My Summer with Doctor Singletary | Page 9

it, shaking the doors and windows of the old house,

and roaring in its vast chimney. The woman was dying when we
arrived, and her drunken husband was sitting in stupid unconcern in the
corner of the fireplace. A little after midnight she breathed her last.
"In the mean time the storm had grown more violent; there was a
blinding snow-fall in the air; and we could feel the jar of the great
waves as they broke upon the beach.
"'It is a terrible night for sailors on the coast,' I said, breaking our long
silence with the dead. 'God grant them sea-room!'
"Julia shuddered as I spoke, and by the dim-flashing firelight I saw she
was weeping. Her thoughts, I knew, were with her old friend and
playmate on the wild waters.
"'Julia,' said I, 'do you know that Robert Barnet loves you with all the
strength of an honest and true heart?'
"She trembled, and her voice faltered as she confessed that when
Robert was at home he had asked her to become his wife.
"'And, like a fool, you refused him, I suppose?--the brave, generous
fellow!'
"'O Doctor!' she exclaimed. 'How can you talk so? It is just because
Robert is so good, and noble, and generous, that I dared not take him at
his word. You yourself, Doctor, would have despised me if I had taken
advantage of his pity or his kind remembrance of the old days when we
were children together. I have already brought too much disgrace upon
those dear to me.'
"I was endeavoring to convince her, in reply, that she was doing
injustice to herself and wronging her best friend, whose happiness
depended in a great measure upon her, when, borne on the strong blast,
we both heard a faint cry as of a human being in distress. I threw up the
window which opened seaward, and we leaned out into the wild night,
listening breathlessly for a repetition of the sound.
"Once more, and once only, we heard it,--a low, smothered, despairing
cry.
"'Some one is lost, and perishing in the snow,' said Julia. 'The sound
conies in the direction of the beach plum-bushes on the side of the
marsh. Let us go at once.'
"She snatched up her hood and shawl, and was already at the door. I
found and lighted a lantern and soon overtook her. The snow was
already deep and badly drifted, and it was with extreme difficulty that

we could force our way against the storm. We stopped often to take
breath and listen; but the roaring of the wind and waves was alone
audible. At last we reached a slightly elevated spot, overgrown with
dwarf plum- trees, whose branches were dimly visible above the snow.
"'Here, bring the lantern here!' cried Julia, who had strayed a few yards
from me. I hastened to her, and found her lifting up the body of a man
who was apparently insensible. The rays of the lantern fell full upon his
face, and we both, at the same instant, recognized Robert Barnet. Julia
did not shriek nor faint; but, kneeling in the snow, and still supporting
the body, she turned towards me a look of earnest and fearful inquiry.
"'Courage!' said I. 'He still lives. He is only overcome with fatigue and
cold.'
"With much difficulty-partly carrying and partly dragging him through
the snow--we succeeded in getting him to the house, where, in a short
time, he so far recovered as to be able to speak. Julia, who had been my
prompt and efficient assistant in his restoration, retired into the shadow
of the room as soon as he began to rouse himself and look about him.
He asked where he was and who was with me, saying that his head was
so confused that he thought he saw Julia Atkins by the bedside. 'You
were not mistaken,' said I; 'Julia is here, and you owe your life to her.'
He started up and gazed round the room. I beckoned Julia to the
bedside; and I shall never forget the grateful earnestness with which he
grasped her hand and called upon God to bless her. Some folks think
me a tough-hearted old fellow, and so I am; but that scene was more
than I could bear without shedding tears.
"Robert told us that his vessel had been thrown upon the beach a mile
or two below, and that he feared all the crew had perished save himself.
Assured of his safety, I went out once more, in the faint hope of hearing
the voice of some survivor of the disaster; but I listened only to the
heavy thunder of the surf rolling along the horizon of the east. The
storm had in a great measure ceased; the gray light of