Meg of the heather

MEG lay face downwards on the heath. Her auburn hair gleamed gold among the bracken, and her faded green dress mingled well with the pink and green of her resting place.

She had chosen a comfortable couch on which to rest her tired limbs, and of this she was fully conscious. She had been walking for hours without food and her strength was nearly played out; but though tired and hungry she was exulting in the fact that she was alone.

As she had stood panting for breath after her quick walk, which had often turned into a run, she had looked all around to make quite sure that no one was in sight, and on coming to the conclusion that she was alone on the wide heath she had thrown herself down with a sigh of relief.

It was good to be alone, her tired limbs resting on the soft grass and her head buried in her folded arms. The quiet was as balm to her spirit, and the sweet scent of the heather was better just then than food. As a tired child creeps into his mother's bosom, so Meg felt almost a human companionship in mother earth. And the sun in all its glory poured down its beams on her auburn head and lithe young figure.

How long she lay there, half sleeping, half waking, she did not know; but suddenly she was aroused to consciousness by a cold shiver which made her start and sit up. She saw then that the heath was no longer steeped in sunshine; but that its pink had turned into a deep coppery colour, and that facing her were masses of dark cloud, edged with a sulphurous yellow. A low peal of thunder greeted her ears.

She sat up now with her hand clasping her knees, looking with wild excited eyes towards the dark sky. She was conscious that a fearful storm was brewing, but the knowledge brought with it no fear; rather she noticed its approach with exultation. It suited her present mood; and as she watched the lightning playing around her, she laughed.

Suddenly she heard her name called, and sprang to her feet, looking about her like a hunted animal. Then a hand was laid on her arm, not too gently, and she was pulled down again to her place.

"Lie flat girl, or you'll be struck dead. Do you want to make a target of yourself?"

The look of apprehension on the girl's face disappeared as she obeyed, and not a moment too soon. A fearful flash, followed instantly by a peal of thunder struck a tree close by, and a branch fell within a few yards of her, withered and blackened.

Meg made a movement as if to spring to her feet, but her companion held her down.

"Lie down," he cried, "lie flat, Meg. We shall be dead in a moment if you don't heed what I say."

Meg buried her face again feeling a little frightened. They were silent for some minutes, while they listened to the peals of thunder that followed the flashes so quickly that they knew the centre of the storm must be just above them. The rain was pouring down and Meg's companion divested himself of his rough coat, threw it over the girl, and then crept a little further away to a spot where he could get more shelter. He lay and gazed at the head buried amidst the bracken, and in his heart a tempest was raging, in harmony, with nature's wild mood.

Jem knew that he had come to a crisis in his life. Two ways opened before him, one meant a life of misery and sordidness for his companion, the other a possible escape from her present misery. But this possible way was worse than death for him.

He was a tall young man, with an honest, rough looking face, surmounted by a head of curly brown hair. His eyes were of the brightest blue, almost fierce in their brightness. A red handkerchief was knotted round his throat, and the hat which lay on the ground beside him was battered and torn. But had you met him you would have looked at his blue eyes rather than at his shabby clothes. These eyes were bent now on his companion, and in their expression there lay almost a look of worship.

Neither of them spoke till the storm had worn itself nearly out and the thunder had rumbled away in the distance. They were both hard at work, thinking. Meg was shedding tears at the thought that her short lived freedom had come to an end; while her companion was fighting for her freedom in his heart. Should he tell her what would set her free? Should he throw away from his own life the only thing that gave it happiness? At one moment he made up his mind that he would keep the girl in ignorance of the truth, at the next the sight of that little head buried in the bracken made him feel that any sacrifice on his part was worth making to secure her happiness.

At last he sat up.

"Meg," he said.

The girl did not answer or look at him. She was feeling too miserable to make the effort, and too tired. Now that the prospect of freedom had been taken from her, all her strength seemed to have ebbed away, and she knew she was hungry and deadly weary.

"If I hadn't come just when I did," said the man, "you'd have been in the place of that tree I take it. You were sitting right in the line. I saw the flash go over your head. Ain't you glad I saved you, Meg?"

"I don't know," said the girl slowly: "no, I think I'm sorry. I'd as lief be dead than go back to 'em all. The earth is kind: I don't see why I should mind lying here for ever: I think I'd like it." She gave a great sob as she spoke, and buried her head deeper in the bracken.

Her companion was silent for some time, still struggling within himself; then he said, looking away from the prostrate figure of the girl.

"There ain't no need as I know of for you to go back at all."

Meg sat up, while a look of incredulity crossed her face.

"But ain't you sent to fetch me?" she asked.

"No; they said you'd come back quick enough when you were hungry. I came on my own account."

"Oh, Jem, why did you come?" she asked reproachfully. "I want to be lost to 'em. I don't want ever to go back. Hunger won't drive me. I'm hungry now, but I'd starve, rather than that. I hate 'em, mother and father and all," Meg's voice rang out with passion and pain. "If I can't get as far as Minton," she added, "I'll just go to sleep in the heather and not wake up."

"Are you very hungry, Meg?"

"Yes," said the girl bluntly.

"You've had no breakfast?"

"No, I started as soon as there was a streak of light in the sky, and I've been walking ever since. What's the time?"

"It's getting on for six o'clock. If you don't make haste the sun will set and you won't get to Minton before dark."

The girl turned and gazed at her companion with a look of surprise.

"You seem to want me to go," she said.

Jem did not answer. He looked away from her towards the western sky. The dark clouds had disappeared and the setting sun was shedding its radiance once more over the heath. Meg noticed almost unconsciously how it lighted up Jem's face.

She moved a little nearer to her companion.

"Jem, I don't understand. Why have you followed me if you weren't sent to bring me back?"

"I came to tell you that as far as I can see there ain't no call for you to go back at all if you've not a mind to. They can't complain or compel you."

"Not father or mother?" exclaimed the girl.

"No. They ain't got no right to; they haven't had a right all this time to keep you. You can leave 'em straight away if you've a mind to."

"But," persisted the girl, "there's mother."