“If she do want me, I’ll go,” he said.
It was not yet six months since he had left home; according to his contract another eighteen should elapse before he took a holiday, yet he did not hesitate for a moment. An unendurable longing was upon him; he was drawn by an inexplicable force. Without pausing to reflect on the possible consequences which might ensue, he rose, dressed and set forth on his journey before any one, even in that early household, was astir.
He had but little money, and his progress was necessarily slow, his resources only permitting him to travel a part of the way by train. He walked the rest, begging occasional “lifts” from good-natured waggoners.
It was nearly a week after that dream had come to him when he arrived late one afternoon at his native place. So travel-stained was he, so haggard and gaunt with fatigue and privations, that his old friends would have found it difficult to recognise him had he traversed the village; but Rebecca’s home lay on the outskirts and he made his way there immediately.
His heart had been torn by a thousand conflicting hopes and fears during his long journey. What if Rebecca did not want him at all? What if she should laugh at him for his pains? What if she should join in the chorus of disapproval which would, he knew, greet his foolhardy undertaking? His uncle had probably written home to announce his disappearance; his parents would have plenty to say on the subject, but for that he cared little. What would Rebecca say? what would she think? And then he remembered her parting words: “She’ll always love me faithful and true,” and he seemed again to feel her arms about his neck.
His heart leaped up within him as he approached the cottage, for he half-expected to see the elfin shape come flitting forth to greet him; and then he chid himself for his folly. How could she be on the look-out for him? he had sent her no word of his coming.
It was a frosty night, clear and unusually cold. The moon had already risen and the sky was spangled with stars. He could see the withered hollyhocks standing stiff on either side of the whitewashed flagged path, and observed that the door was fast closed. A little glimmer of firelight came through the kitchen window, but otherwise there was no sign of life about the place.
Three strides carried David up the garden path and in another instant his hand rattled at the latch; but the door did not yield to his hand—it was bolted within and no sound broke the succeeding stillness except the barking of a distant dog and the tremulous beating of his own heart.
“Rebecca!” he cried. His voice was hoarse and his great frame trembled like a leaf. “Rebecca! I’m here. I be come.”
A shrill cackle from within—Grandfather Legg’s unmistakable laugh—was the only response.