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-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Into the Highways and Hedges, by 
-F. F. Montrésor (Frances Frederica)
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
-almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
-re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
-with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license
-
-
-Title: Into the Highways and Hedges
-
-Author: F. F. Montrésor (Frances Frederica)
-
-Release Date: August 27, 2012 [EBook #40594]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INTO THE HIGHWAYS AND HEDGES ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online
-Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
-
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-
-
-
-                       INTO THE HIGHWAYS & HEDGES
-
-                           BY F. F. MONTRÉSOR
-
-
-    _SEVENTH EDITION_
-
-    London 1896
-
-    HUTCHINSON & CO.
-    34 PATERNOSTER ROW
-
-    "Let a man contend to the uttermost for his life's set prize, be
-    it what it will."
-
-
-      Dedicated
-         TO
-      MY MOTHER
-
-
-
-
-PREFACE.
-
-
-This is not meant to be a controversial novel. I by no means agree with
-all Barnabas Thorpe's opinions. Nevertheless I believe that the men who
-fight for their ideals have been, and always will be, the saving element
-in a world which happily has never yet been left without them.
-
-Before and since the days when Socrates found that it was "impossible to
-live a quiet life, for that would be to disobey the deity," there have
-always been some souls who have counted it worth while to lose all else,
-if haply in the losing they might get nearer to the light from which
-they came. Their failures, their apparently hopeless mistakes, are often
-evident enough, yet the mistakes die, and the spirit which animates them
-lives. It would be dark, indeed, if the torches of those eager runners
-were to go out.
-
-F. F. M.
-
-
-
-
-INTO THE HIGHWAYS AND HEDGES.
-
-
-
-
-FIRST PART.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER I.
-
-
-The woman whose story is written here, was in the fulness of her youth
-some fifty years ago.
-
-She is dead now, and so are the two men who loved her best, who would
-each, according to his lights, have given his life for her happiness.
-
-Her name is inscribed in the family Bible, that holds on its flyleaf the
-generation of Deanes, but there is a thick stroke through it, which
-almost obliterates the delicate characters, and there is no record
-either of her marriage or of her death.
-
-She made a great mistake; she was one of the people who blunder on a
-large scale, who put all their eggs into one basket, and who are apt to
-break their hearts as well as their goods; but, in so far as her life
-did not end in pure tragedy, it seemed to me worth the telling.
-
-One lifts one's cap to those who never go wrong, but Heaven knows it is
-easy enough to stumble, and there are two sides to every ditch; let us,
-at least, cry "Hurrah!" when any one scrambles out on the right bank.
-
-Margaret was the third daughter of Charles Deane--(so much we find
-chronicled); she was five years younger than her sister Katherine, and
-seven years younger than Laura, and she must have been barely six when
-her father, then newly widowed, brought his children to London, and left
-them in charge of his sister.
-
-The three little girls were heiresses, and plentifully provided for. The
-Deanes and Russelthorpes have always been rich; money seems to have
-clung to their fingers, though there was never a miser among them. The
-families had intermarried for two generations, before Mr. Deane's sister
-accepted Mr. Joseph Russelthorpe, and took possession of the house in
-Bryanston Square. The marriage was not blessed with children, and "Aunt
-Russelthorpe" had consequently plenty of spare energy to expend on the
-training of her nieces. She was still handsome, though past her youth,
-when little Margaret first made her acquaintance. A tall striking woman,
-with very erect carriage, a decided manner, and a hard voice. She was a
-brilliant talker, and her parties were the rage at one time, though she
-was a shade too fond of monopolising attention to be a perfect hostess.
-
-She wore her hair in little ringlets on her high narrow forehead,
-according to, what was then, the fashion. Her hair and eyelashes were
-fair, her eyes wonderfully bright, though yellowish in colour, her
-complexion was exquisite, and her features were regular, save that her
-upper lip was rather too long.
-
-Her small nieces thought her "ugly" when they first saw her, but
-children never took to Mrs. Russelthorpe, and motherliness was not among
-her charms.
-
-Margaret clung fast to her father, and hid her face in his coat tails
-when he tried to introduce her to her new guardian; Laura and Kate held
-each other's hands tightly, and stared hard at their aunt, trying not to
-blink in the sudden blaze of light.
-
-The grand drawing-room, with its chandeliers and tall mirrors and
-gilded chairs, rather overawed them. "Children were out of place there."
-
-"Miss Cripps is waiting for the girls in the schoolroom; James can show
-them the way," said Mrs. Russelthorpe; and then her bright eyes fell on
-Margaret.
-
-"You spoil your youngest, I am afraid," she remarked.
-
-Margaret clung closer to her father.
-
-"Oh, don't let me be taken away from you," she sobbed; and Mr. Deane
-lifted her on to his shoulder, where she stopped crying; and looked
-defiance at her aunt, with one chubby hand resting on his wavy bright
-brown hair.
-
-"You must forgive our bad manners to-night. Meg is very fond of her old
-father, aren't you, lady-love?" he said; and he carried her down to the
-dining-room (though with an apologetic glance at his sister), and she
-sat on his knee while he ate his dinner, and sipped sherry from his
-glass, and listened wide-eyed to his talk.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe shook her head, and bided her time. Charles was going
-away to-morrow, and Meg should be taught how to behave herself before he
-came back.
-
-In the meantime the little lady had a short-lived triumph.
-
-Her baby face was like her handsome father's, and the two made a pretty
-pair. She put up her soft red lips to kiss him once, and her aunt turned
-away sharply. It was ridiculous to be angry with a child, and she was
-irritable with herself as well as with Meg.
-
-"Uncle Russelthorpe" sat at the bottom of the table, watching, rather
-than joining in, the conversation. He had a way of slipping lower and
-lower in his chair, a trick which rather fascinated Meg, who wondered
-whether he would slide below the tablecloth if they sat long enough.
-
-He was an insignificant little man, dull-complexioned, with wiry
-iron-grey whiskers that seemed to twitch with nervousness, and sharp
-ferret-like eyes that surprised you at times by a sudden humorous
-twinkle. He had given up contending with his wife long ago, and consoled
-himself for his abdication by sly internal comments on her proceedings.
-His remarks stung her occasionally, and she never quite ruled him,
-though he was not man enough to rule her.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe and her brother waxed hot over politics; and Meg,
-understanding about one remark in ten, was yet unwittingly charmed by
-the flow of her father's sentences and the tone of his musical voice.
-
-The taste of sherry always brought back a remembrance of him, with his
-chin swathed in the stiff stock of those days, his face aglow with
-enthusiasm, his blue eyes kindling as he spoke.
-
-He was a very gallant gentleman, to whom all women were good and pure
-and beautiful; it was no wonder they liked him.
-
-Mr. Deane was the one Radical in a Tory family at a time when party
-spirit ran high, and his sister was genuinely shocked at the tendencies
-he displayed, and combated them with excellent force and some wit. Mrs.
-Russelthorpe enjoyed an argument, but her brother was too keenly
-interested to fence well.
-
-"My dear Augusta, it's easy to sit at an over-heaped table, and preach
-about the insubordination of the starving," he cried. "We've done that
-long enough. No wonder Lazarus outside becomes impatient!"
-
-"Is Lazarus just outside?" asked Meg, raising her head, which was
-nestled against his breast.
-
-"Ay, God knows he is!" said her father. "And this bitter winter is
-nipping his toes and freezing his marrow, Meg, so that he threatens to
-come in, and take his share of the good things. You see, sis," he added
-apologetically, "there are two sides to every question."
-
-Uncle Russelthorpe emitted a sudden unmusical chuckle.
-
-"Very true, Charles," he said. "But _you_ are not the man to see both."
-
-Here Meg began to cry. "I'm frightened of Lazarus," she gasped. "I don't
-want him to come in!" and her father laughed at and comforted her, and
-finally bore her up to bed, being rather flattered at her devotion to
-him, as well as touched at parting with his motherless children, whose
-hearts he had quite won during the long coach journey to London.
-
-He saw very little of his girls as a rule, he had so many other things
-to think of (he was a great patron of art and letters, a dabbler in
-politics, and the most popular man in the county), but when he was with
-them he was charming, and petted them far more than was the fashion in
-those days.
-
-Meg's predilection for him became quite inconvenient when he tried to
-leave her; and she clung to him more desperately than ever, partly from
-terror at her new surroundings and at being left to sleep alone in a
-strange room.
-
-"I'll show you something beautiful if you'll only stop crying," he said,
-as he put her down on the nursery-maid's lap and knelt in front of them,
-Meg still clutching at the lace frills of his cuff to prevent his
-departure.
-
-"You'll never, never come back no more if I let you go," said the child
-between her sobs; but, like a true little daughter of Eve, she allowed
-herself to be overcome by curiosity and her hold loosened.
-
-He drew out a small diamond-circled miniature that hung concealed round
-his neck.
-
-"Who is it?" he asked in a whisper.
-
-"Mother!" cried Meg; and he was delighted at the recognition.
-
-"There! You shall keep it for me if you'll let me go," he said, and put
-it in her pink baby fingers, closing them gently over it.
-
-Meg smiled at the shimmer of the stones. "I'll look in and see you
-asleep," he told her, and kissed her very tenderly as he left; but he
-did not look in again. Another scene was more than he could stand, and
-his sister advised him not to.
-
-Meg fell asleep at last with the miniature in her hand, but woke in the
-middle of the night with a terrified consciousness that some one was
-bending over her, and feeling stealthily under her pillow.
-
-"It's Lazarus! Father, father!" she screamed, but the figure fled
-incontinently--and in the morning Meg's diamonds were gone. She never
-spoke of her loss: like many a nervous child she could not bear to talk
-of nightly terrors; but for years she was haunted with the idea of that
-gaunt hungry figure "just outside," who might creep again into her room
-and stand by her with freezing hands and frost-bitten feet,--a sort of
-embodied and revengeful poverty.
-
-Nursery days ended under the new régime, and the pretty spoilt baby
-developed into a shy little schoolroom girl, who curtsied demurely, and
-spoke in a whisper when she appeared with her sisters in the
-drawing-room, for a terrible half-hour before dinner.
-
-The girls had their meals in the schoolroom at the top of the house,
-with Miss Cripps, who, poor thing, had a dull enough time of it; and
-their world was quite distinct from their aunt's as a rule, though she
-occasionally invaded it, very much to their dismay.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe had no intention of treating her nieces unfairly, and
-no money was spared over their education; if little love was lavished on
-them they certainly never expected, and probably never consciously
-missed it.
-
-Laura and Kate held together with a close and exclusive alliance; and
-little Meg, who was rather "out of it" so far as her sisters were
-concerned, would nurse her doll in a corner, and wear the pink off its
-cheeks with her kisses.
-
-Laura was a sturdy broad-shouldered girl, with a square jaw and clear
-blue eyes. She was abnormally solemn in the drawing-room, as indeed they
-all were, but possessed a fund of dry humour that would bubble up
-suddenly and quaintly even in schoolroom days, and a philosophical
-self-reliance that unfortunately had a tendency to degenerate into
-selfishness.
-
-Kate was graceful and delicate. She had languid and rather plaintive
-manners, and gave promise of unusual beauty. She was lazy and apparently
-yielding, though, as a matter of fact, she possessed a gentle tenacity
-of purpose that seldom readily gave way to anything; but none of the
-Deanes were wanting in obstinacy.
-
-One unhappy day Aunt Russelthorpe made a sudden descent on the
-schoolroom. She had a habit of bursting in at irregular intervals in
-order to see how things were going: for she never quite trusted any
-governess, and was genuinely determined to do her duty by the girls. Her
-advent was generally a prelude to storms.
-
-"A good storm clears the air," she used to declare; and doubtless she
-went away the happier for having relieved her mind; as for the
-atmosphere she left behind, it is open to doubt whether that benefited.
-
-This especial storm marked a crisis in Meg's life, warming her distrust
-of her aunt into an absolute dislike, that tended to make her childhood
-and girlhood both morbid and unhappy.
-
-It was seven o'clock, and lessons were over--Miss Cripps was caught
-napping, and Laura and Kate were interrupted in the game they were
-playing together, when Mrs. Russelthorpe opened the door.
-
-Miss Cripps had no _savoir faire_ whatever, and they were all taken by
-surprise, and stared silently at the apparition in evening dress,
-suddenly appearing in that dull room.
-
-"How sleepy you all are!" cried Mrs. Russelthorpe. "I never saw such
-quiet children! Do you _never_ have any conversation? One would think I
-beat you. Where's Margaret? Oh, sitting in a corner as usual. You are
-getting much too old for dolls, Margaret. Miss Cripps shouldn't allow
-you to be such a baby--why, how old are you?"
-
-Meg crimsoned up to the very roots of her hair, clasped her doll more
-tightly, her eyes growing round and dilated, and remained speechless.
-
-"The child's a fool! How--old--are--you?" with exaggerated clearness,
-and a full stop between each word.
-
-"Twelve," murmured Meg; and then began to cry from sheer nervousness.
-There are some natures whom tears aggravate beyond endurance; Aunt
-Russelthorpe lost patience and shook her niece, and the doll fell to the
-ground.
-
-It was an old and worn and dirty doll, and Mrs. Russelthorpe hated
-anything old; it was awkward of Meg to drop it, and awkwardness set her
-nerves on edge. She caught the doll up by its leg, and with an
-exclamation of disgust threw it into the fire.
-
-Meg screamed, and sprang forward to save it, with her face suddenly as
-white as her pinafore. Before any one could stop her, she had plunged
-her hand into the flames, and dragged out a melting mass.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe, with praiseworthy presence of mind, caught up the rug
-and smothered her niece in it.
-
-The blaze was out in a minute, but Meg's arm was badly burnt, and her
-doll was a blackened stump.
-
-The child was beside herself with grief, and for the moment she no more
-felt physical pain than if she had been under chloroform. She turned to
-her aunt with her grey eyes blazing.
-
-"Oh! how I _hate_ you, Aunt Russelthorpe!" she cried. "I can't burn
-you--I wish--I wish I could; but I will hate you every moment of every
-day just as long as ever I live!"
-
-It was after this episode that Meg took to slipping away in play-hours,
-and wandering off on her own devices. She felt secretly sore with Miss
-Cripps, and Laura and Kate, who had all looked on, and done nothing to
-avert the tragedy. She buried her doll in a corner of Bryanston Square,
-wrapped in a cambric handkerchief; but she could never laugh or play
-there afterwards.
-
-She had suffered for that bit of wax as if it had been a sentient
-creature, that she had seen writhe in the flames. The object had been
-absurd enough, but the love that enveloped it had been living, and that
-died hard.
-
-Meg shot up, mentally and physically about this time, and grew lanky and
-pale: she was beginning to leave childish ways behind her; but her
-childish grief had one odd result,--it led to a curious alliance between
-herself and her old uncle, who, of all people in the world, was supposed
-to most detest children.
-
-The Russelthorpes seldom dined alone; but Mr. Russelthorpe, having
-established a reputation for eccentricity, left the entertaining to his
-wife, and would often shuffle off to his quiet study, even before dinner
-was fairly over.
-
-One night he was earlier than usual.
-
-His slippered feet made no noise as he crossed the hall, but he drew a
-breath of relief on entering his own den, and his breath was echoed by a
-startled gasp from the top of the library steps.
-
-There sat a slim pale girl, with three volumes in her lap, and a fourth
-in her arms. She had taken sanctuary in his library (which even
-housemaids durst not invade) for three weeks, but she was discovered at
-last.
-
-The two gazed at each other in silence. Uncle Russelthorpe's sharp eyes
-began to twinkle under their heavy brows, Meg's grew large with despair.
-
-"Upon my word!" he said slowly. "And what are you here for?"
-
-The dining-room door opened at this moment, and the sound of voices
-reached them, Aunt Russelthorpe's high above the rest.
-
-"Oh, don't call her! Please, please," cried Meg, with desperate
-entreaty. "I didn't mean any harm, I didn't really--I always have gone
-before you came in--I won't ever stay so late again--I came to--to get
-away from them all."
-
-"Hm--so did I," said Uncle Russelthorpe; and he shut the door, and drew
-the thick curtain before it.
-
-"How long do you generally stop, ghost?"
-
-"Till the clock strikes half-past seven," said Meg.
-
-"Oh," said he, "you had better keep to your time. Ghosts are always
-regular in their visitations, but don't make any noise if you want to
-haunt me. I don't allow bodies in here, only spirits." He glanced at her
-again under his eyebrows.
-
-"You've not flesh enough to speak of," he said. "Yes, I think you may
-stay."
-
-So Meg stayed till the half-hour, when she took off her shoes in order
-to make no noise, stole from her high perch, and vanished on tip-toe.
-
-She was pathetically grateful to him for the privilege; and their
-friendship prospered.
-
-It was a characteristic of the old gentleman that he felt no
-responsibility for her. She devoured his books as she chose, and so long
-as she treated them carefully, he was only amused at her choice. He let
-her go her own way, as he let his wife; Meg worshipped him for his
-so-called kindness, and answered with eyes full of reverence when he
-addressed her; she thought his laziness patience, and his tolerance
-angelic.
-
-All her life she saw heroes in ordinary men and women, and was
-disappointed if they failed to act up to her ideal of them. It was a
-propensity that cost her bitter tears--but, after all, the world might
-be the worse without the few fools who go on believing all things of
-those they love.
-
-Sometimes Uncle Russelthorpe would take no notice of his "ghost"; and
-then, true to her part, she never spoke; sometimes, when the humour took
-him, he would draw her out and amuse himself with her quaint remarks.
-Occasionally her questions slightly discomposed him, "irresponsible"
-though he was.
-
-"What does Socrates mean by _this_?" the clear, unabashed voice would
-ask; and Uncle Russelthorpe would interrupt the reading aloud that
-followed, with a hasty,--
-
-"Oh, that is meant for old men like me, not for women or girls. You
-needn't think about it."
-
-Fortunately, Meg had no morbid curiosity; and the ancient writers with
-whom her childish spirit communed left no stain on her innocence.
-
-Sir Thomas Browne fascinated her; for the twelve-year-old girl, like the
-visionary doctor, had a strong leaning toward the supernatural.
-
-Once Uncle Russelthorpe saw her shudder, as she bent over the big folio
-on her knee.
-
-"What's the matter?" he inquired.
-
-"Sir Thomas Browne says rather frightening things sometimes," said Meg,
-and proceeded to quote.
-
-"_But that those phantasms appear often, and do frequent cemeteries,
-charnel houses, and churches, it is because those are the dormitories,
-where the devil, like an insolent champion, beholds with pride the
-spoils and trophies of his victory in Adam._"
-
-"Do you think he really does do that, uncle?"
-
-"Eh? Who? Does what?" said Uncle Russelthorpe, taking snuff.
-
-"The--the devil," whispered Meg. "Does he truly walk about the
-cemeteries like an insolent champion?"
-
-"We all make our own Devil, as we make our own God," said Mr.
-Russelthorpe. "You and your friend Sir Thomas make a very terrific one,
-with uncommonly long horns, because you are both cursed with
-imagination."
-
-"I don't understand," said the child, after puzzling some time over this
-reply; and perhaps it was as well she didn't.
-
-On the whole, the hours in the library were good for Meg. Mrs.
-Russelthorpe observed that she was getting less babyish, and put the
-change down to her own excellent treatment. She would probably have
-disapproved of the evening "hauntings" had she known of them; but Mr.
-Russelthorpe held his tongue on the subject, and they continued till
-Meg's lesson hours were lengthened with her petticoats, and she was well
-into her "teens". The cleverest of us are allowed less management than
-we sometimes fancy, wherein Providence shows some mercy.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER II.
-
-    The madman saith he says so--It is strange!
-
-
-Margaret was not brought out till she was nearly twenty.
-
-"She was ridiculously young for her age," her aunt said; "besides, three
-unmarried nieces were too many, and Margaret was so unsteady that the
-least taste of excitement turned her head."
-
-There was reason in all her remarks. A very little change excited Meg,
-as a very little champagne will excite habitual water-drinkers, and she
-was remarkably youthful in her enthusiasms.
-
-Laura and Kate became engaged almost at the same time; Mr. Deane came
-down to the family place in Kent, and there were grand doings before the
-joint wedding.
-
-Ravenshill had not been so gay since the time when Mr. Deane's young
-wife reigned there, and when the children pattered merrily about the
-passages.
-
-Meg was always overjoyed when her father came home, and he on his side
-was inclined to be proud of his pretty daughter. She had developed fast,
-and was far prettier at twenty than when he had last seen her at
-sixteen. The youngest Miss Deane bid fair to rival Kate, who was the
-acknowledged beauty of the family.
-
-She was a slim fair girl, with a sweet rather thin face, and eager
-innocent grey eyes.
-
-Her looks were remarkably subject to moods. Her colour would come and go
-when she talked, and when she was with any one whom she cared for, and
-who took the trouble to overcome her shyness, she would light up into
-real brilliancy of beauty. Alone with her father she was often gay, and
-always intensely interested and sympathetic; with her aunt she was cold
-and constrained, having never overcome her childish horror of her.
-
-During Meg's childhood the dislike was chiefly on her own side; for Mrs.
-Russelthorpe troubled her head very little about the whims of her
-youngest niece, but after she came out it was a different matter.
-
-Meg had always been the favourite child, and during this last visit had
-become in some measure her father's confidante.
-
-She caught his opinions with a thoroughness and wholesale admiration
-that delighted him; she brightened when he entered the room, and
-responded eagerly to his lightest humour.
-
-There was no _arrière pensée_ in her adaptability. Meg loved her father
-and hated her aunt, and made no secret of either feeling; but hers was
-not a nature to lay plots, and she would have been astonished had she
-guessed how often her aunt had said bitterly of late that "Margaret was
-cleverer than people fancied, and knew how to get round poor Charles".
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe and her youngest niece walked into Dover one day to
-return a call.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe was determined that neither her own conscience nor the
-world should accuse her of neglecting her duty; and, now that Meg was
-fairly grown-up, she chaperoned her everywhere, with at least as much
-vigour as she had expended on Laura and Kate.
-
-Meg, like her father, had a natural turn for society, but her aunt's
-criticisms made her nervous, and she was apt to be both shy and absent.
-
-Some few people had been attracted by the rather pathetic charm that the
-girl possessed; but, as a rule, nothing but monosyllables could be got
-out of her in her aunt's presence, and she was generally accounted
-"disappointing".
-
-The July sun was blazing as the two ladies walked along the white Dover
-road.
-
-They were offered red and white wine when they reached their
-destination; and either that or the hot room made Meg giddy.
-
-Her aunt cried sharply: "Margaret, are you quite moonstruck?" And then
-Meg "jumped" violently, and spilt her wine on the carpet.
-
-"You want a breath of the sea to freshen you up, my dear," said her
-hostess kindly. "Run outside, and sit on the beach for a bit."
-
-"Oh, thank you," cried Meg; and lifted her soft eyes, with the sudden
-sweet smile that always won old ladies hearts, and rather irritated her
-aunt.
-
-"I am so sorry I spilt your wine, I generally am stupid. I think you had
-better get rid of me, and I should like to sit by the sea;" and she ran
-downstairs before Mrs. Russelthorpe could raise an objection.
-
-A fresh wind crisped the surface of the water, so that it was covered
-with curly white flecks, and it was hard to tell which was bluest, sea
-or sky. Meg's eyes ached with sunshine; but it refreshed and exhilarated
-her, and so did the salt breeze that tossed against her cheek.
-
-The beach was crowded with nursery-maids and children, niggers and
-Punches, and men selling indigestible gooseberries, and women with false
-lace.
-
-Meg bought some of the last--the hungry-looking vendor making her feel
-sad, even after she had paid an exorbitant price for the purchase.
-
-"Blessing on you, my lady, and may you never know a want, and live in
-sunshine all your days, and tread on nothing but velvet with your pretty
-feet, and have your hands always full of gold!" cried the beggar. But
-somehow the blessing sounded to Meg like a curse, and the envious hunger
-in the tramp's eyes made her shudder. "I hope some one else will give
-you more--it is all I have with me," she said gently, and stood looking
-after her _protégée_ as she trudged off.
-
-The woman was less lucky in her next appeal. The "'Arries" whom she
-persecuted were inclined to chaff her, whereupon she responded with a
-volley of abuse. Meg blushed and got up to move away, when her attention
-was arrested by a man who had joined the group, and laid his hand on the
-tramp's arm.
-
-"I have a message for you," he said, "from the Lord, who has heard your
-words and is grieving for you; and for you," turning to the men, "from
-the Master, whose wrath is upon those who jeer at the unfortunate!"
-
-"He is a looney straight from Bedlam!" said one of the men.
-
-"I am not mad," said the stranger simply; and across Meg's mind flashed
-St. Paul's answer, "I am not mad, most noble Festus!"
-
-This man reminded her of an apostle, but not of St. Paul--rather,
-perhaps, of St. Peter.
-
-There was an unmistakably "out-of-door" look about him, and he walked
-with an even springy tread, like one to whom exercise is a joy.
-
-He was about thirty years of age, burnt with sun and air. His deep set
-blue eyes had an intent expression in them, his mouth was partly hidden
-by his curly fair beard.
-
-He clasped his hands, holding them straight in front of him, the sinews
-of his wrists standing out like cord. A few idlers lounged within
-hearing, ready for any free entertainment, religious or otherwise.
-
-Margaret stood still and listened. He spoke at first jerkily, with long
-pauses between each sentence, and with an anxious strained look in his
-eyes as if he were waiting for inspiration.
-
-"The Lord has sent me to speak to you. His hand leads me--from one place
-to another--to call the souls He died for to Him. I am unworthy, I
-cannot speak as I would--my words halt."
-
-"Cheer up, old man," called out a dissipated youth irreverently; and the
-crowd giggled. Meg, standing on the outskirts, felt a pang of pity; she
-had a painful sympathy with any one who was laughed at, but apparently
-the touch of mockery inspired rather than depressed him. He fixed his
-blue eyes suddenly on the youth, who reddened and slunk back. "Ay,
-ay--it's to you the Lord is calling," he cried. "Speak, Lord! Speak
-through my lips that this soul may hear! He is crying aloud--turn--turn
-from the path of destruction. He stands in the way to stop you! His arms
-are spread out wide--His feet are bleeding. The pain of the nails
-crushing through them was sweeter to Him than the smoothness of the
-Courts of Heaven. Among His many mansions His soul is still in pain for
-the children created of His Father. He rests not day or night till He
-has drawn them to Him. Behold the hunger for souls is upon me--even upon
-me--and what I feel is His Spirit moving in me. Come--ye who are weary.
-He had not where to lay His head. Come--ye who weep--for the Man of
-Sorrows has tasted the cup of bitterness and He only can comfort.
-Come--ye who have sinned. He fought wi' that devil, and conquered him.
-Lord, Thou art standing by my side now, as Thou didst stand on the
-shores of Galilee; but this people's eyes are holden that they cannot
-see Thee. Yet let us kneel before Thee, for Thou art here!"
-
-He flung himself on his knees as he spoke, and looked up as if his eyes
-indeed beheld the "Son of Man" in their midst.
-
-"Kneel! Kneel!" he cried imperatively; and swayed by his intense belief,
-his strong personal magnetism, his hearers knelt.
-
-In the dead silence that followed, Meg's heart was beating wildly, she
-alone did not kneel; perhaps her education made any display of religious
-emotion more repugnant to her than to the rest of his audience; but her
-knees were shaking under her, and she turned white with the intensity of
-the awe with which she realised the presence of God.
-
-"Lord, we kneel to Thee. We acknowledge Thee our God. We will follow
-Thee in all things, counting riches as nought, and throwing aside the
-pleasures of this world. Thou who wast poor among men, and
-travel-stained and weary, shall be from henceforth our King and
-Pattern," he cried, still looking up as if making a vow to One whom his
-bodily eyes beheld. Then suddenly his glance fell on Meg.
-
-"There is one here who does not kneel to Thee yet," he cried. "Oh, my
-God, touch her, melt her! The daughters of Jerusalem followed Thee
-weeping. Mary wept at Thy cross. Wilt Thou not draw her too? this woman,
-who longs to come to Thee, but fears----" Then, with a ring of triumph
-in his tone, as if an answer had been vouchsafed to him:--
-
-"He calls you!" he cried. "You have chosen for Him! Kneel!--kneel! Pour
-out your soul in thanksgiving!" And Meg, sobbing, fell on her knees.
-
-She heard little of the oration which followed; she did not know that a
-man behind her was groaning over his sins; that two girls had been
-persuaded to take the pledge; that one tipsy old woman was proclaiming,
-somewhat pharisaically, that "she'd been converted fourteen years ago,
-and 'adn't no call to be 'saved' fresh now."
-
-The preacher's voice and the splash of the waves on the shingle sounded
-far away and indistinct.
-
-Always she had longed for a personal revelation of the Christ; and now
-it came to her.
-
-As she had never realised before she realised now the "travel-stained"
-Son of the Father, whose mighty love had made the joys of Heaven pain
-till the lost were found. Ah, well! Since the day of Pentecost, and
-before, it is through man's voice that that revelation has come, and
-through men who have been baptised with a fiery baptism.
-
-Presently they began to sing; and some one officiously touched her
-shoulder, and said, "Ain't you a-goin' to join, miss?" And she stood up,
-feeling as if dazed by a sudden fall.
-
-Her overwrought nerves were jarred.
-
-The claptrappy tune, the overdone emphasis, the vulgar intonation
-distressed her; she was ashamed of the feeling, but could not help it;
-she turned to walk away. The preacher paused in the middle of a line.
-
-"You have put your hand to the plough; you will not turn back!" he cried
-pleadingly. The public appeal annoyed her for a second, but when she met
-his eyes, bright with an earnest desire to "save her soul," her anger
-died.
-
-"I hope not," she said gently; and walked away with his fervent "God
-help you!" ringing in her ears.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER III.
-
-    The world is very odd, we see;
-      We do not comprehend it.
-    But in one fact we all agree,--
-      God won't and we can't mend it.
-
-    Being common-sense it can't be sin
-      To take it as I find it:
-    The pleasure--to take pleasure in;
-      The pain--try not to mind it.
-
-    --_A. H. Clough._
-
-
-Dover was unusually gay in the year when Barnabas Thorpe held his
-revival meetings there. Mr. Deane gave a large ball at Ravenshill, all
-the county magnates attended, and the guests danced in the old picture
-gallery.
-
-It was a remarkably pretty entertainment, and the host and his three
-daughters were worthy descendants of the ruffled and powdered Deanes who
-looked down on them from the walls.
-
-They were a stately family. Mrs. Russelthorpe herself was a most
-dignified woman, and Kate and Margaret had inherited her grace of
-bearing.
-
-Margaret in her gold and white dress, with pearls on her white neck, was
-a good deal admired, but her attention kept wandering from her partners
-to her father, who was talking and laughing merrily, but who coughed
-every now and then rather ominously. Consumption, that scourge of so
-many English families, was terribly familiar in this one.
-
-Meg had been immensely excited about the ball before-hand, and had taken
-intense interest in all the preparations for it, including her own new
-dress; but, at the last, something had occurred to change the current of
-her thoughts, she might be arrayed in sackcloth now for all she cared.
-
-"Margaret's character comes out even in small things," Mrs. Russelthorpe
-observed cuttingly. "She is unstable as water. One can never depend on
-her in the least. Where do you think I found her this afternoon? Just
-emerging from a vulgar crowd on Dover sands, where she had been staring
-at a singing minstrel or a play-actor or a buffoon of some kind! She
-came in with her head full of nothing else, and wanted to tease her
-father into going back with her to listen too."
-
-"Ah! I heard that fellow on the beach; his buffoonery takes the form of
-preaching," said the lawyer to whom she had made the remark, and who was
-rather a favourite with Mrs. Russelthorpe. He glanced at Margaret, who
-was standing a little way off, but was quite unconscious of his
-observation.
-
-"It is a curious question whether that sort of canter is most knave or
-fool," he said. "I incline to the former hypothesis; Deane, to the
-latter. Miss Deane sees him as a sort of inspired prophet, I suppose. A
-good deal depends on the colour of one's own glasses, you know. After
-all, hers are the prettiest!"
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe shrugged her shoulders with a short laugh as she
-turned away.
-
-"I did not know you had such an innocent taste for bread and butter,"
-she said.
-
-Mr. Sauls looked after her with some amusement; it was not the first
-time that he had noticed that there was no love lost between Mr. Deane's
-favourite daughter and her aunt, and he had occasionally felt sorry for
-the girl, as evidently the weaker of the two.
-
-"If it isn't possible to serve two masters, two mistresses must be a
-degree more hopeless," he remarked to himself. "I really don't know that
-I can do without Mrs. Russelthorpe yet--but I'll risk it!" And he walked
-across the room, and asked Miss Deane to dance.
-
-Meg stared with uncomplimentary surprise; she had always considered that
-Mr. Sauls "flattered Aunt Russelthorpe," and had despised him
-accordingly with sweeping girlish severity. She would have refused to
-dance if she had had sufficient presence of mind, but he (who was never
-wanting in that quality) took her momentary hesitation for acceptance,
-and she found herself engaged to him, she hardly knew how.
-
-She could not have discovered a partner more entirely unlike herself if
-she had ransacked England for her opposite; and her father laughed, but
-with a little sense of chagrin, when he saw Mr. Sauls offer her his arm.
-
-The Saulses usually came to Dover for a few months in the year. The
-county people had turned their aristocratic backs on them, till Mr.
-Deane, in a moment of generous enthusiasm, had ridden full tilt against
-"pernicious prejudices," and had introduced young Sauls as his dear
-friend right and left.
-
-This had occurred some time before. County exclusiveness was no longer
-the subject on which Mr. Deane was hottest, and, to tell the truth,
-George Sauls was no longer his dear friend; but the young man amused
-Mrs. Russelthorpe, and had kept his footing in the house.
-
-Nature had not been kind to Mr. Sauls in the matter of looks, but had
-made it up in brains; he knew his own worth in that respect, and meant
-to get full market value for his capabilities. He had an assured belief
-in himself, of which time proved him justified.
-
-When the plums of his profession began to fall to his share, people
-called him uncommonly lucky; but fortune only pretends to be blind, I
-fancy, and seldom favours fools.
-
-"You are wishing me at Jericho," he remarked, as Meg unwillingly took
-his arm. "But your father's daughter ought to be liberal above all
-things--ought not she?"
-
-Meg, whose generosity was easily wakened, coloured and then smiled,
-pleased at the implied compliment to Mr. Deane.
-
-"I know that my father is always fair to every one," she said. "I did
-not mean to be rude to you, but _he_ promised me this dance, and I am so
-disappointed that he has not come. Of course, it is nicer to dance with
-father than with anybody."
-
-"Of course," assented Mr. Sauls. He would have disbelieved that
-statement if any other girl had ventured on it; but he was intelligent
-enough to appreciate Meg's truthfulness. Indeed, the very essence of
-George Sauls' cleverness lay in the capability of rightly estimating
-many diverse sorts of characters.
-
-He persevered in his efforts to interest her, partly because he was in
-the habit of persevering in anything he undertook, partly because it had
-occurred to him that Miss Deane was an heiress, and partly because she
-really attracted him, perhaps by the law of contraries.
-
-He was more than ten years Meg's senior in age, and twenty in
-experience; therefore he listened to her opinions with respect, and took
-care not to appear to patronise her. Meg was interested very easily.
-
-Her shyness wore off, and she let him draw out wonderful theories
-imbibed from her father about Universal Brotherhood, and the Rights of
-the People, and the New School of Poetry, and heaven knows what besides.
-
-Mr. Sauls led her on, and hid his occasional amusement fairly well.
-
-Miss Deane was a "very transparent little girl," he thought; but yet she
-touched him.
-
-He felt sorry for any one so crammed with illusions, so terribly
-sensitive, and so remarkably unpractical--besides, she was remarkably
-pretty too!
-
-Meg thought him very ugly at first, and first impressions were vivid
-(though not always lasting) with her. Meg had no "indifference" in her;
-she always liked or disliked emphatically--and his was not the kind of
-face to take her fancy.
-
-Mr. Sauls was a heavy-looking man, thick, and rather round-shouldered.
-He was dark-complexioned, with a coarse clever mouth, and a good
-forehead.
-
-Eyeglasses happened to be an affectation of the year among young
-lawyers. Mr. Sauls had a trick of dropping his when he was amused or
-excited, and opening his eyes, which would brighten as suddenly as an
-owl's when it startles you by lifting the dull film, and transfixing you
-by an uncomfortably "wide-awake" gaze.
-
-He was perfectly aware that Meg had disliked him, and that he was
-changing her opinion, and entertaining her pretty successfully.
-
-The more trouble he took, the more determined he became to make friends
-with this quixotic maiden, who fancied herself wildly democratic, and
-who was rather more fastidious in reality than any one he had met,
-saving the father she occasionally reminded him of.
-
-He led the conversation away from abstract subjects after a time, and
-fell into two or three small errors, but had wit to see and cover them.
-
-For example, he made a sharp remark at the expense of Mrs. Russelthorpe,
-whom he felt convinced Meg disliked. Meg raised her eyebrows, drew
-herself up, and snubbed the witticism.
-
-"All these Deanes are d----d thin-skinned," he reflected, for more than
-once his own coarser nature had rasped and offended Meg's father, but he
-did not make that mistake again, and he admired the girl none the less
-for the rebuff.
-
-He liked her pride, which was quite unconscious, and her inconsistencies
-amused him.
-
-They looked down upon the waltz (which had only just come in, and which
-many people saw for the first time that night) from the picture gallery
-which runs round the great hall.
-
-Mr. Sauls was content with that arrangement, Meg stood tapping her small
-foot in time to the music.
-
-"Father does not like to see me dance anything but squares, unless it is
-with him," she said; and Mr. Sauls, following the direction of her
-wistful eyes, observed that "Mr. Deane approved waltzing only for other
-people's daughters," but, taught by experience, refrained from making
-his comment aloud.
-
-He earned his partner's warm gratitude by relinquishing his claim to
-take her to supper, when (that fast innovation having whirled to its
-close) Meg's father actually remembered her; but later in the evening he
-discovered that she had had nothing to eat, and insisted on carrying her
-off and supplying her with chicken and ice cream as compensation for his
-former abnegation.
-
-Supper was really over, and they were almost alone in the big
-dining-room.
-
-Meg had a bright colour in her cheeks now, her eyes and lips both
-laughed, her spirits had gone up like quick-silver. Mr. Sauls had never
-seen any one change so quickly and completely; she was radiant for the
-moment, and joy is a great beautifier.
-
-Her excitement was contagious. It did credit to the man's self-command
-that he managed to keep his admiration to himself; Meg would be hard to
-win he knew; he smiled, thinking how exceedingly astonished she would
-have been if she could have read his mind, and seen that he had set it
-hard on winning her.
-
-On one point he did allow himself a slightly incautious question.
-
-"Miss Deane," he said suddenly, "I haven't the faintest shadow of right
-to ask, but--have you come in for a million of money? Or is your worst
-enemy dead? Or what good fortune has befallen you since the beginning of
-this evening? There, I am quite at your mercy! I had no earthly business
-to inquire, only--I should so uncommonly like to know."
-
-Meg laughed ruefully.
-
-"How very bad I must be at keeping my own counsel," she said; "or else
-_you_ must be very clever. Don't tell any one else, please, for it isn't
-quite settled yet. I asked my father to let me go with him. He is going
-abroad after the wedding. I want him to let me live with him altogether.
-It is so difficult to find father alone in the daytime, and that was why
-I was so very anxious to dance with him to-night. It is impossible to
-ask a favour with my--with some one else looking on." She paused a
-moment; then the pleasure of telling good news brought a still happier
-curve to her parted lips.
-
-"Isn't it good of him?" she cried. "He has said yes."
-
-"No! how remarkably kind!" said Mr. Sauls, a little drily; but this
-time Meg was quite unconscious of the possibility of sarcasm.
-
-She enjoyed all the rest of the night with the keen power of enjoyment,
-that is perhaps some compensation for a keen susceptibility to pain; and
-when the guests had departed and the lights were all out in the hall,
-she ran up to her own room humming a dance as she ran.
-
-"Meg is gay to-night," said her father, lifting her face by the chin,
-and kissing her on the landing. "Good-night, Peg-top; don't dance in
-your sleep! I wish you would always keep that colour."
-
-"So I will when you take me to live with you," whispered Meg.
-
-She put out her candle, and throwing open her window sat looking out
-down the moonlit road, spinning fancies as beautiful as moonbeams.
-
-There was no touch of sentiment about them, for the habit she had of
-comparing the men she met to her father was always to their
-disadvantage. How very much handsomer, cleverer, and incomparably better
-he was than all the rest of his sex put together! How charming to keep
-house for him! How delightful to help him carry out all his ideas! How
-good she would be, even to Aunt Russelthorpe, when she entered into
-possession of her castle in the air! Her mood grew graver as she sat
-there like a ghost in the dark, watching the white clouds chase each
-other across the deep night sky. She remembered the preacher on the
-sands again and shivered, half frightened to think how his words had
-taken hold of her. "Thou who wast poor among men, and travel-stained and
-weary, shalt be our King."
-
-What would the preacher have thought of them all to-night? What sort of
-discipleship was this? Meg involuntarily fingered the gleaming gold and
-white dress, which certainly seemed in pretty strong opposition to the
-ascetic side of religion.
-
-"But when I live with father, he will explain everything and make things
-right," she repeated to herself. "Father" had no leisure to listen to
-her difficulties at present, but in the good time coming it would all be
-quite different; and in the meanwhile where he saw no harm of course
-there could be none. It is really such a great comfort to have a pope,
-that it is no wonder some women keep their eyes shut so long as they
-possibly can. "I shall read all the books he likes and become very
-clever, but not at all a 'blue-stocking,' because he doesn't like women
-who think they know as much as men," reflected Meg. "I shall be able to
-choose my own dresses, and I think I shall wear sky-blue, for it is his
-favourite colour. We'll spend very little on eating or drinking, because
-he doesn't really approve of luxury, and----Oh! what was that?"
-
-She jumped up, rather startled and guilty. Had Aunt Russelthorpe divined
-her thoughts, and come to knock down her towering palace?
-
-No; it was only Laura, in a dressing-gown, looking comfortably
-substantial and cheerful. Meg was surprised to see her, for the sisters
-did not often seek her society.
-
-"I thought I should find you awake, Meg," said she. "Do, for goodness'
-sake! shut your window. What an uncomfortable child you are! Why, you
-have not even taken off your ball-room dress, and you have no candle!
-Don't look at me as if I were a ghost, please. I know it's an odd time
-of the night to choose, but I hardly ever see you alone in the day, and
-somehow I wanted to talk to you. Kate likes to have me to herself, you
-see."
-
-"Yes, I know," said Meg rather sadly; for Kate was jealous of any claim
-on Laura's affection.
-
-Laura sat down on the bed, resting her hands on her knees, and turning
-out her elbows. The attitude made her look squarer than ever; but there
-was an air of purpose about her set little figure that tickled Meg's
-fancy,--Meg's sighs and smiles were always near together!
-
-"Oh!" she cried, laughing. "Even your shadow on the wall looks as if it
-had something to say, and meant to say it."
-
-"We settled about the wedding to-night," said Laura, not noticing this
-irrelevant remark. "Kate and I are going to be married on the same
-day,--this day month!"
-
-"So soon!" said Meg. "Oh, Laura," she hesitated a moment, being always
-shy with her sisters, "I hope you will--will like it." "Will be happy"
-was what she meant, but Laura was apt to snub any expression of feeling.
-
-"I shouldn't do it if I didn't!" said Laura; "if by 'it' you mean
-matrimony. The sooner we get the wedding over the better, I think. Aunt
-Russelthorpe is arranging it all, and settling who are to be the
-bridesmaids. I don't mean to interfere. It is the very last chance she
-shall ever have of putting a finger into any pie of mine, so she may as
-well make the most of it; but I came to talk about you, not about
-myself. Follow my example, Meg, and get away from this house as soon as
-you can, for if you and Aunt Russelthorpe are left together here, you
-will drive each other perfectly crazy."
-
-"I spoke to father to-night," said Meg. "I begged him to let me live
-with him, and he nearly promised that----"
-
-"That which he'll never perform," said Laura. "Oh, Meg, what a baby you
-are! Can't you _see_ that it's no good depending on father? Oh! you
-needn't look so angry. He can't help it,--it's not his fault, of course.
-Aunt Russelthorpe is stronger than he is, that's all, and she is
-jealous of you. My dear, you think you understand him better than she
-does, because you sympathise with all his fine ideas, and she doesn't;
-but she knew him before you were heard of; she can make up his mind for
-him, and save him trouble, and make him comfortable. On the whole, you'd
-much better study a man's weaknesses than his nobilities, if you want to
-have a hold over him; but _you'll_ never take in that bit of wisdom if
-you live to a hundred, and I expect she was born with it."
-
-"Father hasn't got weaknesses--at least, I don't want to discover them.
-For shame, Laura, to talk so of him!" cried Meg. And Laura laughed and
-nodded.
-
-"Just so! That's where Aunt Russelthorpe has the pull over you," she
-retorted. "Don't quarrel with her, Meg. You'll get the worst of it. Try
-and keep the peace till you are independent of her. Don't fight for the
-possession of father, for it's a losing game, but take what offers, and
-when you are clear of her authority snub her as much as you like. Shan't
-I enjoy it if she tries to interfere with me after I am married? I hope
-she will," said Laura, with a twinkle of fun; "but I am afraid she
-won't. She is too clever for that. Really, I've a great admiration for
-my aunt."
-
-"Have you?" said Meg. "I hate her! but I shouldn't want to snub her if I
-were free of her. I only want never to be in the same place, or world,
-with her again. I shiver when I hear her voice."
-
-"Exactly!" said Laura. "And that is so silly of you, Meg. What is the
-use of a hate like that? It only gives her another advantage. However, I
-suppose it's something in the way you are made that makes you take
-things so. You always did; and you'll go on getting more and more
-miserable, and you will aggravate her more and more, till she wears you
-out altogether, unless you get away; and you can't go alone, and you
-may wait till you are grey or till my aunt is dead before father takes
-things into his own hands; and I really don't see how I can have you,
-because----"
-
-"I wouldn't trouble you," said Meg proudly. She stood very upright, and
-looked at her sister with wondering eyes. What were all these gloomy
-prognostications leading to?
-
-"Well then, because you would not trouble me," said Laura. "And that
-leaves one way out of the difficulty. Marry as soon as you can, Meg,
-because you are too unhappy here! It was bad enough before; but now that
-you've thrown down your gauntlet (how could you be such a little fool?),
-and tried to get father away from Aunt Russelthorpe, it will be ten
-times worse. If it were I it wouldn't matter. I never care twopence what
-she says; but you'll suffer a martyrdom like St. Sebastian. All her
-spiteful little arrows will stick. I declare on my honour, Meg, I would
-give a thousand pounds, as well as my blessing, to hear you were going
-to marry _any_ decently rich man who would be good to you!"
-
-"Oh Laura!" cried Meg, half amused, half aghast.
-
-"Oh Margaret!" cried her sister, mimicking her. "Yes; I know these are
-not the right sentiments for a bride to express. If we had a mother I
-shouldn't offer them; but I kept thinking about you this evening, and I
-didn't like my thoughts. Don't you wait for impossibilities, Meg. I am
-sure you believe in an impossible sort of lover, if ever you condescend
-to think of one at all; half a knight and half a saint; some one who has
-never loved any other woman, and never will, and yet isn't a milksop;
-who drinks nothing but water, and doesn't care what he eats, but is as
-strong as Goliath; who is full of high-flown ideas, and yet madly in
-love; who is handsome as Adonis, and does not know it. Well! _don't_
-expect him; he doesn't exist, and, what's more, he would be a monster of
-unnaturalness if he did! Take the man who'll fight your battles for you,
-even though he isn't beautiful. Don't bother too much about his ideals.
-If he is a good sort at home, and sticks to--well, his vulgar old
-mother, we'll say--he'll probably stick to you. If he has brains, you'll
-grow proud of him; if he is ambitious, that will suit you."
-
-She watched Meg while she spoke; but Meg was utterly unconscious: it
-never occurred to her to put a name to Laura's hypothetical suitor; and
-Laura (whose shrewd eyes had seen a good deal that evening) could only
-hope her sage advice might bear fruit later.
-
-"Well, I've said my say," she remarked, taking up her candle and getting
-off the bed. "Don't forget it! Don't be wretched because you cannot have
-the moon. Who can? Not one of us gets what he starts by wanting--not one
-in ten!" said Laura with a half-sigh. "But the people who eat their
-half-loaves and make the most of makeshifts, are the happy ones--as
-happiness goes. Good-night!"
-
-She got as far as the door, then turned, with a half comical, half
-rueful face. "I might have been a better sister, I daresay," she said;
-"and half a pound of help is worth a pound of good advice, tho' mine's
-excellent; but, you see, there is Kate, and it doesn't pay to be fond of
-too many people,--there'd be nothing left for oneself."
-
-Meg made no answer. Laura paused a moment longer. It was odd how her
-heart softened to-night to the "little sister" she had never taken much
-account of before.
-
-"Let's kiss each other for once!" she said. And Meg surprised, flung
-both arms round her neck.
-
-"Oh Laura, you _do_ like me just a little then, don't you?" she cried.
-"And you don't really believe all you've been saying? I do hate it so! I
-would rather be unhappy all my life, than think that _nobody_ ever gets
-anything but half-loaves and makeshifts. It is better to be miserable
-than satisfied like that."
-
-"Oh Lord!" said Laura, who had a trick of strong language. "This comes
-of trying to put a modicum of common-sense into your head. Go your own
-way and be miserable, then. Some people do prefer it, I believe!" And
-Meg got into bed at last, and had a horrible nightmare, in which she was
-dancing with an angel who discoursed of the regeneration of the world,
-till suddenly a horror fell on her, and she saw he was the devil in
-disguise, and fled shrieking to Laura and Uncle Russelthorpe, who were
-looking on from a corner, and Uncle Russelthorpe chuckled and
-remarked:--
-
-"Yes; every one has the original old gentleman under his skin; scratch
-deep enough, and you'll find the savage instinct at the bottom of all
-our refinements". A speech which Uncle Russelthorpe had really made
-years before, and which had puzzled Meg's childish brain at the time;
-but Laura shrugged her square shoulders, and said:--
-
-"My dear, make the best of him; it is what we all do in the end".
-
-Meg's sisters were married from Ravenshill in the pretty month of May.
-
-The bridal party walked through the garden to the chapel under archways
-of flowers and flags.
-
-Kate looked beautiful; Laura, very unmoved and like her ordinary self,
-only as they passed under the church door she slid her hand into her
-sister's and held it tight. Meg, following, saw the action. Kate hardly
-noticed it; but that was an old story; indeed, it is a story that goes
-on from generation to generation.
-
-The sunshine shone between clouds, and there was a light spring shower,
-just sprinkling the procession as it wound between the beds of anemones
-and daffodils. The drops clung to Meg's soft hair, and glistened there
-like diamonds through the service.
-
-There were fourteen bridesmaids chosen by Aunt Russelthorpe, none of
-them personal friends of either bride. Fourteen maids in green and
-white,--a goodly company!
-
-Meg walked first, looking rather shy at finding herself in such unwonted
-prominence; but she forgot that in the solemnity of the occasion when
-they had entered the cool dark old church, and stood grouped under the
-stained glass window that was put up by a Deane of the sixteenth century
-in memory of a husband who died fighting.
-
-How many Deanes had been christened and married within those old walls?
-George Sauls, standing far back in the aisle, wondered what visions were
-passing through the chief bridesmaid's brain, and put in imagination a
-white veil on her graceful bowed head.
-
-Aunt Russelthorpe nudged her suddenly. "Are you asleep, Margaret? Take
-Laura's bouquet and gloves," she whispered in a sharp undertone; and Meg
-blushed crimson, and hid her confusion in an armful of blossoms.
-
-"Meg's awkwardness was the only _contretemps_," as Mrs. Russelthorpe
-said. "And that no one could provide against," she added.
-
-Everything else went off splendidly, and everything else was the result
-of her generalship.
-
-Uncle Russelthorpe did not appear in church. "He is getting more
-eccentric than ever," people whispered; but he was in the porch in cap
-and slippers when the brides drove off.
-
-"Good-bye, Laura!" he said. "So you've got a husband instead of a sister
-to take care of! Lord! Lord! how time flies! Twelve years since you all
-came to us! I hope you'll be happy, my dear."
-
-"I'm sure I shall," said Laura cheerfully. "I _mean_ to be. Good-bye,
-uncle;" and she kissed him, for the first time in her life. Aunt
-Russelthorpe had never approved of their kissing their uncle; and Meg
-could not help wondering whether it was affection or new-born
-independence that prompted the embrace.
-
-Kate held out her hand coldly. She was ashamed of the queer figure the
-old man cut.
-
-Laura's face positively beamed when she bid farewell to her aunt.
-
-"Mind you come and see me," she insisted hospitably, and a little
-patronisingly, "I shall enjoy it!" She kissed Meg hurriedly, but clung a
-moment to Kate. Kate's face was wet as the two parted.
-
-So they drove off in a shower of rice, and Aunt Russelthorpe stood
-waving her handkerchief till they were out of sight. She had never felt
-more kindly towards her nieces; and they, who had come to her as
-children, and left as women, were glad enough to go. Surely there was
-something a little tragic about the extreme cheerfulness of that
-wedding; but no one thought it so, except perhaps their father, who said
-with a sigh:--
-
-"One wants the mother on these occasions". And when the last carriage
-had departed and the last guest gone Mrs. Russelthorpe drew a long
-breath of satisfaction as she reflected again that she certainly _had_
-"done well for those girls".
-
-She expressed as much to her brother, while they lingered together in
-the great drawing-room before dinner. (Mr. Deane was the only member of
-the family who ever beguiled Mrs. Russelthorpe's restless spirit into
-dawdling.)
-
-He sighed rather heavily.
-
-"I am sure I don't understand how it is," he said, "but I seem to know
-very little of them. Laura has always been so reserved, and Kate so
-cold; and yet I am very fond of my children, and Meg is fond of me. I
-won't have her marrying,--do you hear, sis? I can't spare poor little
-Meg, and I really couldn't stand another son-in-law."
-
-"Margaret is neither poor nor little. I cannot imagine why you always
-call her by baby names," said Mrs. Russelthorpe, with a hard ring in her
-voice, which made him look up in surprise.
-
-"Parental foolishness, I suppose," he said. "I can't imagine why you
-should mind if I do." And Mrs. Russelthorpe bit her lip, and repented of
-her ebullition of impatience.
-
-Apparently her words had given him food for thought; for after a few
-minutes' pause he said gravely:--
-
-"I am meditating taking her away with me. You have been wonderfully
-good. I can't think what I should have done with my poor bairns if I had
-not had you to fall back on years ago; but, after all, Meg is quite
-grown-up now,--at least, so she constantly assures me; and she does not
-seem over happy here, though I daresay that is not your fault, and she
-is exceedingly anxious to come. In fact, I couldn't say her nay. I am
-afraid you will feel hurt, sis; but----"
-
-"On the contrary, I have no doubt it is a capital plan," said Mrs.
-Russelthorpe briskly; and he leant back with an air of relief. After
-all, Augusta was always sensible. Meg had imagined that her aunt would
-be angry at the idea, but Meg was apt to take fancies.
-
-"Of course, you will give up wandering about the country when you
-constitute yourself chaperon to a pretty daughter," said his sister,
-sitting down opposite him, to comfortably discuss the project. "Margaret
-is very attractive. In fact, to outsiders she is the most winning of the
-three. I noticed that she excited a great deal of admiration at our
-ball. She is so innocent she needs very careful guarding. I never let
-her go anywhere alone, not even into Dover."
-
-"I had thought of showing her Italy," said Mr. Deane doubtfully;
-"but,--well, perhaps you are right there, sis. I couldn't be constantly
-at her elbow, and she is very rash. I remember now that I meant to give
-her a hint about Sauls, who is all very well, and an uncommonly clever
-man, and excellent company; but the way he stuck to my daughter
-was--well--" (with a laugh) "was like his impertinence."
-
-"A girl of Margaret's age cannot be expected to have much worldly
-wisdom. It really is hardly desirable that she should. I did not blame
-the child," said Mrs. Russelthorpe, with a leniency which would
-considerably have astonished her niece. "But no doubt you will be
-cautious for her. You can't be too careful. I suppose you will live
-here? She is full young to be mistress of such a big establishment, is
-she not? And at present she is extremely forgetful, and naturally has no
-idea whatever of housekeeping. But then you could manage things yourself
-practically, and there are several nice families whom you could invite
-to the house. Bachelor parties would be out of the question, in the
-peculiar circumstances; but Margaret needs young society. There are the
-Ripleys of Ripley Court, and the Melluishes of St. Andrew's, for
-example."
-
-"Oh no; we couldn't have them," said Mr. Deane hastily. "You know, sis,
-a very small dose of county magnates goes a long way with me. I don't
-mind a ball for once, but I couldn't live in their set; besides, Meg
-swears that she will be perfectly happy in a prolonged _tête-à-tête_."
-
-"Yes?" said his sister. She smiled, but a little doubtfully. "It would
-hardly be fair on her to take her at her word," she remarked. "And I
-know that you are not selfish, Charles, and don't mean it seriously when
-you say you don't wish her to marry. Meg isn't cut out for an old maid.
-Oh, you'll soon see that, in common justice to her, you must entertain
-the county if you have the responsibility of bringing her out. As for
-her being happy alone with you, I do not for a moment doubt her
-truthfulness; she is candour itself, but she is variable, and she takes
-her own moods seriously. Meg will be ready for a convent one day, and a
-dance the next. You can never be sure of her. You are a charming
-companion; perhaps if you amuse her a good deal she will not be moped
-with you. _I_ have found her fits of depression rather trying, but then
-I always consider that they arise from delicacy of constitution. You
-will watch her health, won't you? Her chest is delicate, you know,
-and----"
-
-"My dear Augusta!" he cried, appalled. "What a fearful number of
-injunctions! I wonder whether I am equal to all these cares? Don't heap
-on any more, please!"
-
-"You'll find out the rest for yourself," said Mrs. Russelthorpe
-cheerfully. "It is an excellent plan, as I said before, and you will not
-mind a little sacrifice of comfort. You'll stay here with Margaret, when
-Joseph and I go back to town, then?"
-
-"Well--no--I am not quite prepared for that," he said, and dismay
-evidently filled his heart. "Especially if Meg hasn't any notion of
-housekeeping. I suppose it wouldn't do to take her to Florence with me,
-eh?--No--well, since she is so delicate, and, as you say, so pretty and
-attractive and guileless, perhaps I could hardly manage that; but
-she'll be terribly disappointed. I tell you what! I will think it all
-over, and write to her about it all from abroad. We need not give up the
-idea of her coming to me some time. No doubt we can arrange something."
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe acquiesced. "No doubt," she said; but she knew that
-she had won that game.
-
-Mr. Deane left England a few weeks later.
-
-As he rode through the village with rather a heavy heart, for to do him
-justice Meg's wistful face haunted him, he came upon an excited group of
-people, in the centre of which stood a delicate-looking youth, and a big
-fair-bearded man, who was talking with a strong north-country drawl.
-
-"Why, that is Widow Penge's son, and he is walking without his
-crutches!" cried Mr. Deane, drawing rein. "And that other fellow must be
-the preacher little Meg is so mad about."
-
-"I always thought Andrew Penge was a bit of an impostor," said Mrs.
-Russelthorpe, who accompanied him; "and now I know it! Come, Charles, my
-horse won't stand, and you'll miss the coach."
-
-The preacher had made a step forward as she spoke.
-
-"Is that Mr. Deane of Ravenshill? I've something to deliver to one o'
-his family," he said; but Mr. Deane had ridden on.
-
-"He was going to give us a word in season," Mrs. Russelthorpe declared
-contemptuously. "Charles'" good-natured tolerance for all kinds of
-enthusiasts irritated her.
-
-Mr. Deane laughed his light kindly laugh.
-
-"Meg wanted me to make acquaintance with him, and I half promised I
-would. I've lost my chance," he said. And his words were truer than he
-thought.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IV.
-
-
-It was Meg's twenty-first birthday. She woke early, and went into the
-garden while the dew was still thick on the grass, and there was a wet
-haze, precursor of a broiling day, over everything.
-
-"How old I am growing!" she thought, as she shut the door softly behind
-her and smiled with pleasure, and a most youthful sense of adventure, at
-being out at that hour. She buried her nose in a cluster of seven-sister
-roses, and their fragrant wet little faces covered hers with dew. Meg
-was too fond of flowers to pick them.
-
-How lovely it was! The earth smelt so sweet, the spider's webs sparkled
-like silver traceries.
-
-It was an enchanted land, seen through the mist; even the stones on the
-gravel path showed wonderful colours, though they felt cold through thin
-slippers.
-
-The girl looked as if she had stepped out of a fairy story herself,
-while she wandered along with a soft wonder in her eyes. Her mind was
-filled with guesses as to what would happen to her in the year to come.
-A birthday was a fresh turning-point to Meg, from which she tried to
-peep down a vista of possibilities.
-
-She leant over the garden gate presently, resting her round white arms
-on it, and gazing idly up the quiet road.
-
-The flickering shadows played on her face, and made leafy patterns on
-her white dress, and the honeysuckle touched her shoulder caressingly.
-
-Meg bent her head, and just put her lips to the fresh dew-washed flower,
-then started violently, for a harsh laugh greeted her childish action.
-
-"Why, my pretty lady; you ought to have something better worth the
-kissing!" cried some one.
-
-Meg stood erect, both offended and frightened, but much too proud to run
-away.
-
-"What are you?" she said. And then a thrill of recollection came to her;
-the voice was the voice of the hungry tramp who had begged from her on
-the Dover beach. The woman scrambled up from the deep shadow of the
-hedge under which she had spent the night, and stepped into the road.
-
-There was something gipsy-like about her bearing, and her cold eyes
-scanned the young lady sharply.
-
-"There's no mistaking the nest you come from, my pretty," said she.
-"You've your father--and a handsome gentleman he is too--written all
-over you. You've got his smile too," as Meg's mobile face involuntarily
-brightened at the compliment. "Sweet as sugar-sticks, and proud as the
-devil. Hold out your hand, my lady, and let the gipsy read your life for
-you. Why, you ain't scared, are you?"
-
-Meg hesitated a second, then stretched out her hand over the gate. The
-woman was dirty, and too free in her speech to please the little lady,
-who was used to being treated to low curtsies and deepest respect by her
-father's tenants; but then there was a taste of excitement about the
-fortune-telling, and Meg was half superstitious and half amused.
-
-Her hand looked very white and delicate in the tramp's grimy fingers.
-The woman glanced from it to the girl's fair face, and began to prophesy
-with an earnestness and apparent belief in her own words, which were
-perhaps not wholly simulated. The blue veins stood out too clearly, and
-the lines on Meg's palm were deeply cut.
-
-"You've more than one lover already," said the prophetess. "But your
-heart's not touched yet. There's a dark man who is set on having you,
-but you'll only bring him ill-luck. There's a woman who hates you
-because she's jealous. Take care, or she'll do you a mischief. There's a
-great change coming in your life soon--and----" But Meg snatched her
-hand away and stood ashamed. The preacher of the beach was coming up the
-hill.
-
-She stepped back into the shadow in order that he might go by without
-seeing her: she did not care to be caught having her fortune told like a
-silly servant girl. She knew of no reason in the world why he should
-stop at the Ravenshill gate; and yet an absolute certainty that he would
-so stop, and that he would speak to her, came over her. Perhaps it was
-because he was walking with an evident purpose, looking neither to the
-right nor left; but she was hardly surprised, only slightly dismayed, as
-at a fulfilled presentiment, when the man turned as she expected, and
-came straight towards her.
-
-His hand was on the latch before he saw Meg; then he went to the point
-without any preamble.
-
-"I've come to bring you this," he said. "Will ye take it? It's yours by
-rights."
-
-He was not in the least astonished, as Meg observed, at finding her
-there. Barnabas Thorpe possibly did not know how seldom Miss Deane was
-out at five in the morning; besides, it took a good deal to move him to
-wonder. "The Lord had led her," he supposed, which was sufficient
-explanation for anything.
-
-Meg was rather awe-struck. She felt as if it were highly probable that
-this miraculously gifted preacher, who looked like a fisherman, but
-spoke with the authority of inspiration, might deliver some supernatural
-sign into her keeping. He drew a handkerchief out of his pocket; it was
-rolled into a tight ball, and he handed it to her without more ado. She
-could feel something cold and hard through the cotton.
-
-Her slim fingers trembled a little when they struggled with the knot;
-then she gave a scream of joyful surprise.
-
-"Oh! it's father's locket!" she cried. There in her hand lay the
-diamond-circled miniature, her mother's face looking out from the midst
-of the shimmering stones, with the gentle wistful expression she
-remembered of old.
-
-Meg had thought more of the setting than of the portrait, when it had
-lain in her baby hand; but the face had impressed itself on her memory
-all the same. Now it seemed to her like a birthday present from both
-parents.
-
-Barnabas Thorpe watched her ecstasies disapprovingly; and when she
-lifted her beautiful eyes to his with a "Thank you, with all my heart,"
-he said gravely:--
-
-"You have not me to thank. I was only an instrument, and I'm thinking
-such stones as those are bought wi' too high a price."
-
-"I don't understand you," said Meg.
-
-In the pause that ensued, the tramp, who had been watching this curious
-episode with some interest, thought fit to put in her claim. "You must
-have been born with a caul, missy," said she. "For folk who lose
-diamonds don't generally get 'em back so easy. Let me just finish your
-fortune for you: it will be worth the telling."
-
-"No, no," said Meg. "It was silly of me. I don't want to hear it now."
-She put her hand in her pocket, meaning to pay the woman and get rid of
-her; but, alas! it was empty.
-
-"I'll wait here, honey, and you'll run in and fetch your purse, and then
-I'll tell you the rest," coaxed the gipsy, when the preacher interposed,
-"What do ye want playing with the devil?" he said. "I can't stand by and
-see a maid dabble wi' witchcraft. God has your fortune in His own hand.
-Leave it there. It's safe with Him."
-
-"Oh, ay, you're one of the pious ones!" cried the woman angrily. "Down
-on a poor body for picking up a scrap here and there, while you're
-pocketing pounds yourself! Where did you get them diamonds from? What'll
-she give you for 'em? The pretty lady don't ask where you got 'em, 'cos
-for why, you're young and lusty, and she----"
-
-"Off with you!" said Barnabas. And Meg was rather shocked to see him
-take her by the arms and march her down the hill. He did it
-good-naturedly enough, however.
-
-When they reached the bottom, the woman wriggled out of his grasp, and
-shook her fist at Meg.
-
-"Oh, it's all very fine! You may laugh, and welcome; but it's the wrong
-side of your mouth you'll laugh with one day," she shouted hoarsely,
-though Meg was in truth little inclined to be merry. "You'll leave your
-finery behind you. You'll run out of the garden into the highway. And
-you'll repent it every day of your life! You'll be cold and hungry and
-foot-sore; and you'll wish you were in your grave, and your people will
-say, 'She had better not have been born'. They love their name better
-than they love you; for there's none so cold-hearted as gentlefolk, and
-so you'll find. They will call you a disgrace to ----"
-
-"That'll do!" said the preacher. "Let the lady be. Cursing is an ill
-trade, missus. Which way are ye going?"
-
-"I've told her her fortune, though she cheated me out of my due," said
-the tramp; and she strode off grumbling. She was not half so irate with
-the preacher as with the "fine lady," though it had been he who had
-practically interfered with her. She could understand Barnabas Thorpe's
-forcibly expressed rebukes, but Meg's shilly-shallying she put down to a
-mean desire to escape payment. "Gentlefolk were very mean," she
-muttered.
-
-Meg still stood with the diamonds in her hand, when the preacher
-returned to the gate.
-
-She wondered whether she ought to offer him a reward, or whether he
-considered himself above that. She wished that she had not got up quite
-so early, no one was awake to consult. Barnabas Thorpe shook his head at
-her embarrassed suggestion. "No, thank you," he said. "I never take
-money for doing the Lord's work; and your trinket there was given me to
-ease a poor soul whom Satan had in his clutches. Will ye come with me
-and see her? She's sore afflicted, and I doubt it's as much mind as
-body."
-
-"Who is she?" said Meg.
-
-"I'll tell ye," said the preacher, "if ye'll not set the police on her."
-And Meg reddened, and drew herself up.
-
-"It is not likely I should do that," she said haughtily. "I have not the
-least desire to know her name, if she would rather I did not. I only
-asked that I might thank her for returning my locket. I value it very
-much. Please thank her for me. Good-morning!"
-
-"Stop!" said the preacher eagerly. "Don't turn away from one ye can
-help. I see I've angered ye, but it's not for _me_ ye'll come. I'm not
-used to speaking to ladies. Happen I'm a bit rough. I didn't mean to
-be. But what can it matter what the messenger is? The message is the
-same. This woman asks your forgiveness in Christ's name. You can't
-refuse. Come to-morrow she may be gone to where she'll ask your
-forgiveness no more. Have ye so few sins of your own that ye can let her
-go unforgiven?"
-
-"Oh, it wasn't _that_," said Meg, who, indeed, felt no difficulty in
-pardoning an unknown thief.
-
-Barnabas opened the gate.
-
-"It's not above a shortish walk," he said. "You'll come." And Meg
-stepped into the road. As the gate shut behind her with a click, she
-felt as if she had passed some invisible line, taken some more decisive
-step than she knew. The gipsy's prophecy touched the superstitious
-strain that was strong in her, but she would not turn back for all that.
-"I'll not give in to being afraid," thought she.
-
-They walked on some way in silence, then Meg paused to take breath, and
-smiled in the midst of her earnestness, when she watched her conductor
-swinging along up the hill without noticing her defection, his head
-being fuller of the penitent he was hurrying to than of his strange
-companion.
-
-Barnabas Thorpe had a tenderness for publicans and sinners, that had
-been broadened and deepened by much personal experience; but as for the
-rich and educated, his work had not lain in their direction, his warm
-human sympathy had had no chance of correcting his narrow theories
-there, and it is to be feared he looked upon them all as in very evil
-case, remembering always the saying about the rich man and the needle.
-
-He was singularly illiterate considering his opportunities, for his
-father had been a great reader, and had sent or rather driven him to a
-good middle-class school.
-
-He had read and re-read his Bible and the _Pilgrim's Progress_; but
-books in general had no charm for him, though the prophets of the Old
-Testament impressed him, and probably influenced his style in preaching.
-He would tramp miles over down or marsh, hill or dale, to speak a word,
-whether in or out of season, to some hesitating convert whom he had
-"almost persuaded". He never failed to know when his words had touched,
-or, as he would have put it, "when the spirit that spoke through him had
-drawn" any one.
-
-He was a man of passionate temper, as the red tinge in his curly hair
-testified; but no mockery could hurt or opposition rebuff him in pursuit
-of his calling. All the superabundant vehemence of his nature was thrown
-into the fight for his "Master". The preacher was absolutely sincere,
-but he was also absolutely certain of his right to deliver his message
-when and wherever he felt "called". The sheer force of undoubting
-conviction impelled him, and coerced his hearers. Meg had felt that
-coercion on the beach; she was to see it again now.
-
-He remembered her when he had reached the top of the hill, and paused.
-"I've been going too fast for ye," he said; "I clean forgot. I am
-sorry."
-
-She noticed the burr in his speech, and the independence of his manner;
-but the frank honesty of his face disarmed her.
-
-Children and women generally trusted the preacher, and she suddenly made
-up her mind to throw aside her shyness and talk to him.
-
-"Why did you say my diamonds were bought with too high a price?" she
-asked.
-
-The preacher turned and looked at her, as if half doubtful of the
-sincerity of the question. She expected a tirade on the wickedness of
-luxury; and perhaps such a sermon was on the tip of his tongue, but
-apparently he checked himself.
-
-"I havena felt called to preach to the women who live in palaces and are
-clothed wi' fine linen," he said. "But I ha' seen ye before, and I
-believed the Master had called ye. If so, ye'll learn from Him that ye
-_canna_ wear for an ornament what should be bread to the starving. If ye
-had seen what I have ye wouldna ha' asked me that."
-
-"What have you seen?" said Meg; and the colour mounted to Barnabas
-Thorpe's high cheek bones, and his blue eyes lit up.
-
-"I've seen the wicked flourish like a green bay tree," he said, "and I
-ha' seen the defenceless trodden down, and the bairns wailing for food.
-I ha' seen the rich man who tempts by his sinfu' waste, and the poor man
-who is tempted and falls, like the poor lass we are going to now."
-
-"Where are we going?" asked Meg; "and how did you find her?"
-
-It was a question that the generality of people would have asked before
-they set out. Meg had walked two miles, and her thin shoes were rubbed
-and her feet sore, before it occurred to her.
-
-"Over to River. It's not more nor a mile on," said Barnabas Thorpe. "It
-was this way I was brought to her. I had been preaching on the Downs the
-other evening. It was getting to dusk, and I was going back to Dover,
-when a woman, who had been listening, followed me. 'Can you really cure
-diseases?' she asks, coming close behind. I said, 'Ay, if the Lord
-willed'. 'My daughter is sick,' she says, 'and I am not one that holds
-with doctors; for if a woman's to die she'll die, and if she's to live
-she'll live, and it stands to reason they can't do nothing against Them
-that's above.' 'And that's true,' I said."
-
-Meg was startled into a faint exclamation at this wholesale condemnation
-of doctors, but he went on unheeding.
-
-"'But if you come who don't mess about with physics, but just call on
-Them,' she said, 'perhaps They'll hear you and cure her.' So I went. I
-found the poor thing labouring for breath and sore afflicted, and in
-great terror of death, seein' her conscience was laden wi' heavy sin."
-He paused. "Ye'll no' be hard on her?" he said pleadingly.
-
-"No, of course not," said Meg.
-
-"She was nursery-maid in Mr. Russelthorpe's house sixteen years back.
-Her name is Susan Kekewich."
-
-"I remember her," said Meg, her thoughts flying back to that far-away
-time. "She came up to London with us, and cried nearly as much as I did
-in the coach. She was quite young, and I think she was pretty. She was
-very kind to me."
-
-"Ay, was she?" said Barnabas. "I could fancy so. She wasn't meant to go
-wrong. Poor maid! but there is many one's heart aches for. It seems she
-saw her master give you the trinket one night."
-
-"I know the rest," said Meg; "and she came into my room at night, and
-put her hand under my pillow and stole it. I was too frightened to
-scream. I thought she was Lazarus."
-
-"It was not for herself," said Barnabas eagerly. "Her lover was
-starving; he'd lost his place; they thought he was one of them that set
-fire to the ricks in Hampshire that winter; he was a poor creature, and
-afraid to stand a trial, tho' innocent as a baby of that piece of work;
-and he hung about in hiding in London, and came and begged at the
-kitchen door for scraps, and she had given him all she could, and hadn't
-a penny left, and he thought that if he could get beyond the sea, he
-might start again and make a home for her. She was anxious to get him
-off, and the devil tempted her. She knew the lad was sinking lower,
-loafing round, afeart o' the daylight, and wi' no decent place to put
-his head in that city of iniquity. She went out meaning to sell the
-diamonds, and to give him the price, and afore she was three paces fro'
-the door she got a message fro' her lad to say he was in gaol for
-stealing a loaf; but she didn't go back to the house. Happen she thought
-they'd ha' found her out, and couldn face it. Happen she was a bit
-mazed. She just lived on her savings till they were gone; an' ye can
-guess the rest. Her lover got the gaol-fever, and made no fight against
-it; he was dead within the week. She was afeared to sell your locket
-then, and afeared to give it back. She buried it once, and then got a
-fancy that the wind 'ud blow the earth away, and the rain 'ud wash it
-clear, and couldna keep hersel' fro' the place till she had it up again.
-She's a bit out o' her mind about it by now with the constant thinking;
-and her mother says as she believes her lover's death turned her queer
-for a time, an' she wasn't wholly responsible. She drifted away fro' the
-streets, and wandered home i' the end."
-
-Meg shuddered. "It's a dreadful story," she said. "Too dreadful to think
-of."
-
-"Do ye say so?" said the preacher. "Ay, ye scatter temptation i' the way
-o' the poor, ye rich, an' are too soft-hearted to hear tell o' their
-fall!" after which they both relapsed into silence.
-
-The sun was beginning to beat down on their heads, when they reached the
-little hamlet of River.
-
-It consisted of one chalk road, on either side of which were very white
-cottages, which had a deceptive air of comfort and prettiness. Pink
-china roses clustered against their walls, and low-thatched roofs shone
-gold in the morning light.
-
-The villagers were out in the fields: only one old man, and a baby with
-sore eyes and an eruption all over its face, stared open-mouthed at the
-oddly matched pair. Barnabas stooped to pass through the doorway of one
-of the cottages; and Meg following him would have tumbled down the one
-step into the room, if he had not held out his hand to save her.
-
-She never forgot the sudden plunge out of sunshine into that dark room,
-close and hot, and yet with a damp smell about it.
-
-Labourers' cottages sixty years ago were so bad that one wonders, when
-one thinks of them, that the wave of revolution that was passing over
-Europe, did not utterly submerge us too!
-
-Meg stood leaning against the door, watching the preacher; too shy to
-venture further. Her eyes dilated, and she turned whiter as she looked.
-The damp clay floor, the sickening odour, the room that was bedroom and
-sitting-room as well, horrified her. Yet Barnabas had been in many a
-worse place, and this was no exceptionally bad case; indeed, it was
-decent compared to many a cottage in Kent. But Meg lived before the day
-of district visiting, and the world of poverty was a new world to her.
-
-A woman was lying on a press bed in the farthest corner, her eyes shut.
-Meg thought at first that she was dead. Her thin pinched little mother
-came hurrying from the inner room to meet them.
-
-"She's had two more of them spasms since you left," she said to
-Barnabas. "I should think the next would about carry her off." She spoke
-in a querulous tone, as if the spasms were somehow the preacher's fault,
-but her face twitched nervously. She had small features like her
-daughter, and black eyes, and spoke with the south-country accent.
-
-The woman on the bed stirred and then gave a quick choking sound, and
-Barnabas was by her side in an instant, supporting her in his arms. It
-was literally a fight for life!
-
-The poor thing's eyes started, and the veins on her forehead swelled;
-Barnabas held her up with one arm, and fanned the air towards her mouth
-with the other hand.
-
-"Open the window!" he shouted; but the window was apparently not made to
-open. Such a thing had never been done. "Take the poker and break the
-pane!" he said; and the woman hesitated. "I can't see as making a
-draught is good," she murmured; but Meg obeyed him at once. The green
-substance, grimed with dirt, did not break easily, but it gave at last;
-and Meg was thankful to turn her back on that awful sight.
-
-When she looked again, Barnabas was blowing into Susan's lips, pausing
-every now and then to ejaculate, "Lord, help me!" The gasping breaths
-were getting easier, the grip of the clenched hands was relaxing;
-presently the patient fell back exhausted.
-
-"She's going!" said the mother. "Lord, if I had a drop of brandy left,
-it might save her!"
-
-The preacher covered his face with his hands a second,--he, perhaps, was
-a little exhausted too; then he stood upright, and put his hands on her
-forehead.
-
-"Oh merciful Lord, heal her!" he cried. "Pour Thy strength into her!
-Pour Thy strength into her! Let it flow through me to her now while I
-pray." He repeated the same words again and again at intervals. It
-seemed to Meg that his face was as the face of some strong healing
-angel, so bright with undoubting faith.
-
-Presently the patient opened her eyes, looked at him, and smiled. It
-might have been an hour that he had stood there. "I've got new life in
-me," she said. "I feel it;" and Barnabas fell on his knees.
-
-"Now, the Lord be thanked," he said, "who has given us the victory over
-death, through Christ our Master." And Meg drew a breath of relief; she
-had felt as if he had been fighting some tangible enemy, and now the
-dreadful presence was routed--she almost fancied she saw it like a black
-shadow flee past her, out into the open air.
-
-The fight was over.
-
-"My maid," said Barnabas, "God has been good to you. You will not die,
-but live, and your sins are forgiven, both by Him and the woman you
-stole from: she has come to tell you so."
-
-Meg came forward quickly and knelt by his side.
-
-"Oh Susie," she said. "I am so sorry you have been unhappy all these
-years! and I would have forgiven you at once if I had only known. Why, I
-would lose all I have ten times over rather than that any one should be
-so unhappy!" And Susie looked at her with the black eyes that had such
-depths of sadness in them.
-
-"It's Miss Meg! She always was a dear little lady, and so soft-hearted.
-I thought if she could understand she wouldn't mind," she said. "And he
-was so hungry, it went to my heart to feel him hungry! but God was
-against me, and sent him to gaol to punish me, though I would have given
-my soul to save him. I was a bad girl, and they punished him for
-it--to--to--how was it?--because I stole? They are uncommon hard up
-above, but it's just justice, I suppose!"
-
-Meg took the wasted hands in hers; she could not preach, the problem was
-beyond her; but she laid her cheek against Susan's for a moment, and the
-preacher said gently, "You see _she's_ not hard, and the Lord who made
-her merciful must be more merciful Himself. He's better nor the things
-He makes." Then he rose from his knees. "Good-bye," he said simply, "I'd
-keep that window open, and let the air in, Mrs. Kekewich. I've often
-noticed it's got a deal of healing in it."
-
-Meg followed him out of the cottage; they were outside when Mrs.
-Kekewich regained the use of her tongue, and ran after them to pour out
-a volley of thanks to both. Meg blushed. Barnabas Thorpe took off his
-hat reverently when she said "God bless you".
-
-Meg told her aunt exactly what had happened the moment she got home; she
-was too proud ever to stoop to petty concealments, but she knew that if
-she waited her courage would cool. Uncle Russelthorpe chuckled behind
-his newspaper (they were at breakfast) and Aunt Russelthorpe was, not
-unnaturally, very wroth.
-
-"It's high time this sort of thing were stopped," she said. "As for her
-not going to balls, or wearing trinkets any more, she _shall_ go!"
-
-"Meg's much the most amusing of the three," said Uncle Russelthorpe;
-"and nothing makes a faith grow like a little persecution."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER V.
-
-
-So Margaret Deane was numbered amongst Barnabas Thorpe's converts; and
-of all the inexplicable miracles that the man was said to work, society
-counted that the most extraordinary.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe was not a popular woman, and she was too proud to
-elicit much sympathy; but, on the whole, public opinion sided with her,
-rather than with her niece.
-
-Barnabas Thorpe was essentially the people's preacher; and even his
-greatest admirers felt that it was unbecoming of him "to try and convert
-the gentry".
-
-As a matter of fact he was less presumptuous than they fancied; and, far
-from being triumphant, experienced at times a most unusual qualm of pain
-at this unexpected result of his teaching.
-
-Years ago in the days of his boyhood, long before he had, to use his own
-phrase, "been taken by religion," he had once plunged his hand into a
-spider's web with intent to save a butterfly that got entangled. He had
-broken the creature's wing in trying to free it, and the mishap had
-stuck in his memory, because both as child and man he had been unusually
-pitiful to physical suffering. That bygone episode was fantastically
-associated in his mind with Miss Deane.
-
-There was no doubt to him that but one answer was possible to the "What
-shall I do to be saved?" of man or woman cursed by riches. "Leave all
-that thou hast" seemed the inevitable prelude to "Follow me".
-
-He had quoted that reply on the Downs to a group in the midst of which
-stood Margaret, in the soft grey dress which was the most quakerish
-garment she possessed.
-
-He had seen her wince at the words as if they startled or hurt her; and
-had had a quick feeling of compunction, such as he had experienced when
-he had found the butterfly's purple and gold down staining his
-over-strong and clumsy fingers.
-
-No one in after days would have believed it, but it was none the less
-true, that Meg's evident sensitiveness rather deterred than encouraged
-him in his dealings with her, till an incident, grotesque enough in
-itself, changed his attitude, and he felt himself suddenly challenged by
-the world through the mouth of a worldly woman. The combative instinct
-was thoroughly roused then, and his doubts fled. It was a very small
-link in the chain that was to bind his life and Margaret's, but
-nevertheless it was a link.
-
-Barnabas was one day sitting by the roadside carving, when Mrs.
-Russelthorpe, coming through the great gates of Ravenshill, saw, and
-made up her mind to deliver her opinion to this impertinent preacher.
-
-Barnabas was chiselling a little chalk head with his pocket knife; he
-was intent on his occupation, his hair and beard were powdered with
-white dust, and he looked up only now and then to speak to a child who
-was eagerly watching him, and for whose benefit the image was being
-fashioned.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe deliberately paused in front of him, and studied him
-through her gold eyeglass. Meg had never thought about the _man_, she
-had seen only the preacher, but the elder woman recognised that this was
-no weak opponent or hysterical babbler.
-
-She lifted her silk skirt--she was never hurried or awkward in her
-movements,--and drew out of the pocket that hung round her waist a
-sovereign, which she held out to him.
-
-"We are in your debt," she said, "for the trouble you had in returning
-my niece's locket. It was exceedingly honest of you. You had better take
-the money, my good fellow;" for the preacher had raised his head with an
-expression of utter amazement, which would have confused a less intrepid
-woman. "I am sure"--a little patronisingly--"that you quite deserve it."
-
-"No--thanks," said Barnabas shortly. "In the part I come from we don't
-fancy it 'exceedingly honest' not to steal, nor look to be paid for not
-being rascals." And he went on with his work.
-
-"Tut, tut!" said Mrs. Russelthorpe. "You cannot afford to fling away
-gold, I am sure." And she dropped the sovereign on to the man's hand.
-
-The preacher started up as if the coin falling on his brown fingers had
-burnt them.
-
-"Here, ma'am. Please take it back. I thought I'd made it clear, I'll ha'
-none o' et," he cried; and there was a ring in his voice, which sounded
-as if the "Old Adam" were not quite dead yet.
-
-"I shall certainly not take it. I do not approve of unpaid services,"
-said Mrs. Russelthorpe. And Barnabas with a quick movement drew back his
-arm, and pitched the sovereign over her head, far away into the park.
-
-It span through the air like a flash of light, and Mrs. Russelthorpe's
-lips compressed as she saw it.
-
-"That was a most insolent exhibition of temper for one who preaches to
-others," she said coldly; but the answer surprised her.
-
-"Ay, an' that's true; so it was," he said, reddening.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe was not generous enough to take no advantage of her
-adversary's slip.
-
-"Your rudeness to me can only injure yourself," she went on, "and is
-certainly not worth remark; but I am glad to have this opportunity of
-saying that I believe you to be doing great harm by your preaching.
-Religious excitement is always bad, and I have had to remonstrate
-seriously with my niece, who is very young and foolish, about the ideas
-your unwise words have put into her head. She sees her mistake now,"
-added Mrs. Russelthorpe, rather prematurely. "But had I not been at hand
-to guide her, you might have done an infinity of evil in attempting to
-dictate to her about the duties of a position which you cannot in the
-least be expected to understand."
-
-An anxious look came over the preacher's face; his own pride was
-forgotten on the instant.
-
-"Tell me," he said eagerly, "she is surely not turning back?"
-
-"I do not understand your expression," said Mrs. Russelthorpe; "but Miss
-Deane will shortly accompany me to London, and take her part in society
-as usual. I am glad to say she recognises the folly of your teaching."
-
-That last assertion was unfounded; but then, "If it is not true yet, it
-shall be," thought Mrs. Russelthorpe, and she couldn't resist a triumph.
-
-She departed after that, with the last word and the best of the
-encounter, well pleased; but if she had known the preacher better she
-would not have told him that his disciple was "giving in".
-
-"She is doing the devil's work, an' the poor maid is over weak," he
-reflected, "an' hard beset; an' what shall I do?"
-
-He took his worn Bible from his pocket and laid it open on the road;
-the wind stirred the pages gently, and the man shut his eyes with a
-prayer for enlightenment. Then he opened them and picked the book up. He
-read in the bright glancing sunlight one sentence: "And He saith unto
-him, Cast thy garment about thee and follow Me".
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe and Meg were sitting together in the drawing-room.
-
-The girl looked ill and nervous. The constant strain of a conflict with
-a stronger willed antagonist told on her. She had slept little of late,
-she had suffered a veritable martyrdom in the carrying out of Barnabas
-Thorpe's principles.
-
-All at once the blood rushed to her white face.
-
-"I hear footsteps in the hall," she said.
-
-"You are going crazy about 'footsteps'!" cried her aunt impatiently, and
-then lifted her eyebrows in some surprise. "Some one _is_ coming
-upstairs. Who can be calling at this hour?"
-
-"It is the preacher. They are his footsteps that I've heard coming
-nearer all the week," said Meg quietly, and before Mrs. Russelthorpe
-could say a word of reproof to this extraordinary statement, Barnabas
-Thorpe stood in the doorway.
-
-"I ask pardon for interrupting you, but I ha' a message for this maid,"
-he said. "I ha' been told that havin' put your hand to th' plough ye are
-in danger o' turning back. Is it true?"
-
-"The man is mad!" cried Mrs. Russelthorpe, "or he is drunk!"
-
-She stood upright, putting her frame aside without haste or flurry. She
-had never felt fear in her life, though her indignation was strong.
-
-"Go at once, sir!" she said.
-
-"Is it true?" said the preacher.
-
-His eyes were fixed on Meg. He was too eager to be self-conscious. In
-the intensity of his effort to arrest and turn again a wavering soul, he
-did not even hear Mrs. Russelthorpe; and for a moment his absorption,
-his utter imperviousness to all that was "outside" his mission,
-impressed even her.
-
-The preacher was as "one-ideaed" as a sleuth hound in pursuit of his
-quarry. The simile is not a pretty one, but it flashed across her mind,
-when her command fell futile and powerless.
-
-"Is it true?" Then, while Meg, who had been sitting with dilated eyes
-staring at him, covered her face with her hands, his voice melted into
-entreaty.
-
-"Perhaps it is so," he said. "But the Master is full of pity. Still He
-says 'Come'. He knows our backslidings. He bears wi' us again and again,
-as a mother wi' a bairn who stumbles running to her. His feet bear the
-bruises o' the stones by the way," cried Barnabas. And again, as on the
-beach, his blue eyes had the expression of eyes that _see_ that of which
-they speak. "An' ye shall not be afeard o' th' path they trod! His hands
-are marked wi' th' nails o' Calvary, an' by those marks they shall lead
-us men, who are feeble and sore discouraged. Behold, I _know_"--and his
-voice rang through the room, making Meg wonder whimsically in the midst
-of her excitement whether the very chairs and tables were not startled
-in their spindle-legged propriety--"Behold, I know that it is sweeter to
-walk wi' Him through th' valley o' death, than to walk wi'out Him
-through th' sunshine o' the World."
-
-"My good man," said Mrs. Russelthorpe, "whatever may be the case in 'the
-valley of death,' you are very much out of place in my drawing-room. We
-have had enough."
-
-She pointed to the door while she spoke.
-
-Outside in the road the man had had the worst of it when he had crossed
-swords with her; here, strangely enough, she had no more effect on him
-than a child's breath against a boat in full sail.
-
-He was acting under authority now. He believed himself as much bound to
-testify as ever Moses before the Egyptian king.
-
-"My Master has called this maid," he said; "who is it bids you hinder?
-Promise," and he turned again to Meg, "that ye will follow Him to the
-giving up of all He disallows. Promise! an' I will go my way in peace."
-
-Meg let her hands drop on her lap, and looked at him with the saddest
-smile he had ever seen. The pathos of it touched the man as well as the
-apostle, though he wasn't himself aware of that fact; and his innermost
-thought of her was free from any taint of self-consciousness.
-
-"I will promise nothing," she said; "I should only fail."
-
-Her low voice sounded weary and dispirited, the very antithesis of his.
-This time she said to herself she would not let herself go.
-
-His enthusiasm might carry her a little way by its own strength, but she
-knew what the end would be. This narrowly strong preacher, with his
-northern burr, his gesticulations, his intense conviction, came, after
-all, from another world. She envied his assurance, she admired his
-courage, but he could not "help her".
-
-"I may be miserable, and know I am wrong, and yet give way at last,
-unless something happens," said Meg. The "something" meant support from
-her father. Then she was ashamed of her own words.
-
-"I will try--but I won't promise," she said wistfully.
-
-There was a tense silence. "I have a message for ye, an' I canna
-understand it," said Barnabas at last, "but the Lord will make it clear.
-Listen, these are the words, _And the angel said unto him, Cast thy
-garment about thee and follow Me._"
-
-"The man is raving!" exclaimed Mrs. Russelthorpe. And she put her hand
-on the bell; but he had already turned to go.
-
-He would add no words of his own to the inspired "mandate"; and he
-walked out of the room and out of the house unmolested, as he had come.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe drew a deep breath, that was not so much of relief as
-of utter astonishment.
-
-"I do not know why I allowed him to go on so long. He is the most
-extraordinary person I have ever set eyes on! Upon my word, I believe he
-has walked straight out of Bedlam; but, mad or sane, this is beyond a
-joke. Margaret! if you so much as look at him again, I'll wash my hands
-of you. I'll make an end to this."
-
-"Will you?" said Meg dreamily. She did not speak in defiance, only
-doubtfully, with a vague sense that Barnabas Thorpe's especial
-Providence might be too strong even for Aunt Russelthorpe. Had he not
-said his say in spite of her?
-
-"Will you, Aunt Russelthorpe? But I don't think one has really much to
-do with what happens."
-
-"I've something to do with it," said Aunt Russelthorpe grimly; "and so
-he will find." And so indeed he did find,--though not in the way she
-meant.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Another and widely different acquaintance was at least as deeply
-interested in the change in her. Mr. Sauls was the very last person
-whom any one would have expected to champion an impracticable
-enthusiasm; yet he certainly stood up for Margaret at this time, to her
-immense surprise and rather perplexed gratitude.
-
-This slip of a girl, who shrank from the least touch of love-making, but
-yet loved and hated so vehemently, who was more innocent than any other
-woman he had ever known, and who yet did such terribly rash things, who
-was full of shy dignity and sudden indiscreet revelations, was the first
-person who had inspired him with any awe of womanhood.
-
-He laughed at himself a good deal, but thought of her, whom most people
-sneered at, with a sort of half-amused reverence. If in the first place
-he had been in love with Meg's good name and prospective fortune, his
-love for Meg's self was striking deeper roots than he should
-consistently have allowed; but we all of us fail to stick to our
-principles at times.
-
-When the first faint rumour of a scandal reached him, Mr. Sauls went
-straight to Ravenshill to call.
-
-He met Mr. Russelthorpe in the hall, and stopped to speak to him, being
-on very friendly terms with the old man, whose society he had cultivated
-of late.
-
-"It is so long since I have met your niece anywhere, that I have come to
-inquire after her health," he said boldly.
-
-"Hm! she has 'repented' and taken to religion, as I have no doubt you
-have heard," said the other; he held on to the banisters with one
-shrivelled hand, and peered up into George Sauls' strong dark face to
-see how his announcement was taken.
-
-"Repented! but she was always a little saint!" cried Mr. Sauls.
-
-"Ah! that's it," responded Meg's uncle. "It is the saints who repent;
-the sinners have other things to do."
-
-Mr. Sauls stood twisting the cord of his eyeglass rapidly round his
-finger: he had a trick of apparently absorbing himself in some physical
-detail of the sort when he was more than usually interested.
-
-"I want to be converted," he remarked. "Do you think that she would
-undertake me?"
-
-Mr. Russelthorpe chuckled. This young Jew, with his keen eye to the main
-chance, always entertained him.
-
-"There's no knowing. Young women are very hopeful," he said. "Go on--go
-on and try."
-
-Mr. Sauls went on into the drawing-room.
-
-A buzz of conversation greeted him. Mrs. Russelthorpe was entertaining
-about twenty ladies; Meg was standing apart in the bow window.
-
-Mr. Sauls joined in the talk at once; he made smart speeches to his
-hostess, and conversed with every one: he was never in the least shy.
-
-Presently some one mentioned the ball that was to be given at the
-Heights. "You are going, of course?" she said.
-
-The question sounded innocent enough, but it sent a thrill through the
-atmosphere.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe made a distinct pause, and then said, in clear
-decisive tones: "My niece sets all her elders to rights on that subject.
-You had better explain why we are not to go, Margaret; for your views
-are beyond me."
-
-Mr. Sauls glanced at the girl's white face, and swore under his breath.
-"I'd like to duck Mrs. Russelthorpe," he said to himself; and then he
-threw down his glove, to the general astonishment.
-
-"If Miss Deane does not choose to give us the pleasure of her company,
-it is so much the worse for us," he said. "But society would become
-unbearable if it were allowed to demand explanations each time any one
-stayed away from an entertainment. I can't see why we should bother Miss
-Deane with impertinent questions, and I protest against them on
-principle. They encroach on the sacred rights of the individual."
-
-He had diverted attention from Meg anyhow. What did it matter what
-rhodomontade he was talking? It was curious how that little nervous
-shudder of hers affected him; it had seemed to run like fire through his
-veins. How durst they distress her? prying closely into the secrets of
-her sensitive conscience, frightening her (for he could see that she was
-frightened) by their irreverent curiosity. Reverence was not a quality
-that any one had suspected in him heretofore, but Meg had awakened it.
-
-He did not quite know her, however, in spite of his sympathy: she was
-thin-skinned enough in all conscience; but she was something else as
-well. She lifted her head and faced Mrs. Russelthorpe: she was not going
-to take shelter behind Mr. Sauls, though she was grateful to him.
-
-"I have explained to you over and over again," she said. "I don't go to
-balls because I don't think I ought. I like them so much I forget
-everything else when I do. I don't know about other people, I daresay
-that they are perfectly right to go."
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe laughed.
-
-"Other people are on a lower level of sanctity evidently," she said.
-"Come! We are all of us waiting to be enlightened. Where does the
-iniquity lie? You of the young generation are wonderfully quick at
-seeing evil--where is it?"
-
-George twirled his eyeglass furiously.
-
-"Don't answer!" he cried, with assumed jocosity. "Miss Deane, your
-counsel advises you not to--this is a bad precedent--against all
-fairness."
-
-Meg flushed painfully, there were tears in her eyes.
-
-"In me, I suppose," she said softly, and left the room.
-
-Mr. Sauls took up his hat.
-
-"I think we ought all to feel pretty well ashamed of ourselves after
-that," he remarked; and he went out, shutting the door sharply after
-him.
-
-He had burnt his boats, and he knew it. He had made an enemy, and forced
-his own hand; he had rebuked Mrs. Russelthorpe in her own drawing-room,
-and closed the Ravenshill gates against himself; and he shrugged his
-shoulders at his own rashness as he went downstairs. Meg was by no means
-won yet, and he had been bolder than he could well afford.
-
-"I never guessed I was such a fool," he said to himself; and then he
-smiled in spite of his cooler after-thoughts.
-
-"If, after all, my luck holds good, and I do get her, and I _will_," he
-reflected, "won't I make that aunt of hers feel the difference? I should
-like to see the woman who will bully my wife. I should like it
-immensely."
-
-His sympathy for his shy lady was very genuine, but he felt a thrill of
-exhilaration all the same. Mrs. Russelthorpe's anger, the growing
-gossip, this very "religious mania," were all playing into his
-hands--they would drive the girl nearer to him.
-
-He meant to be very patient; it was only once in a blue moon that his
-feelings got the better of him; he would wait, and watch; and when Meg's
-position became unbearable, he would step in and say, "Here am I! With
-me you shall do as you choose. Follow your very exacting conscience
-where you like; dip your pretty fingers into my purse, and dress in
-sackcloth if it pleases you." He would not bully Meg. She was none the
-worse for a touch of asceticism in his eyes.
-
-Like many men who believe in little themselves, he held that the more
-beliefs a woman has the better--and the safer.
-
-Let her be as saint-like as she chose; if he was of the earth (as he
-candidly allowed he was) his wife should be of heaven, a thing apart,
-set in a costly shrine which he would delight in decorating.
-
-Her religion was a fitting ornament, a halo round her fair head! Far be
-it from him to wish to discrown her.
-
-Women's pretty superstitions became them even better than their
-diamonds--he would grudge Meg neither.
-
-He went to the ball at the Heights three weeks later, and found, as he
-had expected, that Mrs. Russelthorpe cut him, that Miss Deane was not
-present, and that Miss Deane's name was overmuch in people's mouths.
-
-One little bit of innuendo, which he happened to overhear, made his
-blood boil, in spite of his conviction that it was unfounded.
-
-Miss Deane in love with a canting tub-preacher! Miss Deane, who was only
-too fastidious! If Mr. Sauls' idea of a woman's position had just a
-tinge of Orientalism about it, at least his respect for Meg was true
-enough for him to be sure that that scandal was absurd on the face of
-it. But it showed how her innocence needed protection.
-
-Poor Meg! He would have shielded her from every rough breath, yet the
-winds of heaven were to blow harder on her than on him; he would have
-lined her path with velvet, but for her the road was to be stony indeed.
-"Give our beloved peace and happiness," we pray--but they are given
-pain, and the stress of the battle. "Deliver them from evil"--but they
-fall.
-
-"I will write soon, very soon," George Sauls decided, as he left the hot
-ball-room behind him, and walked towards the twinkling town, with the
-sound of the dance ringing in his ears.
-
-He had actually rather a longing to turn up the road to Ravenshill,
-where Mrs. Russelthorpe's carriage was disappearing, and take a look at
-the shell which held his pearl; but a sense of the ridiculous withheld
-him, or, perhaps, the bad luck that dogged his footsteps where his love
-was concerned.
-
-If he had followed his impulse, the upshot of that night's events might
-have been different.
-
-If Meg had married him, he would have loved her long and well, for his
-was a grasp that never loosened easily; but for once in his life, George
-gave more than he received, and he certainly did not count the
-experience blessed.
-
-The three weeks that had followed that scene in the drawing-room had
-been trying ones at Ravenshill. Meg's courage was of the kind that can
-lead a forlorn hope, but finds it very difficult to sustain a siege.
-
-Poor child! it was hard enough that the first avowedly religious man she
-had met should be also a bit of a fanatic.
-
-That our consciences have so little judgment is surely one of the oddest
-things in this queer world!
-
-Martyrs go to the stake for false gods, as well as for the truth; men
-die heroically for mistakes, loyal to blundering leaders; and what is
-the end of it all, we ask? Is it a farce or a tragedy? or does the
-loyalty live somehow, though the error wither as chaff that has held the
-grain?
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VI.
-
-
-Uncle Russelthorpe sat alone in his library on the evening of the ball:
-the habit of shuffling out of family gatherings had grown on him, his
-queer slip-shod figure was seldom seen beyond its own precincts now. His
-distaste for his wife increased with increasing age, and her loud voice
-and rather aggressive strength jarred more on him.
-
-Perhaps, after all, Meg's was not the saddest tragedy in that house; for
-it is better to burn than to rot, and it is doubtful whether the
-over-hasty actors who bring grief on themselves, and other people, in
-their attempts to make the world turn round the other way, do half the
-harm of the easy-going philosophers, who sit with their talents in
-napkins, and say, "Let be! why struggle against the inevitable?"
-Stagnant water is not a healthy feature in the landscape at any time.
-
-It was late in the evening, the soft air came in at the window laden
-with dew, as well as with sweetness. The old man got up to close the
-shutters; he had a morbid dislike to intrusion, and the servants did not
-dare invade his sanctum. He lit his lamp, and fell back into the depths
-of his armchair with a sigh of relief, because that small effort was
-accomplished. He had grown weaker lately, though no one had noticed it.
-He no longer studied with the avidity of old, but sat often, as he sat
-to-night, with his hands on his knees, peering into the fire. Perhaps
-he saw shadows of the past there--ghosts of possibilities that were
-never realities, saddest of all ghosts are these "might-have-beens,"
-pale phantoms that have never known life. He had started with rather
-more than the average share of brains and money, and come to the
-conclusion, now that his days were few and evil, that the game had
-hardly been worth playing, sorry fun at the best! Presently some one
-spoke behind him, and he frowned irritably.
-
-"Who is it?" he asked rather crossly. "I'm busy. What do you want in
-here?"
-
-"It is I--Margaret!" said a voice with a suspicion of tremor in it; and
-his niece walked round his chair, and after a moment's hesitation, sat
-down on a high-backed seat opposite him.
-
-Uncle Russelthorpe straightened himself with a jerk. This was a most
-unprecedented visit, and his curiosity overcame his annoyance. Meg had
-hardly been in his study since the days when she had haunted it as a
-child. What could she want? It was not a house where the young ones ever
-intruded unnecessarily on their elders' leisure; and Mr. Russelthorpe,
-though he had a secret partiality for his youngest niece, did not
-consider her any "affair of his". His wife managed the girls, and "very
-funnily too," he sometimes thought.
-
-Meg sat pressing her fingers together and looking straight at him. She
-had not taken this unusual step without a pretty strong motive.
-
-"Uncle," she said, "I want advice! You used to be very kind to me when I
-was a little girl. Will you give it to me, please?"
-
-"Eh? What?" said her uncle. "You'd better go to----" he was about to say
-"your aunt," but feeling that that counsel was rather a cruel mockery,
-seeing that Meg's relations with Mrs. Russelthorpe were more than
-usually strained just then, ended, "to your father for it."
-
-"Yes, but I don't know how," said Meg; "he is somewhere in Greece, I
-suppose."
-
-"Hm--wise man!" said Uncle Russelthorpe. "I don't, as a rule, think much
-of Charles' worldly wisdom; but that way he has of going off, without
-leaving an address, has always struck me as admirable; it secures such
-absolute immunity from worries."
-
-"I suppose I am one of the worries," said Meg, with a smile that was
-more sad than merry. "Since I can't bother him, I'm worrying you!"
-
-"Not at all!" said the old gentleman politely; but he drew his watch out
-of its fob and fidgeted.
-
-"You see there is no one else," said Meg apologetically. "Uncle
-Russelthorpe, I mean to go away. I _can't_ stay here any longer. Father
-promised me that he would write soon, and perhaps send for me. He has
-been gone nearly two months, and I have not heard from him.
-Perhaps,"--with her ungovernable desire to shift the blame from his
-shoulders--"perhaps, he is ill, or he may have sent a message that has
-not been given to me. Anyhow, I can't--oh I can't--wait much longer."
-
-"Tut, tut!" interrupted Mr. Russelthorpe. "You are young and impatient.
-When you are my age, you will not say 'can' and 'can't' so easily. There
-are few things we can't endure, hardly any I should say; and our skins
-become toughened with age, fortunately, and our hearts colder, also most
-fortunately."
-
-Meg shivered involuntarily.
-
-"But I haven't begun to be old yet!" she cried. "That doesn't help me!"
-
-The old man looked at her uneasily; he had something of the feeling that
-one of the audience of a play might have, if suddenly appealed to by an
-actor: he hated being dragged out of his safe place as spectator, and
-being asked for practical advice.
-
-"I think the sort of life we lead is all wrong from beginning to end,"
-said this inconvenient niece; and the corners of Mr. Russelthorpe's lips
-twitched a little, he was genuinely sorry for her unhappiness, but her
-revolutionary sentiments amused him.
-
-"Father really thinks so too. I have never forgotten something he said
-when I was a child, about Dives preaching contentment to the starving
-across an over-loaded table."
-
-Uncle Russelthorpe took snuff and shook his head.
-
-"My dear young lady, don't you begin to talk cheap Chartist cant," he
-said. "One Whig in the family is enough, and Charles' harangues don't
-sound so well at second-hand; it is his voice and manner that makes any
-nonsense he chooses to spout go down; besides, he would be considerably
-deranged, I fancy, if you were to take upon yourself to put all his
-theories into practice; that's a very pernicious habit that you've
-contracted--not inherited--I doubt its being so pleasing to him as you
-imagine."
-
-"But that's worse than anything, and I won't believe you!" cried Meg,
-with a passion that actually startled him. "Uncle, it makes me feel
-miserable when you say that; as if father were not ever in earnest! Aunt
-Russelthorpe tells me that too! She says he never really meant me to
-live with him, and that I'd taken everything too seriously. It isn't
-true. I want to go to him, and to hear him say it isn't true. Will you
-help me? I believe Aunt Russelthorpe knows where he is. Will you make
-her tell you? Will you give me the money, and send some one with me if I
-mustn't travel alone? I won't run away. It isn't wrong to want to go to
-my own father," cried poor Meg, with a rather pathetic pride. "I'll do
-it openly. My aunt will be angry, but he will understand. I am his
-child, and he always says I am to come to him in any difficulty. I know
-that he will be glad!"
-
-There was a confidence in her tone, that made Mr. Russelthorpe wonder
-for a moment what sort of a man he would have been, if he had had a
-child with such unlimited faith in him. Really, it was a pity Charles
-didn't do more to justify it; and that reflection gave rise to another.
-
-"It seems to me," he said, "that a more interesting and younger admirer
-than your old uncle would be charmed to point an obvious way out of your
-difficulties. There was a young sprig here the other day; it struck me
-that his interest in my coins had shot up rather suddenly, like Jack's
-bean-stalk. I shouldn't wonder if it withered when it's served its turn,
-eh? My old eyes are not so sharp as they were, but I'm not in my dotage
-yet. I don't see how I can interfere, my dear; but if you are anxious to
-leave us,--why, there's the church door conveniently near. Laura and
-Kate got out by it. I've no doubt the escort to Greece could be provided
-too."
-
-"You mean Mr. Sauls," said Meg, with a calmness which boded ill for that
-gentleman's hopes. "I don't think he would be so silly; but, anyhow, I
-should hate a husband who let me believe what I liked, and do as I
-thought right because 'it didn't matter'. Mr. Sauls has been rather kind
-to me. I don't want my gratitude spoilt by that kind of nonsense;
-_please_." The last words were a protest against Mr. Russelthorpe's
-characteristic chuckle. Meg had an impatience of any approach to
-love-making, that was more boyish than girlish; and the least attempt at
-sentiment was enough to chill her rather doubtful liking for her
-father's quondam _protégé_.
-
-"I really am in earnest!" she cried. "Don't laugh at me! Aunt
-Russelthorpe has been saying things I cannot repeat: she says other
-people say them too. I think," lifting her head proudly, "that they
-should all be ashamed of themselves, and I don't care in the very
-least--but"--with a sudden illogical break-down--"I _must_ go away! No
-one will miss me, you see,--it isn't as if this were home, or as if I
-were any good to any one, or had any real place. It seems a waste of
-life to stay and make her angry, and fight every day because I don't any
-longer do the things she does. Besides," added Meg despairingly, "I
-don't know how to go on struggling for ever. Aunt Russelthorpe rather
-likes it, I believe, but I don't. Uncle, I'm so terribly afraid of
-giving in, and doing everything she wants, and feeling a shameful coward
-all the rest of my life."
-
-"Dear, dear!" said Mr. Russelthorpe. "'The rest of life!' and, 'for ever
-and ever!' Eh! how tragic we are at twenty, to be sure!" But again he
-felt uneasy. The girl _was_ unhappy. He knew she must have been hard
-pressed before she took the initiative and appealed to him--also there
-was no doubt that tongues were wagging too fast about her.
-
-He sometimes shrewdly suspected that Augusta wouldn't be sorry to drive
-her niece into any decently good marriage; and he knew that the one plan
-her heart was set against was this of Meg's keeping house for Mr. Deane.
-Why were women such fools? Why, above all, did Meg bother him? He had
-given up contention on his own account so long ago. Yet it would be good
-for the poor child to get away; and if Charles understood how matters
-were, he would be indignant enough. Charles had plenty of spirit,
-though a baby could hoodwink him. Should he interpose for once, and tell
-his wife that----
-
-"Margaret!" said a voice behind them. They both started like guilty
-conspirators; but Meg recovered herself in a second, and stood upright,
-white and defiant.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe was in the doorway dressed for a ball, as she had been
-long ago when she and Meg had had their first pitched battle. She had an
-open letter in her hand, and a smile on her lips.
-
-"I have been looking for you. What are you doing in here, I wonder?"
-said she. "Here is an answer from your father, Margaret; and now I hope
-you are satisfied."
-
-Meg held out her hand without a word. Mrs. Russelthorpe gave her the
-letter over Mr. Russelthorpe's head, who peered up out of his deep
-armchair. "'So they two crossed swords without more ado,'" he quoted to
-himself.
-
-Margaret read the letter all through before she spoke. A few months
-earlier she would have protested at her aunt's having broken the seal,
-and mastered the contents; now, rightly or wrongly, she felt that the
-issue of this contest was too serious for her to waste strength in
-resenting small grievances.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe noted the change. Margaret was not quite so
-contemptible an adversary as she had been: she was growing more womanly.
-
-Meg turned to her uncle when she had finished reading, as to a supreme
-court of appeal.
-
-"If father had ever got my letter," she said, "he would not have written
-like this. Please judge for yourself, uncle."
-
-"Charles' hand tries my eyes," murmured Mr. Russelthorpe fretfully.
-
-"Then I will read it aloud," said Meg; and her aunt raised her eyebrows
-and laughed, but not very mirthfully.
-
-"Margaret is determined on having a scene!"
-
-The first part of the letter was all about the place Mr. Deane was
-staying in, and the people he was meeting. It was illustrated with
-pen-and-ink sketches, and was charmingly descriptive and good-naturedly
-witty. Then came a tender half-playful recommendation to his daughter
-not to addle her brains with overmuch thinking.
-
-     "Your aunt actually tells me that she can't persuade my Peg-top to
-     spin any more!" he wrote. "Of course I only wish you to follow your
-     own conscience, dearest; but don't, even for heaven's sake, turn
-     into a severe old maid, or get crow's-feet and wrinkles before I
-     come home again. I couldn't forgive you! As for that delightful
-     plan which we concocted last time I was at Ravenshill, I fear, on
-     thinking it over, that it is impossible to carry it out,--at least,
-     for the next few years. There are many objections to it, which I
-     lost sight of before; and I believe, that, after all, you are
-     better and happier in your uncle's house, than you would be
-     wandering about with me. Your aunt always writes most kindly of
-     you. It is a long time since I have heard from you.
-
-     "Your very affectionate father,
-
-     "CHARLES DEANE."
-
-"That is all," said Meg; "and," looking at her aunt, "I am not in the
-least satisfied;" and then, with a sudden impulsive movement, she knelt
-down by the old man's chair, and the loose sheets of that rather
-unsatisfactory epistle floated aimlessly to the floor.
-
-"Father is so far away, and nothing I do or say seems to reach him," she
-cried; and there were tears in her voice now. "Uncle, I am desperate!
-_Do_ help me!"
-
-Mr. Russelthorpe glanced nervously from her to his wife.
-
-"Upon my word, Augusta," he began, when Mrs. Russelthorpe interrupted,
-her louder voice drowning his, as her quick decision mastered his slow
-championship.
-
-"We've had enough theatricals!" she said. "Get up, Margaret, you are
-spoiling your dress and wasting your uncle's time, and mine too," with a
-glance at the clock. But Meg's eyes were still fixed on Uncle
-Russelthorpe; he had been kind to her when she was a child, and she had
-always consequently (though illogically) believed in him. Surely, surely
-he would take her part now.
-
-He fidgeted, shifting his position as if to turn from her eager,
-pleading face. It was hard on him to be called so suddenly to espouse a
-side,--on him, who liked to smile at the fallibility of all causes.
-Prompt action, too, was almost impossible at seventy, when at sixty he
-had let the reins drop. Yes! it was hard on him, though Meg in her
-passionate youth couldn't see that.
-
-"I--I don't see what you come to _me_ for," he said feebly. "You are so
-violent, Meg. Nothing is probably so bad as you imagine, you know; and,
-if you wait long enough, grievances burn themselves out, like everything
-else. You may be mistaken too, and fancy--fancy----"
-
-"Yes--I was mistaken," said Meg slowly. She had risen from her knees
-while the old man mumbled on; the eagerness had died out of her face and
-left it rather scornful. "I did fancy you would help me, but I shall not
-fancy it again. I was foolish to trouble you, uncle. I am sorry. I never
-will any more."
-
-She went out of the library, holding her fair head very high, and
-without looking at either uncle or aunt; but when she got to her own
-room she threw herself down on her bed and sobbed, all her dignity
-vanishing.
-
-"Oh father, father, I do so want you! I can't be good all alone!" she
-cried. "Why aren't you ever here?"
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VII.
-
-    I am too weak to live by half my conscience,
-    I have no wit to weigh and choose the mean.
-    Life is too short for logic; what I do,
-    I must do simply; God alone shall judge,
-    For God alone shall guide, and God's elect.
-
-    --_The Saint's Tragedy._
-
-
-The events of that evening followed on each other so quickly that it
-seemed to Meg afterwards as if she had been impelled by some power
-outside herself, though whether of Heaven or hell she doubted later in
-life.
-
-She heard the crunch of gravel under the carriage wheels, as her aunt
-drove away to the ball over which they had had such contention; then she
-dried her eyes and drew a breath of relief.
-
-Meg always felt happier when Mrs. Russelthorpe was out of the house; and
-her antipathy was the more painful because she blamed herself for it. It
-was wicked to hate any one. Unfortunately, naming the devil doesn't
-always exorcise him!
-
-One thing at least was clear to the girl,--it was impossible to go on
-"for the next few years" as they had been going on lately; and that
-lightly written sentence of Mr. Deane's stung her almost into despair.
-
-Then she remembered that at least she had his address now, and could
-send the letters that Aunt Russelthorpe had refused to forward, and in
-which she had poured out all her difficulties, and asked his decision on
-them, as if he had been confessor as well as father. Meg looked upon
-that refusal as a piece of gratuitous and incomprehensible cruelty; but
-then, in spite of Laura's plain speaking, she never quite understood
-Mrs. Russelthorpe. She might have abjured gaieties if she had only
-refrained from claiming her father's sympathy and counsel in her
-temporary insanity; though even if she had fully recognised that fact,
-it is doubtful whether she would have sold her birthright. She threw it
-away instead, which, to some temperaments, is easier than selling.
-
-Balls were early in those days, and it was only eight o'clock, when,
-with her letter in her hand, she started for the Dover post-office.
-
-It was a long lonely walk; and an older woman than Meg might have
-thought twice about it, but the girl was too ignorant of evil to be
-afraid.
-
-She had scruples about asking a servant of her aunt's to accompany her,
-but she had no doubt that she was justified in her own action.
-
-Her father had told her to write to him,--that was reason enough, and to
-do anything was a relief to her.
-
-Meg's strength and weakness both rose from the same source: she could be
-unhesitatingly daring for the person she loved, but if that support
-should fail, would slip into confusion and despair. Even now there was a
-leaven of bitterness working in her, a terror that was making her
-restless. Were Aunt Russelthorpe and Laura right? Did "father" not
-"care" much after all?
-
-She turned instinctively from that suggestion, and tried to fix her mind
-on the topics that had lately filled it. As she took the short cut over
-the cliffs, and walked quickly along the footway that skirts their edge,
-she thought of that still narrower path which Barnabas Thorpe had
-pointed out as the only way of salvation.
-
-The sky still glowed behind Dover Castle, though the sun had
-disappeared; there was hardly a breath of wind to stir the short crisp
-grass, the broad downs lay still and peaceful in the gathering dusk: Meg
-was the only human being to be seen, but the little brown rabbits
-scurried by, and peeped at her from a safe distance, making her smile in
-spite of her sadness. She was as easily moved to smiles as she was to
-sighs.
-
-It had been a hot summer, and there were ominous cracks across the
-footway, which had been deserted of late. Meg, who was Kentish born,
-ought to have known what those fissures and gaps meant. Perhaps the
-rabbits would have warned her if they could; for one of them loosened a
-morsel of chalk as he leaped, which bounded and rebounded down the side
-of the cliff. She watched it idly, not considering the signification.
-
-Earlier in the day there had been a heavy thunderstorm, which was
-growling still in the far distance. Meg lingered a moment, listening to
-the echo among the chalk caves below,--smuggling haunts, where many a
-keg of brandy had been hidden.
-
-If she had not paused, her light footsteps would have carried her safely
-over the dangerous bit. As it was, the "crack" she had just stepped
-carelessly over suddenly widened to a chasm, the earth seemed to give
-way under her; she stretched out her arms with a wild cry, and
-fell,--fell, with a vision of clouds of white powder and flashing
-lights, stopping at last, with a sharp jarring shock, to find herself
-grasping desperately at something steady, just above her, in a reeling
-tumbling world! She lay on her side on a narrow ledge a quarter of the
-way down the cliff, her right shoulder and arm bruised by the fall; but
-she was hardly conscious of pain, her mind being set on clinging fast to
-the friendly poppy root that was keeping her from death.
-
-She could hear the sea washing hungrily, with a sullen break, and a
-strong backward suck, many feet below; she shuddered, and then screamed
-with all her might, again and again, waking the echoes and the seagulls,
-who answered her derisively.
-
-She was in terror lest her fingers should relax their hold, in spite of
-her will. She lost count of time, and began to feel as if she had lain
-for ages between earth and sky.
-
-Her left arm was getting numb, and her brain dizzy; she was dreadfully
-afraid of losing consciousness, and tried hard to keep possession of
-"herself," knowing that if she fainted she would slip down at once, and
-the green water would roll her over and draw her back.
-
-"Like a cat with a mouse," thought Meg. Her reflections were getting
-indistinct, and she gathered her strength together to scream once more.
-A horror of losing her identity, of being swamped in a "black
-nothingness," was strong on her.
-
-"Help me!" she cried, with an effort to make the words articulate, that
-was followed by a vague recollection that she had asked some one to
-"help her" once before, but he never did or never could.
-
-She couldn't quite remember how it was: her past life seemed to have got
-far away, to have dropped off her, leaving her soul all alone, face to
-face with this black empty space that was trying to engulf it.
-
-"There isn't any help," she said to herself. "It's all really like the
-sea, or cats and mice, and my fingers don't seem to belong to me any
-more," and then----
-
-"Hold on!" said a voice above her. "Don't move, I'll run for a rope."
-
-She opened her eyes and tried to collect her wits.
-
-"I can't hold on more than a minute more," she said a little
-indistinctly. "If you go I shall fall." While she spoke the root she was
-clinging to "gave" a little, and a light shower of chalk fell on her
-face.
-
-"I'm falling! oh be quick!" she cried; and the next moment something
-blue dangled above her face.
-
-"Let go those leaves, and catch hold of my jersey. I'll pull ye up by
-it," shouted the voice, the owner of which had flung himself full length
-on the cliff, his face and arms over the edge.
-
-"Do it at once!" He called, this time as peremptorily as he could, for
-he was in momentary terror lest yellow poppy and girl should go together
-to the bottom.
-
-To his relief she obeyed him.
-
-"Both hands!" he cried encouragingly. "I can't pull you up by one."
-
-"I can't move my right arm," she answered. "It's twisted somehow;" and
-he whistled in dismay.
-
-Meg was as white as the chalk, but she showed some courage now that help
-was at hand, and she managed to pull herself into a sitting posture,
-holding tight to his jersey. Further than that he couldn't get her, and
-he did not dare to leave her lest she should turn giddy.
-
-"I tell you what," he said at last. "There is only one way; I can't pull
-ye up, an' I doan't risk leaving ye on that narrow bit: ye must e'en
-come down to me. If I drop over the face o' the cliff there's a foothold
-close beside ye, now that you're sitting up, and a drop below that
-again, there's a broader ledge and a cave. Ye'll be safe enough there.
-Will 'ee try? but we must, for there's naught else to be done. Can ye
-let go my jersey and sit quite still one minute? Doan't 'ee look, lass,
-shut your eyes and put your hands down each side."
-
-Meg nodded and held her breath. She felt him alight at her side, and
-then heard him shout from below.
-
-"All right! There's room enough here," he cried. "Edge along sideways as
-far as ye can to the right. Don't be scared, ye won't fall! It's quite
-possible."
-
-He spoke with assurance, and his confident tone gave her courage as he
-intended it should; but, nevertheless, his own pulses were beating
-rather fast, albeit his nerves were good as a rule.
-
-Would the girl do it, or would she slip before he could catch her? She
-was directly over him at last. "Now," he said, "your foot almost touches
-my shoulder. Ay--that's it, put your weight on it and--ah! that's right.
-Thank God!" He held her in his arms now, and the next moment she was
-safe at his side.
-
-Meg leant against the entrance of the cave, half laughing and half
-crying.
-
-She was not in the least surprised to see that it was the preacher who
-had saved her, but the absurdity of the situation struck her with a
-sudden reaction.
-
-The cave was dark, and very damp and ill-smelling; the ledge was just
-wide enough for them to stand quite safely on it. They were perched like
-two big birds on the face of the cliff, with a sheer descent that not
-even Barnabas could have swarmed down, below them.
-
-"Yes, yes!" she gasped in answer to his ejaculation of thankfulness.
-"But--we shall never, never get up again!"
-
-The preacher made no reply directly. Possibly the same idea had occurred
-to him.
-
-She sat down in the entrance of the cave, and he tied up her bruised arm
-as well as he could, improvising a sling with the lace scarf she wore
-round her neck.
-
-Fortunately, no bones were broken; and she assured him with a smile that
-he "hardly hurt her at all," though the muscles had been badly strained
-and her arm was still quite useless. He looked at her doubtfully, but
-could hardly gather from her face how much or how little she was
-suffering. He was not accustomed to women of Meg's class, and was sorely
-puzzled as to what he had best do next.
-
-"Look here!" he said at last. "It's not possible that ye should spend
-the night in this wet hole; ye'd be fairly starved wi' cold, and no
-one's likely to come by before morning. I'll climb up somehow and run to
-the coastguard for help. Ye won't be scared here, eh?"
-
-He bent down and put his jersey between her and the wall of the cave.
-
-"It's been an Irish way of helping ye up!"
-
-Meg looked at him. Her face was very pale, but she had quite recovered
-her self-command now.
-
-"Don't go," she said. "You might so easily be killed trying to climb in
-the dark. It is dark. I can hardly see the sea now. It would be my fault
-if you were to fall, and really I don't think I am worth it."
-
-"If I am to die it 'ull happen the same whatever I do, an' if not, I'll
-be as safe as if I were in my bed," said Barnabas Thorpe. "But I doan't
-fancy ye need be scared, for I believe neither you nor I ha' come to an
-end o' things yet. It has been on my mind that I'd see ye again."
-
-He turned, and began to swarm up the cliff as he spoke; and Meg stopped
-her ears, for the sound of the crumbling chalk sickened her, and waited
-in the dark.
-
-The preacher shouted cheerfully when he scrambled to his feet at the
-top; and then, without further loss of time, started off towards the
-coastguard station. He was barefooted, having taken off his boots in
-order to climb; but that troubled him little, as he ran steadily across
-the night-curtained sleeping country.
-
-Some hours later they stood together in the hall at Ravenshill, Mrs.
-Russelthorpe facing them.
-
-It was one o'clock; the short summer's night was nearly spent, but the
-big swinging lamp was still burning. To Meg and Barnabas, coming in from
-the sweet dark garden, the house seemed in a blaze of light.
-
-The men were all out, searching far and wide for Meg. Only Mr.
-Russelthorpe had not been told of her absence: he had gone early to bed,
-and locked the door on himself; giving orders that no one was to disturb
-him.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe was white with passion. Meg was quite silent.
-
-Barnabas Thorpe stood looking from one woman to the other.
-
-"You are a disgrace to the house! You have no shame left!" said Mrs.
-Russelthorpe. Then the man's blue eyes flashed angrily.
-
-"There's only one of us three has any cause for shame, an' it's not this
-maid nor me. It's not fit that any should say such things to her. Have
-ye no brother or father, lass? If ye have, I would like to speak wi'
-him."
-
-Meg shook her head.
-
-"Yes; but he is a very long way off; and I don't quite know where," she
-said; "and, perhaps, he'll believe Aunt Russelthorpe."
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe's face hardened; the preacher could not have done
-worse than appeal from her to Meg's father. She was a hard woman, and
-rather a coarse one; but she would scarcely have said what she said that
-night, if the jealousy which always smouldered between her and her
-brother's child had not been fanned by his words.
-
-"He will most certainly believe me," she said. "But it is almost a pity
-(for his sake) that, having stayed away so long, you ever came back at
-all."
-
-Meg caught her breath with a low cry, as if she had been stabbed; but a
-sudden light broke over the preacher's face.
-
-"Cast thy garments about thee, and follow me," he cried. "I did not
-understand before. My eyes were holden; but now it is made clear to us:
-it is the message from the Lord."
-
-He made one stride forward and stretched out both his hands.
-
-"Come _now_!" he cried. "I will snatch you like a brand from the
-burning. Come with me! Let us go out together and preach the Master in
-the Highways and Hedges. Your example shall be as a shining light to
-guide the feet of those who are snared by riches. Come! The world has
-called you on one side and the Master on the other, and you have
-hesitated; and now the call has been made clearer. Choose quickly,
-before it is too late. Let me take you from the evil that you feel too
-strong for you. No one can stay us. You shall go like Peter through the
-prison doors at the call of the Lord, an' in His strength I will hold ye
-safe."
-
-Meg looked at him, one long earnest look, then away from him, at the
-familiar hall, where she had danced gaily three months ago. She thought
-of the portrait of the great-aunt whose eyes always followed her, and
-who had done something mysteriously "dreadful". Aunt Russelthorpe would
-say she was as bad, but she wasn't, she was following a call. She
-thought of her old uncle, who was sleeping through all this commotion;
-she thought of Laura and Kate; her aunt's words about her father had
-hurt her so much that she tried not to think of him; she saw again the
-preacher on the beach, ah! that was the beginning, and to-night only
-grew out of it; or was the beginning further back still in the days when
-her father had told her of Lazarus waiting "outside"?
-
-"Choose while ye may," said Barnabas Thorpe. And she put her hand in his
-with an odd sense that very little "choice" was left.
-
-"You say it is a message?" she said. "Very well. Let it be so--I will go
-with you."
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe had stood with lips compressed, rigidly still, during
-the preacher's extraordinary proposal; she made one faint attempt to
-stop them now--but it was too late.
-
-Barnabas Thorpe put her aside as easily as he would have brushed away a
-fly. "You ha' said your say. It was a cruel one," he said. "You ha' done
-wi' this maid." And they went out together into the night.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-The men who had been sent out to search for Meg returned in the early
-morning. Their mistress met them in the hall; she had evidently taken no
-rest, and her face in the pitiless daylight looked haggard and worn.
-
-It had been known in the household that Mrs. Russelthorpe and Miss
-Margaret didn't get on; but the servants whispered to each other now,
-that Mrs. Russelthorpe took it harder than might have been expected.
-
-Later in the day, the coastguard from the station on the downs brought
-news of Miss Deane, and told how Barnabas Thorpe had come to his cottage
-for ropes, and of how they had gone together to the young lady's
-assistance.
-
-The coastguard would hardly believe that the preacher had not brought
-his charge safely home. "I would have trusted my own daughter with him
-anywhere," he kept repeating. Of that strange scene in the hall, no one
-but the three concerned ever knew.
-
-Later still they heard of Meg's marriage;--the bare announcement and no
-more. Mrs. Russelthorpe handed the missive to her husband.
-
-"The girl is crazy," she said. "There is no other explanation."
-
-Mr. Russelthorpe laid down his book--they were in the library--with a
-groan.
-
-"I can't face Charles. I shall go away when he comes back," was the only
-comment he made.
-
-"Why? It wasn't your fault," said his wife impatiently. "You had nothing
-to do with the unhappy child."
-
-"Nothing, nothing!" muttered the old man. "She told me she was
-desperate, and I did nothing."
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe turned on him sharply; her face was hard and drawn.
-
-"Margaret told you that? Then hold your tongue about it, Joseph. It is
-better she should be mad, than that she should have taken this scamp of
-her own free will."
-
-Mr. Russelthorpe shook his head.
-
-"You have never liked the girl," he said. "But she is no more mad than
-you are. She was in our charge, and we have been bad guardians; and when
-your brother comes----"
-
-"When he comes _I_ will meet him," said Mrs. Russelthorpe; "it is
-between him and me."
-
-The old man gave her a quick furtive glance.
-
-"You have never wanted any one else to come between you and him," he
-said; and Mrs. Russelthorpe winced.
-
-"We'll talk of it no more," she cried. "Meg is dead to us."
-
-"Yes," said Uncle Russelthorpe, "but that won't prevent there being the
-devil to pay."
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-There is--or rather there was when Margaret Deane was young--a fishing
-hamlet on the Kentish coast that consisted of just one line of tarred
-wooden huts, and a square-towered chapel.
-
-The women would put their candles in the windows after the sun had
-dipped, that the twinkling friendly eyes of their houses might guide the
-fishermen home; but whether it was day or night Sheerhaven had always
-the air of a watcher by the sea.
-
-The glow of dawn was just warming the grey water when a boat grated on
-Sheerhaven beach, and a man and a woman climbed slowly up the yellow
-shelving bank. When they had gone a few steps the man turned and held
-out his hand. "You are over weary, an' it's no wonder," he said. "Best
-let me help you."
-
-A fisherman who was pushing off his boat paused and marvelled, as well
-he might.
-
-"That's Barnabas Thorpe. But who is the girl?"
-
-They walked along the queer old street, that was bounded on one side by
-the shingle, and was often wave- as well as wind-swept, in the high
-spring-tides.
-
-Barnabas knocked at a door. His mind was still running on St. Peter and
-the angel. "It 'ull be the mistress not the maid who will open to us
-here," he remarked.
-
-The smell of a clover field was blown to them, and a cock crew lustily
-while they waited.
-
-"The new day has begun," said the girl in a low voice.
-
-The woman who opened the door, a muscular large-featured fish-wife,
-started when she saw them.
-
-"Dear heart! it's the preacher,--and wet through," she cried. "Now step
-in, Barnabas, and I'll have a fire in a minute. Eh! what's this? What do
-you say? A maid as wants shelter?" her good-natured face fell. She had
-little doubt that it was some "unfortunate" the preacher had rescued.
-
-"We--el--yes; let her come along, she'll do us no harm."
-
-She took them into the parlour, and began to lay the sticks.
-
-"Ran down with the tide from Dover, eh? Well, you've given the lass a
-salt baptism; she's not got a dry stitch on her. Come nearer, my woman;
-the fire will blaze up in a minute. Why!" with a sudden change of voice
-as Meg obeyed her. "The Lord have mercy on us, Barnabas! What have you
-been about?"
-
-"I'll tell ye by-and-by when she is a bit dryer," said the preacher; but
-Mrs. Cuxton's eyes did not wait for his telling. She took one more long
-stare at her strange visitor, who had taken off the rough coat Barnabas
-had wrapped round her in the boat, and who stood shivering a little by
-the fire.
-
-Her glance fell from the delicate refined face to the small nervous
-hands, and the dainty shoes soaked in salt water.
-
-"You belong to gentlefolk, missy?" she said. "Ah, yes! I can see----"
-
-"I don't belong to them any more," said the girl, speaking for the first
-time with a thrill of excitement, but with an intonation and accent
-which belied her words; and their hostess shook her head, and looked
-again at Barnabas, who was staring thoughtfully at the flames.
-
-"I'd as lief speak a word to 'ee," he said gravely; and she followed him
-out of the room with the liveliest interest depicted on her face.
-
-When she returned alone she found her guest sleeping from sheer
-exhaustion, her head on the seat of the wooden chair, her slim girlish
-form on the sanded floor.
-
-Mrs. Cuxton bent over her, her gratified curiosity giving place to a
-protective motherly compunction; Meg's fair hair was wet with the sea,
-and shone in the firelight like a halo, her lips were just parted, she
-looked less than her twenty-one years.
-
-"Poor lamb! to think what I thought of her! Eh! but it's a bad enough
-business as it is!" muttered the woman; and even while she watched her
-heart went out to the girl.
-
-Meg awake might possibly have aroused criticism or disapproval; Meg
-sleeping took her unawares.
-
-Mrs. Cuxton made up a bed on the settle, and drew it to the fire and
-then took off the wet shoes and stockings, warming the cold feet between
-her hands. Meg woke up and remonstrated faintly, but was too utterly
-worn out to care much what happened. The reaction from the tremendous
-excitement of the night was telling on her, and she was almost too weary
-to stand, though she felt a sort of comfort in this rough woman's
-tenderness.
-
-"How kind you are, and what a deal of trouble I am giving you!" she
-said, as Mrs. Cuxton made her lie down in the improvised bed, and tucked
-her in with a motherly admonition to "put sleep betwixt her and her
-sorrows".
-
-"I can't think whatever your people were about to let you do such a
-thing, and you only a slip of a girl. Trouble? you're no trouble in the
-world, missy; but your mother must be breaking her heart to-night for
-you!" cried Mrs. Cuxton; and there were actually tears in her eyes.
-
-"I haven't got a mother," said Meg. "Nobody's heart will break for me,
-so it really doesn't much matter, you know, what happens, and I am too
-tired to think; besides, it's done now!" Her eyelids closed again,
-almost while she was speaking; and Mrs. Cuxton left her with a muttered
-ejaculation, worn out with weariness and excitement, sleeping like a
-child over the very threshold of the new life.
-
-It was in Sheerhaven that Meg was married to Barnabas Thorpe. She took
-that last irrevocable step with a curious unflinching determination,--a
-sense, half womanly, half childish, that having gone so far, there had
-better be no going back; that having trusted him so much, the
-responsibility was his altogether.
-
-"I can't do any other way," he had told her. "I couldn't take ye with me
-without that; ye must have the protection o' my name, and give me that
-much right i' the eyes o' the world to fend for ye,--that's all I am
-wanting. I ha' never thought to marry since I was 'called'."
-
-The girl, standing in the door of the black hut where he had brought her
-the night before, was quite silent for a full minute, her face full of
-conflicting emotions.
-
-"If you say we must do it, then--very well," she said at last. "I may as
-well be Margaret Thorpe as Margaret Deane."
-
-The preacher turned quickly; her quiet assent discomposed him, though in
-his heart he believed his own words: for the sake of the maid's good
-name there was no other way.
-
-"Lass!" he said earnestly, "it seemed to me a call o' the Lord's, an' I
-had no doubts; but ye are young, an' I'm no natural mate for ye. If ye
-choose, I'll find that father ye talk of, wherever he may be, an' make
-him understan' the truth. I'll leave ye here this hour and go; but,
-having come out o' the city o' destruction, to my mind ye had better
-stay out."
-
-"You will find my father?" Her face brightened and flushed for a second,
-and then rather a painful look crossed it, and she shook her head.
-
-"Aunt Russelthorpe will see him first," she said; "so it is of no use."
-
-No stranger could ever understand how much despair there was in that
-last sentence.
-
-"Then there's just naught else possible," said the man: and she bent her
-head in assent.
-
-She did not see him again till she saw him in the church, where they
-exchanged vows. Mrs. Cuxton gave her away with grim disapproval.
-
-The guest whom the sea had brought in the early dawn, and who had spent
-two whole days under her roof, had charmed the heart out of the woman
-like a white witch.
-
-Meg's fineness and slenderness touched the big fish-wife. Meg's sweet
-smile, the manner that was her father's, and her pretty voice, when she
-sat singing the whole of one morning to the little cripple lad whose
-life Barnabas Thorpe had once saved, were all part of the witchery.
-During the whole of her chequered life there were always some people
-(and generally people of a very opposite type to her own) who were
-inclined to give her that peculiarly warm and instinctive service that
-has something of the romance of loyalty in it; her home had been
-somewhat over-cold, but more than once the gift of love, unexpected and
-unasked, was held out by strange hands as she passed by.
-
-It was a gusty morning, and the break of the waves sounded all through
-the short service when Meg was married. She paused when they stood on
-the steps of the church and looked across the sea,--a long
-look--(somewhere on the other side of that water was her father); then
-they went inside.
-
-The bride had on a close-fitting plain straw bonnet that Mrs. Cuxton
-had bought in the village, and her white dress was simpler than what
-might have been worn by a woman of the preacher's own class; but the old
-clergyman who was to tie the knot (blind and sleepy though he was)
-peered hard at her, then looked at Barnabas Thorpe uncertainly. They
-were a strangely matched couple, he thought. If Meg had seemed
-frightened he would possibly have spoken; but when her courage was at
-the sticking-point she did not hesitate, and nothing would have induced
-her to show the white feather then. It was a plainly furnished church,
-small and light. The walls were whitewashed, the communion table was
-covered with a much-patched cloth. It was so small that the fishermen
-seemed almost to fill it.
-
-They were a deeply interested congregation. All of them knew the
-preacher; many of them were bound to him by close ties.
-
-Meg's fresh sweet voice, with its refined pronunciation, troubled the
-clergyman afresh; but it was too late to ask questions, and the service
-went on undisturbed to its conclusion.
-
-The two signatures are still visible in the vestry. "Margaret Deane," in
-the fine Italian hand that Mrs. Russelthorpe had inculcated; and
-underneath, in laboured characters like a schoolboy's, "Barnabas
-Thorpe".
-
-Meg's pride carried her safely through the meal that waited them on
-their return; it was spread in the kitchen, and some of the fishermen
-who had been in the church lounged in, and stared silently at her
-through the sheltering clouds of tobacco. She made a valiant attempt to
-eat, and then escaped to change her dress, for the blue serge skirt and
-cotton body, that Mrs. Cuxton had got with the slender stock of money
-Meg had had in her pocket.
-
-Mrs. Cuxton followed her after a minute.
-
-"Barnabas is writing them word at home that he has married you. He says
-have you aught to say?" she said.
-
-"No," answered the girl; "there will never be anything more said between
-them and me."
-
-Mrs. Cuxton nodded: her manner had changed slightly since the deed had
-been done, and the last gleam of doubt as to Meg's "really going on with
-it" had disappeared.
-
-"I don't know what led you to this," she said, putting her hand on Meg's
-shoulder; "but you say true--you've done it! And whether the blame was
-mostly yours or not, it's you that must take the consequences! But
-you've a bit of a spirit of your own, that I fancy may carry you
-through; and Barnabas Thorpe is a good man, for all I blame him for this
-day's work. You just stick by him now, and don't never look back at what
-you've left--it's your only way!"
-
-Meg made no answer: an odd frightened expression crossed her face; then
-she drew herself up. "I am ready," she said; "only just say 'Good Luck'
-to me before I go."
-
-"God help you and bless you," said Mrs. Cuxton earnestly, "and him too!"
-
-There was a hush when the bride came in, as unlike a fish-wife in her
-fish-wife's gear, as well could be.
-
-Barnabas Thorpe sprang to his feet and cut leave-takings short. A cart
-was waiting for them; he threw up a bundle and lifted Meg in, before she
-knew what he was about, and they were off at a rather reckless pace down
-the uneven street.
-
-Meg leant back to wave her hand to Mrs. Cuxton; she had not said
-good-bye, or thanked her, but she watched her till they were out of
-sight. It seemed to the good woman that those grey eyes were saying a
-good deal that Meg's tongue had not said; and as the cart dwindled to a
-speck in the distance she turned indoors with a heavy heart.
-
-
-
-
-SECOND PART.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER I.
-
-
-Ravenshill was shut up after its brief season of gaiety, and the Deanes
-came back to it no more.
-
-Margaret's father felt very bitterly the blow that had fallen on him.
-Both his affection and his pride were outraged; and he was wanting in
-neither quality, though, in the first shock of the news, the latter
-seemed to outweigh the former.
-
-That Meg, his special pet, his favourite daughter, of whose beauty he
-had been so proud, whose very failings were so like his own that he had
-felt them a subtle form of flattery, that Meg should have done this
-thing,--it seemed monstrous and impossible.
-
-At first he absolutely refused to credit her aunt's letter, throwing it
-into the fire with a quick scornful gesture and an angry laugh; but by
-the time he had reached England, the reality of what had happened had
-entered into his soul.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe was not a sympathetic woman, but she cared for her
-brother; and the sight of his face on their first meeting in the
-drawing-room made her blench for once, and avert her gaze.
-
-He uttered no word of reproach, he asked few questions, and made no
-comments.
-
-If Margaret had been dead he would have wept for her; but she was too
-far away for tears. She had given the lie to her past; and, had he found
-her in her coffin, he felt that she would have been less utterly lost to
-him.
-
-Death might have drawn a veil between them, but it is only life that can
-separate utterly.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe made one faint attempt at consolation; but consoling
-was not in her line, and she did it awkwardly.
-
-Mr. Deane lifted his head and looked at her, with a face that seemed to
-have grown grey, and eyes that were terribly like Meg's.
-
-"Don't, please!" he said; "you mean well, sis--but you don't understand.
-She was my child, and is my grief." And Mrs. Russelthorpe was silent. If
-she had ever felt moved to a revelation of what had led to Meg's flight,
-she said to herself now that her brother's own entreaty sealed her lips.
-
-No one spoke to him of Meg after that, though every one felt sorry for
-him. The quiet dignity with which he bore his trouble awoke more
-sympathy than any lamentations would have aroused; but he was a man who
-always and involuntarily awoke sympathy, whether in his joy or in his
-grief.
-
-It was not till he had been some weeks in the house that he noticed his
-brother-in-law's absence.
-
-"Joseph is quite as well as usual," Mrs. Russelthorpe said coldly, in
-reply to his inquiry. "He fancies himself an invalid, and will never
-make the slightest exertion now. It's no use for you to try and see him,
-Charles;" and Charles did not try.
-
-Perhaps he rather dreaded the old man's sharp-edged cynicism just then;
-though he need not have been afraid: Meg's uncle was quite as sore about
-her as was Meg's father, and a good deal more remorseful.
-
-Very few people saw anything of Mr. Russelthorpe during the last years
-of his life. George Sauls declared that the poor old fellow was
-scandalously neglected; but then George Sauls was a good hater, and not
-likely to take a lenient view of Mrs. Russelthorpe.
-
-Oddly enough, Mr. Sauls was the only person who guessed how heavily
-Meg's last hopeless appeal weighed on her uncle's mind. He was fiercely
-angry himself, inclined to quarrel (if they would give him the chance)
-with all Meg's relatives, to scoff at the popular sympathy for Mr.
-Deane, and to be unamiably sceptical when he was told that Mrs.
-Russelthorpe was an altered woman, and felt far more deeply than might
-have been supposed.
-
-People said, indignantly, that Mr. Sauls did not show himself in at all
-a pleasing light; and that, considering how kind Mr. Deane had been to
-him, he might have exhibited more feeling for his friend's trouble; and,
-indeed, the worst side of the man seemed uppermost at that time.
-
-Yet he called at the house in Bryanston Square when the Russelthorpes
-returned to town, showing some boldness in continuing his visits in
-spite of Mrs. Russelthorpe's surprised looks when they encountered each
-other in the hall. Mr. Russelthorpe had a liking for the young Jew,
-whose secret he had guessed; and though George had made his way into the
-library, in the first instance, from purely interested motives, being
-determined to know all there was to be known about Meg, yet he came
-again and again, from an unexpressed friendship for the queer, whimsical
-recluse, who was nominally master of that big house, but who was of no
-account whatever, and who seemed to grow lonelier and queerer as the
-years went by.
-
-On the occasion of his first visit after hearing of Meg's departure,
-George had almost forced an entry, and had found Meg's uncle sitting
-almost as Meg herself had found him, save that he was making no pretence
-of reading now, and that his little wizened face was surmounted by a
-nightcap.
-
-"Go away, I am ill!" he cried fretfully, when the door opened; but when
-he saw who his visitor was, he straightened himself, and held out his
-hand.
-
-"Have you come to look at my Egyptian coins again, Sauls?" he asked.
-"You haven't heard the news then, or you would know that the study of
-antiquities won't repay you,--won't repay you at all."
-
-"It is true, then!" said Mr. Sauls, a trifle hoarsely. "Would you mind
-telling me what you know about it, sir?"
-
-"Yes, I should mind," said the old man. Then, when he looked at Mr.
-Sauls, he apparently relented. "Sit down; though the story won't take
-long. It's short, and not particularly sweet," he remarked; and he told
-it in as few words as possible.
-
-"Put not your trust in women," said George, with rather a futile attempt
-at flippancy, when he had heard the end. "What a fool I've been! I
-thought I had bought all my experience in that line years ago. Oh well!
-it's done now, and the sweetest _ingénue_ in the world won't take me in
-again."
-
-Mr. Russelthorpe looked up sharply. "I suppose when a man's hurt he must
-blame some one," he said; "and it's easiest to throw the blame on the
-woman; and this, perhaps, is as good a reason for raving against her as
-any other. Otherwise, I should say that whoever has cause of complaint,
-you've none; but my eyes are old and blind. You talk of being 'taken
-in'. Possibly she encouraged you more than I knew."
-
-George coloured. "I beg your pardon, sir," he said. "I did not mean to
-imply that Miss Deane--Mrs. Thorpe, I mean--ever did more than barely
-tolerate me at times. She was a cut above me, I fancied. As events have
-proved, I was a trifle too modest. It isn't generally my failing; but,
-evidently, her taste was not so fastidious as I supposed. Barnabas
-Thorpe knew better. D----n him!" he added savagely.
-
-"Oh certainly!" said Mr. Russelthorpe. "We'll do that, with all my
-heart. Not that it will make any difference. But, as to her, you're
-wrong. If it's any consolation to you, I don't think that she would have
-married you in any case. Not that I don't believe she would have done a
-wise thing if she had," he added, holding out his hand with a gleam of
-sympathy. "I should have been glad to see it; but--and this is one of
-those little arrangements that make one wonder whether there isn't a
-devil at the steering wheel after all--the purer minded and more
-innocent a girl is, the more likely she is to fling herself away for an
-empty idea, and the more faith she'll have in any canting fool who
-appeals to her 'higher motives'. It is born with some women, that pining
-to sacrifice themselves, and to spend all their energies on other
-people. It used to amuse me, when my niece was a child, to see how she
-was always throwing pearls before swine. Well! well! she's done it with
-a vengeance this time!"
-
-"Ah! I am glad it amuses you so much," said Mr. Sauls. "It's a very
-entertaining story from first to last, isn't it? I don't know which is
-funniest, the thought of that girl's lonely girlhood in this house,
-where no one seems to have cared twopence about her, or her reckless
-marriage with a man who'll probably make her repent every hour of her
-life. Do you suppose he'll kick her when he gets sick of the pearls?
-That would be most amusing of all, wouldn't it?"
-
-He spoke almost brutally. Mr. Deane, however angry, could not have used
-that tone to an old man; but George had been brought up in a less strict
-school of manners, and, perhaps, at that moment had a revulsion of
-feeling against these grandees amongst whom he had pushed himself
-in,--to his own undoing, as he felt just then.
-
-At that moment he found it hard to look at things calmly, or to consider
-that, after all, a love affair was an episode he would get over; whereas
-the advantages he had derived from an intimacy with the Deanes were
-solid and lasting, the _entrée_ to Mr. Deane's house having been a
-decided step upwards on the social ladder. Mr. Russelthorpe made no
-reply, and George took up his hat.
-
-"I am in too bad a temper to be good company, sir," he said; "though, I
-daresay, I amuse you. Good-bye."
-
-"You are young still, and angry with fate, or Providence, or the
-devil,--whichever you like to call it," said the old man. "But as for
-me, I am old,--too old to be indignant any more, or to go on knocking my
-head against stone walls; but--I am sorry too--I have not outlived
-sorrow yet;--unfortunately, that is the last thing we leave behind."
-
-George twisted his eyeglass rapidly. "There are a good many years before
-me, in all probability," he said. "I may meet her again. In fact, I will
-try to, sooner or later. One would like to know how it answers, but not
-just yet. I don't want to be taken up for assault, and I should find it
-hard to keep my hands off that preaching villain. I will wait."
-
-"Well," said Mr. Russelthorpe drily, "I think you'd better; for I've
-heard that Barnabas Thorpe knows how to use his fists too: it would be
-undignified, should you get the worst of it. Besides (though you can
-hardly be expected to see this), though I've met hypocrites in my time,
-I doubt whether they are common. Self-deceived idiots there are in
-plenty, who dub their own desires and prejudices the 'Voice of the
-Lord'; but villains are scarce. He may be one; of course, it simplifies
-matters to believe that he is; one can curse him the more heartily,--but
-I doubt it."
-
-"Do you?" said George shortly; "I don't!"
-
-"No," said the old man; "I don't suppose you do. You're young and hard,
-as I said before, and sure about everything. Well, don't go and make a
-fool of yourself about her. What good do you suppose you could do? You
-might, of course, do harm--that is always so much easier--harm to her
-and yourself too. I don't know that it would amuse me much if harm
-should come to you. I should miss you rather--though probably I should
-do nothing to prevent it."
-
-His voice died away sadly, in a rambling sentence, about something he
-had said or had not said, and might have prevented and hadn't prevented.
-
-"But you are in such a hurry, Margaret, and I am too old to think so
-quickly--too old, too old!" he mumbled.
-
-Mr. Sauls, who was just going away, turned back, arrested by that long
-weak murmur. He crossed the room again, made up the fire, and pushed the
-armchair closer to it.
-
-"You are not well, sir. Ought you to be alone like this? shall I fetch
-any one?"
-
-"No--no--don't fetch her. I can't stand her. Don't, I say, _don't_!"
-cried Mr. Russelthorpe so nervously that George gave up the idea at
-once.
-
-"I'll look in again if you would like it," he said, half wondering at
-himself while he spoke.
-
-"Yes; come again, and, Sauls--come nearer--I've something to say."
-
-George came nearer, and bent over him. "If ever they tell you that I am
-dying, you insist on coming in, and turn her out," he whispered. "You
-turn her out! And--and--I want to make my will. Come in and talk it
-over. I wish to make you executor--and I'll tell you where I put
-it--then you can find it, when I am dead; but don't let her know--she
-knows only about the old one. Promise me!"
-
-"All right!" said George; "I promise." Mr. Russelthorpe broke into a low
-chuckle.
-
-"I wish my spirit could be there to see," he said. "Who knows? it may
-be, eh? We really know nothing after all. You won't mind a scene with
-her, will you?"
-
-"With Mrs. Russelthorpe?" said George. "Oh, no; I shall rather like it!"
-
-"Ah!" said the old man. "So shall I, if I am there, released from this
-feeble old body. I hope I may be." Arid he chuckled again. "Well,
-good-night, lad."
-
-As for George, he wended his way to Hill Street to dine with his mother.
-He had pulled his rather unpresentable family up with him, and he was
-worshipped at home. He always gave Mrs. Sauls the pleasure of his
-society on one evening in the week; and, considering how busy he was,
-and how manifold were his engagements, his constancy in keeping to this
-rule showed some tenacity of purpose.
-
-Mrs. Sauls most firmly believed that all the grand ladies he met were
-simply dying for "her George," and that he might, as she elegantly
-expressed it, "'ave 'is pick of them". Perhaps some of "George's"
-partners might have been rather appalled at the idea of having her for a
-mother-in-law; but then, as she said, "Lord bless you, they won't marry
-_me_; and George's wife will be able to afford to put up with my yellow
-old face if the Sauls' diamonds set off her young one. I shan't grudge
-'em to her, though I won't give them up to any one else; and she'll have
-the finest in London."
-
-While awaiting the arrival of "George's wife," who had been discussed
-and speculated on since George had been in petticoats, his mother wore
-the diamonds herself, in season and out of season. She had a gay taste
-in dress, delighting in crimsons and yellows, and she always put on her
-best clothes for her son. Rebecca Sauls had had a bad husband; but
-George more than made up, as she never tired of saying.
-
-He had been a most objectionable little boy, and had sown a too liberal
-supply of wild oats as a youth; but his manhood had repaid her: he had
-turned out cleverer than his father; for, while old Sauls had known only
-how to make and to save, George, in addition, knew how to spend.
-
-It had required something of an effort on George's part to tear himself
-away from the old place in the City; but his ambition was even stronger
-than his talent for money-making, and he boldly cut the shop, and went
-in for the law. His mother supported him, though all his father's
-relations held up their hands in holy horror.
-
-"And now my son sits down at table in houses where the Benjamin Mosses
-and Joseph Saulses wouldn't dream of putting the tips of their long
-noses!" said she. "And, what's more, they are glad and thankful to get
-him; but he won't give _me_ up, not for the grandest of them; he'll dine
-here on a Saturday night, let alone who wants him." And that Saturday
-night was Mrs. Sauls' gala day. Then she donned her lowest and gayest
-dress, and most fearful and wonderful headgear, and ordered an
-aldermanic feast. She would have given George melted pearls to drink,
-had he expressed any desire that way.
-
-She was an odd-looking old lady, with jet black hair and curiously
-light-coloured eyes, which were in strong contrast to her very dark
-complexion, and gave her rather a strange expression. Her mouth was
-coarse, like her son's, and, like him also, she had plenty to say for
-herself, and was excellent company.
-
-Some cousins came to dinner, also loud-voiced and bedizened with
-diamonds. The youngest cousin was at the age when Jewesses are
-handsomest, being barely seventeen.
-
-She flirted outrageously with George, and he patronised her in a free
-and easy style. He could generally suit his manners to his company, and
-_this_ company was rather a rest and relaxation to him.
-
-They all made a great deal of noise after dinner; it struck George that
-seven people in Hill Street were noisier than fourteen in Bryanston
-Square, and probably merrier. Mrs. Russelthorpe's hair would have stood
-on end if she could have seen that entertainment.
-
-Mrs. Sauls enjoyed it as much as any one; but when the company had gone
-off hilariously, and George, having seen his guests out of the hall
-door, returned for a _tête-à-tête_ with her,--then she tasted the
-crowning felicity of the evening.
-
-George always paid his mother the compliment of talking to her about his
-professional ambitions and interests. She was his only confidante, and
-he never forgot how she had encouraged him at the very outset of his
-career. He was not a man who forgot either injuries or benefits.
-
-He talked a long time. Neither of them minded sitting up half the night;
-and the old lady liked the smell of his cigar, and enjoyed mixing his
-whisky and water for him, and rejoiced in the sound of his voice.
-
-"Really!" he exclaimed at last, when two o'clock struck. "I am teaching
-you very bad ways, mother! I say, do you suppose that Miriam Moss will
-dream of forfeits to-night? She's a very precocious little girl! It's
-odd how early Jewesses develop. I've known other women of twenty or one
-and twenty not a quarter so 'formed' as she is."
-
-His mother looked anxiously at him. "You are not thinking of marrying
-her, are you?" she asked. "You should do better than that, my son. The
-Mosses are rich, certainly; but I should like to see you go in for a
-title, myself; and you needn't be afraid that I'll stand in your way
-when you want to bring a wife home. Indeed, I'd like to have a grandson
-on my knee before I die, George; though I don't deny that it's been luck
-for me, in some respects, that you haven't married before. 'A son's a
-son till he gets him a wife.' Still, it's time now; and, if I were you,
-I'd look not lower than a county family. You've got money enough. And
-you may tell the lady from me," and her hard old face softened at the
-words, "you may tell her from me, that she'll be a lucky woman, for your
-vulgar old mother says so, and she has had reason enough to swear to
-it."
-
-George laughed, and put his arm round her. The caress meant a good deal
-more than all the pretty speeches he had made to Miriam.
-
-"The lucky young woman of title to whom I shall so kindly condescend to
-throw the handkerchief hasn't appeared on the horizon yet," he said.
-"When she does, she shan't turn up her highly aristocratic little nose
-at you, mother! Nobody shall come between you and me."
-
-Mrs. Sauls nodded till her earrings twinkled again. "So much the better
-for me, my son; but wives aren't so amenable as mothers. Don't answer
-for her too soon!"
-
-"One can answer for any woman--just as far as one can see her, eh?" said
-George, yawning; and his mother looked hard at him.
-
-Possibly she guessed that the horizon had not been quite so clear as he
-would have had her believe; and had a pretty shrewd suspicion that
-something besides work had deepened the lines on his face. But she was
-wise in her generation, and kept her counsel.
-
-He talked on for some time, chiefly on business, after that; bidding her
-good-night only when the dawn began to creep through the shutters.
-
-"Good-night, my dear," said his mother, "and God bless you for a good
-son, as I'm sure He ought."
-
-She had a wistful feeling while she said the words that Providence had
-somehow been unduly hard on George lately. Her son laughed profanely: "I
-believe you think that the Almighty is rather honoured in having me to
-bless!"
-
-But he was fond of his mother all the same, and her blessing did him no
-harm.
-
-After all, he couldn't go and make an utter fool of himself--or
-worse,--while the old woman believed in him so.
-
-A girl begged of him on his way through the streets, and his sallow
-cheek flushed, for the colour of her hair was like Meg's.
-
-_Her_ innocent face swam before him for a moment, and he put his hand
-before his eyes with a sense of sacrilege at the reminder. He believed
-himself as little given to sentiment as any man; but he had felt, since
-he had known Meg, that his other thoughts were not good enough company
-for those of her. Now, with a bitter revulsion, he declared to himself
-that the preacher, who had had no scruples, had fared the best.
-
-He thrust the girl aside, and quickened his steps with compressed lips.
-
-When he got to his rooms he walked straight up to his writing-table
-drawer, and took from it a little water-colour sketch that had been torn
-out of Laura's sketch book.
-
-"I can't afford this nonsense," he said. "I shall murder the preacher,
-if I let you stay here now."
-
-He tore the portrait across, and burnt it in the flame of his lamp. And
-this was, perhaps, the most sensible thing he could have done; but
-George seldom lost his head, whatever happened to his heart.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER II.
-
-     She has tied a knot with her tongue that she'll not undo with her
-     teeth.
-
-
-Caulderwell Farm is built on the edge of the "flats". All round it, in
-the days of which I write, was unreclaimed land--broad salt marshes,
-where the water crept slowly up at high tide, oozing between the rank
-grass and the sand banks, where the wild ducks nested and the frogs
-croaked. Fresh-water springs there were too, making tender green
-splotches in the midst of the redder salt-fed vegetation, and deep black
-pools, that only the wind and the rain and the shy water-birds visited
-from one year's end to the other.
-
-From the windows that face south the silver streak of salt water could
-be seen five miles as the crow flies across the marshes,--a lonely sea
-breaking on no cheerful child-haunted beach, but rolling in in long grey
-waves over the soft reed-tufted sand, where the rime clung in crusted
-serpentine ridges, and where bits of timber and shells got caught among
-the weeds, till the waves carried them back again.
-
-A lonely country, whose lover's salt kisses left her the more barren.
-
-The grey walls of the solitary house stood sturdily square to every wind
-that blew; the bit of cultivated ground was dyked all round, and the one
-road across the marsh led straight to the house door, and there
-stopped, for beyond the farm was no man's land.
-
-The Thorpes had lived here from generation to generation. They boasted
-that the marsh ague never touched them, and that their cattle never got
-lost in the "mosses". They had always been noted for a particular breed
-of horses, for which they got a sale at the annual horse fair at N----;
-for the gift of "bone setting," which had appeared in the family again
-and again; and for a certain obstinate originality, a "way of their
-own," which the first Thorpe had exemplified in his choice of a home.
-That good man was popularly supposed to have had a hard tussle with the
-marsh devil (who was peculiar to the soil, and was an unclean spirit
-with a head like a horse), over the building of the house. Apparently he
-had worsted his adversary thoroughly; for Caulderwell Farm still stands,
-and was three hundred years old when Margaret--who had been Margaret
-Deane--first made its acquaintance. Daughters had been scarce in the
-farm. In that respect also the Thorpe family had showed a decided
-peculiarity. Of the children born to it by far the larger proportion had
-been boys; and the few girls who had had the temerity to open their eyes
-in that wind-circled house had generally died before maturity.
-
-Barnabas Thorpe's father had had no sisters, and his wife had brought
-him sons only.
-
-He had been ambitious as a young man, separated as he was from the
-people about him by his new-fangled ideas, his greater education, and
-the touch of something that appeared very like genius in his youth, and
-like madness in his old age; the "something" that had been always
-cropping up afresh in each succeeding generation.
-
-It seemed likely that his sons might be sent to college, and rise to the
-level of gentlefolk; but nothing of the sort happened. On the contrary,
-the family fortunes fell back; a sort of melancholy blight seemed to
-have infected the man; he lost interest and energy; the tide of his
-ambition turned and ebbed, as that quiet creeping sea turned and ebbed
-from the pools outside.
-
-People said that the two calamities of his life had soured him, that he
-had never been the same after the death of his wife, and that the
-accident that had made his first-born, his favourite son, grow up
-deformed in body, had given a morbid twist to the father's mind.
-
-It may have been so; but it is more probable that the "twist" was there
-before,--born with him as surely as the colour of his eyes, and the
-shape of his head, and that it was only accentuated by circumstances.
-
-His wife had died in childbirth; and, out of his passionate and extreme
-grief, grew, hardly controllable, an aversion for the innocent cause of
-it.
-
-Tom Thorpe "fathered" his brother to the best of his ability, and kept
-him out of his real father's sight. Barnabas grew up sturdy and strong;
-a lover of "out-of-door" pursuits; a hater of books; a child possessed
-of immense animal spirits, noisy, and rather unruly, who played truant
-from school whenever he could, and took the consequent thrashings
-carelessly; a lad with a violent temper and a kind heart; who never
-puzzled his brains about anything, and was popular in spite of being
-slightly overbearing and obstinate, as all his forbears had been; a man
-who became a wanderer on the face of the earth, and startled every one
-who had known him by the suddenness and power of his "conversion".
-
-He had been fifteen years in that service, to which he had given heart
-and life, when Margaret first saw him.
-
-During that time he had come back to the farm at intervals, drawn by an
-overmastering longing for his native marshes; and, possibly, by a
-strong though undemonstrative affection for Tom. He had always returned,
-as he had gone, alone; until the night when he had brought home his
-wife.
-
-It was late October. In the south, the trees still clung to their red
-and gold glories, and there was mellowness in the air, the afterglow of
-departing summer; but here, in the north, winter had already claimed
-possession, and had cut short brusquely the tender leave-takings of the
-warm weather.
-
-The few trees that there were, little gnarled stunted specimens, had
-been violently bereft of their leaves, and leaned to one side, adapting
-themselves to the constant bullying of the gales, that swept through
-their thin knotted branches, and dashed against Caulderwell Farm, as if
-in hopes of, at last, laying that stern and sturdy old building low.
-
-The lonely house looked cold and desolate enough from outside; but the
-heart of it, the cheerful kitchen where Mr. Thorpe and his son sat, was
-warm, even hot, on the coldest of nights.
-
-The man who planned the farm had made the kitchen the noblest room in
-it. The prim "best parlour," and even the dining-room which no one ever
-used, but which boasted a curiously blazoned ceiling, were nothing in
-comparison.
-
-The kitchen was oak-panelled, wide and essentially comfortable, with red
-brick floor and huge fireplace fitted with corner seats.
-
-Candles, smoked hams, and rows of onions hung from the rafters. The
-china, genuine old willow, was piled on the oak dresser; pewter pots
-gleamed cheerfully in the firelight, though they were muddled up with
-pipes and fishing tackle in a way that would have made a good
-housewife's heart sink; and the rubicund face of an "old toby" beamed
-from among them,--a sort of presiding genius.
-
-Two tallow candles stood on the square wooden table in the middle of the
-room. The remains of a meal were shoved together at one corner of the
-table, and books littered the other side. The candles cast deep eerie
-shadows, but never flickered; though the wind was tossing against the
-lozenge-shaped windows in angry gusts. The thick walls of the farm were
-quite draught-proof, let the storm shriek as it would.
-
-Mr. Thorpe was walking with long uneven steps up and down the room. His
-hands--thin narrow hands--were clasped behind his back, his head poked
-forward a little.
-
-He was a loose-limbed, gaunt man; big-boned, though he stooped so that
-it was difficult to guess his real height; his chest seemed to have sunk
-in, and his shoulders to have become permanently rounded.
-
-His clothes hung on him as if they had been put on with a pitchfork, and
-his silky black beard straggled untidily over his old-fashioned flowered
-waistcoat.
-
-His eyes were deep-set, blue, like his younger son's; but here the
-resemblance ended, for Mr. Thorpe was olive-complexioned, and his
-features were fine and clear cut. His was a more refined face than the
-preacher's. Evidently, Barnabas had inherited from his mother's side his
-fair skin and curly hair; also, probably, his incapacity for learning
-and his splendid health.
-
-Tom Thorpe sat at the table with a pile of books in front of him; his
-shadow danced in the firelight, as if cruelly caricaturing the reality.
-
-He was deformed, hunchbacked, and slightly crippled as well, one leg
-being oddly twisted inwards.
-
-He had an odd face too, with a very big forehead, and rough jet black
-hair. He might have been taken for any age, having the sort of
-countenance that looks as if it had never been young, and yet is slow to
-grow old. In reality he was nearly forty.
-
-His eyes were a greenish hazel, with curiously big pupils--very
-expressive eyes, that could be as soft as a woman's, though "softness"
-was not Tom's ordinary characteristic.
-
-The mouth showed signs of pain endured silently and frequently; the
-lines about it were deep, and the lips closed very tightly when he was
-not talking.
-
-Seated at the other end of the table, engaged in eating her supper,
-which she did with a kind of injured air, as if every mouthful were pain
-and grief to her, was a prim middle-aged woman, with an appearance of
-fretful, would-be gentility.
-
-When she had finished, she rose with a stifled sob and seemed about to
-clear away, but Tom jumped, or rather hopped up, shut his book with a
-bang of suppressed irritation, limped round the table with surprising
-celerity, and took the plates out of her hands.
-
-"If you are sartain you don't want more, _I'll_ put 'em by," he said.
-
-"I couldn't eat! not with you reading all the time, and Cousin Thorpe
-walking up and down like a wild beast in a cage," she murmured, with a
-quiver in her voice. "It takes all the heart out of one's meal!"
-
-"But, my good soul, _you_ ain't obliged to read," said Tom, "and I'm
-sure you are welcome to be as many hours over your supper as you like.
-If you've done, I'll put 'em off the table."
-
-The corners of her mouth twitched downwards. "It never was cast up at me
-before that I take longer than is fitting over my food," she said; "but
-to see a person reading the whole of supper, with not a word to throw
-at one, and never caring what he's eating, no more than if it was dust
-and ashes, does break one's spirit; but if you think I consume more than
-I am entitled to, Tom, or if----"
-
-"Look 'ee here!" cried Tom, "I never said nothing of the sort. Do you
-think I count your mouthfuls? If you dare hint such a thing again, I'll
-make you finish the ham before you go to bed." He caught it up by the
-bone as he spoke, and waved it aloft. Mrs. Tremnell looked terrified;
-she was always rather afraid of Tom, and could not have seen a joke to
-save her life. She retreated hastily from the combat to a far-off
-corner, where she produced a black silk workbag, and solaced her soul
-with tatting.
-
-Tom put away the dishes, unwashed, with wonderful celerity, and buried
-himself again in his studies.
-
-He rightly felt that if a woman were once allowed to have a hand in
-their extremely untidy domestic arrangements, she would never rest till
-she had revolutionised everything.
-
-"Dad an' I'd be tidied out o' the kitchen before we knew where we were,"
-he reflected; and poor Cousin Tremnell's desire after usefulness was
-vigorously snubbed whenever it durst show itself.
-
-She sniffed over her work every now and then, and Tom glanced up
-irritably, yet with a suspicion of a smile at the corners of his lips.
-He was just opening his mouth to speak, this time with overtures of
-peace, when there was a thundering knock at the outer door.
-
-"Who ever can it be at this time of night?" cried Mrs. Tremnell. And Mr.
-Thorpe paused in his restless walk.
-
-"It's Barnabas!" cried Tom, his face lighting up. And he caught up his
-sticks, and was in the hall unbolting the massive door before the others
-had recovered from their surprise.
-
-They heard his joyful, "Why, lad, I thought it was you!" and then a
-smothered exclamation of surprise. And then Barnabas came in, bringing a
-whiff of icy air with him.
-
-The moisture was hanging from his beard, and dripping from his hat,
-making little pools on the red bricks. But not even Mrs. Tremnell
-noticed that; both she and Mr. Thorpe were staring in utter astonishment
-at a third figure,--a slight pale woman, with hair cut short, and big
-sad eyes, who followed him into the room silently.
-
-"Father, this is my wife," said Barnabas Thorpe. "I wrote you a letter
-about her, but I doubt you never got it. It's a dirty night, and she's a
-bit weary."
-
-There was a moment's silence; then the old farmer drew himself up, and
-held out his hand to the stranger with a gentle dignity that would have
-done credit to the finest gentleman in the land.
-
-"You are welcome, ma'am," he said. "Will you come to the fire and rest?
-The storm's bad outside."
-
-He demanded no explanation then. It was his house, and she his guest--on
-a night too when he wouldn't have shut out a dog,--that was enough for
-the present. All the rest could wait.
-
-Cousin Tremnell burnt with curiosity; and so did the hunchback, who
-looked dismayed as well; but neither of them durst ask anything.
-
-Cousin Tremnell, indeed, was too much "taken aback," as she would have
-expressed it, to move; but Tom hopped across the room with the kettle,
-and cast furtive glances at the woman who stood on the hearth slowly
-unwinding a heavy shawl, which she let fall at last in a heap at her
-feet. She was rather uncanny--like a spirit, or like one of the elves,
-with golden hair and no backs to them, who dance on the marsh to the
-destruction of the unwary, he thought.
-
-At the second glance he revised that impression: his shrewd eyes told
-him that there was nothing of the temptress about this girl; she did not
-look bad; she had never inveigled any one; but, good Lord! what a queer
-wife to have! How tiny her hands were, and how still she stood; not
-blushing, nor rolling her fingers in her apron, nor doing any of the
-things women generally do when they are nervous; but only looking
-gravely into the fire, and waiting patiently. He made the tea and cut
-thick slices of bread and ham, and then addressed himself directly to
-the stranger, being filled with great curiosity to hear her voice.
-
-"Will 'ee sit down with us?" he said; and looked inquiringly at his
-brother, as though to ask whether this strange wife of his ate or drank
-like ordinary mortals.
-
-Barnabas sat down with good appetite; his wife took her place beside
-him, and Mr. Thorpe drew his chair to the table as a mark of respect to
-his unexpected guest: he had had his own supper long before.
-
-Mrs. Tremnell brought her sewing up to the light, though she was too
-flustered to work; and Tom hopped round the table offering Barnabas'
-wife everything he could think of.
-
-On the whole, and considering the startling way in which Margaret had
-been introduced into their midst, it was wonderful how well the Thorpes
-behaved.
-
-Meg's own father could not have shown finer courtesy than did the
-preacher's.
-
-She ate her supper with outward composure, if with some inward tremor.
-Meg had seen so many strange scenes, and found herself in so many
-strange places, since the day when she had shut the door for ever on the
-old life, that she was not now so completely overcome by the position as
-she might once have been.
-
-The preacher was too indifferent to other people's opinions to suffer
-from embarrassment; and, though deeply attached to his home, he had, for
-many a long year, held himself quite independent in the ordering of his
-life.
-
-Meg noticed that he met his brother's eyes with the reassuring glance
-that told of mutual understanding; but that he and his father had
-apparently little in common.
-
-The old man's sharply chiselled and refined features, as well as his
-gentler accent, surprised her; and she looked up gratefully when he
-asked her about their journey.
-
-"You clip your words like a Londoner," he remarked smiling; but he
-thought to himself that she was a pretty spoken lass anyhow.
-
-"I have always lived in London part of the year," said Meg. "We went out
-of town in July."
-
-"Why?" asked Tom abruptly.
-
-Meg looked confused, and silence fell on them.
-
-"The upper circles vacate town at the close of the opera," said Cousin
-Tremnell. She was privately wondering whether the stranger had been in
-service, and rather hoped she had. She herself, driven by stress of
-circumstances, had been maid in a very "good family" for some months.
-She knew that the Thorpes looked down on her for it; and, while she felt
-herself their superior in gentility and manners, she was yet not
-strong-minded enough for her self-respect to be unruffled by their
-opinion.
-
-"We've naught to do wi' upper circles, and doan't want to have," said
-Tom. "I'm going to see about your room. Will 'ee come, lad?"
-
-He limped off with marvellous quickness.
-
-Barnabas pushed back his chair, and followed him.
-
-Mr. Thorpe got up too; and resumed the restless pace up and down that
-had been broken into by his new daughter-in-law's advent. She sat
-twisting the ring on her thin finger, and wondering whether the preacher
-was telling the whole story now, and what his brother thought of it. As
-it happened, she was not left long in doubt on that score.
-
-The tap of Tom's sticks sounded again along the stone passage; he was
-talking eagerly; when he almost reached the door, she heard his final
-dictum: "E--eh, lad! Now, I doan't know on my soul which was th' biggest
-fule, you or she!"
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-So Meg was brought to Barnabas Thorpe's kin; and, sitting alone in her
-room, looked over the wide marshes that were to become familiar to her;
-and knew herself a stranger in a strange land.
-
-It was two months since she had become his wife in name; and the two
-months' experience had made its mark on her,--a mark so deep that she
-believed herself to be hardly recognisable--a different woman
-altogether.
-
-Her face had sharpened in outline, and deepened in expression; the
-girlish beauty of colour had faded, and she had cut off her abundant
-soft hair.
-
-They had travelled from village to village, the girl sometimes walking,
-sometimes getting a lift in passing carts, never owning to weariness, or
-pain, or discomfort; but living, apparently, on the preacher's
-preaching.
-
-Her zeal had outstripped his, burning like a devouring flame. She had
-sung at meetings; she had gone with him everywhere unshrinkingly; she
-had given away the very food she should have eaten. And the man had
-watched her; first with amazement, then with an overgrowing sense of
-uneasiness; never quite understanding what revelations of good and evil
-he had brought her face to face with, or how desperately she was
-clinging to her religious faith, as a child, frightened in the dark,
-clings to its father's hand.
-
-Meg had been not only innocent, but more ignorant of some phases of evil
-than would have been possible in a woman of the preacher's own class.
-Her brain had nearly reeled with the shock of new experiences; her
-horror at much she had seen and heard had often kept her awake when her
-body was tired out; and when she slept, her sleep had been haunted with
-dreams that exhausted her as much as wakefulness. The supernatural grew
-very real to her then; she was happy only when Barnabas was praying or
-preaching; she was feverishly eager, growing bigger eyed and thinner day
-by day.
-
-As for her companion, he had made up his mind to do his best for the
-lass, who was his wife in name only, and whom he had thought to take
-through the world, guarding her as he would have guarded a younger
-sister; but, as day followed day, and week succeeded week, the "doing
-for her" cost him more--both in heart and mind; and, even in pocket!
-
-He was a clever workman; and, though nothing would have induced him to
-take money for his faith healing, he had fewer scruples where his knack
-of bone setting was concerned.
-
-He gave Margaret every comfort he could think of, but became more and
-more uneasily conscious with the flight of time that the physical
-hardships of her life were telling on her, and that he did not know how
-to prevent it; that there was something unnatural about her fervour,
-but that that, too, was beyond him.
-
-He had got into a habit of watching her, and of taking note of her ways,
-silently as a rule, because, being accustomed to solitude, he was a
-silent man in ordinary intercourse.
-
-For any thought he took for her she thanked him, with a gentle
-graciousness that was inherited from her father; but which seemed to her
-companion to belong only to this girl, and to have the curious quality
-of making his heart beat faster.
-
-He was disconcerted when she cut off her hair; and she was surprised
-that he should even notice the loss. She was apt to be surprised in
-those days if Barnabas behaved like an ordinary mortal.
-
-Then a change had come over them both--a strain in their relations, ever
-tightening, impossible to break through, impalpable, and, finally,
-unbearable.
-
-The woman was aware of it first, and tried to ignore it. She sang, and
-prayed, and worked with even increased ardour. She was over-taxing her
-poor body, that was so unequally yoked; and she knew, and rather
-rejoiced at the fact.
-
-Possibly, at the bottom of her heart, she felt that _that_ was one way
-of escape from a difficulty that lay in wait for her, unfaced as yet,
-and "impossible".
-
-It had been in the evening, after a long day's walk, that the difficulty
-had stalked boldly out of its corner.
-
-They had arrived late at an inn; and Meg, too tired to eat, had exerted
-herself to amuse a fretful child, who was sitting beside her on a bench.
-
-She seldom spoke to strangers, but, at that moment, she had experienced
-a sudden and almost overpowering distaste for her surroundings. The hot,
-tobacco-reeking room, the smell of food, the noise every one made in
-eating, the way the men spat on the floor, and the way the woman next
-her laughed, affected her with a physical loathing. She fought
-desperately against the sensation, having a nervous fear that, should
-she once stop talking, and let herself go, she might break down
-altogether. Her cheeks flushed with the heat of the room, her eyes shone
-like stars, and her tongue went faster and faster. The child stared at
-her, open-mouthed; the child's mother looked at her rather
-inquisitively; but the father, a young mechanic, put down his knife and
-fork, and tried to draw the stranger's attention to himself.
-
-All at once Meg was startled by the preacher's pushing back his chair
-noisily, and putting a hand on her shoulder.
-
-"If ye can't eat, there's no call for 'ee to stop here chattering. Ye'd
-better go upstairs," he said.
-
-His voice sounded a little thick, and his face was flushed, though he
-never drank anything but water.
-
-Meg turned and looked at him in utter astonishment; then rose and left
-them without a word.
-
-It had been nothing to speak of, nothing to make a fuss about, yet when
-she had found herself alone in the tiny room upstairs that he had taken
-for her, she had hidden her face in her hands with an indescribable
-feeling of shame.
-
-"What right had this man to speak so to her,--to look at her as if he
-were jealous? He might, in his capacity of preacher, have reproved her
-for breaking any law in the decalogue, and she would not have been
-angry; but this was quite different."
-
-Alas! it did not bear thinking of. She had given him "right" enough!
-
-She had felt she could not sit still; the restlessness that had been
-growing on her had made anything more bearable than the quiet of her
-room. She had put on her bonnet, and gone down again almost immediately.
-
-She had found Barnabas leaning against the porch outside; he had heard
-or felt her approach, and turned the moment she had joined him. Voices
-from the inn had assailed their ears, in a gust of sound with the
-opening of the door; and then they had been alone, wrapped in the sweet
-solemn night, and Meg's anger and shame had died. After all, they two
-were pilgrims together, through a tumultuous and alien world, and she
-had been foolish to have been so disturbed. It had always been
-wonderfully easy to Meg to look at things from a purely spiritual point
-of view.
-
-"Are you going out again?" she had asked him; and he had answered, with
-some constraint, that he was going to catch the lads coming out of the
-factory in the town, pointing to where the lights of Nottingham twinkled
-in the distance.
-
-"Then I'll come too," Meg had said. "I can start the singing if you want
-it; and I always like to hear you speak."
-
-But, for the first time since she had known him, he had refused her
-companionship, speaking still with the same constrained tone, and
-without looking at her.
-
-"Ye are just killing yourself, lass; I canna let you do that."
-
-The girl had evinced much the same half-reproachful wonder that she had
-shown when he had objected to the cutting off of her hair.
-
-"If I am of any service at all," she had said, "you, of all men, should
-not try to stop me." And at that, the man had stood upright with a laugh
-and a quick passionate gesture, as if he would have stretched out his
-arms to her.
-
-"I, of all men! I, of all men!" he had cried. "Lass, do ye suppose I am
-no' of flesh and blood, like the others? The Lord has angels enough; let
-_me_ ha' the woman by my side; I of all men shouldna stay ye. Come then
-an' ye want to, Margaret!" And Meg, aghast, had stood for one moment
-with frightened eyes; then had turned and fled.
-
-He had wakened her with a rough shock, and had brought her back to an
-earth that was no longer only "the road to Heaven".
-
-It was a natural thing enough that had befallen the strange pair; only
-Meg, with her eyes fixed on the stars, had never dreamed of its
-possibility, and her heart had sunk.
-
-The next morning the preacher had met her with recovered self-command.
-
-"I spoke to ye as I shouldna have," he had said gravely. "An' I am
-'shamed to ha' done it; an' yet it was truth, lass, that it isna
-possible to go on as we are. I canna stand by an' see ye get thinner an'
-weaker afore my eyes. Will ye let me take ye to my own home an' leave ye
-for a spell wi' my own people? Happen ye'll grow stronger at th' farm
-an' piece on your life again."
-
-And Meg had acquiesced. She would do as he liked, though he had fallen
-from his pinnacle and was no more an inspired prophet; for what else
-could she do?
-
-"To piece on her life" would be a puzzling and difficult thing, far more
-confusing than to take the kingdom of Heaven by storm, and die of
-over-work and under-feeding, like a saint; but she had no choice.
-
-While she sat at her window, her thoughts flew back over all that had
-happened, till the remembrance of Tom Thorpe's remark came as a sort of
-anti-climax to the painful gravity of her thoughts, and Meg laughed
-softly in the darkness.
-
-"Which _was_ the bigger fule?"
-
-Well! if she had been that, there was no need to be a coward as well.
-The girl straightened herself with a touch of pride and determination
-that was a good sign. "I cut one knot--I'll untie the next," she said;
-"and live it out as best I can!"
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER III.
-
-
-But the living out was difficult.
-
-Meg awoke at the farm. After the strange and wonderful journey by the
-side of the preacher; after the days of wandering over hill and dale,
-with exhausted body, but with mind so fixed on the vision beautiful,
-that she would not have been surprised at any moment had the clouds
-parted, and the second coming of the Lord blazed forth; after that
-curious "intoxication" of the soul that such natures as hers seem liable
-to,--she "came to herself" in the old house among those northern
-marshes, and tried, a little desperately, to meet the demands of a lot
-she had not been born to.
-
-The loneliness was all on her side; for to the Thorpes the advent of
-Barnabas' wife was, perhaps, on the whole a not unwelcome piece of
-excitement.
-
-In the winter the road across the marshes was all but impassable for
-months together. Often from November till February the little stronghold
-which the first Thorpe had wrested, and his successors kept, from the
-devils of desolation, was left to its own resources.
-
-The family characteristics had probably been fostered by the
-circumstances of their life; they were sufficient to themselves.
-
-There were Thorpes; there were--but some way behind them--their fellow
-country, or rather county-men; and then there was the rest of the world.
-Weak-knee'd outsiders, with bad constitutions and "queer ways" and
-indifferent morals. The preacher's wife was not even north country; she
-was, in fact, almost a "foreigner".
-
-Poor little "outsider," thrust down in their midst to take root in a
-strange soil, if she could; or to shrivel and droop with
-starvation!--which would she do?
-
-"The best thing for the lass 'ud be to pack her in cotton wool, and send
-her back to her own kind," Tom Thorpe had declared. But the boats were
-burnt, and the going back was impossible!
-
-On the whole, of all her new relatives, Tom alarmed Meg most; but
-"Cousin Tremnell" was the member of the family she liked least.
-
-The prim little woman, with plaintive voice and sharp curiosity, with
-uneasy pretensions to "gentility" and small affectations, seemed more
-hopelessly out of touch with her than were her husband's rougher
-kinsmen. Cousin Tremnell asked questions with the eagerness of a born
-gossip, who had been starving for dearth of any subject more personal
-than "crops" and "horses"; and Meg shrank from her inquiries as if they
-were so many small stabs.
-
-"It is not becoming for you to be sitting in the kitchen, ma'am," she
-had said on the morning after Meg's arrival, and had forthwith conducted
-her into the best parlour, which was the one ugly room in the house,
-with its carpet beflowered with magenta roses; its gauze-swathed frames,
-and bunches of worsted convolvuli under shades.
-
-Mrs. Tremnell brought out her work, and settled herself down to see what
-she could "get out" of this extraordinary cousin-in-law, towards whom
-her feelings were at present rather mixed. It was something to have a
-connection who had been one of the Deanes of Kent; but what a degenerate
-Deane she must be! Mrs. Russelthorpe herself could not have had a
-keener sense of Meg's degradation.
-
-"How could she ever have done such a thing?" Mrs. Tremnell kept
-repeating to herself, with little mental gasps and notes of
-interrogation; and the burden of her thoughts was embarrassingly
-apparent, even though something in the stranger's manner, a shy dignity
-that Mrs. Tremnell durst not quite outrage, prevented her from asking
-the question point blank.
-
-"It must seem very strange to you here, ma'am," she said tentatively.
-"Of course, it can't be what you were accustomed to. _I_ find my
-cousin's ways rough myself--not meaning no comparison to what _your_
-sensations must be. I understand you was brought up in a different
-station altogether."
-
-"I have been in many rougher places than this," said Meg; "and the past
-is quite dead."
-
-Mrs. Tremnell's eyes fairly twinkled with eagerness. The preacher's wife
-was "very peculiar-looking," she said to herself, glancing at Meg's
-short curls and shabby dress; but there was no doubt that she was a
-lady, and the lady's "past" possessed a wonderful fascination.
-
-"Is your honoured father still alive?" she ventured; and the colour
-rushed to Meg's cheeks.
-
-"Oh yes--I--I hope so!" the girl cried. But the idea that he might be
-dead and buried, for all she knew or would ever know about him, suddenly
-made her heart contract with a sharp spasm of fear.
-
-She made a hasty effort to draw "Cousin Tremnell" away from the subject;
-and, asking questions in her turn, elicited a stream of information
-about the Thorpes in general, and Barnabas Thorpe in particular, a
-stream which was only checked by occasional little flights back to "the
-Deanes," whose very name seemed to attract Cousin Tremnell as honey
-attracts a bee.
-
-It was curious to hear Barnabas spoken of familiarly; curious how the
-man's individuality was becoming stronger and the prophet's fainter to
-his wife's unwilling eyes.
-
-"The Thorpes are all as sure as sure of everything," said Cousin
-Tremnell. "_I_ take after my father's side myself, and he was a
-gentle-spoken man, and quite different; it was my mother was a Thorpe.
-And my dear husband was south country. I never saw much of Cousin Thorpe
-till after I was left a widow. Then, when my daughter was growing up,
-Barnabas used to be a deal over at L----, where we lived; but Tom and
-Lydia could never abide each other. I shouldn't have believed that I
-could ever come and live here then, nor that Tom Thorpe would ask me to;
-but blood is thicker than water, and I must allow that Tom's always
-kind, if one's in trouble. I was ill this spring, and I was sitting by
-myself, for I hadn't cared to have folks about since--since she left me,
-when Tom Thorpe walked in quite unexpected. I had got that weak and
-nervous--for living alone never suited me--that I fairly screamed when
-he opened the door. 'Now, you come along back with me, cousin,' says he;
-'for I can't leave you here to think of your own funeral all the day.'
-And I hadn't the heart to say no, though I am half sorry now I didn't. I
-was that lonesome, you see; and a man does give one a feeling of
-support, especially if the man's Tom or Barnabas. Barnabas was the one I
-liked best as a lad, and, to be sure, I thought he would never
-forget--but there! it's nearly sixteen years ago now, since he was
-courting my poor Lydia."
-
-Her voice dropped to a reverently lowered tone when she spoke of her
-daughter. The shadow of her grief momentarily dignified her pinched and
-rather fretful face; and Meg, who had been listening listlessly, looked
-up with awakened interest.
-
-"Did she like him?" asked the preacher's wife shyly. Her quick fancy
-pictured the pretty girl, whom Barnabas had loved when a boy; and her
-sympathy was moved at once by the mother's sorrow.
-
-Mrs. Tremnell, however, seemed half offended at the question.
-
-"Oh, as for that, Lydia had plenty to admire her without Barnabas," she
-said.
-
-And Meg could not guess how the little woman's sore heart was hurt,
-because the preacher's was healed; no one but her mother mourned for her
-pretty Lydia now.
-
-"When he was a boy he would run the twelve miles from here to the town
-to get a talk with her; for all he was sure of a thrashing from Tom for
-playing truant when he got back," she went on. "But that's long past,
-and forgotten; and, perhaps, I shouldn't even have alluded to it to
-_you_, ma'am."
-
-"Why not to me?" asked the girl; and then coloured, and laughed
-nervously when Cousin Tremnell's meaning dawned on her.
-
-"To be sure, he is another man altogether since his conversion, and I
-hear the miracles he does is wonderful; though I do hope you'll persuade
-him to lay by and take money for his cures, now that he has got a wife
-and may have children," continued the plaintive voice, which was touched
-with asperity now. "He might make a very good thing of it, and people
-would think a deal more of him if they had to pay. Indeed, with your
-connection with the aristocracy, which is far beyond what he might have
-expected, I don't see why he shouldn't start a regular business. It was
-a sister of yours that married Lord Doran, was it not, ma'am?"
-
-"Oh, _won't_ you understand?" cried Meg, with sudden energy. "That is
-all done with--I--I--don't think about it."
-
-"I beg your pardon, I am sure, ma'am; I was not aware that I had said
-anything amiss," said Cousin Tremnell huffily. And to herself she
-remarked that Barnabas had gone far to fare badly.
-
-Meg went for a solitary walk in the marshes after that, and tried to
-sort and adjust her ideas and to "lay" decently several ghosts Cousin
-Tremnell had brought out of their graves. They had never, perhaps, been
-so entirely buried as she had fancied.
-
-The incidents of that first day at the farm always remained in her
-memory, standing out from the many rather monotonous days that followed;
-not that they were remarkable in themselves, but because first
-impressions are cut sharp and clear as with a new die.
-
-She came in after the mid-day meal had begun. The two or three farm
-labourers who ate in the same room, though at the other end of the long
-wooden table, turned round to stare at her with a stolid and deliberate
-stare. Tom Thorpe remarked that she was late, and they had "nigh done,"
-though more by way of something to say than as a rebuke; and then, in
-the middle of the meal, "Foolish Timothy" lounged in, and effectually
-robbed her of her appetite.
-
-The idiot shambled up to the table, and sat down beside her unasked, but
-unrebuked; and Meg could not repress a shudder of disgust.
-
-The man's coarse loose mouth, and cunning shifty eyes, with their
-furtive sidelong glances, were unspeakably repulsive to her; and
-Timothy, unfortunately, saw the shiver, and hated her on the spot with
-the malicious, easily roused hate of a low nature. He was one of those
-ill-conditioned fools who have just cunning enough to pretend to be
-rather more idiotic than they are, when it suits their convenience; he
-lived on the kindness of the countryside, and lived well, occasionally
-repaying hospitality by buffoonery of a somewhat profane kind; but, at
-the Thorpes, he was generally on his good behaviour.
-
-"What's wrong wi' ye?" Tom suddenly asked his sister-in-law. "Isn't the
-food to your liking, or aren't you hungry?"
-
-"Yes, thank you, quite--I mean it's very nice," stammered Meg; but some
-fascination made her look at the creature by her side, who was
-contorting his face into sudden, hideous grimaces whenever he could
-catch her eyes unobserved by his host.
-
-"What's the good o' telling lies?" said Tom. "It's plain ye can't eat
-that; and we all know ye've not been used to fare like us. Here,
-Timothy, make yourself useful, and fetch an egg from the barn; happen
-she'll relish it better."
-
-"Oh no, please don't!" cried Meg, who felt that she could not for the
-life of her taste anything that Timothy had touched. "The pie is very
-good, but I have had plenty."
-
-Tom frowned impatiently. "My good girl, _that_ you've not," he said. "I
-am not going to force food down your throat if you don't want it; but
-why you persist in saying you like it when you can't swallow half a
-mouthful, goodness knows. Lord bless us! I am proud of our cooking, as
-Cousin Tremnell 'ull tell you; but I don't make a meal off the people
-who don't agree wi' me. Hands off, Timothy! Where are your manners?" For
-Timothy had surreptitiously stretched out a long-nailed, dirty hand
-towards the food in Meg's plate. She jumped up with a start at the touch
-of the idiot, and with a hastily murmured excuse fled from the kitchen.
-Tom Thorpe gave vent to a long, low whistle.
-
-"It's a pretty business," he remarked; "an' the hottest water Barnabas
-has ever got into. What had he to do wi' a fine lady, as can't even sit
-down to table by us?"
-
-"I must say the way she has been trapesing about the country half the
-morning isn't much like a lady," said Cousin Tremnell.
-
-"Well, I've done. Ye may tell her I've gone out. So she can come and
-pick up a few more crumbs in peace," he said good-naturedly. "An', I
-say, cousin, ye might tell her I am not such an ogre as I look, eh? The
-fact is, I've got so used to myself living here alone wi' dad, that I
-don't think how I scare other people, unless a stranger comes to show
-me."
-
-But Cousin Tremnell was still huffy, and didn't see that she had any
-call to "run after Mrs. Thorpe".
-
-It was not a remarkably good beginning; and the preacher's wife felt
-much ashamed when she had recovered from her sudden horror.
-
-She took herself to task for her disgust, as if it had been a crime, but
-could not prevail upon herself to return to the kitchen. Tom's deformity
-did not cause her the least repulsion; it was as it were accidental, and
-the man himself inspired her with respect; but Timothy seemed to her
-like some horrible brute, whose very likeness to humanity made him the
-more repulsive.
-
-She sat down on the wide sill of the staircase window, and tried to
-forget the troublesome details of this rough-edged life, the while her
-eyes rested on the reed beds bowing in the wind, and the low grey sky,
-where a buzzard hung poised.
-
-Thus seated, she clenched her hands; and, presently, began to sing very
-softly to herself, to the tune of an old Roundhead battle hymn. The
-inspiration of hard fighting was in it, and it did her good.
-
-In the middle of a bar, she became aware that some one was listening;
-and, turning round, saw Mr. Thorpe standing on the stair above her.
-
-The old man looked worn and tired; but smiled, and spoke to her with a
-rather melancholy gentleness that won her heart.
-
-"Ye've a very sweet voice, lassie," he said. "Are ye for driving the old
-enemy away with it? Ye were singing as if ye were leading a forlorn
-hope. Ye had better not stop till ye've routed him."
-
-The girl looked wonderingly for a moment; and then her heart went out to
-him with instinctive womanly sympathy. "I can sing as long as ever you
-please," she said; and she sang on with gathering courage, till the dusk
-began to creep over the landscape, and the shadows broadened on the
-stairs, and her voice failed from weariness.
-
-She slid down from her place, warmed and cheered by a sense of
-comradeship, and stood beside him as he thanked her. The preacher's wife
-became wonderfully clever, as time went on, in foreseeing and warding
-off the black fits of depression that laid hold on the man; but, on that
-first evening, he had helped her, as a stronger and more cheerful spirit
-never could have.
-
-"I am ashamed to go back to the kitchen," she said shyly; "I was so
-silly at dinner-time."
-
-"An' so ye are Barnabas' wife!" he answered irrelevantly. "Well, well,
-it's no wonder ye feel a bit strange; but ye have driven the devil back.
-Come along wi' me, lass." And they went down together.
-
-The preacher came home in the evening; he had been out all day. His eyes
-turned at once to the chimney corner, where Meg was sitting with her
-head bent down, fondling a kitten on the hearth.
-
-"How is dad?" he asked of Tom, who hopped into the room with a
-tablecloth, which was entirely for their guest's benefit, under his arm.
-
-"All right," said Tom. "Thanks to your wife, she's witched away the
-blues this time, and I thought we were in for a spell of 'em. I'll
-forgive ye for having the bad taste not to like me, if ye can cheer up
-dad;" turning round on Meg. "But what are we to call ye? Ye can't allus
-be 'Barnabas' wife!'"
-
-"My name is Margaret," said Meg slowly. "I suppose that is what you had
-better call me."
-
-"Oh, not if you don't like it," cried Tom, who perceived with wonderful
-quickness the "unwilling" inflection in her voice. "I'd not call any
-woman by her name against her will. Ye needn't think it. Will 'ee sit
-down to supper with us, Barnabas' wife, or would ye liefer stay at a
-safe distance till we've quite done, eh?"
-
-"Doan't ye heed him; he talks a deal o' nonsense by times," said
-Barnabas. And Meg was rather thankful for once to have his broad
-shoulders between herself and Tom's over sharp-sighted eyes.
-
-And so the first day at the farm came to an end, and in the course of
-the many that followed the stranger settled down among the Thorpes, even
-if she didn't take root, and still remained more or less strange.
-
-She grew fond of Mr. Thorpe, who pitied the "little lady" from his
-heart. She was uneasily conscious of Tom's shrewd observation, which was
-uncomfortably keen to live with; and she saw very little of the man who
-had been her daily companion for the last three months.
-
-The preacher seldom came in till late, and then exchanged few words with
-her. There had been nothing like a quarrel between them, and Meg had the
-most absolute trust in him; nevertheless, she breathed more freely when
-he was not present, sitting on the bench in the kitchen netting or
-carving silently, and looking at her every now and then with a look that
-haunted her.
-
-She had been some weeks at the farm, when, one day, something occurred
-to break the surface calm that seemed to have settled on them, and
-frightened her with a glimpse of the Thorpe temper that Mrs. Tremnell
-had talked about, and of something else as well, which she was unwilling
-enough to reckon with.
-
-Barnabas Thorpe had been away for several days, and was striking home
-across the flats. He quickened his pace on nearing the farm. The dull
-ache of anxiety he constantly felt when absent, had changed to a sharper
-excitement that made his pulses beat fast, when suddenly the faint echo
-of a scream caught his ear, and with a shout that rang out over the
-snow-covered marsh, he ran at full speed towards the farm.
-
-Tom, seeing him in the distance, and wondering at the headlong rush,
-followed him as fast as his lame foot would allow, and arrived five
-minutes after him panting and curious.
-
-By that time the preacher was standing in the middle of the kitchen with
-the fingers of his left hand twisted in "Foolish Timothy's" collar, and
-his right arm raised in the act of striking. Timothy was howling like a
-wild beast, and livid with mingled rage and fright and pain; the weight
-of Barnabas Thorpe's arm was not light, and he did all things with a
-superabundant amount of energy. Barnabas' wife was standing in a corner
-with a face as white as the snow outside.
-
-"I say," said Tom, "whatever Tim's been doing, I think ye'd better put
-off the rest o' that thrashin' till your wife's out o' the way."
-
-Meg found her voice at the same instant. "Oh do let him go--I only want
-him to go!" she cried. And the preacher let his arm drop at the sound of
-her voice.
-
-"All right, I won't hit him again. You needn't look at me like that.
-He's not half so much hurt as he deserves," he said. And then, half
-twisting the idiot round with a turn of his strong wrist, he spoke
-between his teeth.
-
-"If I gave you your deservings," he said, "I'd thrash you till you
-hadn't a whole bone left. I can't do that now; not that it wouldn't do
-you good, but it's against my calling. You'll get off a deal too easy;
-but if ever I catch you frightening my wife or any other woman again,
-I'll take it it 'ull be my duty to pay ye with interest; and I swear you
-shall have enough to last your life. Off wi' ye! and don't let's see
-your face under this roof again."
-
-With that, he loosened his grasp; and Timothy, choking, made for the
-door. Before passing through it, he turned and shook his fist at
-Barnabas.
-
-"I'll be even with you and your fine wife yet!" he cried. "Curse you
-both! Bad luck is on your scent, Barnabas! She always follows them as
-lays hands on me; and you've tempted her before. You've taken to wife a
-maid as wasn't born for the likes of you or yours, and every drop of
-blood in her body shrinks from you. She's pining after her own people
-already, and she'll go back to them and leave you to whistle for her.
-She's theirs, not yours! and if ye try to hold her she'll hate you. You
-can force man to obey you, but you can't make a woman cleave to you.
-She'll leave you, I say, and there'll be worse to follow. I'll live to
-see you brought low, and----"
-
-"Clear out!" said Tom. "Or ye'll sartainly live to see yourself 'brought
-low' in half a second." And Timothy fled; but the brothers looked at
-each other with foreboding in their faces. Neither of them was above
-superstition.
-
-"It is terrible unlucky," said Tom, "to lay a hand on such as him. I
-wish ye hadn't, lad!"
-
-"He may think himself fortunate. I'd not ha' dealt so gently by him
-once," said the preacher grimly. "But," with a sudden change of tone,
-"I've scared my poor lass nigh as much as that varmin did!"
-
-He turned to Meg, who was still standing with a blanched face in the
-corner. "How came it ye were alone wi' him?" he asked.
-
-"Mrs. Tremnell and your father have gone into town to-day," said Meg,
-trying rather vainly to steady her voice. "Tom thought I was with them,
-but my head ached, and I stayed behind. I didn't come down to dinner
-because Timothy was there; but, after dinner, I heard him go out with
-Tom, and thought it was quite safe. He crept back when I was alone in
-the kitchen." She shuddered, and Barnabas clenched his hand
-unconsciously.
-
-"Do you mean to say ye had ever reason to be scared of him before?" he
-asked thickly.
-
-"It was chiefly my silliness before," said Meg. "He only made faces at
-me and tried to pinch me one day when Tom's back was turned; but, of
-course, I knew he hadn't all his wits, and I didn't like to make a fuss.
-Oh, Barnabas, _please_ don't go on talking about it; let's forget."
-
-"I am sorry, lad," said Tom, who was watching his brother curiously.
-"Aren't you wishin' you were unconverted an' free to wring his neck?
-But," with a swift wheel round, "doan't ye think ye really were a little
-fool not to ha' told me, Barnabas' wife? Ye might ha' known, by this
-time, tha' I'd not ha' let that scamp bother you."
-
-"I thought you would say I was behaving like a fine lady, and fancying
-myself different from the rest of you," said Meg.
-
-And Tom laughed loudly. "There wouldn't be much fancy needed," said he.
-
-The episode seemed, by the very fact of its having stirred their
-emotions, to have brought the woman's aliency into stronger relief. She
-looked longingly at the door, and made a step towards it, when Barnabas
-interposed.
-
-"I'll leave ye in peace in a moment, Margaret," he said; "but afore I
-go, will 'ee promise me one thing? Will ye tell Tom next time if aught
-troubles ye while I am away? or I'll have no rest for thinking some'ut
-may be wrong with 'ee."
-
-He spoke insistently, and Meg hesitated for an appreciable second; then
-shook her head, the colour coming back to her cheek with a rush: she had
-already promised this man more than she could perform.
-
-"I would rather not promise," she said. "I might not want to. If you say
-I must, I will, because you have a right, I suppose; but I would rather
-not."
-
-Tom grunted impatiently; Barnabas picked up the stick he had broken
-across Timothy's shoulders and turned away.
-
-"Do as ye choose; it'll be a bad day for us both when I take to saying
-ye must do a thing because I've a right," he answered.
-
-The moment the door had closed upon his brother Tom swore.
-
-"Do 'ee want him made o' ice?" he said. "Why didn't ye give him a word
-or a kiss, lass? Barnabas has no end of patience with ye. If ye were my
-wife----"
-
-"What would you do?" said Meg, looking up with a sudden flash in her
-grey eyes. "Beat me? I have seen husbands do that; it generally answers,
-I suppose, if they go on long enough."
-
-"Hullo! we've struck a bit o' fire this time. Thank the Lord for that!"
-said Tom. "But ye've a nice opinion of us, haven't ye? Well, there's no
-knowing what atrocities I mightn't ha' gone in for, if a merciful
-Providence hadn't made it clear impossible for me to marry."
-
-Nevertheless, when Meg came down the next day looking whiter and shyer
-than usual, he held out his hand to her with a kindly twinkle in his
-eyes. "Ye'd much better be friends wi' me, Barnabas' wife," he said.
-"Happen ye'll improve our manners in time."
-
-"I oughtn't to have been angry," said Meg quickly; for she was at least
-as susceptible to kindness as to unkindness. "I was all wrong, and one
-ought to obey one's husband."
-
-"Oh! ye do plenty o' _that_," cried Tom. "Lord love ye, my dear, if ye
-obeyed him a bit less, an' liked him a bit more, Barnabas 'ud not
-quarrel wi' the change, and he might bide at home a spell."
-
-Which last suggestion made Meg feel sick at heart, with a half
-self-reproachful, wholly miserable sensation, that fairly frightened her
-at times.
-
-She went with the preacher that afternoon to a tiny hamlet, some miles
-off. She had not accompanied him of late, and it was strange to find
-herself alone with him again.
-
-The marshes were still snow-covered in parts; the last vestige of green
-was frozen away, the ground lay stretched in drab and grey; save where,
-here and there, a salt-water pool showed black against the snow.
-
-The preacher was on his way to baptise a child that had been born in one
-of a cluster of wooden huts, that were planted like brown mushrooms
-under the scant shelter of a group of alders.
-
-His feet and Margaret's made a track all the way from the farm; and the
-girl kept glancing back at the double row of footprints, as though they
-had a fascination for her.
-
-It struck Meg that the baptism was regarded as a sort of lucky charm, or
-incantation; but, when Barnabas stood outside the huts to preach, there
-was no doubt that, as usual, he carried his hearers with him.
-
-Meg stood a little apart and watched him with new eyes.
-
-She had thought of the message, not of the messenger, when she had first
-fallen under the spell of his enthusiasm. She tried now--and she found
-it strangely difficult--to keep possession of her soul; to stand aloof
-mentally, as well as actually, and to look on.
-
-The man's reddish hair and beard and sunburnt face made a spot of colour
-in the leaden grey landscape; his vigorous personality was in strong
-contrast to the impersonal solemnity of the marsh. And his religion was
-personal too; it was the passionate uncalculating loyalty of one who has
-seen his God in the Man of Sorrows, and cannot rest for following those
-blood-stained footsteps that have drawn so many after them, and have
-left so deep a print in the world's history.
-
-The half-dozen men and women who surrounded Barnabas were of as low a
-type as Margaret had ever seen; a wizened, stunted race, dwarfed by
-marsh fever and unhealthy living. But more than one of them were moved
-to tears, at the words they heard. How much did they really understand
-of his discourse? and how much was due to the curiously overpowering
-and personal influence that Barnabas possessed? This power "from the
-Lord,"--was it indeed from the Lord? or would he have wielded it,
-whether "converted" or not, purely by reason of his undoubting decision,
-and splendid physical strength? What had turned his life into this
-channel? and what--her eyes turned again to the double line across the
-snow--O God, what was to come of it all, in the many years before them?
-
-It was bitterly cold, and the grey mists clung around them on their walk
-home.
-
-Born and bred in the marshes, the preacher knew his way blindfolded, but
-the pathless expanse had something awe-inspiring in it. Meg reflected
-aloud that strangers might be drowned in a salt pool, and be never heard
-of more, if left guideless.
-
-"The wild ducks would scream over one, and there would be the end of
-everything!" she remarked.
-
-"Dunnot say it, lass! Ye'll not be wandering alone here when I'm not by,
-will 'ee?" cried the preacher, with a ring of pain in his voice; and her
-reassurances seemed barely to satisfy him. Timothy had filled him with
-forebodings, though he had also brought matters to a climax.
-
-It was partly to turn the subject that Meg asked him one of the
-questions that had filled her mind during his preaching.
-
-The preacher reddened, so that, under all the sunburn, she could see the
-flush mount to his forehead.
-
-"There are things it goes against a man to talk about," he said. "My
-Master knows where He found me." But, after a few minutes, he added
-wistfully: "But an' ye care to hear, Margaret, I'd tell ye anything".
-
-The story came out rather jerkily then, while they struggled against the
-wind. Meg, seeing the effort the telling caused, was sorry she had
-asked; was touched, too, with a painful feeling of compunction at the
-eagerness of his desire to more than meet hers.
-
-Every now and then his speech was blown away from her; and once, when
-she lifted her face to listen, he paused a moment and said, with rather
-a sad smile: "But ye'll not understand it all, Margaret, any more than
-the snowflakes would". The snow was resting on her black hood at the
-time.
-
-"When I was a boy, dad couldn't bear the sight o' me," he continued,
-stating the fact with an outspoken simplicity that was characteristic.
-
-"It made him a bit sour to see me straight and hale, when Tom, as was
-worth a dozen o' me, was bent like a crooked stick. That was why I took
-to going over to Cousin Tremnell's whenever I could.
-
-"Tom was keen on my getting schooling, though, and sent me over the
-marshes an' back every day, till I was too big a lad for any man to
-send. I wasn't fond o' learning, nor ain't now. It seems to me people
-stuff their minds too much wi' other men's thoughts. God's truth can't
-shine through the tangle, and they doan't give their own souls the room
-to stretch in. I cut the books and ran away to sea, when I was sixteen,
-wi' a cargo of oranges.
-
-"It were after I came back fro' my first voyage that I fell in love wi'
-Cousin Tremnell's girl."
-
-"I know," said Meg softly. "Cousin Tremnell told me."
-
-There was a long pause; then: "She ran away to another man," he said
-shortly. "An' I followed, being wistful to kill him, an' mad wi' the
-longing for her. He had come fro' London, I knew; so I went there an'
-walked about the streets looking for her all the day long; an' times I
-would strangle her an' I met her, an' times I would kiss her; but either
-way, he shouldna hold her ever again, nor should any other maid be th'
-worse for him. I hankered so after the open flats when I was hemmed in
-by that cursed town, that I used to wake mysel' o' nights fighting wi'
-the wall o' my room thinking an' I could knock it down I'd see God's
-world again the other side. I made my knuckles bleed, but the others
-thought it war drink, an' didn't interfere.
-
-"It was like a nightmare, a horrible hell! But I'll go back there yet;
-there are souls to save there too; an' the Master is there: ay, even i'
-the lowest depth. It's a fearfu' place, Margaret; the very air o' London
-is foul wi' their iniquity; I was sick wi' the taste an' smell o' it.
-Well, I traced her at last, and found her dead; I saw her coffin.
-
-"They buried her in a great waste o' graves; I disremember what they
-call it. I hid among the stones, being possessed like the man i' the
-Bible, and scared lest they should take me away; and after they shut the
-gates I crept out an' sat by the side of her.
-
-"The soft slush o' mud hardened to ice in the night; but I was hot, not
-cold, an' I wondered whether she couldna feel me through all the
-new-turned-up earth. It seemed as if she must. I bided all through the
-darkness, for she were always scared o' being alone at dusk; an' when
-the day broke, I saw the Lord. He came in the early morning, walking
-over the mounds.
-
-"At first I didna know Him. He was dim like a shadow, through the orange
-fog; but He called me by name, 'Barnabas, Barnabas!' and my soul leaped
-up; an' He came nearer an' stood by her grave, an' touched me; and the
-devil went out o' me; and I got up to follow Him, and to call all who I
-met to follow Him, who is the very God, till the day when I see Him
-again."
-
-The preacher's breath came quickly while he told the story. It was real
-to him, as the ground he trod on; no one could listen to it and doubt
-that.
-
-But, after a moment, he recovered himself and looked at her with a
-kindly smile.
-
-"No one knows this but Him and you," he said. "Nor ever will! I told ye,
-because ye asked me, my lass; but doan't ye look sad; it war sixteen
-years ago, an' it war worth the pain."
-
-The tears stood in his companion's eyes; she was both touched and
-puzzled.
-
-"But it wasna to tell ye _that_ that I wanted ye to come wi' me to-day,"
-he went on, after a pause. "I've summat else to say to 'ee, Margaret."
-
-He looked away from her over the marshes, and his voice took the tone of
-dogged resolution that Meg was beginning to recognise.
-
-"I'm going to leave you here and tramp to Lupcombe, an' happen I shall
-be away some months. They've got the black fever there, and I doubt
-they'll have a pretty bad bout. There was three houses struck last week,
-an' the game's only just beginning. I've fought wi' that fever once
-before, an' happen I'll be some help. The doctor was the very first
-down, an' the scare's terrible. I'm going to start this evening when
-I've seen ye home. I canna bear ye to be out o' earshot since that
-rascal----Margaret," and his voice changed, "it's just all I can do to
-leave ye!"
-
-"Shall I come with you?" said Meg in a low voice. "I'm not afraid of any
-fever. Would you like me to come?"
-
-"Are ye glad or sorry I'm going?" said the man suddenly. He put his
-hands on her shoulders and looked for a moment into her face.
-
-"No," he said; "ye shan't come. God forgi'e me! but that 'ud be more nor
-I could stand. Look now, I want to give ye what I've saved. Here! I wish
-it was more, my girl; but anyhow, ye'll be beholden to no one wi' that;
-it 'ull more nor pay dad for your keep. Hold out your hands, lass," and
-he held the money out to her.
-
-"Oh, Barnabas, it's all wrong!" cried the girl sadly. "I wouldn't take
-it if I could help it."
-
-"Ye needn't grudge me the working for 'ee," he said; "I think I'd go mad
-if I couldn't do that much. I'll try and save more next year. I never
-have before, not thinking as I was one to marry, or to hanker after any
-woman." He stood still, they were just in sight of the farm, and held
-out his hand as if that were the natural ending of his statement.
-
-"At least, I'll not fash ye," he said. "I canna bide here unless ye'll
-like me better. The best thing I can do for 'ee now is to leave ye; but
-take care o' yourself, since I'm no' to take care for 'ee; take double
-care, my lass."
-
-"You need not be afraid," said Meg. "Nothing is in the least likely to
-happen to me. It is those whose lives are worth the most who run the
-risks; _I_ shall probably live to a ripe old age."
-
-The perplexed self-reproach that had weighed heavily on her all the way
-home prompted the speech. She hardly knew herself how sad it was, until
-she saw him wince, as if she had hurt him.
-
-"Are ye so unhappy?" he said; "an' I'd give my soul for yours! My little
-lass, what shall I do? If there's aught i' this world 'll make ye
-happier, I'll do it somehow. I'd be glad if the fever took me, if that
-'ud be easiest for ye; but it's easy saying I'd die for ye, when it's
-the living is the puzzle. Ay, I know I am scaring ye even now; I love ye
-a deal more nor ye want me to, but ye are a woman after all. Margaret,
-Margaret, have ye _no_ heart for me?"
-
-Meg covered her face with her hands; the appeal moved her, though not to
-love.
-
-"Don't, don't!" she cried. "It's my fault that it's not in me to
-care--like that. I can't help it, Barnabas; but it's all wrong from the
-beginning to end; and it's my fault."
-
-Barnabas drew himself up with a quick gesture.
-
-"Shame on me!" he said. "I hadn't meant to ha' said that. Ye must forget
-it, lass. Ay, it's time I went. See now, I'm going. But doan't 'ee cry
-so; gi'e me one look; for I canna leave ye like this. I'm sore ashamed
-to ha' made ye cry."
-
-Meg lifted her head and looked at him, ashamed too, though with a smile
-through her tears.
-
-"It was something in your voice that made me so silly," she said. "But I
-am not going to be unhappy, and I wasn't crying for myself."
-
-"Good-bye," said the preacher steadily. "But I want no pity, my lass.
-I'll not have ye waste tears for me. We've not come to the end yet."
-
-With that he turned away, and set his face in the other direction. He
-was glad there was a stiff bit of work before him; after facing the
-problem of life, it was somewhat of a relief to turn to a grapple with
-death.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IV.
-
-
-The churchyard of Lupcombe joins the vicarage garden, and slopes
-downhill to it. First comes the church on the top of the hill, with its
-squat square tower, weather-beaten and sturdy; then the churchyard, the
-God's acre, in which a large proportion of the graves bear the date of
-the terrible fever year; then the parson's house and the doctor's; and
-then the irregularly flagged village street which runs to the bottom of
-the hill.
-
-The parson stood by the grave of his first-born, one May afternoon.
-
-At the time of the boy's birth the churchyard had been white with snow,
-and comparatively empty of graves; and when the parson had gone to
-church, people had grinned and bobbed to him on each side of the way,
-and had asked after his "good lady". The "good lady" slept by her boy
-now; and the two little daughters close by; and only the parson was
-left, with a heart dry as the turned-up earth.
-
-He read the service with a steady voice; in the presence of this mighty
-visitation, who was he to complain?
-
-"The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the
-Lord."
-
-Barnabas Thorpe buried the boy; for the gravedigger was dead.
-
-The preacher and the parson fulfilled almost every office under the sun;
-a pitiless sun that beat down on the parson's uncovered head, which had
-whitened during the last month.
-
-He held out his hand to Barnabas across the grave, when their work was
-finished.
-
-"Thank you. My arms are old," he said. "If it hadn't been for you we
-should have had to do as they did in the plague year. That's the fourth
-to-day. Come in now, and eat and rest. Our dead can do without us, but
-you'll want all your strength for the living." And Barnabas followed him
-down the well-worn path to the garden gate.
-
-In this strange "time of the Lord," no one even gossiped about the
-strangeness of the coalition, though it had been well known before that
-Mr. Bagshotte hated dissenters as he hated Whigs and liars.
-
-The parson was short and spare, a clear-eyed, ruddy-complexioned English
-gentleman, a bit of a scholar, and a judge of good wine, but neither
-epicure nor bookworm. A healthy-minded man with a fund of common-sense,
-who had never thought too much about things spiritual, but had preached
-the same set of sermons year in and year out, and had christened,
-churched, married and buried his parishioners very comfortably for the
-last thirty years.
-
-Now, in this storm of trouble, he had preached the same sermons still,
-till no hearers were left; when he locked the church door, and put the
-key in his pocket, observing merely that he had "enough to do in reading
-the burial service; and the people were right--while God was speaking
-there was no need of his comments".
-
-Barnabas Thorpe preached on the green instead, when he had time. He
-prayed by the dying, too, and, as we have seen, he buried the dead. Some
-he saved alive. Indeed, the villagers put down every survival to his
-agency; and he certainly was a tower of strength, both morally and
-physically. Probably his influence really did prevent some deaths; for,
-from the evening of his first sermon, the public houses emptied.
-
-The disorganisation and terror which the parson could not cope with,
-gave place to a religious "revival," which he also disapproved at first;
-but he had come round to Barnabas now. The preacher might be uneducated
-and fanatical, but he was risking his life gladly and hourly; and the
-parson knew a brave man when he saw one, and knew, too, the value of the
-example. So he and Barnabas Thorpe stood shoulder to shoulder, and
-worked in the presence of death, unshrinkingly, and as a matter of
-course; and when the parson's wife and children were struck down, the
-parson showed what manner of man he was; and the preacher wondered
-whether all the sleepy, easy-going clergymen he had rather despised had
-the same depths of courage in them. He thought, also, of his own wife;
-and reverenced his fellow-worker, as he had seldom reverenced any man
-before.
-
-The parson unlocked the iron gate that opened on his garden from the
-churchyard; he paused a moment there and looked back.
-
-"At this rate the churchyard will soon be fuller than the village," he
-remarked. "There are more brown graves than green now. There is a larger
-congregation there than I ever drew; but I never was much of a hand at
-preaching."
-
-The roses in the garden were straggling over the path; all the flowers
-were suffering because the gardener was down. Mr. Bagshotte
-instinctively felt for a knife with which to prune them; he had been
-proud of his garden, and it had repaid him well; but he threw the roses
-he cut off in a heap behind the shrubs--it was useless now to carry
-them indoors. His wife, who had loved roses, needed his no more; though
-it crossed the parson's mind that he could barely believe--as perhaps he
-ought--that all the flowers of heaven (if they have flowers there) could
-"make up" to her for the familiar roses _he_ had always brought--she had
-been very fond of them, and him.
-
-He fetched bread and meat for his guest with his own hands. The cook had
-gone home, the old nurse was sobbing in the empty nursery, the housemaid
-was dead.
-
-Barnabas ate without much appetite; the strain was beginning to tell,
-even on him. The desolate house oppressed him, and a grief he could not
-assuage made him miserable.
-
-Mr. Bagshotte stood with his back to the fireplace and looked at the
-preacher thoughtfully: his scrutiny might have disturbed some men, but
-Barnabas had not a grain of self-consciousness in him.
-
-It was strange to reflect that this tremendous experience, which was the
-one startling event of the old man's life, which had robbed him of all
-the sweetness in it--he was too manly a man to say even to himself of
-all that made it worth living--was probably only one of many experiences
-to this younger brother, whose years, shorter than his own by thirty at
-least, were yet probably ten times as full of incident.
-
-"You must have seen some odd things," he remarked. "I suppose that when
-we are through this, we shall pick up what remains of us, and steady
-back into our ordinary jogtrot as best we can. But you will go away and
-come in for fresh upheavals and what you call 'revivals' somewhere else,
-and we shan't meet again."
-
-"No," said the preacher. "Very like we shan't--till the day when
-Christ's kingdom comes."
-
-His blue eyes brightened at the thought of that time,--which thought,
-indeed, was always more or less present with him.
-
-"H'm," said the parson. "It has come to a good many poor souls this
-week. I wonder----" It was on the tip of his tongue to say, "I wonder
-what they make of it!" It was so difficult to imagine his stolid
-L----shire parishioners translated into a purely spiritual atmosphere;
-but the observation struck him as unclerical, and he bit it off short.
-
-"Mind you, I don't like ranting, and never shall," he said. "But there's
-no doubt men had better turn in their despair to God than to gin or
-begging; and a time like this seems bound to bring out either the beast
-or the angel in us." He paused, and took snuff emphatically.
-
-"I hope _I_ should have stood to my guns," he resumed; "but all the
-same, if it hadn't been for you, the beast would have got the best of it
-in the village. Go on eating, man! You ought to eat at the rate you
-work. I'd offer you beer, only I suppose you won't touch it. I heard you
-stigmatising it as 'accursed poison' on the Green last week. You're
-wrong, you know, quite wrong."
-
-Mr. Bagshotte was usually a deliberate and placidly silent man, but
-grief made him curiously restless and talkative.
-
-Barnabas lifted his eyes from his plate and looked at his host, who had
-just buried his son.
-
-"If you'd felt that drink devil tearing inside you, you'd not care about
-playing with him; nor about seeing others do it," he said. "But my
-preaching isn't to you, nor such as you, sir. I've not felt called to
-speak to them above me, except once." He stopped rather abruptly, and
-got up.
-
-"I've done, thank 'ee; an' there's some one coming up the garden. Ay,
-it's Polly Taylor, an' she looks as if it was pressing."
-
-He walked to the window; and the child, seeing him, poured out an urgent
-message, interspersed with sobs.
-
-Perhaps nothing could have more strongly set forth the general
-topsy-turvyness than the fact of the revivalist preacher's receiving a
-call through the rectory window, with the parson standing by
-unsurprised.
-
-"Her mother's took bad an' her brother's dead," said Barnabas;
-"but"--with a moment's hesitation--"will ye no gi'e yourself an hour,
-sir? I'll manage."
-
-The old parson straightened himself, and took up his hat and stick.
-
-"Not now," he said. "When the bullets have stopped flying, we'll count
-our dead." So the two went into the village street together.
-
-Barnabas Thorpe, with his weather-beaten face and long swinging stride;
-Mr. Bagshotte, trotting along by his side in clerical hat and gaitered
-legs--these two were the most familiar of sights now; brave men both,
-who, whatever their differences, would never duck their heads under
-fire, whether visible or invisible.
-
-A starved dog, whose owner lay in the churchyard, crept after them
-whining, and thrust his nose under the preacher's hand. Dogs always
-followed Barnabas, who, from his childhood, had been bound by a
-specially strong tie to the brute creation. Already he had been adopted
-as master by four cats and two mongrel dogs, as he remembered with
-rather rueful amusement.
-
-"Go home!--I've no room for ye," he said; but, on the dog's explaining
-that he had no home, that nobody had any room for him, and that he was
-sick of being stoned, his legs having got so shaky that he hadn't energy
-to get out of the way, Barnabas relented and picked him up. It was
-absolutely impossible to the man to pass on on the other side in any
-case, whether advisable or not, as his fellow-worker remarked. Mr.
-Bagshotte's liking for Barnabas was, sometimes, touched by something
-that would have been pity if the preacher had not been too strong a man
-to feel sorry for.
-
-"A bit of a fatalist (though he doesn't know it), a bit of a fanatic,
-and a bit of a saint, with an inconveniently big heart," thought the
-parson. "The man gives the saint some trouble, I fancy. I wonder what
-his wife is like!"
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Three weeks later the "bullets" began to slacken.
-
-There was a paragraph in a London paper describing the terrible scourge
-that had devastated the little northern village--reducing the population
-to less than one half of its original number, and sweeping away whole
-families at once. Mr. Bagshotte, the vicar, had lost his wife and three
-children, the report said; and several of his contemporaries, who
-remembered Bagshotte at the university, wondered whether this was the
-same man they used to know, and, if so, why he had buried himself in the
-country.
-
-Mr. Bagshotte himself read the meagre account with rather a sad smile.
-It would mean so remarkably little to the people who did not live in the
-village; and the village had been his world for so long.
-
-He had been essentially a domestic man, loving the routine of everyday
-life, absolutely happy with his wife and children, whom he had
-surrounded with little old-fashioned tender observances. He had lost
-touch with the friends of his youth; though, his friendships being of
-sturdy growth, he had prided himself on not forgetting them. He was
-alone now, so far as companionship went; and, healthy-minded as he was,
-he got to dread the emptiness of the rooms, and would cheat the
-loneliness that awaited him by hurrying up the back way, avoiding the
-drawing-room door, which used always to open at the sound of his
-footstep.
-
-Possibly he came to feel his losses more when the pressure of excitement
-was over.
-
-It would have been unworthy to pray for death. A man has no business to
-whine for a speedy release because his duty has become irksome; but he
-was conscious of some disappointment. He had believed, when he had
-buried his son, that his own turn would come when the shots began to
-"thin". He was willing to wait till then, indeed it would never have
-done for his wife to have been left alone; but now, when the shops were
-opening again, when the world was regaining its balance, and men,
-meeting in the street, talked of weather and trade, and discovered that
-the "Last Day" was, after all, not so very imminent, the old man was
-conscious of a slightly surprised disappointment. "The king can do no
-wrong," but he had hoped things might have been otherwise ordered.
-
-He was just turning in at his own gate one Sunday morning; the usual
-Sunday services had begun again, and he was considering how to fill up
-the gaps in the church band, when some one called him by his Christian
-name.
-
-He turned, frowning slightly, and a good deal surprised; then his face
-changed.
-
-He knew the stranger at once; the twelve years that lay between this and
-their last meeting seemed to come like a haze before his eyes. He rubbed
-them vigorously, but he had no doubt as to who it was.
-
-"Deane! Charles Deane!" he cried.
-
-"I saw it in the paper, and I came at once. My dear old friend!" cried
-the new-comer; and the two men grasped each other silently by the hand.
-
-It is one of the advantages of riches that good impulses can be carried
-out with comparative ease, while they are still hot.
-
-Mr. Bagshotte threw open the gate with a jerk.
-
-"Come in, come in. You are more than welcome," he said. "To think that
-you should have come like this! It's--it's extraordinarily good of you,
-Deane."
-
-The old man was more touched than he would have cared to show. He had
-admired his brilliant friend immensely in the olden days; but he had,
-somehow, hardly expected that Charles Deane would have remembered him.
-
-"I wish she could have welcomed you. We seldom had any visitors, and she
-would have enjoyed it so," he said simply. "So you saw it in the paper
-and came! I had fancied I was quite forgotten."
-
-Mr. Deane put his hand for a moment on the parson's shoulder. "But one
-doesn't forget one's oldest friends," he said; and the sympathy in his
-musical voice was good to hear.
-
-It certainly _was_ fortunate that he had come on the spur of the moment,
-before anything had occurred to prevent him.
-
-Mr. Bagshotte led the way into his study, with a brighter look on his
-face than it had worn for a long time.
-
-On opening the door, he found Barnabas Thorpe awaiting him.
-
-"They told me that ye would be out o' church in a minute, so I just
-waited for 'ee," the preacher began; then stopped short suddenly.
-
-Who was this? this stranger who was yet not a stranger? Who was this who
-had _stolen Margaret's eyes_?
-
-Barnabas actually flinched; the likeness hurt him, combined, as it was,
-with the utter scorn and distrust that those eyes expressed.
-
-"You are my wife's father!" he cried abruptly, his thoughts treading on
-each other's heels, and tumbling confusedly through his brain while he
-spoke.
-
-Mr. Deane had turned rather white. Like Meg, his colour went when he was
-very angry. He flicked the dust off his boots with his riding whip; then
-looked up with a fine smile.
-
-"It is a little late to remember that she had a father," he said. "She
-forgot that she was my child when she became your wife. The best that
-can happen to her now is that she should continue to forget it--for
-ever, if possible. I sincerely hope it may be possible--for her own
-sake. No one will disturb your possession."
-
-He turned away when he had spoken. He could not condescend to quarrel
-with this man.
-
-"God bless my soul!" cried the parson. "Mr. Deane's daughter your wife;
-but--but----"
-
-"But she was never born for the likes o' me, eh?" said the preacher. "Is
-that what you'd say, parson? It's her own flesh an' blood she should ha'
-clung to, when they miscalled her, an' cast her out? an' I should ha'
-shrugged my shoulders an' walked away?" His heart was hot within him.
-Mr. Deane's voice and face and manner, the strong indissoluble tie of
-blood that made Meg his, even when he denied her, awoke the man's fierce
-jealousy, and awoke also a certain sore despondency that he himself
-hardly understood.
-
-"An' so ye'll not disturb me?" he went on slowly. The two men's eyes met
-for a second, and Barnabas Thorpe laughed rather grimly. "An' that's a
-true word," he said. "I am no' o' your kind, thank God; but happen I
-know one thing. I can take care o' the woman who is mine."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER V.
-
-
-"A small piece of good fortune having fallen to Mrs. Thorpe's share,
-it's really time that her old acquaintances should ask what has become
-of her, isn't it?" said Mr. Sauls.
-
-He was standing in Laura Ashford's drawing-room, whither he had come to
-extract any knowledge she might possess as to her sister's whereabouts.
-Unfortunately she knew nothing.
-
-"I am very glad that my poor old uncle has left Meg that money," said
-Laura; "and that you mean to see that she gets it. Her cause is in good
-hands."
-
-"Mr. Russelthorpe was uncommonly kind to me, and one has a foolish
-superstition about carrying out a man's last wishes," said George. "It's
-for his sake I am doing it. His widow means to dispute the will on the
-ground of incompetency; but she won't gain much by that. It is odd what
-a tendency women have for going to law. Of course it is fortunate for
-the lawyers; quite a 'special dispensation,' as no doubt Barnabas Thorpe
-would say."
-
-There was a suppressed elation in his voice that was not lost on Laura.
-
-"I wonder why he hates my aunt. How she must have snubbed him! This
-clever gentleman would keep a stone in his pocket seven years, and turn
-it, and keep it seven more, for the chance of hitting his enemy with it
-at last, I fancy. Well, well! we all rather condescended to Mr. Sauls
-before I married," she reflected; "but he has the laugh on his side now.
-Meg had better have taken him."
-
-Her thoughts flew back to the evening of the ball at Ravenshill long
-ago, and she sighed.
-
-"How pretty Meg had looked that night, and how set she had been on
-living with their father, and how unreasonable, poor child!"
-
-Laura had grown stout and matronly since then. The philosophy of
-half-loaves had answered well enough apparently. If her husband was
-somewhat of a fool, why, her own excellent sense served for two. Well
-enough! But she would not recommend it to her own child as she had
-recommended it to poor Meg.
-
-Motherhood had softened Laura; and, on glancing at Mr. Sauls seated
-under the lamplight, she recognised that he too had altered.
-
-He had the ball at his feet now. He had always had plenty of
-self-assurance, but during this last year he had proved his strength,
-and justified his own belief in himself in the eyes of all men; he was
-no longer on sufferance anywhere, and his manner showed that he knew it.
-He was quieter and less eager than he had been; he looked successful,
-but he no longer looked young.
-
-"Will you take charge of a letter from me to my sister, and give it to
-her, if you find her?" she asked.
-
-"I will, _when_ I find her," said Mr. Sauls. "I do not expect much
-difficulty. The preacher ought not to be hard to trace; for he certainly
-is not given to hiding his light under bushels; besides, my news will be
-to his advantage. We did our best to prevent his reaping inordinate
-profits, and he can't actually pocket much. There are a good many
-conditions, but, no doubt, he will live on her, and live in clover. Mr.
-Russelthorpe was fond of your sister, wasn't he? I do not remember her
-very clearly myself; I've a bad memory for faces. She had brown eyes and
-a fresh complexion, hadn't she? No? Ah! I must have been thinking of
-some one else. Well, if you'll write your letter I will deliver it."
-
-"Meg's eyes are grey," said Laura shortly; and she turned to the
-writing-table with a sigh.
-
-Poor Meg! who had so often been sinned against, as well as sinning, whom
-even her quondam admirer had forgotten!
-
-Laura wrote her letter and folded it, then felt that it was
-unsatisfactory and tore it up, and tried again.
-
-Mr. Sauls looked at his watch, and she took yet another sheet and
-scribbled a hasty postscript.
-
-Her letter was stiff and rather cold, but in the postscript her heart
-showed itself; it was a warmer after-thought, such as had made her long
-ago turn back at the door to offer her silly little sister an unexpected
-kiss.
-
-She thrust the loose sheet, which was thinner and of a different colour
-from the rest, into the envelope, and put her missive into Mr. Sauls'
-hands.
-
-"Grey eyes and pale! I'll try to recollect. Good-bye," he said. "Oh yes,
-I'll give her your love, when I see her again."
-
-"When I see her again!" His voice betrayed nothing this time; but he
-repeated the words to himself on his way down the stairs, not quite so
-calmly.
-
-"When I see her again!" He would see her across a gulf; but, at least,
-he would know at last whether Meg on the other side of it was in heaven
-or hell. She was sure to be in one or the other; for there had never
-been much debatable land for her.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-A fortnight later he had redeemed his promise. He had found his way to
-the preacher's house. It was, to Mr. Sauls' mind, the most God-forsaken
-spot he had ever come across. Holding Margaret Thorpe's hand in his, he
-tried to discover what had happened to Margaret Deane.
-
-He was prepared for the meeting, and, even if he had not been, his
-natural instinct for the expedient would have led him to behave as if
-nothing very remarkable had occurred since he had last talked to her in
-her aunt's drawing-room; as if this encounter were the most ordinary
-thing in the world. But Meg, who was not prepared, started at sight of
-him as though she had seen a ghost.
-
-Tom Thorpe, whom he had met about a mile from the farm, stood staring at
-them both from under his heavy eyebrows. Mrs. Tremnell hurried into the
-kitchen, attracted by the sound of a strange voice, and peeped over
-Meg's shoulder at the visitor, wondering in her own mind what Barnabas,
-who didn't like gentlefolk, would have said to him. But Mr. Sauls talked
-on in an even tone about his journey and the weather, to give Meg time
-to recover herself.
-
-"Is my father well?" she said at last. "Oh," with a smile of relief,
-when he had reassured her, "then nothing else matters!" For a moment she
-had feared that this messenger from the past had come to tell her that
-her father was dead.
-
-Mr. Sauls smiled a trifle bitterly. He had always known that Meg
-expended an immense amount of affection on her father, and that she had
-never had any sentiment to spare for himself; but familiarity does not
-always blunt the sharp edge of a fact, and at that moment he would have
-felt himself "less of a fool" if her emotion had been awakened on his
-own account.
-
-He sat down to the mid-day meal with them, Tom inviting him somewhat
-unwillingly; and Meg, after the first shock of surprise, lost her
-nervousness, and brightened up.
-
-She had often in old days had reason to be grateful to Mr. Sauls for his
-_savoir faire_; now she was once more thankful for it.
-
-He made no allusion to her former life; looked as if he were accustomed
-to dining in a kitchen at twelve o'clock, and discoursed on the breeding
-of horses, as if that, of all subjects in the world, interested him
-most. Tom talked with a broader accent than usual, and with an
-underlying antagonism that puzzled Meg. Mrs. Tremnell's manner became
-more superfine and her words longer; but, except for one moment at the
-end of the meal, Mr. Sauls was his ordinary and imperturbable self. It
-was a pleasure--Meg was ashamed to find how great a pleasure--to be
-again with some one who did not drop his _h_'s, or answer with his mouth
-full, or put his knife between his lips, and on whose tact she could
-rely.
-
-"What this poor lady must have suffered here passes a man's
-understanding, I suspect," George reflected grimly; and, although he was
-not a forgiving person, he forgave Margaret a good deal of the pain she
-had most unwittingly brought on him, when he saw Tom Thorpe help her to
-the dish in front of him with his own fork, and noticed that she tried
-to "look as it she liked it". Possibly the things for which he pitied
-her were not those which weighed most heavily on her; but even the
-warmest sympathy is apt to be undiscriminating.
-
-Margaret was thinner and paler and gentler than she used to be; he noted
-each change with secret indignation. No doubt her short cropped hair and
-black dress accentuated the difference, but he fancied that an ordinary
-acquaintance would hardly recognise her.
-
-There had often been a touch of defiance in her manner to Mrs.
-Russelthorpe; she was not defiant now, but on the contrary, painfully
-anxious to get on with her husband's relatives.
-
-Meg had once believed that all her troubles were her aunt's fault; but,
-since then, she had failed entirely on her own account--an experience
-which, I suppose, comes to the majority of us sooner or later, and has a
-wonderfully humbling effect.
-
-George observed also that Tom Thorpe was rather fond of her. He could
-not have explained how he knew it, but the fact irritated him.
-
-"I wish ye'd coax dad to come and take a bite o' some'at," Tom said
-presently. And she went at once, leaving Mr. Sauls racking his brains to
-remember some remark he had heard about the preacher's father. Was it
-that he was melancholy mad?
-
-Dinner was nearly over when she came back.
-
-"I have tried and tried," she said rather sadly; "but it is of no use
-yet. I think he hardly knew I was there, and I could not get him to
-attend to me to-day. He would do nothing but walk up and down, and quote
-bits out of the 'Lamentations'. It is dreadful to see him like that.
-I'll go and sing presently; sometimes that does it."
-
-George looked up from his plate with the sudden dilating of his
-short-sighted eyes that Meg remembered of old.
-
-"It must be very bad for Mrs. Thorpe to try and try," he remarked
-decidedly. "And you ought not to let her do it."
-
-There was a moment's silence, then Tom laughed aggressively.
-
-"Oh we allus bully her when th' husband's away," he said. "We mind
-there's noan to look to her then, an' we make the moast on it: but
-that's our business; which in this part we stick to, an' let other
-foalk's affairs bide. Will 'ee have some more cider, sir?"
-
-The preacher's wife looked from one man to the other in some anxiety.
-
-"Why do you say that, Tom? it isn't true!" she cried. "You are all very
-kind to me!" And Mr. Sauls, meeting the look, shrugged his shoulders,
-and accepted the cider and the snub peaceably. He hadn't followed her in
-order to make life harder for her, or even in order to quarrel with her
-relatives-in-law.
-
-She took him to a deserted mill after dinner, for he had hinted that he
-had news he preferred giving her alone. And there, under the black walls
-of the old ruin, with the marshes round them, he told her of her old
-uncle's illness and death--with more feeling than, perhaps, most people
-would have given George Sauls credit for.
-
-"He slipped out of life, much as he used to slip out of a dinner-party,
-with no fuss, giving no trouble to any one," George said. "I had been to
-see him every day during the last week; for after--well, after you left,
-the old fellow seemed to have a sort of liking for me. One afternoon I
-found him on the sofa, instead of in his armchair, too feeble to sit up,
-and only able to whisper. I insisted on fetching a doctor, but he would
-not have his wife disturbed, and I saw no reason to send for her. She
-was out driving, and expected back in time for dinner. Mr. Russelthorpe
-fell into a doze, as the afternoon wore on. He was quite unable to read,
-but he had begged me to take down one volume after another, and he kept
-fingering them, and they were all piled round him on the sofa and on the
-table by his side. Presently he opened his eyes. 'Plenty of company,' he
-said; 'but you are the only bit of flesh and blood, Sauls, among them
-all, except Meg, who cries to me--and I didn't help!' And then he slept
-again. His hand was in mine (flesh and blood is what one clings to at
-the end, I suppose, and books must give rather thin comfort); I felt it
-grow cold while I held it; but he was often very cold. I stooped over
-him to listen to his breathing, but not a sound was to be heard. He was
-gone."
-
-Mr. Sauls paused for a minute; his liking for Mr. Russelthorpe had been
-closely bound up with the love that was--unfortunately, he told
-himself--the love of his life. He saw Meg was touched by his story, and
-especially by her uncle's self-reproach. Yet the old man _had_ done
-nothing; and he, who would have done anything, who would have moved
-heaven and earth for her in his youthful energy, had she only appealed
-to him, would never touch her at all.
-
-"That, however, is not the really important part of my news," he went
-on, with a slight change of tone. "The point of it is that you have come
-in for a fortune--though only on certain conditions."
-
-He explained the conditions at some length; he generally spoke
-concisely, but there was no need to hurry this interview.
-
-"He was very good to me when I was a little girl," Meg softly said at
-last, when every detail had been made clear. "When I grew up I fancied
-he did not care what happened to me. I spoke to him unkindly the last
-time I saw him. I wish! oh, how I wish I hadn't! So he remembered me
-after all!"
-
-"To some purpose," said George drily. It was like Meg to be more
-impressed by the remembrance than by the actual money; and the dryness
-of his tone made her smile.
-
-"I can't help being grateful," she said; "as grateful as if I actually
-possessed the fortune, which, of course, I never shall. Aunt
-Russelthorpe need have no fears."
-
-Her smile and the little gesture with which she put aside the notion of
-benefiting by the legacy, filled him momentarily with the old
-half-tender amusement with which he used to listen to Margaret Deane's
-wildly unpractical utterances. Then the amusement was swamped in
-bitterness against the man who had taken advantage of her.
-
-If Margaret had been his wife, she might have been as loftily
-unpractical as she chose, and she would have been no whit the worse for
-it.
-
-George saw how the pretty hands, whose delicacy he had admired, were
-tanned and roughened; how the silver wedding ring on her finger, that
-had taken the place of the pearls she had worn once, was much too loose
-for her; how the dimples were gone that he had liked to watch for.
-
-He had often said something to make his rather serious little lady smile
-for the pleasure of seeing them. Now, inwardly, he cursed the preacher
-with a vigour that would have startled his companion considerably if she
-could have read his heart.
-
-"The conditions are absurd on the face of them," she was saying.
-"Barnabas could not agree to them; nor could I. To fulfil them would
-mean going back to----"
-
-"To your natural position," said George. "Perhaps Mr. Thorpe's scruples
-might be overcome. Most men see the iniquity of wealth from a different
-point of view if they have a chance of handling it--I mean no disrespect
-to the preacher, naturally," he added hastily.
-
-"I should hope not," said Meg; and her gravely surprised eyes made him
-wonder whether Barnabas Thorpe still took the trouble to deceive her.
-
-"I daresay you know best about most men, but _I_ know that Barnabas
-could never see things differently for his own advantage. I will write
-to him to-night, and you shall see his answer. I am quite sure of him."
-
-"Ah! and you are not at all disappointed, and you are quite happy here,
-and his relatives are all very kind to you? You look as if you had had a
-remarkably easy time of it, don't you?" cried George. "I am glad you are
-so fortunate----" he checked himself suddenly. "I ought to be going," he
-said, with rather an abrupt pull up. He took out his watch and studied
-it, not her, when he took his leave. "I don't know whether you care to
-see me again? I had several things to tell you about--about your own
-people--your father and----"
-
-"About father! Come again and tell me all you can think of," she said.
-"Come and talk to me about him; come soon."
-
-"I'll come to-morrow," said George; and so he did, and for many
-following morrows. So long as he talked on that subject her interest
-never flagged; though it must be owned that he, on his part,
-occasionally felt the situation strained.
-
-"What a fool I am!" he said to himself more fiercely every time he saw
-her. And afterwards, when he had left her and was back in London, those
-hot days spent at the "other end of nowhere," at the side of the woman
-who unconsciously played so large a part in his life, seemed to belong
-to a part of himself that he hardly recognised. He was so eminently sane
-as a rule, so little given to unprofitable expenditure, either of time
-or feeling; and yet, if he had never met Meg, he would have been a
-smaller man.
-
-He wondered sardonically sometimes, between his pretty constant visits
-to Meg, how all this would end. It couldn't go on for ever! Would the
-climax come in his having the quarrel he was pining for with Margaret's
-husband when that saint should see fit to return to his wife? Would Meg
-herself wake up, and take fright, and bid him go? He knew perfectly well
-that, at a word of love, she would fly horrified from him; and his
-reverence for her kept his tongue within bounds. Had she been any one
-else, he felt there would have been a third possibility; but Meg's ice
-would never melt for him. It was, perhaps, some small consolation to
-discover also that it hadn't melted for the preacher; and Mr. Sauls was
-shrewd enough to arrive at that fact, even though Margaret Thorpe was
-not quite so transparent as Margaret Deane had been.
-
-They were walking together along the cart road to N----town when she
-gave Mr. Sauls her husband's reply to her letter about the legacy.
-
-The road was perfectly straight, flanked by a ditch on each side, and
-beyond the ditch a low mud bank. The croaking of the marsh frogs filled
-the pauses in their speech like a chorus. George took the letter
-unwillingly. How he loathed the sight of that laboured handwriting! A
-longing assailed him to toss it to the frogs; but, unfortunately, he
-might not gratify the impulse.
-
-"I should like you to read it," said Meg, with a touch of dignity;
-"because you have imagined that the preacher would want me to take the
-money. You have not understood the sort of man he is."
-
-"No! You see, I am not a saint myself," said Mr. Sauls. He adjusted his
-glass carefully. Ah, how he hated that man! "There's always a sort of
-mist here. I should fancy these marshes were not healthy," he said
-aloud.
-
-("Don't stay a moment longer; come with me, away from these brutal
-farmers and their pestilent country," said the voice in his heart.)
-
-"My dear lass," he read ("the impudence of the fellow!"), "I was glad to
-get a letter. I am glad you are well." ("Oh! curse his gladness!") "It
-doesn't seem to me as there can be two minds about the money. It isn't
-for us to be having a fine house and servants" ("for us! did he put
-himself on a level with her?"); "besides, I wouldn't have you beholden
-to any; and I would be 'shamed to have you live on another man's money,
-even though he be dead, while I've strength to work. If Mrs.
-Russelthorpe is oneasy, you can set her mind at rest. You are in my
-heart by day and by night. God bless you, my girl!"
-
-That last sentence had a pencil mark through it. He ought not to have
-read it; he wished he had not; it was worse than all the rest; he wished
-he could cram the preacher's "blessing" down the preacher's throat; it
-made him feel sick.
-
-"Have you read it?" said his companion. "I don't think that he 'sees
-wealth from a different point of view' now that he has a chance of
-possessing it after all, do you?"
-
-"Apparently not. You have the best of that argument, Mrs. Thorpe," said
-George. "And the preacher's reply is a model of disinterestedness, as
-one might expect. Allow me to return it to you with many
-congratulations."
-
-"You are angry," said Meg; for the bitterness in his tone was hardly
-concealed this time. "I wish you wouldn't be, for I was going to ask you
-to do something for me. I remember" (with the pretty smile that was rare
-now), "I remember that formerly you were often my friend when I was
-always in trouble with my aunt."
-
-"Was I? I don't think so," said George; and his sallow face flushed. "I
-don't much believe in platonic friendships, you know--at least, not on
-the man's side. I was never hypocrite enough for that; but (well, never
-mind that) what do you want me to do?"
-
-"It isn't a great thing," said Meg, "but I have no one else to ask." She
-hesitated a moment. Mr. Sauls might have been more gracious, she
-thought; but then she never quite understood him.
-
-"It is a very small thing," she repeated deprecatingly. "It is only that
-I want you to persuade my father that my husband is a good man and an
-honest one. That was why I showed you the preacher's letter; that was
-why I tried to prove to you that he is, as you say, disinterested. It
-does not in the least matter what the world in general thinks. I don't
-care! it's not worth minding," said Meg proudly; "but I do care--I can't
-help it--I do care about my father. I shall never see him again, I
-suppose, and I cannot even send him my love, because perhaps he may not
-want it," she cried, trying to swallow the inconvenient lump in her
-throat. "I shall never be able to explain everything to him; but tell
-him, you who have seen me, that Barnabas is good to me; don't let him be
-unhappy for me; don't let him fancy anything else. You think this isn't
-necessary, perhaps, but I know father. He is so tender-hearted even when
-people don't deserve it. He will try not to think about me oftener than
-can be helped, and he has plenty of other interests. That was always the
-difference between us: he had plenty of interests, but I had only him.
-But, sometimes, he will suddenly remember, and then he will be sad;
-though my aunt will tell him I am not worth it. When father is sad, he
-is very sad," said the daughter who was most like him.
-
-"Tell him, then, what I have told you. Do you understand?"
-
-"Oh yes," said George slowly.
-
-"And you will do it?" she entreated. She smiled again, but with eyes
-that were full of tears; and the April expression reminded him of the
-little girl who was always so easily moved to pleasure or pain.
-
-"I'll make a bargain with you," said he. "I'll swear anything on earth
-to your father, if you will tell _me_ the truth. My curiosity is--is
-excessive, I admit; but I was always curious, and you must allow that
-you gave your old acquaintance scope for conjecture. Tell me--are you
-happy, or not?" He twirled his eyeglass rapidly, and looked hard at her.
-"Has the venture been a success?"
-
-Meg drew her breath quickly, and turned her head away.
-
-"It is not fair," she said. "If any one had asked _me_ to do for him so
-small and natural a service, I should not have bargained."
-
-It was odd how this man always jarred on her when she felt most friendly
-towards him. She had been pleased that he had taken the trouble to seek
-her out, and to give her the details about her old uncle; but his
-over-eagerness offended her.
-
-"No," he said; "you wouldn't have condescended so far; but then, you
-know, you wouldn't have cared. That's always such an advantage!" He
-ended the sentence with a laugh. "Well, I think I have the answer in
-your refusal to give it. I'll do my best for you when I see your
-father."
-
-"Don't make a mistake," said Meg. She turned, and faced him with a touch
-of dignity, her confusion lost in something else. Meg had faults enough,
-heaven knew; but she carried with them all a crystal-clear sincerity
-that sometimes impressed him with a sense of awe. "Don't make a mistake.
-I have asked you to say nothing but the truth. It is I only who have
-failed. I thought I was better than I am. I fancied, for a little while,
-that I could live as Barnabas does, always praying and preaching and
-rescuing and healing. I was wrong--I am not good enough, or strong
-enough. I have found that out, and--yes--it makes me unhappy. It is as
-if one had fallen from a height; and I hardly know what to do, or where
-to turn." She hesitated for a second; then she went on more firmly, and
-an utterance that was on George Sauls' very lips was forced back. "But
-this is my fault, not his," she resumed. "And the preacher has been
-kinder to me than any one in the world, except--no, without exception.
-My failures are my own. You have made me confess them, though I am
-ashamed----"
-
-"It is I who should be ashamed," said George thickly. "Well, I'll do
-anything possible for you, Mrs. Thorpe, even to taking myself off, since
-that's all I can do. I wanted to meet Barnabas Thorpe once, but--I'll
-endeavour to renounce that pleasure, and bid you good-bye here and now.
-So this is the end, eh?"
-
-He held out his hand in a sudden revulsion of feeling, and Meg took it
-rather puzzled.
-
-"Did you want to meet Barnabas? I wish you could!" she said. "For then
-you could not help being fairer to him. Good-bye, and good luck to you!"
-she added as an after-thought, moved thereto by the suspicion that Mr.
-Sauls was rather depressed; and he, lifting his hat, stood still and
-watched her out of sight.
-
-"So that's over!" he remarked. "And I've given up my chance of speaking
-my mind to her precious husband. He'll get off scot free in this world,
-I suppose. Really I hope there is another, if only for the pleasure of
-seeing that astute humbug get his deserts. I think I could stand the
-lower regions myself, if only I might find the preacher there. 'Good
-luck! I am glad she wished it me. I am glad she is still the best woman
-I have known. Pshaw! she'd have lifted me into I don't know what heights
-of sentiment, if she had married me; and all one can say now is that
-even her husband hasn't dragged _her_ down."
-
-From which it may be opined that fairness to Margaret's husband was one
-of the things not possible to George Sauls.
-
-After all, however, he had not seen the last of that country.
-
-The next day, while waiting in no very good humour for the London coach
-at the market-place of N----, the landlord of the "Pig and Whistle" came
-panting up to him with a letter. To his great surprise it was from Mr.
-Deane, and written in a very shaky hand.
-
-"I am tied to Lupcombe by an attack of hæmorrhage. I can't write long
-explanations, but think I am rather bad. I hear you are at N----; if so,
-can you come to me? There is business----"
-
-The letter broke off there, and there was a postscript which George
-gathered was from Mr. Bagshotte, the rector at Lupcombe, explaining that
-Mr. Deane had been taken suddenly ill at the parsonage.
-
-Well, if he could do Meg one good turn now, he would, if only for the
-sake of having done something besides wasting time in that abominable
-country; and afterwards he would go back, and be "sane".
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VI.
-
-
-Mrs. Tremnell sat in her room staring at a bit of a letter that lay
-before her, an expression of half horror, half doubt on her face.
-
-She had never said in her heart that she disliked Margaret; she was not
-the kind of person to look at her feelings boldly, or to own to
-experiencing either love or hate in undue degree. She had never
-consciously gone further than "not thinking much of the preacher's
-wife," or "hoping that Barnabas would not have cause to repent"; but
-Meg's reserve had chafed her, and so, perhaps, had Mr. Thorpe's
-deference to the "little lady," and Tom's kindly partiality. She was a
-conscientious woman according to her lights. She believed she was
-dismayed at what she had discovered; not exactly surprised, perhaps; of
-course, not pleased,--but, "pride cometh before a fall". She had always
-known that Margaret was proud, and here was the fall that proved it.
-
-"My letter sounds cold; but, after all that has happened, it is
-difficult to write to you as I feel. Only I want you to know that my
-home is always open to you, Margaret."
-
-That was all. It was the hurriedly scribbled postscript to a letter, the
-rest of which was in Meg's pocket still.
-
-Mrs. Tremnell, looking out of her window, had seen Mr. Sauls give it to
-the preacher's wife, on taking leave of her the day before; had seen Meg
-colour on receiving it, and read it through more than once after he had
-gone. Afterwards Mrs. Tremnell had picked up this stray sheet in the
-field where the two had stood. No one but Margaret, surely, would have
-been so careless as to let such a document blow away. "'His home open to
-her,' and she the wife of a professed preacher! To think that it had
-come to that!"
-
-Should she show it to Barnabas? No; somehow she shrank from such a
-course. The consequence might be too serious altogether. He took things
-hardly. She didn't want to raise a tragedy.
-
-Should she speak to Margaret? She had only "done her duty by her"; but
-Mrs. Tremnell grew rather red at the thought of how Meg would "look". Of
-course, she _ought_ to look guilty; but that, somehow, was impossible to
-picture.
-
-Should she tell Tom? He really made too much of Margaret; it would be a
-good thing that he should see she was just like other girls. His temper
-was colder than his brother's, and his common-sense more habitually
-awake.
-
-Supper was on the table when she went downstairs. Margaret was still
-out.
-
-"She's walking wi' that gentleman fro' London. Lord bless us! he must
-ha' plenty o' time to spare. When's he going home?" said Tom. But when
-Mrs. Tremnell, agreeing with him with unusual warmth, also asseverated
-that it was "time Mr. Sauls should go," and furthermore suggested that
-the way Margaret received visits from him was most "unsuitable," she
-might almost say "improper," he twisted round to Meg's defence with
-startling rapidity.
-
-"Oh, she's right enough, an' honest as day; any baby might see that!" he
-cried. "I'd be fair ashamed to hint aught else to her. I doan't like
-that gentleman, an' I doan't fancy he comes for th' pleasure o' talking
-about horses to me; but I doan't believe he's a downright bad un, an' no
-man who wasn't a brute 'ud dare say a word he hadn't ought to Barnabas'
-wife, no more than to a child. She's homesick for her own kind, poor
-lass, tho' she won't own to it, an' that's why she likes to hear that
-swell talk. Small blame to her!"
-
-Mrs. Tremnell shook her head mysteriously. It was all very well to laugh
-at her, but she wasn't one to speak without reason. The acidity of her
-tone increased in proportion as Tom's grew impatient and indignant.
-
-"She's a very good lass, an' if she was a little fool to throw up her
-own kin for Barnabas, it's not for his folk to make her feel that worse
-nor she must. You're a rare hand at making a fuss!" said he; and his
-last words brought Mrs. Tremnell to a decision. She held Meg's letter
-out to him.
-
-"Eh, what is it?" said Tom. "'_My letter sounds cold after all that has
-happened--my home open to you_'--but your name ain't Margaret! Who gave
-this to you?"
-
-"Who gave it to your brother's wife? you should inquire," said Mrs.
-Tremnell. Something in Tom's voice made her nervous, but she tried to
-speak with dignity.
-
-"It is my duty to say as Mr. Sauls gave it to her; and to ask you,
-Thomas, whether you consider that the proper way for him to address
-her."
-
-Tom's fingers closed hard on the paper, crushing it into a tight ball.
-He turned his back on Mrs. Tremnell and pitched the letter into the
-fire, stood a moment watching it blaze, and then turned round with a
-look that scared her.
-
-"An' now where did 'ee steal it?" he said.
-
-Mrs. Tremnell burst into tears, and covered her face with her apron. She
-felt as if Tom's scornful eyes were burning holes through the linen.
-
-"To be so spoken to! and me a defenceless woman in your father's house,"
-she sobbed. "Me to be miscalled a thief, who have always been most
-respected before, even in the best families! If I _have_ been
-unfortunate it's not been my doing, nor was there any one who treated me
-in such a manner as you do, who are my own relation, and who I expected
-to behave as such."
-
-"Where did you steal it?" said Tom.
-
-"I--I picked it up," she cried. She was frightened now, but angry as
-well. "I saw him take it out of his pocket, and slip it into her hand,
-Tom. And, if you had been there to notice how she changed colour, and
-read it over and over after he had gone, and----"
-
-"Oh, d----n you!" said Tom. "_I_ don't want to hear all that; and," with
-an unconscious change of tone, "here is Barnabas' wife to answer for
-herself."
-
-Meg stood in the doorway, looking weary and rather dismayed. She had no
-great love for Mrs. Tremnell; but Tom ought not to swear at her,
-especially when she was crying. It always made Meg wildly indignant to
-hear another woman roughly spoken to; so indignant that she lost her own
-nervousness, and became quite bold on such occasions. Indeed, though
-Margaret minded rough words a great deal too much, and considered
-herself a coward, she was seldom wanting in courage on behalf of
-another.
-
-"What is the matter, Cousin Tremnell? What a shame to speak to her so,
-Tom!" cried the preacher's wife in a breath.
-
-Mrs. Tremnell made hastily for the door, and Tom laughed.
-
-"Why do 'ee go now ye've got a defender? Ye ought to stop an' hear what
-Barnabas' wife has to say, since ye've been doing your duty by her all
-this blessed afternoon!" he shouted after her. "Well----" turning to
-Margaret, "have ye missed your letter?"
-
-Meg looked so very far from guilty that he added hastily:--
-
-"I doan't believe ye could hinder it, lass, nor that ye'd ha' ta'en it
-if ye'd guessed what it was. Cousin Tremnell brought it to me, but I'd
-not ha' read it if I'd known it was yours."
-
-The preacher's wife raised her eyebrows with a touch of haughtiness
-which she seldom showed, but which Tom, at that moment, liked her the
-better for.
-
-"Mrs. Tremnell had _certainly_ no business whatever to bring you my
-letter; I can't imagine what she was dreaming of," said she. "Where is
-it, please?"
-
-"In the fire," said Tom bluntly; "an', let me tell 'ee, that's th' best
-place for such things."
-
-Meg stared at him in unfeigned astonishment.
-
-"Why?" she said. "I do really think you've no shadow of right to put my
-letters in the fire, Tom. I have only had two since I married, one from
-Barnabas about some money, and the other from my sister. His is in my
-hand at this moment, so you must have burnt hers; and I am sorry, for it
-was good of Laura!"
-
-Tom flung the book he was holding up to the ceiling with a triumphant
-shout, and caught it again with a clap.
-
-"What a sell for Cousin Tremnell! I allus knew ye were all right; but
-I'll tell ye one thing, Barnabas' wife. I doan't fancy she'll be in a
-hurry to bring me tales of ye again," he cried.
-
-Meg wondered a little over this episode in the quietness of her own
-room. What had Tom meant? and should she call Mrs. Tremnell to account
-for her odd behaviour? But no, she hated a quarrel too much for that to
-be worth while. When Meg was excited, she could say what she thought
-pretty strongly; but, in cold blood, she had a morbidly strong aversion
-to anything approaching a scene.
-
-It was rather dreadful that any one should be capable of reading private
-letters, and passing them on, she thought, rather scornfully. Then she
-dismissed the subject altogether. It never even occurred to her that
-Mrs. Tremnell's inexplicable suspicions had any connection with Mr.
-Sauls; he, indeed, had but small place in her mind, which was over full
-just then of that spiritual failure that so weighed on her.
-
-If she was not good enough to be an Apostle, what was she to be? If she
-was not strong enough to live that life of voluntary poverty and intense
-effort that has attracted the nobler souls among us in all ages, what
-should she do?
-
-Smaller perplexities seemed hardly worth sifting compared to that. Such
-a nature as Margaret's was bound to grow morbid if it were unsatisfied.
-Her very virtues tended that way. Indeed, the dividing line, between
-virtues run wild and so-called vice, is apt to be elastic; and the very
-qualities which might be our salvation become our perdition when they
-take the wrong turn--a depressing fact until one remembers that it cuts
-two ways.
-
-Certainly, if the idealists among us are terribly given to missing what
-is under their noses in their attempts to strain after the stars, the
-majority can be trusted to remind them of earth, with a salutary sharp
-shock on occasion, or even without it.
-
-Some imp of mischief must have haunted the farm on the evening of Mr.
-Sauls' departure. He had been baulked once, but was not to be
-suppressed. Tom was in a teasing mood, his curious greenish hazel eyes
-alight with rather revengeful fun, and he kept harassing Mrs. Tremnell
-with a fire of jokes which she could not understand; she had given _him_
-an uncomfortable quarter of an hour after supper, and now she should pay
-for it. But his triumph, alas! was short-lived. Meg had coaxed her
-father-in-law into coming down, and sat next him, singing song after
-song for him, trying to pierce that periodical black cloud which would
-wrap him in cold lonely misery. Mrs. Tremnell tatted with a very injured
-air, and was on the verge of tears.
-
-It was in the hope of interesting Mr. Thorpe that Meg began talking
-about the fever at Lupcombe.
-
-"Barnabas does not say much about it. I have his letter here," she said:
-and, putting her hand in her pocket, drew out the wrong one.
-
-"No; that is my sister's. This is his," cried Meg; then stopped short,
-aware of something in the air--of two pairs of eyes fixed eagerly on
-her.
-
-"Hallo! How's this?" said Tom. "Why did ye tell me that it was your
-sister's letter I burnt, eh? an' that ye'd had no others?"
-
-"I thought it was hers, but it could not have been, since I still have
-it," said Meg. "Why! what _could_ you have burnt then? It wasn't mine at
-all. I suppose it must have belonged to some one else."
-
-She got up quickly, and left the old man, who sat with his head on his
-hands quite unmoved by this stir and excitement.
-
-"Why do you look at me so?" she cried, crossing over to where Tom sat,
-still but half understanding.
-
-Tom put his hand before his eyes. Barnabas' wife had bewitched him into
-believing her once, in spite of evidence. He wouldn't be bewitched
-again. There was no other "Margaret" at the farm; she could not have
-"forgotten". It could not have belonged to some one else! Why did she
-say that? Why did she tell him lies? He had been so sure that she was
-true, even though that London gentleman might have been trying to "make
-hay" in her husband's absence. He had been too sure.
-
-"It must have been the letter of some one else--not mine at all," she
-repeated. "It----"
-
-"Doan't!" said Tom in an odd husky voice. "'Tain't worth while."
-
-He looked so unhappy that Meg, still more perplexed, went on hastily:
-"After all, it doesn't much matter, does it? Perhaps when Barnabas comes
-home, he will be able to find----"
-
-"Barnabas!" said Tom.
-
-The indignation in his voice startled her this time, woke her up to a
-faint realisation of what he meant.
-
-"He's over good for 'ee; and he swears by ye; but, an' ye tak' advice,
-ye'll not tell lies to him. He thought ye ower heavenly mind to warm to
-any man!" cried Tom, with a laugh that ended in something very like a
-groan. "Ye may break his heart times, an' he'll not hear aught against
-ye, or have ye fashed, cos he holds ye o' finer make than himself, or
-all of us. O' finer make! an' ye'll take a love-letter when he's away,
-fro' a black-faced Jew."
-
-"_Tom!_" she cried, shuddering with disgust, "how can you, how dare you,
-say such things to me?" And at the warmth in her tone his cooled.
-
-"Ye see I believed in 'ee too!" he said. "I thought ye weren't the soart
-to tell lies to save--I was going to say your skin; but it warn't even
-that, for ye couldn't ha' thought I'd harm ye."
-
-"I told no lies. I never do!" said Meg.
-
-"No! Happen ye call 'em some'ut else where ye come from; but it ain't my
-affair! Ye needn't be feared I want to interfere with 'ee. I never will
-again," said Tom. And Meg, too much offended at the time to attempt
-further vindication, yet recognised, with a sense of increased
-loneliness later, that he kept his word. She might be as late as she
-chose, she might eat or fast; Tom's kindly teasing had ceased. She
-missed it even while she resented his suspicions with an almost scornful
-wonder and disgust.
-
-Meg had absolutely no instinct for flirtations, her love and hate were
-both deep; but when china vessels and iron pots journey together, we
-know which gets the worst of a collision; and her moral rectitude wasn't
-all the support it should have been.
-
-"I think," she said one day to Tom, "that, if you think bad things of
-me, I ought not to stay here and eat your bread."
-
-"You eat your husband's," said Tom. "He pays for it--an' where would 'ee
-go to, eh?" Then his own words shamed him. Where could she go, poor
-lass, if they were hard on her?
-
-"I doan't want to be unfriendly," he said; "seeing that, happen, ye
-didn't mean much harm, an', arter all----"
-
-"Thank you; but, if you can't believe me, I don't want _that_ kind of
-friendship--I must do without," said the preacher's wife. Her gesture
-forbade his completing his sentence, and actually made Tom feel rather
-small, though her voice was gentle enough. Yet, in spite of those
-brave-sounding words, she was _not_ the woman to "do without". She was
-by no means cast in a self-sufficing mould; whatever heroism she might
-be capable of would always have its roots in the strength of her
-affections, and his "where would 'ee go?" made her feel very helpless.
-
-The preacher came back a few days later. Meg, coming down early one
-morning, found him asleep on the wooden settle, with his head on the
-table.
-
-Meg shut the door softly, and stood considering him--this man who had
-been her prophet, and was, alas, her husband!
-
-He had tramped a long way, and he slept heavily.
-
-Should she tell him the whole inexplicable story when he woke, or not?
-
-There was a force of character, an uncompromising arbitrariness about
-all the Thorpes that she rather shrank from; but Barnabas was always
-good to her.
-
-She had declared to George Sauls that she trusted the preacher
-absolutely; and so she did--so she _must_--for what would happen if she
-didn't? As the question rose in her mind, Meg's heart answered it with
-startling clearness. She could not afford to lose one tittle of her
-carefully nourished respect for Barnabas. She was afraid, not of him,
-but of herself. She couldn't risk this thing; if he, like Tom, were to
-tell her she lied, she knew she should hate him; for she was too much in
-his power.
-
-The sun was beginning to pour into the room. With the tenderness for a
-man's physical comfort that is ingrained in most women, Meg drew down
-the blind to prevent the light waking him, and left him to have his
-sleep out.
-
-"Are ye surprised to see me?" he asked her later; and longed to add "Are
-ye glad?" but forbore.
-
-He knew, before he had been many minutes with her, that his lass was
-more constrained than she had been. He had a horror of pressing her with
-questions, lest she should feel bound to answer them; but the unspoken
-inquiry that was always in his mind, and that she met in his eyes
-whenever she looked at him, oppressed her. Meg longed to escape from the
-whole family of Thorpes!
-
-Barnabas waited all that day and the next in the hope that she would
-tell him what was amiss. On the third day something happened. A letter
-came for Margaret. She gave a cry of dismay, her colour fading, and her
-eyes dilating while she read it.
-
-"What is it? Who has made ye look so?" said Barnabas. But his wife did
-not hear him: the hot kitchen, and the three men all staring at her, and
-the hum of bees through the open door, all which she had been conscious
-of the moment before, grew dim and very far off. The letter dropped from
-her fingers.
-
-"She's going to faint," said Tom.
-
-She pulled herself together. "No--I'm not," she said, in rather an
-unsteady voice. "I have had bad news. My father is ill; I must go to
-him. He is at Lupcombe parsonage. Oh, Barnabas, did you know that? You
-never told me! Mr. Sauls writes from Lupcombe. How soon can I get
-there?"
-
-"Ay, I knew!" said the preacher slowly. "Ye can't go, Margaret. Ye might
-get the fever. Besides,--are ye sure he wants ye? Has he asked for ye?"
-
-"No; but I want _him_!" she cried. "It is so long, so long since I have
-seen my father, and I have so longed for him! Let me go, Barnabas, let
-me go. What does it matter about the fever, if I see him first? I must
-go to my father. Let me go!"
-
-The insistent, reiterated cry rang through the room.
-
-It roused Mr. Thorpe, who had paid little attention to any one or
-anything of late; it filled Tom with illogical compunction. The woman
-who cared so for her father couldn't be "light" after all, he said to
-himself. But Barnabas drew his fair eyebrows together, frowning as if in
-pain.
-
-"_She's pining after her own people, an' she'll go back to 'em, an'
-leave you to whistle for her._" It had come.
-
-"No, no; ye are mine, not theirs!" he cried. "I'll not let ye go." And
-there was in his voice the defiance of a man who strives against a
-closing fate.
-
-"Shame on ye, Barnabas!" said Mr. Thorpe; and with that he put his arm
-round Margaret. "She's in th' right. If her father's ill, it's a sin to
-keep her back. Ye'll have to let her go."
-
-"I'll not have any man," said Barnabas, "interfere atwixt me an' her.
-Not you or any man. Do 'ee think my maid needs you to stand up for her?
-Margaret!"
-
-Meg drew herself up and put her hands to her eyes, as if their vision
-were still a little misty.
-
-"I am sorry I made such a fuss," she said. "I--I was taken by
-surprise--I didn't know that father was ill. I should like to think over
-the news by myself. No, don't come, please!" And she went out of the
-room, shutting the door softly after her.
-
-"Well! we all seem to ha' got very put about!" Tom said ruefully; but
-Mr. Thorpe looked at his younger son with a fiery indignation that,
-somehow, brought out an odd likeness between the two men who were
-usually so dissimilar.
-
-"Ye are just mad wi' jealousy o' the poor little lady's own father," he
-said. "Ye did her a cruel wrong by marrying her, an' now ye add to it!
-Ye were wrong-headed an' obstinate from a lad, Barnabas! I pity the
-lass wi' all my heart. She's like a caged bird here, wi' never a chance
-o' being set free."
-
-"There's only one thing 'ud do that," said Barnabas. "The fever might
-ha' led to it--but it didn't; it wasn't my fault it didn't. A man hasn't
-leave to open that door himsel', but I ha' never ta'en over much care o'
-my life." He turned away heavily; his anger, which, after all, was made
-up of pain and love, had died as suddenly as it had risen; but he went
-out with a sore heart.
-
-As for Meg, she never hesitated at all. For the last month she had been
-beset by doubts and uncertainties; had been wearying herself in trying
-to discover an end by which she might unwind the very tangled skein of
-her life, growing a little morbid the while in her endeavours, and more
-perplexed day by day. Now her doubts were at an end; her heart spoke a
-decided, undeniable _must_. If her father was ill, she would go to him.
-All the preachers in the world should not prevent her.
-
-Meg dipped her face in cold water, and poured out a tumblerful and
-drank. Her throat ached with the dull ache that means anxiety and unshed
-tears. She could not cry, and there was no time to, but her eyes felt
-hot.
-
-"Your father seems to be seriously ill. If I were in your place I should
-come." The words, in Mr. Sauls' thick upright handwriting, kept swimming
-before her.
-
-Should she ask Tom to help her? He was angry with her just now; but,
-somehow, that silly, vulgar misunderstanding seemed to fade into
-nothing, and she knew instinctively that Tom was to be depended on in an
-emergency.
-
-Barnabas might listen to reason from him. He was fonder of his brother
-than of any one in the world, except--(and a sudden hot blush rose to
-Meg's cheek)--except herself. No! she wouldn't ask Tom. If she chose to
-disobey Barnabas, that was between him and her, and _she_ would tell
-him. She owed him that, at least.
-
-The preacher's letter was in her pocket. She tore the envelope open and
-wrote inside it in pencil: "I am going to Lupcombe to see my father. I
-shall put Molly in the cart and drive myself to N----town. I know that
-you told me not to, and that you will all be very angry with me. I will
-come back to-night, I promise." Meg's pencil stood still for a moment;
-then she underlined the promise. She had room only to think of her
-father now, but she knew that she should dread returning. She would bind
-the coward in her to come back.
-
-"And then you can say anything you like, and be angry all the rest of my
-life," she wrote. It sounded a little desperate, but there was not time
-to consider overmuch; besides, she never made excuses.
-
-She folded the scrap of paper, and ran up to the attic her husband slept
-in, and put her note on a chair.
-
-His knapsack lay on the floor; mechanically she picked it up and hung it
-on the nail; it brought back to her mind their strange honeymoon--the
-extraordinary experiences of her first months with him.
-
-Barnabas had been very good to her then, and, indeed, always till
-to-day; and Meg, at the bottom of her heart, understood a little what
-to-day's sudden gust of passion meant.
-
-"He feels as if he were pulling one way, and father, backed by the world
-and the devil, I suppose, the other," she said to herself. Well, after
-this she would merge her interests in his entirely; there should be no
-more serving two masters. Perhaps, if she saw her father once, only
-this once more, he would forgive her, and she would be more at peace.
-
-This one day she would be her own self, her father's Meg; and Margaret
-Thorpe for ever afterwards. "But I hope the 'ever afterwards' won't be
-very long," she thought.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VII.
-
-    And who shall inherit treasure,
-    If the measure with which we measure
-    Is meted to us again?
-
-
-Tom had taught Meg to drive a little; she managed to harness Molly with
-some difficulty, and started on the long, lonely road across the
-marshes, without any fears. She was never afraid of bodily danger.
-
-She was not a good driver, her wrists were too weak; they ached
-painfully before she was a quarter of the way to N----town, and Molly
-began to feel them "give," and pulled the harder, recognising that the
-person at the other end of the reins had not so tight a hand as Tom.
-
-Another hour passed; Meg bit her lips hard, and grew rather pale with
-the effort she was making to remain mistress of the situation. Molly
-seemed bent on pulling her arms out. The reins cut her fingers; but what
-did that matter, when every minute was a minute nearer her father? The
-road was level and unfrequented, which was fortunate, for she could not
-possibly have managed the mare downhill.
-
-This last reflection had just occurred to her, when the pace decreased,
-giving her a momentary sense of relief, followed, however, by the
-horrible discovery that Molly was going very lame.
-
-A huge, sharp-pointed flint had lodged in the horse's shoe; and what to
-do now the poor driver really didn't know. The cart was high, and Molly
-was bad at standing; but Meg pulled up in desperation at last, tied the
-reins to the seat, and sprang down from the wheel.
-
-Molly actually did condescend to stop for a minute, though she eyed Meg
-very suspiciously, with her ears well back. Meg picked up an old bit of
-iron and advanced cautiously.
-
-"Good horse! so then--quiet there!" she said, with a keen sense of her
-inadequacy, and of Molly's entire and contemptuous consciousness of it.
-She knelt on the road, and very softly took hold of Molly's fore-leg.
-Molly snorted, and stamped impatiently. "Tom lifts her foot right up
-with his left hand, and knocks the stone out with his right," Meg said
-to herself; "but if Molly won't move that foot, what is one to do?" She
-pulled gently, making what were meant to be encouraging and reassuring
-noises, when, at the critical moment, a loud guffaw burst from behind
-the low mud bank on her left. Molly, started, made a dash forward; and
-Meg found herself sitting in the very middle of the dusty high road,
-watching horse and cart disappearing in the distance.
-
-She rubbed her eyes, which were sore with the dust (it was wonderful
-that she had not been hurt), and mechanically straightened her bonnet;
-then, becoming aware that one of the farm men, "Long John" by name, was
-standing staring at her, the ludicrous side of the situation struck her
-forcibly, and she began to laugh, though with a laughter that was
-perilously near tears.
-
-"Eh, ma'am, I be main sorry," said Long John. "I doan't knaw how I came
-to be such a darned fool. It was hearin' yo' talkin' to Molly so soft,
-like as if she wur a Christian, as set me off smilin'; but I didn't
-think as she'd ha' tuk to her heels like that, and Maister Tummas he
-wull be in a takin'!"
-
-"Oh, if you will only catch her!" cried Meg. "Do you think that she has
-upset the cart? Let us go after her directly."
-
-She got up, and began to run, Long John following with huge strides and
-muttered ejaculations.
-
-Luckily, Molly had not gone far. They found her about half a mile on.
-
-"I wonder whether she will let you take the stone out?" said Meg;
-whereat John smiled again, but grew grave when he had examined the foot.
-
-"You've been and gone and done it! It's a bad job; she'll not be fit to
-use for the next month at best. Lord now! to think o' Maister Tummas
-trustin' ye wi' Molly!"
-
-"What had better be done?" said Meg. She leaned against the cart, out of
-breath with running, while the sun beat down on them, and Molly munched
-contentedly, and John entered into an endless disquisition, in which he
-conclusively proved that if they drove Molly the twelve miles back to
-the farm now, she would be probably lamed for life, and "Maister Tummas"
-would never get over it; and he, John, wouldn't be the one to do it! And
-if they took her on the three remaining miles to N----town, and put her
-up there for a night's rest, there would be keep and stabling to pay
-for, and he would not take the responsibility; and, if they stayed where
-they were, they were just losing time, when the "poor crittur" ought to
-be looked to at once, and nothing could be "worserer nor that".
-
-"Then we are sure to be doing wrong anyhow, and there doesn't seem to be
-a right way?" said the preacher's wife.
-
-"I wouldn't say as there wur, but there be two bad ways, an' it's for
-yo' to choose, ma'am."
-
-Long John resented the "we," and was determined not to be implicated.
-
-"I wouldn't ha' ye take my word, nor I'd not ha' Maister Tummas suppose
-as I had aught to do wi' it. It's for yo' to say."
-
-"I am going on, whatever happens," said she; and on they went.
-
-John took Molly at a foot's pace, and Meg walked at his side.
-
-He had begun a long story, to which her ears gave a sort of mechanical
-attention, while her heart kept urging her to walk faster towards the
-goal.
-
-"It wur your a-layin' hold of her leg as set the mare off," John was
-saying. "You wouldn't go fur to say as it wur anyways my fault, would
-'ee, ma'am? for Maister Tummas he be fond o' her, and, if I wur to lose
-th' place now, wi' my missus lookin' to be i' th' straw come Michaelmas,
-it 'ud go hard wi' us surely."
-
-"It was no one's fault but mine," said Meg. "Oh, when shall we get
-there?--You seem very much afraid of Mr. Thomas, John; I thought he was
-supposed to be such a good master."
-
-"Oh, so he be, so he be," said John. "The Thorpes be good maisters, good
-friends, an' good enemies. They stick to a mon, they do; not one
-belongin' to 'em has been let die i' th' union without it wur his own
-fault; but Maister Tummas he doan't use many words when he's angry, and
-he ain't often; but I'd not care to face him if I'd lamed Molly, for
-last time I broke th' pony's knees he says to me, 'Next time ye'll go,
-John!' And he means what he says. And he did near drown me then! So he
-did! and I did think o' havin' the law o' him, but he advised me not,
-and Maister Tummas' advice is allus good; he's precious sharp.
-
-"It wur through bein' a bit overtook at Mary's funeral. I come whoam
-late, and I doan't mind rightly just how it wur, but I lost the pony on
-the road, and all of a suddent I found mysel' under th' pump i' th'
-yard; and Maister Tummas wur turnin' the water on, and another mon wur
-holdin' me under. Eh, I thought he _had_ murdered me! afore he let me
-go, I can tell thee, I hollered out loud, wheniver my mouth was clear o'
-th' watter, and he says, 'Naw, naw, doan't let him off too soon; when
-he's swallowed as much water as he did rum, happen he'll remember it'. I
-tell 'ee, I walked back whoam straight; he scared me sober, but it wur a
-cowd winter's mornin', and I wur wet through and through, as if I'd been
-in th' river an hour, an' I think he near drownt me. I'd ha' sworn he
-wur within an inch o' it. And th' next mornin' I thinks it ower, and I
-goes to him and says I, 'Maister, I wur a bit overtook last neet, but
-ye'd no right to do that, if I wur; for I bain't no slave, I be a free
-Briton as much as thaesel''. And Maister Tummas looks at me so as I had
-to keep tellin' mysel' I wur bigger nor he, fur th' way he looks do mak'
-a mon feel growin' small; an' says he, 'So ye be, John! Free to be as
-drunk as a lord all th' day long, if 'ee likes!' An' says I, 'I'm
-thinkin' I'll ha' th' law on ye, Maister Tummas;' and says he, 'Then
-ye'll be a bigger fool nor ye look'.
-
-"'Yo're cruel hard on a mon as has been buryin' his child,' says I; and
-Maister Tummas laughs. 'I suppose ye think she's so well off, ye'll be
-sendin' the other to join her?' says he. 'What do 'ee mean?' I asks. 'I
-never heard as childer con live on grass,' says he, turnin' round
-serious like; 'nor as bread cud be got for naught; it doan't grow i' th'
-fields hereabouts, ready baked! If I'd gi'en ye the sack i'ste'd o' the
-pump, where 'ud they be, eh? Look 'ee here, if ye be a wise mon, ye'll
-go to work wi'out more words; an' if ye be a fool, ye con go an' spout
-about free Britons i' the public; but, if 'ee do that, doan't talk to me
-about your childer, for I shan't tak' 'ee back, an' your big words won't
-fill their empty stomachs.' So I went back, an' Maister Tummas an' I war
-quits; for he doan't niver cast a thing up when he's done wi' it.
-Clemmin' ain't pleasant, an' I hadn't much hankerin' for it arter all.
-Howsumever, I doan't drink when I've got his horses now. Naw, naw; I
-saves up for Sunday; an' I bain't sure as it ain't th' best way all
-round, to tak' one's fill on th' right day. One gets a more thorough
-satisfaction out o' one big drink, than i' sips all th' week; doan't 'ee
-think so, ma'am?"
-
-"I daresay," said Meg absently. A passing wonder as to what Barnabas
-would have said to this definition of Sunday as pre-eminently "th' right
-day for drink" floated through her mind--with also a faint disgust at
-the flavour of brutality in the story about Tom; but they were nearing
-N----town by this time. In two more hours she might be at Lupcombe!
-
-It was market day, and the streets were crowded. Meg accompanied Long
-John to the stables of the "Pig and Whistle," and saw Molly comfortably
-housed. Having lamed her, it was the least she could do. Then she
-proceeded to a pawnbroker's. She had the preacher's savings in her
-pocket, but she could not touch them. It might be a straining of gnats;
-but she wouldn't use his money in an enterprise he objected to.
-
-She had something else in her purse as well, and that she would part
-with, though the parting cost her a pang.
-
-The diamond-circled miniature that had been stolen from her when a
-child; that the preacher had brought back; that was on her neck, when he
-and she walked out of Ravenshill together, long, long ago--ah, how long
-ago it seemed now!--she could sell that.
-
-Meg had worn it under her dress every day, and always since she had
-married. She had never told Barnabas that she still had it; she had not
-forgotten his violent denunciation of the stones bought "with too high a
-price"; but she had kept it for her father's sake, and for her father's
-sake she would let it go now.
-
-The diamonds were valuable. The miniature itself was worth a good deal.
-Meg did not know how much she ought to get for it, but had a vague idea
-that it would more than pay for a carriage and horse to Lupcombe, and
-for the return journey, and Molly's stabling. As a matter of fact, she
-received rather less than a sixth part of its real value; but it was a
-red-letter day for the pawn-broker. She was on the direct road to
-Lupcombe at last. She would see her father--beyond _that_?--well, beyond
-that might be the deluge.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe sat by the window of her brother's room. It was a
-pretty room; for the guest-room of the parsonage was emphatically "the
-best bedroom" of the house.
-
-She had come down at once on hearing of his illness, but now the patient
-was surprisingly better. That most sadly hopeful of diseases had
-loosened its hold, and Mr. Deane was as cheerful as possible; indeed,
-his sister found him almost irritatingly contented. She was anxious to
-get him away from this dangerous neighbourhood. She knew that the
-Thorpes lived somewhere in the county; but he, alas! had not the
-faintest desire to move.
-
-She sat and embroidered, her long fingers moving the faster when she
-thought; her lips compressed closely. When she glanced at Charles her
-face softened. She loathed a sick room; but she was fond of him, even
-when he was ill.
-
-His features, refined by illness, were more painfully like Meg's than
-ever; and that made her impatient.
-
-Certainly she had enough to bother her! Mrs. Russelthorpe could not bear
-accepting favours from any one, and here she was compelled to stay under
-the stranger's roof indefinitely!
-
-Charles took it very lightly. He was grateful to his old friend; but the
-obligation did not harass him. He was generous and very hospitable
-himself, and would have done as much for his host if the circumstances
-had been reversed. Besides, he was one of the people who are born
-favourites; and even strangers always gave him willing service. As the
-old housekeeper remarked, "Mr. Deane was such a gentleman as it was an
-honour and pleasure to do for".
-
-There had been some coldness between him and his sister of late, for he
-had strongly disapproved her threatened action concerning her husband's
-will.
-
-"It is not like any of _us_ to take to airing family grievances in
-public," he had said proudly; and his reproof had impressed her.
-
-Charles seldom played the part of mentor; but on the rare occasions when
-he did, his words always stung, though they seldom made her alter her
-course.
-
-Presently he woke up and called her. "Sis, I wish you would put down
-that work and come nearer; that is"--with the quick thoughtfulness for
-other people which never deserted him--"if you won't go out and get some
-fresh air; you hate a sick room, I know. Really, it was very good of you
-to come."
-
-"I can't sit with my hands before me," said Mrs. Russelthorpe; but she
-brought her chair up to the bedside. "You mustn't talk too much,
-Charles."
-
-"On the whole," said Mr. Deane smiling, "I should prefer dying of
-talking, to dying of dulness."
-
-"There is no question of dying!"
-
-"No," he answered. "I feel like Mother Hubbard's dog; 'she went to the
-joiner's to buy him a coffin; and, when she came back, the dog was
-a-laughin''. I'm getting well with indecent haste! I shall go downstairs
-soon; but, all the same, there was a question of it three days ago,--as
-we both know well enough!"
-
-"The danger is past now, and there is no need to dwell on it," said his
-sister, with a sharp closing of the subject, and with that accent of
-finality in her voice which Charles was generally either too
-sweet-tempered or too lazy to resist.
-
-To-day, however, he persisted, though he stretched out his hand towards
-her, with the half-playful tenderness that endeared him especially to
-the women of his own family.
-
-"Poor sis! You hate to be reminded that I am mortal; and, what is more,
-a mortal with an even less certain tenure of life than most; but I don't
-want to shirk facts myself; indeed, they've presented themselves so very
-forcibly lately that it would hardly be possible. Of course, I've known
-for the last five years that I am--well, we'll say the cracked pitcher,
-that may last the longest; I will put it that way to please you; but may
-go with a touch. But it's one thing to know that one may die any day,
-and another to know that the day is not possibly, but most probably
-within hailing distance. I think I have never been much afraid of Death;
-but the sight of him quite close does purge one's vision. It makes
-realities clearer, and the things that don't matter dwindle away. It is
-good for any man to see in right proportion for once in a way. Don't you
-think so?"
-
-"My dear Charles, if you are talking about your soul, and your sins, and
-all that kind of thing, no doubt a serious illness may make you feel
-their importance; though I can't say I think you needed it. But if you
-are talking about practical affairs, never trust to decisions made when
-you are out of health: illness does _not_ make the vision clearer; it
-renders one liable to foolish weakness and error of judgment!"
-
-"Spoken like a Solomon!" said Mr. Deane, laughing. He looked at her with
-a gleam of fun from the bed where he lay stretching out a hand to play
-with the silks on her lap. "I am sure, by the great vigour with which
-you delivered yourself of that maxim, that you are horribly afraid I
-have some 'foolish weakness' in view. Well--I've been thinking about my
-Meg."
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe sat more upright; her needle flew quicker still.
-
-"She is not yours any more," she said, with a hard ring in her voice.
-"And it is an unprofitable subject for meditation. She concerns us no
-longer."
-
-"So I have said," he answered; "but, after all, nothing in this world,
-or, I hope, in the next, can do away with the fact of fatherhood. It
-goes deeper than one's hurt pride. You see," in a low voice, "it is the
-eternal fact that one turns to oneself at the last. It is the root of
-all things."
-
-His face flushed while he spoke, for he was not a man who talked often
-of his religious beliefs; his sister had never known him touch on them
-before.
-
-"I wish you wouldn't excite yourself," she answered coldly, after a
-minute's silence. "To say nothing can do away with the parent's duty to
-his child is nonsense! God Himself doesn't claim to be the Father of the
-impenitent and disobedient--though I think it presumption to bring Him
-into a discussion. Are you weak enough to want to give the preacher's
-wife your blessing and forgiveness unasked? Probably that is what her
-husband reckoned on, that you would be very angry for a time, and then
-come round, and take it easily."
-
-She was startled by the sudden passion in her brother's voice.
-
-"Do you think I take it _easily_?" he said. "Don't you know that I would
-rather--yes, ten times rather have seen my child in her coffin, than
-have lost her so? No, no, I don't want to send for her; where would be
-the use? If she is happy, what have I to say? If she is unhappy--why, as
-we sow, so we must reap--both she and I, both father and child. She
-knows that too, I expect. My poor Meg! Ah well" (with a sudden change of
-tone), "Meg has made a mess of her life; but even you must allow, sis,
-that if it hadn't been for me, she wouldn't have had a life to make a
-mess of, eh? You can't get over that!"
-
-"What are all these truisms leading up to?" inquired Mrs. Russelthorpe
-drily. She was immensely relieved to hear that he did not meditate
-sending for Meg; she felt she could breathe again. Mr. Deane leaned back
-on his pillows; his earnestness had tired him, and he was silent for a
-few minutes. Then:--
-
-"No doubt I have been talking platitudes!" he said. "You mustn't expect
-an invalid to be strikingly original! I can't be brilliant in bed; and
-old truths impress one with new force when one lies face to face
-with--Oh yes, I said that before, didn't I? Well, when one is up and
-about, one is impressed by such a variety of things, and I have always
-detested business! Do you know that I've never made my will till now,
-though I've thought of it often enough! I sent for Mr. Sauls to witness
-it for me, and he is coming this evening. He has been staying at
-N----town. Our host has asked him to dine by-the-bye; I will finish the
-job this time!"
-
-"Mr. Sauls! You might have spared me that!"
-
-"Oh, you needn't see him. Say that I like your company, which is quite
-true, and have dinner up here with me. I wrote a line to him before you
-came, when--well, when I thought there wasn't much time to lose. If one
-doesn't strike when the iron is hot, the chances are that one doesn't
-strike at all!"
-
-"I don't see that, Charles."
-
-"No? It doesn't apply to you," with a smile. "I meant only myself and
-Meg. Well, sis, I don't want _my_ will to be a shock to you, for you and
-I have always been friends, haven't we?"
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe's work fell on her knees; she turned to him with an
-expression which no one but her brother ever saw.
-
-"I've liked you better than any one else _always_," she said
-deliberately.
-
-"Poor old Joseph!" thought Mr. Deane; but aloud he said: "Yes, I know
-that; that's why I am telling you about my affairs. Sauls wants me to
-leave to _her_ the same amount I shall leave to her sisters. You needn't
-exclaim! Sauls isn't a bad fellow, but I don't know why he should
-interfere. I've thought it all over. I have left Meg something--very
-little--and unconditionally."
-
-"You are very kind to Barnabas Thorpe. He will benefit."
-
-"Yes," said her brother gravely. "I have not tried to prevent it; he
-must benefit. I think Joseph made a mistake, though he meant kindly to
-my daughter, and I think Meg was right to refuse the money under such
-conditions. The preacher is her husband, her duty is to him now,
-and--well, both she and I have done rash things in plenty; but I hope
-that neither of us is mean enough to try to shirk the consequences. What
-I have left her will be something to fall back on if she is ill or in
-sudden need; not enough to lift her out of his sphere, out of the
-position she has chosen. I longed to make it more, but I have not done
-so. Laura and Kate will be all the richer; but I will not have Meg think
-that I have left off caring for her."
-
-A wave of anger, hot and strong as ever, made his sister's hand shake
-for a moment; even now, she felt that Meg--unworthy, wicked as Meg had
-proved--stood between herself and her brother. Meg had always stood
-"between" from the time her baby hands had clung to him, and pushed Aunt
-Russelthorpe away, seventeen long years before.
-
-"I have also left to her the things that were her mother's," he
-continued. "They are of no worth in themselves, and neither of the
-others would value them much. Laura and Kate are not sentimental, and
-you were not fond of their mother, sis. Meg will understand why I have
-left them to her. Poor little Meg! when I am dead she will understand."
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe rose abruptly. "I am glad you have not been so
-wickedly weak as to give her an equal share with her sisters, anyhow!"
-she remarked. "Mr. Sauls should be taught to mind his own business! As
-for caring for her still, that's culpable folly, I consider, and
-injustice too. What is the use of being good, if good and bad are to be
-loved alike? She ought to be punished, she ought to suffer."
-
-"Ah!" said Mr. Deane. "No fear that she won't suffer enough! We fools
-who make mistakes always pay heavily, even when we make them from pure
-motives. Mistakes cost as dearly as crimes, I think; in this world
-anyhow! As for badness, who dares say what is sin, and what error? or
-divide the blame? I ought to come in for the largest share, I suppose,
-seeing that Meg inherited her failings from me! I shall stick to the
-'culpable folly' of still loving my poor little daughter. It's a pity
-you don't like it. You never liked me to be fond of Meg."
-
-"It's not that at all," said his sister angrily; "but, thank God, no
-amount of affection could ever blind me to the difference between right
-and wrong."
-
-"I think, perhaps," said Mr. Deane, "that one day even you--and I own
-you are much more consistent and better than I am--may feel inclined
-rather to thank Him that He is more merciful than men--or women. Are you
-going?"
-
-"You've talked more than enough, Charles."
-
-"I've taken a most mean advantage of my position. What a shame! And
-you've had to put up with me because I am in bed. I won't do it any
-more. Shall you have your dinner up here?"
-
-"No," said Mrs. Russelthorpe. "Why should I? That Mr. Sauls is underbred
-and self-assertive at times is no reason for my being driven out of the
-dining-room, or allowing myself to fail in courtesy to our host. Don't
-laugh like that, Charles! You are making yourself cough."
-
-"I beg your pardon, sis," said he; "but I wish--oh, I wish!--I could be
-there to see the encounter! Sauls is a pretty stiff antagonist too! I
-wonder which would get the best of a tussle? I think you would; but I am
-not sure--really, I am not sure."
-
-"There will be no 'tussle'. Mr. Sauls is too much a man of the world to
-show any awkwardness at meeting me," said she. And she did him justice,
-for George betrayed no embarrassment whatever; though the last rather
-unpleasant interview she had had with him about Mr. Russelthorpe's will
-was forgotten by neither of them. They dined at three at Lupcombe. In
-London, six o'clock dinners were the fashion; but fashions took longer
-in creeping into the country when they had to travel at eight miles an
-hour.
-
-Mr. Bagshotte's guests were both good talkers. The pleasant tournament
-of wit, which was a trifle sharp-edged occasionally, went on briskly all
-dinner time, and the old gentleman believed them charmed to see each
-other. He got out his favourite Latin quotations,--it was George who
-gave him the opportunity; and he promised with great satisfaction to
-show Mr. Sauls the ancient brasses in the middle aisle.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe secretly wondered what this very clever lawyer hoped
-to gain by playing up to the parson. But, to tell the truth, he expected
-to get nothing; he never grudged trouble where either his friends or his
-enemies were concerned.
-
-The two men went into the quiet old church after the meal was over,
-where George examined all that was to be seen with great patience and
-minuteness. If he had only guessed! If he had had the faintest inkling
-of what was happening in the garden not much more than a stone's throw
-away, neither brasses nor parson would have held him long.
-
-There seems an especially unkind irony about the fate that makes us lose
-a chance by only a stone's throw.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe took no interest in brasses; she had a horror of
-"relics" of any kind. She left Mr. Bagshotte and Mr. Sauls to their own
-devices; and, her brother being asleep, planted her chair on the lawn
-with its back to the churchyard, so that she faced the front gate, which
-stood hospitably open to the village street.
-
-She had had a hard time of it lately; and hard times often, perhaps in
-the majority of cases, have a hardening rather than a softening effect.
-Mrs. Russelthorpe always felt that Providence made an unjustifiable
-mistake when she was visited with affliction.
-
-Her morning's talk with her brother had left an unpleasant impression on
-her mind, and she reflected impatiently on the way in which, when one
-wishes to get rid of a haunting thought, everything combines to recall
-it. The reflection was called forth by a pale thin woman in a black
-dress who came along the village street, who held her head like a Deane,
-like Meg in fact, and walked like her too. Somehow, at the first moment,
-it did not strike Mrs. Russelthorpe that it _was_ Meg.
-
-The woman turned in at the gate; stood still when she saw Mrs.
-Russelthorpe, lifted her head, looking straight at her, and: "I have
-come to see my father," she said. "Is he better or worse?"
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe rose to her feet, her face a little pale; the
-antagonism that had never died, and scarcely slept, alert as ever, and a
-passionate determination bracing her soul. This woman should _not_ see
-Charles! What! after dragging his name in the dust, and after linking it
-with that of a preaching vagabond, after setting at defiance all decency
-and obedience, she would "go to her father"! And he, he would be weak
-enough to forgive her. Illness had unmanned him; though men were always
-weaker than women, especially where Meg was concerned.
-
-"My brother is better," she said slowly. "You have lost the right to
-call him father. You cannot go to him. He will not see you."
-
-Meg shook her head with a faint smile, and walked on up the path to the
-front door. Her old fear of 'Aunt Russelthorpe' was dead. She recognised
-with a momentary surprise that she had lived past all that.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe made a quick step forward and caught her by the arm.
-She too knew instinctively that she could not coerce or overawe this
-sad-eyed woman, as she had often coerced the girl long ago; but she
-could still win the day, and she would.
-
-"Margaret," she cried; "do you--do even you want to kill him?" And
-Margaret paused.
-
-The two women looked in each other's eyes; both were unflinching and of
-set purpose, but Mrs. Russelthorpe had still the advantage, for she
-could "hit below the belt".
-
-"It may actually and literally be his death warrant, if he should be
-awakened suddenly. He is sleeping now," she said. "I do not want to
-carry any message from you, Margaret. There need be no pretence of love
-between you and me. Yet I will go in and prepare him, if you choose.
-When he wakes, I will say to him whatever you wish me, and I will bring
-you his answer. Go now, if you like, and force your way in and startle
-him. The choice is between your own wilfulness and his safety. It rests
-with you."
-
-She let go her hold on Meg's arm, on completing her sentence. She had
-gained her point.
-
-"I will wait for you," said Meg. "I will sit here on the doorstep till
-he sends for me. Only promise that you will take my words as I give
-them; that you will add nothing, nor take away anything; that you will
-not try to persuade him not to see me. You swear it?"
-
-She did not move her eyes from her aunt's face; and long after, Mrs.
-Russelthorpe could not close her own without seeing them. Ah, how Meg
-had altered!
-
-"I will add nothing to your message, nor take away from it," she
-repeated.
-
-"Then I promise too," said Meg. "If he says he will not see me I will go
-away--but he will." Her voice shook. "I know that my father will."
-
-"Well," said Mrs. Russelthorpe; "I am waiting."
-
-Meg covered her face with her hands. "Ah, it will sound differently when
-you say it," she cried. "Tell him I only beg to see him once more; that
-I do so long to! That I have thought of him. That I have wanted him
-often. That I _know_ that he has not forgotten me. That, when I heard he
-was ill, I could not stay away--I could not! but it is only for a
-moment. I must ask him to forgive me. Then I will go back, because I
-have promised," said Meg with a sudden choke, "and because I am _his_
-daughter."
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe turned silently away; and Meg sat down on the doorstep
-and waited, her eyes fixed unseeingly on the grey church, where the
-parson and George Sauls were dawdling over inscriptions.
-
-How long she waited she did not know; it might have been half an hour,
-it might have been five minutes; but she had no doubt as to the result
-of the message: she could never quite outlive her faith in her father.
-
-She sprang to her feet on hearing a step behind her. "He is awake!" she
-cried. Her aunt looked away from her; past her into the garden.
-
-"Yes," she said in a dry voice. "He is awake--but he will not see you."
-
-Meg drew her breath quickly, as if she had been physically hurt. "He--he
-did not mean it," she said. "You have not understood--he did not mean
-that--he will not. Tell me the words he said."
-
-"He said," said Mrs. Russelthorpe, "'Where would be the use? If she is
-happy, what have I to say? If she is unhappy--why, as we sow, we reap;
-both she and I, both father and child.' Those were his very words--and
-he was right."
-
-Meg looked at her with a strange mournful smile. "Oh, yes, he was right.
-Tell father he was quite right." And she turned and went.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-The parson and Mr. Sauls came back to the parsonage five minutes later.
-Mrs. Russelthorpe was still standing in the garden; and Mr. Sauls, whose
-short-sighted eyes saw rather more than most people's, noticed at once
-that she looked worn and tired.
-
-"Is Mr. Deane worse?" he asked.
-
-"Oh no; I believe he is still sleeping," she said; "I will go and see."
-And this time she really went.
-
-Her brother was sitting upright, flushed and rather excited.
-
-"Sis, has any one been here?" he asked, the moment that she entered the
-room. "No? Ah well, it was fancy then--but--but I thought I heard my
-little daughter call me." The flush faded away; he lay back again
-disappointed. The wish was father to the thought!
-
-"Charles," she cried, with an eagerness that surprised him, "do let us
-go away from this place! You will never be yourself till you have left
-it behind. If we travel by very easy stages I really think we might
-leave to-morrow. It seems a sudden idea on my part," she went on
-hurriedly; "but, indeed, the house is not healthy; I am convinced of
-it. I have had violent headaches ever since I have been here, and you
-are aware that I am not in the least liable to such ailments. I do not
-remember ever having felt like this before, and I cannot sleep or eat
-properly. Then, too, we are putting our kind host to immense
-inconvenience. The position is intensely awkward for me, though I have
-refrained from saying so. As for the stories about the fever, they are
-simply shocking--half the village died of it. I am not nervous; but it
-is really horrible to find every person one meets in mourning for some
-near relative."
-
-Mr. Deane looked at her in undisguised astonishment.
-
-"Why, my dear, I've never in my life before seen you possessed of a
-whim," he cried. "If it were not you, sis, I should say that it was a
-feminine attack of 'nerves'." And, to his farther surprise, she actually
-accepted the suggestion.
-
-"I suppose it is," she said. "There, I own it; your illness has shaken
-me. I feel as if I could not possibly bear this dismal house any longer.
-All the family who used to live here are gone, and are buried just
-outside the gates. It is too melancholy; I dream of funerals! Do go, do
-go! You will be well as soon as we get away. You shall have no trouble;
-I will arrange everything. I will explain to our host, only let us go!
-Dear Charles, do let us go to-morrow."
-
-Her voice trembled with unwonted earnestness, and Charles was much
-amazed and rather touched; it was so utterly unlike her to show any
-weakness of this kind, to stoop to entreaties. She must, indeed, have
-been anxious about him, since anxiety had so unnerved her. He had always
-been sure, he said to himself, that, in spite of what some people said,
-his sister was very warm-hearted in reality.
-
-"Well, I daresay it won't hurt me. We'll go, if you want it so much,
-sis," he replied gently. "That is the least I can do for you, after all
-you've done for me."
-
-And go they did, in spite of the parson's protestations, and in spite of
-a soft rain that fell continuously as if to damp Mrs. Russelthorpe's
-ardour, by literally pouring cold water on it.
-
-Mr. Sauls, when he looked in to inquire after Mr. Deane on the following
-morning, was amused at the sudden exodus.
-
-"Odd that such a hard woman should be such a coward about illness!" he
-remarked. "She is horribly afraid of infection,--I've noticed that; and
-she is selfish to the core!"
-
-"Mrs. Russelthorpe's decision is rather overpowering," said the parson
-drily. It was the nearest approach he allowed himself to an unfavourable
-comment on his late guest. "I am sorry Deane has gone. It is seldom I
-get any visitors here; though, by-the-bye, I had an odd one last
-night--or, rather, early this morning. Mr. Thorpe, the preacher's
-father, walked in about two o'clock and begged to see me. He came to
-inquire whether his daughter-in-law was here. The old man must have got
-some mad fancy in his head. I have heard he is queer at times. Well, I
-persuaded him that she had never been near us, and he drew himself up
-and said quite quietly: 'Oh, it's all right, sir; she's sleeping wi'
-some friends at N----. She told us, that, maybe, she'd do that; quite
-right o' her. I'm glad of it!' And off he went, with an apology for
-having troubled me. A gentlemanly old fellow too!"
-
-"Why!" cried George, with a flash of conviction; "are you certain that
-she has not been here? Don't you know that Barnabas Thorpe's wife is Mr.
-Deane's daughter?"
-
-The parson started. They were standing in the garden on the very spot
-where Meg had pleaded in vain.
-
-"Yes, yes, I know; though it seems impossible!"
-
-"It ought to have been. There I quite agree with you; but, to the elect,
-'all things are possible,' you know," said George Sauls bitterly.
-
-The parson was too intent on his own thoughts to notice the sneer. "No
-one was here yesterday; I should have heard of it if she had come. I was
-hardly out of the rectory grounds all day. Eh? What? What is it, Brown?"
-
-The gardener had come up behind them and touched his hat, with the air
-of having something to say.
-
-"I beg your pardon, sir; there was some one as come here yesterday,
-while you and the gentleman was in the church," he said. "I come back
-into the garden after fetching the key for you, and there was a young
-woman a-standing here, just where the gentleman is now. I noticed her
-particular, for she wasn't one from the village; and she seemed in great
-trouble, and she sort of stretched out her hands, broken-hearted like;
-and Mrs. Russelthorpe was sending her away, which seemed queer, seeing
-it ain't her house, and----"
-
-"That will do," said the parson. "Mrs. Russelthorpe's affairs are no
-concern of yours, Brown; or mine," he added to George, as soon as the
-man had retired somewhat crestfallen.
-
-"Perhaps Mr. Deane did not wish to see his daughter. God bless me! To
-think of _his_ daughter! Deane doesn't look a hard man either. I wonder
-whether,--but it's not my business."
-
-Mr. Sauls smiled, not very pleasantly. "You wonder whether Mr. Deane
-knew she had been sent away?" he said. "I don't wonder about it, sir;
-but I'll tell you one thing,--if he didn't, he _shall_ know!"
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VIII.
-
-    I do not see them here; but after death
-    God knows I know the faces I shall see,
-    Each one a murdered self, with low last breath,
-    I am thyself, what hast thou done to me?
-    And I--and I--thyself (Lo! each one saith),
-    And thou thyself to all eternity.
-
-    --_Rossetti._
-
-
-As for Meg, she turned her face towards the farm again, and of that
-journey back she never liked to think so long as she lived.
-
-There are griefs we outlive, whose dead faces we can bear to look on,
-recognising that they are dead; but there are some hours of pain we can
-never look at overmuch, even through the merciful veil of many years, as
-there are some joys which we know will be ours always, so long as we are
-ourselves, those sharpest pains and joys which touch the eternal in us,
-and make us realise what is meant by the "doing away of time".
-
-That her father _would_ not see her, even if she entreated him, had been
-the one thing that had not seemed possible to the daughter who loved
-him.
-
-During the long drive back to N----town, his message kept running in her
-head: "As we sow, so we must reap;--both she and I; both father and
-child".
-
-It was burnt into her brain and into her heart. She saw it when she shut
-her eyes; she heard it when she stopped her ears.
-
-"It is the hopeless law of all one's life," she thought. "And there is
-no going against it. Father does not even try to. He might have tried!
-No, no; it was not his fault. He was right."
-
-And as she had attempted a hundred times before in her girlhood to
-justify him to herself when he might have stood up for his daughter and
-did not, so her tired brain tried to justify him now.
-
-She would rather believe that she was too bad for forgiveness, than that
-he had not depth of affection enough to be forgiving.
-
-She was terribly anxious about him too. Mrs. Russelthorpe had said that
-he was better; but then she had also declared that it might be his
-"death warrant" if he were suddenly awaked. Surely _that_ did not sound
-as if he were out of danger. She went over the whole interview again,
-and had just got to the climax for the twentieth time, when the stopping
-of the carriage brought her with a jerk from the garden at Lupcombe to
-the busy street of N----town, and the entrance of the "Pig and
-Whistle".
-
-"Have we arrived?" said Meg, getting out as if she were in a dream. "I
-thought we had just started!"
-
-The landlord, who had bustled to the door at the sound of wheels, looked
-at her inquisitively. The preacher's wife, about whom there was a very
-romantic story, had always interested him. He had thought her a very
-gentle-mannered and sweet-voiced woman, and, for his part, rather
-admired her funny accent and "foreign" ways. He was full of wonder just
-now. It was only the gentry who ordered carriages in that way. The idea
-of Barnabas Thorpe's wife posting to Lupcombe! A fifteen-shilling drive!
-But he had seen the gold in her purse; she had evidently enough money to
-pay.
-
-How very sad she looked! The distressed expression in her eyes touched
-him. "Come in, ma'am, and have a sup o' some'ut," he said
-good-naturedly. "The 'eat's been too much for you! I wouldn't ask a lady
-into the bar; an' I know as Barnabas Thorpe's wife won't touch good
-liquor; but, if you'll honour me by coming into the parlour, I'll bring
-you a cup of tea in a trice. You look fit to drop; and, if I might make
-so bold, just one atom of brandy in it would be neither here nor there,
-and would do you no harm at all. Now I won't take 'No,' ma'am, though
-your husband do try to damage my trade. Just you come in and sit a bit,
-while the horse is changed."
-
-"Thank you," said Meg. "The sun is too hot I suppose, and the bustle
-makes one feel giddy."
-
-The clock in the market-place struck seven while she was speaking; the
-sun's rays were certainly not overpowering now, whatever they had been;
-and a great bank of thunder-clouds was steadily rising in the east.
-
-The landlord glanced from her to the sky, and mopped his forehead with
-his handkerchief.
-
-"You're like my wife, ma'am," he said. "She'd feel for you, only she's
-been in the cellar this last half-hour,--on account of the storm, I
-mean," he added hastily. "Thunder always upsets her. Come along this
-way, ma'am. You do look poorly!"
-
-His visitor followed, still rather as if she were not quite certain
-where she was. Meg, indeed, never knew exactly how she got into that
-little back parlour; but the tea, which was guilty of more than a drop
-of brandy, revived her. Her father's message left off sounding in her
-ears, the garden at Lupcombe became less painfully distinct, and she
-suddenly remembered that she had fasted since she had started in the
-morning; and this, possibly, was why she felt faint.
-
-Her host nodded approvingly when she ordered something to eat. Meg's
-head ached so that she could not calculate how much money she ought to
-have left; but she knew that there should be more than enough to pay for
-a meal.
-
-She dived to the bottom of her pocket: her purse must be there; it had
-her husband's savings in it, as well as the price of her diamonds. She
-could not have done anything so dreadful as to lose his hard-won
-earnings! Besides, she had not paid her bill. She pulled out her
-handkerchief, and then the pocket itself, inside out. She was staring
-blankly at it when the landlord bustled back.
-
-He guessed at once what had happened. The empty pocket suggested it. He
-was good-natured and consolatory, but overflowing with curiosity when he
-heard that she had had it last at the pawnbroker's.
-
-Mrs. Thorpe at the Jew's over the way! What would the Thorpes have said,
-had they known? He wondered whether the poor young thing had got herself
-into some scrape, and heartily pitied her, if she had; but _his_ money
-was safe anyhow; he knew the family well enough to be very sure of that.
-He could afford to take it easily.
-
-"Come, come," he said, on her refusing to eat because she "hadn't a
-penny left to pay with," "I'm not so poor, thank goodness, that I can't
-afford to wait till next time Tom Thorpe drives his foals to market;
-and, if they'd wish you to starve, it's a crying shame, ma'am, and I'd
-not have thought it of them. I've never heard that the Thorpes weren't
-open-handed."
-
-"They are all most generous," said Meg quickly, and she ate the slice of
-beef. Certainly, whatever her fears were, she did not imagine that any
-of her relatives-in-law would have grudged it to her. She could not let
-that imputation rest on them.
-
-The food brought a tinge of colour to her face, and she regained her
-usual gentle dignity of manner. She would not allow this good gossip,
-who asked a great many questions, to fancy that she was terrified at
-going back. It would not be fair to Barnabas!
-
-How miserable she really was it would be hard to say. The more she
-thought of it, the more her shrinking from what was before her grew.
-
-She pictured Tom's repressed contempt, and Barnabas passionately angry,
-as when he had thrashed Timothy. She dreaded the way they would all ask
-about her father--whether she had found him, and why not; and then, with
-a horror of loneliness, she remembered that she could never even try to
-see him again now. "As she had sowed, so she must reap!" Ah, it was
-beginning again! Meg rose hastily.
-
-"I promised that I would go back to-night," she said, "and I must go. I
-meant to drive; I had enough money of my own to pay for that--but I have
-lost it, and my husband's too, which is worse. He will have to pay a
-very long bill for me as it is." And Meg blushed painfully. "I don't
-want to run up any more debts. What would be the cheapest possible way
-of getting home--if I don't walk?"
-
-"Walk!" said the landlord, "you don't look fit to walk a quarter of a
-mile, let alone fifteen! I'd provide you a trap very reasonable, ma'am,
-though it's late to be going all that way now--or--oh! here's Johnny
-Dale back; I sent him about the purse--well, have they got it?"
-
-"Dun knaw nothin' 'bout it, theer," he answered, with a slow stare at
-Meg, who, on her part, was filled with a vague recollection of having
-seen this boy at the farm. "Granny's got round again. Will 'ee tell the
-preacher so?" he said suddenly, breaking into a broad grin. "And will
-'ee tell Maister Tummas that I'm doin' well, and gettin' five shillings
-a quarter besides my keep, and granny's uncommon obligated to him for
-gettin' me th' place, and she's over here to-day marketing?"
-
-"Ay, so she be; and that's how you can get back, ma'am," cried the
-landlord. "Why, Granny Dale 'ull have to pass within a mile of
-Caulderwell. She could put you down at the cross path, if you could run
-that bit in the dark. I'll be bound she'll do that much for your
-husband's sake, though that donkey of hers is precious slow; you won't
-be there afore eleven. Here, Johnny, where is that granny o' yours? In
-the bar, eh? She doan't hold with the preacher's principles 'cept when
-she's by way o' dying, the old sinner! But the donkey'll take you back
-safe. Shall I go and find her? Though I don't know," he added
-doubtfully; "Granny Dale's a queer sort of company for a lady like you."
-
-And he went on his mission, the preacher's wife thanking him with the
-pretty gratitude that won his liking. He little guessed that, at the
-bottom of her heart, Mrs. Thorpe would have rejoiced to know that she,
-personally, would never get home again.
-
-It was very late when the donkey cart at last started. Granny Dale was a
-most erratic old dame. She would not be hurried--"Not for twenty Mrs.
-Thorpes".
-
-Her voice sounded suspiciously thick, and she smoked a short clay pipe.
-She was horribly dirty, and smelt of gin. Meg hardly noticed her, though
-at any other time she would have been disgusted.
-
-The reins hung loose in the woman's gnarled hands, that were brown and
-knotted like the branches of one of the stunted trees of that country.
-
-The donkey trotted on steadily with a responsible air. On he went
-through the street, where the passersby remarked on granny's companion,
-and where granny herself took the pipe from her lips to shout facetious
-observations in the broadest of dialect to her acquaintances. On into
-the open country again, where the view of the sky broadened, and one
-could see how the thunder-clouds were piled up, solid and threatening,
-like the battlements of a city--great purple masses, divided only in one
-place by a narrow red rift.
-
-Granny pointed towards them with her whip. "Theer be a starm coomin'
-oop," she said. "Are yo' fleyed o' the thunder?"
-
-Meg made no reply; she was thinking of many things past and to come. She
-_was_ "fleyed"--but not of the thunder.
-
-"An' if yo' wur th' queen hersel', yo' moight fash yersel' to answer
-when yo're spoke to!" cried granny with a sudden burst of fury. "Eh, I
-know what they all says, that ye be quality born, an' ran awa' wi'
-Barnabas Thorpe!--an gradely fule he wur that day!--and that yo've pined
-ever since. An', if yo' wur all th' quality o' th' land, theer's no call
-to be so high as not to hear a body as talks to 'ee--wastin' my good
-words, treatin' me loike th' dirt under yo' feet, who am nothin' o' th'
-soart! 'specially"--indignantly--"when yo're ridin' i' my donkey cart!"
-
-"I am very sorry," said Meg, effectually roused this time. "I didn't
-know you were speaking to me; I was thinking of something else.
-Indeed,"--seeing that the excuse was likely to provoke a fresh
-storm,--"I didn't mean to be 'high' in the least; but,"--seizing on the
-point in her misfortunes most likely to appeal to granny's
-sympathies--"I lost my purse in the town, and it had money of my
-husband's in it."
-
-"Eh!" said granny, twisting round in her seat and taking the pipe out of
-her mouth. "Theer's a pretty business! That do gi'e 'ee some'ut to think
-abeawt surely. My man 'ud ha' beaten me black and blue if I'd ha' done
-that; he wur free wi' his blows, Jacob wur, 'specially in his cups; but
-the preacher's noan o' that soart."
-
-"No," said Meg; "he is not that sort." In a lighter mood she would have
-smiled at the statement. She was not afraid of physical violence. Even
-in her wildest terrors (and Meg's imagination was apt to become
-unreasonable in proportion to the overstrain on her bodily powers) she
-knew that _that_ would be as impossible to Barnabas as to her own
-father.
-
-Yet granny's suggestion, like Long John's story of "Maister Tummas,"
-presented the more brutal side of life to her, and depressed her yet
-further. She shrank with increasing nervousness from the thought of that
-alien element of roughness at the farm.
-
-She was fearfully tired; and, in the reaction from the excitement of the
-morning, could fight no longer against a melancholy that swept over her,
-as the clouds steadily rising from the east swept over the sky.
-
-She saw the rest of her life in as unnatural and lurid a light as that
-which now lay in a streak across the marshes, and in which the polished
-stalks of the marsh grass shone red.
-
-"There is such a glare under the clouds! how it makes one's eyes ache!"
-she said; and then she became aware that her charioteer was giving her a
-great deal of highly seasoned advice on her behaviour to her husband.
-
-Granny hated all ladies. She hated them even in their natural place. She
-had an old and standing grudge against them. But when they chose to
-descend from their unassailable platform--when they were silly enough
-to force themselves into the grade of honest workers--then they ought to
-be made to mend their ways, and eat humble pie in large mouthfuls--not
-to keep up their old airs and insult their betters.
-
-"Oh, I know," said Meg, speaking more to herself than to granny; "but I
-can't help being different from the others; I have tried, but it is of
-no use. There are things one can do, and things one can't do; the thing
-I have tried I can't!"
-
-And granny had no more idea what hopelessness lay in that confession
-than if Meg had spoken in a foreign language. It even irritated her the
-more, as a fresh avowal of a claim to the "fine-ladyism" which to her
-was like a red rag to a bull.
-
-"Can't help!" she cried. "An' let me tell 'ee this, young woman, if I
-wur your husband I'd mak' yo' help it. Ah, an' he wull one day. You
-think the preacher's made of naught but butter; but yo'll find out
-theer's more nor that in him. It's all fine for a while. Oh yes, I've
-he'rd o' yo're stand-off ways wi' him; but a mon 'ull ha' some
-satisfaction from the woman he feeds and clothes. I suppose you've not
-thought o' that? Ye fancy becos ye are young, and ha' got eyes that look
-as if they saw through stone walls, that ye can do as ye like wi' a mon!
-An' so 'ee con, so 'ee con for a bit; but it's only fur a bit wi' ony of
-'em, it don't last. Eh, I knaw. I con tell thee, I wur a greater beauty
-than ever yo' wur, my lass; and Jacob wur as big a fule over me afore he
-married as ever yo' see'd; an', afore that I'd been his'n a month, he
-kicked me so that----"
-
-"I don't want to hear, please!" said Meg; but granny laughed scornfully,
-and proceeded with the recital. Whether because she took a fierce
-pleasure in shocking her companion's sensibilities, or because she
-thought it would be good for the lady to realise what she might have had
-to suffer if Barnabas hadn't been "softer nor some," she spared no
-details.
-
-"It wur no marvel Timothy wur born quare," said granny; "he wur cliverer
-than most to live at all, poor lad; tho' ye do look down on 'im." And
-there was a kind of fierce affection in that last speech; a defiant love
-for the lad she had born in the midst of sore mis-usage, that woke Meg's
-pity more than the horrible stories of gross cruelty that had been
-poured into her unwilling ears.
-
-"But all men are not like that, granny," she said at last.
-
-"Naw; some be too fur th' other way abeaut," said granny. "Barnabas
-Thorpe 'ud ha' brought yo' to knaw yo're place by now, ef he'd made ye
-feel him maister; but he won't stand yo' for ever, an' so I tell 'ee;
-and he'll be i' th' right too. Yo' con go on talking i' that quare
-mincing way, as a body can't understan'; yo' con go on lookin' as if ye
-weren't made o' th' same stuff as us (just because ye've been fed and
-pampered all yo're life), and pretending not to hear what's said to 'ee,
-and holdin' him off wi' yo're airs; but he'll be sick o' that one day,
-and where 'ull yo're foine ladyship be then?"
-
-"I don't know," said Meg apathetically. "Perhaps I shall have learned
-not to feel any more. People can't go on caring about things always, I
-suppose. One will grow old some day, mercifully."
-
-And she looked at the witch-like old hag beside her, who had been the
-country beauty once, and whose husband had kicked her when he was tired
-of her (within a month), and who had found consolation in smoking and
-drinking. "Or perhaps I may die," she said; "which would be much
-better!"
-
-A flash of lightning almost blinded her, even while she spoke, and the
-quickly following crash of thunder drowned her last words.
-
-Granny leaned forward, shifting the whip in her hand, and struck the
-donkey with the butt end.
-
-"We'll just get to th' miser's hut i' time," she said; "but I'll put ye
-out o' the cart if ye talk o' death in a thunder-starm; it's temptin'
-the Lard."
-
-It was quite dark now, except when the lightning opened the sky, and
-momentarily lighted up the stretch of marsh land. The donkey's pace
-quickened, and Meg held on to the side of the cart, while they jolted
-rapidly over the uneven track. What a tiny speck they seemed under that
-vast canopy of cloud!
-
-Every other living thing was in hiding, except a gull, flying inland,
-and very close to the ground.
-
-Meg heard its harsh cry, and saw, with a thrill of envy, the gleam of
-the white wings as it swept past.
-
-"'Oh that I had wings like a dove; for then would I fly away and be at
-rest.'" But there was no flying away for her, no escaping the slow
-reaping that would follow the hasty sowing, so surely as the thunder
-followed the flash. Ah, there it was again, running along the ground
-like a fiery serpent; and the thunder, this time, seemed to burst close
-to their ears, and fill the whole air, and shake the earth.
-
-They were at the deserted hut now; and Granny Dale got down and took the
-trembling beast out of the shafts, and led him in.
-
-She had much more sympathy with her donkey than with Meg, who further
-tried her temper by standing at the entrance to the hut watching.
-
-The old woman crouched down on the mud floor by the fireplace, rocking
-to and fro, muttering something that was meant for a prayer, and casting
-malevolent glances at the figure in the doorway. The donkey rubbed his
-head on her shoulder; he too was "fleyed o' the starm," which increased
-in fury every minute.
-
-"Look 'ee here," she cried at last, "I'll ha' no more o' this. It ain't
-fittin' to gape at the Lard's judgments, as if they wur a show, and it
-'ull bring Him down on us. I won't be struck cos o' yo', and yo'r
-uncanny ways. Come in, like a Christian, an' say yo'r prayers, and hide
-yo'r eyes; or else be gwon wi' you; an' a good riddance!"
-
-The lightning lighted up Meg's pale face as she turned round; the
-sadness of her expression struck granny afresh. "Theer be some'ut
-unlucky about 'ee," she cried. "I'm wishful I'd not brought ye; I doubt
-ye'll not bring much good to any one. Timothy said as much. Eh, an' what
-are ye after now?"
-
-"I know my way from here," said Meg. "I am not afraid of the storm. I
-won't stay and bring you bad luck, Mrs. Dale." And she slipped out into
-the darkness.
-
-The old woman rose with difficulty and hobbled to the door, which Meg
-had shut gently behind her. The wind was rising now, and blew against it
-with a shrieking gust. Mrs. Dale battled with it for a minute, then
-succeeded in opening it, and looked about. At that moment the heavy
-clouds broke, and down came the rain!--dashing down, whistling through
-the air, like a solid sheet of water, leaping up again on its fall.
-
-Blessed rain, that had been needed all these hot weeks; that the farmers
-would rejoice to hear while they lay in their beds; that the earth would
-greet, with a sweetness which would rise like incense! The earth
-spurted up, the willows bent under the onslaught of water. It frightened
-the birds in their nests, and made all small animals cower and peep in
-their shelters. It was not a night in which any living being should be
-out in the open.
-
-Granny Dale shut the door again, and relighted her pipe; the danger was
-over, so there was no further need to pray. She puffed away
-philosophically instead: it was lucky she had brought plenty of "'baccy"
-with her. The rain was too violent to last. When it should stop, she and
-the donkey would jog on again. As for that crazy woman, who couldn't
-speak her own mother tongue properly, she must be getting pretty
-drenched; but she was the preacher's affair, not Granny Dale's. No; she
-was nowhere to be seen; she had vanished like a ghost, or a storm
-spirit,--why bother about her?
-
-Granny swore once or twice; she could not help being bothered; and, when
-the storm cleared at last, and she and her donkey started, splashing
-through ooze and slush, making deep ruts in their progress, she peered
-anxiously to the right and left, seeing Meg in stunted alder trees, and
-in clumps of pale reeds, and, even once, in the reflection of the moon
-in a pool. It looked to her like the girl's white face, upturned and
-floating.
-
-Meg was not on the high road at all; she had turned sharp to the left
-from the hut, and struck into a short cut to the farm. She fancied she
-knew her way across these familiar marshes, even in the dark.
-
-Indeed, she kept on quite steadily at first, only stooping now and then
-to make sure with her hands that her feet were still on the track, or to
-shut her eyes, that were nearly blinded by the lightning. How small she
-felt among the immense resistless powers that were at play round
-her!--One tiny atom in the midst of the great plan of nature that whirls
-on through the ages, taking no count of the individual births, and
-deaths, and pains and joys! She kept on quite steadily till the sluice
-gates opened and the water descended with a force that made her stagger,
-taking her breath away, pelting her, drenching her through and through
-in a minute. Meg was swept half round by it, driven backwards a few
-steps in her surprise up against a tree, to which she clung
-instinctively. Both her arms were round the trunk, and she felt it sway
-and creak. Already her feet were in a puddle, nearly ankle-deep.
-
-"If this goes on much longer, it will be a second deluge," thought she.
-"Were any of the people who were drowned in the Flood rather _glad_ to
-be swept away, I wonder?"
-
-But it did not last. The storm ceased almost as suddenly as it had
-begun. The birds lifted their heads again, and began to chirp a feeble
-sleepy thanksgiving. The worst was over. Meg loosened her hold of the
-willow, and wandered on.
-
-She was as soaked as if she had fallen into the stream; her clothes were
-very heavy, and her steps were more uncertain than they had been. The
-track was lost in water; everywhere there seemed nothing but shallow
-glistening pools, which reflected the deep dark sky and the stars, when
-the clouds parted and rolled off.
-
-Presently Meg found herself on the verge of a salt-water spring that was
-deeper than the others. She discovered that she was going the wrong way
-when she got to the "Pixie's Pool". She had all but walked into it, but
-had been stopped by the black post with a supposed depth, marked in
-rough white figures, put up by one of the Thorpes.
-
-Meg leaned against the post to rest, and looked down into the black
-depths; and, thus looking, a temptation seemed to rise from them, and
-lay hold of her soul and body.
-
-She had so nearly fallen in! Suppose she let herself drop; a step would
-do it, and no one would ever know that it had not been an accident!
-
-Barnabas would be unhappy--for a time; but his work was his real love,
-and he never looked on death as a misfortune, and it would set him free.
-Tom would be rather sorry, Mr. Thorpe more than "rather"; but, after
-all, she had always been a strange element at the farm,--never quite one
-of them, even when they were kindest. They would go on as before she
-came; there would hardly be a place to fill up; she had never been much
-good to any one! She slipped on to her knees and stooped lower over the
-water. It seemed drawing her, with a force that was part of the pitiless
-power that she had felt in the storm; that she had felt too in her own
-life. "As we sow, so we must reap;" "must reap," it was running in her
-head again,--but she could escape the "must" so, and so only.
-
-Terrible relentless law, that she felt she could bow to no more. Should
-she break through it once and for ever, so that the reaping should be no
-more for her,--in this world, at any rate?
-
-She could see the moon in the water; she could fancy herself falling
-through it, disturbing the reflection for a moment, then it would close
-over her again; it would look just as though she had never been; it
-would _be_ just the same. One life less; it counted for nothing among
-the thousands; and the sky and marsh and water would keep the secret,
-and she would have to make no more efforts. She was tired, oh so tired!
-Ah, how the water was pulling her--it was like a magnet to a needle!
-
-She had failed utterly. Life was a perplexity and a terror; and God was
-too far away--if, indeed, He "was" at all. Scepticism was unnatural to
-Meg; it meant blank despair to her. The horrors "granny" had poured into
-her ears, mingled with her own sense of impotence and failure, made her
-feel it better to risk anything, to force a verdict of damnation from an
-angry God, rather than to stay where He was not, where the heartless
-horror of mechanical laws reigned supreme.
-
-Natural healthy love of life was never so strong as it should be in her:
-she would always rather fly to the ills she knew not, than bear the
-evils she knew, and face misery she could picture to herself. Her
-courage had given way. She shut her eyes and swayed towards the pool.
-One plunge and it would be done!
-
-"Margaret, Margaret!" the shout, loud and insistent, rang across the
-marshes and broke the spell. "Margaret!" farther off and fainter.
-"Margaret, Margaret!" once more, quite away in the distance.
-
-It was the preacher's voice. He must be looking for her. Meg had sprung
-to her feet at the first call. A choking sensation rose to her throat,
-and tears to her eyes. Had he been searching for her all night? _He_ did
-not break his bargain, nor fling aside his responsibilities, whatever
-she did; and she had promised him she would go back. What a coward she
-was! What a mad, dishonourable coward! With a burning sense of shame,
-Meg turned her back on the death that had tempted her sorely, with a
-yearning, that was deeper than articulate prayer, to the God who alone
-knows how hard life is.
-
-"One _must_ pay one's debts and keep one's promises. I'll go on again
-and finish it," she said. She spoke to the invisible, and did not know
-she had spoken aloud. Then she began to stumble in the direction of the
-farm.
-
-It was fresher and cooler after the rain; but her feet sank into the
-softened ground, making puddles where they trod, and her wet clothes
-clung to her.
-
-She would have run if she could, but that was impossible; and she was
-beginning to have a vague impression that she had been several weeks, at
-least, struggling over these moonlit boggy tracks. The path was swamped;
-but by some wonderful chance she did find herself at last in the
-straight cart road to the farm.
-
-The house stood before her, visible at the end of the road, silhouetted
-black and solid against the sky. It was at night that she had seen it
-first.
-
-Then with that recollection came back the wonder as to what they would
-all say. How long had she been gone? Her senses were so confused that
-she could not think connectedly, much less find words in which to
-explain.
-
-She reached the house and leaned against the rough grey stone, conscious
-the while that her limbs would not have carried her any further. The
-door was shut, but the light streamed from the windows. Who was up so
-late? She could hear voices inside. Some one was saying:--
-
-"Gi'e me the lantern; I'll start again." But she heard as if in a dream.
-Approaching steps sounded behind the door, but she had not knocked. It
-was opened. The light flashed in her eyes.
-
-"Eh, who is it? my lass!" said Barnabas. She felt his hand on her arm
-for a moment, and then he put down the lantern, lifted her up as if she
-were a child, and carried her right in. She was in Mr. Thorpe's wooden
-chair by the fire, and Barnabas was kneeling beside her; she looked at
-him with a vague wonder at seeing him so moved.
-
-"Barnabas, is it morning?" she said quickly. "I meant--I did try--to
-keep my promise to come back the same day--I couldn't help it.
-Everything tried to prevent me, but I started meaning to come back; only
-the storm came on, and father wouldn't see me, and there seemed no end
-to the 'reaping,' and I was so tired; but father was quite right, you
-know--and you were right too; only--oh! that isn't what I wanted to say;
-I can't--I can't remember the right words!"
-
-"Never mind," said Barnabas; and he drew her head on to his shoulder.
-"Don't talk, little lass. Ye can tell me to-morrow. Bring me that soup,
-Cousin Tremnell. Take a pan o' coals and warm her bed. Eh, ye are
-soaked!"
-
-He was feeding her as if she were a baby; and Meg was so utterly
-exhausted that she let him do as he liked, with a sense of relief at not
-being expected even to lift her hand to her lips.
-
-But the soup revived her, and after a minute she sat upright and looked
-round her.
-
-"An' where have ye been?" said Tom. He was dripping too, and had another
-lantern in his hand. He was more relieved than he cared to express to
-see Barnabas' wife safe.
-
-"A pretty dance ye ha' led us," he cried. "An' what were ye doin'?" But
-the preacher saw the scared look come back to Meg's eyes, and
-interposed.
-
-"Never mind," he said again. "It doesna matter! There is only one thing
-that matters,--that ye've come home to me; ye've come home to me! Why,
-ye can hardly stand, lass!" seeing Meg make the attempt.
-
-"I have been running miles, I think, and my knees are shaking so," she
-explained. And Barnabas lifted her in his arms again, and carried her
-up.
-
-"Good-night!" said Tom good-naturedly, "or good-morning, which is it?
-Next time ye go in for these high jinks, Barnabas' wife, do 'ee choose a
-finer night! Oh well," stretching himself, "dad needn't ha' been afear'd
-lest Barnabas should be too rough on her!"
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IX.
-
-    One enemy is too much.
-
-    --_Herbert._
-
-
-It was the last day of August. The London plane trees were beginning to
-shed their leaves, that were choked with the season's dust; the air was
-still and hot, the West End nearly deserted.
-
-The hatchment, that had been put up on Mr. Russelthorpe's death, still
-hung in Bryanston Square, but fresh straw was laid down in the street.
-This time, at least, all that the living could do to keep out death was
-being done.
-
-Mr. Deane had had a relapse after the journey to London. Two nurses were
-in attendance, and the doctors came night and day.
-
-"Really, sis, I should be ashamed to get well again after this," he had
-said playfully; "and what is the use of having regiments of physicians?
-I am sure my case is delightfully simple! I know perfectly well what's
-the matter. They vary a little as to 'how long' they will give me,
-according to whether they are of the hopeful or the gloomy school; and
-some of them have very small respect for my intellect, and pretend I may
-live years; and so, perhaps, I might, if I weren't dying; and some of
-them have inconvenient consciences, and feel bound to tell the truth;
-but it makes no difference. 'Not all the king's horses and all the
-king's men will ever set this Humpty Dumpty up again.'"
-
-"You give way too easily!" Mrs. Russelthorpe cried, with an impatience
-born of sharp anxiety. She _would_ not think that that hurried flight
-had nearly killed him.
-
-"You'll get over this fresh chill you caught at that horrible damp
-rectory. It was high time you left. I shall write to Dr. Renshawe at
-once. These old-fashioned practitioners are of no use; they don't open
-their eyes to the new lights!"
-
-"Poor sis! you must be feeling very hopeless, when you go in for the new
-lights. Let it alone, and let's enjoy our last weeks together in peace.
-No? Well, as you like. If it comforts you to have all the quacks in
-England fighting over me, why shouldn't you?" He smiled while he spoke.
-Perhaps he had always given way too easily; though not in the manner she
-meant. "But one can't start a new system on one's death-bed," he said to
-himself; and his thoughts wandered dreamily off to other subjects. A
-huge china bowl, full of late roses, stood on the sofa by his side. He
-lay drinking in their beauty. Probably he would not see many more roses;
-and, while there was no bitterness in the reflection,--Mr. Deane's was
-too sweet a nature to be bitter,--it yet added to his always keen
-appreciation of colour. His naturally intense enjoyment of the finer
-pleasures of the senses had been apt to be dashed by an almost morbid
-recollection of the many "better men than he," who had no chance of
-satisfying themselves. Like Meg, he could not enjoy his cream for the
-thought of those who needed bread. But now that life was ebbing fast, he
-delighted in any small gratification that came in his way, in a manner
-that surprised and almost annoyed his sister.
-
-"My work is done," he told her. "Rather badly, no doubt;
-but--anyhow--done. I need only 'play' now. Other people may ride atilt
-against all the problems one bruises head and heart over. Good luck go
-with them, and more power to their elbows! But I shall bother about
-nothing now. Don't put that shade of pink against those crimson roses,
-sis; you set my teeth on edge."
-
-So he lay; outwardly serene at any rate. If at the bottom of his heart
-were any regrets for the life cut short, not much past its prime, this
-was his own secret. He knew how to die like a gentleman. On that same
-principle of "enjoying the last days together," he spoke no more of Meg,
-though he thought of her often and tenderly; but there may yet be
-changes on the cards when Death is looking over a man's shoulder. He
-speaks rashly who predicts "peace" while he is yet in the land of the
-living!
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe stood on the drawing-room landing, and George Sauls
-faced her. He had already twice refused to take "No" for an answer to
-his demand--it could scarcely be called request--to see Mr. Deane.
-
-The bare idea of giving way before his impertinent assurance was
-preposterous. Mrs. Russelthorpe assured him at last that she had neither
-leisure nor inclination to receive visitors.
-
-"Naturally!" said Mr. Sauls. "I should not dream of intruding on you, if
-it were not that I must see Mr. Deane. There is something I mean to tell
-him." He leaned one arm on the banisters; and there was no trace of
-nervousness in his expression, though she was doing her best to freeze
-him. Something in George Sauls' look made Mrs. Russelthorpe feel that
-this was no sham fight. She had no idea of defeat--she had seldom been
-defeated.
-
-"You can write your communication," she said. "Mr. Deane is equal to
-reading his letters."
-
-"Thanks!" He twisted his eyeglass violently, and put his foot on the
-stair. "Thanks! but trusting to paper is only a degree less foolish than
-trusting a secret to any but number one. I will wait so long as you
-like, but I am afraid I must see Mr. Deane."
-
-It was the third repetition! Mrs. Russelthorpe drew herself up. Who was
-this man that he should say "must" to her "shall not"?
-
-"I imagined that I had made clear to you that you cannot possibly do
-that," she answered coldly.
-
-"Is that what you said to his daughter?" asked George. It was a
-declaration of war, a throwing down of the gauntlet. Mr. Sauls did not
-take his eyes from her face; as he brought out the words, he knew that
-they were insolent, but he was prepared not to stick at a trifle--for
-Meg's sake.
-
-He had thought to take his adversary unawares by that bold stroke; but
-Mrs. Russelthorpe moved not a muscle, and George, much as he disliked
-her, felt a momentary admiration for her pluck.
-
-"If you are speaking of Mrs. Thorpe," she said, "she has chosen her own
-lot, and must abide by it."
-
-"Oh, certainly!" said George. For the first time in this curious
-interview there was a shade of warmth in his tone. Meg's very name
-slightly changed his attitude.
-
-"If a woman is fool enough to marry beneath her, she chooses a lot that
-might satisfy her bitterest enemy," he remarked. "I don't pretend to go
-in for Christian charity and wholesale forgiveness; but Mrs. Thorpe
-injured herself more than any one else. Can't you hold out a hand to her
-now?"
-
-"We will not discuss that subject. May I remind you that my time is
-precious--as I have no doubt yours is?"
-
-"You mean that it is of no use waiting for your permission? You do not
-intend to give it?"
-
-"I certainly will not."
-
-"I am sorry," said Mr. Sauls. "My time is precious, as you remark. If
-there is no use in waiting, I will wait no longer." And, looking
-straight before him, though with perhaps a tinge more colour than usual
-in his sallow cheek, George went, not down, but up the stairs.
-
-For a moment Mrs. Russelthorpe stood aghast; then she put her hand on
-his arm, when he would have passed her, and detained him with a grip
-which had plenty of strength in it.
-
-"Mr. Sauls," she said, "you are doing a most unprecedented thing! I
-don't know what your private business with my brother may be; but,
-whatever it is, you are not justified in behaving so to any woman in her
-own house."
-
-"I will tell you my private business," said George. "Mrs. Thorpe came to
-Lupcombe rectory, begging to see her father, and you sent her away,
-broken-hearted! Did he ever hear of that? If he did, I will ask your
-pardon humbly; but, in any case, he _shall_ know before he dies."
-
-He felt the grip on his arm tighten at his words; it assured him, had he
-needed assurance, that he was right, that Mr. Deane had not known, and,
-what was more, that Mrs. Russelthorpe, who feared few things, dreaded
-such a revelation.
-
-"I have an impression that you have some grudge against me; and though,
-in ordinary circumstances, that fact could hardly have any weight with
-me," she remarked, with a fine touch of contempt in the voice she would
-not allow to tremble, "I acknowledge that, just now, you have an
-opportunity of annoying me seriously. Even you, however, may remember
-that, in gratifying your petty spite, you will probably quicken the end
-of the man who has befriended you, and whose friend, I believe, you call
-yourself. You must think worse of Mrs. Thorpe than I do, if you imagine
-that she will thank you for that."
-
-"Oh, I shan't ask for thanks," he said, with a short laugh. "Why should
-I, if I am gratifying my own petty spite? No; Mrs. Thorpe wouldn't
-approve this. I don't imagine that she would; she never did quite
-approve me! Please take your hand off my arm; I assure you that I don't
-want to hurt you, but I am going upstairs."
-
-He could not free himself from her grasp, however, without using actual
-force; and Mrs. Russelthorpe made one last desperate effort.
-
-"If there were a man within call besides old Pankhurst," she said, "and
-my brother, who is ill, you wouldn't dare do this! You are taking a
-cowardly advantage, Mr. Sauls, a cowardly and ungenerous advantage of
-power. You have no right to do what I forbid in my house; but--you are
-the stronger. If you have a spark of manliness in you, you will be
-ashamed!"
-
-George looked down on her; his near-sighted eyes brightened, the
-expression of his imperturbable face changed a little. She had felt that
-that must move him; she spoke with genuinely righteous indignation; and
-he was moved, though not as she had expected.
-
-"Might is right, Mrs. Russelthorpe," said he. "Oh, it's not an exalted
-theory, I know. Mr. Deane would never allow it for a moment, nor would
-his daughter; but you and I--we don't go in for their exalted theories,
-do we? Cowardly and ungenerous? When you sent Mrs. Thorpe away, did you
-stop to consider the right of the weakest? Did you _ever_ consider that,
-where she was concerned? Yes! I am the stronger; and I pay you the
-compliment of following your example rather than your precepts, you
-see." And he put his hand on her wrist, freed himself with a wrench, and
-went on upstairs.
-
-For a second, Mrs. Russelthorpe still stood where he had left her,
-feeling as if heaven and earth were coming to an end. Then she pulled
-herself together, and followed him. She would have forfeited some years
-of her life, though she loved life dearly, to have prevented this
-disclosure. Since prevention was impossible, she would hear the worst.
-
-She wished she had not made an enemy of Mr. Sauls; but, at least, he
-should not be able to say that he had seen her afraid.
-
-He looked round doubtfully when he reached the second landing.
-
-It was awkward not to know which was Mr. Deane's room, though he would
-have tried each door in succession before he would have been baffled.
-
-It may be said for George that "petty spite" alone would not have
-carried him to these lengths.
-
-He was very much aware that his conduct was rather indefensible,
-although he was certainly a good hater.
-
-"It is the second door on the right," said Mrs. Russelthorpe behind him.
-
-She held her head a little higher than usual, and spoke in her ordinary
-cold incisive tones. She had protested in vain. She had appealed to any
-gentlemanly instinct he might possess; but he had none. There should be
-no more undignified scrimmages; whatever was to be, should be quickly.
-
-Mr. Sauls opened the door, and held it open for her to pass in first. He
-would have preferred seeing Mr. Deane alone, but he had some pride too;
-she should not suppose that he shrank from saying before her face what
-he had to say.
-
-Meg's champion was not over scrupulous; but he was no coward; and, if
-most men would have shrunk from behaving to a woman as he had, on the
-score of chivalry, it must also be owned that many would hardly have had
-the courage to meet their host's astonished glance and to explain their
-presence before a hostile listener.
-
-Mr. Deane did, indeed, look utterly surprised for a moment; then he held
-out his hand with his usual genial courtesy.
-
-"Sauls! This is uncommonly kind of you. I wasn't expecting a visitor,
-but my sister was quite right to bring you up."
-
-His voice was very weak, and he flushed with the effort of talking. Mr.
-Sauls could almost see the light through the hand extended in welcome,
-and a momentary compunction seized him. Then he thought of Meg. "He will
-die anyhow," reflected George. "But he shall see her first, if I can
-compass it."
-
-"I am afraid I must own that Mrs. Russelthorpe did not bring me up--in
-fact, she did not give me her permission to come," he said.
-
-"Dear me! That sounds as if you had been fighting your way," said Mr.
-Deane, with some amusement. He had not the faintest idea of the truth of
-the suggestion, till he caught a glimpse of the face of his sister, who
-stood behind Mr. Sauls. Then he raised himself on his elbow, and looked
-from one to the other.
-
-"Is anything really the matter?" he asked.
-
-"No; but there is something I wish to say to you, at the risk of your
-possibly considering me an impertinent interferer in your affairs."
-
-"I am sure," said Mr. Deane, with a touch of hauteur in his voice, "that
-you would never impertinently interfere in my affairs;" and George set
-his teeth hard. It was difficult to go on after that. He felt as he had
-felt in old days, when Meg had sometimes snubbed him gently and even
-unconsciously, because he had ventured a little too far.
-
-"Do you remember this?" he said; and, taking a small parcel from his
-breast pocket, he opened it, and disclosed Meg's locket. Mr. Deane held
-out his hand instinctively; he did not like to see that precious relic
-in Mr. Sauls' possession.
-
-"Yes, it is--I mean it was--mine. I'll give you anything you like for
-it, Sauls."
-
-"I remembered it too," said George. "Miss Deane once showed it to me.
-The diamonds are uncommonly fine. I found it at a pawnbroker's at N----.
-Mrs. Thorpe sold it to him. The old rascal made a good thing out of her,
-I suspect. He assured me that he saw her cross the road to the 'Pig and
-Whistle' with the money in her hand, and order a chaise to take her to
-Lupcombe parsonage."
-
-"To Lupcombe!" said Mr. Deane; he started painfully.
-
-"You didn't know?" said George. "It was not news to me. The gardener
-told us how a woman had come to the parsonage--it was while Mr.
-Bagshotte and I were looking at ancient monuments--and begged hard to
-see you, but was sent away; he said she seemed broken-hearted."
-
-George's even voice--he spoke in as matter-of-fact a tone as if he were
-commenting on the weather--ceased for a moment. He knew that Mrs.
-Russelthorpe had turned white even to her lips; but he had no pity for
-her;--that other woman "broken-hearted" was too present with him.
-
-"How do you know--it was my Meg?" said her father, with a catch of the
-breath in the middle of his sentence.
-
-"I questioned the gardener again," said George. "When Mrs. Russelthorpe
-sent her away, the woman said, 'Tell father I know he was right'.
-Possibly Mrs. Russelthorpe forgot to give you that message?" He put up
-his eyeglass and looked at her, but she stood perfectly still and
-straight. An enemy's presence has a finely bracing effect on a woman's
-nerves; yet, perhaps, at that moment, Meg's wrongs were avenged, even
-better than the avenger knew.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe's love for her brother might be selfish, but at least
-it was intense; and to lose his was like losing the very life of her
-soul, for it was the only love she knew. She could not look at Charles,
-though she felt him look eagerly and questioningly at her, or speak to
-him, though her silence was an admission. But she met Mr. Sauls' stare
-with haughty composure; if he must guess she suffered, at least he
-shouldn't _see_ it.
-
-Mr. Deane put his hand over his eyes; there was a minute's dead
-silence,--the longest minute that Mrs. Russelthorpe had ever known.
-Then: "Mr. Sauls, you have made a mistake," he said. "It--it was I who
-forgot; my memory is getting misty. You must not fancy that my sister
-did not tell me. Of course, I knew--but, no doubt, you meant well." And,
-for once in his life, George was taken aback. Then he turned on his
-heel, with a short laugh.
-
-"Thank you; I am glad you credit me with good intentions," he said. "I
-am no more fond of interfering than you are of--shall I say, of telling
-lies? But there _are_ circumstances--Mrs. Thorpe had no one else to
-speak for her. Family pride is a stronger influence than abstract
-justice, isn't it?" He walked to the door, then paused. Mr. Deane
-fancied that Mr. Sauls was going to make one last cutting remark; but he
-did not. After all, it was not for his own hand that he was fighting;
-and stinging speeches wouldn't help her much.
-
-"I daresay I have 'interfered impertinently,'" he said; "but don't
-'forget' again. I think if you had seen, as I have, how she looks when
-your name is mentioned, how she longs for any crumb of news of you, you
-might remember, and even let her in next time. Good-bye; I am sorry we
-don't part friends--I am very sorry." And he spoke the truth. Mr. Deane
-had befriended him years ago; and then he was Meg's father.
-
-He was just leaving the room when Mr. Deane called him back.
-
-"Sauls, come here!" he said. "I can't make you hear across the room; my
-voice isn't strong enough. Tell me, do you know where she is? Yes? Bring
-me paper and pencil, please." George handed him his own pocket-book, and
-took the pencil from his watch-chain. Mr. Deane's hand shook while he
-held it. His sister, who had stood still as a statue all through this
-interview, stepped forward now in genuine anxiety for him.
-
-"You are not fit to write," she said. "Let me--or Mr. Sauls." But he
-shook his head. "No one else can do it. Meg will understand and come,
-when she gets this. Tell her, Sauls, that I will do my best to live till
-I have seen her, and give her my love."
-
-He wrote one line in shaky characters; then folded the leaf in two, and
-put it in George's hand. "I can't trust it to the post. Will you take
-this to her, for the sake of--'abstract justice'? You understand that
-what happened before was my doing. I trust you with this."
-
-"I understand, and you may trust me," said George. "Thank you." And
-there was a warm ring in the thanks that brought a smile to Mr. Deane's
-lips.
-
-"You are very fond of abstract justice!" he murmured.
-
-"Am I? the more fool I!" said George. "It's not a profitable taste, or
-likely to find much gratification. I will take your message safely. I am
-glad I reminded you, though you are very tired, I'm afraid." And their
-hands met for the last time.
-
-"There will be time to rest when I have seen her," said Mr. Deane; "but
-tell her that she must make haste."
-
-George went out, shutting the door behind him softly, not even caring to
-look again at his enemy. After all, he did not feel triumphant at that
-moment, though he was glad that he had won that victory for Meg.
-
-When he was fairly gone, Mr. Deane turned and looked at his sister.
-
-"You could not contradict him," he said, in a low voice. "A man can't
-see a woman put to shame before another man, but I wonder what injury I
-have ever done you that you _could_ do this thing to me. You must hate
-us very much!"
-
-"Not you! Not you!" she cried. And she threw herself at his side, hiding
-her face in the bedclothes. "Oh, Charles, I meant no harm to you. But
-what right had _she_ to come? She has always been between us, always.
-She tried to take my place; she was her mother over again,--her mother,
-who robbed me once; whom I had thought buried! Even when she was a child
-it was so; and now, having done all the harm she can, having proved her
-worthlessness, she will still dare to come and----"
-
-"God grant she will still come!" he said.
-
-His thin face worked nervously. The generous, easy life, unstained by
-any gross sin, pure as a girl's, seemed to him, at that moment, more
-culpable than words could say.
-
-"Even when she was a child!" he repeated to himself. "My _poor_ little
-Meg, even when she was a child! I don't understand how you had the heart
-to send my daughter away, but it seems I have never understood. Go,
-please, and leave me to wait for her," he said aloud.
-
-"Charles!" she cried again. And even in her own ears both words and
-voice sounded strange and unlike herself. "Oh, Charles, it was because I
-cared so much about you! I know that you can't understand; but forgive
-me, if you can."
-
-"Because you cared!" he said. "I would rather you _had_ hated me, then!
-It would have been better for us both." Then, seeing her wince as if he
-had struck her: "There! I should not have said that; but, for mercy's
-sake, do go, Augusta! I don't want to say anything more that I shall
-repent. I can't talk about it. Forgive you? If my child comes in time, I
-will. That is all I want,--if Meg only comes in time."
-
-And Mrs. Russelthorpe rose from her knees, and went downstairs, with a
-face that seemed to have grown older and greyer.
-
-"If Mrs. Thorpe comes in time to see Mr. Deane, let her in," she said to
-the butler, who nodded gravely.
-
-"Things must be at a pretty pass when she gives that order," he declared
-downstairs; and the cook sat down and cried, for all the servants loved
-Mr. Deane.
-
-That night he was worse, but in the morning there was again a slight
-rally. A kind of expectancy pervaded the whole house. The maids would
-steal constantly to the area gate, and look down the silent square; even
-the nurse, infected by her patient's anxiety, went often to the window,
-and peeped out to see whether the daughter was coming.
-
-Mr. Deane himself did nothing but listen day and night.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe, sitting alone in the big drawing-room, listened too.
-Her brother would not see her--he might die, still without seeing her.
-She made no sign of distress; but her head ached, and her brain reeled
-with listening. All through the weary day she heard every footfall that
-sounded on the flagstones, passed the house and died in the distance;
-and all through the weary night she wondered whether it would be worse
-that Meg should hold him in her arms at the last; or that he should die,
-leaving his sister unforgiven. It would be a careless forgiveness--given
-because, having his child again, he had "all he wanted". Mrs.
-Russelthorpe wondered at herself because she longed for that.
-
-Well, if her love was selfish, she did not on that account suffer any
-the less--but rather more.
-
-Even George Sauls, who thought she had got off easily, though it was
-just like Mr. Deane to interpose and screen her--even he might have been
-satisfied, if he had known how much.
-
-And, indeed, the most vindictive, could they know everything, would
-probably have small desire left for the shooting of private arrows at
-any enemy.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER X.
-
-    It takes two to speak truth--one to speak and another to hear.
-
-    --_Thoreau._
-
-
-It was mid-day when Margaret woke; the day after her fruitless
-expedition to her father, after the terrible night which had left its
-traces on both her soul and body.
-
-She had slept for twelve hours and woke refreshed, but still aching from
-the effects of cold and exposure. She felt as if she had been beaten
-violently, and she dressed herself with some difficulty.
-
-Mrs. Tremnell had brought a cup of tea to her room, and tried to
-persuade her to stay there. Meg accepted the attention with gratified
-but rather surprised thanks.
-
-"I must get up," she said, "for I did all sorts of dreadful things
-yesterday. I have lamed Tom's mare, and I have lost Barnabas' savings,
-and I ought to tell them at once; I can do a thing if I must, but I
-can't _wait_ with anything hanging over my head, I never could" (which
-was remarkably true).
-
-"Barnabas is too glad to have you back to care about what you've lost,"
-said Mrs. Tremnell. "He's so set on you as never was." She looked at Meg
-with a rather wistful expression on her face. She had suffered many
-qualms of conscience about "Barnabas' wife" in the night. "You must be
-fond of your father, Margaret," she said; "and yet parents aren't of
-much account generally. My Lyddy never thought much of me--but there!
-she was so pretty and clever, it seemed natural she should not."
-
-Margaret didn't look pretty that morning. She couldn't have compared
-with Lydia! The black rings round her eyes were most unbecoming, and she
-was tired and sad; yet Mrs. Tremnell felt drawn towards her as she never
-had felt before.
-
-"Ah!" said Meg sadly, "I daresay she _did_ think of you after all,
-Cousin Tremnell. One generally thinks too late!"
-
-She went downstairs then, with some dread of all the questions and all
-the explanations before her, but with her mind made up. She had passed a
-crisis during the night. She and despair had met at close quarters; and
-such a conflict makes its indelible mark. No one can "go down into hell"
-and be just the same afterwards. Either he must have found God "there
-also,"--a finding which deepens and strengthens;--or have succumbed
-utterly, which, I suppose, retards that discovery to which in the end we
-humbly believe "all souls come".
-
-The preacher's wife felt anything but victorious that morning; but she
-would never run away from consequences again.
-
-She met her father-in-law on the stairs. He had been "more than a bit
-scared," he said, when he had found that they knew nothing about her at
-the parson's.
-
-"Did you go all that long way?" cried Meg. "I am very sorry!"
-
-"_You_ went all that long way too, eh? Was your father better?" he
-asked.
-
-"I might not see him," said Meg. And Mr. Thorpe refrained from further
-questions, but put his big hand on her head, with a fatherly kindness
-that was grateful to her.
-
-"Well, well; it's a hard world!" said he. "But I am glad to see ye safe;
-as glad as if ye were my own daughter."
-
-And Meg never guessed how indignant he was with her "own father" at that
-moment.
-
-Tom was bustling in and out of the kitchen, and Meg sat down on the long
-bench that was always pushed up to the table for meals, and began
-playing with the salt, which had been left out.
-
-She wished that Molly had been Mr. Thorpe's property!
-
-Tom cast quick glances at her while he went to and fro. Meg knew that he
-saw that she was nervous, and this made her worse.
-
-He came up to the table at last, and put his hand on the salt jar. That
-bit of earthenware, out of which each person helped himself with the end
-of a fork, was associated in Meg's mind with Tom for ever afterwards.
-
-"Well," he said, "it seems to gi'e ye some soart o' consolation! If I
-put it on th' top o' th' cupboard, which is where Cousin Tremnell says
-it ought to be kept between meals, p'r'aps ye'll never get out what ye
-are trying to say, eh?" And Meg drew a breath of relief.
-
-This was the old Tom whom she had got accustomed to,--not the Tom of
-last week, who had been unnaturally grave, and exceedingly chary of
-words.
-
-"I have such a fearful thing to confess that I don't know where to
-begin."
-
-"Begin at the end," said he. "The end o' th' matter was that ye left
-Molly dead lame at the 'Pig and Whistle's' stable, warn't it? It was the
-best ye could do under th' carcumstances. I'm glad ye didn't try to
-drive her home again anyhow."
-
-"Oh, you've heard about it!" cried Meg.
-
-"Long John told tales! Ye doan't do credit to my driving lessons; ye
-tried to do wi'out me too soon, ma'am!"
-
-"I am dreadfully sorry I lamed Molly."
-
-"Eh? Well, it's done now--an' I'd sooner by a long sight see ye glad
-than sorry. Besides, I doan't suppose ye'd ha' taken her if ye had known
-she'd come to grief. _What?_" with a sudden burst of laughter, "ye
-_would_ have? 'Pon my soul, Barnabas' wife, ye do go in for th' whole
-sheep while you're about it!"
-
-Tom's laugh was infectious, and brought a smile even to Meg's lips.
-
-"It is very good of you not to be angry. Long John said you'd never get
-over it, Tom."
-
-"Long John thanked his stars it warn't him, I fancy," said Tom, laughing
-again; and then he grew graver. "Come now, he's been telling you tales
-too, hasn't he? A pretty little story about me? Ay--I guessed as much.
-An' you weren't quite sartain that I wouldn't throw the poker at your
-head or swear at 'ee just now! Ye doan't allus understan' our ways, no
-more nor we do yours, lass; but, if ye'd believe it, ye ha'n't much need
-to be scar' to' us. Lord bless us, if ye only knew the times I've _not_
-said summat as has been on th' tip o' my tongue cos ye've been by, an' I
-doan't much enjoy seein' ye miserable an' shocked. Come now--ha'we made
-it up?"
-
-He leaned across the table, and held out his hand to Barnabas' wife.
-Meg, who was at least as easily touched by kindness as by unkindness,
-looked up eagerly.
-
-"Oh, Tom--I missed you when you weren't friends with me; I should _like_
-to make it up," she said, a little colour coming into her cheeks.
-
-Tom shook his head with an odd, half-rueful smile.
-
-"Ye are a white witch, lass! I didn't mean to believe 'ee against my own
-eyes, but I suppose I do. I'll never think aught bad of 'ee again. Will
-'ee forgi'e me now?"
-
-And Meg melted at once, accepting his apology with warmth.
-
-"But you had better not say you'll never think anything bad of me again,
-for you don't know," said she.
-
-A vision of that salt pool rose before her, and she shuddered.
-
-Tom whistled. "I say--it's not on Molly's account ye are so down as
-this, lass?"
-
-He walked to the window, and stood with his back to Barnabas' wife.
-
-"Any fool can make a mull," he said; "but I've fancied ye might get atop
-o' _your_ mistakes; some go down under 'em, but not the best soart. I
-doan't know, as ye say--an' it's Barnabas ye'd better tell, not me--an'
-it's oncommon easy to preach. I've not allus found it easy to practise,
-seein' I was 'started wi' a mistake in the making o' me; but I'm sure o'
-one thing--Barnabas ain't wantin' in understanding; gi'e him a bit o' a
-chance, an', happen, he'll help ye better nor ye suppose. An' doan't 'ee
-think too small beer o' yoursel' either," added Tom. "Ye've got a pretty
-good share o' pluck, my dear, if ye'd only believe it!"
-
-But when Barnabas' wife had taken his advice and gone in search of the
-preacher, Tom watched her across the yard, with his queer face screwed
-into a rather doubtful expression.
-
-"Lord! I hope he'll say the right thing now; I'd like to gi'e him a
-hint," he said.
-
-The preacher was in the hayloft, hammering at something, with his back
-to the entrance. He turned round sharply, hammer in hand, when he heard
-Margaret's step on the ladder.
-
-"I told Cousin Tremnell to keep ye abed, ye were so terribly done last
-night," he said. "Why didn't ye stay there?"
-
-"I wanted to speak to you; at least, there is something I ought to
-say----" Meg had got thus far when he interrupted.
-
-"Doan't 'ee for any sake stand afore me looking scared, lass! as if I
-was a judge and ye were at th' bar; for I can't bear it."
-
-He pulled down a heap of hay while he was speaking, and Meg sat down,
-burying her face in it. Her heart was beating fast, and her head
-throbbing; but, after all, it was, perhaps, the man who was most to be
-pitied. There were few things he would have owned to "not being able to
-bear".
-
-"I've some'ut to say to ye too. Will ye listen to me first, Margaret?"
-He spoke low, with an effort to be quiet and cool for her sake; and then
-went on, without waiting for an answer: "After ye were gone yesterday, I
-came to look for ye; I wanted to say as I took shame to mysel' for
-holding ye back when your father was ill, an' I would have taken ye to
-Lupcombe; but I was too late. I _do_ take shame for that; I hadn't ought
-to ha' tried to stop ye. I am the most bound of all men to be fair to
-'ee, an' I wasn't."
-
-"Oh, Barnabas!" said Meg, looking up with tears in her eyes; this was
-not what she had expected. "Would you have let me go to him if I had
-asked you again? I wish I had, then; I thought it would be no good; that
-you never changed your mind."
-
-"I've heard foalk say that we're all a bit obstinate," said the
-preacher; "an', where a man's had a clear leading fro' th' Lord, he
-can't, to my mind, heed other men's talk too little; but I wasna
-followin' the Lord yesterday, but the devil; an' I was sorry for it
-when I came to my senses."
-
-"You had a right to object, if you chose."
-
-"Do you suppose I think I've a right to ill-treat ye? I'm sorry for us
-both, if ye do," he answered gravely, and then his voice softened. "Oh,
-Margaret! I was sore afeart all th' night. When I was lookin' for 'ee in
-the 'marshes,' it came over me that there was some evil comin' nigh to
-'ee; I've had the feelin' all the week, but last night it were terrible
-close: I stayed an' shouted to 'ee; I felt as if I must save 'ee fro'
-summat; an', my little lass, I didn't know how to thank God enough when
-I saw ye, though ye were half scared o' me."
-
-Meg buried her face lower in the hay. "You are thankful for small
-mercies," she said, in rather a choked voice. "It's not worth your while
-to care like that, Barnabas."
-
-"The things a man 'ull die for take a grip on him fro' th' outside; an'
-he doesna reckon, is it worth 'so much' or 'so much'?" said the
-preacher. "Ye are more nor all th' world to me now, whatever happens;
-an' it wasna I that set out to love ye, my maid; but the love for ye
-that just took a hold o' me."
-
-"Whatever happens?" said Meg. She looked at him with a curious wonder.
-"If I had done something very bad, or if----"
-
-"Ye need make no 'ifs,'" he cried. "It's not hell--no, nor yet heaven,
-that 'ull take ye out o' my heart now!" And Meg's eyes fell before his;
-she had her answer!
-
-She could not hinder this strong love. Barnabas would never count costs
-either in the things that pertained to God, or in the things that
-pertained to man.
-
-"Well, lass," he began again, after a minute's silence, "I found this
-this morning" (holding out her note).
-
-"So ye thought we'd take a satisfaction in makin' th' rest o' your life
-miserable? Did ye get to your father?"
-
-"He wouldn't see me," said Meg; and there was a ring of pain in her
-voice, that went to the man's heart. "Father could not forgive me,
-though I asked him. He said, 'Tell her that as we sow, we must reap;'
-and it is very true--truer than anything else in this world, only I did
-so want to see him--oh, I _do_ so want to!"
-
-The preacher walked up and down the loft with quick strides. "I hope,"
-he began; and then swallowed the rest of that sentence. He hoped in his
-righteous indignation--possibly also in his jealousy--that Mr. Deane
-might receive a like answer when in need of forgiveness for himself; but
-he did refrain from saying that to Meg.
-
-"There was a king's daughter who forgot her own people an' her father's
-house; but there's only one thing as makes a woman do that, I fancy," he
-said at last; "an' ye've not got it. See now, lass, I'm asking ye for
-naught but th' right to help ye if I can. Let's get to th' bottom o'
-things together; doan't 'ee think ye might gi'e me that much?"
-
-He spoke gently; but there was always an intensity about the preacher
-that made Meg, whose more complex nature was swayed by many different
-emotions, feel rather as if she were being coerced into self-revelations
-against her will.
-
-"What is the use? There are some things better not talked of. It is
-sometimes a sin even--even to regret," she whispered. Her great grey
-eyes had a beseeching wistfulness in them. "It's all been unfair to
-you," she cried, the conviction that had been growing on her finding
-voice. "But I meant, when I came back, to put all that belonged to the
-old life quite aside--never to speak of father any more. If you give me
-time, I'll do it. Only don't make me tell you too many truths,
-Barnabas; they may be better let alone."
-
-"I'd be loth to _make_ any one do aught," said the preacher. "It's what
-I'd never do."
-
-"What he would never do!" And how many times had she not seen his strong
-personal influence making people go his way?--making the drunkard throw
-away gin untasted, making crowds fall on their knees as if moved by one
-spirit; yet he spoke in all good faith: such compulsion was not his
-doing, but "the Lord's," in the preacher's eyes.
-
-She leaned back against the hay, and watched him pacing up and down the
-loft. Her thoughts flew back to a day that had almost been forgotten in
-the events that followed it,--the day he had testified in the
-drawing-room at Ravenshill.
-
-It had been very like Barnabas to do that--very characteristic both of
-his strength and his limitations. Well! she, at least, had learned much
-since then; among other things, perhaps, that the most earnest of
-preachers is a man first,--and last.
-
-"Ye shall never feel forced to aught, an' I can help it; we'll go on as
-we did before, if you choose. Only it's not true that any truth is
-better not 'faced,'" he said finally; and there was a steady
-self-restraint and patience in his tone that woke Meg's confidence.
-
-The preacher's judgment was not infallible; and she knew that now: his
-opinions were mixed with strong class and personal prejudices, his very
-goodness was dashed with fanaticism;--and yet, for all that, he was true
-to the very core. She had meant to play her part better; but to this
-man, of all men, she could not offer pretences. Since this was all he
-asked, he should have it. They would face their mistake together; even
-that mistake which she had thought it sin against both God and him to
-own as one.
-
-"Ask what you like then," she said. She could no more give half a
-confidence than he could give half a heart. "But, as to helping--every
-one must do his own reaping, unless he is mean enough to try to escape
-it. I used to fancy that, being father's daughter, I could never do a
-mean thing, though I've done plenty of rash ones; but one learns." And
-the reflection of the night's learning deepened the tragedy in her eyes.
-"One learns that one might be tempted to anything."
-
-What had she been tempted to? The preacher's breath came more quickly
-with the quickness of the thoughts that flashed through his brain.
-
-She was young and had love to give, and a heart that some one else might
-have touched, though _he_ could not. If that was the temptation, the
-nethermost hell was too good for the man who had tempted her. But _she_
-was blameless, anyhow; he knew that,--knew it with an absolute certainty
-he longed to declare.
-
-He would have defended her against herself, reading self-accusation in
-her tone. God helping him, no hot jealousy should scare or scorch her
-this time.
-
-"Margaret," he said slowly, "what was the temptation?"
-
-"I told you," she cried. "It was to _escape_. Oh, Barnabas, we made a
-great mistake. We have both seen it, I suppose, and repented; but what
-difference does that make? One may water one's sowing with tears--they
-don't prevent the harvest! As we sow, we must reap. Even father said so.
-Granny Dale said worse things than that----" She stopped abruptly.
-
-"Well?"
-
-"I couldn't tell you all," said Meg, her face flushing. "She said that
-men got tired of their fancies, and that, though you were better than
-most, you wouldn't stand my ways any more some day. Don't look _so_,
-Barnabas; I didn't believe it! I knew you were too good; but some of it
-was true. She said you fed and clothed me and got nothing for it; and
-that was true. She said I was a fine lady. I have tried not to be, but
-it is so difficult to alter the way one has been made. And she told me
-horrible stories of--of what her husband did to her when she was young.
-I couldn't repeat those--they were too terrible." And Meg shuddered.
-"But, when one hears of such things, it makes the whole world dark, and
-God seems too far away to care."
-
-"Do 'ee think so?" said Barnabas. "But it's just the knowledge o' such
-cruelties and horrors and black wickedness that drives a man to be a
-preacher, lass. They burn at th' bottom o' one's thoughts, an' one has
-no rest till one has given one's life to th' fighting o' them."
-
-"I know, I know," said Meg. "Oh yes, you have taught me that; one has no
-rest for thinking of them! But, if one fights and fails? Barnabas, you
-will not understand this, because you never despair, and you don't know
-what it is to be beaten, and you are never afraid; but I was. Ah, look
-the other way, I know it was cowardly, but it tempted me so; and I
-wanted to get free of--of everything; of trying and failing, of loving
-people who can't bear to see one, of being a weight on strangers; of the
-hopeless tangle. The longing came over me quite suddenly, I had not
-thought I was so wicked. I knew, all at once, that I was horribly afraid
-of living, and death pulled me so hard, as if there were something
-stronger than me in the water; and then you called' Margaret,
-Margaret!' and I pulled myself back. I was ashamed of being such a
-coward. It was as bad as a soldier who deserts, except that I didn't
-quite--though even that I did not was more your doing than mine."
-
-"Neither yours nor mine," said the preacher; "but the Lord's!"
-
-He leaned his arms on the half-door of the loft, and looked away over
-the flat country, glistening with water, sweet and fresh after the
-baptism of rain. Had he, in leading the woman he loved from the evil of
-the world, brought her to this?--this horror of despair and loneliness,
-that temptation which she had only just escaped, whose shadow he had
-surely felt!
-
-He thanked God she was safe, but with an intensity of realisation of her
-peril that went through him like the sharpness of steel.
-
-"I'm sore to think that the devil had power to tempt ye. I'm sore to
-think ye met him, wi' me not by, Margaret. How shall I comfort ye? What
-shall I say?" cried the man.
-
-If she had loved him he could have comforted so easily; if he had not
-loved her, he would have had no doubt what to say. He made an effort to
-put that human love aside, and turned to her at last, his blue eyes very
-bright. "Doan't believe him who was a liar fro' th' beginning," he said.
-"The good must allus be th' strongest, lass, i' th' end. It's against
-lies an' black shadows that we fight. With us is the power an' th'
-glory. You an' I, Margaret, will win through our failures and our sins,
-and count them dead at our feet one day!"
-
-Meg shook her head. "I know you think so," she said; "I am not so
-sure--I don't think I am sure of anything,--if even father----" the
-sentence did not bear finishing. Alas! though human love first teaches
-the divine, the failure of "the brother whom we have seen" shakes our
-belief in a Divinity we have not seen, as nothing else can. Then a smile
-touched her lips.
-
-"But I daresay _you_ will see all your sins and failures dead at your
-feet," she said. "I think you would win through anything; it is the very
-sure people who do; and you will be quite triumphant and happy one day!"
-
-"But I'd have no content," said Barnabas, "nor wish to have, without ye
-had it too. No, not in heaven--it 'ud be hell an' I lost ye, Margaret!"
-
-"Hush!" cried Meg, amazed. "Do you think it is right to say that?"
-
-"Ay, I do; most right," he said, with the strong conviction in his voice
-that Meg always felt overpowered argument. "Shall I think better than my
-Master? Was He content in heaven? An' He had been, He'd not ha' drawn
-_us_ after Him, lass. I'm not feared o' loving ye too much," he went on
-rather sadly. "Happen, if I love ye enough, I'll learn in time not to
-scare ye; an' then th' next old wife ye meet won't leave ye fit to drown
-yourself wi' her tales o' men's wickedness! So ye think we made a great
-mistake, eh? an' ha' both repented? For me, I ha' _not_ repented. It wur
-a clear teaching, an' naught's a mistake that's right. An' it seems so
-afterwards, that's part o' th' witcheries o' th' devil. Still, ye think
-so?" drawing his light-coloured eyebrows together in perplexity, but
-with a patient attempt to follow her thought that touched Meg.
-
-"You were doing what you believed right," she said. "I was very
-miserable and Aunt Russelthorpe hated me, and I her, and father was
-away, and it was easier to go--anywhere--than to stay. I did really
-believe it was 'a call' too; it wasn't only discontent. I must have been
-wrong, though, or it would have turned out right," Meg said, with a
-simplicity that was always part of her character. "But, when I look
-back, I can't disentangle my motives nor even remember exactly what I
-felt then; I was so different, and knew so little----"
-
-"I'd let it be," said Barnabas. "There doesna seem much doubt to me."
-
-He paused a moment. There was never "much doubt" to him about anything.
-It was hardly possible to this man, who was essentially a man of action,
-of unhesitating zeal, to comprehend self-torturing uncertainty.
-
-Then his love for her gave him the sympathy which he could never have
-reached intellectually.
-
-"But, happen, I doan't rightly understand," he said gently. "Well, He
-understan's, whose strength is stronger nor our sins, an' His wisdom nor
-our mistakes. Say it wur a sin an' a mistake, lass!--tho', mind, it's
-not I who'll ever think so--even then, He can bring ye past it. Failure
-isn't for us who are on His side. Things hide themsel's an' take queer
-shapes i' th' smoke o' th' battle; but in th' end the shadows 'ull roll
-away, an' the day be His an' ours!" cried Barnabas.
-
-Meg, looking at him, knew how he _saw_ that battlefield, where the Man
-of Sorrows stood alone triumphant.
-
-Well, the preacher's arguments might not always convince now; but yet,
-so long as she lived, his unswerving devotion would wake an answering
-chord in her. It is, after all, what a man is that impresses us; and the
-reflection of the Eternal goodness in our neighbour's soul refreshes
-ours, be the neighbour broad or narrow, of our creed or of his own!
-
-"I am glad I have told you," she said.
-
-Barnabas put his hands on her shoulders and looked down at her, in his
-face an anxiety he could not repress.
-
-"Ye ha' told me all?"
-
-"No. There is something else; I have lost the money you gave me,
-and----"
-
-He interrupted impatiently. "Eh? that's no matter, and it was yours to
-do as you would with; I'd not ha' saved it for mysel'. There's naught
-else? I've thought times--happen, when someone came along wi' just all
-the ways I'm wanting in--book-larned, perhaps, and clever--so I've
-heard--and a gentleman. Doan't fancy that I'm not sartain ye would never
-listen to a word ye shouldn't fro' any--I am sure o' that--but meaning
-no blame to 'ee, Margaret--only seein' ye are still young, an'--an'----"
-He stammered in his eagerness, and Meg felt that his hands were shaking.
-It was extraordinary and amazing to her that Barnabas should care like
-that.
-
-"I am not breaking my heart for anybody," she said rather indignantly;
-"for Mr. Sauls least of all. Every one is rather silly about him, I
-think--even Tom."
-
-"An' what about Tom?" asked the preacher; and Meg, in some dismay, found
-herself let in for even greater revelations than she had intended.
-
-Barnabas was more indignant on her behalf than she expected or wished.
-
-He listened to the rather confused story in silence, except that he
-interrupted once to ask: "Why didn't ye tell me? Didn't ye know I'd ha'
-come fro' anywhere to take your part?"
-
-"It's all past now, and Tom and I have made it up; and it does not
-matter any more," Meg wound up. She was anxious to forget that sore
-subject, which had been such a perplexity to her.
-
-"There would have been no use in telling you when I couldn't prove that
-I was speaking the truth. You see, I could not explain about the
-letter; I can't understand, even now, what it was that Cousin Tremnell
-picked up, but I have thought since that, perhaps----"
-
-"_I_ doan't want explaining to. Ye needn't fash yoursel'!" cried
-Barnabas. There was something more like reproach in his tone than
-anything she had heard before. Her explanation died.
-
-"Maybe I'm jealous! happen I've made ye miserable in ways I doan't know,
-though I'd gi'e my blood for ye; but, if I had your word on one hand,
-an' all the proofs the devil could bring on th' other, I'd believe ye,
-Margaret; ay, an' without a doubt. So ye thought I'd need proofs afore
-I'd be sartain ye weren't lying? I thank God I doan't! It takes less
-than the eighteen months sin' we were married to find out whether a
-person speaks truth or no. Why, I'd swear blindfold to yours; Ye may
-mind that!"
-
-"I thought it was only women who believed like that," said Meg. "But you
-would be right--and quite safe--and I will mind it."
-
-His confidence did her good; he was never likely to repent it.
-
-"Ye might ha' known wi'out telling," said Barnabas with a sigh; and the
-sigh brought back her self-reproach.
-
-"Indeed," she cried wistfully, "I do trust and like you, Barnabas. I
-would try to show it more, only----"
-
-"No!" said the man; "Doan't _try_." Then, seeing her surprised face: "Ye
-just doan't understan'; but on th' day ye love me, my lass, there'll be
-no need o' trying, nor yet o' my askin'. I ha' not pressed ye, Margaret,
-an' I'll never do that; but I'll _know_ it, whether I'm i' this world or
-the next."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XI.
-
-    Two friends will in a needle's eye repose,
-    But the whole world is narrow for two foes.
-
-    --_Jacula Prudentum._
-
-
-After the storm there was a calm.
-
-Margaret lay on the settle in the farm kitchen recovering slowly from a
-sharp attack of marsh fever, and declaring in apparent jest, that had
-more than a substratum of truth, that she was in no hurry to get well.
-
-"Some people hate being waited on and made a fuss over," she said; "but
-I really like it; I like it when Tom brings me books, and Mr. Thorpe
-flowers, and Cousin Tremnell tats lace caps for me. You are all so nice
-when I am ill, that I don't see why I should give up being an invalid.
-Why should I sit on a bench and spread my own bread and dripping, when
-some one else will make toast for me and bring it over here? I am not at
-all sure that I'll even condescend to put it into my own mouth! You must
-cut it into three-cornered pieces, or I won't look at it!"
-
-And in the general laugh over her pretended airs, only one of her
-hearers guessed how often the joke, that had become a family joke, about
-liking to be waited on, hid real weariness and exhaustion.
-
-She could hardly have found a shorter cut to the favour of these strange
-kinsfolk. They all united in petting her now that she was really ill.
-
-Mrs. Tremnell certainly liked her better for her delicacy. Meg always
-privately believed that the good woman thought ill-health ladylike and
-more befitting her birth. Tom and her father-in-law could never do
-enough for her.
-
-She was, like her father, a charming patient, ready with prettiest
-thanks for any service, and never complaining. Not one of them but would
-have been sorry to miss the very feminine element she had brought into
-that rather rough household.
-
-"A young woman do make it more interestin', if only 'cause you can never
-count for sartain on what she'll say next," Tom remarked; and the whole
-household had a habit of bringing any piece of news, from the birth of a
-calf to the last town gossip, to Meg's settle.
-
-The 'little lady' saw all life, both her own and other people's, more
-vividly and picturesquely than they did; and her sympathy was genuine
-and quick.
-
-"If ye live here always, I believe ye'll become a sort o' little wise
-woman to all the foalk hereabouts," her father-in-law said to her one
-day. But Meg shook her head. She was doing her best to lie on the bed
-she had made for herself; but she did not care to look forward.
-
-She was recovering morally as well as physically; but she couldn't go
-too fast.
-
-"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof" is a piece of wisdom that
-we recognise at last, when we are tired out with the treble burden of
-to-day, yesterday, and to-morrow.
-
-Barnabas worked on the farm through that August and the first half of
-September, and Tom was glad enough to have him.
-
-The preacher had a wonderful faculty for turning his hands to anything;
-and this was, perhaps, a counter-balance to his incapacity for and
-dislike of "book-larning".
-
-He was in request as veterinary surgeon and bone-setter; and Meg used to
-wonder that his strong clever fingers should have so delicate a touch.
-
-She learned to depend on him herself, insensibly, in a way that she
-would once hardly have thought possible.
-
-Barnabas was a born nurse, and could lift her into an easier position
-and slip her pillows into the right angle as no one else could.
-
-Mrs. Tremnell had an aimless manner of fluttering about on tip-toe in a
-sick-room,--a habit which set Meg's nerves on edge, and which it taxed
-all her self-command to endure without signs of impatience; but the
-preacher's heavy tread never jarred on her. He always knew exactly what
-he meant to do in small as well as in big things; and both his decision
-and his strength were restful.
-
-Possibly, if she had owed him less, she would have drawn near to loving
-him.
-
-She had fancied when first taken ill that she was going to die.
-
-The shivering and burning, which left her daily weaker, which wearied
-and exhausted her, would, she suspected, very effectually solve all the
-difficulties that surrounded Barnabas and herself. But, after all, her
-youth asserted itself. A spell of sharp, fresh weather seemed to give
-her new life; the attacks of fever became shorter; and, very much to her
-own surprise, she recognised that she was--albeit painfully and with
-many relapses--getting better!
-
-She had been kept to the house for weeks; but there was no doubt as to
-her convalescence, when, on one fine afternoon in September, Barnabas
-carried her into the fields, where she lay under a rick watching the men
-at work, the soft pink of returning health in her cheeks, her eyes soft
-with pleasure at the wonder of summer growth and sweetness.
-
-Meg had not much wished to live; but, after all, the world was
-beautiful!
-
-As she sat leaning against the rick, watching the in-gathering of the
-scanty crop, listening to the rough voices a little mellowed by
-distance, the preacher's wife knew that both place and people had now a
-warm corner in her heart.
-
-Her gaze wandered past the low boundary fence, far away over the flats.
-How often she had run out of the house and down to the field to look at
-that view!
-
-She had thought that she should not see it again; and, even now, while
-sitting there, a dreamy presentiment, that she could not shake off, came
-over her.
-
-She felt as if she had got to the bottom of a page,--a page on which
-such strange things had been written, both good and bad. Efforts,
-desperate at times, to adapt herself to circumstances, failures sudden
-and overwhelming, courage lost--and found again.
-
-"They have been very good to the stranger within their gates," she said
-to herself. "I wish I could show them how grateful I am now! I wish I
-were a saint to call down blessings on their harvest!"
-
-And she wished it with that fervour which one cannot help hoping is not
-entirely wasted, even in the entire absence of saintship.
-
-She was so full of her own thoughts that she did not hear steps coming
-over the stubble behind her.
-
-George Sauls had been up to the house and found the door set wide open,
-and every one out; then, with a shrug of his shoulders at the primitive
-confidence that still reigned in these parts, had gone on to the
-hay-field, where he descried Mrs. Thorpe sitting under the rick.
-
-He stood behind her now without speaking. He was shocked to see how ill
-she looked. He had always felt that Meg's beauty was of too spiritual a
-kind; now, her complexion was more transparent than usual, and the
-intent expression in her eyes made her look more spirit-like than ever.
-
-George felt his hatred of her husband leap up like a flame; it was
-dangerously hot. She turned round and saw him.
-
-"Ah, I beg your pardon!" he cried. "I have frightened you! I ought not
-to have appeared on the scene with such startling effect. I am a fool,
-Mrs. Thorpe" ("and a greater fool than you guess," he added inwardly),
-"and you? You have been ill?"
-
-"I am sure that you bring me news. Tell me quickly," said Meg.
-
-"I come from Mr. Deane; he has sent for you," answered George concisely.
-
-He put her father's note into her hand, and turned his back on her,
-staring stolidly in front of him.
-
-"Has he told her he is dying, or has he left that pleasing piece of
-intelligence for me to break to her?" he questioned.
-
-What a remarkably ugly view it was! He wondered whether the preacher was
-among the men down there, or confined himself to preaching and left
-working to the sinners. What should he do if Mrs. Thorpe cried?
-
-"Mr. Sauls!" said Meg; and he turned round and met her glance. She was
-quivering with happiness. Her eyes were misty with tears, but her joy
-shone through them. He had never seen any face that expressed joy so
-vividly as hers.
-
-"No; he has not told her,--I can't," George decided hastily. He did not
-often fail in moral courage, and over-sensitiveness was not among his
-faults; but this woman always brought out a side of his character that
-was exceedingly unfamiliar to himself.
-
-"I am so very, very glad that he will see me!" she cried. "You can't
-guess what it is to have a word from him again. I don't know how to
-thank you enough for bringing it." She looked again at the precious slip
-of paper in her hand, and a fresh thought struck her.
-
-"My father says, 'I would have seen you before if I had known'. Was it
-you who found out that I tried to see him? and did you tell him
-so?--Yes? Oh, you have been a very good"--"_friend_" was on the tip of
-her tongue, but she suddenly remembered his odd disclaimer of
-friendship--"have been very kind to me; though I wonder" (thoughtfully)
-"that Mrs. Russelthorpe let you tell him."
-
-"She was a little disinclined to allow an interview at first," said
-George smiling; "but--but she felt the force of my arguments."
-
-"You must be very clever at persuading people."
-
-"I _was_ very persuasive," he said drily.
-
-The remembrance of his "persuasion" amused him somewhat; but he did not
-care about giving Meg the details of that scene.
-
-"Look here, Mrs. Thorpe; I've brought you something else which you won't
-like quite so much as that scrap of paper; but which I fancied you might
-be pleased to have, for I remembered that you once told me that you
-valued it." And he held out her locket.
-
-"Why, it has come back to me _again_!" cried Meg. "The first time it was
-stolen; and Barnabas moved to repentance the poor girl who took it; but
-this time, I sold it of my own free will, and----"
-
-"And I moved no one to repentance," said George. "I can't compete with
-the preacher; I paid over the counter. His was the more excellent way!"
-
-Meg drew back a step. Whenever she felt most kindly to Mr. Sauls
-something in his tone jarred on her. It had been so in her girlhood; it
-was so now.
-
-"There is no question of competition," she said. "Shall we try to find
-Barnabas? Oh! there he is."
-
-He was coming towards them across the field; but he did not at first see
-Mr. Sauls, who was in the shadow.
-
-George would have preferred to meet Meg's husband when Meg was not by;
-but he stood his ground. He was not going to be driven away by the
-fellow, much as he disliked him.
-
-He had often said to himself that it was more than possible that the
-canting humbug ill-treated the woman he had stolen. Such a belief would
-justify any amount of hatred; but he knew it to be untenable when he saw
-the expression of the preacher's eyes as they turned to Meg.
-
-He ought, logically, to have hated the preacher less in consequence;
-but, on the contrary, a tingling sensation assailed his foot; he wanted
-to kick the man with a longing the fierceness of which surprised
-himself. Mr. Sauls was a highly sophisticated product of a rather
-artificial age; but certain primitive instincts have an astonishing way
-of asserting themselves at times.
-
-"Barnabas, this is Mr. Sauls, who has brought me a letter from my
-father," said Meg. She felt a slight uneasiness while making the
-introduction; the two men were so thoroughly antipathetical. But she had
-great trust in the preacher's instinct of hospitality, and in Mr. Sauls'
-_savoir faire_. She was not in the least prepared for what followed. The
-preacher's countenance changed when he looked at her visitor.
-
-"I've seen ye afore, sir," he said in a low voice. "It passes me how ye
-are not 'shamed to be i' this county again. If I'd been here, I'd not
-ha' let my wife sit at th' same table with ye."
-
-His fingers clenched unconsciously, his face grew stern, his blue eyes
-very bright. Meg had seen him look like that only once before--when he
-had caught the idiot frightening her.
-
-Mr. Sauls put up his eyeglass and stared deliberately, and a little
-insolently. He always grew outwardly cool when an adversary waxed hot.
-
-"You have the advantage of me," he said. "I don't know to what
-particular cause for shame you are alluding. Mrs. Thorpe has never, I
-believe, been the worse for _my_ acquaintance, either from a spiritual
-or worldly point of view."
-
-The innuendo made Meg hot, but the preacher did not notice it.
-
-"Ye need not tell me that," he said; "but ye are no' fit company for
-her, unless ye ha' repented."
-
-Meg put her hand on his arm. "I don't know what all this is about," she
-said; "but Mr. Sauls has come a long way to bring me news of my father.
-I am very grateful to him for that."
-
-A month ago she would not have tried to remonstrate.
-
-"You need not be afraid, Mrs. Thorpe," said George. "I don't quarrel
-before ladies; but, if your husband likes to attempt 'bringing me to
-repentance' when you are not by, I shall be delighted, and will promise
-to give him every attention."
-
-He paused; but the preacher kept a tense silence. The appeal in his
-wife's voice, and, perhaps, the touch of her fingers, restrained him.
-
-"Good-afternoon!" said George, and turned on his heel.
-
-"Good-bye!" said Meg, and then held out her hand. She had been angry at
-the sneer at the preacher; but she could not bear, even seemingly, to
-desert any one who had done her a service.
-
-"Please shake hands with me," she said. "And don't go away angry, after
-having brought me such good news."
-
-She felt a little as if she were standing between fire and gunpowder,
-but that did not appear in her manner. She would have thought it
-"beneath" both herself and Barnabas to allow it to.
-
-George took the hand, and held it a moment in his. He would have liked
-to kiss it, and all the more because that "canting brute" was looking
-on; but he did not: he reverenced Meg too much.
-
-"Give my most humble respects to Mrs. Russelthorpe," he said; and then,
-with real kindliness: "I am glad you are going to your father. You will
-go soon? That's right! He is waiting for you. He told me to tell you to
-make haste. He will do his best to wait till you come."
-
-"He will!" said Meg. "I think we shall see each other this once more,
-because we both want it so."
-
-"A most illogical 'because,'" said George to himself. "But yet, God
-bless her, and give her her heart's desire!"
-
-He looked back once, and saw the two still standing under the rick.
-
-"And d----n the preacher!" he added. "By-the-bye, what had that fellow
-meant?" George grew angry in thinking of him.
-
-But in Margaret's heart there was a great peace.
-
-Her father had not cast her off; it was only she who had been
-faithless.
-
-Oh! it was so much easier to cry, _Mea culpa_! than to allow that he had
-forgotten.
-
-She had tried to offer God resignation, but He had given her joy. The
-level rays of the setting sun lit up her happy face, and made her short
-hair shine like a halo round her head. She put her hand before her eyes,
-and laughed a low, soft laugh like a contented child.
-
-Mr. Sauls was not a very angelic messenger; but he had brought her peace
-and goodwill. With a radiant smile she watched him make his way over the
-shining, sun-tinged stubble. That smile, however, was not for him.
-
-The preacher woke her from her golden reverie.
-
-"What does he call himself?" he asked.
-
-"My father?--oh, you mean Mr. Sauls?"
-
-"Then he lies!" said Barnabas succinctly. "For his name's Cohen, and
-he's the man who ruined Lydia. His hand is not clean enough to touch
-you, Margaret. It were all I could do not to pull ye back; only," cried
-the preacher with sudden bitterness, "I minded he's a gentleman, who
-ye'd naturally trust, an' _I_ might ha' scared ye."
-
-"I am not scared by you," said Meg. "I never am now."
-
-She brought her thoughts back from London and her father with something
-of a jerk. How could this be? Surely it was a mistake. It was impossible
-to connect Mr. Sauls' familiar, and, to her, commonplace figure, with
-the villain of the preacher's tragedy. Mr. Sauls wasn't a villain, and
-he was never tragic.
-
-Then she looked at Barnabas; and, at the sight of the strong indignation
-in his face, her sympathy suddenly turned to him. She had loved neither
-of these men; but the preacher's was the type she understood best. The
-man who sneered could never appeal to Meg, who was religious to her
-finger tips, as did the man who fought and agonised and prayed. Her
-loyalty and faith were on the preacher's side; and her loyalty and faith
-were strong allies. If the story was true, how durst Mr. Sauls have come
-and have met Barnabas unashamed?
-
-"I don't understand," she said. "I don't want to think him wicked. He
-has been very good to me. Have you read my father's message? That was
-Mr. Sauls' doing; he told father how I had tried and failed. Oh, yes,
-and he brought back my locket too--though that is nothing in comparison
-to the message."
-
-Barnabas turned the locket over in his hand. It was a curious possession
-to lie on his brown palm. It reminded him of a good many things.
-
-"Ye canna keep it!" he said at last. "But ye shall go to your father.
-We'll start by to-morrow's coach, an' ye like. I'll be taking you to a
-sink of iniquity, but I knew I'd go to London some day. No! doan't thank
-me, lass. Do ye suppose I doan't see wi'out tellin' that that's what
-ye've wanted more nor ought else, an' that it's new life to 'ee? He
-pulls hardest. Ye'll go back to your own people!" He sighed heavily. A
-presentiment of parting was on him, and his dread of London amounted to
-an absolute and quite unreasoning horror.
-
-"But for th' locket--I'll not hav' ye touch what that rascal's fingers
-ha' dirtied. I'll follow and tell him that."
-
-"Not that, Barnabas! Promise me you won't quarrel with him! Take the
-locket, if you like--but promise."
-
-"Are ye feared for him?"
-
-"No. Though, if I were, I shouldn't be ashamed of it! I'm not afraid for
-him, but _you'll_ never forgive yourself, if you hurt him. Oh,
-Barnabas!" cried Meg, half laughing. "You repent more bitterly over
-your sins than he does. I don't want you to go in sackcloth and ashes
-all your days for Mr. Sauls, who has never in his life, I suppose, felt
-for any one what you have."
-
-"God forgi'e me! I ha' hated him sorely," said Barnabas; "but, an' it's
-for _me_, Margaret--I'll promise."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XII.
-
-
-"What had the fellow meant?" George puzzled over that point on his way
-back to N----town. It had been more than a mere ranting denunciation of
-the "rich man" as a "rich man". The indignation had been evidently
-personal to himself.
-
-"If I'd been here, I'd not ha' let my wife sit at table wi' ye! It
-passes me that ye are not ashamed to come to this county again." How did
-the man know that he had ever been before?
-
-To tell the truth, Mr. Sauls had once or twice felt in Meg's presence a
-little ashamed of a certain old story, though he did not regard the sins
-of his youth with the loathing that filled Barnabas Thorpe's soul at the
-thought of past backsliding.
-
-Very few men's lives could be laid entirely open to the inspection of a
-good woman, George supposed; and he had never professed to be one of the
-"unco guid".
-
-He grew angrier still with the preacher, at the thought of his ferreting
-out and telling Meg that tale, and he pictured the horror with which she
-would hear it.
-
-George used to notice long ago with some amusement (he had often been
-privately amused with Miss Deane) that she was apt to be rather sweeping
-in her condemnations; seeing, in her extremely youthful innocence, only
-black and white, with no shades of grey between; judging with the crude
-severity that has not known temptation. It did not "amuse" him now to
-think of that.
-
-That hypocrite would paint his portrait as a profligate, and a seducer
-of innocence; and Meg, looking at it all from a woman's point of view,
-would feel as if her hand had touched pitch in touching his.
-
-"For commend me to a preacher for hunting down a scandal, and to a good
-woman for a hard sentence," he thought bitterly. Yet, if she could only
-know, even then, even in his rowdy, unsatisfactory boyhood, he had not
-been so utterly bad.
-
-"Innocence" had never been the worse for him--never once. It was not
-"innocence" that he had flirted with in the hotel in the market town of
-Clayton; he and all the rest of the rather fast set he had affected in
-those days. There are country girls as far from simplicity as any town
-maiden; as there are town maidens as freshly innocent as cowslips in a
-field. Lydia Tremnell, the pretty saucy school-friend of the
-hotel-keeper's daughter, certainly had not belonged to the latter genus;
-and, possibly, Mr. Sauls wouldn't have paid her attention if she had.
-
-At one and twenty George had had no liking for bread-and-butter misses.
-If he had met a girl of Meg's type _then_, he would have found her dull;
-but he followed the prevailing fashion and raved about Lydia, who,
-indeed, was pretty enough to charm most men's senses, and witty, too, in
-a rather pert fashion.
-
-Now he came to think of it (but it was all so long ago!) he had a faint
-recollection of a very irate cousin of Lydia's who came to fetch her
-home, very much against her will; could _that_ have been Barnabas
-Thorpe?
-
-He had kept up a half-joking correspondence with her afterwards; but no
-one could have been more astonished than he was when the young woman
-turned up at his rooms in London one day, and threw herself utterly and
-completely on his protection!
-
-Looking back now across the years that separated his ambitious and
-successful manhood from his unpromising youth, Mr. Sauls said to
-himself, "what a young idiot he had been!" but it had been no case of
-betrayal.
-
-He had never promised Lydia marriage; he had never lured her up to town;
-he would have sent her home, if she had chosen--only he was no Joseph.
-Yes! what a fool he had been; Meg would call him by a harder name!
-
-There had been a very curious end to the vulgar story. Lydia fell ill
-with a most malignant form of small-pox when she had been with him a
-week.
-
-She clung desperately to him then, entreating him to hold by her, not to
-send her away to die in a hospital; she had an absolute unreasoning fear
-of hospitals. She hardly expected him to accede to her agonised prayers;
-she would not have stood by him or by any one else in a like case; and,
-what there was of good in George Sauls, she had never been the woman to
-find out; but he did accede to them, greatly to her wonder.
-
-George was not in love with her, he had not a shred of respect for her;
-but, when she turned to him in direst need, the something not ignoble in
-him responded and he _did_ not desert her. To say that that loathsome
-disease had no terrors for him would scarcely be true; but he had a
-constitutional dislike to running away, and he faced the terrors; which,
-perhaps, on the whole, might be counted very much to his credit.
-
-Lydia died after a week's illness. "I don't want to live with marks on
-my face," she had said. "What should I do, grown ugly? but you have been
-better than most men would have been." She had no qualms about her
-soul, and no longing for her mother. She had no violent affection for
-any one or anything, except, perhaps, her own beautiful body, which had
-been spoilt by the marks on it. If George Sauls had been a poor man, he
-would not have been troubled with her.
-
-George experienced none of the terrible remorse that the preacher would
-have felt in like circumstances; but, nevertheless, while he stood by
-Lydia's grave, he made some resolutions which he kept.
-
-Probably, in any case, the stronger qualities of the man, the intense
-ambition, and keen pleasure in work, the sweetening affection for the
-mother and sister he pulled up with him, would have asserted themselves,
-and kept his coarser qualities in subjection as he grew older; but the
-episode of Lydia and the hours spent beside her bedside ripened him
-fast. He made an end of the sowing of wild oats. They didn't pay!
-
-He had lived a clean life since; but Meg would not know that--and it was
-fifteen years ago!
-
-George felt it unfair that so old a sin should rise up now to blacken
-his image in the mind of the woman he had the misfortune to love.
-
-He had been surprised when he had first heard the name of Tremnell
-again; but Lydia's mother had never so much as seen him, and _his_ name
-bore no association for her. He had changed it, on coming into money,
-and was Cohen-Sauls, instead of Cohen, now; and his cool assurance had
-carried him safely through the unexpected encounter. The difference
-between thirty-six and twenty-one was so wide that he hardly even felt
-self-conscious.
-
-It was odd that the preacher should have recognised him. "The pious
-humbug!" said George between his teeth; "at least, my hands are cleaner
-than his! I never took advantage of her faith, though certainly I never
-had the chance. He'll draw a sweet picture of the wicked man for her; I
-shall point a moral to several sermons. If I might meet him this once,
-with no woman standing by, perhaps I might deliver a message too. Hallo,
-what's this?"
-
-He had been walking quickly, not looking much at the flat landscape
-around him; but his eye was caught by a newly made fence round the
-"Pixies' Pool" which lay a little off the regular track.
-
-Moved by curiosity, he turned towards it, and leaning his arms on the
-rail, stared down into the salt depths that had had such fascination for
-Meg.
-
-Mr. Sauls was not in the least imaginative, but while thus engaged he
-had rather an odd sensation,--a sensation as if some one behind him were
-watching him; and he turned round sharply.
-
-No one was by his side; it must have been fancy; but, the next minute,
-he did descry a man walking along the track he had just left, walking at
-full speed, with a long swinging step; and, with the man's approach, Mr.
-Sauls recognised the preacher.
-
-Barnabas came deliberately towards him.
-
-"Have the pixies granted me my wish?" thought George with a sneer. "Now,
-my holy friend, we'll have it out! I wouldn't have gone out of my way to
-quarrel with you, for her sake; but if you choose to follow me, why, the
-meekest of men could not stand that."
-
-He lighted a cigar leisurely, and, with his back against the rail,
-awaited the preacher's approach; with a satisfaction which, perhaps, the
-"meekest of men" would hardly have experienced.
-
-"I wanted to catch ye up," said Barnabas; and so the two stood face to
-face at last, with no one between them.
-
-"At your service," said George. His tone was lazily insolent, though, as
-a rule, he carefully abstained from patronising his inferiors in rank.
-
-He scanned Barnabas between half-shut eyelids. It was not the least of
-this fellow's offences that he looked so honest.
-
-"I followed to give ye back this. It's not fitting my wife should tak'
-aught fro' ye; I'd liefer ye had it again. She's no need o' diamonds,
-an' if she had, they shouldna be bought wi' your money. She's obliged to
-'ee, sir," with an evident after-thought; "an' here they be."
-
-"I am sorry to disoblige," said George, lifting his shoulders. "I will
-not press a gift on Mrs. Thorpe against her will. When she gives it back
-to me herself, I'll take it; till then _I_ had 'liefer' she kept it."
-
-The preacher put the locket down on the rail that fenced the pond.
-"She'll not do that," he said quietly. "Take it or leave it, as you
-like; it's yours." And he turned to go.
-
-"Stop!" said George, standing upright. "You were loud enough in your
-denunciations when a lady,"--somehow he hated saying "your wife"--"when
-a lady was present. Let's hear the whole matter now. When did you meet
-me before, and where? And why, pray, don't you take this opportunity for
-a word in season? Do you only preach under shelter of petticoats?"
-
-"There's been matter enough atwixt you and me," said Barnabas. Good God!
-there had been matter enough, indeed!
-
-He would have answered Mr. Sauls differently in his hot youth; now,
-after many seasons of constant labour for a Master who claimed his
-fighting powers, his reply came slowly, with no loss of self-command;
-but none the less forcibly for that.
-
-"I've seen ye twice afore. If it were twice fifteen years ago I'd know
-ye again. I saw ye once fooling with a maid, teachin' her the devil's
-game, that meant play to ye, and death to her. I saw ye a second time
-standin' by her grave."
-
-The veil of those fifteen years seemed lifted for a moment; both men
-felt themselves back in that London churchyard thick with fog, with
-Lydia's grave between.
-
-"She paid the price, and you got off scot free," said the preacher. "It
-seemed to me then as if it would ha' evened things to ha' laid ye dead
-too; but they held me back, and now----" He broke off short, and there
-was silence for a moment.
-
-George broke it with the elaborately nonchalant accent that showed he
-was a little stirred. "Ah well! I was shockingly out of training in
-those days," said he. "It was lucky that you didn't yield to your desire
-to even things; for you'd have swung for it, you know. Let's hear all
-you have to say; for you won't get another chance of converting this
-reprobate--and _now_!" For all the studied coolness of his tone, his
-fingers clenched; it was not Lydia he was thinking of now.
-
-"And now," said the preacher steadily, "I will let vengeance alone. No,
-I've naught to say. I didn't come to preach to ye; I've hated ye too
-much for that. Ye asked me where we'd met, and why I said ye are no fit
-company for _her_. Now ye know."
-
-"Thanks!" said George. "Yes--now I know." That stress on the "her," that
-reverence and something more than reverence in the preacher's voice,
-stung his desire to quarrel. It became uncontrollable; he must.
-
-"I don't pretend to piety," he said, playing with the chain of the
-locket he had picked up, after all; for his common-sense could not
-allow him to leave it hanging on a fence. "I am no saint, as you are
-very much aware. Perhaps that's why I've an unholy horror of men who
-make sermons a vehicle for love-making, and catch good women by trading
-on an instinct for self-sacrifice; women who would never dream of
-looking at them, if they were approached in any other way. I may have
-done things to be ashamed of; most men have. But there are forms of
-hypocrisy that make one sick to contemplate. I don't know that I was
-ever a hypocrite." He put up his eyeglass, and stared at the preacher
-slowly from head to foot. "Nevertheless, I own that your plan has paid
-best. I congratulate you on the success of your preaching."
-
-It was as deliberate an insult as could have been elaborated. Mr. Sauls
-felt better when he had said that. The pleasure of telling Meg's husband
-what he thought of him was worth a good deal; and his words hit.
-Barnabas flushed hotly, and stood crushing his fingers together.
-
-"I'm sworn not to fight on my own quarrel," he said in a choked voice;
-and the reply cost him a hard struggle with the "old Adam". Meekness was
-not the preacher's natural characteristic.
-
-"That was a most convenient oath!" said George. Was the man a coward? he
-wondered. "Do you go so far as turning the other cheek?"
-
-"I'm not meaning to fight with ye; I told her I'd not do it; but," said
-the preacher, drawing his breath hard, "it 'ud take more nor a man to do
-_that_."
-
-"Ah! I am glad you draw the line at _that_," said George. Again it was
-the pronoun that was more than he could stand. He raised his cane with a
-sudden swift movement.
-
-"Come! you draw it at the 'other cheek,' eh?"
-
-Barnabas sprang forward and caught the descending blow on the palm of
-his hand; his fingers closed on the cane. He jerked it out of his
-enemy's grasp, broke it across his knee, and flung it into the pool. God
-knew how fierce was the longing in him to send Mr. Sauls after it. He
-had forced his assailant backwards in the half-minute's struggle, and
-George himself had wondered for a second whether a plunge into the black
-water would be the end of it all.
-
-"Ye can think me a coward if ye choose," said Barnabas. "Happen I'd be
-one if I broke an oath for your thinking. I'll not fight with ye, man."
-
-George, who had felt the preacher's strength, eyed him thoughtfully.
-Even he recognised that it was not fear that had flashed into those blue
-eyes a few moments ago.
-
-"Well, you see," he remarked coolly, "men who won't fight usually _are_
-cowards in this wicked world; and poor men who walk off with confiding
-young ladies, blest with rich papas, usually have an eye to the main
-chance; but I own I--I half believe you honest after all."
-
-"I'd just as lief ye' didn't," said Barnabas shortly; "I'm not wishful
-for your good opinion."
-
-And Mr. Sauls turned and went his way, a little breathless; for, if
-Barnabas hadn't fought, he'd done something rather like it; but George
-liked him a shade the better for that last unsaintly speech.
-
-"I am afraid the preacher would have got the best of it, though I am not
-a weakling," he reflected. "He would have liked to put me on my back
-too. He didn't enjoy having to refuse that fight and play the peaceful
-_rôle_, in spite of 'not being wishful for my good opinion'. Is he,
-after all, more fanatic than hypocrite? Can he be----Hallo! where am I
-getting to?"
-
-His reflections were cut short by his foot sinking ankle-deep in a bog.
-Mr. Sauls turned to the right and walked a few paces further; then,
-becoming aware that some one was following him, was about to turn round,
-laughing at the foolish fancy that had attacked him for the second time,
-when a sudden shock brought bright flashes of light before his eyes; the
-earth seemed to spin round with him, the ground gave way. He was struck
-down by a blow from behind, and fell without a cry, lying still and
-white amongst the rank grass.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-The next morning Barnabas and Margaret started for London.
-
-Meg had packed her few possessions before day-break, and was standing by
-her window with her bundle beside her, when Mrs. Tremnell called her
-downstairs.
-
-"There's Granny Dale wanting to see you, Margaret. Tom won't let her in
-the house; he's that angry with her for something Barnabas told him
-she'd said to you. But she won't go away. She just rampages outside in a
-way that is most annoying for a decent person to listen to."
-
-"I'll come," said Meg, though rather unwillingly; and she ran down into
-the paved yard, guided by the sound of Granny Dale's shouts.
-
-Granny stopped "rampaging" at the sight of her; and burst at once into a
-whining torrent of apology for past bad behaviour to the sweet lady who,
-she was sure, would "forgive a poor owd body, who hadn't touched bite or
-sup since, for thinkin' on it".
-
-The old woman looked dirtier and more disreputable than ever; and her
-eyes had a malicious and rather scornful gleam in them that belied her
-words, the while Meg confusedly accepted her repentance.
-
-"It was all my silliness, granny," cried the preacher's wife.
-
-"An' it's like the dear to say so! Didn't I knaw as yo'd not be down on
-a poor soul as has wark eno' to keep hersel', let alone her son and her
-deead darter's son, out o' the house? Yo' as be th' apple o' thy
-husband's eye too; for sartain I wur 'mazed to say----"
-
-"Ask what she's wanting, and cut it short," said Tom, to Meg's relief
-appearing behind her. "What a little fool ye were to come down,
-Barnabas' wife! I'd ha' made short work of her. Well, granny, what's the
-output? What do 'ee want Mrs. Thorpe to do for 'ee that you're so sweet
-on her to-day?"
-
-"If she'd just spake a word for me to the preacher." And this time there
-was a genuine anxiety in granny's tone. "He's that angered wi' me that
-he's gi'en me ower to the devil."
-
-"Oh Lord!" said Tom, "but there wasn't much required on the part of
-Barnabas. The devil must ha' cried small thanks for givin' him his own."
-
-"Don't, Tom; she is so unhappy," said Meg. "I am sure the preacher did
-not mean that," turning to granny. "No man could give any one to the
-devil--even if he wanted to."
-
-"Couldn't he now?" cried the old woman sharply. "Thee's but out o' th'
-egg-shell, my dear; an', happen, ye doan't knaw that as well as I! I
-doan't want 'ee to tell me what can an' can't. I want 'ee to spake a
-word for me, an' get him to take off his curse an' come an' look to my
-pig, as is ta'en wi' sickness, an' to see to my donkey, as has broke
-his knees, an' to find Timothy--Timothy, as has never come whoam all
-this blessed night."
-
-Her voice broke into a wail with the recapitulation of her woes. Granny
-could not cry; she was too old for tears to be near the surface; but she
-covered her face with her ragged skirt, and moaned like a banshee.
-
-"He allus stood atween me an' them," rocking herself to and fro; and
-whether "them" meant heavenly or diabolical powers, or both, Meg could
-not tell.
-
-"He wur allus there when I wur took bad; an' now he's angered wi' me,
-and, if ye don't spake a word, my pig 'ull die, and Timothy won't never
-be found, an' I'll die wi' no one to say a prayer for me, an' the devil
-'ull ha' my soul!"
-
-Tom laughed hard-heartedly at the climax. "And serve ye right," he said.
-"Look 'ee, granny: Mrs. Thorpe's a deal too soft-hearted, but I ain't,
-and ye'd best be off now. Hullo! here is the preacher. Come, lad;
-granny's wantin' your wife to coax ye to cheat Satan, as she says ye've
-made her ower to."
-
-Barnabas Thorpe's face wore the rather strained look that Meg had
-learned to know meant a night's "wrestling with the spirit," probably on
-the marshes.
-
-He found it hard to pray under a roof; and these nightly communings
-seemed a sort of necessity to him, giving him fresh power for the work
-that had a physical as well as a spiritual side.
-
-"What are ye doin' here?" he said sternly; and the old woman edged away
-from him in such evident fear that Meg's chivalry was aroused; she could
-never bear to see any one frightened.
-
-"What have you said to make her fancy such terrible things?" she cried.
-
-"Naught but the truth," said Barnabas. "Have me an' mine done anything
-but good to 'ee, Granny Dale? For what did ye set to work to hurt my
-wife wi' your foul tongue? For love o' wickedness? _I_ never sent ye to
-th' devil. Ye are fond o' his service wi'out my sending."
-
-"Which was what I said," laughed Tom. "No, it ain't no use your lookin'
-shocked at us, Barnabas' wife. Granny should ha' minded which side her
-bread's buttered, and kep' a civil tongue. She'll get no more fro' me."
-
-And granny wailed again, as well she might; for no more from Tom meant
-short commons in the winter. It was hard to say which oppressed her
-most, the spiritual or the temporal look-out.
-
-Meg looked from one brother to the other. There was something grotesque
-in the scene; but the old woman's genuine misery moved her.
-
-"Oh, _do_ go and help her!" she exclaimed. "Barnabas, do go--for my
-sake!"
-
-She hardly expected her appeal to be successful; but it was, and on the
-instant.
-
-Granny, who had been watching furtively behind her uplifted skirt,
-stopped moaning at once.
-
-"Come along; though ye doan't deserve it," said the preacher. "Ye can
-tell me what's wrong as we go. Catch hold of my arm, for we'll ha' to
-hurry. I'll be back in time, Margaret; I can run comin' home."
-
-And granny, clutching his arm hard, poured forth the tale of her
-misfortunes while she trotted by his side, with evident relief at being
-reconciled to the "powers that be".
-
-"It is very extraordinary," said Meg.
-
-Tom laughed gruffly.
-
-"Ay, it is. I doan't know how ye do it, but ye _do_ twist him round
-that little finger o' yours, times; though ye look as if butter wouldn't
-melt i' your mouth."
-
-"It is extraordinary that that old woman should feel safe if the
-preacher forgives her, and given over to the devil if he is angry. If he
-were a Roman Catholic priest, one could understand it; but Barnabas, who
-thinks the pope 'Antichrist,' and a priest a 'messenger of Satan'!"
-
-"H'm! Natures come out th' same, whether they're Methodies, or
-Catholics, or Heathen Chinees. There'll allus be some as like to put a
-shelter 'twixt them an' th' Almighty. Happen moast women do; an' whether
-it's pope, or kirk, or priest, 'tain't much real odds, I expects. It
-saves them trouble. Barnabas is cocksure o' everything, an' it's
-cocksureness as takes; an' so long as he's strong, weak foalk 'ull cling
-to him. That ain't odd as t'other. Well, it's moast a pity ye are goin',
-now ye ha'e got sure we ain't ogres. My word! how scared ye were of us
-at first! Do 'ee mind running away i' th' middle o' dinner? An' how ye
-looked when I axed your name? I shook i' my shoes then!"
-
-"You have all been very good to me," cried Meg gratefully. "Oh, let me
-say it for once, Tom."
-
-He grunted impatiently.
-
-"And I shouldn't 'look' if you called me 'Margaret' now--I should like
-it."
-
-"No," said Tom, puckering up his face into rather an odd expression. "Ye
-shall be 'Barnabas' wife' to me till th' end o' th' chapter."
-
-He went off whistling, and Meg presently went down to the field to wait
-for Barnabas.
-
-Granny Dale's cottage was some way off; but she had no doubt that the
-preacher would be back in time; she had implicit faith in his promises,
-and there were still a few minutes to spare when she saw him return.
-
-She noticed again, when he drew near, that he looked worn and harassed;
-but his expression softened, as it always did, at sight of her.
-
-"Ye'll be glad enough to leave th' place," he said. His voice sounded so
-dispirited that Meg, with an unusual impulse, put her arm through his as
-they stood together, and moved closer to him.
-
-It had been dawning on her of late that this man's love for her gave her
-a power to help or hinder him, such as no one else, not even Tom,
-possessed; and that, occasionally, for all his strength, he needed help.
-It was an idea slow to take root, an idea she was half afraid of, which,
-once accepted, might work strange wonders.
-
-"What is the matter?" she asked.
-
-"It's a fearful thing to hate a man!" said the preacher. "One fasts and
-prays all night, but in the morning it's still there, and stronger. One
-thinks that one has been on the Lord's side, and wakes up to see that in
-one's heart one has been on the devil's--and after years. For 'Whoso
-hateth his brother'--and after years!"
-
-The horror in his face was so intense, bringing out a curious likeness
-to the father, to whom, in the main, he was so unlike, that Meg's desire
-to comfort waxed strong.
-
-"You _are_ on the Lord's side, Barnabas!" she cried. "He knows that you
-are, whatever your heart may say. Your whole will and life are His.
-Well," after a pause, "did you find granny's son for her?"
-
-"Happen we'll find him in London," said Barnabas. "It's nearer hell than
-any other place i' God's earth, an' Timothy has a natural hankerin'
-after what's foul."
-
-"You hate going there," said Meg softly; "but I am glad you are coming
-with me, Barnabas. Even though I am going to my father--I am glad! As
-for Timothy, I don't see how it's possible to find him in London. I
-almost think" (with a shudder) "that he is better lost. Even you can't
-convert him, for there's nothing in him to convert."
-
-But the man's face brightened.
-
-"Glad, are ye?" he said. "There's naught that's impossible, my lass!"
-
-And so life at the farm came to an end; and they went out together
-again.
-
-
-
-
-THIRD PART.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER I.
-
-
-Barnabas Thorpe stood preaching by the river. He had preached in
-northern manufacturing towns, where the struggle for life is hard; he
-had preached by the sea shore, and in little outlying hamlets in the
-mining districts; but he had spoken nowhere as he spoke to-day in
-London.
-
-This city, of great wealth and great poverty; of idlers and slaves;
-these churches, where the rich man sat on cushioned seats, and the poor
-man on benches hard as charity; these women, with hoarse voices and
-hungry eyes, who followed him in the streets; these children, for whom
-the Kingdom of Heaven might indeed be open, but for whom earth had more
-kicks than blessings--all these stung him to a passionate eloquence that
-almost touched despair.
-
-Did Luxury never look backwards over her shoulder at the black misery
-treading close at her heel? he wondered. Would the men of Sodom and
-Gomorrah rise up in judgment on this place?
-
-Perhaps (though he did not know it, being little given to analysis), a
-sharp personal want pointed his realisation of the contrast between the
-Dives and the Lazarus of London; for his wife at this moment was with
-her father.
-
-He stood on a barrel by the water's edge--the Thames was neither sweet
-nor clean at Stepney--and preached of Heaven in the midst of, what
-seemed to him, an uncommonly good imitation of hell.
-
-It was a close evening; but there was a fine drizzling rain falling,
-that damped everything except the preacher's ardour, which always burnt
-more fiercely for opposition, either physical or moral.
-
-Even without his barrel he would have been a head taller than most of
-his hearers. His vigorous manhood was in strong contrast to the stunted
-specimens of riverside humanity gathered round him--under-sized,
-unhealthy youths, who looked as if they had done nothing but "loaf" from
-the day they were born; girls with straight fringes, and paper feathers
-stuck in their hats, and just a sprinkling of navvies, a burlier and
-more hopeful, though brutal, element.
-
-Barnabas Thorpe's voice rang through the heavy air, and all these faces
-were upturned towards him, as if under a spell. To his left stood a
-group of swarthy-complexioned foreign sailors; black-haired, with
-earrings in their ears. One of them wore a saffron-coloured handkerchief
-round his throat, and had a green parrot on his wrist; he made a spot of
-brightness in the prevailing dun colour of the crowd.
-
-Probably these strangers understood hardly one word in ten of that
-vehement discourse, delivered with a strong L----shire drawl; but they
-also listened, as if something in the man's personality, the something
-stronger than words, held their attention.
-
-With those closely packed squalid houses on the one side of him; with
-the slowly flowing river, whose waters had given the quietus to so many
-a miserable body (as for the desperate souls, God only knew what had
-become of them), on the other, he painted that second coming, when the
-glory of the Lord shall flash from East to West, and His judgment shall
-tarry no longer.
-
-There was a mark on the preacher's left shoulder where some one had
-playfully thrown a rotten egg at him, and a cut across his forehead, to
-which he put his handkerchief once or twice; both were visible signs
-that, in spite of the present breathless lull, Barnabas was not likely
-to suffer from too much adulation. Indeed, he was a fighter born, and it
-was, perhaps, the impress of strenuous effort that made his rugged face
-a striking and rather refreshing sight in the midst of men who looked,
-for the most part, as if the beast had decidedly got the better of the
-angel in them.
-
-He stood bare-headed, his hand stretched out, his gaunt figure
-silhouetted against the leaden sky, pleading with passionate force. He
-felt the misery of London too strong for him at times; the atmosphere
-oppressed him both mentally and physically; but the very sense of
-oppression made preaching a relief. Better wear himself out striving
-against this horror, than acquiesce, letting it stifle and choke him.
-
-There was a stir, a movement; the preacher lost hold of his audience.
-Suddenly, as the snapping of the thread of a necklace which has been
-strained tight sends each bead a different way, so attention was snapt,
-the spell broken.
-
-The preacher, looking over the heads of the people, saw, first, a
-confused mass of jeering, struggling lads, coming towards him, shouting
-hoarsely; then, that they had in their midst some poor creature whom
-they were baiting mercilessly, some one either drunk or mad; then, that
-they scattered a little to the right and left, and the man (he could see
-it was a man now) had broken loose and made a dash forward, panting and
-stumbling.
-
-Instinctively, Barnabas shouted encouragingly, and jumping off his
-barrel, held out his hands. He could never, for the life of him, keep
-clear of a fray--especially if it were a case of overwhelming odds.
-
-The victim, when he heard the shout, looked up; his face ghastly, his
-eyes wide open, with the strained, agonised look of a hunted hare. His
-persecutors were closing on him again; when, with an inarticulate cry,
-he shook himself free once more, and, running desperately forward, fell
-at the preacher's feet, clinging to his knees. "Doan't let them!" he
-cried; and Barnabas recognised him as Timothy.
-
-For one moment the preacher hesitated; he had a horror of the man.
-
-Then, "They'll shut me up!" cried Timothy; and there was a ring of
-mortal terror in his voice.
-
-Barnabas himself would, any day, have preferred to face death to a long
-imprisonment. He freed himself from Timothy's grasp, and stepped between
-hunter and hunted.
-
-"I think ye should be 'shamed!" he said. "Ha' ye nought better to do
-than to hound that poor creature to death or to Bedlam? which, happen,
-is a deal worse! Let him be; he's past doin' any harm. Any way, ye'll
-ha' to do wi' me first."
-
-There was a pause; the united strength of all this riff-raff would,
-probably, have been more than a match for the preacher; but no one quite
-cared to be the first to make the rush and "do wi' him".
-
-A big coalheaver in the background shouted derisively: "A nice,
-white-livered set you are! Blessed if the Methody ain't a match for all
-of you!"
-
-And then, all at once, the group broke up and scuttled away, dividing
-itself among the labyrinth of squalid streets that sloped down to the
-river; and tramp, tramp, with heavy, warning steps, in their tightly
-buttoned swallow-tail coats and white trousers, came a detachment of
-four City police, who promptly arrested Barnabas for making a
-disturbance, and Timothy for being drunk, on the king's highway.
-
-"_That_ he's not," remarked the preacher. "He's got too little, not too
-much, aboard this time."
-
-But he went to the police station without remonstrance, for he didn't
-mean to lose sight of Timothy.
-
-Certainly Barnabas ought to have had enough of taking uncalled-for
-responsibilities on his shoulders; but there were some simple lessons
-which Dame Experience never could teach him, though she tried her
-hardest, and punished him well for his denseness in learning. He never
-could turn a deaf ear to a cry for mercy, nor refrain from burning his
-own fingers in attempts to save other people's from fire. If his
-doctrines were narrow, his pity was wide. It is a combination of
-characteristics that gives an infinity of trouble--especially to the
-owner.
-
-Timothy complicated matters by dropping on the floor of the police
-station in an exhausted heap; but the officer in charge, having at last
-arrived at the conclusion that the idiot was ill, not drunk, and that
-the preacher had protected, not assaulted him, dismissed both with a
-warning; and Barnabas found himself saddled with this most
-unprepossessing incubus, whose present helplessness was his only
-recommendation.
-
-It was as well, after all, that Margaret was not with him, he reflected;
-he could not have borne to have had Timothy under the same roof with
-her. The preacher had said many times, in the course of his experiences
-in London, that it was "as well"; and said it with a sigh.
-
-He lodged at this time in one of the streets turning out of Commercial
-Road. He always seemed to have an extraordinary knack of getting
-employment. His fingers, which never _held_ money long, were seldom at a
-loss in making it; and, perhaps, his luck had something to do with the
-fact that no one ever forgot him, his personality being so strongly
-marked.
-
-He had made one friend in London during that short visit fifteen years
-before, namely Giles Potter, rat catcher, bird fancier, and bird
-stuffer; and some people whispered dog stealer as well. Why the tipsy,
-jolly, old reprobate was so fond of the preacher, of all men, no one
-ever knew.
-
-The Barnabas Thorpe of the present, with his fanatical and
-water-drinking earnestness, who preached in season and out of season,
-would seem to have little to do with the desperate and crack-brained
-young sailor, whom Giles had held back from murdering the man who had
-robbed him of his sweetheart in the winter of 1834; but Giles had
-recognised and welcomed him.
-
-The preacher worked all day in the back room of 33 Walton Street, curing
-and stuffing with fingers that were a good deal steadier than his
-companion's, and in grave silence for the most part, till the light
-faded, when he would go out into the streets to preach; all the
-suppressed energy of those long hours in a close atmosphere finding vent
-in sermons that attracted larger crowds daily, and were beginning to be
-talked about, even in the West End. Giles would go to hear him
-sometimes; a disreputable, slouching old figure, in a rough fur cap; a
-figure with loose thick lips and stubbled chin and kindly merry black
-eyes.
-
-"Lord bless you, I always knew Barnabas had something queer inside him!"
-he would say; "but I didn't reckon it would take this shape. To think of
-him turning Methody! But he was bound to be something. If he hadn't
-turned saint, he'd have swung from the gallows by now; he's the sort who
-serves any master hard, whether it's God, or the devil! Let's drink to
-his being made archbishop! He'd wake them all up a bit."
-
-Giles drank to that end pretty often, and Barnabas did the work
-meanwhile: the business had not been so flourishing for years.
-
-Possibly it was out of consideration for those services, or, possibly,
-because, with all his faults, a kinder-hearted old rascal never
-breathed, that Giles, after much grumbling, allowed Barnabas to bring
-Timothy under his roof.
-
-"You'll repent it, Barnabas!" he said. "Mark my words, we shall have an
-inquest and no end of bother; and you'll wish you had taken good advice,
-which is always as much wasted on you as good beer. That's as
-evil-looking a sneak as ever I saw, and he's capable of dying on purpose
-to spite you. Bring him in, if you're a fool; but you'll live to repent
-it!"
-
-Something in the words made the preacher's careworn face graver still.
-
-"Happen I may," he said. "He said as bad luck was following me, but I
-ain't goin' to be stopped by that."
-
-"Best turn him out again to make his ill prophecies in the gutter," said
-Giles crossly.
-
-The two men were standing in the doorway now, Barnabas having deposited
-Timothy on his own bed upstairs, and come down to breathe the cool night
-air.
-
-In Commercial Road the shops and warehouses were still alight; he could
-hear the continual roar of the traffic, but this little off-street was
-nearly dark, and the battered figure-head of a ship gleamed ghostly and
-white in the yard. The preacher stretched himself wearily and then
-smiled.
-
-"That old _Miranda_ must feel precious queer here," said he. He stepped
-into the yard, and put his hand on it. He had been sickened by what he
-had been hearing; his patient, in mortal terror of death, had been
-pouring forth a crazy confession of iniquities that made the preacher's
-brain reel, though he had heard a good many "confessions" before now.
-
-Was it possible that any human being could really have committed all
-these unspeakable horrors, or were they the mad imaginings of a diseased
-brain? And was Timothy possessed by an unclean spirit, like the people
-in the Bible whom the Christ cured?
-
-Barnabas at that moment felt that it would be easier to pray for fire
-from Heaven to destroy, than for healing power to save. Surely it was
-time for that second coming that should purge the world of its sins! How
-he hated this place!
-
-Then the touch of the figure-head under his hand brought him a vision of
-nights at sea; the hum of the great vans in Commercial Road changed to
-the sound of water, and his soul was refreshed. The everlasting power he
-had felt near in the salt strength of the sea, in the solemn wideness of
-his native marshes, in the cold stillness of many an early morning among
-the hills, was alive still. His heart went out to the strong Maker of
-all things, with a cry for strength.
-
-"What are you thinking of?" said Giles.
-
-"I was thinking," said the preacher, "that if I was never to see the
-country again, still I'd ha' been luckier than most o' the people here,
-seein' I've been bred in it. An' that I've been an unprofitable servant,
-too easy disgusted and weary in His service; that I've been given much
-an' done little. I've had a near sight o' the Maker as town folk miss;
-an' yet I ha' been cold an' out o' heart. I've been thinkin' I'll do
-more if He'll show me how."
-
-Giles put his head on one side, like a wise old bird, and peered up at
-Barnabas through the gathering gloom.
-
-"I wouldn't say that if I was you," he remarked. "Don't you be righteous
-overmuch; it ain't safe."
-
-But the preacher went back to his post with fresh zeal.
-
-Timothy was sitting upright, staring and pointing wildly at a corner of
-the room; he shrieked to Barnabas to come and stand between him and
-"it".
-
-It was curious how, in his extremity, with the terror of death before
-him, he clung to Barnabas, whom he had always feared and hated, as the
-only person capable of exorcising the horrors that surrounded him.
-Barnabas lighted a candle and examined the corner.
-
-"There's naught there!" he said.
-
-"It's shifted; it wur afeart o' ye; it's behind me now!" cried Timothy.
-"It's makin' signs; it's pointin' to its head, and I didn't go to kill
-him. I only meant--it's comin' nearer--doan't, doan't! Ah!----"
-
-There was another agonised shriek. Timothy tried to spring out of bed,
-the drops of sweat standing on his forehead.
-
-Barnabas put his hands on the madman's shoulders and forced him back.
-This sort of thing had been going on at intervals for the last three
-hours, and the preacher began to feel as if he were the unwilling
-spectator of the tortures of the damned. Indeed, he believed, almost as
-firmly as the miserable Timothy, that there was a devil in the room.
-
-"It's no good doing that, man," he said at last, when Timothy made
-another frantic attempt to hide. "If it's a spirit ye are scared of, ye
-can't escape it so. If ye ha' done it a wrong, confess afore it's too
-late; and the Lord will, mayhap, ha' mercy on ye an' lay it."
-
-"You'll not call in any one to shut me up, and I'll tell ye," said
-Timothy. "I'll be glad to get rid of 'em; but you'll not shut me up! The
-stones wur burning through my cap into my brain; I see 'em all on fire
-now--there! blazin' away. Ye _must_ see 'em. Look inside the cap there
-in the corner, where it's standin' again."
-
-The preacher glanced at Timothy's cloth cap, an ordinary enough article,
-such as nearly all the L----shire men of that part wore, himself
-included. He picked it up and shook it. Needless to say, no burning
-stones fell out. Possibly the whole story was a delusion, but he could
-not look on at this agony of terror any longer.
-
-"Tell me what ye ha' done, an' ease your mind," he said.
-
-"Ye'll not let me hang: ye'll not tell!" said Timothy. "Swear ye'll
-not."
-
-"There's no need," said the preacher, "for _me_ to swear, who've never
-betrayed any man, nor never could. I'll not betray ye."
-
-"It wur the back o' his skull," said Timothy, in an eager whisper; "just
-here," putting his hand up to indicate the place. "He didn't bleed much,
-but went down straight; an' I turned him over an' tuk 'em out o' his
-pocket. I'd think it wur a dream, only he's followed me ever since.
-That's becos they've not buried him. Ye'll find him two stones' throw
-from the Pixies' Pond, lyin' very white an' quiet as if there weren't no
-more mischief in him; but there be; he b'ain't one to forget, an' he's
-tryin' to drag me to hell. He's makin' signs now. Barnabas, Barnabas,
-he's----"
-
-"How long ago did ye kill him?" said the preacher.
-
-"Eh? how long? I should think it must ha' been a matter o' ninety-nine
-years or maybe a hundred. Quite a hundred takin' it all round; what with
-the time I was hidin' in the marshes, with him allus creepin' round and
-peepin' behind bushes at me--tho' all the time pretendin' to lie quite
-stiff, for I kep' goin' back to see--an' the time I was gettin' to town,
-where they came hollerin' arter me an' said as I was mad. They allus say
-that, if one speaks the truth."
-
-"So they do," said Barnabas. "So ye knocked a man down in the
-Caulderwell marsh and robbed him, and ran away and came to London, eh?"
-
-"That's it!" cried Timothy. He leaned forward and caught the preacher's
-coat, holding him as a drowning man might clutch at an arm stretched out
-to save.
-
-"An' he won't forget; he's been huntin' me ever since, like a cat a
-mouse, an' he'll have me this night if ye won't lay him; for I feel him
-gettin' stronger every minute, an' I'm growin' weaker. He's a bit scared
-o' ye, but if ye leave me a minute--there, there! he's yammerin' for me
-from behind that curtain. Oh, doan't let him, for God's sake, Barnabas!"
-
-The poor wretch was shaking from head to foot. The spirit he feared was
-the mad creation of his own brain; yet, none the less, it _was_ hunting
-him to death. Barnabas Thorpe stood upright, and lifted up his hands
-solemnly.
-
-"If there is any evil spirit here," he said, and his voice rang with
-undoubting conviction, "I bid it begone, in the name of Jesus Christ the
-Master." Timothy fell back panting, with a look of utter relief.
-
-"Ay, it's gone; I seed it go!" he said.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER II.
-
-
-A week had gone by, and Margaret was still at Bryanston Square.
-
-She had lost count of time; she could not have told how long ago she had
-left the preacher on the threshold of the old house in which her
-childhood and girlhood had been passed.
-
-"Ye'll find me when ye want me. Ye'd best stay wi' him till th' end,"
-Barnabas had said.
-
-He had caught a glimpse of the grand hall, of the painted walls and
-ceilings; then the door had shut between them, and he had turned away
-rather grimly. Those heathen gods and goddesses seemed to the preacher
-fitting ornaments for the "heathenism" of luxury. But Margaret had gone
-up the shallow stairs, looking neither to right nor left, straight to
-her father at last! no one hindering. Mr. Deane was propped up on
-pillows; his breath was coming short and fast, his eyes were very
-bright, his whole soul seemed in them. When Meg crossed the room, the
-strained look relaxed; when she knelt by his side, he laughed weakly.
-
-"Ah, I thought you'd do it, Meg!" he said. "Forgive? why, little
-daughter, between you and me that's not the word! but you're--you're
-mine again--and home!"
-
-He shut his eyes then, like a tired child who goes to sleep when its
-treasure is put into its hand; and Meg knelt on motionless, with her
-head on the pillow by his side. She had neither sight nor hearing for
-any one else.
-
-He dozed, it might be for half an hour; then woke again, and the nurse,
-who had been sitting at the foot of the bed, got up and moved softly
-about, and brought a cup of arrowroot to him, and Meg fed him in
-spoonfuls.
-
-He was too weak to lift his hand to his lips; but he whispered to her to
-turn to the light, and to take off her bonnet, that he might see her
-better. She laid it on the floor by her side, uncovering the short waves
-of hair, that grew, exactly as her father's grew, low on the forehead.
-
-"Has he cut off your hair, Meg?" said Mr. Deane. The sight seemed to
-distress, even to make him a little angry. "He had no business to do
-that!"
-
-"He didn't," said Meg. "I cut it off myself long ago. Barnabas was sorry
-when he noticed that it was gone."
-
-"Well, I'm glad he had the grace to be sorry. Don't go away." And he
-fell asleep again, with his hand on hers.
-
-It was like a dream to be sitting in that softly carpeted room, with the
-scent of roses in the air, and the companions of her girlhood round her.
-
-Laura came softly in presently, and sat down beside her. The sisters
-looked at each other for a moment, not daring to speak, lest they should
-wake him. Laura tried to smile a welcome; then her blue eyes filled with
-unusual tears.
-
-"Meg, Meg! Is it you really? Will you vanish, if I kiss you? Is it safe
-to try?" she asked under her breath.
-
-Meg leaned forward, without releasing her hand, and they kissed softly.
-
-"I shall stay--till the end," she whispered in return.
-
-So, very quietly and gently, Margaret Thorpe stole back to the place Meg
-Deane had left; but knew, even while her heart was filled with
-thankfulness, that, though the place might be the same, yet the girl who
-had left it would return no more.
-
-Mr. Deane woke with a contented smile on his lips. "I dreamt of you, my
-Meg," he said. And, from that moment, he seemed to have simply put aside
-all that had happened since Meg had been his spoilt darling of long ago.
-
-His mind wandered to her nursery rather than to her girlish days--to
-that very far away time, before Mrs. Russelthorpe's reign, when his
-little girl had sat on his knee, and ruled him with sweet baby tyranny.
-
-Margaret tried once to recall his mind to the present; for her heart
-ached for a few words that she might treasure--words spoken to her real
-and womanly self; but the attempt distressed him, and she gave it up.
-
-She slept on the sofa in his room; for he became uneasy when she was out
-of his sight; but the ebbing away of his life was quiet and gradual as
-the ebb of a summer sea.
-
-Perhaps the faculty he had always possessed of forgetting troublesome
-matters helped to make his last days happy.
-
-Apparently he utterly forgot the existence of the preacher. The grown-up
-daughter had given him more pain than pleasure; but the baby girl had
-been an unmixed joy. He loved to call her by the old pet names of her
-childhood. Laura, who came every day, watched her sister wonderingly.
-Once, when Meg playfully answered some allusion to an old family joke,
-Laura felt a sudden longing to thrust aside the veil, to ask Meg about
-all the strange experiences that were surely in the background, to beg
-her to say whether the preacher was kind or cruel to her; but they both
-refrained from bringing any subject into that chamber which was already
-sanctified by the approach of the great healer.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe came in one day, and stood by the bedside.
-
-Mr. Deane turned his head away from her, as if her presence reminded him
-of something he preferred to forget; then, apparently with some effort,
-he recalled his thoughts.
-
-"You must make friends with your aunt, little Meg. We must bury old
-grudges before--what is it?--before the sun goes down. It is going down
-fast!"
-
-Meg held out her hand across the bed--for his sake she would have made
-friends with any one; but Mrs. Russelthorpe shook her head. "There is no
-need for us to go through that farce; for his thoughts have wandered
-again."
-
-"Aunt Russelthorpe," said Meg, "let us both watch by him now; we both
-care for him--there is room for us both."
-
-"No!" said her aunt. "There is room for only one of us two, Margaret;
-and he has chosen. Let us have no pretences. Stay where you are. You
-have won!" and Meg stayed.
-
-She used to read to him by the hour, because he loved the sound of her
-voice, going on and on in the low monotonous key that soothed him. It
-was doubtful whether he ever followed the sense of what she read, and,
-as a matter of fact, Meg, though she would sit half the day with her
-hand in his and her head bent over a book, would have been puzzled if
-called on to give an account of what her tongue had been mechanically
-repeating.
-
-The atmosphere was so peaceful that it seemed as if Time himself stood
-still for a space with folded wings. "You are keeping so close to me,
-little Meg," her father said once with a dreamy smile,--"so close, that
-if you don't take care, when I go through the great gates, you will slip
-in too by mistake."
-
-Meg pressed closer to him still; and yet, for all her clinging, she knew
-that there was a life's experience, even now, between him and her.
-
-A thick velvet curtain, curiously embroidered in gold silks, hung across
-the door. It shut out the whole of the outside world for five days.
-
-At the end of that time, Laura, pushing it aside, touched Meg's shoulder
-as she sat in her usual place.
-
-"Your husband is outside," she said. "I passed him on my way in. He told
-me to tell you that he should like a minute's sight of you, but that you
-need not hurry--he could wait."
-
-Meg made a sign that she would come; and presently, taking a shawl from
-Laura, slid gently out of the room, while her father's eyes were closed.
-
-She opened the front door and stood at the top of the steps, shivering a
-little, though the evening was hot, for the flower-scented room upstairs
-was hotter.
-
-A street musician was playing, and some children were shouting and
-dancing. After the silence she had left behind that curtain, the merry
-tune and the unsubdued voices sounded strangely loud and bold.
-
-"My lass," said the preacher. "Ye are lookin' liker a bit o' moonlight
-than ever! Come down to me."
-
-And Meg, putting the shawl over her head, ran down, and stood beside him
-on the pavement. They walked down the length of the square together. The
-street player ceased playing for a moment to stare at the woman who had
-stepped out of the front door of No. 35 to keep company with a working
-man, and then the tune ground on again.
-
-"Barnabas," she said in a low voice, "I shall come to you the very
-moment that--that he does not need me. I do not think Aunt Russelthorpe
-would keep me a second."
-
-"And you'll not need to ask her!" said the preacher quickly. "Come to me
-any time, lass; though ye'll find it a bit uncomfortable, I'm afear'd!
-Still, we'll do somehow."
-
-He frowned, considering the possibilities of Giles' house, then turned
-to her with a smile. "Do you feel as if ye'd stepped backwards a year or
-so?"
-
-"No!" said Margaret. "There is no such thing as 'going back,' in
-reality. Is that Laura making a sign to me? No! it is only the lace
-curtain moving. He is still asleep, then. Tell me why you came,
-Barnabas. Had you anything especial to say to me?"
-
-But her glance still rested anxiously on the window.
-
-"Ay, I had some'ut to tell ye," he answered; "though I had nigh
-forgotten it in seeing ye. I've been a bit fashed about--ye'll be
-surprised, Margaret--about Mr. Cohen. Do you know whereabouts he lives?
-Happen, it was a delusion; but yet, I'd as lief be sartain that it's
-_not_ him who is lyin' murdered i' the marshes."
-
-He paused; but Margaret was too much surprised to speak.
-
-"I'd ha' liked," he went on, more to himself than her, "I'd ha' liked to
-ha' had it out betwixt him and me, in a fair fight wi' no quarter
-asked--only I was sworn, and I'm glad I didn't. But that's one thing;
-and to think o' him bein' struck down from behind, lyin' there alone for
-days an' nights, helpless i' the sunlight an' the moonlight; cut off
-wi'out the chance of givin' a free blow; that's different. Where does
-he live? I must make my mind easy."
-
-Meg was thoroughly roused this time, even to a momentary forgetting of
-that room upstairs.
-
-"Mr. Sauls murdered!" she said. "It can't be true. What makes you fancy
-that? It is too horrible; it can't be true!"
-
-She looked at his troubled face anxiously. Had his violent feeling
-against Mr. Sauls, and his equally strong remorse and efforts to subdue
-it, given rise to a morbid imagination on the subject? She knew (she
-understood the preacher better than of old) how violent both his hate
-and his horror of himself for so hating could be.
-
-"Ay, it's horrible," he answered. "Margaret! when the lust for a man's
-blood has been strong, and then one hears of a sudden that, mayhap, the
-man's been killed, one feels as if one's own thought had gotten shape
-and killed him!"
-
-There was a thrill in the preacher's voice that made Meg draw closer to
-him. They had reached the end of the square, but she turned again.
-
-"Will you not tell me more?" she asked.
-
-He hesitated. "If I tell ye, do ye hold that I tell ye as countin' ye
-one wi' mysel'? An' will 'ee feel bound, as I hold myself bound, to keep
-it secret?"
-
-"Yes," said Meg.
-
-"Some one confessed to me that he'd killed a man as was walking alone
-across the marshes, an' robbed him. And it came to my mind as it were
-Mr. Sauls. There aren't many about us as are worth the robbing, an' very
-few but labourers as takes that way to th' farm. The man as told me was
-in a sort o' fever; I didn't think he was goin' to live, and no more did
-he; he was terrible scared o' dying, or I fancy he'd never ha' let it
-out. All one night he was very bad; then he quieted down an' slept, an'
-awoke up a bit better, eatin' as if he'd been clemmed, but not takin'
-notice o' what I said to him, nor seemingly understandin' a word. I
-tried to persuade him to gi'e himsel' up to justice, but it seemed just
-waste o' breath. I went down to get him some'ut more to eat, an' when I
-came back he were gone! he must ha' got his clothes on and just slipped
-through the window; happen, he understood a bit more nor I thought!"
-
-"Who is the man?" asked Meg, in a horrified whisper.
-
-"I'd as lief not tell ye that," said Barnabas; "for ye'd better not
-know."
-
-"If--if it is true--what shall you do?"
-
-"Nothing!" he answered decidedly. "What is told i' that way must be as
-safe as if it hadn't been breathed. I'd ha' tried to make the murderer
-confess and be hung, for the savin' o' his soul; but I'd not tell on him
-mysel', I'd sooner go to the gallows; an', mind, ye ha' sworn it shall
-be th' same wi' you, Margaret."
-
-"Yes," she said; "it shall be the same with me--as if I were yourself."
-She spoke solemnly, though little guessing all that that promise would
-mean.
-
-"And after all," she added more lightly, for, indeed, this idea was too
-startling to realise, "after all, Mr. Sauls is, probably, perfectly well
-and comfortable. I cannot remember his address, but my sister may know
-it. I will ask her for it, and send it down to you. Ah, she is waving
-her hand to me at the window. Father must be awake."
-
-"I must e'en let ye go, I suppose," said Barnabas; "for, an' I hold ye,
-your soul 'ull slip through my fingers, an' go an' watch by him all the
-same. God be with ye, my dear!"
-
-He released her unwillingly, and Margaret ran back to her father. Mr.
-Deane was wide awake and slightly flushed.
-
-"Meg! Meg! I dreamed I had lost you, that you had leaped over a
-precipice," he cried.
-
-He was excited, and not quite himself. He recognised her on her return
-to his room; but, as the day wore on, he became more feverish, and in
-the evening he was delirious.
-
-All through the night he talked eagerly to his dead wife, evidently
-believing her to be present; but in the small hours the fever left him,
-and, in the collapse that followed it, he died. He died with Meg's hand
-clasped in his, with his head on his sister's shoulder; but unconscious
-of the presence of either of the women, each of whom had, in her way,
-loved him better than all else in the world.
-
-Laura stood at the foot of the bed during the last terrible hour, with
-her arm round Kate, who had come just in time. Kate kept turning her
-beautiful head away,--she could hardly bear to see this death struggle.
-
-Margaret's eyes never moved from her father's face. When Mr. Deane's
-head fell forward on his breast, the last sobbing breath drawn, the
-awful involuntary fight for life over, Meg's expression relaxed, as if
-she, too, were relieved.
-
-"It is over!" she said.
-
-Only when some one tried to unclasp the living hand from his she fell on
-her knees with a smothered cry--after all, she had not gone with him.
-
-Laura led Kate away, crying bitterly; if Mr. Deane had been the best and
-most dependable father on earth, instead of merely the most charmingly
-affectionate when he happened to be at home, they would not have loved
-him more, possibly they would have loved him less; for a woman's love
-will fill up the measure wherein a man falls short of what he might have
-been.
-
-Mrs. Russelthorpe closed his eyes--eyes that had looked their last on a
-world which had generally treated him very well; then went to her room
-with lips pressed closely together.
-
-Meg knelt on till the grey dawn crept in, and some one entering
-disturbed her.
-
-"You can do no more for him now. Come away; indeed, Meg, you _must_
-come," said Laura.
-
-Laura looked pale, and even a little nervous. She dreaded Meg's grief,
-remembering how "hard" the little sister, whom they had rather
-neglected, had always taken everything.
-
-But this Meg was not the "little sister" of old; or rather, perhaps, her
-identity was hidden under a new garb.
-
-She rose from her knees dry-eyed and composed.
-
-"I am going back to my husband," she said. "Father does not want me now,
-as you say. Barnabas has been very good. He has waited all these days. I
-should like to stay till after the funeral, but----"
-
-"Come home with me!" said Laura.
-
-She put her hand on her sister's arm and grasped her tightly.
-
-"Don't disappear, Meg! I don't want to lose you; you--you are so like
-_him_," she whispered, with a glance at the bed, where that quiet figure
-lay in the deep peace that neither grief nor love should ever move
-again.
-
-"I promised Barnabas that I would not stay," said Margaret; but a quiver
-passed over her face. Laura drew her gently out of the room and shut the
-door.
-
-"I could not tell you in there," she said, with the sentiment that we
-all have against talking of mundane matters in the chamber of death,
-"but I have a message for you from your husband. I went down to give him
-the address you asked me for yesterday, because I wished to speak to
-him, to see for myself what sort of a man he is. While I was speaking to
-him he"--Laura hesitated a second--"he was summoned away. He bid me tell
-you that he may be absent several days, but that you were not to 'fash'
-about him, but just bide quiet; if he were not here when the end came, I
-told him I would take you back with me. He said you would know that he
-would come for you so soon as ever he could."
-
-"Yes, I know," said Meg simply. "What was the call?"
-
-"He said he was called to a place where he could not have you by him."
-
-Laura coloured, wondering what the next question would be; but Meg was
-apparently satisfied.
-
-The preacher's movements were apt to be erratic, and his decisions were
-often arbitrary. The "call" might probably be to some abode of vice and
-misery into which he shrank from taking her.
-
-"Are you sure you want me, Laura?"
-
-"Quite sure," said Laura emphatically.
-
-She put her arm round her sister while she spoke, and the two left the
-house together. Barnabas Thorpe had been arrested on Mrs. Russelthorpe's
-doorstep before Laura's eyes; but there was, she assured herself, no
-need to tell Meg that, just now.
-
-If he were innocent he would be set free again, and would come to claim
-his wife quite soon enough; if he were guilty--but no! oddly enough,
-Laura found it simply impossible to believe him guilty. The big gaunt
-man with the deeply furrowed face and the eager eyes, that had the look
-of the enthusiast and potential martyr in them, had impressed her
-curiously. Laura had felt no name too bad for the canting rascal who had
-stolen Margaret; but the reality and intense personality of the preacher
-had at least momentarily pierced through her prejudice.
-
-Barnabas Thorpe was no hypocrite; her womanly instinct spoke for him,
-though her pride and reason were against him. The last-named qualities
-woke up only when the spell of his presence was removed.
-
-"I am glad he has gone; after all, you belong to us, Meg," she said.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER III.
-
-
-While Mr. Deane's life was ebbing slowly away in Bryanston Square,
-George Sauls was making a good fight for his at the farm.
-
-Tom Thorpe had found him on the afternoon of the preacher's departure,
-the sun shining down pitilessly on the upturned face, the arms spread
-wide.
-
-Lifting him up, Tom found the wound at the back of the head, made with a
-bill-hook or hatchet. Whoever had done that, had also turned his victim
-over to rifle the pockets; for a man hit from behind would naturally
-fall on his face, and, moreover, the pockets were empty.
-
-"Dead as a door nail!" said Tom. He had remarkably good nerve, but this
-was a ghastly discovery to come on, on a fine summer's day.
-
-Mr. Sauls was wet with dew; he must have lain there all night. A spider
-had spun a thread across his chest; it glittered with diamond drops,
-more numerous and less costly than those that had been stolen. Tom, in
-lifting him, disturbed also a small brown bird, that had been debating
-whether this gentleman was really dead--so dead that she might venture
-to pick off that bit of white cotton hanging from the lining of his
-pocket, and use it for her household purposes. She had been hopping
-gradually nearer, but had had her suspicion that, for all his stillness,
-he was not quite harmless yet; her instinct was keener than Tom's.
-
-Mr. Sauls suddenly opened his eyes and looked at Tom.
-
-"Not at all!" he said. "I'm not dead yet." And then he relapsed into
-unconsciousness; and, for once in his life, Tom was startled.
-
-"I don't say but what it's queer to ha' one's foot knock up agin a
-murdered man when one's mind's runnin' on naught but crops," he
-explained afterwards; "but I ain't a maid wi' nerves; I didn't mind
-that. It wur his eyes openin' and fixin' me, just as I wur thinkin'
-there'd ha' to be an inquest, as did gi'e me a bit of a turn. Besides,
-he'd no business to come to life; he had ought to ha' been killed wi' a
-mark that deep at the bottom o' his skull."
-
-The doctor, when at last they got one, was of the same opinion; the
-wound would have killed most men, he said; and why Mr. Sauls didn't die,
-remained a mystery, except, of course, that he was treated with
-exceptional skill.
-
-George clung to life with that tenacity which he showed in everything.
-He was dangerously ill for a fortnight; then began to recover, to the
-surprise of every one, except his mother, who had been quite hopeful all
-along, and had replied cheerfully to an attempt to warn her of the
-probable end.
-
-"Danger? My dear sir, it will be dangerous for the man who tried to
-murder George! but, please God, my son will live to see that villain
-hang."
-
-Mr. Sauls had been carried to the farm, that being the only house near.
-Tom had bound up the patient's head as best he could, regretting that
-the preacher's more practised and skilful fingers were not available. It
-seemed barely possible that Mr. Sauls could live till further aid should
-arrive.
-
-Mr. Thorpe rode into N---- and gave notice to the police of what had
-occurred. He went also to the inn, and, assisted by the landlord,
-searched for some clue as to the whereabouts of the unfortunate man's
-relatives. They found a letter torn in half, and lying in the fireplace
-of the room Mr. Sauls had slept in. Piecing it together, they made out
-the signature:--
-
-     "Your affectionate old mother,
-
-     "Rebecca Sauls."
-
-And the address: "20 Hill Street".
-
-Mr. Thorpe sat down and wrote a letter to Mrs. Sauls, acquainting her
-with the evil chance that had befallen her son. Writing was not the
-labour to him that it was to Barnabas, for he had been a scholar in his
-day. The letter was clear and well expressed.
-
-"If you wish to come to the farm to nurse Mr. Sauls," he wrote as an
-after-thought, "we shall be honoured in doing our best to make you
-comfortable."
-
-It was kindly done, for he had a nervous dislike to strangers; but the
-old fellow was too true a gentleman at heart to be anything but cordial
-in the circumstances: and Mrs. Sauls accepted his invitation without a
-moment's hesitation. She would have started off for the North Pole, if
-George had happened to come to grief there!
-
-Tom was relieved when he saw her settled in the sick room, taking
-possession with an air of assured capability. He would have done his
-best for any man thrown on his mercy, and picked up wounded by the way;
-but he was glad to be rid of the care of _this_ patient.
-
-"That chap hates us," he remarked. "Oh, ay--I know, dad; he could be
-civil (leastways as a rule) because he wanted to come, and he ain't the
-soart to let his temper play maister to his wants; but we're the last
-he'll like bein' obligated to--more especial as I fancy he an' Barnabas
-have had words."
-
-"What makes you think that?" said his father.
-
-"Long John told me that much," said Tom. "He overheard some'ut behind a
-hay rick. I wur down on him for eavesdropping, an' I doan't know what
-'twas about----Hallo! what are ye wantin'?" The last question was
-addressed to a man who had come up behind the Thorpes.
-
-"I was sent up to make inquiries as to how soon the gentleman will be
-fit to give evidence," said the stranger.
-
-He had been listening with all his ears, and it struck him that he had
-collected a not unimportant fact himself. So Mr. Sauls and the preacher
-had had words!
-
-Tom shrugged his shoulders; on the whole, it did not seem probable that
-Mr. Sauls' evidence would ever be given on this side of the grave. At
-present, he lay babbling the wildest nonsense, while the would-be
-murderer was probably escaping comfortably.
-
-At last, however, there came a day when George woke up with recognition
-in his eyes. His mother, who was sitting by him, trembled with pleasure
-when she saw it. He looked ghastly enough with his sallow face swathed
-in white bandages; but Rebecca Sauls had never heard any sound that so
-nearly moved her to happy tears as the sound of her son's voice speaking
-sensibly, albeit somewhat crossly again.
-
-"What _are_ you doing here, mother?" said he. "I suppose I've been ill;
-but I'm sure there couldn't have been the least necessity for you to
-come. What's been the matter with me?" He put his hand to his head and
-tried hard to sit upright, but fell back. "H'm! I must have been rather
-bad," he said. "Have I been falling from a five storey window? It feels
-like it. I wish I could remember! I say, this isn't my room, and where
-the deuce----"
-
-"You are in Caulderwell Farm," said his mother. "You have been very ill.
-Mr. Tom Thorpe picked you up in the marsh, near what they call the
-'Pixies' Pool'."
-
-"Well, go on," he said sharply. A horrible fear that he had lost his
-memory came over him.
-
-"He brought you here because this was the only house near; and his
-father wrote to me, thinking that you were dying--I told them they were
-wrong, my dear. You are going to get well."
-
-She was afraid of exciting him; and yet, compelled by the intense
-anxiety of his expression, and knowing her son, knew better than to
-refuse to satisfy him.
-
-"What was the matter with me?" he asked.
-
-"The matter was a blow on the back of your head," she began.
-
-Then she paused, for George laughed with grim satisfaction. "Ah! I
-remember," he said. "I remember now! mother, I was afraid----"
-
-He left the sentence unfinished, not caring to say what he had feared.
-
-"I remember," he repeated again; "he hit me from behind in the dusk.
-Yes, and his brother thought I was done for, and I sat up and startled
-him, and then it got dark again. Upon my word, the saints hit hard! But
-he should have made quite sure while he was about it; dead men tell no
-tales! I think I am alive enough to give him trouble yet! A half-killed
-enemy is a dangerous thing, isn't it?"
-
-"My dear," said his mother, putting her wrinkled hand on his, "I hope
-that whoever attempted to kill you may find that true; but you must get
-well before anything. Don't let yourself get excited now, only just
-tell me, who was it?"
-
-"Who? there was only one man within a mile of me!" said George. "It was
-the preacher! I didn't see him, naturally, for I've no eyes behind; but
-he must have run after me, and taken payment for old debts! He had had
-provocation enough. I declare, if he'd given me warning and hit fairly,
-I'd have cried 'quits'; but to cant about being 'sworn' and then to hit
-in the dark----"
-
-"If there is any law in England they ought to hang him for it," said
-Mrs. Sauls. "I cannot remember ever to have heard of so wicked and
-shameful a crime!"
-
-And George smiled. "No?" he said. "And you've heard of a good many too!
-Do you know I doubt whether the judge will see that the fact of its
-being _I_ who suffered, so increases the crime as to render it blacker
-than any other on the records! Judges are so dense. Why, mother, I
-believe you are crying! I shouldn't have thought it of you!"
-
-"I don't know whatever makes me," she said, hastily drying her eyes. "It
-was joy at hearing you laughing at me, like yourself, my boy, I suppose.
-If you'd only heard the nonsense you've been chattering all day and
-night, and the way you've been calling for some one!"
-
-"Have I?" he said uneasily. "For whom? for you?"
-
-The old woman met his glance with a look of such tenderness as
-transfigured her harsh features.
-
-"No; men don't call for their mothers like _that_," she said. "It was
-just a sick fancy, and I took care nobody but me heard--though I know
-better than to take account of such things. Bless you! I've put it all
-out of my head now. I have a bad memory for what's said in fever."
-
-"Ah," he said, "you're the wisest woman I know! There's no doubt from
-whom I got my brains. When I'm Lord Chancellor, I'll own you gave me a
-good many shoves uphill."
-
-He laughed, but there was a meaning under the joke. Mr. Sauls' vulgar
-old mother had a large place in the heart which, as well as the brains,
-he perhaps inherited from her. He pulled her towards him, and kissed
-her.
-
-"Thanks!" he said. And Rebecca Sauls knew quite well that the thanks
-were not so much for the "shoves uphill" as for the "bad memory".
-
-"I wish I could give you all you want, my son," she said sadly.
-
-If her own life's blood could have given him his heart's desire, he
-should have had it, of course.
-
-He recovered tolerably steadily after that, bending his endeavours to
-that end with a sort of dogged patience, obeying the doctor's orders,
-and refusing to allow himself to get excited, because he was so
-determined that he would get well.
-
-He was not a sweet-tempered invalid, like Mr. Deane. He had been strong
-all his life, and it exasperated him to feel himself weak and dependent;
-but his mother rejoiced rather than otherwise when George was cross: it
-was a good sign, she thought, and better for him.
-
-Only on one point he insisted--whatever might be the risk of moving him,
-he would not stay one day longer than was absolutely necessary under the
-farm roof.
-
-Every one remonstrated, even Tom; who, though he had no great liking for
-Mr. Sauls, felt it a slur on their hospitality that any guest should
-leave them before he was fit to walk across a room.
-
-"If ye aren't comfortable, ma'am, I'm sorry," said Tom. "But doan't 'ee
-let him go fro' this and die on the road! It ain't fair on us; and,
-considerin' I picked your son up, ye might listen to me."
-
-"He wants to see you," said Mrs. Sauls, nodding her head with an
-emphatic little gesture. She had tried to dissuade George from this
-interview, but he would have it. "I am afraid I must ask you to go to
-him, Mr. Thomas; but please remember that he is ill."
-
-Tom stared, and then laughed good-naturedly; the old lady spoke sharply,
-but her hand was shaking as she stood holding up her silk gown in the
-middle of the yard.
-
-"Are ye feared I'll talk too loud?" he said. "I know how to behave in a
-sick room, ma'am. Dad and I tuk very good care o' him afore ye came.
-I'll leave my boots in the kitchen, and tread as soft as I can."
-
-She followed him upstairs and stood outside the door. Tom wondered, half
-amused, what she imagined he was likely to do to her precious son. Did
-she fancy that he would quarrel with a sick man? why should he? He
-supposed she distrusted him because he looked so queer.
-
-"Well, sir; are ye feelin' a bit better?" he asked as he entered. Mr.
-Sauls was in an elaborate fur-trimmed dressing-gown (he had a strong
-taste for personal luxury), and was sitting in an armchair that his
-mother had sent to N----town for, and a screen was arranged to keep out
-the draught.
-
-His face was thin, and so were the brown hands that lay on his knee; he
-did not look fit to be out of bed.
-
-"Oh yes, I'm better," he said. "I've cheated the undertaker and mine
-enemy this time!"
-
-"I'm glad o' that," said Tom heartily. "Do you know who your enemy is,
-sir?"
-
-Mr. Sauls looked at him rather oddly. "I believe so."
-
-"Come!" said Tom cheerfully; "that's a good thing. Ye'll not gi'e him
-the chance o' playin' that game twice, I should think. There's a
-policeman downstairs wantin' to speak wi' ye, sir. I was goin' to let
-him in, when Mrs. Sauls axed me to go up mysel' first. Do ye want for
-aught? We'd liefer ye stayed wi' us till ye can be moved safely. Why,
-th' country side 'ull cry shame on us if we let ye be jolted along that
-road afore your wound's rightfully healed."
-
-"Ah," said George, "the country side will understand why I couldn't stay
-under your roof, and why you won't want to keep me."
-
-The real kindliness of Tom Thorpe's hospitality made him flinch a little
-from what he meant to say.
-
-"It's difficult to come to the point," he went on; "because I must own
-that I am under a heavy obligation to you. Probably--no, certainly--I
-should have died if you had not picked me up; and my mother and I have
-been living in your father's house, and have received kindness at his
-hands----"
-
-"Well?" said Tom.
-
-George Sauls sat upright, his thin face flushing slightly.
-
-"Well!" he said; "I can't prosecute your brother while I am eating your
-father's bread and salt, and I won't insult you by thanking you for your
-hospitality in the circumstances. As soon as I am outside your door, of
-course I shall give my evidence. No doubt you will agree with me that
-the sooner I go the better."
-
-He watched Tom narrowly while he spoke. He was prepared for a burst of
-anger; "these hunchbacks generally have queer tempers," he thought; and
-it is a ticklish business to tell a man who has taken you into his house
-that you intend to bring an action against his brother for attempted
-murder.
-
-"Do ye mean," said Tom slowly, "that ye are goin' to swear as Barnabas
-tried to kill ye?"
-
-"I am going to swear that, to the best of my belief, he did," said
-George. "I didn't, of course, see my assailant; I tried to force a
-quarrel on your brother, and he refused to fight with me on religious
-grounds." He shrugged his shoulders slightly. For a few seconds the
-preacher had imposed even on him; he remembered he had half believed the
-man honest; but, in his right mind, George felt that a fellow who
-refused to fight "on religious grounds" was capable of any meanness;
-and, possibly, as a rule he was right; only his pocket measure couldn't
-gauge exceptions.
-
-"It would have been pleasanter," he continued, "to have left your house
-without mentioning my intention of proceeding against your brother; but
-I confess I have a prejudice in favour of fair play, and I owe you an
-apology for having accepted your hospitality. I don't carry sentiment so
-far as to refrain from prosecuting the preacher because you carried me
-home; but I will certainly refuse to answer any questions while I am
-under this roof. Probably the delay will give the culprit time to
-escape; but----"
-
-"Look 'ee here," said Tom; and he spoke so quietly that Mrs. Sauls,
-listening outside, afraid lest George in his weak state should be
-injured, could not distinguish the words. "Look 'ee here. Ye are ill; so
-I can't answer ye as I would like. Ye say Barnabas meant to murder ye,
-an' left ye for dead. Keep your opinion; you're welcome; no one 'ull be
-wishful to share it wi' ye, I'm thinking; but, when you come to
-'probably,' _I_ know what he'd probably do, if he was here--an', by your
-leave, I'll do it for him."
-
-He opened the door wide, and shouted down the stairs:--
-
-"Ask the man from N----town to step up at once, Cousin Tremnell. Mr.
-Sauls has important evidence to give, an' it won't keep!"
-
-Then he turned to that gentleman with a short laugh:
-
-"If ye mean to throw mud at Barnabas, do it an' welcome," said he. "It
-doan't seem to me greatly to your credit, sir; an' I doan't fancy ye'll
-find it stick. Ye needn't wait to be clear o' this roof; we're much
-obliged, but (I'm speaking for Barnabas) we'd rayther ye _didn't_
-delay."
-
-"H'm," said George; "he is more fortunate than most prophets--his own
-brother swears by him!"
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IV.
-
-
-Meg sat in the nursery in Laura's home, with Laura's child on her lap.
-
-The child had been ailing, but had finally fallen asleep with his head
-on her shoulder. Margaret was fond of children, and little boys
-especially generally took to her.
-
-This year-old baby, who was too young to regard her with wonder or pity,
-was a comfort to her, and she felt most at ease in his society. Laura
-was kind, but brimming over with unspoken questions; and Laura's husband
-obviously patronised the "poor thing" who had made such a "shocking
-mistake," and who must, he thought, be truly glad to find herself in
-comfortable quarters again!
-
-She had made mistakes enough, to be sure! She had committed a most
-terrible and fatal one in marrying for any reason but that which alone
-sanctifies marriage; but, at least, she was not ashamed of her preacher.
-Meg's soft grey eyes would brighten dangerously when this portly and
-rather self-indulgent gentleman too evidently pitied her. What was he
-that he should dare to despise Barnabas Thorpe?
-
-Nevertheless, her heart warmed to Laura. The tie of blood drew the
-sisters together: they mourned the same father, at any rate; though, in
-Meg's case, the mourning was tempered by deep thankfulness in having
-been allowed to see him once more.
-
-Laura came into the room presently, and sat down on the low
-rocking-chair by the fireplace, letting her busy hands be idle for once,
-while she watched the sister who had the fascination of an enigma for
-her.
-
-The semi-darkness, the cosy quietness of the nursery, thawed their
-mutual reserve.
-
-"I expect that Barnabas will come for me to-morrow. I wonder what can
-have kept him so long," said Meg. "I am glad that you persuaded me to
-stay here with you, Laura. It is good for one to have a breathing space
-to bury remembrances in. I don't think that I missed a word or look of
-father's while I was with him, now I feel as if I could put that away.
-One doesn't forget, but one must lay one's grief decently below the
-surface; and you have given me time to do that."
-
-"I hate to think that you may be spirited away--and to I don't know what
-hardships," cried Laura impetuously.
-
-But Meg shook her head. "I don't want to stay for ever! It is very
-pretty and 'soft'; it has been pleasant to sit in easy chairs and tread
-on velvety carpets, and, above all, to see you again; but I couldn't
-bear to live this life now. Even as it is, I feel as if there were a
-sort of disloyalty in the enjoyment of it. You must not fancy that I am
-being dragged away against my will, when Barnabas fetches me. I believe
-you imagine all sorts of horrors, Laura; but, indeed, I am telling you
-the truth! The preacher is very good to me. I don't think there is
-another man in the world who would have been so good."
-
-"He ought to be," said Laura; "seeing that you threw away everything
-else for love of him."
-
-"Oh no, it was not for love!" cried Meg. "And he never supposed that it
-was."
-
-"Then you were madder than I thought." Laura sat bolt upright to give
-force to her emphatic whisper. She had grown stout and matronly since
-the days when she had advised her sister to "marry any decently rich man
-who would be good to her," and her views had ripened. "If people marry
-for love, at least they have their cake, even though they may get
-through it pretty soon, and go hungry when it's eaten. I've sometimes
-thought that I hardly saw that side of the question enough when I was
-young. I was terribly afraid of sentiment. But you, Meg--you, who of all
-women I ever met were the most high-flown!--if you didn't love him, what
-possessed you?"
-
-"It is an old story now," said Meg, colouring. "Let it be. Barnabas
-understands about it. No one else ever will." She was silent for a few
-minutes, thinking of that scene at Ravenshill which she had but half
-understood at the time. "It is only afterwards that we know what we have
-done! I wonder whether all things that have happened to us will be seen
-by us in the right colours and the right proportion, as soon as we are
-in the next world. Will they all seem to shift into different places,
-like the bits of glass in a kaleidoscope?"
-
-"My dear," said Laura, with the twinkle that Meg remembered of old, "I
-am distinctly of the earth, earthy. I don't know, and I don't much care,
-about the next world; but I am curious about this one. I should like to
-hear what happened to the Meg I used to know. Where did he take you?
-Were you tolerably happy, or--or not?"
-
-"I was happy when he was preaching," said Meg. "What shall I tell you?"
-She reflected a moment, and then began drawing word pictures of scenes
-by the way--of the tramps they had talked to; of the gipsies over whose
-fires they had sat; of meetings on heathery hills, and on village
-commons. She dwelt rather on the lighter side of her experiences, and
-her stories illustrated the gentler traits of the preacher's
-character--his tenderness for very old people and young children, and
-his hopefulness. She told how he had given a screw of tobacco to a dirty
-old tramp incarcerated in a far-off northern gaol, and how, on the
-beadle's rebuking him for his leniency, he had said: "She's ower ninety,
-man! ower deaf to hear the preachin' o' goodwill; but the 'baccy 'ull
-carry a bit o' th' message, an' she'll understan' that".
-
-And she laughed a little over the minor perplexities that had beset her
-own path when she had struggled along by his side.
-
-"It is different now, for I am older, and have grown accustomed to so
-much; but oh, Laura, I did not laugh then! So many funny things happened
-to me, small troubles that I had never reckoned on. For example, my
-boots wore out. I remember that we were walking along the bed of a
-stream, and every stone I trod on hurt me. You don't know how they hurt,
-when one's feet are blistered, and one's boots are in holes. It was only
-six weeks since I had left Aunt Russelthorpe's house, and it seemed too
-strange and unnatural to go to the preacher about that sort of thing. I
-couldn't ask him for money. I thought it would be easier to walk
-barefoot than to do that; and, after all, one can get through almost
-anything if one determines that one will. So I limped on, and should
-have reached the next village all right, if I hadn't trodden on a bit of
-broken glass. I was unlucky that day; it went through the hole right
-into my heel. I sat down on a stone and clenched my hands together; I
-was so afraid of fainting, and the sharp pain made me feel sick. I can
-see that valley now, with the purple heather and bracken glowing on each
-side, and the big boulders, and the brown stream brawling in the middle
-of it, and the preacher tramping steadily along, with his back to me.
-Of course, he discovered, after a time, that I was not by him, and
-turned back to look for me; and, just when he reached me, a round soft
-sheep with curly horns and a broad face jumped up close behind my stone
-and scuttled away up the hill. It startled me so that it shook the
-tears, which I had been trying to keep back, down my cheeks, and I found
-myself sobbing like a baby. Barnabas stood and stared at me; I had never
-done that sort of thing before, and he was immensely surprised. Then he
-said: 'You poor little soul, ye just doan't knaw what to do for
-weariness'. And he sat down and consoled me as if I had been ten instead
-of twenty-one; and cut my boot off with his pocket-knife, and took the
-splinter of glass out; and finally picked me up and carried me into the
-next village. From that day, he took only too much care of me; but he is
-always tender to any one who is unhappy."
-
-Her thoughts had flown to another time when the difficulties of the life
-she had chosen had pressed on her more heavily than during those first
-experiences of physical discomfort.
-
-"He thinks," she said in a low voice, "that no mistake and no sin can be
-so strong as God is. It is that belief which gives him power over those
-who have fallen very low. Of course most people agree with him in
-theory, but he is quite sure of it practically, which is different."
-
-"He has need of his hopefulness," said Laura drily. She had just made up
-her mind to tell Meg of the arrest; but the nurse came in at that
-moment, and she put off breaking the news a little longer.
-
-Meg gave up the baby reluctantly, and they went down into the lamp-lit
-dining-room; Laura very full of thought. This fanatical preacher, with
-his mania for "converting," with his pernicious views about the
-intrinsic evil of wealth, had done plenty of harm, she considered; and
-yet she allowed to herself that his influence was for good too. Margaret
-was morally a stronger woman now than she had been in her variable and
-emotional girlhood. Laura remarked also that, though no one could call
-her sister "pretty" in these days, yet the distinction which she had
-always possessed was hers still and in larger measure. Meg looked like a
-queen in disguise in her shabby dress. Alas! alas! and it was all wasted
-on a street "tuborator," who, at the best, was a mad enthusiast, and, at
-the worst, a shameful rogue!
-
-Laura's meditations made her unusually silent. Mr. Ashford talked on
-somewhat pompously, and pressed Meg to eat with rather patronising
-warmth, for "it was not every day that Mrs. Thorpe got such a meal"; and
-Meg herself did her best to rise to the occasion and converse pleasantly
-with her host.
-
-The silver, and the cut glass, and the flowers pleased her eye; for
-pretty things were to Margaret, as they had been to her father, very
-sweet. She had spoken the truth when she had said she could not have
-borne to live in luxury now; yet for a breathing space she enjoyed it.
-
-In nine cases out of ten it is the people with the keenest senses who
-take to asceticism. He who has never been intoxicated by the scent of
-flowers has never known the necessity of retiring into a wilderness.
-
-Dinner was half over when Laura saw Meg's colour change. "It is only the
-man from the bonnet shop. It cannot be any one for you, Meg," she said
-quickly. Indeed, she fancied that she had good reason to know that it
-could not possibly be Barnabas Thorpe. Was he not in Newgate?
-
-"It is not Barnabas. It is--_Tom_!" cried Margaret.
-
-She rose hastily from her chair; and Laura, following the direction of
-her eyes, saw Tom's queer deformed figure through the open door. He had
-been standing in the hall; but when Margaret's exclamation reached him,
-he walked into the dining-room, thinking she had meant to call him.
-
-To Laura this extraordinary person seemed a threatening embodiment from
-that outside world which claimed her sister. To Mr. Ashford he was a
-most impertinent intruder; but Meg made a quick step towards him. "Oh,
-Tom, is anything wrong at the farm?" she asked. And then turning to
-Laura: "This is my brother-in-law."
-
-"I should ask your pardon for disturbing you, ma'am," said Tom, looking
-at Laura; "but I ha' need of a word with Barnabas' wife."
-
-The accent, and still more the decided way in which he stated what he
-wanted, reminded Laura of the preacher.
-
-He spoke quite civilly, but the peremptoriness jarred on her. Tom Thorpe
-was possessed by a sort of defiant repulsion, and glowered indignantly
-on Margaret and her fine relatives. So she was here in this grand room
-feasting and amusing herself? but she was "Barnabas' wife" all the same,
-and he was in prison!
-
-"You shall have as many words as you like with me at once," said
-Margaret. "May I take him into the library, Laura? Oh, I hope that
-_your_ father is not ill?"
-
-Tom glanced at the bit of crape on her sleeve and answered, softened:
-"No, no, lass. Naught o' that kind's happened. Dad's right enough.
-There's naught but what ye must know already."
-
-"But she does not know!" Laura murmured faintly.
-
-Ten minutes later they heard Meg's visitor go.
-
-"Dear me! Your poor sister will hardly like to appear again to-night,"
-Mr. Ashford said compassionately. "She must be terribly ashamed of her
-scamp of a husband, though that kind of thing is what she must expect
-after having----Oh, here she is!"
-
-Margaret's head was very erect, and there was a bright spot of colour on
-each cheek.
-
-"My brother-in-law has been telling me that my husband has been arrested
-on Mr. Sauls' charge, and taken to gaol," she said. And there was a
-prouder ring than usual in her generally low voice. "Mr. Sauls' brain
-must have suffered! I am sorry for him."
-
-"You are angry with him, you mean!" remarked Laura.
-
-"No," said Mrs. Thorpe. "Any one who is so mad as to think it possible
-that Barnabas could have done such a thing is not worth being angry
-with. He knows no better, I suppose, poor thing!"
-
-Laura looked at her husband with a momentary gleam of fun.
-
-"I must get a room close to Newgate, so that I can go in and out as
-often as I am allowed," continued Meg. "Tom is going to take me to the
-prison to-morrow. Will you excuse me if I go and put my things together
-now?"
-
-Laura laughed, albeit a little sadly, when the door closed behind her.
-
-"It has been a queer story from first to last," she said. "But do you
-think, after that, that she is ashamed of him?"
-
-"She doesn't care much for him," said Mr. Ashford. "If she did, she
-would be more anxious."
-
-An hour later Margaret had finished packing her clothes into a small
-bundle, and stood considering a leathern box she held in her hands:
-should she take it with her or not?
-
-She opened it with the reverent touch a woman gives to relics. There was
-the pearl ring that her mother, another Margaret, had worn; Laura's
-first baby socks tenderly treasured; and an unfinished silk purse that
-had been in process of making when death took that, as well as all other
-tasks, from the pretty hands that had been so prone to give.
-
-There also was a faded bundle of letters tied with ribbon. The last that
-Meg unfolded had been penned two days before the writer's death. No one
-had imagined that she was in any danger; but there was an undercurrent
-of foreboding, sounding through the overflowing tender happiness which
-the letter expressed, a foreboding which, as Meg remembered to have
-heard, had wakened Mr. Deane's anxiety and brought him home just in
-time.
-
-"Indeed, sweetheart, an' I were to die to-morrow, I should want you only
-to remember that no woman was ever happier than I have been, and I think
-none other was ever so happy, seeing that none other was your wife. I
-long to make up to those not so fortunate as I; but I cannot. I would
-pray for a long life, only not beyond yours; but if it is not given me"
-(again that iteration of warning, mingling with her passionate
-satisfaction in her married life), "I shall yet have been more blessed
-than any other woman. It will have been worth while to have lived only
-to have loved you--and----"
-
-Meg put the letter down--surely this was too sacred for any eyes but his
-to whom it was written; a shame came over her that she had read so much.
-
-Some one else had once said to her: "It is worth while". This dead
-voice, that was yet so instinct with life, now, after all these years,
-reiterated it.
-
-She gave Laura the box the next morning, before she left.
-
-"It wouldn't be safe to carry jewels with me to the part of London I am
-going to," she explained. "Will you take care of them for me? They are
-best left behind."
-
-She turned the key in the lock, and put the box in Laura's hands.
-
-"There are letters there too," she said. "They are so alive, that, I
-suppose, father could not bear to burn them. I began to read one; but I
-did not finish it--I felt as if I oughtn't to."
-
-"Ought not? Why, he left them to you especially!" said Laura. "Who has a
-better right?"
-
-"I felt as if _I_ had no right to them," said Meg.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER V.
-
-    Even more than knowledge, pain is power.
-
-    --_Illingworth._
-
-    And on his brest a bloudie crosse he bore,
-    The deare remembrance of his dying Lord
-    For whose sweete sake that glorious badge he wore,
-    And dead as living ever Him ador'd.
-
-    --_Spenser._
-
-
-It was on a close breathless day in September that Meg first saw
-Newgate.
-
-Nearly fifty years have wrought many changes for the better (as well as
-some few for the worse) in London.
-
-The Holborn Tom and Meg Thorpe walked down was more unsavoury, noisier,
-and far less regulated as to traffic than the Holborn of to-day.
-
-The immense flow of people, the street cries, the jostling and bustling,
-were new to Meg; for, though she had lived in London half her life, she
-had never seen this side of it before.
-
-All at once she understood how it had impressed Barnabas.
-
-"He thinks London so terrible, and overpowering!" she said. "And I never
-knew what he meant! Now, I see----"
-
-"Mind where ye are walkin'," said Tom. "Good Lord! If either o' ye had
-had one quarter o' a grain o' common-sense, ye'd ha' kept clear of a
-place where there's a many too many without ye, an' not room to hear
-one's own voice in! There! that's where he is!"
-
-And Meg looked up at the gateway of the great prison, "the worst managed
-prison in England,"[1] where the scum and refuse of that human tide
-flowed constantly, and where, evil being most rampant, that cross that
-was originally raised between outragers of the public safety, was being
-raised again now by the hand of the Quaker lady, whom many yet unborn
-should call "blessed".
-
-[Footnote 1: See Report of 1850, made three years later, and just before
-the erection of the new prison at Holloway.]
-
-They passed under the fortress-like entrance, which Meg was to know
-well, in rain and snow, as well as in the autumn sunshine, which first
-softened its gloom to her, and stood among the crowd of prisoners'
-friends, who, on the whole, were a much more cheerful, not to say jovial
-set, than might have been expected.
-
-The gatekeeper was exchanging jokes and winks with a noisy band of
-unbonneted girls, who were linked together arm in arm, and had "pals"
-inside.
-
-Meg's soft heart warmed to one of them, who looked little more than a
-child, and who demanded permission to see her husband, Bill Jenkins,
-convicted of shop-lifting, and under sentence of death.
-
-"I hope he will be reprieved," Meg said aloud. "She looks so very young
-to have a husband," she added apologetically to Tom, who was not
-over-pleased at her speaking to the girl.
-
-There was a shout of laughter when some one who had overheard it
-repeated the remark.
-
-"Bless your innocence, we've _all_ got 'usbands, my dear," said one of
-the band. But it was not till later that the preacher's wife understood
-the meaning of their merriment.
-
-The convicted were supposed to see only their wives, and that but once a
-week. "So I've never known a single man among 'em," the gatekeeper
-remarked with a grin. "Even the boys is all married,--every one on 'em!"
-
-Meg could hardly have told what she had expected to encounter;--long
-stone passages, and a miserable cell, and Barnabas in heavy irons, and
-darkness, perhaps! She had been prepared to cheer and encourage him; but
-this noisy crew she was not prepared for, and her heart sank when she
-found that she was not admitted into the interior of the building; but
-could only take her place with the others on one side of a double row of
-iron railings, which interposed grimly between the prisoners and their
-friends.
-
-Her strongest earliest impressions of a place she was to become familiar
-with during three long months were beer and bad language. The smell of
-the former assailed her nostrils; the sound of the latter, her ears; the
-place seemed reeking with both combined. She looked rather wistfully at
-the vendor of beer, who, coming straight from the public-house,
-fortunate enough to have secured Newgate's patronage, was greeted with
-acclamations, and allowed instant entrance to the wards.
-
-"Eh, my lass, how are ye?" said the well-known voice, whose very
-familiarity sounded strange behind those bars. Margaret pressed her face
-against the iron, she was not able to reach him--the space between was
-too wide for that.
-
-Prison uniform had not been instituted then, and the preacher was still
-in his blue jersey, which, however, showed a good many rents,--a fact
-which struck Meg at once; for Barnabas kept his clothes carefully mended
-as a rule. He looked ill, too, and his hair and beard were untrimmed;
-but his hands were unshackled, which was something of a relief to her.
-
-He devoured her with his eyes hungrily, and asked question after
-question as to how she was, and how she had been, with an eagerness and
-insistence that left her little time to question _him_.
-
-"I wish I could see ye better!" he cried impatiently. "Turn your head to
-the light, Margaret. I can't half see you in that thing!"
-
-The straight side of her straw bonnet threw her face into shade, and she
-untied the strings, meaning to take it off to please him, remembering,
-with a slight tightening of the throat, how her father had proffered the
-same request; but Barnabas stopped her hastily.
-
-"No, no. Not here!" he said. "Ye can't uncover your head for all those
-fellows to see. Ye hadn't ought to be here at all, wi' me not free to
-take care of ye. Where's Tom?"
-
-"He is waiting for me, in the outer yard," said Meg. "Oh, Barnabas, I
-_ought_ to have been here before; but I never heard till last night;
-indeed, if I had known, I would have come."
-
-"I wasn't blamin' ye," he answered. "But look 'ee here, my lass; time's
-nearly up, and I've a deal to say that'll hardly get said now. I'm
-thinking this must be my last sight of ye till I'm free, or till----"
-
-"There is no 'or,'" said Meg cheerfully. "Of course, they must set you
-free."
-
-But she clung tighter to the rails; her knees felt weak with the long
-walk.
-
-The preacher, looking at her, checked the reply that had almost risen to
-his lips.
-
-"Till I am free then," he said. "But it's no place for you. Will 'ee go
-home wi' Tom? they'll be glad enough to have ye; or, if ye'd rayther,
-ye can stay wi' your sister. It's as ye like."
-
-Then, with a sudden burst of longing, that seemed to cut through the
-heavy atmosphere, making Meg's heart give a bound; "To think that _I_
-can't give ye a roof!" he cried. "It warn't i' the bond that ye should
-follow me to Newgate! Ye must forgi'e me this, Margaret!"
-
-Meg lifted her head and looked straight at him.
-
-"I'm not going back to Laura," she said. "What should I do there? Nor to
-the farm; what business has your wife in L----shire, when you are here?
-Father has left me some money; it will be just enough to keep us
-together. I will take a room close to the prison, and come as often as
-they will let me. There is a great deal to talk of; there is your
-defence to be considered; there is a great deal to be done; and you have
-told me nothing yet. I will live on very little--as little as possible;
-we shall want every penny, but----"
-
-He shook his head, and her voice changed from would-be cheerful
-assurance to entreaty.
-
-"But let me stay!" she cried. "You will find it worth while. No one will
-work so hard for you as I will. If _I_ were in prison should you go
-comfortably away with Tom to the farm? It is absurd to ask! You don't
-need to answer; for, of course, you wouldn't. Don't you want to see me?
-I could come three times a week; on all the visiting days--don't you
-think that would be something?"
-
-"Something!" said the preacher. He put his hand before his eyes to hide
-the sight of her, who, he knew, was only too precious to him.
-
-"The look of ye is more nor meat or drink to me," he said. "An' ye know
-it! An' it's just because o' that that there's no reason in comparing
-what I'd do wi' what I'd have ye do. Go back wi' Tom, lass. Ay, I knew
-ye'd be willin' to bide; I knew ye'd offer to; but I couldn't bear to
-see ye standin' here day after day, nor to think o' ye alone in this
-hell of a city. I'll do well enough, an' I won't forget ye begged to
-stop. Just say 'good-bye' to me, my dear, an' go. Go, my lass!"
-
-Her hands dropped from the bars and she turned away. She was in the
-habit of obeying him, and his stronger will nearly always overpowered
-hers; but, as she turned she looked back, and, though she did not
-understand how or why, something in his weary attitude made her return
-quickly, with a little low cry that brought him close to the bars again.
-
-"I want to stay," she said. "Barnabas, don't you see that I want to? You
-think I am saying this because I ought--for your sake. It is for my own.
-Ah, don't send me away; I _want_ to stay."
-
-He stood a moment silent; then: "Stay then," he said; "and God keep ye
-safe. Happen, after all, He knows how to as well as I do."
-
-There was no time for more; she had to go, but the preacher drew a deep
-breath, as one amazed; the bolts and bars that divided them had also
-brought Margaret nearer to him. He had had need of some consolation.
-
-The Gaol Acts laid down many most excellent rules, which the governors
-of Newgate seemed to consider were, like dreams, "to be read by
-contraries". Barnabas had found himself flung into an assembly where
-tried and untried--the boy accused of stealing a loaf, and the hardened
-old vagabond in for the tenth time--were all mixed up together, making a
-fine forcing bed for crime.
-
-In the pursuit of his calling the preacher had been oftenest and most
-deeply attracted to places where evil was most prevalent; but it was one
-thing to attack the foul fiend of his own free will (and it must be
-owned Barnabas was seldom backward at assault), and another to be
-allowed no escape from the unclean presence by day or by night; no
-breathing space alone, even for a moment.
-
-The unbearable sense of eyes always on him, the longing for fresh air,
-and, still more, for solitude, if only for five minutes, grew with a
-force that took all his strength to keep in bounds.
-
-There had always been something gipsy-like in his restless impatience of
-walls and roofs. As a boy he had many a time crept out in order to sleep
-by preference with nothing between him and the sky. He held his very
-thoughts in check now, and durst not let them dwell on downs or sea,
-lest a mad passion for these should seize on him; but he ate with
-difficulty, forcing himself to swallow, loathing food, like some wild
-animal held in captivity; and sleep forsook him.
-
-It was not till he had been in the gaol for a week that he began to
-discover a method in the madness of the prison arrangements; and the
-method roused him to protest so vigorous and unpopular as nearly to cost
-him his life.
-
-To run atilt against established privileges, to refuse to let sleeping
-dogs lie, had always been main characteristics of the preacher; they
-never came out more strongly than in Newgate.
-
-There are disadvantages in preaching righteousness while under
-accusation of attempted murder, and in attempting to right other
-people's grievances while a prisoner oneself; but such considerations
-never weighed with Barnabas. Where he saw his enemy, there he would "go"
-for him, whatever the situation might be.
-
-On the women's side of the prison, Elizabeth Fry was already bringing
-order into disorder, light into the midst of darkness; but, on the
-men's side, misrule still ruled supreme.
-
-The old prisoners levied a kind of blackmail on the others; they sold
-food, they winked at evil practices, they passed in tobacco and snuff,
-and, as wardsmen, their power was despotic.
-
-In their hands was the placing of new arrivals, in their hands the
-drawing of briefs; they, practically, could feed or starve, bind or
-unbind; and one of the first things Barnabas did was to protest against
-the orders of a wardsman!
-
-To do him justice, the preacher, though he had lamentably small sense of
-the expedient, was not naturally quarrelsome, and had rubbed shoulders
-against too many strange bedfellows to be over fastidious.
-
-The crowded room in which the men slept together anyhow, under filthy
-mats on the floor, shocked him much less than it would shock any
-respectable member of society now-a-days. He relinquished his share of
-the rug, a third share; and stretched himself on the floor, as near to
-the window as he could get.
-
-Everything was dirty; the men, the floor, and, not least, the
-conversation! Barnabas was glad that there was no glass in the windows,
-though not much fresh air seemed to make its way in anyhow. He had a
-great capability for abstracting himself from what was going on around
-him, and had been in bad places before,--though none, he was constrained
-to allow to himself, quite so bad as this. But when the key turned in
-the lock, shutting in for the night all these offscourings of the London
-streets; then, indeed, began a scene of mad drunken riot, of iniquity
-and cruelty, that pierced through his abstraction and forced him to
-attend.
-
-He sat up in his corner, looking on with eyes that grew eager with
-desire to lift his testimony against the gambling and drinking and
-blasphemy that seemed to challenge him; but even he hesitated.
-
-He was disheartened and sickened; he felt his faith low, his power to
-speak wanting. A sense of the certainty of failure, for once, deterred
-him; the strong impulse that carried other hearts was not present
-(possibly because he was physically tired, though this was a reason
-which would never have occurred to him), and he held his peace.
-
-Of fear, in the sense of dread of personal harm to himself, he had
-little by nature and less by practice; but a deep moral depression and
-humility that underlay his boldness, and was less paradoxical than it at
-first seemed, sometimes closed his lips.
-
-When the "spirit moved him," he would speak, nothing doubting; but, at
-times, he would sit in mental sackcloth, with no consciousness of Divine
-inspiration.
-
-In the daytime, want of employment further depressed him; he had been
-accustomed all his life to hard exercise; and the comparative
-confinement of his London life had begun to tell on his health and
-spirits, even before his imprisonment. He would have been thankful for
-any form of labour,--a desire which certainly was not common among his
-companions. Not that the wards were devoid of amusement; papers and even
-books circulated freely, the last of a kind that increased the
-preacher's bigoted distaste for "book larning," and that he was,
-perhaps, justified in stigmatising as inventions of the devil! Tobacco
-and cards were also plentiful; gaming went on without intermission from
-morning till night, and of feasting and fighting there was plenty.
-
-Barnabas would probably have come in for rough usage, even without any
-aggressive act on his part, had it not been for his size and strength,
-that made him so obviously an awkward subject to bully.
-
-The bronzed, fair-bearded man, standing in his corner, "glowering" at a
-scene that, certainly, was brutal enough, had an expression in his blue
-eyes that looked as if he might be dangerous.
-
-Possibly he was going mad! There was a large proportion of real lunatics
-in Newgate, and there were some sham ones, who feigned madness as the
-time of their trial approached; and their presence added to the insanely
-reckless character of the revels.
-
-During the whole of the first week in prison, Barnabas had stood apart,
-silent and grave.
-
-He was anxious about his wife; he was cast down by spiritual depression;
-and the sense that he was "forsaken of the Lord" was strong on him.
-Moreover,--and this was a thing that had rarely occurred to him,--he was
-tormented by uncertainty. It was against his instinct and principle to
-betray a confession; he would rather be hanged himself, as he had said
-to Margaret, than do that;--but yet, to leave the murderer free to
-commit any fresh crime that might be suggested to his depraved nature
-might lead to consequences from which even Barnabas, who seldom looked
-at consequences, shrank. All these causes, combined with the close
-atmosphere and want of sleep, weighed on him; he felt as if unable to
-pray, or to command his thoughts; he was "delivered over to Satan".
-
-It was Margaret's visit that broke the spell. The sight of her, stirring
-his heart with most human love, roused him, and chased away the
-spiritual melancholy which was overpowering him. He became ashamed of
-his downheartedness.
-
-He should stand at her side free again, and the sound of her last words
-nurtured a hope that he had often found it best not to dwell on
-overmuch,--would grim Newgate give him his wife's heart?
-
-Shame on him for his cowardly depression! He deserved no favours,
-heavenly or earthly; but he would be depressed no longer. He went back
-to the yard after Margaret's visit with fresh spirit. Some of the
-prisoners had made a circle round a new-comer, a fair-haired lad of
-fifteen, who had the too girlish and refined "prettiness" that some
-fair-skinned boys retain so long, and who looked younger than he was.
-
-The chaff and rough horse-play they were indulging in hardly amounted to
-actual ill-usage; but the boy looked frightened to death. He was singing
-in a high sweet treble, forced thereto by divers threats.
-
-He evidently did not know the words of the song, for one of his
-self-constituted teachers kept prompting him, amid roars of laughter. It
-was a villainous song, and Barnabas hoped the lad didn't understand it.
-He had been brought in the day before, protesting his innocence in eager
-childish fashion,--as if it mattered to any one there whether he was
-innocent or not! At any rate, if he was when he entered, he hadn't much
-chance of being so when he should leave. Barnabas looked on in disgust
-for a few minutes, and then turned to a wardsman.
-
-"Surely," he said, "that lad hadn't ought to be here?"
-
-The middle yard in which they stood was supposed to be occupied by the
-most abandoned and worst class of criminals, men charged with the most
-revolting crimes; but the wardsmen of Newgate were apparently apt to
-consider the incorrigible offence, the offence of poverty (indeed, it is
-hard of cure) and an inability to pay ward dues, ranked the offender
-with the most depraved.
-
-"Oh! you're the Lord Chief Justice in disguise, perhaps!" said the man.
-"Or his grace the Archbishop!"
-
-"If I was the judge," said the preacher, "I'd far sooner ha' had that
-boy strung up to the nearest lamp post, guilty or no', than ha'
-pitchforked him in here, to ruin his body an' soul both! It 'ud ha' been
-a deal more merciful."
-
-"Such a 'ighly moral cove as you 'ad better interfere," said the man.
-"The parson don't come in 'ere at present; he give up comin' after
-Hopping Jack took to assistin' him in 'is duties."
-
-The speaker laughed silently over some hidden joke.
-
-"He comes in just afore the 'angman now to the men as is fixed for
-'anging, a sort of last grace before meat," he said. "They ain't so
-larky then."
-
-Barnabas had not attended to the last remark; something he had heard or
-seen made his hand clench; and he turned on the wardsman hotly.
-
-"Can ye do nothing, man?" he said. "_You_ put that child here, because
-he couldn't pay th' ward dues (which be unlawful extortion anyway); he's
-only up for a matter o' stealin'; it 'ull lay at your door if those
-brutes make him----"
-
-The rest of the sentence remained unfinished. Before he had got to the
-end of it, Barnabas had felt the appeal useless: the wardsman was
-momentarily staggered by the unprecedented and unbounded impudence of
-this new-comer; but, before he had even fully fathomed the whole extent
-of it, the preacher sprang into the middle of the ring, and stood by the
-boy's side.
-
-There was a moment's absolute silence. Then Barnabas Thorpe's ringing
-voice pealed through the yard in a vigorous denunciation; he took the
-throng of reprobates so by surprise that he got through a whole sentence
-unmolested.
-
-The motley crowd all stood and gaped; the boy clung to his arm.
-
-Some men who were playing at leapfrog stopped, and stared; the dice fell
-from Hopping Jack's hand. If a thunder-clap, louder than usual, had
-broken out just over their heads, it would have produced just that
-effect, stunning and startling them. Then, with a howl of mingled
-laughter and anger, they all fell on the preacher at once; and the
-wardsman laughed silently again.
-
-Barnabas fought desperately, first for the boy's sake, then in sheer
-self-defence; for his blows had enraged and roused the wild beast in
-these men. It was no joke now; they meant to punish him.
-
-He set his teeth hard, and held his own for a short minute; but one to
-sixty is too heavy odds, and the righteous cause that triumphs in the
-end has a way of triumphing only through the blood of its upholders. He
-was down first on his knees, then on his face, then they all closed over
-him; he had not even taken the precaution to put his back against the
-yard wall, and his assailants were on all sides. He was down, and to
-kick a man on the ground was excellent sport, and this man had certainly
-brought it on himself. The wardsman usually interfered before things
-came to quite such a pass; but, on this occasion, he discreetly retired;
-the preacher had needed a lesson, and no one was in the least inclined
-to forbear.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-The surgeon's report mentioned that one of the prisoners had had his
-ribs broken, but no further official notice was taken of this little
-episode; and the prisoner himself was rather surprised when he woke to
-consciousness (a highly disagreeable experience!), and found himself
-still alive, and lying in a corner of the ward, albeit without a square
-inch free from bruises, and with an odd sensation of having been kicked
-inside as well as out, making breathing a matter of pain.
-
-He tried to sit upright, but the effort hurt him, turning him dizzy and
-sick; and he desisted.
-
-"He's been shamefully mauled," some one was saying. "His own mother
-wouldn't know him. Done in a drunken brawl, I suppose? That's the second
-case from the middle yard within a fortnight. I should think you've
-about had your fill of fighting, eh? How do you feel?"
-
-"Oncommon sore," said Barnabas; "but what became of th' lad?"
-
-"He'll fare the worse for your interference," said the surgeon. "Keep
-still, or I can't fasten this bandage. Well, you've tried football from
-the ball's point of view. There's no accounting for tastes! Bless me,
-there's more bruise than whole skin about you; one might as well patch a
-stocking that's all holes!"
-
-His fingers were not gentler than his words, but it was the latter that
-had made Barnabas wince. "What are they doin' wi' that boy? He's not a
-lad o' much spirit--I could see that; he'll be like wax in their hands,
-if some one don't interfere."
-
-"They'll make it a point of honour to corrupt him as fast as possible
-now; you've gained that by interfering," said the surgeon. "But then the
-same result would have been reached in any case, sooner or later. If he
-wasn't a young blackguard when he came in, which I doubt, he'll take
-his degree in iniquity before the Assizes. It's no good struggling to
-get up, you can't! And what the devil are you in such a hurry for? You'd
-better digest the lesson they've given you."
-
-The surgeon had no sympathy for Methodist preachers; the canting
-criminal, to which class he supposed Barnabas belonged, was the kind he
-liked least.
-
-He had a cold tolerance for black sheep in general; "they were born bad,
-as was clearly proved by the shape of their skulls," he would remark;
-and, while he was a great advocate for hanging them for the sake of
-society, he neither regarded them with moral indignation, nor
-sympathised with the illogical efforts of philanthropists.
-
-"You'll find it enough to occupy you," he added drily. He was struck, in
-spite of himself, at the way this man stood pain. "You'll feel that
-kicking worse in an hour. I must say it seems to have taken a good
-amount of beating to beat you!"
-
-"I'd not say--I was beat--while I was alive," said Barnabas in gasps,
-for speaking was painful. "Ay, it's a lesson to me--I've been a bit too
-backward--ta'en up wi' my own affairs!--I desarved to fail--but I'll try
-again--so soon as I can stand. Beaten! I'm _not_ beaten!"
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-Barnabas lay in his corner for three days and nights. He ought to have
-been put into the infirmary, but the infirmary was just then given up to
-certain political prisoners,--gentlemen who were decidedly out of place
-in Newgate, but who were made as comfortable as circumstances and the
-easy politeness of the governor allowed.
-
-No one paid much heed to the preacher. It was a toss up whether he
-lived or died; but his hardy constitution, and, perhaps, his innate
-obstinacy, pulled him through. On the fourth day after the surgeon's
-visit he sat upright, on the fifth he struggled to his feet. The fifth
-day happened to be a Sunday, which, by a time-honoured custom, was a day
-set apart and sacred to free fights in the middle yard. Barnabas
-steadied himself, with one hand against the wall, and looked around him.
-He did not remember ever before to have felt physically weak. The
-sensation struck him as very curious.
-
-"You'll not be trying that game again," remarked his enemy, the
-wardsman.
-
-Barnabas Thorpe was a gaunt and ghastly sight, standing on his straw
-with the blood-stained bandage across his forehead. His face was
-whitened by confinement, and lined and hollowed by pain; but the sneer
-brought the light of battle into his blue eyes.
-
-"Will I not?" he said grimly. "Wait an' see, man! This time we play to
-win."
-
-"We? Who's fool enough to be on your side?" asked the man.
-
-"I am on His," said Barnabas. "He leads!" He made his way along the ward
-while he spoke, stumbling more than once, panting from sheer weakness;
-and the wardsman followed, grinning.
-
-All the men were out in the yard. Two of them were fighting, the rest
-were applauding. The preacher walked through the ring, and put his hands
-on the combatants' shoulders.
-
-"Ye'll do that no more," he said. "It is my Master's day, an' He is here
-among us; an' to Him shall be the power an' th' glory."
-
-He was so exhausted by the walk that he involuntarily leaned heavily on
-the man whose arm he had touched, and who stood and gaped, with
-awe-struck face.
-
-In his full strength and vigour the preacher had failed--in his weakness
-he conquered.
-
-So long as man is man, he must perforce bow down before the spark of
-Divinity that makes him human--when he sees it.
-
-These gaol birds and outcasts "saw it" that day; saw it in the courage
-that had nothing to do with the animal and physical side of our nature;
-"saw it" in the command given by one whom they had trampled on, and
-well-nigh killed, who, knowing what he risked, yet risked it again,
-counting death no defeat.
-
-"Let 'im be. You can't hurt such as 'im," one of the men whispered.
-"He's got them standin' by him."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VI.
-
-
-Mr. Sauls returned to town, looking a great deal the worse for his
-expedition into the wilds of L----shire.
-
-Had he followed his natural inclination, he would have held his tongue
-on the subject of the sensational episode that had led to the preacher's
-arrest; but, seeing that the tale must become public property, he took
-the initiative himself, spreading the version he wished to be popular.
-
-Mr. Sauls' deserved success in life had always been largely owing to the
-fact that he never hesitated to throw a sprat overboard in order to
-catch a mackerel. Many people see all the advantages of this proceeding
-clearly enough, but haven't courage to sacrifice the sprat; he had.
-
-He was determined on two points, apparently a little difficult of
-combination: he was determined to punish his assailant, and, at the same
-time, to keep Margaret's name out of the affair. He would rather lose
-his case than drag her into it--which was saying a great deal.
-
-He would have preferred, for obvious reasons, that the story about Lydia
-Tremnell should remain in merciful obscurity; but, nevertheless, he
-brought it to the light of day without flinching; for he knew that, in
-laying the stress on that quarrel about the woman who was dead, he
-prevented the suspicion that the hot words between himself and Barnabas
-Thorpe had had connection with the woman who was alive.
-
-It cost him some vexation of spirit; but, for Meg's sake, he threw the
-sprat, and threw it boldly.
-
-Mr. Sauls had fallen low in Meg's estimation. She would have been either
-more or less than human if she could have, at the same time, sided with
-the preacher, and seen the standpoint of the preacher's enemy. And yet,
-if "a man's love" is indeed "the measure of his fitness for good company
-here or elsewhere," Mr. Sauls was, perhaps, worthy of a better place
-than she guessed.
-
-He had been lunching with the governor of the prison one morning, and
-had left that gentleman's house with a bad headache (for he still felt
-the effects of the blow), and in no very excellent humour.
-
-For the last month he had been endeavouring to put the image of the
-preacher's wife out of his head; and few things are more trying to both
-nerves and temper than the constant struggle to prevent a recurring
-thought. The disembodied presence haunts the more when we abstain from
-clothing it with words, and it usually has its revenge. George "forgot"
-Mrs. Thorpe by a most constant and unrelaxing effort.
-
-He pulled some papers out of his pocket, meaning to read them while he
-walked; he could have sworn he was deeply engrossed in them, and that he
-was thinking of anything rather than of Margaret; and yet, among the
-thousand voices of that busy street, curiously enough hers reached his
-ear.
-
-He had walked only two yards from the door of the governor's house. He
-hesitated for a second, turned round, and retraced his steps. Margaret
-was on the threshold, talking to the governor's servant.
-
-"Did that brute keep her hanging about the prison? If so, he deserved a
-worse fate than the gallows," thought George.
-
-"You should have gone round to the back. What business have you here?"
-said the footman. George could not catch her reply, but her manner had
-apparently overawed the man, who was evidently wavering between
-insolence and respect.
-
-"Oh, if your business is with the governor--I'll take your card in and
-inquire--ma'am."
-
-The "ma'am" was said rather doubtfully, Meg's clothes being shabby.
-
-"I've no card," said she. "Please tell the governor that I should be
-much obliged if he would kindly see me. I am the wife of one of the
-prisoners in the middle yard, and----"
-
-"Oh, off with you!" cried the footman, his respect vanishing. "The
-governor would have enough to do if he saw every blackguard's wife that
-came a-begging!" And he slammed the door in her face.
-
-Margaret put her hand on the bell as if half inclined to make another
-attempt; then apparently came to the conclusion that it would be of no
-avail, and, with a sigh, turned away.
-
-She saw Mr. Sauls when she descended the steps, and would have passed
-him without a sign, had he not been assailed by a dogged unreasonable
-determination to force her to recognise him.
-
-"You know me, Mrs. Thorpe," he said. His voice sounded a little defiant.
-
-Meg's eyes rested coldly on him. "I know you," she answered gravely.
-
-George reddened. It was the first and last time in his life that a snub
-had made him blush.
-
-"But you are too angry to acknowledge me? Well! of course, that is
-natural," he said. "Naturally you cannot forgive me for being knocked on
-the head by the preacher. I hardly supposed that you would. A woman's
-justice is apt to be hard on the sinned against--when the sinner is her
-husband. But I--not being a woman--do not quite relish seeing you
-refused anything. I'll help you, if I can. The governor is a friend of
-mine; I will get you admittance if you like."
-
-"No, thank you," said Margaret. George laughed rather bitterly.
-
-"Are you too proud to accept my help? But you should never refuse a good
-offer, even from an enemy." Then his tone changed, for the sight of her
-tired face softened him.
-
-"But I am not _your_ enemy, Margaret--Mrs. Thorpe, I mean. You will not
-be just to me, that is not to be expected! but you can be generous. Let
-me do this thing for you--in all good faith!"
-
-He held out his hand, but Meg drew back angrily. How durst he repeat
-this lie about Barnabas in one breath, and in the next offer to help
-her? he help her!
-
-"Ah, you hate me too much? But you are very foolish. You are making a
-mistake," he began; then stopped short, struck dumb by the flash of
-indignant scorn in her eyes.
-
-"I do not hate you, who swear falsehoods about my husband," she said.
-"One must have a little respect before one hates! I could not accept any
-favour from you. It would be easier," said Meg, determined that he
-should press her no more, and clothing her feeling in the most forcible
-words she could utter, "it would be easier to take hot burning coals in
-my bare hands than to take any help from you now."
-
-George Sauls bit his lip and drew back a step. He wondered why this
-woman's words had such power to hurt him. Then he pulled himself
-together, and lifted his hat to her.
-
-"Thanks--that was quite plain enough," he said. "I must really have been
-very dense to have required that, mustn't I? The Psalmist's hot coals
-were reserved for his enemies' heads, not for their hands, Mrs.
-Thorpe--but that's a trifle, and I won't press the commodity on you. I
-most humbly regret having offered my assistance, and can only give you
-my word that nothing on earth shall ever induce me to attempt such a
-thing again. Apparently you don't think that my oaths are to be trusted,
-as a rule; but you may believe in that one."
-
-And Mrs. Thorpe certainly did believe in it.
-
-She was surprised at her own anger; she hardly knew herself in these
-days. Her indignation was still hot when she reached the tiny room in
-which she lived, but by that time it had become tinged with anxiety. She
-feared she had made matters worse for Barnabas by still further
-embittering his enemy. Yet she could not have let Mr. Sauls help her!
-
-Fortunately, her hands were full of work; she had little time for
-meditation. She had been seized with a sudden inspiration to take up
-again one of the few accomplishments of her girlhood, and her efforts
-had been crowned with unexpected success. She had been clever at
-modelling and colouring wax fruit; and the sight of her old tools, which
-had somehow come into Laura's possession, had suggested a possible means
-of making money.
-
-The sum that her father had left her would have paid for her board and
-lodging, but she saved every penny she could for the preacher's defence.
-
-She worked hard, allowing herself little rest, and going out only to the
-prison grating, or for actual necessities. Her room was at the very top
-of a tall narrow house close to the gaol. Tom had left her there with
-many misgivings on his part, but with no apparent sinking of courage on
-hers. She wrote occasionally to him and to her father-in-law, and her
-letters were always cheerful. "I am taking care of myself beautifully. I
-am learning all sorts of things," she wrote.
-
-The last sentence was very true. Meg learnt many things during those
-long months of waiting for the assizes.
-
-She became a familiar figure in the "prison crowd." Most of the
-_habitués_ of the outer yard knew her by sight, and many of them knew
-her story as well (though she could not imagine how it had got about),
-and they would stare at the "lydy," with amused and generally very
-kindly curiosity.
-
-At first, the rough crowd rather alarmed her. In the midst of this
-mighty city, on which she looked from her skylight window, she felt the
-sense of isolation more deeply than on any mountain top.
-
-For some weeks she did not speak to any one when on her way to or from
-the gaol; but, by degrees, her sympathy went out to the women who, like
-herself, were waiting anxiously.
-
-On the first occasion when Barnabas failed to come to the grating, she
-had, as we have seen, made a fruitless attempt to get into the ward by
-an appeal to headquarters; but a second failure increased her
-uneasiness. She was turning from the bars disheartened, when a scrap of
-paper was thrust into her hand by the girl next her, who remarked by the
-way: "You weren't 'alf spry, lydy. You'd never 'ave got it if it 'adn't
-been for my Bill and me."
-
-The scrap had been wrapped round a bone, and dexterously thrown through
-the bars. The writing was the preacher's, but so shaky that Meg found it
-barely legible.
-
-    "Ye've no call to be scared, my lass. I've had a bit of a fight,
-    but am all right. Only my face is a sight, and I'd not have you
-    startled by it, so I've kept away--and don't you come for a week or
-    two.
-
-    "BARNABAS."
-
-The note brought relief to Meg, who had feared he must be very ill. It
-was like him to be so afraid of "scaring" her by the sight of bruises:
-since the day she had come back to him, her husband's fear of
-frightening her had always been on the alert.
-
-She thanked the girl warmly, who, thereupon, confided to the "lydy" that
-she was "down on her luck".
-
-She was the same very young so-called "wife" who had attracted Meg's
-attention on the first visit to Newgate.
-
-She was crying because she had no offering for "Bill". She had never
-before failed to bring something with her on visiting day. Bill, indeed,
-lived a great deal better than his poor faithful little pal did, and on
-the fat of the land. "Sally" kept him supplied in beer, tobacco, and
-even meat (though she habitually went hungry herself), and he took his
-detention very comfortably.
-
-Meg offered half the contents of her slender purse for the further
-delectation of Bill, thereby making to herself friends of the mammon of
-unrighteousness. She gained an immense amount of information, and got
-her note "passed in"; but she also heard details of the row in the
-prison that made her sick at heart.
-
-"But Bill says not one of 'em 'ull touch 'im now," the girl declared.
-"He says he wouldn't 'imself, not if he was paid for it, and the
-preacher bound 'and and foot; he says it give 'im a turn to see the
-preacher stand up to 'em agin, when they'd handled him so afore that he
-was still as weak as a cat. It seemed as if there must be some one
-behind backing 'im, it were so unnatural like; and it turned Bill all of
-a tremble, like as if it was something else than a man. His voice wasn't
-above a whisper 'cos he were so feeble, but they just 'eld their breath
-to listen to 'im--it's queer, ain't it?"
-
-Meg was trembling too.
-
-"Whose voice? the preacher's? but he is so strong," she said. "What did
-they do to him?"
-
-"They got 'im down and kicked 'im," said the girl. "You see he'd riled
-'em, and there's a good many of 'em in the yard, and it's just the way
-men's made," added Sally leniently. "If they feel they've got some one
-under, they just _must_ jump on 'em. I b'lieve they can't 'elp it--and
-'is ribs got broke. Lor', don't look so! he's up again anyway, and 'as
-got the upper 'and of 'em all too! and I'll teach you to make 'im a deal
-more comfortable than I 'spect _you've_ known how."
-
-But, alas! Meg's preacher would have no "extra" comforts, and sternly
-forbade the "passing in" of food to himself. The gaol allowance was
-enough to live on, he said, and his lass must keep her money.
-
-Perhaps his abstention added to the awe of him in which he held Newgate,
-voluntary poverty having always been a mighty power in the world, and
-especially respected by free livers.
-
-Then came a day when Meg found "Bill's girl" shrieking and stamping with
-a wild abandonment of grief that had something terribly inhuman in its
-utter absence of control.
-
-Bill had been put in irons for a playful assault on a fellow-prisoner
-with a hot poker, and Sally had bitten the gatekeeper because he
-wouldn't let her in.
-
-"She doesn't know what she's doing; she's quite mad with passion and
-trouble," said Meg pitifully. And she put her arms round "Bill's girl,"
-and pulled her away, and took her home with her and gave her some tea
-and buns, and consoled her with startling success; for the access of
-grief being past, Sally's spirits swung to the other extreme, with the
-wonderful rapidity of her highly emotional class.
-
-Meg had not been the preacher's companion for months without imbibing
-some knowledge of what she had to deal with. Her heart sank rather; but
-for his sake who never in his life turned from any possibility of
-helping any one, she did her best for the girl.
-
-It happened after that--she could hardly have told how--that, week by
-week, she learned more of the women who haunted Newgate.
-
-There was nothing in her room worth stealing, and she had little to
-give; but "Bill's girl" liked to come late in the evening and sit by
-watching Meg model, and listening while she sang, for Meg preferred
-singing to talking.
-
-"Let me stay up here, for I don't want to keep company with any other
-while Bill's laid by," she said once. "I ain't as bad as some."
-
-So she stayed--and she was not the only one.
-
-The small room would be full sometimes. "But at least there are fewer of
-them in the streets," Meg said to herself.
-
-She was often struck by her visitors' generosity. They were always ready
-to give away their last sixpence for the "boys in quod". She pitied them
-with a pity that made her heart ache.
-
-She seldom preached; and yet, to some of them, the thought of her was a
-restraining power, a something holy, and not one of them would fight or
-even swear in her presence.
-
-She took pains to keep her room tidy, but generally bought her food
-ready cooked, which, if extravagant in one way, saved her time and
-strength. If Barnabas would have allowed it, she would have lived on
-buns and tea, and supplied him with meat; but, on that point he remained
-firm.
-
-So the weeks went by, and the days grew shorter and colder. Meg was
-determined to be very cheerful, since he had let her stay in London, and
-would not allow that she felt either cold or depression. She would sit
-on her bed with her feet tucked under her to keep them tolerably warm,
-and would thaw her fingers at her candle; but she was anxious that
-Barnabas should _know_ how happily she was getting on.
-
-There is so little profit in being cheerful for one's own benefit; and
-she begged hard to see him on the next visiting day; when, alas, in
-spite of his warnings, she was shocked.
-
-"My dear! I didn't mean ye to ha' come this week,--only, when ye said ye
-wanted to, I couldn't say no to 'ee," he said. "But ye know, though it
-ain't at all becoming to ha' one's face divided wi' sticking plaster,
-it's not dangerous! Come, little lass, Dr. Merrill told me as I was
-enough to scare a child into a fit, but I said as my wife wasn't a
-baby."
-
-"It's not that," said Meg, trying to smile. "I shouldn't care in the
-least what your face looked like; but----Oh, Barnabas, how they must
-have hurt you!"
-
-It was his evident weakness, the want of strength even in the sound of
-his voice, and the sight of his hand trembling, that shook her.
-
-"I hope they'll get all they deserve!" cried Meg.
-
-"Hush! Ye doan't know," said the preacher. "Ye doan't know what's been
-against them, Margaret. If only I can make the moast o' this chance.
-Why, my lass, ye needn't be so sorry ower a few bruises. I never was
-much averse to a fight, an', happen, I gave some too! an' I didn't feel
-aught so long as I was fighting neither; it was only 'comin to' was a
-bit painful. Now we've had enough o' that, it ain't worth it. Talk to me
-about yoursel'!"
-
-And Meg, with an effort, did as he bid her. It was a short interview,
-for he really wasn't fit to stand, and she found it hard work to talk of
-herself when she was longing to hear about him. But Barnabas had no
-desire to tell his wife too much about the inside of Newgate. Why should
-he give her bad dreams?
-
-Meg told him of her encounter with George Sauls, and about the wonderful
-prices she had got for her wax fruit, of which she was rather proud, and
-about "Bill's girl".
-
-"But if you were there, you'd know better what to say to them," she
-cried. "I want to ask you constantly."
-
-"Poor little lass! Ye've not got Tom either, now," said Barnabas. "Nor
-dad, who, I believe, allus suited ye best of us all; but I think ye do
-finely, Margaret."
-
-And Meg went back to finish some flowers and take them to the shop that
-always received them, and came home with the money in her hand, and sang
-with her very odd "class" in the evening, and sat up to write to her
-husband's relatives, all the time with the lump in her throat, that the
-sight of those "few bruises" had brought.
-
-She began to tell Tom how ill the preacher looked, then tore the letter
-up, and rewrote it.
-
-"He can do nothing, and it's a shame to make him anxious too," she
-reflected. "Why should I? I wish Barnabas were here!"
-
-She had missed his constant care and protection before; but to-night
-she jumped up restlessly, unable to sit still, and walked up and down
-the room, filled with horrible visions of the scene in the yard when the
-men the preacher had "riled" had pulled him down among them.
-
-Barnabas had made her promise that she wouldn't think "overmuch" of
-that; and she tried to put the thought away again.
-
-"Ye must forget it! I'm sorry ye were told," he had said. "I'd not have
-your thoughts o' me hurt you, my lass. Will 'ee be a bit glad to have me
-to do for ye again, eh?"
-
-Would she? All at once Meg fell on her knees with the rush of a new
-longing for him sweeping over her with unbearable strength.
-
-"Barnabas, it's you I want--at last--I do want you!" she cried aloud.
-"Not what you do, but you yourself! Oh, it does hurt one to want like
-this! I want your arms round me, and your voice quite close to me. I
-want you so!"
-
-She rose, frightened at the strength of the feeling that had, as it
-were, laid hands on her, and went to bed quickly in the dark.
-
-It had come at last, the love that had been so long in coming! But it
-was no sweet boy Cupid wreathed in spring flowers, but rather an armed
-warrior who took at last what most maids give blithely in the natural
-time for courting. Was Nature, who never forgives nor forgets an insult,
-indemnifying herself for the very unnatural way in which Meg and the
-preacher had put their "earthly affections" out of the reckoning when
-they married? Ah, well, she had her revenge, as she always has. "How it
-hurts one!" Meg cried again. But Barnabas had known what _that_ ache
-meant for nigh two years.
-
-Was it too late now? No; God could not be so cruel. Barnabas would call
-that blasphemy. He never said, "God is cruel," whatever happened.
-Whatever happened? but why was she so terrified to-night? He would be
-set free, and nothing would happen. She would go to sleep and forget.
-
-She did sleep, after a time, and dreamed of a stake with Barnabas tied
-to it, like an early "Christian martyr" in Foxe's Book, which she had
-studied when a child in Uncle Russelthorpe's library.
-
-George Sauls was in the guise of an executioner, and kept heaping live
-coals on the preacher's head with one hand, while he held her back with
-the other, saying: "Apparently you don't think my swearing amounts to
-much, Mrs. Thorpe; but I hope you believe in _that_".
-
-The horror she felt woke her (one has no sense of humour in a dream).
-She had slept only five minutes, though it had seemed hours. She could
-not bear to shut her eyes, and encounter that nightmare again. She
-lighted her candle, and, sitting up in bed, went on with her modelling,
-till daylight, which happily costs nothing, began to lighten the room.
-
-Then she opened her window and looked out. Traffic was already stirring
-in the street below, she could see dimly the outline of the gaol through
-the London mist. The air was raw, but the horror that had possessed her
-fled with the darkness. With the breaking of the day Meg knew that she
-had entered into a new kingdom.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VII.
-
-                      "See
-    Or shut your eyes," said Nature peevishly,
-    "It nothing skills: I cannot help my case:
-    'Tis the Last Judgment's fire must cure this place,
-    Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free."
-
-    --_Browning._
-
-
-Barnabas Thorpe had been blessed all his life with a physique that was
-strong enough to bear the exactions of his spirit. In this respect he
-had been remarkably fortunate. But, after all, his body was made of
-flesh and blood; and flesh and blood give way at last.
-
-It was a great source of grief to him that he could no longer heal as he
-had once healed; that strange power seemed to have, in a large measure,
-left him.
-
-"May be it's because I am not fit to ha' it," he said sadly. "One who
-hates his brother whom he has seen deserves no power to bring down
-healing from the God he has not seen."
-
-The surgeon, who was watching Barnabas dress a wound that had been
-inflicted by Bill's poker, laughed impatiently.
-
-"That's nonsense, you know," he remarked; but he no longer said, "That's
-cant".
-
-The preacher's surgery was gentler than the doctor's, which was
-certainly rough. The man's eye was badly damaged, and the lightest
-touch caused agony; he turned over on his face with a groan when
-Barnabas had finished.
-
-"I used to be able to lighten pain more," said Barnabas. "I've often
-known that, when I've put my hand on one suffering like that, the
-torment has been stilled for a bit and he's fallen asleep. But I can't
-do it now!"
-
-"Of course you can't," said the doctor. "You had a sort of mesmeric
-faculty that you believed miraculous; but your own nervous energy has
-been pretty well kicked out of you now, and you are ill and weak; and,
-naturally, you can't play those tricks which, let me tell you, are best
-left alone at any time. The failure has nothing whatever to do with your
-morals, it has to do with your body. If you had been the greatest rogue
-unhung, so long as your iniquities hadn't touched your health, you'd
-still have possessed that faculty. There was no need to pray about it;
-or, if you'd prayed to the devil, it would have come to the same thing;
-except, of course, that people prefer the other arrangement--it's the
-pleasanter myth of the two."
-
-Barnabas frowned, looking straight in front of him from under his fair
-eyebrows.
-
-Scepticism was utterly impossible to him; the doctor's remarks could not
-touch the simplicity of his faith; he had rejoiced in his healing power,
-but if it had been clearly demonstrated to him a thousand times that his
-belief in it was a fallacy, the demonstrator would have left him
-practically much where he had been before.
-
-"The same God as makes souls makes the bodies to 'em, I suppose," he
-said. "I can't see as it makes the least bit o' difference which the
-power comes through, sir. It's only 'through' arter all. I fancied it
-went straight fro' my soul to the sick man's; but you are more larned,
-and, happen, you know better; happen, as you say, it went fro' my
-body--it's no matter, is it, so long as it went? It wasn't fro' the
-devil, I know, because it was good and healed; I never heard as he did
-that; he destroys both soul and body. I've never prayed to _him_," said
-the preacher, giving the doctor's words a literal interpretation that
-half amused, half irritated his companion; "but you're wrong when you
-say it 'ud ha' come to the same thing."
-
-"Oh, you think that the supernatural supply would have dried up, eh?"
-said Dr. Merrill. The preacher's reply took him by surprise.
-
-"No; I'd not say that for sartain," he said, after a moment's
-reflection. "If ye mean the power--God doan't stop our breath when we
-use it to deny and blaspheme Him. If He did, I'd ha' been dead in my
-boyhood, and ye'd not ha' it now. Happen the power would ha' come just
-th' same (though I ain't sure about it), like the breath; but it 'ud ha'
-made a difference. Ha' ye never seen a man using God's gifts for th'
-devil's service? I have. Ay, an' so have ye, an' ye know too, that he'd
-_better_ be dead than do it! As for supernatural, I doan't ever
-understan' what people mean by that. If it means fro' above--why,
-everything is that; I can't see the thing as isn't--unless it's fro'
-below," said the preacher, still frowning. "Happen ye can explain it to
-me."
-
-The doctor shook his head.
-
-"No," he said, "you're right. There's nothing especially supernatural in
-your creed, Thorpe; because, as you say, it's _all_ that; nor in mine,
-because it's none of it; so we'll leave the term to the great majority,
-who are neither fish, fowl, nor good red herring. Anyhow, you've got a
-marvellous knack with your fingers, whether it comes from heaven or
-hell, and I suppose you'll swear it must be one or t'other! It's pretty
-to see how quickly you bandage. It's not every doctor who would let you
-try your hand like this," said the surgeon, who was rather proud of his
-liberality. "But I like to see uncommon talent, even in a quack. It's a
-pity it's mixed with superstition. Now look here; Hopping Jack's sight
-is gone, and no amount of praying can possibly bring it back to this
-eye, as I can prove to you in a moment."
-
-The unfortunate Jack swore under his breath, when the surgeon turned his
-face to the light again.
-
-"Let him alone, sir," said the preacher quickly. "There's no need to
-touch him again. Oh, ay, I've no sort o' doubt ye know a deal more nor I
-do; if ye put your power down to th' same source, happen ye'd be a bit
-tenderer in your way o' using it; ye say it 'ud come to the same, but
-some o' your patients 'ud feel a difference."
-
-The doctor shrugged his shoulders; if any one but Barnabas Thorpe had
-commented on his want of feeling, and infliction of pain not always
-necessary, he would have snubbed him ruthlessly; but, with the evidence
-before him of a disregard to personal injury, that had wrung genuine
-admiration from him, he couldn't accuse the preacher of undue and
-effeminate softness.
-
-He was not naturally cruel; but a man must be upheld by an uncommonly
-high aim if he can work constantly among brutal and debased natures
-without either giving way to despair or hardening his heart.
-
-There was a story current in the prison about his having got a man off
-hanging on condition of his being allowed to try a new operation on him.
-He was no philanthropist, but he was fond of his profession and a great
-experimenter; there was not a rogue in Newgate but had a wholesome awe
-of the little red-haired surgeon.
-
-Hopping Jack was actually grateful to Barnabas.
-
-"It's a case of 'when the devil was ill,'" Dr. Merrill said. "He won't
-listen to you when he can do without your bandaging, Thorpe! He'll be
-able to mimic you to the life by the time he's up again--drawl and all."
-
-"But that won't drive me to hold my tongue," said Barnabas smiling.
-
-And, as it happened, the doctor was wrong. Hopping Jack refrained from
-caricaturing the preacher, even when he got better.
-
-"It ain't that I couldn't!" he said regretfully to Barnabas. "I _could_
-do you now as you wouldn't know which was yourself! you're easy to take
-off; and I could twist 'em all round to listen to me--every man Jack of
-'em; but I won't."
-
-"Ye'd be playing a scurvy trick," said Barnabas; "an' in Satan's
-service. He's a bad paymaster."
-
-Jack winked with the one eye left.
-
-"Gammon! It ain't for that that I don't do it," he said. "Your Master
-lets you go to gaol too, don't He? you ain't a bit better off for Him.
-No, it ain't for that, nor for the sake of the stuff you talk. I've
-heard all that before. But you had a fine chance to pay me out for the
-game I started in the yard; and you didn't take it--quite contrariwise;
-and _that_ sticks in my throat, for I tell you I felt pretty sick when
-the doctor, d----n him, called _you_ in."
-
-"Why, man, what did you suppose I'd do?" said Barnabas. "Ye needn't be
-grateful to me for not behaving like a devil."
-
-In his most unregenerate days he could never have revenged himself in
-cold blood on a defenceless and suffering creature. The idea was so
-utterly abhorrent to him that he felt disgusted at the suggestion, and
-even at the gratitude that took for granted that he might have been
-tempted in such wise.
-
-Hopping Jack laughed hoarsely, and said he knew what he'd have done if
-he'd got a cove who'd broken his ribs under his thumb. But, apparently,
-from that hour he looked upon the preacher as belonging to a different
-species, and placed in him an implicit trust that was not without
-pathos.
-
-When the time of the sessions drew near he became alternately wildly
-flighty and deeply despondent,--the former being his ordinary condition,
-the latter only occasional.
-
-He was superstitious, and had a deep-seated belief in luck, which had
-failed him of late; when the despondent phase was on, he became rather
-dangerous both to himself and to others.
-
-Physical pain added largely to his depression, for he still suffered
-from the injury to his eye. Barnabas felt the responsibility, that
-always drove him to do his utmost, doubly great, because this waggish
-scamp, who was the approved "funny man" of Newgate, evinced at times a
-strong, almost dog-like affection for him. But Jack was not the only one
-among all that miserable crew who appealed strongly to Barnabas Thorpe's
-ruling passion to "save".
-
-After all, the reckless licence, the apparently brutal callousness, and
-shameful blasphemy that reigned in the wards were heightened and
-partially excused by the fact that half these men felt the shadow of the
-gallows on them; with such a spectre in the corner they drank deep and
-laughed loudly, lest it should grow too plain. "Oh, it ain't come to
-that _yet_," one of them said, shuddering, in answer to an entreaty of
-the preacher to pause and think. "I ain't got to the thinkin' time."
-
-Yet, on the whole, Barnabas influenced them. The prison chaplain had
-given up the press yard as a bad job; but then the chaplain had a good
-many interests which were quite as important to him as the "converting"
-of sinners. Barnabas was a man of one idea: even where the woman he
-loved was concerned, he would have deliberately advised her to lay down
-her bodily life, as she had laid down her position and worldly wealth,
-if that could, by any possibility, have seemed necessary for the
-furtherance of Christ's kingdom; and his extreme singleness of aim told,
-as it always must, whether the aim is high or low. It is possible indeed
-that his very limitations made him the more effective. The men who see
-many sides of a question are chary of spilling their blood. The
-liberal-minded philosophers have their place in the world, but they
-can't rescue those who are sinking; they can only explain why they
-sink--which, no doubt, is equally useful.
-
-Those Newgate sermons were preached with the intense fervour of one who
-believed that the "night was soon coming" for many of his hearers. But
-the constant strain on mind and body was growing more evident: the
-preacher was no longer the man he had been when he had first entered
-Newgate, and protested so vigorously against the iniquities of the press
-yard; he had grown quite grey in these three months, and his broad
-shoulders were bowed.
-
-Dr. Merrill was moved to violent indignation on the subject. It was
-sheer waste of the most magnificent constitution he had ever come
-across, he said; and Barnabas Thorpe was innocent. Barnabas himself was
-not indignant; his was not the sort of nature that turns sour in
-adversity. He generally took things simply, with few questionings as to
-the why and wherefore; but the hopefulness that had characterised him as
-to his own prospects rather failed about this time.
-
-"It's allus afore seemed to me most like that I'd get what I wanted, for
-I used to feel somehow that there was such a deal o' pushin' power in
-wanting," he said once. "Two months back I hadn't a doubt but what I'd
-be proved clear; but I doan't know now. Arter all, when I come to think,
-I've never had what I've most set my heart on for my own sake, though
-I've been helped in my work. Some people want sunshine, and some are
-coarser natured, maybe, and best managed t'other way. Happen I won't be
-proved innocent; happen I'm the sort as is best without much
-satisfaction. But it seems as if that 'ud be hard on my wife, for she's
-quite a different make to me, and a much finer; and I can't somehow
-think as _she_ needs sorrow. My poor little lass! she's had enough."
-
-The very tone of the remark showed how the natural buoyant spirit had
-been knocked out of him; though his passion for working in season and
-out of season was even stronger than before.
-
-He was gentler than he had been; and the most miserable turned to him
-with an instinctive hope that the mercy of heaven might possibly, after
-all, be as deep as the mercy of this man, even if equally
-uncompromising. He saw Margaret seldom now. He often was not fit to
-stand at the grating; and, moreover, he feared that these unsatisfactory
-meetings were almost more pain than pleasure to his darling.
-
-Early in November, Hopping Jack, together with three accomplices, was
-tried, and condemned to death; but while the sentence of hanging was
-recorded oftener then than it is at present, there was also a greater
-probability of getting off. In nine cases out of ten the sentence was
-successfully appealed against; and the tenth man probably suffered the
-extreme penalty as an "example," at times when there was a scare about
-the especial sin he was condemned for.
-
-Unfortunately for Jack, the crime in which he had been taken red-handed
-was rife just then; and the public hot against that class of evil-doers.
-
-The agony of suspense was consequently sharp enough; and Barnabas in his
-heart hoped that a juster judge than any earthly one would not hold the
-poor wretch guilty for the mad outbreaks that characterised this awful
-time of waiting for the result of the appeal. Surely no one had the
-right to inflict a six weeks' torture of uncertainty! He succeeded with
-much difficulty in getting Jack off an imprisonment in the dark cell. He
-felt convinced that the dark would drive the man out of his remaining
-senses. After that, he held himself accountable for Jack's vagaries, and
-very frequently managed to restrain them. The doctor, at the preacher's
-earnest entreaty, declared the culprit an "unfit subject" for solitary
-confinement in utter darkness.
-
-"Though, mind you, he's an equally 'unfit subject' for association with
-his fellows in the light," he remarked to Barnabas. "They'd much better
-put him out of the world as soon and as quickly as possible. He's one of
-nature's mistakes, and you had better not have mercy on mistakes,
-Thorpe, as you ought to know." A piece of advice that had been given
-before, with equal want of effect!
-
-The wardsman liked Barnabas none the better for this second
-interference; but it did not at first occur to the preacher that he was
-being purposely ill-treated when his food was scantier than it ought to
-have been, when his gruel was handed to him in a pail, instead of a
-basin, and when he was carefully excluded from a share of the fire.
-
-When he did discover that these paltry revenges were constant and
-unremitting, and likely to continue, unless he paid the ward dues, he
-took no notice of them. There was, certainly, a strong vein of the
-family obstinacy in Barnabas, and he wasn't going to "give in" to an
-illegal extortion simply because he was rather colder, hungrier, and
-more uncomfortable than need be.
-
-The worst days of Newgate, when a gaoler could actually torture or flog
-a rebellious prisoner, were happily past, and he had too much sturdy
-pride to complain to the authorities of such mean and petty indignities
-as he endured, but they probably affected his broken health; and that
-November was bitterly cold.
-
-He had never in his life before suffered from weather; but he suffered
-terribly now, both by day and night. The rugs that covered the men were
-never washed, and he had resolved to prefer comparative cleanliness and
-cold to unmitigated dirt, and was very angry with his own softness for
-feeling the frost, "like a woman". Indeed, in his ordinary health it
-would have done him no harm; but, unfortunately, his bones had not
-recovered from the violent handling they had received, and he lay awake
-pretty constantly with racking rheumatic pains in them, and began to
-stoop like a man of sixty.
-
-At last, towards the end of the month, his turn came.
-
-The case had roused wide interest, both actors in it having already, in
-widely different ways, made a certain amount of sensation in London. The
-court was full, and the crowd outside dense.
-
-More than one glance was directed curiously at the preacher's wife, who
-stood among the spectators, and was quite unconscious of criticism or
-interest, whether kindly or adverse. Margaret stood between Tom Thorpe
-and Dr. Merrill; but her whole attention was concentrated on Barnabas.
-This sea of upturned faces was nothing to her.
-
-George Sauls, looking over the heads of the crowd, caught a glimpse of
-her, and bit his lip with a sensation of sharp pain, and of something
-very like envy. He would almost have exchanged places with the prisoner,
-if by so doing he could make that one woman look at him thus with all
-her soul in her eyes. That which he could not have, that which would
-never be his, seemed to him at that moment to loom large and clear, to
-be the only reality in a world of shadows. He told himself that he was
-mad, quite mad, and that it was lucky for him that his madness could
-take no effect. He told himself that this woman was only like other
-women; that even if her heart could be turned to him by some magic, if
-he could give all his ambitions and all his wealth in exchange for her,
-he would wake, when his dream should be over, and regret the bargain. He
-told himself that he knew what this was made of; that he had been "in
-love" before now. But the odd part of it was that he did _not_ know.
-
-If the wickedness of our own hearts sometimes takes us by surprise, so,
-I think, does their goodness. Mr. Sauls had a constitutional dislike to
-mysteries, and preferred thinking about what he could understand; but
-there were elements in his love for Meg which would astonish him yet.
-
-Meanwhile, this story that the counsel for the prosecution was telling
-was not a particularly pleasant one for Mrs. Thorpe to hear; though it
-was absolutely necessary that it should be told. George Sauls'
-expression grew stolid and impenetrable as he listened. He was already
-low in her estimation. Very well: she should have the satisfaction of
-knowing that her estimate was right, and _he_ would have the
-satisfaction of seeing Barnabas Thorpe hang.
-
-The counsel dwelt on the enmity that had existed between the prosecutor
-and the prisoner,--an enmity that he described as being, on the
-prisoner's side, passionate and unrestrained, and almost bordering on
-monomania. He should call two witnesses to the fact of Barnabas Thorpe's
-having already attempted Mr. Sauls' life fifteen years before this last
-outrage. He spoke of that scene in the churchyard where not even the
-presence of death had availed to quell the prisoner's mad passion.
-
-Neither the futility of such a wild act of vengeance, nor the indecency
-of brawling over a newly made grave, had had power to restrain him then:
-the same violent impulse had evidently possessed him again in later
-life, when no friendly hands were present to hold him back. He went on
-to describe how the two men had met again in the hay-field, where the
-preacher had denounced Mr. Sauls as "unfit to sit at table with Mrs.
-Thorpe," and when Mr. Sauls had suggested that the preacher had better
-try to "bring him to repentance" when Mrs. Thorpe was not by. A farm
-labourer, who would be called to give evidence, had overheard that
-interview.
-
-Then he told how Mr. Sauls had started on his walk to N----town,
-following a track that lay across the marshes. This track led only to
-Caulderwell Farm, and was little frequented. He was followed by his
-enemy. Mr. Sauls openly acknowledged that he had done his best, on this
-occasion, to provoke a quarrel. He had demanded an explanation of the
-words that the preacher had used in the hay-field, and had asked
-tauntingly whether Barnabas Thorpe only preached "when sheltered by
-petticoats". Close on this scene followed the tragic and nearly fatal
-crime for which Barnabas Thorpe stood arraigned. The preacher and Mr.
-Sauls had parted in anger; Mr. Sauls had gone but a short distance when
-he was struck to the ground by a blow on the back of his head. Mr. Sauls
-did not see his assailant, but the facts of the case spoke for
-themselves. Crimes of violence were rare in that part of the country.
-Mr. Sauls was a stranger in N----town. He was not aware that any man,
-with the exception of the preacher, bore him, or had reason to bear him,
-a grudge. Whoever had struck the blow had meant to kill, and had all but
-accomplished the fulfilment of his desire. Tom Thorpe, who had found the
-prosecutor unconscious and hurt nigh to death, and the doctor who was in
-attendance on him, would be called as witnesses.
-
-The prisoner listened to the speech for the prosecution with a curiously
-composed air. Once only, when the counsel described the meeting on the
-marsh, his brows contracted with momentary anxiety. A minute later he
-raised his head and looked hard at George Sauls. He was glad that that
-gentleman had had the grace to keep Margaret's name out of the affair.
-His eyes met his accuser's, and, oddly enough, for a single moment, in
-the midst of this trial, which was for the life of one of them, these
-two were of the same mind.
-
-When the witnesses for the prosecution were called, the prisoner's
-interest seemed to lapse. He nodded reassuringly to poor old Giles, who
-was heartbroken at having to give evidence against him, but otherwise he
-paid little heed to what was going on. He was physically exhausted,
-which partly accounted for his apathy, and he had made up his mind to
-let things take their course. He had absolutely refused to allow
-Margaret to employ counsel on his behalf, but he had very little fear as
-to the result of the trial. His defence was in "the hands of the Lord";
-he would "bide quiet," and leave it there. Meg had found it vain to
-attempt to shake this resolution. Barnabas had a prejudice against
-lawyers, and his prejudices were not easily removed, but he had also a
-more reasonable ground for refusing their aid. He hated half measures,
-and felt that there was little use in telling half a story, while he was
-bound in honour not to tell the whole. In the absence of counsel, he
-made one short and trenchant remark on his own behalf.
-
-"If I had meant to kill Mr. Sauls, there'd ha' been no need for me to
-come behind an' hit i' th' dark," he said. "I should ha' done it face to
-face, for I was a bit th' stronger o' th' two then; an', if ye ask him,
-he'll bear me out there. I'm not generally scared o' fair fighting."
-
-There was a little hastily suppressed murmur in the court at the last
-words.
-
-The story of the middle yard had somehow got about. No one doubted the
-truth of that last statement. The man's voice was low and his speech as
-short as could well be, but his bowed shoulders and whitened hair spoke
-for him. Margaret turned to the red-haired doctor with a proud smile on
-her white lips.
-
-"They'll _have_ to believe him," she said; and the doctor laughed
-grimly. "He had better have all Newgate into the witness box!"
-
-But indeed there was no need for the denizens of Newgate to testify to
-the preacher's character. Honest men there were in plenty who were more
-than ready with their evidence. Barnabas called three only; but one of
-the most distinctive features of the trial was the crowd of would-be
-witnesses who clamoured outside the police court, begging, and
-sometimes threatening in their eagerness, "to say a word" for the
-accused. "I know that the preacher never murdered any one or tried
-to--why? 'Cos he cured my baby when it was chokin' with croup; and I've
-trudged seven miles to say so," said one draggled, tired-out woman, who
-could not be persuaded to see that her baby's life had no possible
-connection with the case.
-
-"Ye've tuk oop th' wrong soart, an' I've summat to say to th' judge
-abeawt th' preacher. Thae knows he tented me through the black fever
-an'----What? ye won't let me in? The judge is a fule man!" cried a
-sturdy and irate countryman, who was convinced that his not being
-allowed to storm the witness box was a proof of the gross miscarriage of
-justice. Men actually fought to get into the already over-crowded court.
-The testimony as to the preacher's character from east and west and
-north and south was simply overpowering.
-
-Margaret lingered to shake hands with more than one friend of the
-preacher's when she left the heated court at the end of the first day of
-the trial.
-
-"When my husband is free again, he will thank you himself," she said.
-And the men drew back to let her pass, with little murmurs of sympathy.
-Tom Thorpe was still on one side of her, and the prison doctor on the
-other.
-
-"Ye'd better get out o' this as quick as ye can," Tom cried; but Meg,
-who usually shrank from contact with strangers, was in no hurry now. The
-shouts for Barnabas and the groans for Mr. Sauls made her blood tingle.
-The sharp anxiety at her heart hurt less when she was in the midst of
-those excited partisans. She had smiled bravely whenever Barnabas had
-looked at her, but the sight of him had awakened a passion of
-indignation that she dreaded being alone with. She wished she could
-have stayed in the midst of a crowd till the second day's trial should
-begin. Tom was excited too; his deep-set eyes were glowing, and he
-hurried her on almost roughly.
-
-"Look 'ee," he said, "I'm thinking some o' those lads as came wi' me
-'ull mayhap gi'e Mr. Sauls a warm welcome when he comes out; an' I'd
-like to see it! Just get clear o' th' scrimmage, an' then I'll go back.
-Lord bless ye! I've been too kind to that gentleman; but now I've seen
-our lad's face----" His voice choked.
-
-Meg looked first at him, and then at the knot of L----shire men who
-stood by the door, and whose "warm welcome" was waiting for George
-Sauls. She felt instinctively that it would be of no avail to plead with
-Tom. She turned round and caught hold of the doctor; who had, she knew,
-been kind to her husband.
-
-"They mean to catch Mr. Sauls when he comes out of court," she said
-rapidly. "He'd better get away by another door, if he can."
-
-The doctor nodded. "Mr. Sauls can generally be trusted to take care of
-number one," he remarked; "but I'll tell him."
-
-Tom, who heard the words, laughed angrily. For a moment, Dr. Merrill
-fancied that the preacher's brother was going forcibly to prevent his
-carrying the message. But, indignant as Tom was, he felt responsible to
-Barnabas for Margaret, and wouldn't plunge into a row with her hands
-clinging to his arm.
-
-"That woman will catch it for having prevented him!" thought the doctor.
-"There's no doubt about it, there is a queer temper in that family."
-
-When they were clear of the crowd, Meg broke the silence.
-
-"You are very angry with me," she said.
-
-Tom's anger would have repelled and frightened her once; but just now
-she experienced an odd sort of consolation in the intensity of the wrath
-and grief he felt for his brother's sake. Tom "cared" as no one else
-did.
-
-"I'm not such a good Christian as ye are," he said. His voice sounded
-gruff, and he spoke in sharp undertones, turning his head away. He was
-so angry that he could not trust himself to look at the fair face his
-brother loved, though he held his anger with a tight rein.
-
-"So ye wouldn't ha' the man as has made our lad look like _that_--ay,
-and 'ull hang him, if he can,--so much as scratched, eh? Ye sent to warn
-him! Good Lord! it's Barnabas' wife as kindly warns Barnabas' murderer!
-Ye'll forgi'e the man as 'ud like to kill your husband wi' his lyin'
-tongue, till seventy times seven! I've known ye a bit hard on Barnabas
-times, but----" He checked himself, and swallowed the rest of that
-sentence; but the sharp pull up brought the colour to Meg's pale face.
-
-"Oh, ye are right!" he said, after a silence. "An' uncommonly forgiving
-an' a remarkable good Christian lass, as I said afore; ye are
-right--only d----n me, if I wouldn't rayther have a sinner for a wife!"
-
-"Ah," said Meg; "but you are giving me credit for more Christianity than
-I possess." He did look at her then, struck by something strange in her
-tone. Barnabas' wife was altered too. With that too vivid consciousness
-of what Barnabas had gone through, burning like fire somewhere at the
-bottom of her heart, it struck her as almost ludicrous that Tom should
-suppose she had pity on the preacher's enemy.
-
-"I heard Long John swearing that he'd served with you man and boy for
-nigh thirty years, and had never in his life seen one of you put out;
-that, in fact, your mildness as a family was proverbial!" said
-Margaret. She did not speak like herself, she was like another woman
-to-day,--older and sterner and less gentle.
-
-"Of course he did," said Tom. "It 'ud ha' been uncommon queer if one o'
-the L----shire lads as I've licked into shape wi' my own hands didn't
-swear by us."
-
-"It would," said Meg gravely. "But if you and those same lads had caught
-and half murdered Mr. Sauls as he left the court, it would be an odd
-sort of comment on what we've been hearing, wouldn't it? Perhaps, after
-that, they'd hardly believe in the great gentleness of the Thorpe
-disposition, or see how unlikely it is that one of you should hit a man
-with a bill-hook."
-
-Tom stood still in the middle of the road, and caught her arm with a
-grasp which hurt her, though neither of them was the least aware of that
-at the moment.
-
-"Ye doan't tell me ye believe he did that?" he said; and she wondered
-for a moment what he would have done, if she _had_ believed it.
-
-"No--I know the truth," she said. "And, even if he had not told me, I
-should still have known that it would have been impossible for him to
-hit unfairly. But it's not in the natural mildness of your temper that I
-trust, Tom. Barnabas has something more than that."
-
-Tom gave a despairing grunt. "An' the summat more's just his ruin!" he
-said, letting her go again. "There! I hadn't no kind o' business to ha'
-spoken rough to 'ee, lass; and Barnabas 'ud not ha' forgi'en me in a
-hurry, if he'd heard. I meant to ha' been a help to 'ee; but, I think,
-I'm mazed wi' to-day's work. It were seeing him."
-
-"Yes, yes; I know, Tom," said Meg. "Do you think I don't know how it
-breaks one's heart to see him like that? But, when we get him safe home
-again, we will take such care of him! All the care he ever gave me he
-shall have back with interest. He will be obliged to get strong, for we
-will nurse him so well." And again the wistful tenderness in her voice
-struck Tom as something fresh.
-
-"I wish it were Monday!" she said. "There is no doubt that he will be
-acquitted. Oh, no doubt at all! Didn't you hear that red-haired doctor
-say so? He said that there was no direct evidence against Barnabas, and
-that even Mr. Sauls' cleverness could not make an innocent man guilty.
-Barnabas looked as if he weren't attending; I think he feels that what
-becomes of him personally is not his business; or else he was too worn
-out to listen. On Monday it will be over. I wish it were Monday!"
-
-"Ay! it 'ull be over," said Tom; "but what if it's over the wrong way?
-The devil does win sometimes, lass, whatever Barnabas may say."
-
-"It isn't possible," said Meg. Then the soft curves of her lips
-straightened. "If the devil wins," she said, "why, then--you may do what
-you like. You may tear Mr. Sauls to pieces, Tom, and I will stand by,
-and clap my hands and cry 'well done!'"
-
-"Amen!" said Tom, holding out his hand. He knew now what had changed
-Barnabas' wife.
-
-They walked on in silence through the darkening street after that,
-engrossed by their own thoughts. Tom had got a room in the same house as
-his sister-in-law; he nodded "good-night" absently to her when they
-reached home. Five minutes later she knocked at his door, and entered
-his room with a plate in her hands.
-
-"I've brought you something to eat. Do take it, Tom. You've had nothing
-all day," she said gently.
-
-"I haven't the heart to feast," said Tom. "An' I hate to see ye waiting
-on me!" But he swallowed the food hastily, seeing that she would take no
-denial. Meg's sisterly attentions half touched, half irritated him just
-then. Anxiety always made Tom cross.
-
-"Are ye gadding about again?" he asked, glancing at her bonnet.
-
-"Yes, I am going to Commercial Road," said Meg. "Mr. Potter tells me
-that he has got some clothes belonging to Barnabas,--a jersey, and a
-shirt and a cloth cap. I am going to fetch them and take them to the
-prison to-night. They say the ward is terribly cold."
-
-"I'll go for 'ee," said Tom, getting up and stretching himself. "What
-way is it, eh?"
-
-"We will both go," said Meg. "I can't sit still." And Tom checked the
-remonstrance that was on his lips.
-
-"Come along, lass," he said. "Though it's a wonder ye want my company
-any more! Eh, the wind's blowing wi' ice in it. Come along, if ye will."
-
-"I think I was glad you were angry," said Meg, laughing a little
-unsteadily, as they went out again.
-
-"It is good to have one of his own people with me. I couldn't have borne
-to be with any one but you just now. It is you who belong to him."
-
-"Eh? Times are changed, lass," said Tom. "Barnabas would ha' gi'en his
-ears once to ha' heard ye say that."
-
-"He wouldn't have let me say that I'd cry 'well done' if you revenged
-yourself on his enemy, though. Tom, I was mad. Forget it, please!"
-
-"Would ye forgive him?" said Tom, looking hard at her. He repeated the
-question again presently and more insistingly. "Would ye forgive him--if
-he won?"
-
-"No!" she said. "One may forgive one's own enemies, but I could never
-forgive those that injure the people I love. It's not in me to be so
-good as that--I meant what I said. I should have no pity left for
-_him_--for it would all be given," said Meg. She pressed her hands tight
-against her breast as she walked, and her steps quickened so that Tom
-could hardly keep pace with her. "But, all the same, I would not cry
-'well done', and I would do my best to prevent you--for Barnabas' sake."
-
-"Would ye? Ye wouldn't find your preventin' answer twice, my good lass!"
-said Tom. "Well, I'm glad ye doan't forgive him. It's more natural like.
-Ye aren't so much like snow and moonshine as ye were. It made me sick
-when I thought ye were sorry for that man. A woman who can be sorry for
-her husband's enemy can't care much. I'm glad ye've some flesh and blood
-in the way you're made!"
-
-"Do you think that I care less than you?" said Meg.
-
-"Than me! ay, it stands to reason----" began Tom, then stopped short. "I
-wish I'd left that gentleman in the ditch!" he ended with some
-irrelevance. "I'll never pick up any one again; there's a deal to answer
-for."
-
-"Barnabas wouldn't wish that," said Meg.
-
-"Barnabas!" he cried. "He doesn't know what's good for him! Oh, ay, I
-know what ye are going to say. He'll ha' his reward i' the next world;
-but what do ye think he'll do wi' it? Why, he'll be miserable in a happy
-place. When Barnabas gets to heaven he'll ha' no peace till he's sent to
-hell, my dear, nor give the angels peace either. Ay, ye may cry out,
-Barnabas' wife, but it's true, an' ye'll see it, if ever ye get to
-heaven too."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VIII.
-
-
-Mr. Sauls took the doctor's hint, and risked no broken bones.
-
-"I might have a remarkable piece of evidence as to the excellence of
-that charming family's temper," he remarked; "but it's not worth while
-being mobbed for that. I wonder Tom Thorpe is such a fool!"
-
-"Mrs. Thorpe sent you the warning," said the doctor.
-
-"Did she?" said George, rather surprised. "Ah! she saw if Mr. Tom broke
-my head afresh, he'd help to damn the preacher."
-
-He opined justly enough. Love and hate had arrived for once at the same
-conclusion.
-
-Mrs. Sauls had been in the court, as well as dozens of other ladies not
-so immediately concerned, who had stared through opera glasses at the
-preacher, and whispered to each other that the slight woman in black
-with the pale face and cropped hair was Mrs. Thorpe, "who _was_ Margaret
-Deane, you know".
-
-George Sauls made his exit in safety, and went to Hill Street to talk
-things over with his mother.
-
-"You won't win, my dear," she said. "He can't prove that he didn't do
-it; but you can't prove that he did; and the jury always incline to the
-side of poor man _versus_ gentleman. His ragged coat and his rough
-accent are decidedly in his favour; he'll get off."
-
-"I've done my little best," said George, throwing himself on the sofa
-full length. "That's always a comfort. As you say, he'll possibly escape
-through the holes in his shirt. An English jury have a curiously
-sentimental leaning to poverty. May I smoke? Thanks! Well, it is some
-small satisfaction to reflect that I've given him three months in
-Newgate; and I don't think it has agreed with him."
-
-The old lady nodded thoughtfully; she and George always thoroughly
-understood each other.
-
-She knew that he liked his cigar, and the warm room, and the soft sofa
-the better because Barnabas Thorpe was suffering bodily discomfort; and
-it was a very natural source of satisfaction, she considered.
-
-"And there's a further consolation," he went on, after puffing away in
-silence for a few minutes. "You see I am resigning myself to the chance
-of his not being hung. There's another consolation. If I win, he'll be a
-martyr, as sure as I'm a sinner; he'll have such a glorification as will
-disguise the fact that he is being punished for a dastardly attempt at
-murder. They'll forget that. He'll be 'injured poverty'; and I,
-'oppressing opulence'. But, if he gets off for want of sufficient
-evidence, then they won't forget. I fancy his preaching won't go down so
-well then--there'll always be whispers."
-
-"That's true," said Mrs. Sauls. "It's odd that they have never traced
-those diamonds since your pockets were rifled."
-
-"I believe some one must have seen me lying there, before Mr. Tom played
-good Samaritan, and must have helped himself. I don't believe the
-preacher would have stolen from me, do you?"
-
-He had great faith in his mother's judgment; this time it took him by
-surprise.
-
-"If you want my private opinion on the subject--but perhaps you don't?"
-she began.
-
-"Oh yes, I do. I always like to hear your private opinions. They are
-refreshingly original. Go on."
-
-"Well, my dear, my private opinion is this: A man who is capable of
-hitting behind in the dark, is capable of emptying his victim's pockets;
-but _that_ man did neither the one nor the other."
-
-George took his cigar from between his lips, and sat upright with a
-jerk. His mother was sitting by the fire, her rich silk dress tucked up,
-her feet on the fender, her light, cat-like eyes gazing into the red
-embers. She nodded again, as if in answer to his movement.
-
-"That is strictly between ourselves, George," she said; "but I am
-convinced he didn't do it. He made a shocking poor defence! If he had
-been guilty, he might have found more to say. He wasn't attempting to
-exonerate himself. My dear, I watched him all the time, and he hardly
-took it in when a point was made for and when against him. He knew when
-his wife moved, and he was pleased when that fine old clergyman called
-him his friend; but he wasn't following the case. He is ill; any one
-could see that he could hardly stand. But, if he had been guilty, his
-nerves would have been on the rack all the time; and, if he had known
-nothing about it, he'd have shown more fight. He knows something, and
-has made up his mind that his tongue's tied, and that he will just leave
-it to Providence."
-
-"Ah well," said George, "if nothing short of hanging will teach Barnabas
-Thorpe that Providence does not go out of its way to dance attendance on
-him, I humbly hope he may learn that lesson with a rope round his neck.
-I don't feel called on to baulk it. If he is such a fool as to shelter
-criminals, let him."
-
-"Certainly," said Mrs. Sauls. "But, if he were your client, my son, he'd
-be cleared. If you had been acting for him, you'd have found out, before
-now, who the real criminal was, whether Barnabas Thorpe tried to shelter
-him or not."
-
-George laughed. "I am too old a bird to be caught by such a bare-faced
-compliment, old lady!" said he. "If that rascally saint were my client,
-of course I should do my best to whitewash him; but he isn't innocent,
-and I shouldn't think him so."
-
-"Shall I tell you what will happen? The diamonds will be found in the
-possession of the real culprit," said Mrs. Sauls.
-
-"Oh, of course they will be found," said George; "as soon as the thief
-tries to pass them. He'll be afraid to, for weeks yet. I never had any
-hope that they were in our pious friend's possession. Pooh! he's greedy
-of praise, and he likes pretty women, in conjunction with long prayers;
-but I'm bound to own that, if it had been diamonds he was hankering
-after, he could have had them without the trouble of knocking me on the
-head."
-
-"Oh--could he? that has not come out in court," said Mrs. Sauls, her
-sharp old face alight with interest. "You mentioned a locket set with
-diamonds among the contents of your pocket; but you, neither of you,
-said that you had had any talk about it."
-
-"It belonged to Mrs. Thorpe originally," said George. "It happened to
-come into my hands. In fact, I picked it up in a pawn-shop, and tried to
-return it to her. Her husband wouldn't let her accept it, which was like
-his insolence; but there was no need for either of us to drag her name
-into court, and I wasn't going to give all the sweet women who look on
-at trials the joy of serving up a bit of scandal about that poor lady.
-They are like French cooks--they can concoct a spicy dish out of next
-to nothing. Well! what are you cogitating now?"
-
-"You say he likes pretty women," said Mrs. Sauls. "It strikes me he
-likes _one_ woman uncommonly well. As for his preaching and praying, it
-has cost him so dear, by all accounts, that, though it may be done in
-the market-place, I fancy it can hardly be for the praise of men. Cant
-doesn't court broken bones, as a rule."
-
-"Ah! women are always taken in by that sort," said George. "I thought
-better of you, mother! Even at your age you are not proof against a
-preacher."
-
-"My dear, that's no argument," said his mother. "If you take to
-platitudes about the sexes I have done. Yes, yes! Women have a
-predilection for parsons and preachers, it's well known. I am seventy
-years of age and as ugly as sin; but, no doubt, I am sentimental at
-heart as any bread-and-butter miss, eh? and your remark quite applies. A
-woman's easily blinded by pious pretences, and a man in love with his
-neighbour's wife can't hit straight for squinting at her. There's
-another generality to cap yours! Not at all to the point either, of
-course. It's a foolish manner of talking."
-
-The old lady spoke with a spice of temper; and George laughed, but he
-was angry too.
-
-He got up and threw his cigar into the fire. "I am going out for a bit.
-I daresay I shan't be in for dinner; don't wait, please," said he. "I am
-sick to death of the chatter about this trial. You can talk it over with
-Lyddy and the Cohens without my assistance, can't you?"
-
-And he went out, leaving Mrs. Sauls to repent her indiscretion. She lost
-the greatest pleasure of the week when her son didn't dine with her on
-Saturday. Her tongue was occasionally a match for his, but she was
-heavily handicapped by Nature; for, naturally, even so good a son as
-George did not find in his mother, as she found in him, the chief joy
-and object of existence! George was not in the least quick-tempered as a
-rule, however; and their chaff seldom resulted in anything approaching a
-huff.
-
-Mrs. Sauls sat on the stool of repentance till dinner time, when she
-drank her best champagne--which was produced only when George was
-expected--without tasting it, and found no savour in her dinner.
-
-Lyddy, loud and high-coloured, took George's place at the bottom of the
-table, and "Uncle Benjamin" was pleased. Benjamin Cohen had snubbed
-George in his nephew's youth; now times were changed, and old Benjamin
-would have been glad to forget certain by-gones; but, unfortunately,
-George had an excellent memory; consequently, the uncle liked Lyddy the
-better of the two, though he entertained the greater respect for his
-nephew.
-
-They discussed the trial in all its bearings, but Mrs. Sauls sat silent
-and heavy. She was as great a talker as her son as a rule; but to-night
-she contributed only one observation during the whole of the dinner.
-When Benjamin Cohen remarked that he had heard that the defendant's
-health had been quite broken down by the rough treatment he had
-received, she observed that she had no opinion of preachers, and that no
-doubt it served him right.
-
-After dinner, they played cards; and she lost heavily, and took no
-pleasure in the game. Usually she was keenly interested; though it was
-an understood thing, that when she won, the stakes were merely nominal,
-and that when Benjamin won, they were _bonâ fide_. Mr. Benjamin swept
-them up very comfortably to-night.
-
-The candles in the heavy gold candlesticks had burnt down pretty low
-before the game showed any signs of ending. Lyddy played on the grand
-piano at the further end of the big drawing-room; and her aunt, a faded,
-gentle, little woman, dozed peacefully in an armchair.
-
-It was close on eleven o'clock when Mrs. Sauls' face visibly brightened;
-she had heard George's step on the stairs.
-
-He came in and shook hands with his uncle, and kissed his aunt, to whom
-he was always genuinely kind, and then came and leaned on the back of
-his mother's chair, and overlooked her cards.
-
-"You are getting shamefully beaten, old lady!" said he. "You can't play
-without me to advise you. Uncle Benjamin's more than a match for you."
-
-"I played before you were born, and even before you were thought of, my
-dear," said Mrs. Sauls; but she knew, by the tone of his voice, that
-George had forgiven the "generality" about neighbours' wives; and she
-was her cheerful self again.
-
-He continued to stand there, commenting on her play, in a way that
-irritated his uncle, but delighted his mother, who always loved to have
-her son near her, and who, presently, became aware that he had some
-secret cause of elation, and was very unusually excited.
-
-"Have you been winning to-night?" she asked; and he smiled as he stooped
-over her, and touched the card she should play.
-
-"I've held trumps," he said. "The trumps were diamonds. Ah, you are
-making a mistake, mother! You should not play hearts; you will give your
-adversary a chance if you do that. Yes, I have been in luck to-night.
-I've held all the diamonds, and had the game in my hands. Nothing to do
-now but to win."
-
-"_You_ didn't give your adversary any chance, I'll be bound," said his
-uncle.
-
-"No; I never do, sir," said George.
-
-Mrs. Sauls went on winning steadily now, with her son to back her.
-George's luck seemed to infect her, but Benjamin waxed angry.
-
-Mrs. Sauls sent George away at last, unwillingly. "You are disturbing
-your uncle, which is not fair. And really, you know, I don't require to
-be taught how to suck eggs. Go away!" she cried.
-
-"Does it disturb you to be looked at, Uncle Benjamin? I beg your
-pardon," said George politely; and retreated to the other end of the
-room to chaff Lyddy, and amuse his gentle little aunt, who never could
-understand why any one ever disliked dear George or thought him
-sarcastic.
-
-"There!" said Lyddy yawning, when their guests had departed; "I thought
-they were never going. Isn't it comical to see what a fuss George always
-makes over poor Aunt Lyddy? I declare I believe he'll end by marrying
-_that_ kind of simple, meek woman, though he flirts with the go-ahead
-ones."
-
-"I wish he would!" said George's mother. "Your Aunt Lyddy is a good
-woman--a much better woman than I am; though I must own," she added,
-with an inflection of voice that was very like her son's, "that I
-believe that's partly because she's too stupid to be anything else. But
-George would be very kind to a----"
-
-"To a good little fool!" said Lyddy. "I really think he would. Well, are
-you coming to bed?"
-
-"Presently," said Mrs. Sauls. But when Lyddy had gone, she went down to
-the smoking room.
-
-"Ah! I thought your curiosity wouldn't keep till the morning!" cried
-George, when she opened the door.
-
-"My dear! You've found the diamonds! Where are they?"
-
-He stretched out his hand, the locket lying on his palm face upwards.
-"In my hands," he said.
-
-"And where were they, George?"
-
-"In that saint's!" He laughed, and laid it down on the table. "Mother!
-you and I were too charitable; we thought he would draw the line at
-that."
-
-He told her the whole story then, walking up and down the room while he
-talked. He was very triumphant, and slightly flushed; she could have
-fancied he had been drinking just enough to elate him, but that George
-never drank; and, in spite of the triumph, the old woman's heart ached
-for him.
-
-"You remember I told you that I had mislaid some papers?" he said. "I
-recollected suddenly that I had left them at the governor's house, so I
-went back there this evening; I found them. (I shall begin to say I am
-led by the Spirit soon.) On leaving the house, I came upon that fine old
-parson from Lupcombe. He wanted to cut me; he thought I had trumped up
-the whole story about his pet preacher, out of personal spite, I
-believe. He implied as much in the witness box, and I was determined to
-have it out with him. Upon my word, mother, though I've small liking for
-parsons, I like that one; he's a splendid old specimen. Well, the snow
-came down hard on us and shortened our colloquy. He went on his way,
-having delivered his mind as boldly as if he were safe in the pulpit,
-where no man can answer him; and I was just crossing the road, when a
-runaway cart came tearing along. I saw a woman, with a bundle in her
-arms, slip as she tried to get out of the way. The roads are in a
-fearful state; one might skate from here to the gaol; and the drifts of
-snow were whirling up into our eyes. I caught the horse's bridle. The
-wheels hadn't gone over the woman, but she was knocked down almost under
-the brute's hoofs. I had to pick her up. She wasn't much hurt, I fancy;
-only a good deal shaken, and a little bruised."
-
-He paused for a moment. Something in his voice had revealed to his
-mother who the woman was.
-
-"You saved the preacher's wife!" she said.
-
-"I felt I ought to apologise for my presumption," said George. "But I
-really couldn't help it. I--I didn't see who she was till she lay in my
-arms."
-
-He put his head down on his hands for a second as he stood by the
-mantelpiece. He could feel her in his arms still in the midst of that
-whirling snow, her head on his shoulder for once, her eyes closed.
-
-"Tom Thorpe was with her; he was just a few steps in front. He turned
-round when he heard me shout, and he caught the reins on the other side.
-I left him to take her home. She is living close to the prison. I think
-she hadn't time to realise that I had saved her, which was fortunate;
-for she would possibly have preferred being killed. I had picked up the
-bundle she was carrying, and had it still in my hand. I considered
-whether I would run after them and give it to Tom Thorpe; but then I
-thought I'd send it round by a servant to-night, and not force her to
-speak to me. Modesty is always my strong point, you know. Besides,
-though I am not thin-skinned, she has made me understand that,--what was
-it?--that she'd rather take hot coals in her bare hands, than help from
-me. So I took the bundle to my rooms, and--(observe the leading of the
-Spirit again! I could preach a sermon on that subject to the preacher
-now!)--I called Lucas to do up the things tidily, and take them. There
-was a jersey, and a woollen shirt, and a cloth cap. I didn't want to
-touch them. It was Lucas--not I--who found out. The cap had been torn,
-her bundle had gone under the wheel; it was so torn that the lining was
-loose. Lucas, bless his tidiness! took it up to brush off the dirt. In
-brushing it, he felt something between the cloth and the lining. He put
-in his fingers--he is always curious, but I'll allow that his curiosity
-was inspired on this occasion--and he pulled out _this_ plum! It had
-been lying safely _perdu_ for some time. If that pious man's leading
-spirit hadn't rounded on him and taken to leading me instead, he would
-have carried those diamonds on his revered head to all his meetings for
-the next six months--supposing he got off, of which he had a good
-chance. It would hardly have been safe to get rid of them in England;
-but, perhaps, he would have had 'a call' to convert the sinners over the
-Channel. He generally uncovers when he prays, doesn't he? otherwise, I
-should think the diamonds would have touched him as a very 'direct and
-sensible blessing,' and would have given great force to his petitions."
-
-"Don't, George!" said Mrs. Sauls quickly. "If the man was a hypocrite,
-he'll swing for it; but that's no reason why you should blaspheme."
-
-"I? I am in an unusually religious frame of mind," said George. "Aunt
-Lyddy told me to be thankful to Providence for my preservation just now;
-and so I am, very. I've got my desire over mine enemy, which is a
-Biblical source of congratulation! Barnabas Thorpe always says it's the
-'Lord' when he takes what he wants. Let me follow that holy man's
-example; if his 'Lord' has given him into my hand, it would be wicked
-not to rejoice."
-
-"Do you suppose his wife knew that he had the diamonds?" interrupted
-Mrs. Sauls.
-
-"No, I don't," said George. "It _would_ be blasphemy to suppose that."
-
-He was walking up and down again, but that question about the preacher's
-wife sobered him a little; and presently he sat down, playing with her
-locket in one hand and shading his face with the other.
-
-"And yet I don't know," he said. "She may have known--God knows--no! I
-think it is the devil knows--what may happen when a woman is bound to
-_such_ a saint. In any case it's not her fault."
-
-"But she will suffer if he's hanged," said Mrs. Sauls; and George looked
-up.
-
-"Yes; she will," he said. "That's not my affair. The fool always suffers
-with the knave, and the innocent with the guilty. I didn't make that
-excellent universal law. But I am not so moonstruck as to let a rogue
-off for the sake of a woman who won't touch me with a pair of tongs.
-Why, mother, what do you take me for? What do you want? I've never known
-you so unreasonable. Why shouldn't I bring a man to justice who has
-tried to kill me? Who am I to upset heaven's decrees? Do you want me to
-compound a felony? I believe you do! I am ashamed of you, old lady!"
-
-"I am a foolish old woman, my boy," said Mrs. Sauls. "Perhaps it's
-because I am getting feeble and old now, that I can't bear to hear you
-talk so."
-
-And George suddenly dropped the savagely bantering tone, and sat down on
-the sofa beside her, and pulled her closer to him. "Nonsense! 'old and
-feeble!'" he said. "There's not much feebleness about you, mother. I
-say, you make me feel on a par with my uncle! My foot itches to kick him
-when I hear him bullying Aunt Lydia. Have I been bullying you?"
-
-"No, my dear. You are quite the best son in all the world, and not in
-the least like your uncle," said Mrs. Sauls. "Besides, you wouldn't find
-me so easy to bully as your Aunt Lyddy, though I remember----"
-
-She did not say what she remembered; but George knew well enough.
-
-They both remembered some scenes that had probably helped to make George
-the man he was, both for good and evil. Isaac Cohen had been a brutal
-husband, and a tyrannical father, till the day when George discovered
-that he was big enough to defend himself, and strong enough to prevent
-his mother from being ill-treated--at any rate, in his presence.
-
-"Don't remember!" said Isaac's son. "My father is best forgotten. I hope
-I don't remind you of him. If I do, I certainly ought to be heartily
-ashamed of myself."
-
-It was a bitter thing to say of a father, but then the facts hadn't been
-sweet; and his mother, at least, knew how much besides bitterness had
-been developed by them. It was seldom that she referred to those days
-that were past, but she had touched on them for a purpose now. Her son's
-love for her had deepened with the necessity of protecting her; in
-alluding to that, she knew that she was pulling at her strongest hold on
-him. Certainly she was, as he called her, a clever old woman.
-
-"Perhaps I am unreasonable," she said. "Evidence is against the
-preacher, and, as you say, he'll be convicted by the jury, not by you. I
-should rejoice to see the man who tried to kill you on the gallows; but,
-George, I still believe that _that_ man is innocent. Don't laugh again
-and talk to me of heaven."
-
-"Well, I won't," said George; "for, in sober earnest, mother, I must say
-that I think heaven has had precious little to do with the affair from
-first to last. I am sure the preacher's marriage was concocted in the
-other place. I should like to ask him what he thinks of personal
-inspiration when he knows what I've found. But I won't quote his jargon
-to you if it makes you sick. I allow it was my own luck and promptitude
-that put into my hand the rope that will throttle him. After all, I've
-always found myself the only safe thing to trust to!"
-
-"Very well, my son," said Mrs. Sauls. "But, if you respect nothing
-beyond yourself, you must be careful not to lose that self-respect."
-
-George Sauls looked at her in surprise; his mother seldom spoke so to
-him; for, with all their apparent frankness to each other, both had a
-good deal of reserve, partly born of a horror of cant. She felt nervous
-at having said so much, but he didn't laugh this time.
-
-"My dear mother, you are getting quite miserable; and neither I nor the
-preacher, even supposing him to be as good as he looks, is worth that,"
-he said kindly. "I believe I've been holding forth like a stage villain;
-but, after all, I am not meditating any villainies. Some one comes
-behind me in the dark and tries to murder me; I have the man, who, I
-believe, did it, arrested, and then a fortunate chance puts clinching
-proof of his guilt into my hand. Naturally I shall produce it. As it
-happens, I hated Barnabas Thorpe before; but I assure you that I should
-act in precisely the same way if there had been no former quarrel
-between us, and I should be quite right. I am doing nothing unfair; you
-needn't be unhappy; I can't imagine why you are. I wish you would go to
-bed, and forget the preacher. I can't think what makes you so soft about
-him; you've heard of men being hanged before now. Look here, I've got a
-lot of writing to do to-night, and don't want to have to sit up till the
-small hours. To do that is very bad for my head, which ought to be of a
-great deal more importance to you than Barnabas Thorpe's neck.
-Good-night."
-
-He gave her a kiss as he spoke. She had been very foolish and unlike her
-ordinary cheerful self to-day; but then he was aware that he too had
-been rather excited, and his kiss was all the warmer because he had been
-momentarily angry, and because she had called herself old and feeble.
-Certainly her tenacity of purpose was not feeble.
-
-When her son stooped to kiss her, she made up her mind to gain her
-point, and she appealed instinctively to the most vulnerable part of
-George. He might be hard-headed, like his father, but he possessed
-something that his father had lacked.
-
-"My boy, you are quite within your rights," she said. "But let me be
-'unreasonable and soft' for once, and give me this fancy just because I
-am your old mother and ask you for it."
-
-"What do you ask?" said George. "If it is anything on the preacher's
-behalf, please don't ask it; for I don't like refusing you, and you
-don't at all like being refused."
-
-This was not encouraging, but Mrs. Sauls persisted. There were few
-things George wouldn't do for her, as she very well knew.
-
-"You are more to me than a hundred preachers," she said. "George, if
-this man is hanged, I believe from my soul that you'll be sorry for it
-one day. Oh, I know that you are doing nothing unfair; that you've every
-right possible to produce those diamonds in court. I tell you, I own I
-am unreasonable, and a silly old woman to-night; and yet, oh, my dear,
-the idea haunts me that you will feel his blood on your head, because at
-the bottom of your heart you hate the man, not because of that blow in
-the dark, but because he has married the woman you want. Throw the
-diamonds away. Give them back to Mrs. Thorpe. Let him escape. If he is
-guilty, he'll suffer in the end, you may be sure. If he is innocent (and
-since I have seen him I feel convinced that he is), you will be glad."
-
-She looked eagerly at him, but there was not a sign of yielding on
-George's face.
-
-"I am not afraid of being haunted," he said; "though the preacher is
-always so illogical that I quite allow it would be highly characteristic
-of his ghost to try that game on me, if a jury justly convict him. No,
-mother! Mrs. Thorpe should have kept the diamonds when she had them. She
-won't get them back now. I hope to see him hang first. If he is
-innocent, he must be able to explain how the stones got into his
-possession; if he can explain and won't, he is a fool--to put it
-mildly--I shan't frustrate justice to save him from the fruits of his
-folly. I'm not his nurse to prevent the poor dear from cutting his
-fingers when he plays with edged tools. Why on earth should I?"
-
-"Because I beg it of you as a favour," said Mrs. Sauls. "I don't often
-try to interfere with you, do I? I do not like begging, even from my
-son."
-
-"You would have had no need to beg in any other case," said George. And
-she knew she had failed.
-
-"That you ask it is a very strong reason. Why, mother, it would be
-strong enough to make me let off any other rascal in the world if he
-were in my power."
-
-"But you won't let this man off--for my asking?" she said.
-
-"No, I won't," said George. "He robbed me of something I liked better
-than diamonds--or even than _you_."
-
-"I'll say no more," said the old woman sadly. "But, my dear, I am
-sorry."
-
-"Ah, well, if one can't get what one wants, one must want what one can
-get," said George; and that soothing and virtuous-sounding maxim meant
-(just then) that, having been denied the satisfaction of love, he was
-making the most of the satisfaction of hate.
-
-"I generally do make the most of what I can get," he added cheerfully.
-"It answers very well. Good-night. Don't be sorry for people, mother;
-it's a mistake, and a great waste of power. Go to sleep comfortably, and
-don't fret."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IX.
-
-     Lead me, O Zeus, and thou, Destiny, whithersoever ye have appointed
-     me to go, and may I follow fearlessly. But, if in an evil mind I be
-     unwilling, still must I follow.
-
-     --_Epictetus._
-
-     But honest men's words are Stygian oaths, and promises inviolable.
-
-     --_Sir Thomas Browne._
-
-
-George Sauls was enjoying himself in Newgate. Not that he had either
-fallen foul of the law, or been seized with the prevailing fashionable
-craze that made the old prison a sensational sight for fine ladies and
-gentlemen just then. He was playing cards in the infirmary, where the
-political prisoners, whom justice treated tenderly and with great
-respect of person, were making as merry as circumstances and the easy
-politeness of the governor allowed. That official's own servants waited
-on them, and the governor himself had taken a hand at whist.
-
-It was Sunday, and George wondered lazily whether Barnabas Thorpe was
-preaching on eternal flames to those "unfortunate devils" who had been
-sentenced to death during the preceding week. He wondered a good deal
-about his enemy, finding it a puzzle, perhaps, to piece together the
-preacher's actions, so as to make them form one consistent whole of
-hypocrisy. George very naturally preferred to believe the man thoroughly
-bad; it "simplified matters," as old Mr. Russelthorpe had remarked to
-him years before. But he was not in the habit of letting himself be
-hoodwinked by a personal feeling, even in this case; and his reason
-gave him some trouble.
-
-He wondered how Barnabas would look when the diamonds were produced;
-and, in spite of himself, failed when he tried to picture shame or guilt
-on the preacher's face. He was to have a chance of satisfying his
-curiosity sooner than he expected.
-
-That particular Sunday was marked by an attempted escape, which caused
-some amusement to the governor and the prison officials, and the end of
-which George witnessed.
-
-One of the prisoners belonging to the middle yard had mysteriously
-disappeared--vanished into thin air, as it seemed; not from the yard,
-which would have been comparatively comprehensible, but from the inside
-of the ward itself.
-
-The governor threw down his cards and proceeded to the ward, Mr. Sauls
-and another guest accompanying him. The turnkey explained eagerly how
-utterly impossible it was for any one not gifted with the power of
-sliding through keyholes to get out of the room, and yet how equally
-impossible it was to find a hiding-place in it.
-
-The governor stood stroking his beard, and looking at ceiling, floor and
-walls consecutively, till suddenly an idea struck him, and he gave the
-order to pile up wood as high as possible, and light a big fire--with
-brilliant results.
-
-The refugee bore being smoked so long that the circle round the fire,
-which was blazing merrily, began to think their quarry was not there;
-but down he came at last, falling so heavily that they were only just in
-time to prevent his being badly burnt.
-
-The chimneys had just been grated at the top, but he had nearly filed
-through the grating, when the smoke, blinding and suffocating him, had
-loosened his hold, and brought him to earth, giddy and bruised and half
-unconscious, amid a roar of laughter.
-
-The joke was of a rather brutal order possibly, and entirely one-sided;
-but the man's blackened face and cut hands appealed to a sense of humour
-which was coarser then than it is in these "softer" days; and even the
-governor smiled.
-
-Only one man, one of the prisoners, remarked: "Jack is more nor a little
-hurt; there ain't no need for that" (as they brought out handcuffs).
-"He'll no' be able to try again anyway. Eh, take care! his back's
-injured and that arm's broke."
-
-"He is right. The fellow has fainted," said the governor, bending down
-to examine him. Every one else was pressing round the sooty figure on
-the floor; but George turned at the sound of the voice raised on Jack's
-behalf, and his eyes met the preacher's.
-
-He saw, more clearly than on the Saturday in court, how grey and worn
-and bowed Barnabas was. A sort of exasperation came over George. It had
-always made him angry, that, used as he was to rogues, this man's direct
-glance impressed him against his will. He had not come to Newgate to
-triumph over the preacher; for all his bitter words, George would hardly
-have descended to that; but, as they stood face to face, the honesty, he
-read in spite of himself, acted on him like a challenge. This man had no
-_right_ to look so good!
-
-"I've found the locket!" George Sauls said suddenly, in a tone so low
-that, in the general hubbub, only Barnabas heard him; at the same time
-he watched narrowly to see whether the mask would drop, even for a
-second. He had meant to startle, and he had succeeded so far; Barnabas
-started visibly, and was first intensely surprised, then glad.
-
-That Timothy must have confessed was his first thought; then it occurred
-to him that Mr. Sauls would hardly have been the bringer of good news;
-and he looked at him searchingly.
-
-George resented the keen, grave question in those blue eyes, that had
-overawed and compelled so many a culprit to confession. _He_ was not
-going to be overawed. "They were found where, I conclude, you put them,"
-he said drily, answering the inquiry that had not been put into words.
-"In the lining of your grey cloth cap. No doubt you had excellent
-reasons for hiding them there, which you will explain to-morrow." And,
-for a second, he saw in the preacher's face that sudden blaze of passion
-that he had seen once before, when he had told him that "no doubt it was
-convenient to turn the other cheek".
-
-It died away almost immediately, and Barnabas said sternly, with that
-accent of undoubting certainty that was his especial characteristic:--
-
-"When you say I put them there, you lie; but, if you've found them
-there, that's evidence against me that I'll never be able to disprove.
-I'll not explain."
-
-It was the same tone as that which had said, "I'll not fight with ye";
-and George felt, as he had felt before, when, under the spell of
-Barnabas Thorpe's fanatical earnestness, he had half believed him
-honest.
-
-"That, of course, is as you choose," he said. "I've given you fair
-warning. Not that I told you in order to do that."
-
-"No," said Barnabas, with the sharp instinctive intuition of motive,
-that combined curiously with the direct simplicity of his own character,
-and was sometimes somewhat disconcerting. "Ye told me because ye wanted
-to see how I'd take it, sir. I take it that it means I'll be convicted,"
-he added quietly. And George felt momentarily ashamed.
-
-"You've 'taken it' very well," he said. "You're no coward. I'd give
-something to know, out of pure curiosity, _what_ you are. It is the
-judge's business, not mine; but--as man to man--did you do it?"
-
-He laughed at himself, even while he asked the question; it was a
-foolish one enough; but the preacher made no protestations.
-
-"Do you believe I did?" said he. "Ay--I see you do half believe it. Then
-I've done ye a wrong; I thought ye didn't. There's been a deal between
-us, and, happen, not much to choose from, i' the way o' hating. It's the
-judge's business, as ye say. To his own master a man stands or falls.
-It's to Him I'll answer."
-
-And George turned away. Barnabas was too proud to protest his innocence
-to his enemy. If he would condescend to exonerate himself before no
-judge but One--so be it.
-
-The conversation had been short. It had lasted a bare three minutes. It
-is odd how much of hope and fear and passion can be crowded into three
-minutes!
-
-The blazing fire the governor had ordered flung flickering lights over
-the faces of the men gathered round Hopping Jack, whose slight, usually
-agile form lay still enough now.
-
-It is an ill wind that blows no good; and, this bitter day, the fire was
-comfortable.
-
-Some one had thrown water on Jack, which, trickling over his face, left
-livid streaks and channels through the soot.
-
-Dr. Merrill's red head was bent over him. "He's very seriously hurt;
-his back's broken," he said, as he knelt in the middle of the circle.
-Jack opened his one eye, and said, "Am I dying?"
-
-The governor muttered that it was deucedly awkward. How was he to know
-that the fellow would fall like that? And no one laughed any more; the
-joke had ceased to be funny.
-
-"Come here, Thorpe," said the doctor. "You can help." And the preacher,
-who had also heard a death warrant, came and knelt by the man's side.
-
-"Ay--I thought as much!" he said. "He's about done for." And the
-gentlemen went away rather silently.
-
-"That big grey-haired chap with the very blue eyes is the one you want
-to see hang, isn't he?" said the governor, when they got outside. "I saw
-you watching him while he was helping the doctor."
-
-"I was admiring the steadiness of his hand," said George. "I own mine
-might have shaken a little in the circumstances."
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-It was very dark. A black fog wrapt the city in gloom, and the cheerless
-cold was intense. Barnabas Thorpe sat on the floor in a corner of the
-ward, with Jack's head resting against him.
-
-The preacher had seen Death often enough in one guise or another. He
-believed him to be coming close,--not only to the poor soul he,
-Barnabas, was doing his best to support, but to himself.
-
-Now he knew what his presentiment had meant; his horror of London was
-justified.
-
-He sat facing the situation, with his lips set hard. He had always held
-his life lightly, and had risked it oftener than most men; but, all the
-same, he had a good healthy love of it, and would have liked to fight
-hard for it; and the disgrace touched him. The Thorpes had always held
-their heads high. Poor Tom!--and Margaret! A short sharp sound broke
-from his lips at that last thought. Could he let Margaret go?
-
-"I say, do you think I'll cheat the hangman?" said Jack.
-
-"I do," said Barnabas. "Do you want some water? How dark it is!"
-
-He could hardly see Jack's face. The man was sinking fast, and the
-preacher was glad of it! For once, he had no desire to cure. Better that
-the poor fellow should die in comparative peace here, than watched by a
-mob outside; and on the gallows. After all, a man can die but once! He
-held the cup to Jack's lips; lifted him as tenderly as a woman might
-have, then laid him down again.
-
-After all, a man can only die once! Yes,--and he can live on earth only
-once, to hold the woman he has chosen in his arms, and to win the
-sweetness of her love.
-
-In heaven he might, maybe, hear the songs of the just made perfect; but,
-sinful man that he was, surely his heart would still ache through all
-their celestial music for what he had never heard,--the sound of his
-name on her lips with the accent of earthly love in it! Ah, and he had
-never once so much as kissed her!
-
-His life was worth more than that crime-stained idiot's. If he betrayed
-him for Margaret's sake! For Margaret's sake! the words shamed him.
-
-If he sinned for her, then he would give the lie to all his life. He
-would prove his enemy right; he would surely show that it had been for
-selfish desire, not for the saving of her fair soul, that he had taken
-her. For Margaret's sake! how durst the devil tempt him with her name?
-
-"Good Lord, deliver me!" he cried. But it seemed to him that the very
-bitterness of death was upon him. To let her go! before ever he had won
-her! never more to have part or lot in anything that might befall her!
-
-He had trusted in his God, and his God had mocked him; filling his heart
-with this unsatisfied love. Other men got their desires and----
-
-"Preacher, shall you preach to-day in the yard?" said Jack.
-
-"No; I've no call to preach to-day. I can't," said Barnabas.
-
-Perhaps he had never had a call; perhaps everything was a mistake from
-beginning to end. If so, then indeed he _had_ been a fool; he might, at
-least, have eaten and drunk, for to-morrow----
-
-"Then you won't leave me," said Jack. "I say, I can't feel anything
-below my waist, ain't that queer? The governor did me a good turn; for I
-hadn't much chance of getting clear off, anyhow, even if there 'adn't
-been them cursed gratings; and now I've cheated them." And he laughed
-weakly. "I'd like you to stick close by me at the end; but don't preach
-too much, 'cos I mean to die game. I meant to do _that_ anyhow. If it
-'adn't been for you, I'd have finished myself; but I owed you one. How
-cold it is!"
-
-Barnabas slipped off his jersey to wrap round the man. He knew well
-enough that no amount of warm clothing would affect that creeping cold;
-but, at least, it was a way of expressing human sympathy.
-
-Then the fight in his own soul went on again. The preacher's face looked
-grey in the darkness--the darkness was dark enough.
-
-Was it all a mistake? The waters were going over him.
-
-"I wish you'd light a match. There's one hidden under the rug," said
-Jack; "and put it between your teeth and lift me a bit; I want to see
-you."
-
-"That 'ull do ye no good," said Barnabas; but he did as he was asked.
-The match flickered up between the dying man's face and his own; the
-loneliness that pressed on his soul, as the thick darkness on his
-eyeballs, seemed momentarily lightened; then the flame went out.
-
-"Thank 'ee--that will do," said Jack. "It makes a man feel queer to know
-he's going out, and lonesome like."
-
-"Are you in much pain?" asked Barnabas; he had grown fond of Hopping
-Jack.
-
-"No; it's the first time it's held off me for weeks," he said. "I say,
-preacher--I ain't going to whine about my sins, they're past praying
-for; but I wish I hadn't gone in for that work in the yard when we set
-on you. When one's always got a kind of grinding pain going on inside
-one, it kind of drives one to play the fool badly. Dr. Merrill says it's
-something with a queer name that begins with a 'K' was the matter with
-me, and it sarved me right. I wish he'd got it! Preaching always riled
-me, and that day it was bad, and you looked so strong. It were partly
-that that aggravated me."
-
-"I see. I was very strong," said the preacher, a good deal touched by
-this odd confession. "Happen it made ye envious. Never mind, Jack,
-that's past."
-
-"No, it ain't," said Jack. "You're a different sort to me, and don't
-bear malice; but it's made you another man. It hurt you to lift me with
-two hands just now; you could have lifted me with one finger before we
-did that. If the Lord you're so sure about _is_ there, He oughtn't to
-forget; but without that (for it ain't any good thinking of what's
-coming), I wish I hadn't had a hand in it."
-
-He paused for breath, looking up wistfully at the preacher, whose face
-he could no longer make out, and finding it difficult to express
-penitence without showing the white feather. "Mind you, it ain't nothing
-to do with heaven or hell," he said confusedly. "I'm only sorry 'cos it
-was _you_."
-
-"Ye've made it up to me, Jack," said the preacher. "Ye told me just now
-ye wouldn't kill yourself for my sake. I ain't much, God knows; but my
-preaching would ha' meant just nothing at all, if I didn't hold that
-worth some bruises."
-
-He was feeling his feet again; after all, that was worth something.
-
-"It's a precious odd making up," said Jack. "And I can't see why the
-devil it's any odds to you whether I did or not; but I know it is! I
-say, when _you_ get to heaven, you might say that, eh?"
-
-"Say what?" said Barnabas.
-
-His brain was confused between the strong love of life, or rather of
-Margaret, that he was trying to fight down in his own soul (it was like
-fighting an inflowing tide), and the other strong impulse to help, that
-had been a ruling habit of years.
-
-"Why, that I had a try to make up. No one else will speak for me, you
-may bet on that! And even you won't be able to make it amount to much,
-but--come--say you'll remember me, if there is anything the other side.
-Swear you'll not forget. I shouldn't believe any one else, if they swore
-till they burst; but you'd stick to anything you'd said. I won't funk. I
-won't have that fat parson pray for me. If God's alive, He ain't such a
-soft one as to be squared by a few snivellin' prayers at the end; but
-I'd like you to remember me. Whatever comes, it seems as if you'd be
-something to hold to."
-
-And the preacher bowed his grey head on his hands. He had been preached
-to, to some purpose.
-
-In the midst of the darkness he saw again the figure of his Master
-crucified, with a thief on the right hand and on the left.
-
-"It's not to _me_ you must say that!" he cried. "Not to me, who am a
-most cowardly and unprofitable servant. But, oh, my Lord, remember
-_us_--when Thou comest into Thy kingdom!" And, with that, the darkness
-in his soul cleared.
-
-Jack's mind wandered after that; he kept spouting bits out of some play
-that Barnabas had never heard of, and aping feebly all sorts of
-characters, chiefly kings and princes (the fellow had evidently been a
-reader at one time). Then the feeble voice grew fainter, and presently
-he slept. During his sleep he effectually escaped, neither grating nor
-gaolers having power to stay him this time.
-
-His _rôle_ was played out, and delivered up to the Author of potentates
-and beggars; of the few who succeed, and the many who fail. Barnabas
-closed Hopping Jack's eyes gently--having a weak place in his own
-composition for failures--then stood upright.
-
-"I must preach this evening," he said. "I ha' much to say, an' th' time
-is short."
-
-The men were not allowed to go into the yard lest there should be more
-attempts to get out under cover of the yellow fog. Barnabas preached in
-the ward, therefore; and Dr. Merrill, coming in at five o'clock, found
-Jack dead, and the others congregated round the preacher.
-
-The red-haired surgeon watched the scene, with the half admiring
-irritation that Barnabas Thorpe's proceedings were apt to produce in
-him.
-
-He glanced round at the degraded types of humanity that surrounded
-Barnabas, and said to himself (as he had often said before) that one
-might as well try to make sweet bread with salt water as to make a man
-of an habitual gaol bird. Yet, there was something fine, though
-irrational, in a faith that saw possibilities even here!
-
-"I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels, nor
-principalities, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other
-creature can separate us from the love of God," cried the man, whose
-intense conviction held this motley throng of rogues.
-
-And the "life" he had in his mind was the evil life of that hotbed of
-crime, and the "death" that most inglorious and miserable death on the
-gallows that awaited many of his hearers. While he listened, Dr. Merrill
-became convinced that Barnabas believed himself about to die. His keen
-eyes watched the preacher narrowly, and he noted the exhaustion that
-followed the sermon. Barnabas dropped wearily on to a bench when he had
-finished speaking, and rested his head on his hands. The doctor went up
-to him, and tapped him sharply on the shoulder.
-
-"Have you made up your mind to be hanged? If so, you should be ashamed
-of yourself!" he said. "You've plenty of pluck when it's a case of
-risking your life. Why on earth do you throw up the sponge so
-confoundedly easily, when it is a case of saving it?"
-
-"I've nought to say about it, an' what comes next is out o' my hands,"
-said Barnabas. "Yesterday the chances seemed on th' side of my being
-acquitted; but som'ut's happened since then, an' I know the verdict
-'ull be th' other way now. Ay, I've made up my mind. Jack died an hour
-ago, sir. I was glad on it."
-
-"He had a piece of luck at the last," said the doctor. "But what has
-happened since yesterday that you should despair?"
-
-"I doan't despair, nor for Jack, nor for myself," answered the preacher.
-
-And Dr. Merrill grunted impatiently. Barnabas never had much inclination
-to confide in his own sex.
-
-"You were never in the same boat with Jack. He was guilty, and the
-gallows tree was his natural goal. You come of an honest stock, and, if
-you're convicted, it will be through your own stupidity," said the
-doctor. "Come, Thorpe, of course you have an inalienable right to be a
-fool, if you choose; but, does it never strike you that it will be hard
-on your friends if you are sentenced?"
-
-"Do ye suppose I've not thought o' all that?" said Barnabas doggedly. "I
-doan't knaw that I want to talk to 'ee about it, sir."
-
-"No; you are mighty impatient of other people's sermons, but you'll
-listen to me before I've done with you," said the doctor. "You made a
-precious bad defence! Can you swear to me that you know nothing beyond
-what you've said in court? Aha! I thought you couldn't!"
-
-"Why should I swear aught to 'ee?" said Barnabas. "I'm not asking
-advice, nor needing it. All the same," he added, after a moment, "I
-ought to thank ye for believing in me."
-
-"Believe in you! I believe on my soul that you've got some
-crack-brained, pernicious notion that will lead you to slip your neck
-into a noose that was made for some one else, and that you'll find a bit
-too tight; now, for the sake of that unfortunate wife of yours----Hallo,
-you are attending to me now!"
-
-"What ha' ye had to do wi' her? Is she ill? For God's sake, go on an'
-tell me about her, an' I'll listen to th' rest after," said the
-preacher. And the anxiety in his voice was so sharp that the doctor with
-a shrug of his shoulders complied.
-
-"She had been knocked down by a cart, and she sent her brother-in-law to
-fetch me to bind up a scratch on her wrist. At least, that was the
-ostensible reason for my visit. As a matter of fact, she wanted to
-wheedle me into letting her see the inside of Newgate. No; she wasn't
-hurt; but it must be a nice state of things for her when her natural
-protector has to ask me whether she's ill or well! If I had a
-wife--which, thank Heaven, I have been preserved from--I should not
-sacrifice her to any skulking sneak. Poor woman! she nearly went on her
-knees to me, to persuade me to smuggle her in."
-
-Barnabas winced. He hated to think that Margaret had pleaded to any man.
-Margaret, who, for all her gentleness, was so proud! It touched him to
-the quick too; did she want to see him so much?
-
-As for the doctor, he was somewhat of the opinion of Meg's old friend,
-Sir Thomas Browne, who "cast no true affection on a woman," but "loved
-his friend as he loved his virtue or his God". There were plenty of
-pretty women in the world; and his indignation on Mrs. Thorpe's behalf
-was perhaps not very deep; but he knew what he was about. This fanatic
-held his wife ridiculously dear, and her misery might break his
-stubbornness.
-
-"Doctor," said Barnabas hoarsely, "can't ye do it? I'd give moast
-anything (but I've naught to give) to ha' my lass once more wi' no bars
-between us. I've that to tell her which is hard to say wi'out I have her
-close to me! If ye'll do that for us----"
-
-He stammered, and broke off his sentence, from very powerlessness to
-express the full strength of his desire. Dr. Merrill, looking critically
-at him, saw that the man's face was working with the earnestness of his
-passion--he was not one who could entreat easily.
-
-"I'll do it somehow," the doctor said slowly, "if--if you'll cease being
-such a mad idiot. Who is guilty?"
-
-"Ye must e'en answer your own riddles; an' if _that's_ the 'if' I must
-do wi'out her," said Barnabas; and the doctor shrugged his shoulders
-again.
-
-"I give up! Your obstinacy beats mine, preacher." He got up from the
-bench where he had seated himself beside Barnabas, but still lingered a
-moment.
-
-"There's a poor creature in the condemned cell who wants to see you.
-It's against rules, but I have got leave to take you there. Will you
-come?"
-
-"Of course," said Barnabas.
-
-They walked together through the long passages. Barnabas shivered; it
-was cold, and Jack was still wrapped in his jersey.
-
-The doctor eyed him inquiringly. "What on earth shall you find to say to
-some one in a condemned cell?" he asked.
-
-"That God's mercy is greater than man's. That we can kill, but He can
-make alive," said Barnabas. The doctor slid something into the gaoler's
-hand as the key turned. "Now, good luck to the sermon; but it mustn't be
-long," said he.
-
-But the preacher, with a cry, held out his arms.
-
-A woman! no terrified criminal driven to a so-called "repentance" by the
-approach of death--a woman, with love, not fear, in her eyes, turned
-quickly to him!
-
-"Margaret! Margaret!" he cried. Then he put his hand under her chin,
-and lifted her face that had been hidden against his arm. "Margaret!"
-
-He had told her once that he, who had never taken her liking for love,
-would know when he saw the difference. He knew now. Here, in the
-condemned cell, in the ante-chamber of death, he saw _that_, at last,
-which he believed deathless; that for which his soul had hungered.
-
-"Have I found ye?" he said. And she, putting her arms around him, lifted
-her lips to his, and kissed him,--a kiss solemn as a sacrament.
-
-"Yes! You have found me!" she said.
-
-The doctor shut the door gently from the outside.
-
-"If it's to be done, _she'll_ do it."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER X.
-
-    O lover of my life, O soldier saint,
-    No work begun shall ever pause for death.
-
-
-"I thought I'd ha' to die without this," said Barnabas. "Now--I am
-content."
-
-He was sitting on the bench under the narrow barred window, which was
-high above their heads. The winter sun was setting through a lifting
-haze of fog; it threw a faint red gleam on the stone wall, and touched
-the heads of the man and woman who were making love in the condemned
-cell. Is there any place, short of the grave, where men have never made
-love?
-
-"Hush!" said Meg. "_We_ have met life, not death, to-day."
-
-The last occupant of this place had been hanged, the next poor wretch
-would be waiting execution. The thought struck coldly on her.
-
-"Oh, Barnabas! I have never feared death before," she cried; "for I did
-not understand what life means." And the preacher, looking at her, knew
-she spoke truth. This vivifying passion had sent a stronger tide through
-her veins. Happiness, new-born, was in her face, and the fresh wonder at
-that everlasting miracle which changes our water into wine.
-
-"All the world seems new!" cried Margaret. "But other people have to
-die. And some of them never know what this means; and some, knowing,
-leave it all behind. Barnabas, to-morrow you will be free, and I shall
-be by your side, and all the happiness that is ours shall make us strong
-to help. I will help as I never did before!--Oh, I am so sorry for
-them."
-
-"Ay, sweetheart; ye may well be that," he said.
-
-The minutes were flying by. He must tell her. Her head was on his
-shoulder, her hands were in his,--hands so delicate that one of his held
-both. He remembered how their smallness had touched him, long ago.
-
-"I ha' ta'en ye by rough ways, an' ye'll ha' a hard time; though I meant
-to shelter ye all I could." The pain in his voice made her cling closer
-to him.
-
-"It is my turn to say to you, 'It is worth while,'" she whispered. "What
-does it matter now how rough the road is? we will tread it together."
-
-"But, if we are not together? My little lass, if we are not together?
-Will ye say that then? It is true! Ay--God help me--I believe it; but
-will ye think so too?"
-
-"Whatever comes now, I will think so too!" said Margaret. She smiled as
-she spoke, ominous though his words were. She forgot to be afraid, in
-her womanly longing to comfort him.
-
-"What do you think is coming? Do you fancy that the verdict will go
-against you?" she asked steadily. "But that cannot be! Would _He_ desert
-you?"
-
-"No," said Barnabas. "Not though the sky should fall, or I forget ye."
-And he put the last as the more impossible marvel of the two.
-
-"But there's no want o' faith in believing that one may ha' to leave
-one's body behind a bit afore the natural time. I've som'ut to tell ye,
-Margaret. It's best to face it. I'd liefer ye heard it now, than
-to-morrow i' th' court."
-
-"Go on," said Meg. And with his arms round her he told her. Meg listened
-silently when he described his interview with his enemy. "He must ha'
-overhauled my things somehow, though I doan't know how he got hold on
-'em," he said. "Ye see that must go against me. I can't explain it." He
-spoke steadily, and not despairingly,--he had conquered his despair. The
-fight had been fought; the "black minute" was at an end for him. It
-might be hard,--harder than the actual wrench of parting soul and body
-would be,--to part from her; but he could do it now. To relinquish Meg
-unwon had indeed taxed severely the fortitude of the man who had once
-told her that he desired no peace in heaven, unless she were happy too;
-but this love, awake at last, he believed to be his now to all eternity;
-and, indeed, with an "all eternity" in view, they might well afford to
-lose a few score years.
-
-"I don't understand," said Meg, in a voice she tried to keep from
-trembling. "Mr. Sauls found the diamonds in your cap. Ah, I let that
-drop with the other things I was bringing you, and he must have picked
-it up. He saved me too. One would rather not be saved by such a--oh
-well, it isn't worth while to think of him with you beside me; but how
-did the diamonds get there?"
-
-"They were hidden by the man who knocked Mr. Sauls down and robbed him,"
-said the preacher. "I _was_ a fool, Margaret! The man told me where they
-were, an' I thought it was just a mad fancy. It never came to me to take
-my knife and rip up the lining; I just shook it, an' seeing naught,
-flung it in a corner where it stayed. Ye see, I didn't wholly credit his
-story. It was all so mixed up wi' delusions. One minute he was seein'
-Mr. Sauls' double at th' foot o' his bed, beckoning him to hell, an' th'
-next he were raving about diamonds bein' on fire an' burning him, an'
-the next he were pouring out such sickening confessions as I think the
-devil himself must ha' been prompting his tongue to. No man could ha'
-committed all the sins he told of. An' the longing to deliver him fro'
-Satan was strong on me, an' he kind o' clung to me, as if he was bein'
-hunted, an' I promised him I wouldn't betray him. One can't allus be
-thinking what 'ull be the consequences to onesel' when a poor soul turns
-to one in mortal terror."
-
-"And you will keep your promise at any cost to yourself--and to me?"
-said Meg.
-
-"Little lass, ye wouldn't ha' me _not_ keep it!" he cried. He turned his
-head away for a moment. Was even Meg against him? Dr. Merrill had told
-him that he sacrificed his wife to a skulking sneak; did she think so
-too? He looked at her with an involuntary sad entreaty that none but Meg
-had ever seen in his eyes.
-
-He was used to being considered rather mad. Truth to tell, being in a
-minority troubled him little as a rule; but, for once, the pain of
-loneliness touched him very sharply.
-
-"Dear heart, do 'ee think I doan't care for 'ee?" he said. "I'd give my
-soul, if it were only that, for yours. But one must follow where one's
-Master calls. Would ye ha' me such a cowardly hypocrite, that having in
-His name bid ye give up the world for Him, I should mysel' shrink from a
-path where there's only room for one? Would ye ha' me break a promise,
-gi'en in this service, because keeping it means shame and death? Shame
-for ye too, for ye too! Forgi'e me, if ye can't think me right," he
-cried sadly. "Oh, my little lass, I wish I could bear it all! It cuts me
-like a knife when I think it means shame for you. It's the sore part."
-He caught his breath sharply, and Meg felt his arm tremble for a moment.
-Then: "But I'd not say that to any one else," he said. "Ye are like my
-own soul, an', even to you, I'll not say it again. It's a bit mean o' me
-to cry out so. When I took service I didn't promise to follow the Master
-only so long as I could on velvet. I've no need to complain; an' ye
-mustn't say He deserts us because He treats us like men, an' takes us at
-our word. Yet"--and again his face softened--"if ye _could_ think with
-me--but, happen, that's ower much to expect."
-
-His voice, ringing with the eager loyalty which was so large a factor in
-his religion, then breaking into human tenderness, ceased. He could not
-see her face, for she sat with it hidden against him. He touched her
-fair head gently, with his hand. "Poor little lass!" He could not put
-into words the remorseful tenderness he felt. He hoped she would not try
-to dissuade him; it could make no difference, but he found Meg's grief
-hard to bear.
-
-"Happen that's ower much to hope for?" he said again softly, but with
-more wistfulness than he knew. "But I'd like ye to forgive me, Margaret,
-any way. Will ye do that, if ye think me wrong?" His voice sank to a
-whisper she barely caught. "The temptation was sore, but if I'd loved ye
-less it ha' been stronger; for I'd not ha' felt it so shameful then to
-drag that love i' the mud. Margaret, say _something_ to me."
-
-Then she lifted her head and answered him--such an answer as no human
-soul had given his before.
-
-"You are right!" she said. "Except that you ask me to forgive you.
-Forgive what? Shame? I am not ashamed. Do you think I shall not be
-prouder of you than if all the world were at your feet? I have never
-been ashamed of you. Never once! Even when I didn't love you, I knew
-better than that! Ashamed! I will try to be a little sorry for the
-blindness of all the people who did not know you innocent, who cannot
-tell light from darkness! if you like, dear,--if you like--but there is
-no shame for you, or for me, who am yours."
-
-Ah, had ever the condemned cell echoed to such words before? such
-passionate vibrating love, and pride of love?
-
-"If you had betrayed a man for me, then you might have said, 'forgive
-me,'" she cried. "But you couldn't do that; you would not be you, if you
-did! The Barnabas I love could never do it! Yes, then I should have been
-ashamed--bitterly ashamed, perhaps. Then our love would be in the mud
-indeed. Not now!"
-
-"I allus knew ye a brave woman, my lass," said the preacher. "Happen I
-never knew it quite enough!" But Meg clung to him again, choking back a
-sudden desire to sob.
-
-"Ah! but we shan't be parted!" she cried. "It can't be! it can't be!
-Barnabas, say to me that it can't be."
-
-"Ay, wi' all my heart," he said. "Margaret, I believe, as I believe in
-my God, that no pain nor death can part us two for ever. It _can't_ be!
-Ye are mine now. By the love God has given me for ye, an' by the love ye
-bear for me, my sweetheart, I'll swear to ye that I hold the old enemy
-not strong enough to part us. It can't be."
-
-But, for all the hot love in them, his words went through her like a
-sword: he was bidding her look to the life everlasting, when she wanted
-him here, and now. They both sat silent for a few minutes, precious
-minutes! how fast they went!
-
-"I had so much to say," he said. "I'd a deal to tell ye; but, somehow, I
-can't remember it now. I want to hear ye say once more, 'I love ye'.
-I've wanted for it so long! Nigh on two years I've hungered for it. An'
-I've not pressed ye, have I, Margaret?"
-
-And there came across Meg as he spoke the remembrance of those two
-years. How many times had he crushed back this deep, fierce love for
-fear of "scaring" her, cold-hearted as she had been? And now, perhaps,
-there might be only minutes left to give in, though there had been
-months in which to deny.
-
-"I love you," she said. "With all my soul and heart and mind and
-strength; with all of me there is; with more of me than I ever knew
-there was. I didn't know I _could_ love like this. As you love me, I
-love you, my dearest. You are more to me than all in heaven and all on
-earth besides. I would rather die with you than stay here without you.
-Ah, how feeble one's words are, for, _of course_, I would rather! that
-would be easy enough. If I have to live without you, I am still yours.
-While I am, I--I love you. If this can die, there is no life that lives!
-It is the most living part of me. If this grows cold, then I am dead.
-Barnabas, I love you, I love you! Do you know it _now_?"
-
-"Time's up!" said the doctor, putting in his head. "Have you brought him
-to his senses at last, ma'am? I hope so."
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-She stood outside again in the snow. The doctor was talking eagerly.
-
-"I am convinced that your husband is keeping something back," he said.
-"He knows more than he will say. I hope you have preached a sermon
-to-day to good purpose. He won't listen to mine."
-
-"I told him he was right," said Meg; and the doctor swore.
-
-"Then, let me tell you, you've encouraged him in a most immoral course,"
-he said, "and in one that leads straight to the gallows! It's no time
-for picking one's words--and--well, here's the truth. You had a chance
-of saving him, if any one had,--which I doubt, for a more pig-headed
-saint I've never come across--you had the only chance. You might at
-least have tried; and you've lost it!"
-
-In his heart he was saying angrily, what did she suppose she had been
-smuggled in for--to talk sentiment? If Thorpe had married some lusty,
-rosy-cheeked barmaid, she'd have been of more good. She would have cried
-heartily and scolded; his high-flown nonsense wouldn't have had a
-hearing; it might have been swamped in her tears and in his natural
-instinct. Mrs. Thorpe's eyes were dry. Pshaw! she was only half a woman!
-He hadn't an exalted opinion of the other sex anyhow; but, at least, he
-preferred them "womanly". Little fool! if she couldn't cry on occasion,
-what _was_ she capable of? He couldn't quite say that aloud, though. Meg
-was no barmaid, and not an easy person to be rude to.
-
-"I am very grateful to you for letting me in," she said. "I think my
-husband _is_ right, so what else could I say? But, if I had thought him
-wrong, I could have made no difference, practically--only," said Meg
-softly, "it would have been rather harder for him."
-
-"Rather harder! he'll find being choked out of life with a rope rather
-harder; but you know your own affairs best, I suppose," said the doctor.
-"Good-night, ma'am;" and he turned away, and Meg walked on alone.
-
-"He'll find being choked out of life rather harder!" Meg felt as if
-Doctor Merrill had roughly shaken her awake. When she had been with
-Barnabas his unwonted appeal for spiritual sympathy, his faith in the
-undying quality of their love, his belief in the impossibility of an
-eternal parting had somehow hidden from her the physical horror of such
-a death. The doctor had brought it before her, had made her see the rope
-and the coffin, and the actual death struggle. She saw it so vividly,
-poor woman, with that over-vivid imagination that had always been her
-bane, that, as she walked, she held out her hands instinctively.
-
-"Don't, don't!" she cried. "He has been hurt enough. I can't bear him to
-be hurt any more!" She did not know that she had spoken aloud, till some
-one passing put a hand on her arm.
-
-"Mrs. Thorpe! may I see you home? You are ill, or very unhappy."
-
-It was the parson from Lupcombe, the preacher's friend. Meg, standing
-still, recognised him.
-
-"Did I say something?" she asked. "Yes--I am unhappy; but you can't help
-me, thank you. Don't try to, please. Only God can help."
-
-The parson, looking at her, bared his white head.
-
-"It is true," he said. "There are times when only He can help." And he
-let her go, but went on his own way with a sigh.
-
-"Poor thing, poor thing!" he said to himself. "Saints are all very well,
-but they've no business to marry."
-
-The interruption made Meg aware that she must have been looking rather
-strange. Tom would see at once that she had had bad news, and she could
-not tell him yet. She wanted to collect her thoughts, to repeat to
-herself what Barnabas had told her, coolly, without his over-strong
-influence, that made her see everything just as he saw it. Coolly! but
-the time had passed when Meg could think coolly of suffering to him.
-
-A church door stood open (oddly enough, for the church in those days,
-except at stated times of service, was harder to enter than the prison).
-The darkness and silence invited Meg. She turned into it, thankful for a
-quiet place to hide her troubled face in; and walking up the aisle, took
-refuge in the high curtained pew which was used by the Mayor and
-Corporation when they honoured St. Matthew's with their presence.
-
-She drew the curtains close, then sat down on a hassock, and buried her
-face in the red bombazine cushions.
-
-She went over the whole interview again. It was her doing that the
-diamonds had been found. If only she had not been knocked down and not
-let Mr. Sauls pick up her bundle! It was like him to take prompt
-advantage. While she sat in the dark, Meg clenched her hands with the
-wild desire to kill George Sauls. If Barnabas were hanged how could _he_
-be allowed to live? Then she crushed that mad anger down again; it was
-her fault. She had persuaded her husband to come to London. She had left
-him alone while she nursed her father, she--what had the doctor said?
-She had lost the last chance of saving him, but _that_ had not been from
-want of love. In her soul she knew she had never loved him more than
-when she had told him he was right. She knew it; for it was his soul
-hers loved,--a disgrace that touched that would be disgrace indeed.
-
-"And yet--ah, it isn't only that," sobbed Meg. "Barnabas may go on
-loving me in heaven; but I want him, spirit and body both, on earth."
-
-She clenched her hands, and pressed her face down on the cushion,
-struggling with the sobs that rose in her throat. Alas! it did not
-comfort her to think of a disembodied spirit, however perfect, when she
-was longing for her own living husband. She loved his faults as well as
-his virtues; she loved him wholly and completely--as he was: the accent
-with which he spoke, the very look of the brown hands toil-roughened. In
-the mortal agony of that parting, visions of heaven would _not_ support
-her womanhood. "God have mercy on us, have mercy on us!" cried Margaret.
-"Have mercy, Thou who hast made us what we are! who hast given us souls
-and bodies both."
-
-She must not fail him in any case; _that_ thought braced her again. If
-the worst should happen, she must be by him. Could she bear to see it?
-Meg asked herself, and found the answer clear enough. Yes, she both
-could and would--and she would have no tears then.
-
-"But oh, if it might be that I might bear it all!" she cried in her
-heart, with the cry which is old as love itself.
-
-"Lord, let the pain be mine--if only my darling may go free!" Deepest,
-most fervent prayer of all humanity!--prayer that seems as if it must
-pierce the veil and force an answer, that is born of our holiest
-instincts, and has in it the sacrifice that is in motherhood;--prayer
-that how many women's lips have prayed since the beginning of the world!
-
-"Mine be the pain! Ay; and the sin and the shame too," we cry, knowing
-that the cry is futile; for who shall deliver his brother? Surely love
-has been crucified since love first was!
-
-"Ah, it is no wonder, no wonder that God died upon a cross," thought
-Meg; "if He loves as we love, where else could _our_ God be?"
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-"If you ask my opinion, I should say that you had better put up a
-triangle," said a decided voice at the far end of the church. The vestry
-door slammed, and there was a sound of footsteps on the stairs--quick
-brisk footsteps--treading over the "Hic Jacets".
-
-"Mr. Muller says that a cross is popish; and you think the commandments
-Low Church, don't you? or is it old-fashioned? Well, try a triangle. It
-won't mean anything. Now, that's an advantage to start with; you can't
-quarrel so much over a purely secular symbol."
-
-"Now, Mr. Sauls!" (a giggle), "if you say such things, I declare we'll
-set you to work as a punishment. Isn't Mr. Sauls too bad, Ethel? Oh,
-there comes Mr. Simkyns at last. Please light the candles, Mr. Simkyns."
-
-The speaker was a plump bright-complexioned girl, who, with her sister,
-stood, with arms full of holly, looking over the berries at Mr. Sauls,
-who, however, had not the least intention of being beguiled into
-assisting at Christmas decorations, an amusement not at all in his line.
-
-"I came to find an entry in the register for 1802 that bears on a case I
-am interested in," he said. "I didn't mean to interrupt your good work;
-and, since you won't be grateful for my advice, I'll take myself off."
-
-"Oh, we are only going to sort the ivy and holly, ready to begin
-to-morrow. It was all in a heap in the vestry. We hadn't an idea you
-were there, had we, Ethel? But we'll forgive you this time; you may
-stay, if you like."
-
-"Ah, thanks; but I won't put your generosity to too severe a test," he
-rejoined drily.
-
-The candles were lighted now; the quiet solemnity of the place was gone.
-On one side of the red curtains a woman in bitterest agony had prayed
-for her husband's life; on the other, the girls laughingly pricked
-their fingers with holly leaves, and tried hard to flirt with Mr.
-Sauls.
-
-"Mr. Sauls doesn't believe much in the generosity of our sex; do you,
-Mr. Sauls?" said the second girl, with another giggle and an upward
-glance.
-
-"Pardon me," said George, "I've the most exalted reverence for it;
-that's why I refrained from putting it to vulgar proof. It is always
-unwise to test one's pet ideals; the results are apt to be disastrous,
-particularly to men of a naturally quixotic and sentimental turn, like
-myself; I never do it, on principle. That's why I've arrived at mature
-age with all my little high-flown illusions so intact. You wouldn't like
-to upset any one's principles, would you, Miss Miller? No, I thought
-not. Good-evening then."
-
-Miss Miller, during this speech, had looked as if she were not quite
-sure whether she was expected to laugh or not. At the last words her
-face fell; she threw the holly down pettishly as Mr. Sauls left the
-church.
-
-"What's the use of going on? I hate Christmas decorations! And I've
-pricked myself," she cried. "Oh, what's that?"
-
-She gave a little shriek, as the red curtain was pushed aside.
-
-"I beg your pardon. I am afraid I have startled you," said Meg gently.
-"I did not know that any one else was in the church when I came in. I
-came to--to rest. I am going now."
-
-"_We_ will go; we have disturbed you; I wish we hadn't come in and
-chattered and laughed," cried the girl impulsively. She was very
-soft-hearted; and this pale fair woman somehow impressed her, she hardly
-knew why, with a sense of tragedy. "I am so sorry, but we'll go. Come,
-Ethel, let's go."
-
-But Meg had already walked quickly down the aisle, and opened the church
-door. In the act she looked back at the two bright-faced girls clinging
-together, still a little startled, under the candles, with the scarlet
-berries at their feet.
-
-"No, don't be sorry," she said. "I am very glad you came in, for now I
-know what to do. You needn't be sorry; but I should put up a cross if I
-were you, even though it means a good deal."
-
-The church clock was striking the half-hour, the lamps were lighted; it
-was too cold to snow hard, but a few fine, powdery flakes were falling
-from the unbroken yellow-grey sky. Meg was just in time to see Mr. Sauls
-turn the corner of the street. She followed him, running at first; then,
-when she was within a few yards of him, walking again, keeping the same
-distance always between them. She would not speak to him in the street;
-she remembered too vividly how she had repulsed his offer of help. She
-knew he would remember it too; he was not the person to forget it. She
-meant to follow him home, where he must listen to her. She did not
-consider what argument she could use; she did not even think how
-terrible a thing it was to ask a favour of this man of all men. She only
-knew that he could prevent Barnabas from being hanged, and that when she
-was pleading for her husband's life she should know what to say.
-
-Mr. Sauls went straight back to his rooms, Meg following him. Sometimes
-people came between them, and she momentarily lost sight of his
-high-shouldered, thick-set figure. At those moments a nervous agony of
-fear would take possession of her, as if she had indeed lost the "last
-chance," and seen him disappear with that same precious life in his
-pocket. Her pride was not so much consciously renounced as absolutely
-burnt up in the flame of her love. As Tom had remarked long ago,
-"Barnabas' wife couldn't do anything by halves". She was one of the
-unfortunate people who must give "full measure running over," if they
-gave at all.
-
-They went through miles of streets. George wondered afterwards that he
-had not felt her behind him. When he reached his rooms, she waited a
-minute to let him get in first; then rang. The servant who opened the
-door looked doubtfully at her. His master had the strongest objection to
-begging ladies; he had got into trouble only last week because he had
-let in a sister of mercy with a pitiful tale.
-
-"I don't know that my master is at home," he said, "but I'll go and
-inquire. What name shall I say, miss?"
-
-Meg hesitated a moment; it was possible that Mr. Sauls might refuse to
-see her. "Mr. Sauls is at home," she said, "and he will know who I am."
-And the man, after another prolonged stare, let her in.
-
-They crossed the hall, and he opened a door on the right. No one was in
-the room; but a huge fire was blazing, and a swinging lamp that hung
-from the ceiling by silver chains was alight. A great tiger skin was
-stretched in front of the hearth, an armchair was drawn up on one side
-of it.
-
-Meg stood leaning against the mantelpiece and waited.
-
-It was a luxurious room--the room of a rich man, with a good idea of
-comfort. All the chairs were delightfully easy, the carpet was thick and
-soft, the light arranged with a view to reading and writing comfortably.
-Artistic it was not, and there was no bric-à-brac, and there were few
-books about.
-
-Over the mantelpiece was the picture of an undraped nymph, lying on soft
-cushions in a bower of roses. A rounded-limbed, sensuous beauty, with
-velvety eyes half closed. The petals of the roses rested on her warm
-skin.
-
-George's sister made a great many jokes about that picture, and called
-it George's ideal woman.
-
-Meg, in her shabby black dress, looked whiter than ever as she stood
-beneath it tensely waiting.
-
-There were groups of wax fruit (not remarkably well done) about the room
-too. Meg, had she seen them, would have guessed why she had got such
-remarkably good prices for her work; but she saw neither the fruit nor
-the picture--she saw only Barnabas and Newgate.
-
-"What an ass you are, Lucas!" said Mr. Sauls, his voice sounding in the
-hall. "Go and tell the young woman that you know I am out on the best
-authority, for that I have just told you so myself."
-
-A pause, and a deprecatory murmur from Lucas; then: "Would come in? The
-devil she would! These begging ladies deserve a snub. It's another
-Quakeress. Oh, very well, I'll tell her myself that I am out; and I
-don't think she'll do it again." And Meg heard his footsteps crossing
-the hall.
-
-She pictured the imaginary Quakeress come to beg of George Sauls, and
-pitied her, imagination working in a curiously independent and rapid
-way, as it does in moments of suspense. Poor Quakeress! How could any
-woman stoop to beg from this man? Unless, indeed, it were a woman whose
-husband might have the life "choked out of him," and who was past caring
-for aught else!
-
-What would he have said to the Quakeress? Would she have worn a bonnet
-like Mrs. Fry? Would Mr. Sauls have made her feel very hot and shy and
-ashamed?
-
-The door opened. Meg stood quite still, keeping her eyes on the fire.
-She would let him get over his astonishment, for she knew he hated being
-surprised. He held the handle in his hand for a second; he didn't
-exclaim, but there was a moment's breathless pause. This woman, standing
-sad and pale under his Nymph of the Roses, was quite the last he had
-expected to see. Then he shut the door firmly behind him and came
-forward.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XI.
-
-
-"Mrs. Thorpe!" he said. "The world must certainly be coming to an end
-when you come to me!"
-
-He did not even pretend not to be astonished; he was too clever a man to
-waste time in futile conventionalities. He had always his wits about
-him; and he spoke in a tone that expressed neither enmity nor
-friendliness; a surprise put George instinctively on guard.
-
-"It is in danger of it--for me," said Meg. And then he guessed why she
-had come; and his face hardened.
-
-"Nothing but the fear of losing what is more than all the world would
-have brought me. You are right."
-
-"Ah! I won't insult you by sympathy this time," he said. "I remember
-that mine offends you; but--and I mean no offence, Mrs. Thorpe--I think
-that you had better not have come. A woman should always keep the
-refusing on her side; it answers best on the whole."
-
-She had refused his aid with scorn when he had offered it, and now it
-wasn't to be had for the asking; but he preferred to spare her a
-fruitless entreaty. Where Margaret was concerned, revenge was not sweet
-to George. His words were meant for a fair warning (if she would only be
-wise enough to take it), and Meg understood them so.
-
-"Much the best, when there is any choice," she said. "But there is
-none."
-
-George looked at her for a moment in silence. The people who lead
-forlorn hopes never see "any choice".
-
-"Then please sit down," he said; and came round to her corner of the
-fireplace, and pushed up a chair. She shook her head, and he shrugged
-his shoulders slightly, and stood facing her again.
-
-"I have come to ask you for something," said Meg. "You gave my locket to
-me once, and I returned it to you."
-
-"Your husband returned it to me," interpolated George, who stood playing
-with the china on the mantelpiece.
-
-"With my entire consent," said Meg. "It only meant a dear memory to me
-then, but I thought it too valuable a gift to take from you. It means my
-husband's liberty, and probably his life, now; but----"
-
-"Don't go on," said George. "It is of no use; it is not for me, of all
-men, to hinder natural consequences. You were right before when you told
-me that nothing should induce you to accept a favour from me. You were
-perfectly right."
-
-Again it was with an honest desire to save her from a refusal that he
-spoke; but he felt as if he had struck her when he saw her white face
-flush.
-
-"Yes, I remember," she said. "I knew that you would remember too. I told
-you it would be easier to take hot coals in my hands than help from you
-who injured him--so it would." She stretched out her hands to the fire
-with an unconsciously dramatic gesture. "So it would! If pain to my body
-could save his pain, I would do _that_ first. Shall I prove it?"
-
-"No, thanks," said George drily. "I quite believe you. I always have
-believed you, even when your remarks have not been conducive to my
-natural vanity. We both meant what we said, I fancy."
-
-"Yes," said Meg bravely. "I did mean it. I meant every word. And you
-swore that nothing should ever tempt you to try to help me again, and
-_you_ meant it. And yet I ask you. Give me the diamonds now, for they
-are the price of his life. Nothing that I could say if I begged on my
-knees, though I will do that if you like, could be stronger than this. I
-do remember, and yet I ask you."
-
-He turned his head away, not caring to look at her. Was this Margaret?
-Ah, yes! No other woman could so have moved him--"I remember--and yet I
-ask you--_even_ you," was what she meant; she was proud even in her
-self-abasement.
-
-"You will?" she said.
-
-"No!" he answered gravely. "I am sorry. I warned you not to ask me. One
-can't say such a 'no' so that it does not give pain, or I would. I don't
-want to be more of a brute to you than I need. I would say it gently if
-I could--but I cannot--I mean I will not--give you that."
-
-He twisted his eyeglass cord rapidly round his finger, as she remembered
-his doing of old, when he was a trifle excited in an argument. Then he
-made a mistake. He should have left his refusal there; but he did not;
-he began to justify himself; he could not bear that she should think him
-worse than he was.
-
-"I should like to say that it is not because of what passed between us
-outside the governor's house that I refuse your request now," he said.
-"I am _not_ quite mean enough to revenge myself on you for that--I
-should not have given the diamonds up in any case."
-
-"Why not?" said Meg.
-
-He shrugged his shoulders again.
-
-"Because _I_ am not quixotic," he said. "You mustn't expect a man to
-belie his nature. Look here, Mrs. Thorpe. You always knew me to be a
-fellow with what you and your father called 'low aims,' didn't you?
-That was what you didn't like about me years ago. Oh, you never said so;
-and you were too good to despise any one; but you thought me on a
-different level; and I lost you; and Barnabas Thorpe married you. Very
-well! I had no right to complain; but, then, you mustn't expect _me_ to
-be high-minded now."
-
-"If I offended you then----" began Meg in a low voice; but he stopped
-her.
-
-"No, no. I don't mean that. I wasn't offended. Don't think I am saying
-this out of spite. I am _not_. I am only explaining. You were perfectly
-right, you judged me truly enough. I don't go in for being generous. I
-never give something for less than nothing. Naturally we both know that
-if I give you your locket I give you the case;--that is what you mean,
-isn't it?" He paused a moment, and Meg bowed her head.
-
-"And some men, your father among them, would have let a man who had
-injured them go for the sake of the woman they--who asked them. I
-acknowledge that; but I am not of that kind. I have never even pretended
-to be. You have always understood that before so well," said George a
-little bitterly, "that you ought in fairness to understand it now."
-
-"But Barnabas never injured you," said Meg, with a feminine begging of
-the point that brought an unmirthful smile to George's lips.
-
-It was a hard fate that would not allow him to strike his enemy without
-wounding her. He hated this scene, and he hated his own weakness in
-hating it.
-
-"You told me that you believed me; and indeed you must know that I am
-speaking the truth," she cried earnestly, with that instinctive feeling,
-that we most of us have, of the overpowering force of any fact that we
-thoroughly believe. "Barnabas could never strike a blow from behind. If
-you don't know that yourself, believe me for I do know him. Do you think
-I should be here now if I thought him guilty?"
-
-"I have implicit faith in your word, which is more than I'd say of most
-men or of any other woman of my acquaintance," said George. "Since you
-say so, I am certain that you believe him innocent. I don't think that
-you could lie in any circumstances, certainly not well enough to carry
-conviction; but--I might say, consequently--you must pardon me if I
-can't pretend to equal faith in your judgment."
-
-"My judgment is often wrong," she cried. "And yet, for that very reason,
-you may believe when I say I know him. Who do you think has ever had
-such cause to know him as I have had? I, who was his wife in name before
-I understood what love and marriage meant; who threw up everything at
-his bidding, and lived to recognise that he was not infallible?"
-
-And George was silent. The boldness of this avowal surprised him. Meg,
-from their first acquaintance, had surprised him at times.
-
-"We made a mistake," she said. "If Barnabas had been one shade less than
-utterly honest, it would have been an irretrievable mistake." She was
-thinking of a past despair, of which this man knew nothing, of black
-depths of water and a wind-swept marsh, and the thought gave her
-strength now. "You think that I believe in the preacher because I love
-him? It is not so, for I did _not_ love him. I know that he is honest.
-What do you suppose would have become of me if he had not been good?"
-she cried with a shudder. "Should not _I_ have had cause enough to know
-that?"
-
-And Mr. Sauls felt the force of that shudder.
-
-"I allow it," he said. "You certainly ought to know. We'll grant the
-preacher honest, if you like;--that is honest according to the gospel of
-Barnabas Thorpe, which quite passes my humble understanding. Apparently
-you comprehend it. I'll take it on trust that he never steals diamonds,
-though he stole a wife; and that he could possibly explain everything,
-if his very remarkable code of morality did not include the sheltering
-of criminals. I'll grant you all that,--but it makes no difference. Let
-him carry out his own principles; far be it from me to prevent him this
-time. I would have prevented him once, but I was too late."
-
-His voice lost self-restraint, and sounded momentarily hoarse and
-fierce; then he regained his coolness.
-
-"You are a little illogical," he said. "All that you advance may be
-absolutely true, Mrs. Thorpe; but it is no reason at all why I should
-suppress evidence, and give you the diamonds. His innocence is his own
-affair--not mine."
-
-"Do you expect a woman to be logical when her husband is in danger of
-being hanged?" said Meg. She was trying to speak quietly, but the
-terrible strain was telling on her.
-
-"Well, no--I seldom expect it in any circumstances," he answered; and
-then was ashamed of his words; they sounded like a taunt. "It is more
-than flesh and blood can stand!" he said suddenly. "You should not have
-come, Margaret! Don't you know that no one can bear to hear the woman he
-loves beg for the man who has----"
-
-"Whom she loves!" cried Meg. "Give me his life! If you know what love
-means, give it to me! I know that you hate him! I know now that you hate
-him because he married me,--but _I_ love him so. For him? No, I am not
-begging for him. Do you think that Barnabas would have let me come here
-to ask favours of you? I think he would rather have been hanged. He
-shall never know this. I am begging nothing for him. Death must mean
-gain for him--but for me! Ah, think of it, think of it! for I hardly
-dare to. Will you leave me desolate, whom you say you love? I could face
-death; but life without him is so terrible. If I must bear it, I must,"
-said Meg drawing herself up. "Other women have seen their husbands die,
-and have lived, and so can I--but----" and her voice broke. "Ah, save me
-from it!" she cried; "you who say you love me. This is more than my own
-life to me (_that_ I would never beg for). For my sake, for my sake give
-me this thing, because _I_ ask it of you."
-
-"Because you ask it of me!" said George.
-
-He stared at her, repeating her words almost stupidly. The agony of her
-entreaty, the sight of her love, fully awake at last, moved him, he
-hardly knew himself whether most strongly to jealousy or love.
-
-So she was transformed! Well, he had always known it possible, always
-felt that there was fire behind her ice! Indeed, it was that possibility
-of passion under her cold pure ideality that had attracted George
-always. But it was not he, it was Barnabas Thorpe who had awakened it.
-
-"Do _you_ believe that the preacher hasn't injured me?" he cried, with a
-hot bitterness in his heart. "Oh, yes; he has won, all the way round."
-
-He walked to his desk, unlocked it, and held out the diamonds. "You
-shall have what you ask," he said; "because _you_ ask it; but never tell
-any one, Mrs. Thorpe, for I am ashamed of being such a fool."
-
-Then, as she gave a little cry of joy, his fingers closed again on the
-locket.
-
-"Margaret, Margaret! is his life worth a kiss?" he said. "You shall give
-me that for it. Ah, God! What a brute I am!" as she shrank back
-terrified. "There, take it--and go--go quickly." He threw the locket on
-the table, and turned his back on her. "It may as well still be
-something for nothing; for, where you are concerned, it always has
-been," he said. "No; don't stop to thank me. You'd better not. The
-blessedness of giving isn't at all in my line, you know, and if you stay
-I shall repent."
-
-And Meg went quickly, with the diamonds in her hand.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-The trial ended on the Monday; but the last act of the drama was not so
-dramatic as had been expected. A rumour had, somehow, got about as to
-the finding of the jewels. It had been whispered that George Sauls was
-going to enter the witness box again, and startle every one with a grand
-_coup de théâtre_. But nothing of the sort happened. No additional
-evidence was forthcoming. The judge, in summing up, pointed to the fact
-of the prosecutor's pockets having been rifled, as indicating that
-greed, rather than vengeance, had prompted the crime. The prisoner's
-character for probity was unimpeachable. The doctor's evidence showed
-that the blow had been given by a sharp-edged instrument. The prisoner
-had had nothing in his hand when he encountered Mr. Sauls on the marsh
-by the pool. It had been said that the accused was of a naturally
-passionate disposition, and that a "violent impulse" might have assailed
-him, such as had possessed him sixteen years before in the churchyard;
-but, apparently, he had shown considerable self-control in the interview
-that had been described. If he was guilty, he was guilty of a
-deliberate and premeditated assault, and the weapon with which the
-assault was committed must have been concealed about his person when he
-came up to the prosecutor. It was a crime apparently at variance with
-the whole tenor of his life. It was _not_ the sudden yielding to
-temptation of a passionate and sorely provoked man, but a cowardly and
-cunningly planned attempt at murder. If Barnabas Thorpe was not guilty
-the case remained shrouded in mystery. There was absolutely no clue to
-guide to the discovery of the offender.
-
-The jury were absent half an hour, and returned a verdict for the
-prisoner. The diamonds that George Sauls had been robbed of were resting
-safely on Margaret Thorpe's neck, and she kept pressing her hand over
-them during the judge's summing up. She had not dared to leave them
-behind her. George Sauls guessed where they were, and laughed rather
-sardonically to himself as he reflected that "the clue" was not far off.
-
-Well! he gave the "case" as well as the diamonds. He had given Meg a
-good deal from first to last; and, though he wasn't aware of the fact,
-he was no loser, seeing that no man can give of his best and yet receive
-nothing.
-
-Barnabas Thorpe looked immensely surprised when he found himself free.
-"Do ye mean to say that that's all?" he said. "That I may go where I
-like? Hasn't Mr. Sauls any more to say? But I know he has."
-
-He did not seem to realise his liberty, even when Tom seized him by the
-shoulders.
-
-"I believe he's disappointed! I never saw a fellow so determined to be
-hanged! Never mind, you may come to it yet, Thorpe," said the doctor,
-who had fairly shouted over the verdict.
-
-"I am more heartily glad than I can say," said Mr. Bagshotte, wringing
-his hand; "but I should like to see an action for damages brought
-against Mr. Sauls."
-
-"We'll gi'e him what for, if ever he shows his black face in our part
-again," said Long John. "The man as tried afore didn't do the job
-properly."
-
-"What did he mean? Was he lying?" said Barnabas.
-
-"Was he?" said Tom scornfully. "Why, man, ye know he was!" He looked
-rather anxiously at his brother, half fearing that the captivity and
-hard usage had touched his brain.
-
-"Where's Margaret?" said Barnabas.
-
-"Waiting for 'ee by the door."
-
-"No, I couldn't wait; I'm here," said Meg behind him. "Barnabas, let us
-go home."
-
-"Ye'd no business to come into the court again. She turned faint at th'
-end, when there wasn't any more need to," said Tom. "Well, ye'd ha'
-gi'en us a pretty time of it, lad! Come along, Margaret, ye are as white
-as a sheet still."
-
-But Barnabas turned quickly to her. "I'll take care of my lass, if I am
-really free," he said.
-
-"Let them go together," said the doctor. "Then he'll take it in."
-
-"The blackguards! I'd like to throw 'em all into Newgate for three
-months wi'out trial," said Tom between his teeth. But whether he meant
-judge, jury or Mr. Sauls remained uncertain.
-
-When the preacher and Meg left the court together, there was a mingled
-sound of hissing and cheering. The cheering predominated then, for his
-own friends were in force; of the hissing he heard more later.
-
-The snowy east wind cut like a knife, blowing in their faces as they
-came out of the crowded court. Barnabas felt the flakes on his lips, and
-smiled and drew a deep breath. "How good the snow tastes!" he said.
-"But draw your hood well over your head, lass. Ay, now I know I am
-free."
-
-They supped together in Tom's room later; Tom inveighing against the
-dirtiness, darkness, wickedness and manifold horrors of London, and
-swearing that he owed his brother "som'ut for dragging him up; he'd
-never ha' come without he'd been obliged;" but breaking off occasionally
-into bursts of hilarity, tempered again by the sight of the change in
-Barnabas;--Barnabas very silent, finding it still somewhat startling to
-be met by liberty and love, when he had made up his mind to accept
-imprisonment, and probably death--Meg sitting between them, too thankful
-for many words.
-
-"I wonder now how Mr. Sauls is feelin'--pretty small I hope," said Tom.
-
-"I doan't understand it," said Barnabas. "He told me i' the prison that
-he had evidence as would ha' proved me guilty."
-
-It was a sign of how thoroughly the brothers knew each other that he had
-never considered it necessary to assert his innocence to Tom.
-
-"The deuce he did!" said Tom. "He's found it not so easy as he thought,
-then. If ever that gentleman gets his deserts, may I be there! Your wife
-'ud look t'other way out o' her sense o' duty,--but she'd _want_ to clap
-her hands; she allowed as much as that."
-
-"Not now," said Meg quickly. "You don't know, Tom. No one ever knows
-exactly what another man's deserts are." She coloured, fearing to betray
-what she had promised to keep secret; and Tom laughed.
-
-"Ye may well blush when ye turn devil's advocate," he remarked. "I
-wonder ye dare stand up for him; only ye've allus got Barnabas to back
-ye now. Ye weren't so charitably disposed on Saturday," pursued Tom,
-looking rather hard at her.
-
-"Eh, my lass!" said Barnabas. "Did Tom bully ye so that ye didn't dare
-say what ye liked when I wasn't by?"
-
-He smiled, and Meg laughed, relieved at the change of subject. "Yes,"
-she said; "Tom beat me with a poker and threw boots at me--whenever he
-had the chance!"
-
-"That's why she's glad to see ye," said Tom coolly. "She's larnt as a
-husband may be useful--she missed ye on occasions."
-
-"No, I didn't," said Meg. "When one wants any one much, one doesn't want
-him 'on occasions'; one wants him every time one draws one's breath."
-
-"Well, he ain't much to boast on, now ye've got him," said Tom. "I say,
-lad, come back wi' me to-morrow, and shake the dust o' this ant-hill off
-your feet and pick up your flesh again. Ye'd do to scare the crows at
-present!"
-
-"I'll get all right again. I'm tougher than ye think," said the
-preacher. "But I wouldn't be able to do farm work for a bit, and I ain't
-goin' to live on dad--no, not for a day. It's natural like that he
-shouldn't ha' been sure o' me, for he never did think much o' me.
-Happen, if I'd been hanged, he'd ha' thought I desarved it; but I'll not
-take help from him."
-
-"Did not your father believe in you?" cried Meg. "Oh, Barnabas, I can
-never understand it--he is so good to me always."
-
-"So he is," said the preacher. "I'm beholden to dad for that anyway."
-
-After supper, when the two men sat together, Tom recurred to that
-subject.
-
-"It's a shame, lad!" he said gravely. "Dad's been down on you all your
-life; but it's just the queer twist in his mind; I doan't know as he can
-rightly help it. Times when ye were a lad, I've thought if I could stand
-up for ye more; but ye were allus strong enough to stand by yoursel',
-and he ain't. It's odd how he turns the best side to your wife; she's
-never even seen him at his worst."
-
-"Poor old dad!" said Barnabas. The firelight played on the brothers'
-faces, both strongly marked, both bearing the impress of hard lives. The
-queer strain in the father's character had not turned to weakness in the
-sons; but, probably, there were traces of it in them too.
-
-"Poor old dad! he sartainly couldn't abide me as a boy, but o' late
-years I fancied he'd come round quite wonderful. Ye've been right to
-stick by him; but I fancy there'll be a good many his way o' thinkin'.
-I'm _not_ fairly cleared, Tom."
-
-"There's more nor I can feel the bottom to," said Tom; "but ye'll live
-it down."
-
-"Ay, I'll do that, an' I'll live it down here," said the preacher.
-"Giles 'ull be glad to ha' me back; an' I can keep a roof over
-Margaret's head an' to spare at that trade; and do my special work as
-well."
-
-"Do 'ee think your preaching 'ull go down after this?" asked Tom
-bluntly. "Happen they'll refuse to listen to ye."
-
-"Very like," said Barnabas; "but if one won't be silent, one 'ull be
-heard--i' th' end. I larnt _that_ in Newgate."
-
-Tom nodded with rather a grim smile. How far he sympathised with his
-brother's religious views he never said; but he had long ago given up
-opposing them.
-
-"An' your wife 'ull bide with ye?"
-
-"She'll do as she likes," said the preacher; "but I've small doubt which
-that 'ull be." And Tom shot a quick glance at his brother, as he
-knocked the ashes out of his pipe.
-
-"Oh, ay, ye've won her at last," he said. "It's ta'en a near sight o'
-the gallows to make her like ye, lad; but I fancy it 'ud take a deal
-more nor that to kill the liking. She's not the soart as 'ull be any
-trouble to keep. She'll hold to 'ee now through thick and thin; but,--ye
-might mind, times, that the ways ye walk _are_ rough to a woman's feet;
-in especial one as was born i' cambric sheets. She'll never remind ye o'
-that; doan't 'ee quite forget it."
-
-"I doan't," said the preacher. "But the ways must be stiff that lead
-uphill;" and Tom, looking at his brother's whitened hair and bowed
-shoulders, was silent.
-
-Barnabas' wife was not likely to have an easy time of it; but, after
-all, there are a good many things that are more worth living for than
-easy times. He went back to the farm the next day, carrying with him a
-small packet, which Meg had charged him to throw unopened into the
-bottomless depths of the Pixies' Pond. It was not safe for her to keep
-it, for more reasons than one; and she felt no pang at parting with it.
-She had flung away more than diamonds for Barnabas! Tom asked no
-questions, and accepted and carried out the commission with no comments.
-If he guessed anything, he kept a still tongue on the subject. Barnabas'
-wife trusted him utterly, and neither he nor the pixies betrayed the
-trust. This time the diamonds did _not_ return.
-
-Timothy never confessed. After a time, he reappeared, limping ragged and
-foot-sore over the marshes to his mother's hut, looking over his
-shoulder as he shambled along. He was nearly starved and very thin, and
-weak and dirty. His mother received him with unbounded joy. He did not
-tell her where he had been; only vouchsafed the information that "the
-preacher had 'lain' the fellow, else he could never have come back".
-
-No one connected him with the attempted murder of Mr. Sauls, but he was
-less mischievous and less restless than of old. He never understood that
-Barnabas Thorpe had nearly been hanged in his stead; but he had
-certainly lost his hatred of the preacher, and even, oddly enough,
-showed some rudimentary signs of a conscience. Barnabas would possibly
-have counted that in itself worth going to prison for; and, that being
-so, Barnabas was hardly, perhaps, to be pitied, though the cloud on his
-name was never cleared, and though there were always some, generally
-those who had not fallen under his personal influence, who considered
-him more knave than fool.
-
-He never betrayed that confession, and the consequences that followed
-his hearing it did not make him one whit more cautious; but, to the end
-of his days, he felt "'shamed" when he reflected on his own
-"cowardliness" in the prison. He believed he might have done more for
-his Master, if he had not been weighed down during the whole of one
-afternoon by a most despicable and self-seeking weakness. His devotion
-to the miserable, his deep sympathy with the fallen, were the greater
-for that recollection.
-
-It must be owned that from the moment he was certain that he possessed
-Meg's heart, his hatred of George Sauls ceased to trouble him; that
-knowledge exorcised _that_ devil more effectually than all his prayers
-and fastings,--a fact which he put down to his want of faith, but which
-would rather have amused the doctor; though it is doubtful whether
-either Dr. Merrill or Barnabas Thorpe had arrived at an entirely just
-conclusion about the universe in general, and themselves in particular.
-
-Both being honest men in their way, perhaps both had got hold of a
-splinter of the truth. Perhaps there will be a general piecing one day,
-when each generation and even individual will bring the precious
-fragment he has practically believed in, to the "saving of his
-soul"--materialist and mystic alike!
-
-The last chapter of the story necessarily inclines one to end one's
-sentences with a query, seeing that an ending must always mean a fresh
-beginning somehow and somewhere.
-
-The preacher and Margaret moved into the rooms over Giles' shop. He
-recovered his health to a certain extent; for his constitution, like his
-will, took a great deal of breaking. His horror of living in a city was
-lost in his growing desire to fight against the evil of it.
-Nevertheless, he meant to take a holiday and see the country he loved,
-when he should be no longer needed. I do not know when that day
-dawned;--possibly when his body was in its coffin; but one would not
-like to be sure even of that, for the rest of Heaven must surely mean to
-such strenuous souls as his, but "increased service".
-
-His mistakes, at any rate, we may hope are over now; his battles fought,
-his besetting sins burnt away in that fire of the Lord in whom he
-believed. He followed the light, when he saw it, to the best of his
-ability, and he fell into bogs and ditches! Was the light therefore a
-delusion? Was his zeal wasted? I trow not. Our martyrs are troublesome
-people, troublesome both to themselves and to their generation. They see
-through curiously coloured glasses, they have a huge capability for
-tilting at windmills, and tumbling into pitfalls. They spill their own
-blood freely, and occasionally their brothers' as well; and yet,
-clinging to their ideal at all costs and to the uttermost, they are
-still saving salt in the world, witnesses of something that is worth
-suffering, worth dying--worth even living for. That noble army is drawn
-from every nation, and its members are of every creed. They are
-sometimes, alas! persecutors as well as persecuted; but in one point
-they are alike: their lives and actions preach the gospel of endurance
-and courage. They lift anew symbols of sacrifice, and so draw men's
-hearts after them.
-
-George Sauls never met Meg again after the interview which lost him the
-case. She considered herself under an everlasting debt of gratitude to
-him; but it was a debt which, unfortunately, could never be cancelled.
-Gratitude, like friendship, was "not what he wanted". She never did full
-justice to the nature that was so unlike her own; but then "justice" is
-a rather rare commodity.
-
-"I didn't know that I had it in me to be such a soft idiot," he said to
-his mother curtly, when he had told her that the preacher had been
-acquitted and that she must forget that dream they had had about the
-finding of diamonds.
-
-Mrs. Sauls looked at him, with the rare tears standing in her eyes. "My
-dear, the world would have been a worse place for me anyhow, if you had
-not had any soft spot in your heart," she said.
-
-"Oh d----n my heart! One should be made without one," said George.
-
-And the old lady laughed and shook her head. "It's too good to be
-damned, my son." And, to herself she added: "And two women can swear to
-that who've good cause to know".
-
-Of her own blood relations Meg saw little in the years that followed.
-Her life and theirs were too wide apart for it to be practicable for her
-to hold both to them and to her husband. Some women might, perhaps, have
-managed to cling to both; but Meg was not capable of a divided
-allegiance. She lived and worked for and with Barnabas, giving her
-strength and heart and soul as entirely and ungrudgingly as ever woman
-gave, and finding her happiness in the giving. No doubt she found sorrow
-too, seeing that increased capabilities of joy mean also increased
-capabilities of grief; but, after all, roses are worth their thorns even
-in this world.
-
-On the evening of the day following the trial she stood beside the
-preacher at the window of their room in Stepney. The sun was going down
-like a red ball, sinking slowly behind the many twisted chimney-pots.
-Meg looked out on the murky yellow haze, and the crowded street, and in
-her heart was a great thankfulness.
-
-"I've been thinkin' ower som'ut that Tom said last night. Would ye as
-lief bide wi' my father a bit till I ha' got things straighter for ye?"
-said Barnabas.
-
-Meg shook her head. "No, I wouldn't. What has Tom been saying?"
-
-"That my ways are rough for your feet; for that, when all's said and
-done, ye come of a different kind. _Are_ ye quite content now, Margaret?
-Ye told me once that we had made a mistake."
-
-Margaret turned to him with a smile that was answer enough. "Contentment
-is hardly the right state of mind for your wife, is it?" she said. The
-wistful tenderness in her face deepened. "_You_ will never rest
-contented while there is a single 'unawakened' person left. I am more
-than contented now; though I am not so hopeful as you are. Only keep me
-very close to you, please, if your way is rough."
-
-"What a sight o' houses, an' full--full to the cellars!" said the
-preacher. Meg knew what he was thinking when she saw his nostrils dilate
-and his eyes brighten like those of an old war horse when he hears the
-sound of a drum.
-
-"To-morrow," cried Barnabas, "to-morrow I'll begin again. These last
-months have gi'en me a lesson. Ay, they've taught me I am too ready by
-times to serve two masters; that I've thought a deal too much o' my
-bodily life."
-
-And his wife sighed under cover of her smile. That moral was perhaps
-hardly the one that most people would have drawn from late events. But a
-man sees what he has eyes to see, and that only!
-
-"Barnabas," she said, "do you think from the bottom of your heart that
-your mistakes in life have generally arisen from a time-serving
-backwardness, from over-prudence and cowardliness?"
-
-After a moment's silence, he answered, with reddening cheek:--
-
-"Ay, lass; those ha' been my sins; I'd not call 'em mistakes. Mistakes
-one's bound to make, but they doan't matter. So long as a man follows
-the light as he sees it, he's bound to near it in time, and naught else
-is worth th' counting; but an' he holds back for fear o' mishaps, and is
-neither hot nor cold, phew!--the devil himsel' might be 'shamed o' that
-soart. Happen it takes all hell to warm some into life! For the rest, of
-course one must pay for blunders; it's a child's part to cry over that.
-We are apt to make a deal too much fuss about suffering, though we call
-ourselves the servants o' Him who chose it."
-
-He frowned, looking over the housetops with eyes that saw the inside of
-Newgate and Jack dying.
-
-"As a man sows, he reaps," he said. "An' there ain't no such thing as
-escaping payment. One sees that payment in the hospitals and the streets
-and the prisons. But it's a just law; and a remission of it 'ud mean
-death, not life. There is none, I fancy, lass, unless the Lord ceases to
-be merciful."
-
-"Ah," said Meg, "I never know whether I think your creed most stern or
-most merciful, Barnabas; but, if there is no such thing as escaping
-payment, then what does the Cross mean?"
-
-"It saves us from our sins!" said the preacher. "The devil tempts us to
-be cowards through our lusts, through our love o' ease; His Cross is the
-overcoming o' the fear o' suffering, the banner o' Him who chose and
-conquered pain."
-
-And she laid her head on his shoulder as they stood together, hoping in
-her heart that her womanly fears for him might be forgiven, seeing that
-they could never hold him back. "Ah, you may be right," she said. "At
-any rate yours is a brave creed, and one fit for a man who loves
-fighting. But I shall never rise to thinking that 'nothing else matters'
-so long as one is following the light. Barnabas, that is beyond me! I
-could pretend I did not mind being hurt," said Meg; "but at the bottom
-of my soul I should know it was a pretence. I can't understand that!"
-
-"_You_ can't understan' that?" said the man; and he drew her closer to
-him. "Sweetheart, who was it that said that if she stood with me on the
-scaffold there would be no such thing as shame for her? That she would
-find it easy if she might die with me? Was that a pretence?"
-
-"No, no. It was truer than anything else," cried Meg. "But that was for
-you, and any woman would have felt that if she cared for you. Why, there
-is not a poor creature who haunts Newgate but would understand _that_.
-It is so simple! A sacrifice is no pain when it is for the person one
-loves. It ceases to be a sacrifice. One doesn't 'count' it."
-
-"I see," said the preacher. "So any woman finds that simple, eh?" He
-looked at the woman by his side, _his_ truly now, and there crept over
-his face that tender reverence which a good man gives so freely, and
-which always half shamed, half touched Margaret.
-
-"Help me, lass," he said; "that _I_ may find it simple too. I am cold at
-times. I doan't allus practise what I believe. I am a terrible coward,
-Margaret. Help me, that the fire o' th' Lord may be kindled afresh in
-me, to the savin' o' many!"
-
-"I think it will be," said Meg, her own eyes kindling. "Oh, Barnabas, it
-is a difficult world; but, at least, you never tell one to be satisfied
-with makeshifts, because there is nothing else to be had."
-
-A recollection of her girlhood was in her mind when she spoke.
-
-"God forbid!" said Barnabas Thorpe. "Shall we satisfy our souls with
-swine's food? Better go hungry than that! That creed is fit for neither
-man nor woman. It's born o' despair an' ower-softness, an' it means a
-givin' up o' th' fight, which is a shamefu' thing. Isn't it queer to
-think o' th' hundreds i' those houses? I'll preach by the river
-to-morrow. It's good to be free again! One got kind o' sick with feeling
-eyes always on one by night and day, and no place to breathe alone in."
-
-"Forget Newgate now, dear," said Meg.
-
-"No, I'll not do that," he answered. "One has no business to 'forget'
-till the day when the coming of the Lord shall set the prisoners free.
-But we'll begin afresh to-morrow, an' we'll ha' fewer doubts, an' we'll
-do more."
-
-
-THE END.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-               A FEW PRESS OPINIONS
-
-                        ON
-
-           INTO THE HIGHWAYS and HEDGES
-
-
-Academy.
-
-"This book is so admirably conceived and written that Mr. Montrésor's
-next venture must excite unusual interest."
-
-Speaker.
-
-"This book will undoubtedly rank high amongst the notable novels of
-1895."
-
-Athenæum.
-
-"Whoever wrote 'Into the Highways and Hedges' wrote no common novel. A
-touch of idealism, of nobility of thought and purpose, mingled with an
-air of reality and well-chosen expression, are the most notable features
-of a book that has not the ordinary defects of such qualities. With all
-its elevation of utterance and spirituality of outlook and insight it is
-wonderfully free from overstrained or exaggerated matter, and it has
-glimpses of humour. Most of the characters are vivid, yet there is
-restraint and sobriety in their treatment."
-
-Daily Telegraph.
-
-"This exceptionally noble and stirring book. Recounted with unflagging
-verve and vigour, we unhesitatingly say that it has hardly a dull or
-superfluous page."
-
-New Age.
-
-"A remarkably strong novel. I often thought of George Eliot when reading
-this book, which I advise every one to read." (_Katherine Tynan._)
-
-Manchester Courier.
-
-"Mr. Montrésor's next book will be eagerly awaited by all those who make
-the acquaintance of his first, for a more strikingly original or a
-stronger novel has not appeared for some time."
-
-World.
-
-"'Into the Highways and Hedges' would have been a remarkable work of
-fiction at any time; it is phenomenal at this, for it is neither
-trivial, eccentric, coarse, nor pretentious, but the opposite of all
-these, and a very fine and lofty conception. The man is wonderfully
-drawn, realised with a masterly completeness, and the woman is worthy of
-him. The whole of the story is admirably conceived and sustained. A
-wonderful book."
-
-Glasgow Herald.
-
-"This is a remarkable and powerful book, which is likely to leave a
-strong impression of itself upon every intelligent reader. One of the
-most interesting novels that one has seen for some time."
-
-Manchester Guardian.
-
-"The characters are conceived strongly. Since the days of Dinah Morris
-there has not, perhaps, been quite so successful a portrait of a man or
-woman consumed by the passion of humanity. The dialogue throughout the
-book is excellent."
-
-
-
-
-
-End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Into the Highways and Hedges, by 
-F. F. Montrésor (Frances Frederica)
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