Lady Ca.r.s.e shrank back impatiently. She then turned and said, "I might have this larger room, and you the other. I shall find means of paying you--"

"Impossible, madam," the widow replied. "I am obliged to occupy this room."

"For to-night, at least, you will let me have it. I cannot go back to Macdonald's to-night. I will not go back at all; and you cannot turn me out to-night. I have other reasons besides those I mentioned. I must be in sight of the harbour. It is my only hope."

"You can stay here, if you will, madam: and you can have that bed. But I can never leave this room between dark and light. I have yonder lamp to attend to."

"Oh! I will attend to the lamp."

The widow smiled, and observed that she hoped the lady would have better sleep than she could enjoy if she had the lamp to watch; and that was a business which she could not commit to another hand. In the course of the argument, the lady discovered that it would be a serious matter to let out both the fire and lamp, as there was no tinder-box on the island, and no wood, except in the season of storms, when some was drifted up wet.

"I should like to live with you, and help you to keep up your lamp,"

said the lady. "If you could only manage a room for me--Not that I mean to stay in this island! I will not submit to that. But while I am waiting to get away, I should like to spend my time with you. You have a heart. You would feel for me."

"I do feel for you, madam. This must be a terrible place for you, just to-day,--and for many days to come. But oh! my lady, if you want peace of mind, this is the place! It is a blessing that may be had anywhere, I know. One would think it shone down from the sky or breathed out from the air,--it is so sure to be wherever the sky bends over, or the air wraps us round. But of all places, this is the one for peace of mind."

"This!--this--dreary island!"

"This quiet island. Look out now, and see if you can call it dreary.

Why, madam, there can hardly be a brighter glory, or a more cheerful glow among the sons of G.o.d about the throne, than there is at this moment over sea and sh.o.r.e, and near at home up to the very stone of my threshold. Madam, I could never think this island dreary."

"It is not always sunset, nor always summer time," said Lady Ca.r.s.e, who could not deny nor wholly resist the beauty of the scene.

"Other beauty comes by night and in the winter," observed the widow, "and at times a grandeur which is better than the beauty. If the softness of this sunshine nourishes our peace of mind, yet more does the might of the storms. The beauty might be G.o.d's messenger. The might is G.o.d Himself."

"You speak as if you did not fear G.o.d," said the lady, with the light inexperience of one to whom such subjects were not familiar.

"As a sinner, I fear Him, madam. But as His child--Why, madam, what else have we in all the universe? And having Him, what more do we want?"

"He has made us full of wants," said the lady. "I, for one, am all bereaved, and very, very wretched.--But do not let us talk of that now.

One who is alone in this place, and knows and needs nothing beyond, cannot enter into my sorrows at once. It will take long to make you conceive such misery as mine. But it will be a comfort to me to open my heart to you. And I must live within view of the harbour. I must see every boat that comes. They say you do."

"I do. They are few; but I see them all."

"And you save a good many by the spark in your window."

"It has pleased G.o.d to save some, it is thought, who would have perished as some perished before them. He set me that task, in a solemn way, many years ago; and any mercy that has grown out of it is His.--Do you see any vessel on the sea, madam? I always look abroad the last thing before the sun goes down. My eyes can hardly be much older than yours: but they are much worn."

"How have you so used your eyes? Is it that hair-knitting?"

"That is not good. But it is more the sharp winds, and the night watching, and the shine of the sea in the day."

"I must live with you. I will watch for you, night and day. You think I cannot. You think I shall tire. Why, you are not weary of it."

"Oh, no! I shall never be weary of it."

"Much less should I. You want only to keep up your lamp. I want to get away. All the interests of my life lie beyond this sea; and do you think I shall tire of watching for the opportunity?--I will watch through this very night. You shall go to bed, and sleep securely, and I will keep your lamp. And to-morrow we will arrange something. Why should I not have a room,--a cottage built at the end of yours? I will."

"If you could find anyone to build it," suggested the widow.

"Somebody built Macdonald's, I suppose. And yours."

"Macdonald's is very old;--built, it is thought, at the same time with the chapel, which has been in ruins these hundred years. My husband built ours,--with me to help him; and also his brother, who died before it was finished."

"Where is your son?" inquired the lady. "If he will undertake to work for me, I will get it done. Where is your son? And what is his business?"

"I do not know exactly where he is."

"Well, but is he on the island?"

"I believe so. He comes and goes according to his business. In the early summer he seeks eggs all over the island; and, somewhat later, the eider-down. When he can get nothing better he brings the birds themselves."

"What do you do with them?"

"We keep the feathers, and also the skins. The skins are warm to cover the feet with, when made into socks. If the birds are not very old, we salt them for winter food: and at worst, I get some oil from them. But I get most oil from the young seals, and from the livers of the fish he catches at times."

"Fish! then he has a boat! Does he go out in a boat to fish?"

"I can hardly say that he has a boat," replied the mother, with an extraordinary calmness of manner that told of internal effort. "Our caverns run very deep into the rocks; and the ledges run out far into the sea. Rollo has made a kind of raft of the driftwood he found: and on this he crosses the water in the caverns, and pa.s.ses from ledge to ledge, fishing as he goes. This is our only way of getting fish, except when a chance boat comes into the harbour."

"Could that raft go out on a calm day,--on a very smooth sea,--to meet any boat at a distance?"

"Impossible! madam. I think it too dangerous in our smallest coves to be used without sin. It is against my judgment that Rollo ever goes round the end of a ledge, which he has been seen to do."

"But it is impossible to get a boat? Have you never had a boat?"

"We once had a boat, madam: and it was lost." Even the selfish Lady Ca.r.s.e reproached herself for her question. It struck her now that boat and husband had been lost together; for Macdonald had told her that Annie Fleming had seen her husband drown.

"I wish I knew where Rollo is," she said to break the silence. "I think something might be done. I think I could find a way. Do not you wish you knew where he was?"

"No, madam."

"Well! perhaps you might be uneasy about him if you did. But which way did he go?"

The widow pointed northwards, where huge ma.s.ses of rock appeared tumbled one upon another, and into the sea, at the base of a precipice two hundred feet high. She further told, in reply to a question, that Rollo went forth yesterday, without saying where he was going; and there were caves among the rocks she had pointed out, where Rollo might possibly be fishing.

Lady Ca.r.s.e found it vexatious that darkness was coming on. She had a purpose; but the sun did not set the later, nor promise to rise the earlier, on that account. When the widow set before her some oaten bread and dried fish, she ate, without perceiving that none was left for her hostess. And when the widow lighted the iron lamp and set it in the window, the lady made only faint pretences of a wish to sit up and watch it. She also said nothing of occupying the meaner bed. She was persuaded that her first duty was to obtain some good rest, preparatory to going forth to seek Rollo, and induce him to take her on his raft to some place whence she might escape to the mainland. So she lay down on the widow's bed, and slept soundly,--her hungry hostess sitting by the smouldering peats in the rude fireplace,--now and then smiling at the idea of her guest's late zeal about watching the lamp for her, in order to give her a good night's rest. When daylight came, she retired to her son's bed, and had just dropped asleep when Lady Ca.r.s.e roused her to ask for some breakfast to take with her, as she did not know when she should be back from her expedition. Again the widow smiled as she said there was nothing in the house. At this time of the year there were no stores; and a good appet.i.te at night left nothing for the morning.

"O dear!" said the lady. "Well: I daresay your sitting up made you hungry enough to finish everything while I was asleep. No doubt it must. But what to do I know not. I will not go back to Macdonald's, if I starve for it. Perhaps I may meet some fishermen, or somebody. I will try.--Good morning. I shall come back: but I will not put you long out of your ways. I will get a cottage built at the end of yours as soon as possible." The door closed behind her, and once more the widow smiled, as she composed herself to rest on her own bed. She had already returned thanks for the blessings with which the new day had opened; and especially that to one so lowly as herself was permitted the honour and privilege--so unlooked for and unthought of--of dispensing hospitality.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE ROVING OF THE RESTLESS.

The lady began walking at a great rate, being in a vast hurry to find Rollo. She descended to the sh.o.r.e, knowing that if she kept on the heights she should arrive at the precipices which would forbid all access to the caves below.

The tide was going down; and as soon as she reached the sands of a little cove she was pleased to see a good many sh.e.l.l fish. Her first thought was that she would collect some and carry them up for Annie Fleming's breakfast; but she immediately remembered that this would add to her fatigues, and consume her precious time; and she gave up the thought, and began picking up c.o.c.kles for herself--large blue c.o.c.kles, which she thought would afford her an excellent breakfast, if only she could meet with some fresh bread and b.u.t.ter in some nook in the island.