Blue-Eyes and Battlewick, Chapters XVIII-XXIII [pp. 273-294]

2Blue-Eyes and Battlewick.
"She is colder than you are," said
the voice.
"Yes," answered Grimshaw; "let me
go to her assistance."
But the Fiend held him.
"The child in her arms is five years
old; she is exhausted; a few steps more,
and she will fall, never to rise again."
"Yes, yes," replied Grimshaw; "let
me go to her."
The Fiend gripped him closer.
"Her consciousness long since left her,
but the mother's instinct, with its supernatural strength, remains. Even that
will soon go, and life with it."
"But I will help her, save her. I
pray you let me go."
Vain was his struggles. The Fiend
held him more tightly than before.
The woman was resting now. Long
she stood in the deep snow, facing the
bitter wind. Will she move again? No,
never. Yes, see! she moves again. Life
and strength have come back to her, and
now she comes on with quick steps. She
minds not the ice-crusted snow, she regards no impediment, the child is no
burthen to her.
But, alas! the bowed head is again
swaying to and fro, the quick footsteps
that break through the icy crust, wander
circling —and-she staggers —falls-at
Grimshaw's feet —— and lies there-. —-still as
stone.
Now the Fiend fiercely overminastered
Grimshaw's struggles, and held him by
the throat so that he could neither move
nor speak, but sat there impotent, with
the dead woman at his feet, and the
white moon looking coldly down through
the rents of the cloudy shroud above, and
the merciless wind sweeping over her and
her child!
It grew suddenly dark. The moon
buried herself in the clouds, the wind
rose, and the storm of snow came down
amain. t
"You were thinking of buying Western lands," began the Fiend, with his
squeak and sneer, but without relaxing
his grip. "hIere you see land in large
quantities, and of fine quality, I assure
you. True, we find a woman and child
here —— squatters. But their claim, if
claim they have, can easily be set aside,
or bought up for a song. They are poor;
eject them. Or suppose you buy the land,
with the stock already on it. They will
die; one is already dead, you think? A
small matter —small matter. They are
strangers; what do you care for them?
"It occurs to you that my conversation is heartless, and that, if I would release you, these people might be saved.
Wrong, very wrong, my Grimshaw. You
are very nearly a soul; consequently,
you are very nearly nothing; and it is
folly for nothing to think of saving anybody. Your powers were fairly tested in
the graveyard. Moreover, it is a weakness to give way to your feelings. A
speculator in Western lands should have
no more feelings than he has morals; no
good business man indulges in either. I
will not let you go. You shall not distress
yourself."
The snow, the wind, the jeering Fiend,
all could not divert Grimshaw's attention
from the fallen woman and her child,
that gave no more sign of life than herself. His vision was fixed upon her form
withstrangeconcentration-with a power,
indeed, that seemed in itself sufficient to
arouse her, if Ihaply the spark of life was
not entirely extinct. It did arouse her.
Convulsed by the last throe, she turned
suddenly. The poor fingers, numbed and
stiffened by the cold and the death-spasm,
clutched at her clothing, drawing it as if
yet further to protect the child that was
folded close to her breast. It was the
last act of the mother's life. She was
still, to move no more, forever.
The moon came out again to look at
the supine form, and upon the glassy,
staring eyes; and Grimshaw saw the
white, dead face that was turned to the
sky.
It was the face of his wife!
And that was his child that lay concealed in the shawl on its dead mother's
bosom-the babe that he had left with its
fair young mother on that night, long
ago, when he sat writing in his office.
Aye! that was his child-lying there in
the wide ocean of snow! If he might
282
[APRIL