“I thought perhaps you might be a—a relative,” ventured the captain, replacing his hat.
“No,” she replied, in a low voice, “I am not a relative. Dr. Vernier has engaged me chiefly to look after the child.”
“I am glad,” said the captain, with awkward gallantry, “that she is in such good hands.” The situation was becoming embarrassing; the captain knew that he had no earthly right there, and felt that he must withdraw his forces without delay. He stooped, and held his hand out to the child, who shyly took it; bade her “Good-night” with much gentleness, and turned and left the garden, followed by Comethup, who glanced back again and again at the little white figure walking with the woman in the direction of the house.
Comethup was very serious indeed as they walked toward his father’s house. This new figure in the story could not be dealt with with the ease with which a mere Blissett might be tackled. He saw a prospect of losing forever that little figure which had so strongly interested him. He expressed his fears tremblingly to the captain as he trotted beside him.
“Shall we see her again, sir?”
“Don’t know, Comethup,” replied the captain, dejectedly. “Direct attack has failed; stratagem has failed also. I’m afraid we can’t do anything else to assist your little damsel in distress, Comethup.”
Comethup went to his bed, to dream that he went again to the garden, and found the gates fastened strongly against him; that he beat his hands against the bars of them, crying to the child to let him in, and to the captain to come with his sword and break the gates down. He awoke in the dark, with the tears still wet upon his cheeks, and cried himself to sleep again.
Sick with the necessity for consolation, he went on the following morning to see the captain. The captain had constituted himself, for some time past, a sort of informal instructor to Comethup; had dragged from an old box some very out-of-date lesson books, and was renewing his own youth by plodding steadily over that first stony ground of knowledge with the boy, taking infinite delight in his pupil’s progress. Comethup had learned many things at those lessons—scraps of this and bits of that—and had had, interwoven with the more technical subjects, a certain thread of hard and pure and very fine morality as to straightness of living and one’s duty to one’s fellows, which had formed the captain’s creed throughout all his simple life.
On this particular morning, although neither mentioned his distress to the other, the matter was very fully in the minds of both, and no real attempt was made to take lessons seriously. Indeed, the captain, with a very fine intuition, had guessed what would be the condition of Comethup’s mind, and had not even got out the books. Comethup found him standing near the window, examining, with a somewhat troubled face, a pair of boots, passing one finger delicately over places in the uppers which seemed untrustworthy, and holding them from him at arm’s length, to get a more general effect in regard to their appearance. The soles of the boots were very thin, and the heels rather high.
“I am going,” said the captain, setting the boots down on the window seat, and gravely returning Comethup’s salute, “to pay a visit to the shoemaker’s.” He regarded the boots with a thoughtful frown. “They might go a week or two longer, Comethup, but the result would probably be disastrous. One gets used in time, when one is not rich, to judge exactly the moment when delay, in a matter of this kind, is no longer safe, and when the thing must be done, if it is to be done at all. It’s like fighting a battle, Comethup; either you must strike at a given moment, or you’d better not strike at all. Will you come with me?”