When I opened the door, the first thing I saw was a small stream of water running straight from the door to the fire on the hearth, which it had already drowned. The old man was sitting by his wife’s bedside. Life seemed rapidly going from the old woman. She lay breathing very hard.
“Oh, sir,” said the old man, as he rose, almost crying, “you’re come at last!”
“Did you send for me?” I asked.
“No, sir. I had nobody to send. Leastways, I asked the Lord if He wouldn’t fetch you. I been prayin’ hard for you for the last hour. I couldn’t leave her to come for you. And I do believe the wind ’ud ha’ blown me off my two old legs.”
“Well, I am come, you see. I would have come sooner, but I had no idea you would be flooded.”
“It’s not that I mind, sir, though it IS cold sin’ the fire went. But she IS goin’ now, sir. She ha’n’t spoken a word this two hours and more, and her breathin’s worse and worse. She don’t know me now, sir.”
A moan of protestation came from the dying woman.
“She does know you, and loves you too, Tomkins,” I said. “And you’ll both know each other better by and by.”
The old woman made a feeble motion with her hand. I took it in mine. It was cold and deathlike. The rain was falling in large slow drops from the roof upon the bedclothes. But she would be beyond the reach of all the region storms before long, and it did not matter much.
“Look if you can find a basin or plate, Mr Stoddart, and put it to catch the drop here,” I said.