Lady of the Barge | Page 9

that the stranger
was well dressed, and wore a silk hat of glossy newness. Three times he
paused at the gate, and then walked on again. The fourth time he stood
with his hand upon it, and then with sudden resolution flung it open and
walked up the path. Mrs. White at the same moment placed her hands
behind her, and hurriedly unfastening the strings of her apron, put that
useful article of apparel beneath the cushion of her chair.
She brought the stranger, who seemed ill at ease, into the room. He
gazed at her furtively, and listened in a preoccupied fashion as the old
lady apologized for the appearance of the room, and her husband's coat,
a garment which he usually reserved for the garden. She then waited as
patiently as her sex would permit, for him to broach his business, but
he was at first strangely silent.
"I--was asked to call," he said at last, and stooped and picked a piece of
cotton from his trousers. "I come from 'Maw and Meggins.'"
The old lady started. "Is anything the matter?" she asked, breathlessly.
"Has anything happened to Herbert? What is it? What is it?"
Her husband interposed. "There, there, mother," he said, hastily. "Sit
down, and don't jump to conclusions. You've not brought bad news, I'm
sure, sir;" and he eyed the other wistfully.

"I'm sorry--" began the visitor.
"Is he hurt?" demanded the mother, wildly.
The visitor bowed in assent. "Badly hurt," he said, quietly, "but he is
not in any pain."
"Oh, thank God!" said the old woman, clasping her hands. "Thank God
for that! Thank--"
She broke off suddenly as the sinister meaning of the assurance dawned
upon her and she saw the awful confirmation of her fears in the other's
perverted face. She caught her breath, and turning to her slower-witted
husband, laid her trembling old hand upon his. There was a long
silence.
"He was caught in the machinery," said the visitor at length in a low
voice.
"Caught in the machinery," repeated Mr. White, in a dazed fashion,
"yes."
He sat staring blankly out at the window, and taking his wife's hand
between his own, pressed it as he had been wont to do in their old
courting-days nearly forty years before.
"He was the only one left to us," he said, turning gently to the visitor.
"It is hard."
The other coughed, and rising, walked slowly to the window. "The firm
wished me to convey their sincere sympathy with you in your great
loss," he said, without looking round. "I beg that you will understand I
am only their servant and merely obeying orders."
There was no reply; the old woman's face was white, her eyes staring,
and her breath inaudible; on the husband's face was a look such as his
friend the sergeant might have carried into his first action.
"I was to say that Maw and Meggins disclaim all responsibility,"

continued the other. "They admit no liability at all, but in consideration
of your son's services, they wish to present you with a certain sum as
compensation."
Mr. White dropped his wife's hand, and rising to his feet, gazed with a
look of horror at his visitor. His dry lips shaped the words, "How
much?"
"Two hundred pounds," was the answer.
Unconscious of his wife's shriek, the old man smiled faintly, put out his
hands like a sightless man, and dropped, a senseless heap, to the floor.
III.
In the huge new cemetery, some two miles distant, the old people
buried their dead, and came back to a house steeped in shadow and
silence. It was all over so quickly that at first they could hardly realize
it, and remained in a state of expectation as though of something else to
happen --something else which was to lighten this load, too heavy for
old hearts to bear.
But the days passed, and expectation gave place to resignation--the
hopeless resignation of the old, sometimes miscalled, apathy.
Sometimes they hardly exchanged a word, for now they had nothing to
talk about, and their days were long to weariness.
It was about a week after that the old man, waking suddenly in the
night, stretched out his hand and found himself alone. The room was in
darkness, and the sound of subdued weeping came from the window.
He raised himself in bed and listened.
"Come back," he said, tenderly. "You will be cold."
"It is colder for my son," said the old woman, and wept afresh.
The sound of her sobs died away on his ears. The bed was warm, and
his eyes heavy with sleep. He dozed fitfully, and then slept until a

sudden wild cry from his wife awoke him with a start.
"The paw!" she cried wildly. "The monkey's paw!"
He