“I am a savage!” he exclaimed. “I have frightened you. Let me at least
hold your hands; I will not hurt them. I will hold them like this!”
He relaxed the grasp in which he had held her fingers, and she let her
hands lie lightly in his as he went on:
“You must civilise me. And don’t be afraid. The block is very rough,
but your skill is very great.”
As he bent his head to kiss her hands very gently, Chris felt that he
was trembling.
“I want to ask you something,” said Chris timidly. “Those cries, those
strange cries you gave--that evening in the barn! And your strange
silence, too! I don’t understand. Why didn’t you speak to me!”
“I was stone deaf, you know; I had been so ever since I was a small
child, when I had scarlet fever badly. It left me absolutely without
hearing, so that I could not hear the sound of my own voice.”
“Yes, yes, but you could speak?”
“I had learnt to talk when I was a child, but under the treatment of
the brute who calls himself my guardian, I had forgotten how. I had got
into the way of making cries and noises like a person deaf and dumb
from birth.”
“But you could speak, for you spoke to me on Christmas Day?”
“Yes; but that is a long story. It was Stelfox who found out, four or
five years ago, that I was neither dumb nor insane, and with great
patience he taught me what I had almost forgotten, how to speak again.
But I did not dare to speak to you, because, as I told you, I could not
hear myself; I had only spoken to Stelfox for years; I distrusted my
own powers. When I made the strange cries which frightened you, I was
not conscious of it myself. You see, it is true that I am a savage.”
Chris, seeing that the avowals he had been making caused him pain and
bitter mortification, took his hands, and raising them to her face,
laid them tenderly against her cheek.
“That is a trouble you will have no more,” she said, softly. “And you
can hear now, can you not?”
“I can hear fairly well on one side now,” he answered. “I can hear
some days better than others. I am under treatment by one of the great
London aurists. He says that if I had been brought to him sooner he
could have cured me completely; as it is, the hearing in the right ear
is completely gone, and in the left it is permanently impaired.”
Chris began to sob, and Dick had to comfort her.
“Don’t, don’t cry, my darling; I shall make you as melancholy as myself
if I don’t take care--you, who used to be all life and brightness.”
“I haven’t been very lively since you went away,” answered Chris. “I
have been very ill. I thought you were de--ead!” And she shuddered. “I
thought I saw you carried out--dead--over the grass--hanging over a
man’s shoulder!”
“I was carried over a man’s shoulder, I believe, only I wasn’t dead,”
answered Dick simply. “It was Stelfox’s doing.”
Chris looked puzzled.
“It was in the evening of the day that they found out I had been
writing to you,” said she. “Had that anything to do with it?”
Dick listened with interest.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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