“Weel, weel,” said another, “it’s an awfu’ plight, and naebody can say what’s next. We maun better be dead than to pit our heads in a pother of snaw and wait for next simmer to melt us out.”
“Simmer, man, is it!” exclaimed a rough cart-man with a huge ham sandwich in each hand, and his jaws working on the remnants of their predecessor. “Simmer! It’s all up with the simmers frae now to the end o’ the warld. It’s bonny Scotland good-bye, and mind you, man, you’ll never see gorze again on the Queen’s Drive, I’m thinking, and you’ll never tak’ your bonnet aff on Arthur’s seat, nor pluck the daisy on Holy Rood mead. You’ll never canter to the Pentlands, nor hear the sang of praise go up frae the Roslin chapel, and you’ll nae hear the bell toll frae Grey Friars kirk, nor mark time wi’ the Hielanders in St. Giles’, and you’ll never bide the chance when you can see old Hay’s shop in High street, nor watch the middlings stare their een out at John Knox’s hame. It’s ower by naw,” and the good fellow turned away in a choking effort to repress his own tears, and swallow the generous morsels he had bitten from his overloaded hands.
Leacraft pressed by these disturbed groups, and found, after he had inducted Jim to the hospitalities of the various tables, his own strength and composure deserting him. He sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands. It seemed as if he had lived through some dreadful nightmare, and the weird and sickening sense of yet more miseries, rising thick and fast, covering with gloom a nation’s happiness, stunned him.
A soft voice awoke him. He looked up hastily and saw the lady whose arms, half an hour before, had clung unresistingly around his neck. She was unquestionably very pretty, and the returning flush upon her cheeks gave the alabaster clearness of her brow a singular effrontery of beauty. Elsewhere, or under different circumstances, it would have produced in Leacraft a momentary suspicion of artifice. As it was, it held his attention long enough for him to notice that the hair covering her head luxuriantly was a raven black, and was gathered beneath the hood of a soft brown sealskin fur, which clothed her form, while two wonderful opal bracelets, relieved with ruby jewels, in alternating links, most incongruously graced her wrists, the gloves on her fingers were evidently distended by rings, and a superb necklace of diamonds and peridots encircled closely her neck, seen through the half-opened cape. Leacraft rose mechanically to his feet, still conscious of effort, and looked wonderingly at the young face, and at that of her companion, Mr. Thomsen, the Scotchman.
“My cousin and I”—the voice was exquisitely gentle and expressive—“can never repay you. It is a slight thing to say to you how much we thank you, but it is not impossible that we can both yet show you our gratitude in some manner that will mean more than words, mean as much for you as your sacrifice meant for us. Is not that so, Ned?”
She turned to Mr. Thomsen, who advanced and accosted Leacraft with courteous alacrity. “I am sure, sir, you appreciate our sense of devotion to yourself. You extricated my cousin and myself from a certain and dangerous imprisonment. It might have been something more dreadful. And perhaps,” with a reluctant gaze at the young woman, and a smile of understanding for Leacraft, “you may wish to understand better how the perilous predicament you found us in occurred. It was very simple. This lady, Miss Ethel Tobit,” Leacraft bowed, “was left with myself, her cousin, at the home of her father and mother, on Pitt street, to complete the packing of a quantity of valuables which were at the last moment to be placed in a safe and left there for recovery later; it does now seem as if that word was a poor mask for Never. We had brought food for the house, and felt no fears of escaping before the streets became impassable. Then this last storm broke, and this afternoon, late in the day, we started out—but we had waited too long. My cousin sank under the exertion; I was disabled by a fall, in which my side was seriously bruised. We took refuge in St. Andrew’s Church, whose doors stood providently unclosed, though to swing them out I had to dig with my hands a crevice for their movement, in the rising snow banks forcing them constantly back. Our vigil began. The city in all directions around us was deserted. We could hear the workers on Princes street occasionally, in the lulls of the hurricane, and the whistle from the station sent thrills of anguish through us, as we felt we should soon be alone in an empty city. It was as impossible for us in our crippled state to return to the house in Pitt street as to reach Princes street. We then began calling, and it was you, sir, who responded. I think hunger and thirst would have made it impossible, even in the day, for us to have left our retreat, and only the—”
“Don’t, Ned,” cried the quivering girl; “don’t don’t! It’s too awful to think of. We need all our best spirits as it is—but to think—Oh! it’s too horrible!” And she hid her face against her cousin’s breast, and broke into sobs. Leacraft felt the embarrassment, and was ill at ease, though somehow at that mournful moment the sight of a beautiful woman seemed a compensation, and in this case, as she lifted her tearful face to Leacraft, piteously struggling to smile, it awoke in him a kind of ardor to be always near her. He looked almost tenderly at her and said: “I think I have every reason to thank my good fortune and this remarkable weather for a very pleasant adventure. Well, No!” he continued, as he caught the reproachful and grieving glance of Miss Tobit, “that is too cynical. Heaven knows we are all broken-hearted enough to-night to relinquish any false gayety, or even the appearance of it, but certainly, Miss Tobit, I hope this chance acquaintance will establish a friendship between us. It will be the only compensation for this night of agony, and perhaps for all the other nights of agony that still await us. You will not refuse it?”
Miss Tobit turned instinctively to her friend, and Leacraft, betrayed into an earnestness perhaps somewhat out of place, had a fleeting glance of an evanescent smile, and then the words, even more sweetly spoken than at first, came to his ears:
“It would be all your own fault if we fail to be friends. I am sure I can keep my side of the contract.”
Mr. Thomsen watched this brief exchange of promises not altogether with approval, if the faintly forming frown on his face meant anything, and the evident inclination to take Miss Tobit away from Leacraft’s proximity. But he was entirely courteous, and with a half-whispered comment that, “It would not do now to tire their benefactor any more,” he moved off and drew the lady with him. And then the summons came from the other end of the room that all was in readiness, that Sir John was on the train, and that the attempt to reach the south was to be made. There was much confusion and some indecent precipitation to gain the door, and in the rush Leacraft lost sight of his newly made friends, but found, to his great satisfaction, Jim at his side, for Jim had turned out to be that sort of a fellow that meets predicaments with coolness, and quietly, without words, instills confidence.