The Man with a Shadow

“And you wouldn’t break your heart, Dally, if he was to die, would you?” said the old man, with a chuckle.

“I should if he was to die now, gran’fa,” said the girl; “but when he marries me he can do what he likes.”

“Ay, when he’s married you, Dally, and you’ve got the Hall and all his money. But, look here, Dally; I want doctor to come and see me and bring me some of his stuff. You go up and tell him he must come – that I say he must come; I want him. Tell him I say he is to come, and that he is to bring some o’ that stuff he give me those nights. You say o’ those nights, and he’ll know. Rare stuff, Dally, as goes right down into your toes. Rare stuff, as sets you up and makes you have a good nap sometimes.”

Dally looked at the sexton searchingly.

“You’re not looking well, gran’fa,” she said.

“Nay, I look well enough, but I do want the doctor a bit.”

“You see you’re a very old man now.”

“Tchah! stuff! Old? I’m not an old man yet. Lots o’ go in me. Man takes care of himself, and he ought to live to two hundred.”

“Two hundred, gran’fa!” cried the girl, looking at him wonderingly.

“Ay. Why not? Look at the paytrarchs, seven and eight and nine hundred. I don’t mean to die yet, Dally,” he chuckled; “and you’ll have a long time to wait if you think you want the bit o’ money I’ve saved up.”

“Where do you keep that stuff now, gran’fa?”

“What stuff?” said the old man.

“That stuff you used to keep in the blue bottle in the corner cupboard.”

“How did you know I kept stuff in that corner cupboard?”

“Because I looked,” said the girl pertly. “Then I won’t have you look in my cupboards. I – ”

“Why not?” said Dally calmly. “There, I know, gran’fa, most everything you’ve got. Now, tell me, what have you done with that bottle that you used to use for your eyes?”

“Poured it away, and put the bottle in the fire.”

“Oh, gran’fa!”

“My eyes are right enough now, and I didn’t want to go some night in the dark – candles cost money, Dally – and take the wrong stuff. Doctor gives me some drops in a little bottle, and I shouldn’t ha’ liked to make a mistake.”

“And you’ve thrown it all away?” said the girl in a disappointed tone.

“Ay, my gel. It was poison, only to use outside, and you wouldn’t ha’ liked your poor old gran’fa to make a mistake?”

“Gone!” said Dally, to herself.

“Now, you go to doctor and say your gran’fa wants him. Tell him I say it’s all nonsense for him to be ill, and he must come.”

“Yes, gran’fa.”

“And you wait, Dally. I arn’t an old man yet, but I shall be sure to die some day, and then there’ll be a bit o’ money for you.”

“I don’t want your money, gran’fa,” she said sourly, as the old man grinned and rubbed his hands.

“That’s right. Good gel. Be independent,” he said. “Now go and tell doctor he must come.”

Dally did not stir, but stood gazing straight before her thoughtfully.

“How much does it cost to go to London, gran’fa?” she said, at last, as the old man beat upon the arm of his chair to take her attention.

“Heaps o’ money – heaps o’ money. What do you want to know for?”

“Because I’m going there.”

“Going? What for?”

“To find him and bring him back.”

“Whatcher talking about? You go and fetch doctor.”

“About Tom Candlish. I went to the Hall last night, and he was gone.”

“What, young squire? Well, you mustn’t go after him, gel.”

“Yes, I must,” said Dally, with a lurid look in her dark eyes. “I’m going after him to bring him back here, gran’fa. But are you sure you threw that stuff away?”

“Ay, I’m sure enough. Now go and fetch doctor, I tell you; and ask him to give you some more of it if your eyes are bad. Now go.”

Dally nodded shortly, neither displaying, nor being expected to display, any affection for her grandfather, as she left the cottage; when the old man relit his pipe and sat back thinking as he smoked.

“What does she want with that stuff?” he said thoughtfully; “’tis poison, and she knowed where it was. She wouldn’t want to take none herself. She wouldn’t do that; and she wouldn’t want to give none to Tom Candlish, because that wouldn’t make him marry her. I dessay she wants it – she wants it – to – ”

The old man’s drowsy head had sunk back, his pipe-holding hand fell in his lap, and he slept heavily, to wake, after a few hours, cold and shivering, ready to creep to bed, murmuring against the doctor for not coming, and forgetting all about Dally and her desire to get that bottle which used to stand in the corner cupboard.

Volume Three – Chapter Sixteen.

Moredock’s Medicine

“It’s like a shadow following me always,” muttered North, “and it is hopeless for me to try longer. I’ve fought and battled with it as bravely as a man could fight, and for what? I have failed; there is nothing to keep me here. Why should I stay?”

“Yes,” he repeated, “I have failed – failed in my daring attempt – failed in my love – and I want rest. I can bear it no longer; what I want is rest. Ah!”

He drew a long breath and then sighed, and went straight to the window, drew aside the curtain, and for the first time for many days spent about half-an-hour at his toilet, to stand at last, weak and ghastly pale, but looking, otherwise, more like the frank, manly young doctor of the past.

By this time his eyes had grown more accustomed to the light, and he went and stood gazing out of the window at the pleasant woodland landscape spread before him, thinking of his future, and ignorant of the fact that the sight was soothing to his troubled brain.

It seemed to him that his shadow slept, and turning from the window, after a final look across the meadows, where now and again he could see the sun glancing from the stream in the direction of the Rectory, he walked, with a fair amount of steadiness, across the floor, just as the figure of a woman appeared in the lower meadow walking hurriedly and keeping close to the hedges and clumps of trees, which gave the place the aspect of a park.

As North opened the door and made for the stairs he could see that the baize door at the foot, which cut off communication with the rest of the house, was ajar, and then it moved slightly and closed.

“Watched,” he said to himself; “poor old Milt! I must not forget her.”