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Alec Forbes of Howglen, a novel by George MacDonald |
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Chapter 64 |
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_ CHAPTER LXIV Tibbie's moaning grew gentler and less frequent, and both fell into a troubled slumber. From this Annie awoke at the sound of Tibbie's voice. She was talking in her dream. "Dinna wauk him," she said; "dinna wauk him; he's fell (Germ. viel) tired and sleepy. Lat the win' blaw, lads. Do ye think He canna see whan his een are steekit. Gin the watter meddle wi' you, He'll sune lat it ken it's i' the wrang. Ye'll see 't cowerin' at 's feet like a colley-dog. I'll jist dight the weet aff o' my Lord's face.--Weel, wauk him gin ye will. _I_ wad raither gang to the boddom mysel'." A pause followed. It was clear that she was in a dream-boat, with Jesus in the hinder part asleep upon a pillow. The sounds of the water outside had stolen through her ears and made a picture in her brain. Suddenly she cried out: "I tellt ye sae! I tellt ye sae! Luik at it! The jaws (waves) gang doon as gin they war sae mony wholpies!" She woke with the cry--weeping. "I thocht _I_ had the sicht o' my een," she said sobbing, "and the Lord was blin' wi' sleep." "Do you hear the watter?" said Annie. "Wha cares for _that_ watter!" she answered, in a tone of contempt. "Do ye think He canna manage _hit_!" But there was a _jabble_ in the room beside them, and Annie heard it. The water was yelping at the foot of the bed. "The watter's i' the hoose!" cried she, in terror, and proceeded to rise. "Lie still, bairn," said Tibbie, authoritatively. "Gin the watter be i' the hoose, there's no ootgang. It'll be doon afore the mornin'. Lie still." Annie lay down again, and Tibbie resumed: "Gin we be i' the watter, the watter's i' the how o' his han'. Gin we gang to the boddom, he has only to open's fingers, an' there we are, lyin' i' the loof o' 's han', dry and warm. Lie still." And Annie lay so still, that in a few minutes more she was asleep again. Tibbie slept too. But Annie woke from a terrible dream--that a dead man was pursuing her, and had laid a cold hand upon her. The dream was gone, but the cold hand remained. "Tibbie!" she cried, "the watter 's i' the bed." "What say ye, lassie?" returned Tibbie, waking up. "The watter's i' the bed." "Weel, lie still. We canna sweyp it oot." The water was in the bed. And it was pitch dark. Annie, who lay at the front, stretched her arm over the side. It sunk to the elbow. In a moment more the bed beneath her was like a full sponge. She lay in silent terror, longing for the dawn. "I'm terrible cauld," said Tibbie. Annie tried to answer her, but the words would not leave her throat. The water rose. They were lying half-covered with it. Tibbie broke out singing. Annie had never heard her sing, and it was not very musical.
"Ay," answered Annie. "I'm terrible cauld, an' the watter's up to my throat. I canna muv, I'm sae cauld. I didna think watter had been sae cauld." "I'll help ye to sit up a bit. Ye'll hae dreidfu' rheumatize efter this, Tibbie," said Annie, as she got up on her knees, and proceeded to lift Tibbie's head and shoulders, and draw her up in the bed. But the task was beyond her strength. She could not move the helpless weight, and, in her despair, she let Tibbie's head fall back with a dull plash upon the bolster. Seeing that all she could do was to sit and support her, she got out of bed and waded across the floor to the fireside to find her clothes. But they were gone. Chair and all had been floated away, and although she groped till she found the floating chair, she could not find the clothes. She returned to the bed, and getting behind Tibbie, lifted her head on her knees, and so sat. An awful dreary time followed. The water crept up and up. Tibbie moaned a little, and then lay silent for a long time, drawing slow and feeble breaths. Annie was almost dead with cold. Suddenly in the midst of the darkness Tibbie cried out, "I see licht! I see licht!" A strange sound in her throat followed, after which she was quite still. Annie's mind began to wander. Something struck her gently on the arm, and kept bobbing against her. She put out her hand to feel what it was. It was round and soft. She said to herself: "It's only somebody's heid that the water's torn aff," and put her hand under Tibbie again. In the morning she found it was a drowned hen. At length she saw motion rather than light. The first of the awful dawn was on the yellow flood that filled the floor. There it lay throbbing and swirling. The light grew. She strained her eyes to see Tibbie's face. At last she saw that the water was over her mouth, and that her face was like the face of her father in his coffin. Child as she was, she knew that Tibbie was dead. She tried notwithstanding to lift her head out of the water, but she could not. So she crept from under her, with painful effort, and stood up in the bed. The water almost reached her knees. The table was floating near the bed. She got hold of it, and scrambling on to it, sat with her legs in the water. For another long space, half dead and half asleep, she went floating about, dreaming that she was having a row in the _Bonnie Annie_ with Alec and Curly. In the motions of the water, she had passed close to the window looking down the river, and Truffey had seen her. Wide awake she started from her stupor at the terrible bang with which the door burst open. She thought the cottage was falling, and that her hour was come to follow Tibbie down the dark water. But in shot the sharp prow of the _Bonnie Annie_, and in glided after it the stooping form of Alec Forbes. She gave one wailing cry, and forgot everything. That cry however had not ceased before she was in Alec's arms. In another moment, wrapt in his coat and waistcoat, she was lying in the bottom of the boat. Alec was now as cool as any hero should be, for he was doing his duty, and had told the devil to wait a bit with his damnation. He looked all about for Tibbie, and at length spied her drowned in her bed. "So much the more chance for Annie and me!" he said. "But I wish I had been in time." What was to be done next? Down the river he must go, and they would be upon the bridge in two moments after leaving the cottage.--He must shoot the middle arch, for that was the highest. But if he escaped being dashed against the bridge before he reached the arch, and even had time to get in a straight line for it, the risk was a terrible one, with the water within a few feet of the keystone. But when he shot the _Bonnie Annie_ again through the door of the cottage, neither arch nor bridge was to be seen, and the boat went down the open river like an arrow. _ |
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