dreadful flood! May I stay with you a little, or would you rather be alone?"

Hope turned and kissed Kitty affectionately.

"We have been in such trouble, dear. I'm afraid I have been selfish. I can't tell you how good it is of you to keep the boys at the Vicarage. I hope they give no trouble."

"No, I see they don't. They're awfully frightened of me, I can tell you. I locked the imps in that night. Oh, how splendid your brother was! Did you know all he did?"

"I was too much engrossed with—"

"Yes, I forgot. Forgive me, and though I can't spout sympathy like Avice, I really am awfully sorry for you. I little thought what tragedy would be mixed up with my time of excitement. And death is so dreadful, it seems so horribly unnatural; and of course you're missing him awfully, only I suppose he is having a much better time where he is, isn't he? I can't talk religion, but you'll remember all that, of course. Oh, you dear, do let me give you a hug; and be sure to send me off if I worry you!"

Hope was smiling through her tears. She drew Kitty's arm in hers, and walked up and down the path, the only dry spot for their feet.

"You're doing me good already. I won't be miserable. Death is not horrible when you have hope through it for others."

"Do you know that it was just a chance I'm not dead?" said Kitty solemnly. "Do let me tell you. Of course I didn't go to bed that night, and I slipped out of the house directly I heard the horn. You see, I was dreadfully uneasy about old Mrs. Pitman, for I knew if the dam burst by the weir, she would be flooded at once. So I tore off to her, and sure enough the water was rushing into her little garden and all round her house. She was in bed and asleep, poor old thing. You've no idea what a business it was to wake her and dress her. She wouldn't understand, and when the water at last came into her kitchen, then she insisted upon being dressed in her very best.

"'And my boots, me dear,' she said—'my Sunday 'lastic boots, they wants a deal o' pulling. I gen'elly allows half-hour to that, for me feet are so tender!'

"When I'd got her out, we had to wade through the water up to our knees. And then the poor old thing tumbled down, and a rush and swirl of water carried her clean away from me. I saw her being washed away in the current; I was so thankful I could swim, for I followed her and caught hold of her, and then managed to get her up on the top of a hayrick, which was half under water.

"We sat on the top and shouted for help, and the water got higher and higher. Then I heard your brother's voice. He told me to hold on, for he was coming, but he couldn't get his boat very near us, for there was a huge hedge between. So he got out and swam to us, and took old Mrs. Pitman on his back in safety to his boat. Then he came back for me, but before he could reach me, a great rushing wave swept me off and carried me with the current just like Mrs. Pitman had gone. I struggled, but it was no good, and then I felt I was drowning, and then in the nick of time your brother gripped hold of me. I was so thankful, and so grateful to him, for I made quite sure I was going to die. They say in the village he saved quite a dozen people altogether, Mr. Spencer included. He is quite a hero!"

"I wish I had known," said Hope regretfully; "I had hard thoughts of him when he left me."

"He didn't forget you, for he kept saying, 'I must get back to Hope.' Oh, dear, when it comes, I don't think a flood at all nice. The mud and wet everywhere is awful, and what a ruin your pretty little cottage is! Don't you feel inclined to cry over it? Shall we light some fires and try to dry it up?"

"I thought of doing that, but there are no dry sticks anywhere. Everything is soaked with the water."

"When are you coming back to it?"

"I don't know our plans," Hope said sadly. "Now my father has gone, Brian wants to go back to Canada. We shall stay on with Mrs. Goddles for the present."

Kitty was singularly silent. She seemed quite dismayed with such tidings.

"I thought you would be here always," she said at last. "It's too bad, for I do like you all so much."

They did not stay much longer at the cottage, and when they parted, Hope said:

"Don't look so unhappy, Kitty. We have not gone yet; and I do not mean to go out to Canada, it is only Brian."

"Only Brian!" repeated Kitty to herself, as she walked disconsolately home. "But then he isn't 'only Brian' to me!"

That same evening Hope and her brother sat in Mrs. Goddles' best parlour over the fire, and discussed their plans for the future.

"That old Spencer is a rum chap," said Brian. "What do you think he wants me to do? To live with him and manage his farms. Be a kind of bailiff, in fact."

"But that would be a good thing, would it not?"

Brian shook his head.

"No, his farms are going to pieces; he's so miserly that he won't spend one penny unless it is forced from him by law. His bailiff is to be pitied, I can tell you! He said he would treat me like a son. I concluded I should make my home with him and receive no wages. That wouldn't suit me. I told him I wanted to be independent."

"Poor old man!" said Hope pityingly. "I believe he has taken a fancy to you. I hope you refused his offer nicely."

"Oh, it isn't me upon whom he has fixed his fancy. It is you. He can do nothing but talk about you. He wants you to go and see him to-morrow. It struck me that if I and the boys go back to Canada, you will not want to come with us, for I suppose you will go out to India to be married very soon."

"I don't know," said Hope, quietly, "what I shall do."

"Well, if you had only a month or two to wait, perhaps you could listen to his proposal. I was made to promise I would say nothing till he had seen you himself."

"I am afraid I would not agree to any proposal," said Hope proudly. "Mr. Spencer is a complete stranger to me."

Then she was ashamed of herself.

"Tell me," she said gently, "what you think of doing with the boys. Father was so anxious they should have an English training."

"I know, but how can we give it to them? There's no money to spare. As it is, I shall have hard work to get sufficient for our passages. If you had not been going to be married—"

He paused.

"Well, in that case what would you have done?"

"I think I should have struggled on with our poultry for a bit."

"And why are you in such a hurry to leave it?"

"Because it will be so expensive to put all the outbuildings together again. And as none of us mean to live there eventually, the sooner we clear out the better. Have you written to Dane?"

"No," Hope said. "The mail does not go till to-morrow, and I am expecting to hear from him."

"Can you go round to the old Squire to-morrow?"

"Yes; if he really expects me, I must."

Silence fell between them, which Hope broke by getting up from her seat.

"I am very tired, Brian, so I think I will go to bed. Good-night!"

She went upstairs to her tiny attic room, then bolted her door and gave way to tears.

"I don't know what I shall do! Brian evidently wants to do nothing for me. I am absolutely penniless, and I cannot rush off to Lancelot at a moment's notice. I can't bear Brian's eagerness for me to see Mr. Spencer. I will not accept any favour from him. If only I could do something to earn my living! How helpless and forlorn I feel! And what would I not give for Lancelot at this moment!"

Then her eyes fell upon her Bible. She took it up, and in reading her evening portion and in pouring out her troubles to the One who was ordering all things for her, she was comforted. She fell asleep repeating to herself:

"'Peace, perfect peace, our future all unknown?
Jesus we know, and He is on the throne.'"