mustleave it. He got up, fumbling for his threepenny-piece, but failed tofind it.
"Don't forget your hat, sir; it'll come all right when it's dry," saidthe woman, as she handed it to him. But he stood, the conductor waiting,and seemed unable to take it from her: he could not find the littlecoin!
"There, there, sir!" interposed the woman, as she made haste and handedhim three coppers; "I have plenty for both of us, and wish for your sakeit was a hundred times as much. Take it, sir," she insisted, whileHector yet hesitated and fumbled; "you won't refuse such a small servicefrom another of God's creatures! I mean it well."
But the conductor, apparently affected with the same generosity, pushedback the woman's hand, saying, "No, no, ma'am, thank you! The gentleman'll pay me another day."
Hector pulled out an old silver watch, and offered it.
"I cannot be so sure about that," he said. "Better take this: it's oflittle use to me now."
"I'll be damned if I do!" cried the conductor fiercely, and down hejumped and stood ready to help Hector from the omnibus.
But his kindness was more than Hector could stand; he walked away,unable to thank him.
"I wonder now," muttered the conductor to himself when Hector was gone,"if that was a put-up job between him and the woman? I don't think so.Anyhow, it's no great loss to anybody. I won't put it down; the company'll have to cover that."
Hector turned down a street that led westward, drying his eyes, andwinking hard to make them swallow the tears which sought to hide fromhim a spectacle that was calling aloud to be seen. For lo! thestreet-end was filled with the glory of a magnificent rainbow. Allacross its opening stretched and stood the wide arch of a wonderfulrainbow. Hector could not see the sun; he saw only what it was making;and the old story came back to him, how the men of ancient time took theheavenly bow for a promise that there should no more be such a flood asagain to destroy the world. And therefore even now the poets called therainbow the bow of hope.
Nor, even in these days of question and unbelief, is it matter of wonderthat, at sight of the harmony of blended and mingling, yet alwaysindividual, and never confused colors, and notwithstanding his knowledgeof optics, and of how the supreme unity of the light was secerned intoits decreed chord, the imaginative faith of the troubled poet should sowork in him as to lift his head for a moment above the waters of thatother flood that threatened to overwhelm his microcosm, and the bowshould seem to him a new promise, given to him then and individually, ofthe faithfulness of an unseen Power of whom he had been assured, by onewhom he dared not doubt, that He numbered the very hairs of his head.Once more his spirit rose upon the wave of a hope which he could neitherlogically justify nor dare to refuse; for hope is hope whencesoever itspring, and needs no justification of its self-existence or of itssudden marvelous birth. The very hope was in itself enough for itself.And now he was near his home; his Annie was waiting for him; and inanother instant his misery would be shared and comforted by her! He waswalking toward the wonder-sign in the heavens. But even as he walkedwith it full in view, he saw it gradually fade and dissolve into thesky, until not a thread of its loveliness remained to show where it hadspanned the infinite with its promise of good. And yet, was not the skyitself a better thing, and the promise of a yet greater good? He mustwalk onward yet, in tireless hope! And the resolve itself endured--orfading, revived, and came again, and ever yet again.
For ere he had passed the few yards that lay between him and Annie yetanother wonder befell: as if the rainbow had condensed, and taken shapeas it melted away, there on the pathway, in the thickening twilight ofthe swift-descending November night, stood a creature, surely not of thenight, but rather of the early morn, a lovely little child--whetherwandered from the open door of some neighboring house, or left by thevanished rainbow, how was he to tell? Endeavoring afterward to recallevery point of her appearance, he could remember nothing of her feet, oreven of the frock she wore. Only her face remained to him, with itscerulean eyes--the eyes of Annie, looking up from under the cloud of herdark hair, which also was Annie's. She looked then as she stood, in hismemory of her, as if she were saying, "I trust in you; will you nottrust in Him who made the rainbow?" For a moment he seemed to standregarding her, but even while he looked he must have forgotten that shewas there before him, for when again he knew that he saw her, though hedid not seem ever to have looked away from her, she had changed in thegathering darkness to the phantasm of a daisy, which still gazed up inhis face trustingly, and, indeed, went with him to his own door, seemingall the time to say, "It was no child; it was me you saw, and nothingbut me; only I saw the sun--I mean, the man that was making therainbow." And never more could he in his mind separate the child, whom Icannot but think he had verily seen, from the daisy which certainly hehad not seen, except in the atmosphere of his troubled and confusedsoul.
It may help my reader to understand its confusion if I recall to him thefact that Hector had that day eaten nothing. Nor must my wife readerthink hardly of Annie for having let him leave the house without anyfood, for he had stolen softly away, and closed the door as softlybehind him, thinking how merrily they would eat together when he cameback with his good news. And now he was bringing nothing to her but thestory of a poor woman and her child who had warmed him, and of anomnibus-conductor who had trusted him for his fare, and of a rainbow anda child and a daisy.
"Oh, you naughty, naughty dear!" cried Annie, as she threw herself intohis arms, rejoicing. But at sight of his worn and pallid face the smilefaded from hers, and she thought, "What can have befallen him?"
His lip quivered, and, seeking with a watery smile to reassure her, hegave way and burst into tears. Unmanly of him, no doubt, but what is aman to do when he cannot help it? And where is a man to weep if not onhis wife's bosom? Call this behavior un-English, if you will; for,indeed, Hector was in many ways other than English, and, I protest,English ways are not all human. But I will not allow that it manifestedany weakness, or necessarily involved shame to him; the best of men, andthe strongest--yea, the one Man whose soul harbored not an atom ofself-pity--upon one occasion wept, I think because he could not persuadethe women whom he loved and would fain console to take comfort in hisFather. Annie, for one reverent moment, turned her head aside, thenthrew her arms about him, and hid her glowing face in his bosom.
"There's only me in the house, dear," she said, and led the way to theirroom.
When they reached it, she closed the door, and turned to him.
"So they won't take your story?" she said, assuming the fact, with asad, sunny smile.
"They refused it absolutely."
"Well, never mind! I shall go out charing to-morrow. You have no notionhow strong I am. It is well for you I have never wanted to beat you.Seriously, I believe I am much stronger than you have the least notionof. There! Feel that arm--I should let you feel it another way, only Iam afraid of hurting you."
She had turned up the sleeve of her dress, and uncovered a grandlydeveloped arm, white as milk, and blossoming in a large, splendidlyformed hand. Then playfully, but oh! so tenderly, with the under andsoftest part of her arm she fondled his face, rubbing it over first one,then the other cheek, and ended with both arms round his neck, her handsfolding his head to her bosom.
"Wife! wife!" faltered Hector, with difficulty controlling himself; "mystrong, beautiful wife! To think of your marrying me for this!"
"Hector," answered Annie, drawing herself back with dignity, "do youdare to pity me? That would be to insult me! As if I was not fit to beyour wife when doing _everything_ for my mother! There arethousands of Scotch girls that would only be proud to take my place,poor as you are--and you couldn't be much poorer--and serve you, withoutbeing your wife, as I have the honor and pride to be! But, my blessedman, I do believe you have eaten nothing to-day; and here am I fancyingmyself your wife, and letting you stand there empty, instead ofbestirring myself to get you some supper! What a shame! Why, you areactually dying with hunger!" she cried, searching his face with pitifuleyes.
"On the contrary, I am not in the least hungry," protested Hector.
"Then you must be hungry at once, sir. I will go and bring you somethingthe very sight of which will make you hungry."
"But you have no money, Annie; and, not being able to pay, we must gowithout. Come, we will go to bed." "Yes, I am ready; I had a goodbreakfast. But you have had nothing all day. And for money, do you knowMiss Hamper, the dressmaker, actually offered to lend me a shilling, andI took it. Here it is. You see, I was so sure you would bring money homethat I thought we _might_ run that much farther into debt. So I gotyou two fresh eggs and such a lovely little white loaf. Besides, I havejust thought of something else we could get a little money for--thatdainty
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