Lady Good-for-Nothing: A Man's Portrait of a Woman

  Chapter XIII.

  RUTH SETS OUT.

  Manasseh had wrapped Master Dicky up warm in a couple of rugs, andspread a third about his feet. In the ample state seat of the coach thechild reclined as easily as in a bed. He began to doze while thevehicle yet jolted over the road crossing the headland; and when itgained the track, and the wheels rolled smoothly on the hard sand, themotion slid him deep into slumber.

  He came out of it with a start and a catch of the breath, and for a fullhalf-minute lay with all his senses numbed, not so much scared asbewildered. In his dreams he had been at home in Boston, and hesearched his little brain, wondering why he was awake, and if he shouldcall for Miss Quiney (who slept always within hail, in a small bedroom);and why, when the night-nursery window lay to the left of his bed,strange lights should be flashing on his right, where the picture ofKing William landing at Torbay hung over his washstand.

  The lights moved to and fro, then they were quenched, and all was darkabout him. But he heard Manasseh's voice, some way off, in thedarkness, and the sound of it brought him to his bearings. He was inthe coach, he remembered; and realising this, he was instantly glad--forhe was a plucky child--that he had not called out to summon Miss Quiney.

  Had there been an accident? At any rate he was not hurt. His fatherhad ridden on ahead, and would reach home many hours in advance.The boy had learnt this from Manasseh. He reasoned that, if an accidenthad happened, his father would not hear of it--would be ridingforward, further and further into the night. He wondered how Manassehand the grooms would manage without his father, who always gave theorders and was never at a loss.

  He sat up, peering out into the night. He was still peering thus,building hasty wild guesses, when again a light showed, waving as itdrew nearer. It came close; it was one of the coach-lamps, and blazedfull into his eyes through the window. The door opened, letting in theroar of the beach and smiting his small nostrils with sea-brine, thatwith one breath purged away the stuffy scent of leather.

  Manasseh was handing some one into the coach.

  "De child--Mas' Richard--if you'll tak' care, miss. He's fas' asleep,prob'ly."

  "But I'm _not_," said Dicky, sitting bolt upright and gathering his rugsabout him. "Who is it?"

  Manasseh perhaps did not hear. He made no reply, at any rate, butturned the lamp full on Ruth Josselin as she sank back against thecushions on Dicky's right.

  "You will find plenty rugs, miss."

  He shut the door. Dicky, holding his breath, heard him replace the lampin its socket, and felt the soft tilt of his great weight as he climbedto the perch behind.

  "R--right away!"

  There was a tug, and the great coach rolled forward. In the darknessDicky caught the sound of a smothered sob.

  "Who are you?" he asked. There was no response, and after a moment headded, "I know. You are the girl who put out the fire. I like you."

  He was very sleepy. He wondered why she did not answer; but, hischildish instinct assuring him that she was a friend, in his somnolencehe felt nothing other than trust in her. He nestled close in his rugsand reached out an arm.

  It rubbed across the weals on Ruth's back, and was torture.She clenched her teeth, while tears--tears of physical anguish,irrepressible--over-brimmed her lashes and fell uncounted in thedarkness.

  "You are crying. Why? I like you." The child's voice trailed off intodream.

  "Closer!" whispered Ruth, and would have forced the embrace upon herpain; but it relaxed. Dicky's head fell sideways, and rested, angledbetween the cushions and her shoulder.

  She sat wide-eyed, staring into folds of darkness, while the coachrolled forward smoothly towards the dawn.

  BOOK II.

  PROBATION.