United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Women -- Social conditions -- Fiction
"Slip your hand under Hero's collar, to prevent him from following me
if he should try to do so, and keep up your courage. Put yourself in
God's hands, and wait here patiently for Douglass. Don't you know
that I would not leave you here an instant, if it could be avoided?
God bless you, my white dove."
He stooped and kissed her forehead, then hurried away, and after a
moment Regina knew that she and her dog were once more alone in the
ancient church, with none nearer than the dead, who slept so soundly,
while the soft summer rain fell ceaselessly above their coffins.
CHAPTER X.
The town clock was striking nine when the renewal of welcome sounds
beneath the window announced to Regina that her weary dark vigil was
ended. Soon after Mr. Lindsay's departure, the lantern above the
altar grew dim, then went out, leaving the church in total darkness,
relieved only by an occasional glimmer from the electric batteries
that had wheeled far away to the north-east. Erect and alert Hero sat
beside his mistress, now and then rubbing his head against her
shoulder, or placing his paw on her arm, as if to encourage her by
mute assurances of faithful guardianship; and even when the voices
outside cheered him into one quick bark of recognition, he made no
effort to leave the prostrate form.
"All in the dark? Where is your lantern?" asked Mr. Lindsay, as he
climbed through the window.
"It went out very soon after you left. Can you find me? or shall I
try to come to you?"
"Keep still, Regina. Come up the ladder, Esau, and hold your torch so
that I can see. It is black as Egypt inside."
In a few moments the ruddy glare streamed in, and showed the anxious
face of the sexton, and the figure of Mr. Lindsay groping from pew to
pew. Before that cheerful red light how swiftly the trooping spectres
and grim phantoms that had peopled the gloom fled away for ever! What
a blessed, comforting atmosphere of love and protection seemed to
encompass her, when, after handing one of the pew cushions to the
sexton, Mr. Lindsay came to the spot where she lay.
"How are your wounds?"
"My foot is very stiff and sore, but if you will let me hold your
arm, I can hop along."
"Can you, my crippled snow-bird? Suppose I have a different use for
my strong arms?"
He lifted her very gently, but apparently without effort, and
carried her to the window.
"Go down, Esau, set the torch in the ground, and hold the
ladder,--press it hard against the wall. I am coming down
backward,--and if I should miss a round, you must be ready to help
me. Come, Hero, jump out first and clear the way. Steady now, Esau."
Placing his charge on the broad sill, Mr. Lindsay stepped out,
established himself securely on the ladder, and, drawing the girl to
the ledge, took her firmly in his arms, balancing himself with some
difficulty as he did so.
"Now say your prayers. Clasp your hands tight around my neck, and
shut your eyes."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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