“Yes, yes, they shall not find you, child. The dreams have come true at last, or almost true. They shall not find you; we will hide you safely in the old place you knew as a child, and I will watch over you. Come—they shall not find you.”
Unresisting, she submitted to be half led, half carried from the garden and along the deserted streets to the old man’s house. There, with his arm still fast about her, he unlocked the door and led her in and took her to an inner room; with the gentleness of a woman he laid her down there and covered her up. In a few moments, from sheer weariness, she was fast asleep.
It happened that night that Captain Garraway-Kyle, feeling restless and lonely, had thrown his old-fashioned military cloak about him and had gone for a long walk. Coming back very late he paused for a moment near the old archway through which the shop of the shoemaker was reached, and after a moment’s hesitation passed through and stopped before the shop. The captain was a man of few friends, and had been in the habit, since his first conversation with old Medmer Theed, of going to the place sometimes in the evening for the sake of company. On this occasion, feeling for some indefinite reason more lonely even than usual, and seeing a light gleaming through the shutters, he knocked softly at the door. In a moment it was opened, and he saw the old man, bearing a candle, standing within the doorway. The captain civilly wished him good-evening and made as if to enter in the ordinary way. For the moment, however, the old shoemaker barred his entrance; then, stepping aside, with a grunt, he somewhat churlishly admitted him.
“It’s very late, I’m afraid,” said the captain, “but I saw a light, and guessed you were not in bed. Are you alone?”
“Of course,” replied Theed. “What did you expect? Am I not always alone?”
“Why, of course,” replied the captain somewhat surprised at his tone. “Like yourself, I am a lonely man, and am glad sometimes to find a fellow-creature to whom I can talk.” He had entered the little low-roofed shop by this time and had seated himself upon a bench. “Why, it’s quite cold to-night, isn’t it?” he added.
He had spoken in his usual quick, rather highly pitched voice, and suddenly the shoemaker raised a warning forefinger, and glanced toward the door at the back of the shop. “Hush!” he whispered softly.
The captain looked at him in amazement. “I—I’m very sorry,” he said, lowering his voice. “I had no idea that there was any one in here.”
“Yes, sleeping,” whispered the old man eagerly. “When the winds sang of her in the trees, and the trees bent to each other to whisper of her coming, she came suddenly to me in the old place where I had waited so long; she came weeping, as I had dreamed she would come, and crying to me to take her away and hide her. And so I brought her here, that none may find her.”