The Village by the River Part 11

"You have a sharp tongue, Miss Webster. All I hinted at was that country people are slow to exercise their individual judgment on any question. They follow each other like a flock of sheep."

"And aren't they wise to do it when they have so kind and good a shepherd?" with a glance at the rector's handsome head, as he stood at a little distance off, talking with a happy, radiant face to her mother. "I wish you would tell me what possible motive you had in trying to upset a man who lives in the hearts of his people."

Paul was interested in spite of himself, for he saw that May had pa.s.sed from brilliant nonsense to earnestness.

"It was not the man I wished to upset--n.o.body can fail to appreciate his simple earnestness,--but it is his principle. And your very intolerance makes me feel that I was right to state the other side of the question."

"We won't quarrel any more; I'm tired of it," said May, with a quick change of mood. "Let us look at all the people who are ready to bide by their words, as Macdonald puts it."

The subscription list was headed by the rector with two hundred pounds.

"He's not a rich man," said May, pointing to the sum.

"And he can't be a poor one," retorted Paul.

May seated herself and toyed with the pen which lay upon the table.

"I'm in a difficulty; I want an opinion."

"Legal?" said Paul. "If so, I might help you.

"Moral rather."

"Oh, then it's a case for the man who lives in the hearts of his people. Shall I call him?"

"You are not keeping the peace. For want of a better adviser I'll put my difficulty before you."

"And I will give you my opinion for what it is worth; you need not act on it unless you like."

"Oh no, I shan't. Should you think it right for me to put my name down on this subscription list when I owe, I'm afraid to say how much, to my dressmaker?"

"At the risk of being told again that I'm truthfully disagreeable, I answer emphatically, No! I should call it a most immoral act."

"Well, I'm going to do it anyway, and the person who has influenced me is yourself. You implied that I was unwilling to pay for my convictions; and my dressmaker must wait."

And May dipped her pen in the ink and wrote her name boldly under her mother's.

"Don't do it!" pleaded Paul, hurriedly. "Can't you see that the dressmaker, who earns her money so hardly, and waits for it so long, has the first right to yours?"

"May!" called her mother. "Are you never coming? I can't be kept waiting all night."

May hesitated for a moment, and then, half ashamed of yielding to the man whose dislike of her was fast deepening into contempt, she dashed her pen through the name she had just written, bringing her hand, as she did so, into contact with the lamp upon the table. With a smothered exclamation Paul bent across her and tried to stay its fall, but he was not in time. With a crash it fell forwards breaking the bowl, and a trickling stream of blazing paraffin ran down May's muslin skirt, enveloping her in flame. A piercing shriek from the other end of the room showed that Mrs. Webster realized her daughter's peril, and the rector dashed forward to the rescue; but Paul had already torn his coat from his back, and was holding it closely upon the burning skirt.

"See to the platform! she's safe enough!" he shouted as the rector ran up; and, almost before May realized the extreme danger from which she had been delivered, she was lifted from the platform and laid very gently on the floor.

"What are you putting me on the floor for? I'm not going to faint,"

she said, with lips that trembled a little. "I'm all right. Don't let mother be frightened."

Paul could not but admire the girl's wonderful self-possession.

"And you are not burned? You are sure you are in no way hurt?"

"Thanks to your marvellous quickness, no," she answered.

But Mrs. Webster, tearful but thankful, was at hand, and Paul felt he could not do better than leave May in her mother's charge.

The rector, meanwhile, with one or two others, was successfully battling with the burning stream of paraffin; and in a few minutes all serious fear of a conflagration was over.

"Now we had better see the ladies to their carriage," he said turning to Paul. But already they had taken their departure. "We can't be too thankful for such a narrow escape. The platform looked all on fire when Mrs. Webster's scream made me turn round. Can you tell me how it happened?"

"I think Miss Webster caught the lamp with her hand as she got up from the table. She had been reading the subscription list."

"Which reminds me that the list is burned to a cinder. But it does not signify; people will remember their promises," said Mr. Curzon.

"And n.o.body but myself will know that May Webster put down her name and scratched it out at my request," thought Paul, not a little proud of his moral victory over the haughty young woman.

"Well, I think everything is safe here; we may be going home. I want to get back before my little Kitty gets news of the fire, or she will worry herself into a fever. Late as it is, though, I must run up to the Court."

"Why?" Paul inquired. "We know that Miss Webster is safe."

"She might wish to see me," replied the rector, simply. "And if she does, she shall have the chance."

"Then I'll leave word at the rectory that you are all right, in case Kitty is awake," said Paul, rather shortly.

May, from her couch in her dressing-room heard the rector's cheery voice in the hall below asking after her.

"That's Mr. Curzon, Lancaster; run and ask him to come up and see me for a moment," she said to her maid.

In another moment he entered, followed by her mother.

"Oh, my darling, you are not ill? Have you been burned and not told me of it?" she gasped in terror.

"Oh no, mother," said May, trying to smile; "but it's just because I'm not burned, nor scared, nor horrible to look at, that I want Mr.

Curzon. I want--I want----" And then May's high courage gave way, and she burst into tears.

"Let us pray," said the rector, quietly. And he and May's mother knelt down by the side of May's couch together.

When he rose up from his knees May's tears had ceased.

CHAPTER VII.

A MOMENTOUS DECISION.

The rector walked home through the starlight night with a thankful heart. It was possibly his sanguine temperament, backed by his strong faith in the Christ Who must reign until He had brought all to His Feet, that gave him such large success in his work; and against the background of this day two special subjects for thanksgiving stood out in strong relief: first, that he had received positive proof that he possessed the confidence of the majority of his paris.h.i.+oners; and secondly, that an accident--a deliverance from what might have been a horrible death--had given him an insight into the deeper side of May Webster's character. That she had this deeper side he had been fully a.s.sured, but hitherto he had been powerless to touch it.