A Galahad of the Creeks; The Widow Lamport

by S. Levett Yeats

The wings of death are fleet and strong,

But we win the race, though the race be long.

Lays of the Punjab.

"Ruys, would you like to go home?"

"Home! This is my home, is it not?"

"You know what I mean," said Habakkuk. "This is getting too much for you," and he stopped in a hesitating sort of way. A sad little smile lit up his wife's face--a face that had grown stronger and braver with the soul struggle of the past year. It was changed, too; the old brightness, the old vivacity had gone, but there was a serious light in the eyes that told of battle fought and victory won. And Habakkuk missed that old brightness and saw not the struggle. He was always dull, even if he knew how to suffer and be strong. But he thought that his wife was dying for freedom, and he vowed in his heart that, in so far as he could give her freedom, she should be free. Home--yes, home was the best place for her. He would never see it again, but she would be uncaged. He was not rich in the world's goods, and what he had he gave freely to the cause for which he laboured; but he held his hand back now, and during the past year the cause had suffered in this respect. But this little wrong was necessary to lighten a stricken heart. And while he thus laboured his wife saw it all with a woman's quickness, and inch by inch he was gaining ground, unknown at first to herself and through all utterly unguessed by him. At last the summer madness of the past drifted away, at last she began to realize, and just as she had done so this blundering fool asked her to go. It was too bad! After all, she had her woman's rights. Why did he not try to win her back with soft words? A new softness, a new mistrust of herself had come over her, and she could not speak. And then she dissembled and evaded the question. "I am very well," she said; "there is nothing the matter with me."

Smalley made no answer, and his wife, rising, went to the door and then stopped. For a moment the thought flashed upon her that she would ask him to come with her as far as the schoolhouse of Dagon. But he saw nothing in her hesitation. Finally she left him and went to her daily duties; but as she walked down the grassy lane that led to the school she thought to herself that if he had made any advance, ever so little a one, that she would have spoken. After all, this was part of her punishment, and she should bear it, her thoughts ran on.

"Alms, in the name of the Buddh!" An old man, shaking with palsy, held out a gourd to her, and Ruys gave to him and walked on. The beggar picked out the coin from the calabash and poised it lightly on his finger. The palsy had all gone now, and his hand was as firm as a rock.

"Three times," he muttered to himself--"three times has my hand been crossed with silver to-day. By God! I have him now. Thanks to the chattering tongue of that servant girl, I know her secret and his. I will strike there--there!"--and he pointed to the retreating figure--"and this will make him live with a heart wound. For a whole year have I waited and worked and planned, and now the time has come. Oh, that this were the day! But I will not disregard a single omen. Thrice crossed with silver, therefore the third day from this. Courage, Bah Hmoay!"

Once more palsy stricken, his feeble steps tottered along the lane and led him toward the pagoda. There at the feet of one of the two great griffins that guarded the gate he crouched, swinging himself backward and forward, and ever and anon calling out, "Alms, in the name of the Buddh!" So he sat until about the hour of sunset, when the womanfolk of the place gathered to the temple, and then he saw one whose stately step and carriage were unmistakable. It was Ma Mie, and as she passed by he called out her name softly, and she turned with a start. At a glance she recognised him. "You here!" she said with a little gasp that choked the word "devil!" which she hissed under the breath.