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diff --git a/40594-8.txt b/40594-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 800f57d..0000000 --- a/40594-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,15514 +0,0 @@ -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 - - - - - - - - - - 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. 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