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diff --git a/41422-0.txt b/41422-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3eb1449 --- /dev/null +++ b/41422-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9864 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41422 *** + + BARBARA LYNN + + A TALE OF THE DALES AND FELLS + + BY EMILY JENKINSON + + AUTHOR OF "SILVERWOOL," "THE SOUL OF UNREST." + + + "An enduring soul have the Fates given unto men."--_ILIAD._ + + + LONDON + EDWARD ARNOLD + 1914 + + [_All Rights Reserved_] + + + + +CONTENTS + + + + PART I + + I. THE LONELY STEADING IN THE DALE 3 + + II. THE SISTERS 15 + + III. PETER FLEMING 32 + + IV. THE SHIELD OF ACHILLES 48 + + V. THE WAKING OF THE HOLY WELL 62 + + VI. JOEL'S DARKNESS 77 + + VII. MIDNIGHT 93 + + VIII. JOEL GOES AWAY 107 + + IX. PETER AT OXFORD 117 + + X. KETEL'S PARLOUR 127 + + XI. THE BACK-END 139 + + XII. SIX WHITE HORSES AND A COACH 152 + + XIII. JOEL TAKES THE LONG TRAIL 165 + + + PART II + + XIV. BARBARA AND PETER 175 + + XV. MORNING AT THE SHEPHERDS' MEET 191 + + XVI. JOEL'S RETURN TO THE DALE 202 + + XVII. THE WRESTLING MATCH 214 + + XVIII. BY THE CRESSET'S LIGHT 225 + + XIX. THE SHEPHERD'S REST 237 + + XX. THE SPELL OF THUNDERGAY 248 + + XXI. THE CALL 257 + + XXII. THE TRYST AT GIRDLESTONE PASS 266 + + XXIII. A PATHWAY OF FIRE 277 + + XXIV. WINTER 287 + + XXV. BARBARA COUNTS THE GOLD 297 + + EPILOGUE 309 + + + + +BARBARA LYNN + + + + +PART I + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE LONELY STEADING IN THE DALE + + +Barbara Lynn looked up the dale. + +Thundergay glimmered through the green twilight with his hoary head +under the Pole star, and his feet in the wan waters of a tarn. His +breath was the North wind. + +Barbara put up the shutters and turned to an old woman, who was propped +against the pillows of a four-post bed. It stood in the full light of a +turf fire, and looked like a ship with its sails furled. + +"I'll bid you good-night and good rest, great-granny," said the girl. + +The old woman was watching her with keen eyes--eyes so bright that they +glittered under her shaggy brows. + +"Do you ever waken o' nights?" she asked. + +Barbara laughed and shook her head. + +"Nay, I sleep from dark to dawn. But I'd hear you, great-granny, if you +called. I've ears like a mountain hare." + +"Aye, aye, rest's for the young, restlessness for the old. I lie awake +thinking o' the days gone by. But you've no memories worth minding yet, +my lass. Wait till you're my age--ninety-six come Michaelmas." + +Barbara placed a lighted candle on the bridewain close to the bed, and +stood for a moment looking down at the eagle-eyed old woman. + +The Potter had made the new vessel after the pattern of the old, but the +spirit of life which each held was different. The girl and her +great-grandmother had the same wide brows, the same well-chiselled nose, +and their eyes were blue. Barbara was tall beyond the usual height of +her sex, and she carried her body with the grace of one accustomed to +stand on giddy heights and climb perilous places. Her head was finely +moulded, and in proportion to her form. Peter Fleming, the miller's son, +studying classics at Oxford, called her Athene, and said that a glance +into her blue eyes, gave strength to his shoulders and courage to his +heart. So had the old woman in the four-poster looked eighty years ago. + +But though the eyes of both were blue, Barbara's were as mild and +meditative, as Mistress Annas Lynn's were hard. They scanned each other +narrowly. The marked difference as well as resemblance between them +seemed to strike the old woman, for she suddenly said: + +"You take after me in looks, lass, though your father and his father +were the spitten picture of your great-grandfather, and Lucy favours +them. But you are no more like me in temper than the beck in spate is +like the same beck on a calm summer's morning. At your age I had kenned +the bride-bed, and the birth-bed, and o' but kenned the death-bed. But +you're still a bairn, puzzling over your letters." + +There was pride and scorn in her voice. + +"It's true, great-granny," replied Barbara, who was slow of tongue. "I's +mazed-like at the world." + +"Hoots-toots," said the old woman testily. "There's nowt to maze thee. +Take what's sent and make the best on it. Life was made to be lived, not +questioned. And it's worth living. I tell thee so, Barbara, and thee can +take my word for it--I's that old. Whiles it turns your mouth awry, but +the sweet and the sour are fairly mixed. Lucy's learnt that much--I know +by the light in her eye. She'll get more of real life out of one night, +larking with the lads in Cringel Forest, than you out of a hundred +nights star-gazing on Thundergay." + +"M'appen you're right," answered the girl, "but who would see to the +farm, the sheep, and the lambs, and the kye, if I spent my time larking +with the lads?" + +Mistress Lynn's expression changed quickly. A crafty look displaced the +open scorn of her eyes. + +"Aye, aye, keep to the sheep-paths, Barbara. Keep to the sheep-paths and +your star-gazing. See thou keep to the sheep-paths, great-granddaughter. +They're safer for a young lass than Cringel Forest. Get thee gone now. +It's time you were in bed. The dawn comes earlier every day." + +"Earlier still I'll have to be up," replied Barbara, giving the old +woman good-night. + +"God bless thee, Barbara, thee's a good lass, although I do get my knife +into thee whiles. Sleep well." + +The girl drew the blue and white homespun curtains round the bed, put +out the candle and went away. The wooden soles of her clogs rang with a +measured sound upon the stone stairs and then across the rafters +overhead. After that there was silence save for the chatter of the beck, +running by the door. Its voice had an insistent, familiar tone, as +though it were talking to someone within. No movement came from old +Mistress Lynn. Either she was asleep, or she busied her mind with +thoughts of other days. For a long time the room was in darkness. Then +the turf on the fire slipped, the light leaped forth, and the +four-poster glided out of shadow like a ship in full sail. The curtains +were noiselessly drawn back, and a long, lean hand relit the candle. + +Mistress Lynn looked slowly and searchingly about her. She left no dim +corner unscanned, and there were many dim corners in the great kitchen, +for it ran the length of the front part of the house. + +It was a low room with a flagged and sanded floor. The walls were +white-washed, making a fine contrast to the beams overhead, and the +doors of the carved oak cupboards, all alike, black with age. Along one +side ran three windows. The hearth was a slab of blue slate, and, as the +chimney flue descended no further into the room than the ceiling, the +fire made a great show on occasions, with its flames and smoke; as +though one end of the house were burning from floor to rafters. A bar of +wood, called the rannel-balk, spanned the fireplace, and from it +depended the rattan-crook, a long hook on which the kettle hung. There +was a carved oak settle in the ingle, and near it a spinning wheel; and +under the windows a narrow but heavy table with all its corners sharp +but one, which was rounded off in a curious manner following the shape +of the solid tree trunk from which it had been made. Against the +opposite wall stood a dresser, holding a varied array of wooden and +pewter platters, piggins for drinking out of, and two or three china +cups. Next to it came the bridewain, and then the great bed. Between the +windows was the door, bound with iron, studded with large nails, and +bolted by two massive iron bolts. Another door at the far end led into a +little passage, which gave access to the wool-barn, cow-house and dairy, +all at the back of the building. In the chimney, curing in the smoke, +hung flitches of bacon and a sheep by the heels. Upon the shelves along +the walls were hammers and lanterns, pattens for horses to wear in snowy +weather, sticks and staves and an old gun. An oak cupboard, with +Mistress Lynn's initials carved upon it, held the oat-cake, and a kist, +near the fire, held meal. + +But the principal feature of the place was the four-post bed, with its +curtains of blue and white homespun, so placed that it commanded a full +view of the room. Nothing could happen there unseen by the old woman. + +Shadows shot up and sank with the flickering light. The clock peered +down like a white-faced watcher, the dresser and the high-backed chairs +were endowed with movement if not with life. Mistress Lynn laid her +fingers upon the bridewain, as though she would reassure herself that +it, too, was not a fantastic creation of firelight and shadow, but the +solid piece of oak which she had brought with her to this house of +Greystones, when she married David Lynn four generations ago. + +She listened for any sound in the sleeping house. But all was quiet. No +stealthy steps crossed the rafters overhead, where Barbara and Lucy +slept. The windows were shuttered and the doors were closed. Jan Straw, +the shepherd, grown old and blind and deaf in her service, had a bed +along with the hind above the cow-house. There was none to spy upon her, +save the shadows and the firelight, and the bob-tailed sheep-dog, lying +with his nose between his paws, dreaming of the flocks upon Thundergay. + +Mistress Lynn moved the candle nearer to her, and, taking from its +hiding-place in the bed a large iron key, she leaned over and unlocked +the middle cupboard of the bridewain. + +The light was full upon her face, revealing the fine network of lines +about mouth and eyes, the parchment-like texture of the skin, and the +whiteness of the hair, that escaped from under her frilled nightcap. +Hers was a face bearing the imprint of age in every lineament, and of an +abiding craftiness, which all the greatness of her nature had not +managed to efface. + +The bridewain was apparently stocked with carded wool. This she pushed +aside, however, and drawing out a bundle of silver spoons and a gold +locket, she laid them on the bed. She counted the spoons one by one, and +fingered the locket absently, as though the thoughts which it roused +carried her mind back to some experience long past. The expression of +her face changed from grim satisfaction to great weariness. Her lips +moved, but the words were lost in the chatter of the beck. + +When Mistress Lynn was a girl, over three-quarters of a century ago, +she had loved Joel Hart, a young gentleman of quality, whose home was +not far off, and the locket had been a gift from him. But he married +Mary Priestly, the heiress of Forest Hall, in Cringel Forest, and she +married David Lynn, of Greystones. Neither marriage was very happy. Joel +took part in the rebellion of 1745, and was shot, losing all his lands +save the old house of Forest Hall, which his descendant owned and lived +in at this time. But between the rebel's outlawry and his capture, what +memories were crowded for the village girl he had once made love to! She +had hidden him from pursuit among the wool-sacks, unknown to her dour, +loyal husband. The tale had once been a favourite one for a winter +night's telling. But now it had ceased to rouse enthusiasm in the dale. +Only to this old woman was it a vital memory. + +She turned the locket over, then she dropped it, putting such melancholy +thoughts as it drew forth resolutely away. She searched in the back of +the bridewain and brought out some bags of blue linen, each one tied +with a leather thong. They were full of money. + +It was for the winking yellow coins which she poured into her lap, that +Annas Lynn, at ninety-five, still found life worth living. She, the +relic of a past age, with son and grandsons dead, and only two young +girls left of all her kindred, whose heart had shrivelled with the death +of Joel Hart long ago, still hoped that many years would pass before she +was laid to sleep by the mouldering bones of her husband in the +kirk-garth. She was proud of her age, proud of her right to be called +great-grandmother, proud of her keen wits. She ruled the steading and +the flocks, and the ploughed lands, and the pastures with regal +authority from her bed in the kitchen. No one disputed her sway. Lucy, +younger than Barbara by a year, had been known to defy her; but she rued +her rashness in tears for many days afterwards. Neither her son, nor her +grandsons, middle-aged men when they died, had ever opposed her will. +She broke if she could not bend. + +Mistress Lynn stooped over her money-bags. She counted the coins, +letting them fall into her hand with a merry tinkle. She counted them +below her breath, as though she were afraid to utter the toll of her +wealth openly. She was a rich woman. The toil of years lay in her lap; +and Barbara's care of the lambs, Lucy's light hand with the butter, the +faithful service of old Jan Straw still added many a sovereign to the +pile. Gold! gold! it warmed the life blood that otherwise would have run +cold at the fountain. To get richer was the ambition of this old woman. +She set about compassing it with all the craft of a daughter of Jacob. + +The sheep-dog heard the faint jingle, and, getting up, came sniffing to +the bedside. He buried his nose in the quilt, causing a coin to slip +unnoticed upon the floor. Like all his kind he owed a willing obedience +to a strong hand, and though he slunk in terror from his mistress's +anger, he returned trustfully to eat the crumbs which she sometimes gave +him. + +She patted his head. + +"There's no cream-cakes hid among the blankets, Toss, my lad," she said. +"Get awa back, and take thy sleep." + +The dog returned to his bed by the fire, but the coin lay shining upon +the sheepskin beside the four-poster. She did not miss it. + +Midnight; and the hour of twelve rang out, overcoming for a brief while +the ceaseless chattering of the beck. Mistress Lynn put away her +money-bags, and relocked the bridewain. She bent her head, listening +intently, but to a clock striking twelve far back in her memory. On such +a night as this, at the same hour, she had hidden Joel Hart among the +wool-sacks, while David Lynn, goodman, slept peacefully in his bed. That +night summed up for Annas all the sweetness and bitterness of life. She +had lived then to the utmost fibre of her being. + +She drew the curtains and lay down. The four-poster once more took on +its likeness to a ship in full sail. + +But there was no rest for the old woman. She spent the night-time, as +she had foretold to her great-granddaughter, thinking of the days gone +by. During those cold, early hours, that drag so wearily for the +wakeful, she lived again through many a wild scene. Yet she longed for +sleep, and vainly tried to put the memories from her, which she would +rather cast into oblivion for ever. Hers had been an eventful life. + +She had been born and bred in this land of the dales and fells, under +the shadow of Thundergay. Her looks and actions showed the blood from +whence she came. She was a true descendant of those wild Northmen, who +had once swooped down upon that countryside, and built their homesteads +there. Tall, blue-eyed, and yellow-haired in her youth, she might have +been Unn, the Deep-minded, come to life again out of her saga. About her +breathed an air of mystery, for she was, in truth, no common woman, +either in body or in mind. + +She had married early, and made this farm of Greystones the very centre +of her own personality. Husband and children had feared rather than +loved her, and no one knew what depths of affection her nature held, +save Joel Hart, dead seventy years ago. There was a Joel Hart now living +at Forest Hall, the old house about a mile away down the dale, and upon +him had fallen a pale reflection of her love. He and Barbara were the +only beings for whom she felt any real regard, and this not for their +own sakes, but because the one bore so striking a resemblance to his +ill-fated ancestor and the other to herself. They were a reincarnation, +in appearance, of the past. + +As Mistress Lynn lay awake, she became acutely conscious of those other +days. They lived again. At one moment she was helping to bar the doors +against the last raid of the moss-troopers, while her husband shot at +them with a flint-lock from an upper window. Then, in the twinkling of +an eye, she was standing among the wool-sacks, her lantern making a +round moon of light upon the wall opposite. Even yet she could not see a +lantern's glow without the blood quickening through her veins. + +Sleep would not come to her. She tried to draw her mind away from such +scenes, and think of the quiet hills. She listened to the beck, singing +under the windows. Its voice was so clear that it seemed to be running +across the kitchen floor by her bed. But it would only sing of the past, +like a bard telling tales of the strenuous days of old. It was a lullaby +for heroes, not for a weary old woman who could not sleep. She lay, shut +in by her curtains, with her eyes fixed wide, seeing faces and hearing +voices long since gone into the spirit-world. + +Outside, the moon was shining like a new silver crown. The fells lay +white under its rays, for the snow had not yet melted from the uplands, +though primroses were beginning to peep along sheltered spots of the +beck-side. There was a touch of frost in the air, which gave a shimmer +to the sky. The roof of Greystones glistened, and the five great +sycamores, standing about the house, flung barred, black shadows across +the sheep-pens that lay at the back of the farm, surrounded with one +great wall ten feet high, built when robbers were frequent visitors. No +other steading stood in the dale. The little village of High Fold lay +two miles away, hidden by the trees of Cringel Forest. Behind Greystones +the fellside ran up at a steep angle to Mickle Crags. It was not a +cheerful place. The fell-folk said that a curse had been laid upon it, +but when, and by whom, and for what offence, no one had ever heard. Yet +many believed that the house would one day fall, or the beetling black +crags come down upon it, and then would end the family of the Lynns, who +had lived there for three hundred years. Lucy laid crossed straws on the +threshold, as her mother had done, and her mother's mother, and hung +horseshoes over the doors, but the house still kept its melancholy air. +The lonely situation of the place had much to do with this impression, +for Boar Dale was deep and wild and barren, surrounded by a mountain +rampart, up which the sun must climb before it could send its kindly +beams to dispel the mists that made it their home. + +Barbara and Lucy, aided by the village folk, had tried to persuade +Mistress Lynn to leave the house and have another built in a more +cheerful spot, but she would not listen to them. Had she not lived +there for more than seventy years? Nothing had ever happened. There had +been landslips, to be sure, upon the fells behind, but they had never +fallen anywhere near the house. The beck was flooded every winter, but +never got higher than the bottom step of the garden. What was there to +fear? No; when she left Greystones, abandoned it to the bats and the +owls, it would be when she was carried out with her feet up. Then +Barbara and Lucy could do as they liked. + +Mistress Lynn had been bedridden for several years. She had slipped in +the yard one muddy day and injured her ankle. It had recovered +sufficiently for her to have hobbled about with the help of a stick, but +the proud old woman could not brook such an idea. She would not be seen +hirpling like a sheep with the louping-ill, and so she preferred to +remain in bed and keep her dignity. She was quite happy and fully +occupied in holding her iron sceptre over her little family, and never +gave a thought to the curse. But Barbara and Lucy sometimes awoke at +night and shuddered, for they knew that the scarred and broken face of +Mickle Crags was peering down upon the roof with a malignant grin. + +The moon set, and, in the grey dawn the old woman fell asleep. It was +then that the birds began to twitter in the copse hard by, through which +the beck babbled when it had run by the door. At the first low whistle +of a blackbird, Barbara awoke. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE SISTERS + + +Lucy was still lying fast asleep in bed. Barbara called softly, "Lucy, +Lucy," but there was no reply. Then she laid her hand upon the sleeper's +breast. Some hands have a power to thrill the spirit of those they +touch. Such power had Barbara Lynn's. + +Lucy stirred. She opened her eyes, and saw her sister bending over her, +with hair unbound and glistening like a misty golden cloud. + +"If I were on my death-bed," she murmured, "I should be fancying thee an +angel out of heaven." + +Barbara smiled slowly. + +"It's time you were waking," she replied, and began to gather up her +long locks, pleating them round her head. + +Lucy flung back the coverlet, and drew her knees up to her chin. + +"You've a black, black heart, Barbara Lynn, though you've the face of a +holy saint," she replied. "I believe you get a lot of pleasure out of +waking me up in the morning. I was dreaming such heavenly dreams--all +about grapes!" + +She shook back her hair, which was black and glossy as a raven's wing, +but her eyes, like Barbara's, were blue. All her movements were swift +and decisive, for her spirit was made of quicksilver. + +"You've an earthly mind," she added. + +Barbara knotted a kerchief round her head, and glanced at a tiny mirror +hanging on the wall. A flickering rushlight vied with the grey dawn to +show the face reflected there. She sighed audibly. + +"You're about right," she said. "I think it's clod-bound." + +Lucy drew a curl between her lips, meditating upon her sister's reply. + +"Where are you going?" she asked; "to Ketel's Parlour?" + +"Not just now. I promised to help the hind with a rough bit of +ploughing--that high field where we are going to plant potatoes. It's +too steep for old Jan Straw to lead the horses there. He fell down +yesterday! Poor Jan! he'll never work no more." + +The sisters were silent as they thought of the old man, hardly so +intelligent as the wild creatures of the woods and fells, but faithful +to the last drop of his blood. + +"I think he'll be glad to die," said Lucy. + +A faint flush swept up Barbara's face. + +"He's dust," she replied, "and he's going back to the dust he came from, +like a little cloud raised by the wind. What has he ever had in life to +make him want to live?" + +Lucy sank back upon her pillows, and clasped her hands behind her head. +It was not often that Barbara spoke bitterly. + +"And you!" she said. "You've never a chance, either. You might be a man +for the work you do." + +"I was meant for a man when I was made so tall and strong," answered +the girl, with a note of pride in her voice and a straightening of her +figure. + +"Nay, nay, there's not a man in the dale, nor in the country round, that +can hold a candle to thee." + +"Then I's neither fish, flesh nor fowl, for there's not a woman as tall +or strong, unless it be yon great creature we saw at the show." + +Lucy gazed at her sister with critical eyes. + +"You'll look finely, like a queen, when you get the crown Old Camomile +promised thee, the day he told your stars," she said. + +Barbara moved towards the door, carrying her clogs in her hand. + +"Don't forget it's time you were up," she replied. Not even to her +sister would she acknowledge that the prophecy gave an interest to her +life. + +But Lucy would not be repressed. + +"Perhaps a lord will ride by some day, and marry you, Barbara. Who +knows?" + +The girl paused with her fingers on the latch. + +"His horse would stick in the mud of the bridle path like a fly in a +glue-pot. He'd never get so far as Greystones. You're a silly wench, +Lucy. Lords don't come looking for wives among peasant lasses." + +Lucy gurgled with laughter, which she stifled under the quilt for fear +of waking her great-grandmother. + +"What a sober old maid you are, Barbara," she said. "Do you never +dream?" + +The door shut with a soft snick--her sister had gone. + +For a while longer Lucy lay still, gazing at the rushlight as it burnt +dimmer and the daylight increased. She wondered what life held in store +for Barbara and herself. The present was not without its excitements, +but towards the future she turned longing eyes--the Future, hidden by a +golden cloud, which some day would fade away, disclosing undreamed-of +joys. + +Then she got slowly out of bed. Her toilet was not a simple affair like +her sister's. Along a shelf stood a row of little green jars and +bottles, containing balms and salves and scented waters. The sun might +tan Barbara's face and bleach her hair to the colour of ripe corn; rain +and wind and frost might redden and cut her hands, but Lucy's cheeks +were always satin smooth, and her curls black and glistening. She +tempted her sister with ointment made from cowslips, with distilled +rose-water, and balm of elder-flowers--all the sweetest odours that ever +perfumed woodland air were concentrated into those green phials--but she +tempted in vain. Barbara laughed. There were the cows to milk, the sheep +to herd, hoeing and weeding and seed-sowing to do; what time had she for +such fanglements? + +The eastern clouds were rosy with the rays of the rising sun when Lucy +stole downstairs and opened the kitchen door. The four-poster stood with +its curtains closed like an Arab's tent in lonely gloom. The girl +shivered as she looked at it. The thought of the old woman lying within +took all the brightness from her eyes and the lightness from her step. +She was afraid of her great-grandmother as of something unknown. What +right had anyone so old to be still among the living? Her place was with +the dead, with the men and women whose names had become a faint memory +in the dale, but who were to her personalities, that she had touched and +handled. Lucy's mother had died when she was a baby, and the grim old +figure, that sometimes rocked her cradle, had filled her infant mind +with fear. Now that she had grown to womanhood the fear remained, though +she hid it under a gay and careless demeanour. Still, the shadow of her +great-grandmother fell like a blight on Lucy's life. + +She tiptoed to the fireplace and soon had the smouldering turf in a +glow. Then, opening the outer door and stepping out into the sunlight, +she filled the kettle at the spring. It was a fair morning. The chorus +of birds had ceased and busy feathered things were marketing among the +sprouting green of the beck-side. Far away up the dale she saw the red +cows move, and knew that Barbara was somewhere near, driving them to new +pastures. Thundergay was still swathed with smokelike mists, rolling +upwards in the breeze, and gradually disclosing grey precipices, and +slatey screes, with here and there patches of emerald, where the young +ferns were beginning to spring, and higher up, wide fields of snow. Lucy +paused to pluck a cluster of primroses, and place them in her hair. But +she was startled by a cough from a stunted tree near. Among its knarled +roots crouched a little figure, wrapped in a sack to keep itself warm. + +"Oh, it's you, Jan!" said Lucy. "I thought you were a sheep coughing. +You should have stayed in bed to-day and taken a rest." + +The creature raised a pair of watery eyes to her face, then dropped +them. + +"I's always gotten up at dawn," was the reply. + +"But it's so cold!" + +Again the pale eyes were raised and dropped. + +"Verra cold, lass." + +"You must come to the kitchen." + +"Nay." + +Lucy laid her fingers upon his withered hand. + +"Come and get warm," she entreated. "I've got such a grand fire +burning." + +The old man made no reply, but kept his gaze upon her slender fingers. +At last his voice came slowly, as though he were drawing up something +from the dark well of his memory. + +"Onced I seed a hand like yourn, onced, long ago. I's forgotten when, +but I minds the hand." + +"Come," said Lucy. + +He rose painfully and crawled by her side. But at the kitchen door he +held back. + +"Nay," he repeated. + +"Why?" + +"I must work." + +"Rubbish," said Lucy scornfully, and again she laid her hand upon his. +"You've been working all your life, you can have a rest now. Let the new +hind--Tom, do what's to be done." + +The old man stared anew at her fingers. + +"I minds where I saw that hand," he said, "it was outside a white +winding sheet ... long ago." + +Lucy tried to draw him into the kitchen, but he was obstinate, and +afraid of Mistress Lynn. + +"I'll go and feed the chickens," he mumbled, and shuffled away round the +end of the house. + +Lucy looked after him sadly, then returned to her work. As she was +shaking the sheepskin rug a coin fell out of it and lay glittering upon +the ground. Picking it up with an exclamation of surprise, she turned it +over and over. It was a sovereign. For some minutes she stood with her +brows knit and her blue eyes darkening as thought took shape. The coin +was her great-grandmother's, there could be no doubt of it. Lucy had +always had suspicions about the locked cupboard of the bridewain, which +she had never seen opened. Now she knew something was hidden +there--money most likely, perhaps many more coins like the one she had +found, perhaps bags of them. If one could be lost without a hue and cry +being raised for it, they must be as plentiful as blackberries. + +What should she do? Should she keep it? Was it not her due, considering +the way she worked and yet received no recompense? The temptation to put +the coin in her pocket was strong, and she thought longingly of the many +pretty things it would buy. Then she spurned the suggestion. She +remembered Jan Straw, whose life had been bought for a few pounds and a +sup of porridge; she saw Barbara wearing out her strong young life upon +the fells; she thought of herself, drudging from daylight to +day-darkening. The bitterness of it set her teeth on edge. She looked +again at the yellow coin, and it seemed to have taken upon it a tinge of +blood. + +Then the curtain rings of the bed jingled, and turning round, she saw +that her great-grandmother was sitting up, looking at her. + +Lucy might fear the old woman, but she was not lacking in courage when +the moment called for it. She balanced the coin upon her thumb-nail, +spun it into the air, and caught it as it fell. + +"See what I've found," she said. + +Mistress Lynn stared at the shining thing, lying on the girl's palm. + +"Where didst get it?" she asked sharply. + +"At the end of the rainbow." + +"Rainbow! fiddlesticks! Give it to me." + +Lucy dropped the coin into the outstretched hand without a word. But she +stood looking down, her eyes fierce and more like the old woman's than +Barbara's were, although in face and figure there was no other +resemblance. + +"Where didst get it?" again asked Mistress Lynn. + +"It fell out of the rug." + +"Ah! I sold some sheep to a man from the South yesterday. I thought he +had paid me short money--they're such cheats in the South! Well, well, +it must have dropped out of his hand. Thee shall have a shilling come +Good Friday, Lucy." + +"A shilling!" Lucy was scornful, "a shilling!" + +Mistress Lynn looked narrowly at her great-granddaughter. Between the +girl and her little love was lost. + +"What ails thee at a shilling? It's over much when I come to think of +it. Thee shall have sixpence. That's enough for a young lass to spend on +fallals." + +"1 wonder at you, I wonder at you, great-grandmother," exclaimed Lucy. +"I wonder at you hoarding up the money, and you so old." + +"Wouldst like to see me play ducks and drakes with it in the beck?" + +Lucy tossed her head impatiently. + +"Why do you keep Barbara and me penniless?" she asked. + +"I feed you well and clothe you warm--what more dost need?" + +"Barbara," began Lucy, but the old woman interrupted her. + +"What's Barbara complaining about?" + +"Barbara never complains. But I know she's heart-sick for something +better than a lone life on the fells." + +"If she's sweethearting," said Mistress Lynn, "if she's taken up with a +lad, I's nought to say against it," for the old woman thought that the +services of a young strong man would be of great value now that Jan +Straw was past work. + +"Sweethearting!" replied Lucy. "It's learning Barbara's after!" + +"Learning! Hasn't she enough learning for any lass, and more than most? +Doesn't she ken the lift like the palm of her hand, and the dales and +fells better than her ten toes?" + +"It's book-learning Barbara wants." + +"Book-learning! I don't hold with book-learning. Hark to me, +great-granddaughter. You'll be a good lass, and when I's gone there'll +be a nice little sum put by for you and your sister. Now, see to your +work; the porridge is burning," and the old woman sniffed the air +disdainfully. + +"Oh," said Lucy, with a shrug of her shoulders, "Mickle Crags will have +buried us all by then--you and me and Barbara and the money, all in one +grave." + +"Hold thy tongue," replied the old woman calmly, but with such an edge +to her words that Lucy kept her peace. + + * * * * * + +Later in the day Lucy went up the dale to find Barbara. She eagerly +drank in the sunlight. It comforted her like a cup of sweet wine. +From the mosses of the beck-side, where she followed the cattle +road, a whispering could be heard as of life--innumerable, and +infinitesimal--waking to activity after its long winter sleep. Bees were +buzzing; birds were mating; the village geese, in charge of a +goose-girl, were being driven to their feeding grounds; Tom, the new +hind, with a boy to drive the horses, was ploughing in a steep field; +and Jan Straw was gathering rushes. Everything was up and active. + +The dale in which Greystones was situated wound into the heart of +Thundergay. On the right rose Nab Head--a grey bastion streaked with +little streams trickling from the melting snows, and now all aglitter in +the sun. On the left, gloomy as its name, hung Darkling Crag. The dale +lay between like a green lizard, basking in the warm light. It was green +with marsh-mosses, and soon would be yellow with king-cups. Lucy sang to +herself as she climbed upward: + + "Oh! have you found my golden ball? + And have you come to set me free? + Or have you come to see me hanging + On the gallows tree?" + +There was no smile upon her face, but her eyes were wistful. She was +hoping that Joel Hart would soon find a golden ball and come to set her +free, before Greystones, and the tyrannical old woman there, had robbed +her life of its youth and sweetness. She was just twenty, and panting to +spread her wings and fly away. She turned round to look at her home. + +It was the most solitary of habitations. About it hung an atmosphere of +old forgotten things. It had a tragic air as though its past, by some +strange process, were still in being. Even on a golden afternoon such as +this, it could not exorcise the grey spirit that haunted it--the spirit +of the ancient grey stones of which it was built. The slates were green +with moss: the drip-stone was feathered with weeds which, before long, +would belt it with a flowery garland: soon the great sycamores would +burst into leaf; but even then the house would keep its gloom. It was a +fitting habitation for Mistress Annas Lynn, who was nearly a hundred +years old. + +Lucy turned her eyes away from it, and looked at the mountain at the +head of the dale, down whose sides the streams slid in thin white lines +to fall with many a rainbow cascade into Swirtle Tarn, lying at its +feet, blue as a violet. Thundergay dominated the dale. Its jagged peaks +soared high above the fells around. It was the birth-place of eagles, +mists and storms; and it was also the nurse of her sister Barbara. + +Her mind turned to Barbara. + +If Lucy ever visualised such abstract ideas as goodness, integrity, and +justice, she saw them under the living form of her sister. Joel Hart she +loved; Barbara she worshipped. With Joel she stood on an equality--he +was as humanly imperfect as she--but Barbara stood on a mountain height, +a great, grand figure, with a great, grand heart, sublime in her +magnanimity, immovable as granite among the storms of her world. + +She felt, too, that it was among the mountains that Barbara found her +secret inspiration and strength. Since childhood she had spent the +greater part of her life upon Thundergay, and, though it had been a +rough nurse, beating her with winds like scorpions, training her by +hunger and cold and weariness, yet she loved it still, but it had made +her silent. + +Lucy did not put her thought into these words, but she felt them, +nevertheless. + +She now left the cattle road, and followed a sheep-track round Swirtle +Tarn. A shoulder of Thundergay seemed to block her way, but the track +wound in and out of knowes and hollows, and led her at last through a +gap, where she looked down upon a scene of pastoral beauty. A lawn of +velvet grass lay by the margin of the tarn, dotted with sheep and a few +lambs--the firstlings of the flock. It sloped gently upwards, and surged +like a full green tide against the bases of the cliffs. Here was a cave, +called for generations Ketel's Parlour, in memory of some Northern +robber who had made it his eyrie. Now Barbara claimed it, and often +slept there when her work kept her abroad at night. The flocks were her +especial care, and she "shepherded and improved the same according to +the due course of good shepherding," as the old title-deeds of +Greystones recommended. + +Lucy looked in. By the threshold her sister lay fast asleep, her long +limbs sunk in repose upon a bed of straw. Her head was near the +entrance, and the sun, as it got lower, flowed in golden ripples across +the threshold. When it touched her eyes she would awake, for the sun was +her clock by day, as the Great Bear was her clock by night. + +Lucy did not speak, but took her knitting from her pocket, and sat down +on a rock to wait. + +The cave had been partly built up long, long ago, and two narrow slits +of windows made in the artificial wall. The rusty remains of iron bolts +and hinges showed that a door had once closed the entrance. A huge slab +of slate lay across the threshold, and underneath it a little spring +that babbled out of the floor of the cave disappeared, appearing again +some few yards further down the slope. + +It was not long before Barbara awoke. The sun was sinking; the tarn lay +in shadow, blue as steel and glassy as a mirror; now and then a heron +struck an evanescent star from the shallows where it splashed. But the +fellside still stood full in the vivid light, and was dyed to a rich +green, like the colour seen on old silken needlework. Upon Barbara, +standing at the mouth of the cave, the sunshine seemed to concentrate. +She looked larger and grander and more remote than a simple human being. +She might be an incarnation of some Nature-power, older than the +mountains around her, unassailed by time, and partaking of the perpetual +youth of immortals. + +"One of the ewes has died," she said to Lucy, "and I've spent hours +trying to get its lamb fostered. Like enough thee'll have to take it +home, and bring it up by hand." + +"Botherment!" exclaimed her sister; "haven't I plenty to do already?" + +Barbara made no reply. She was wondering what it felt like to be dead, +wondering what that strange thing was which came but once, but came to +all living, to men and women and sheep, and, in the twinkling of an eye, +sent them out of the Known into the Unknown, where all mysteries might +abound. + +"Hast ever thought, Lucy," she said at last, "how strange it is that we +should die like sheep and sheep like us?" + +"Not I!" replied the younger girl. "My head's stuffed with lighter +rubbish," and she shuddered as her eyes fell upon a huddled white heap +under a thorn. + +"It mazes me," continued Barbara, "when I think that yon poor creature +I've thought so silly mappen knows more than I do now. Death must be a +queer waking, Lucy. It's likely we'll find that we're very different to +what we fancied we were. It's likely we're not the only things with +souls. It's likely that the world wasn't just made for us, and all the +creatures for our use. Old Camomile says that every blade of grass has +its own little green soul, and loves the wind and the sunshine and the +rain, and has its ideas about the sky and the stars. Mappen it puts us +down as girt senseless creatures, too coarse-minded to understand its +thoughts." + +"Old Camomile is getting old," said Lucy. "He havers a lot." + +Barbara was silent. She rarely spoke because she rarely found anyone to +understand her, save the old man Timothy Hadwin, called by the villagers +Old Camomile, because he made potions, and electuaries, and essences, +curing their aches and pains as if by magic. + +Lucy rolled up her wool, put the ball in her pocket, and looked slowly +round. + +"It's a lonely-like place to spend the night," she said. "I wonder +you're not afraid." + +"Sometimes I am," replied Barbara. She recalled nights when she had +trembled before the vastness of the hills, when the winds had deafened +her with stories of things she could not comprehend, when she had turned +from gazing at the cold light of the stars with a fear at her heart, +because they would answer nothing to all her questions. + +Barbara was not educated as the world counts education. It is true that +she knew the fells and dales, the tarns and meres of her native country, +as well as the oldest shepherd, who had spent his long life among them. +She could tell the names of the constellations, and take her direction +upon the darkling moors from them. She knew when to plough and sow and +reap. No one was so weather-wise as she in the village. But this is not +education in the eyes of the world, and Barbara set little value upon +her knowledge. She could not speak the King's English, though she spoke +something much more picturesque and vigorous; she only read the simplest +books; and wrote an ungainly, but characteristic hand. She knew no +history, but her mind was furnished with a collection of tales and +legends, which held more of the inner truth of history than the bare +facts. Yet she longed with all her ardent nature for the learning +contained in books; for the power to grasp the thoughts that flashed +across her mind and left upon it an impression as of a great flying +light, which, if it had not eluded her, would have illumined her whole +being. She pined for the life of the intellect. + +"I wish we could get out of our bodies," said she, breaking the long +silence. "I wish we could shake them off like an old shift, and leave +them here on the grass, while our souls sailed in the air naked-free." + +"What a horrid idea!" said Lucy, shrugging her shoulders. + +"But our bodies are so earthy--always wanting meat and drink, and crying +out for sleep. They throw a shadow on us, like a great rock blocking the +light o' the sun." + +"I know nought about it," answered Lucy, carelessly. + +Barbara laughed at the puzzle of her own thoughts. + +"I know nought either," she said; "yet something in me would like to win +out if it could." + +Lucy went up the sheep-path. On the brow of the knoll she paused, +looking back. Barbara was kindling a fire outside the cave, and the +smoke, as it coiled upwards, hung between them like a blue veil. Her +sister seemed to be moving among mysterious things, and there was +symbolical meaning in the blue veil. For two worlds lie side by side, +the material and the spiritual, and from either the view into the other +seems hazy and unreal. But the greatest intellects try to reconcile +them. Towards such a reconciliation Barbara, in her untutored mind, was +striving. + +The sun had gone down, and, though the sky was still flushed with red +and yellow, a subdued light and solemn stillness filled the dale--a +stillness made the more impressive by the distant splashing of +waterfalls and the calling of birds by the tarn. + +Lucy felt sad. She had dropped over the knoll with a sigh. Barbara had +listened to her story of the gold coin, and dismissed it without +comment. She had not been impressed by the idea of their +great-grandmother's hidden wealth. She had suggested no way of making +life easier or pleasanter. Instead, her mind was possessed by vague +ideas and strange questionings, which her sister could not understand, +and which had no bearing upon their everyday life. Lucy went home in the +waning light with reluctant feet. + +But she was mistaken about Barbara's interest. For her sister had long +known of the secret hoard, and had once remonstrated with the old woman +about saving it in this way. But it had been in vain, as everything was +in vain which opposed the will of Mistress Annas Lynn. The failure of +the attempt had only served to strengthen the patience of her generous +nature--the patience which can school itself to wait for the fulfilment +of its desires, and, if need be, to receive without a murmur their +denial. No shadow of a quarrel ever dimmed Barbara's out-goings or +comings in; her intercourse with her ancient kinswoman was serene and +reverent, and she would not hazard it in an attempt that could only +result in an upheaval of the bitterest passion. Barbara then put the +matter from her. In this she was different to Lucy, who could not cease +to think and wonder and debate even after she had made up her mind. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +PETER FLEMING + + +The swift night came down; fells and dales were folded in purple gloom. +Stars began to shine, and Barbara, eating her supper of coarse bread, +let her eyes wander from group to group with meditative enjoyment. To +her the sky was no vast abyss dotted with a formless multitude of +shining points, but a field of wonderful fiery things, each following +its own appointed course. Yonder glittered Leo, there swung the Great +Bear and the Dragon; and, there on a mountain peak, shimmered the +Northern Crown. It led her thoughts to Timothy Hadwin's prophecy, when +he cast her horoscope; for she should wear a crown, he said, and though +Barbara was too wise to put a strict construction upon his words, +nevertheless, she found pleasure and inspiration in them, wondering what +they might mean. + +She flung an extra armful of wood upon the fire, for the night air +nipped frostily. Then, taking her lantern, she went among the sheep to +see that all was well with them and their lambs. The little orphan had +been adopted, and nestled with its foster-brother against a warm woolly +side. A sense of placid well-being lay over the fold, so the girl +returned to the fire. As she sat in silence, her fingers busy making a +withy basket, and her mind active, there came from over the tarn a +sudden burst of melody, ethereal as elfin music. It was echoed to and +fro from cliff to cliff, now it danced overhead, then it stole like a +whisper out of a dale far away. The shores of the tarn were ringed with +sounds, so haunting that they seemed to be unearthly. Barbara listened +in amazement. + +Someone was playing a flute from the Rock of the Seven Echoes. + +Again the music came rippling across the water and was tossed about from +hillside to hillside in airy phantasy. When at last it died into +silence, Barbara became conscious of the other sounds of the night--the +tinkling of distant waterfalls, the cropping of a sheep close by. She +listened expectantly, but the sounds were not repeated. + +"It must be Peter," she thought, "only Peter plays the flute hereaway, +except Jake, the ratter, and only Peter would play it at such a place." + +Her eyes brightened when she thought that he was back again in the dale. +Between him and the sisters lay a good fellowship. Often he spent hours +with Barbara among the sheep, reading to her stories of old combats and +great doings from the Iliad and Odyssey. But he was equally at ease when +he helped Lucy to top and tail gooseberries, or sought among the bracken +for the nest of the laying-away hen. + +Barbara stirred her fire to a brighter glow. She knew that he would see +it on the other side of the tarn, and perhaps he might come round to the +cave and greet her after his long absence. + +Peter was the only son of John Fleming, the miller--called Dusty John in +the village--who was a man of some substance, plain habits and little +education. But he gave his son every advantage. The boy was sent to +school, and afterwards, proving himself apt beyond expectation, went to +St. Bees, from which ancient seat of learning he won a scholarship to +Oxford. The miller's ambition was to see his son in the church, where he +did not doubt Peter would soon be promoted to the highest office. In +dreams he beheld him Archbishop of York or Canterbury. But the lad said +neither yea nor nay to his father's wishes. He enjoyed himself to the +full, coming home for vacations with a light heart, accepting the +truckle bed in the mill-house and the homely fare with as lively a +humour as he did the varied life of Oxford. + +He reached the cave just as the moon was rising, and leaned his back +against the cliffs to watch the light sparkle on the water. + +"When did you get home?" asked Barbara, putting her withies aside, and +bringing him a cup of milk. + +He laughed. + +"I've not got home yet," he said, "for I left the coach early in the +afternoon to come over the tops. But they were too deep in snow, so I +had to take the Girdlestone Pass instead. I stayed at the Shepherd's +Rest for an hour. Now here I am, late as usual." + +Then he plied her with eager questions about his father and mother, the +village folk, and the welfare of all at Greystones. + +"How goes the studying, Barbara?" he asked. "Have you read the book I +sent you?" + +She shook her head. + +"Nay; it's not that I haven't the will, but there's no time. Jan Straw +is grown so old, and the new hind hasn't got into the way of things yet, +so that the heavy end falls on me." Then she added with a smile, +"There's such a lot of me to get tired, Peter." + +He looked at her. Though he could not see the calm eyes and the +corn-coloured hair, the outlines of her form were splendid in the +silvery light. He felt dwarfed beside her, not physically, but morally. +Hers was the finer spirit. He acknowledged it with a glow of generous +feeling, for he was given to hero-worshipping. + +"We'll make a pact, Barbara," he said, "while I'm at home I'll shepherd +the sheep, and you shall read." + +"You are good and kind, Peter," replied she, "but I remember how you +helped me once before. If it wasn't a rainbow, it was a flower, and if +it wasn't a flower, it was a bird, but never the sheep-salving or the +cattle-herding. The kye got into the barley-field--do you mind?" + +They both laughed. + +"What a careless brute I am to be sure," said he. "But if you won't let +me look after the farm, I'll come and read to you, when you have time to +listen. I've brought you a new book; you'll like it." + +He unstrapped the pack he carried, and took out a stout volume. In the +light of the fire he showed it to her. It was Pope's Homer. + +"Some warm day," he continued, "we'll sit on the fellside and wake again +echoes of great deeds, and old battles. Thundergay shall be Olympus, and +you shall be Athene, the azure-eyed maid. Listen to this----" + +He bent down by the fire and held the book so that he could read by its +light. + + "'Now heaven's dread arms her mighty limbs invest, + Jove's cuirass blazes on her ample breast....' + +"I can see you in them, Barbara." + + 'The massy golden helm she next assumes, + That dreadful nods with four o'er shading plumes; + So vast, the broad circumference contains + A hundred battles on a hundred plains. + The goddess thus the imperial car ascends; + Shook by her arm the mighty javelin bends, + Ponderous and huge; that when her fury burns, + Proud tyrants humbles, and whole hosts o'erturns.'" + +He closed the book and put it into the girl's hands. + +"I've never seen you roused up to do battle," he laughed, "but you'll +look like that when the spirit moves you. Good-night, Barbara." + +Something stirred her like the call of a trumpet heard by her spiritual +ears alone. Was her placid life upon the mountains going to end? Would +she have to fight with her desires, because Duty still pointed a stern +finger towards the sheep-paths, while another road opened before her--a +broad and pleasant road. Peter always roused this restlessness in her +heart. She was glad, yet sorry, when he went singing home, leaving her +to the night-loneliness with her book of old battles. + +The next morning Peter Fleming was walking up and down the cobbled path +of the mill-garden between flowering currant bushes, and sheaves of +lent-lilies, whose buds were still encased in their pale-green sheaths. +Everything sparkled in a sudden burst of sunshine. From the mill-wheel +the water fell like a glittering fringe, and the beck raced merrily by, +clutching at the weeds and grasses on its rim, and drawing them down to +make them gorgeously green under its clear surface. On the other side of +the stream stood Cringel Forest. + +The mill-house was a tall building with the date, 1600, carved over the +door under a coat of arms of a wheat-sheaf and a sickle. The Flemings, +or De Flemings, as they were then called--had been millers in the dale +since the reign of Elizabeth, a fact which Dusty John prided himself +upon, although he was as simple an old man as ever spoke the vernacular. + +The kitchen door was open at the end of the cobbled path, and in its hot +and sunny atmosphere, Peter's mother stood ironing. Her muslin +kerchief--as fine as ever came from the looms of the East India +Company--her gown of russet, and white apron were the essence of +cleanliness and order. + +"Get away with thy blandishments," she said, for Peter had paused on the +threshold to tell her that she looked like a ripe hazel-nut, her face +was so brown and rosy and round. "Thee'd witch the wisdom out of my old +head with thy flattery. And as for thy dadda--he cannot walk for +swaggering, thee's lillied him up so handsome!" + +She smiled proudly into the clear-eyed face looking so affectionately +into her own. Peter made her feel that she was still young and worthy of +admiration. When he came home she always wore white stockings--though +she thought them an extravagance at other times--and placed a flower or +a bow of ribbon under her chin. + +She held up a kerchief that she was ironing, and said tenderly: + +"It will be a great day for thy father and me when we see thee +consecrated, Peter." + +He stepped across the floor where the sunshine lay in a broad band, and +kissed her. + +"And a blessed day when I does up thy lawn sleeves, my son. Thee must +never let anyone do up thy sleeves but me, lad, not even thy wife when +thee gets one. There's nobody kens the art of clear starching and +ironing better than thy old mother." + +The young man sat on the edge of the table and swung his legs. + +"You'll be disappointed, mother," he said, "but I never can see +myself--in spite of your dear visions--in bishop's sleeves. I'm a lazy +beggar, and more likely to be lying under a tree, finding sermons in +stones and books in the running brooks than beating the pulpit cushions +of Durham or Carlisle." + +She shook her head indulgently. + +"Time enough, time enough," she said. "Thee's too young yet to know thy +own mind." + +Peter looked round the kitchen and laughed. + +"Would you like to live in a palace, mother?" he asked. + +"A palace! And what would I do there?" she replied, seeing no further +than the lawn sleeves which she would wash and iron. + +The kitchen of the mill-house was small, clean and simple. Brass +fire-irons, two or three candlesticks, a burnished copper warming-pan +reflected the strong sunshine, but otherwise the puritanical severity of +the white-washed walls was unrelieved. The floor was strewn with river +sand, and the chairs and dresser glistened with constant oiling and +rubbing. On the dresser was a pile of newly-made clap-cakes, and round +the fire stood an oak maiden hung with clean linen. The place had a +kindly, homely smell, and Peter sniffed it with enjoyment. He loved the +towers of Oxford, and the shadow of his college cloisters, but this +small and sunlit kitchen, where his mother baked and ironed, and his +father smoked his evening pipe, brought him back to those primitive +passions of man out of which the strength of his life springs. + +Peter returned to the garden and continued his walk up and down the +cobbled path. + +He was thinking of his future, and wondering what he would be able to +make of it. He had almost decided that he would not take orders when his +college days were done, which would be at the summer vacation. The +prospect of becoming a curate, or even a North Country vicar did not +attract him; on the other hand, he had no particular leanings in any +other direction. That which would have suited him down to the ground, he +sometimes told himself whimsically, was the position of a country +gentleman, with a good library, a well-stocked stable, plenty of dogs +and troops of friends. His was a genial, breezy nature; he had a firm +hand, a just mind, and a clear brain, added to a boyish love of the +unusual and adventurous. Peter was a favourite in the village. He liked +pretty faces, and flirted openly, but he left the lasses' hearts none +the worse. He fished and hunted with the lads; he talked politics with +the tailor, religion with the cobbler, and with Jake, the rat-catcher, +spent many a long afternoon. It was Jake who taught him to play upon the +flute, and though he never managed to charm the rats with his music--as +the strange little man did--he had the young men and maids capering on +the bit of green before the inn door on summer evenings, long after they +ought to have been abed. + +His meditation was interrupted by a horseman calling from over the wall: + +"Halloa! Peter, back again?" + +It was Joel Hart. + +"I'm glad to see you," said he. + +"I thought you'd made up your mind to go abroad and seek your fortune," +replied Peter, shaking hands heartily. + +"So I had, but I broke it again. I couldn't be quite sure where to find +the fortune." + +They both laughed, but Joel had a note of envy in his mirth. + +"You're a lucky dog, Peter," he exclaimed, "to have money in your +pockets and a fond father ready to supply more. How long are you home +for?" + +"Six weeks. It's the Easter vacation." + +"Good! we'll have some fishing and wrestling--eh? We'll make a damned +fine holiday of it. I want something to take my mind off the worry of +wondering where my bread and butter is to come from. You don't want to +work, I bet; had enough of that sort of thing down yonder--eh? Come and +have a glass at the Wild Boar." + +He alighted and leading his horse by the bridle walked down the village +street with Peter. + +When they were boys they had gone nutting and fishing together, and the +memory of many a hairbreadth escape still bound them with the links of +affection, though in mind and character they had long since drifted +apart. + +Joel Hart was a handsome man. Beside him, Peter with his homely face, +honest grey eyes, and loosely built figure looked rough-hewn--looked, +indeed, that which he was, the off-spring of clean-living, hard-working +peasant forefathers. The two men were of a height, but the one carried +himself proudly, looking neither to right nor left; the other with an +easy swing, that could stoop to give pennies to a crying child, or lift +a bundle for an old woman. There was an expression of arrogance and +dissatisfaction on Joel's features that marred their beauty. He had dark +curling hair, which he wore rather long, his eyes were large, +well-shaped, full of a smouldering fire or melting sadness as his mood +chanced to be. + +The world had dealt hardly with him, and he could not forgive it. His +father, the son of that ill-fated Joel Hart whom Annas Lynn had hidden +in the wool-barn, had married late in life, and died shortly after, +leaving his infant to be brought up by the widow--a vain and foolish +woman. She had been indifferent to his discipline and education, and +when she died, left the estate--it was a very small one--burdened with +debts, a burden that increased rapidly, owing to extravagance and bad +management. Joel was not competent to deal with it. A habit of +indolence, fostered by his up-bringing, had become second nature to him; +his temper was uncertain; yet he cared deeply for two things--Forest +Hall and Lucy Lynn. To preserve the one, and gain the other was a wild +dream that he dreamed, but made only fitful attempts to realise. He felt +that he was bound by invisible bonds which he could not break. + +"I'm getting to the end of my resources, Peter," he said as they stood +in the inn parlour, drinking. He often make a joke of his poverty; it +was too well-known to be hidden; and he did not care that folk should +see how much he felt it. "I've only one hope left." + +"I trust it's a substantial one," remarked Peter. + +Joel flung back his head and laughed. + +"Ha, ha," he cried, "ha, ha. It's the old great-grandmother up at +Greystones." + +"You're not thinking of marrying her--are you?" said Peter, his eyes +twinkling. + +"'Pon my soul I never thought of it! What a pity. She'd have had me, +Peter, for the love she bore my grand-dad. I needn't have waited till +she was dead, then, to have got her money." + +"She's rich--is she?" + +"Must be! an old miser! She told me she was going to leave the little +she had--little, mind you, and Greystones is the most prosperous farm +for miles round--she said she was going to leave it to be divided +between Barbara, Lucy, and me. She's ninety-five now, and can't live +much longer, though she looks as hale and hearty an old sinner as ever +laid up treasure in this world. I hope she'll not forget her promise." + +"Court her," replied Peter, briefly. + +"Her or her great-granddaughters?" Joel shot a sharp glance at his +companion. He sometimes thought that Peter had a warm side for Lucy as +well as himself. "All the same," he continued, tossing off another +glass, "I'm breeding dogs, as a stand-by, in case she dies without +leaving me a shilling. You must come and see them. I've got a litter of +the prettiest pups you ever saw. I keep 'em in the parlour because the +kennels are all out of repair. It's a comedown, eh, for the master to +sup his porridge in the kitchen, but feed his dogs under the very noses +of his forefathers in their gilt frames?" + +They talked a little longer, made plans to join the fox-hunt next +morning, then Joel mounted his horse and rode away, while Peter retraced +his steps up the village street. + +He thought that Joel was changing. The man looked unhappy and restless +in spite of his gay demeanour. He talked too much, and he drank too +much. He might be as poor as he asserted, but he rode a fine +horse--Peter was a judge of horse-flesh--and his clothes were dandified +beyond the fashion of the times. Yet there was something in him that +appealed to Peter, who thought he looked like a gay bird in a trap. And +what trap could be worse than one made out of family pride, poverty, and +lack of education? + +Pondering upon his friend's character and circumstances, he passed +through the village. + +High Fold, in the midst of which the mill stood, was a cluster of houses +on the fringe of Cringel Forest. They were built of grey stone, roofed +with rough-hewn slates, where the yellow stonecrop ran riot, hung with +queer little balconies, giving them a foreign air. They stood at all +angles on either side of a steep road, at the foot of which was the inn, +at the top the church. Except for the house known as Forest Hall, the +farm of Greystones and a few solitary cots, High Fold marked the limit +of human habitation in that direction. Beyond it were many miles of +heathy moorland, a wild expanse of mountain, barren ravines, each with +its own gushing beck, and wild marshes. The people were a healthy, +thrifty race, lacking little--and those things not necessities--working +hard and simply, and living to a good old age. Many of them herded sheep +on the common lands; a few wrought in a silver mine some distance off; +others spun and carded wool; a tailor, a weaver, a rat-catcher and a +blacksmith were respected members of the community. They owned a large +flock of geese, each bird was smit with its owner's private mark, and a +goose-girl, in the common employ, led them daily to their +feeding-grounds. There were few idle hands in the village, even the old +men knitted stockings, sitting on the inn bench of a spring or summer +evening. + +Peter followed the road beyond the village, where it turned into a +cart-track, and wound through Cringel Forest, leading to Forest Hall, +and then on up the dale to Greystones. + +As he lay under a beech-tree, watching the birds fluttering among the +smooth branches, a little old man came wandering through and sat beside +him. + +The hair of the little old man curled on his shoulders, like a +child's--though it was grey instead of golden--and his eyes were also +like a child's, bright and questioning. He was primly dressed in a +flowered waistcoat buff breeches and blue stockings, but the garments +were faded and threadbare. On his knee he held a basket of roots and +leaves. + +"Meditation," he said, "is the mother of great thoughts, and repose +fosters them till they be well-grown." + +"That's comforting to my lazy soul," drawled Peter. + +The thin old voice continued, carefully choosing the words as though, +even in meditation, nothing slipshod or ill-fitting was allowed to pass. + +"We should find time to be idle," he said. "When the soul is possessed +by tranquillity, there enters in an angel called thought--a mysterious +being, whose birth and origin is far beyond our knowledge or +understanding. But we can give her housing, care for her like kind folk, +and she will reward us abundantly. Her presence with us is her reward." + +Peter chewed a blade of grass, basking in the warm light. For a little +while neither spoke. The last week had shaken off all the appearance of +winter from the forest. The trees were budding, a tall poplar rose +purple as a plum, yonder a group of larches were turning green, and a +sycamore had all its tips dipped in crimson. The blackthorn thicket was +white, and the lesser celandines were golden on the banks. In the forest +lay a deep blue silence--the silence of old wise trees, but on the +topmost branches, gay and giddy birds were pouring out their hearts to +the spring sunshine in a wild burst of melody. + +"It's all very beautiful," said Peter; "that light on the +beech-stems--it might be a splash of pure gold. The trees seem to be +aware of it too--if only their leaves were out they would be clapping +their hands for joy." Then he turned to Timothy Hadwin. "I'm becoming a +convert to your Faith," he said. "I believe the earth has a soul and +every living thing." + +"You feel it, then?" replied the old man, eagerly. "You feel a magic in +the woods which only comes from the communion of souls? You and I and +the trees are not alone here. You feel that other minds are reaching out +to touch you, as you are reaching out to touch them? You have in your +own mind this vision of the truth--the kinship of the living world?" + +"Perhaps it's imagination after all," said Peter. + +"Imagination does not lie." + +"It may deceive." + +"No, no. What we imagine is true for ourselves, though no one else may +see it to be so. We each of us have senses, feelings, thoughts of our +own. Were you to tell me that you saw a hamadryad coming out of yon +beech-tree, I should not contradict you because I could not see it. But +if you plucked a buttercup, and said it was only coloured matter, I +should say you were wrong, for I know it to be something more. The +greatest blessing of life is sight, and the commonest ill is blindness." +He laid his hand upon the ground and continued. "We are all akin, +because we are all the children of the Earth. Her great mind is made up +of our little minds. She knows us better than we know ourselves--do we +know ourselves at all? I love to think of the Earth, a personality, a +great angel rejoicing as a strong man to run a race, rushing along +through the dark night or the bright day, through clouds and through +sunshine, never halting or stumbling or going astray, carrying upon her +bosom a multitudinous life, caring for it, as a thoughtful mother." + +After this conversation the two men were silent for a while, each +following the trend of his own thoughts. Then Timothy got up and went +away. But Peter remained under the beech-tree. + +Peter had capacity for the full enjoyment of life, and a boundless +curiosity concerning it. As he lay on the ground he seemed to feel the +heart of the Earth-mother beating under his own, and he was filled with +a sense of her teeming vitality and his individual share of it. He +opened his mind to the sounds and sights around. It delighted him to +follow with his eyes the stems of the trees as they sprang straight from +the bosom of their universal mother into the blue air. He listened to +the whistling of the birds, the hum of the bees, and watched a rabbit +leap among the ferns--pleased with such simple demonstrations of life. +Perhaps a change was working in his own nature, for never had the common +things about him seemed to be so full of absorbing interest as now; +never had he been so conscious of the sap running up the branches of +the trees, and of his own vitality. At present he did but enjoy the +sense of power, which he could use if he desired. But soon, he told +himself, he would labour, singing in the light of the sun. + +Then through the forest came Barbara Lynn, driving her primitive cart +home from market. She did not see the figure under the beech-tree, for +her eyes were dreaming, neither did Peter try to draw her attention. She +sat with her hands lying loosely on her lap, the reins hanging slack as +the old pony took its own pace home. Her fine, large features were +composed, and she kept her jolting seat with unconcern. There was +something patriarchal in the cart, and its rough-cut wooden wheels, and +the regal form of Barbara, deep-bosomed, yellow-haired and clear-eyed as +the off-spring of shepherd kings should be. + +She passed on, while the over-arching trees dropped lights and shadows +across her face. Peter watched her till the blue distance of the forest +closed round the cart, and the creaking of its wheels died into silence. + +He came back to a knowledge of himself with a rush. For the time being +his mind had been merged in the mind of another. The forest, too, was +waking as from a trance. Barbara had seemed to hold it in the spell of +her own dreaming. Now the wind blew down the track, trundling dead +leaves before it, and drawing a low chiming from the branches overhead. +The birds burst into renewed twittering, and the rabbits leaped among +the fern. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE SHIELD OF ACHILLES + + +Barbara was driving sheep on the fells above Cringel Forest. She looked +down and saw the trees bourgeoning into leaf, and rising out of them, on +the top of a jutting crag, the old house belonging to Joel Hart. It was +an unpretentious place, but battlemented and loop-holed, made for +defence when moss-troopers paid frequent visits, and not for beauty or +comfort. It was, in fact, little better than a fortified farm-house; +underneath it ran a long dark cellar, where the cattle of the villagers +could be driven for safety in times of alarm. + +Barbara's keen eyes--keen as an eagle's to scan the broad +fellside--noted the air of decay which had settled upon it, the thicket +of brambles among the chimneys, and how a pine, growing out of the +rocks, encroached upon the doorway. Behind the house the ground swept +steeply up, strewn with shattered boulders and weeping with waterfalls. + +"Poor Joel," she said to herself. "He's like Paris, in the book Peter +gave me--beautiful Paris that Helen loved, whose soul ill-matched his +fair form." + +She thought of her sister's adoration of this man, and was sad. There +could be nothing but disappointment in store for Lucy, she felt sure of +it, unless the girl overcame her affection and set her heart upon a +more worthy object. But she was attracted by the glamour of fallen +greatness, by his handsome presence, and she admired his pride. Barbara, +with clearer vision, saw a man tossed about by circumstance, without a +guiding principle in his life, whose pride was as hollow a thing as a +soul ever cherished. + +She turned away from Forest Hall, and the disquieting thoughts which +Joel roused, and looked up the dale. It wound in sun-swept greenness to +Thundergay, where Swirtle Tarn glittered like a silver sixpence. For +some days clouds had been gathering there, piled one on the other like +wool-sacks, white and soft as wool just now, but stained crimson at +sunrise, and black as smoke at night. The light was vivid, and had that +peculiar quality of deepening the colours of the landscape, often the +forerunner of storm; the purple of the distant hills was more intense, +the green of the grass richer, the red of ploughed earth more +passionate. + +The sheep that Barbara was driving were uneasy, making many attempts to +break and turn back. Then the leader, recognising the summer heaf to +which the flocks return in spring, after having wintered in a more +sheltered place, set off at a run, followed by the rest. Shading her +eyes from the sun, she watched them leap gladly upwards, bleating their +welcome to the well-remembered spot--for the bond binding the sheep to +their hill-pasture, is as the bond between man and his own hearthstone. + +She turned homewards. As she threaded her way among the rocks of the +rough path, she came upon Jan Straw gathering wool, which the sheep had +left behind them upon the heath and brambles. + +"Her was buried in a linen shift," he said, answering her remark that +he was busy at a strange gleaning. "Her was buried in a linen shift, +fine and white and soft as snow." + +"Who?" asked the girl, for she saw that his mind was wandering. + +"Her o' the white fingers, white as Lucy Lynn's, white like the linen +she was buried in, white as snow." + +"Your wife, Jan?" said Barbara, having in her mind's eye a vision of +golden curls and a little pale face, which had been buried long before +she was born. + +Jan said no more, but, turning away, continued his gleaning. + +"What are the wisps for?" she asked. + +"I mun be buried in woollen," he muttered, "the law says so--it said so +then--but she had a linen shroud, the best linen as ever was wove, +shining like snow, like them little white flowers she loved." + +He stood up, trying to straighten his crooked back, crooked with the +toil and poverty of years. + +"I mun be buried in woollen," he repeated, "and I's picking my shroud +off the brambles. Yon little lass, Lucy, her o' the white hands, she +promised to spin it for me and get it wove. It wunna be white like snow, +like her own bonny hands, but it'll match my old grey face. I's'll not +be buried by the parish. I's'll lie aside her in the kirk-garth below +there." + +He wiped a tear from his eye. + +"Her should have been buried in woollen too," he added, bringing these +memories from the abyss of his mind, where they had long lain in +darkness, "but her was so white and soft, white as milk and soft as +silk, her couldna abide the touch o' a woollen shift. So her was buried +in linen, and I paid the fine." + +"It will take a lot of gathering, Jan, before you get enough to make a +shroud," said Barbara. "But let it be, let it be; leave it for the birds +to build their nests of. You shall have a fleece, and a decent bed, too, +when you need it, beside her o' the little white hands." + +He looked at the girl slowly, from her feet to the crown of her head. + +"Thee's a girt lass," he said, "as big as the mistress, and they used to +call her daughter o' the giant that lived at Ketel's Parlour. But thee's +got a kind, soft voice, Barbara Lynn, like the cooin' o' wood-doves. +Wilta gie me a fleece?" + +She nodded, and the pale watery eyes brightened. + +"The birds is welcome to my gatherin'," he replied scattering his bundle +of wool. "I's'll go and pull rushes. We's gettin' short o' candles +down-by," and he shuffled away. + +Barbara watched him go. She thought how hard it was to be old and lonely +and poor. Jan had bed and whittle-gate at the farm--decency could do no +other after a life of honest service--but, as the old man was past work, +what use had he for wages? Such was her great-grandmother's argument for +refusing to part with a penny of her hoard. + +Barbara went slowly down-hill. She had an hour to spare before +milking-time, and it was too precious to be lost. She passed along a +ledge of the Mickle Crags, found a sheltered spot, and sat down. She +could not see Greystones, as it lay right below her, but she could smell +the turf-smoke from its fire. + +There, with her hands clasped upon her knees, surrounded by a wilderness +of grey rocks, she gave wings to her mind. All through this Easter-tide +she had walked as in a dream; but it was the dream and not the actual +that had life. She came and went, rose before dawn, and passed the day +toiling upon the fells, but now and again she culled an hour to spend +with her book--Pope's "Homer"--at the cave. Sometimes Peter came there +and read to her, often the old herbalist Timothy Hadwin accompanied him, +and the two men would talk, while she listened, weaving withy baskets, +but weaving into her own mind many a wonderful thought. Thus she learned +to know the old stories of Achilles and Hector and Helen, of Ulysses and +Penelope; she was thrilled with the beauty, pathos and madness of them. +The natural objects about her began to take on a new meaning; she was +able to feel the freshness of the early world, when men's hearts were +fuller of the mystery of things, less sure of their own place in the +Universe, and stricken with fear before the veiled faces of the gods. + +She likened her mind to the shield of Achilles, which Vulcan forged for +him; she thought of it as a great disc engraved with strange +pictures--emblems of all that she thought and knew and felt. But as the +ocean encompassed the shield-- + + "In living silver seemed the waves to roll, + And beat the buckler's verge, and bound the whole," + +so about her beat the waves of a mystery, which shut in a part of her +life, that her inward eye might concentrate upon it, and yet be +conscious of the depths surging round. + +The human mind is stupendous, she thought, beyond the power of man to +understand. When she considered her own mind, and all that was written +upon it--its ideas of life, of men and women, of religion and destiny, +she was awed with wonder that a thing so mighty should have been forged +for her by the hand which gave her life. + +Her own existence was too uneventful, too full of commonplaces, too +mean, to provide a satisfying food for her strong intellect. But in +"Homer" she found a feast spread. His men and women lived down to the +depths of their being, and she lived in them. Hecuba and Andromache! the +greatness and bitterness of their lives appalled and stirred her. When +she stood upon the heights and saw the mists rise like smoke from the +dale, or roll from ledge to ledge down the fellside, when she saw the +beck in spate, when she looked through the gloaming at the ruined +outlines of the crags, then she participated in the very thoughts of +these great women; then she felt the presence of gods in the mist; then +she saw Achilles flee before the angry River; then she saw Troy and the +long black ships, and the lines of glittering warriors, and in her own +heart she heard the cry of defeated hosts, of exultation, of death, of +resignation. + +Barbara roused herself from these thoughts. She was lingering too long +in idleness. She must go and call the cattle, for milking-time was near. +So she came swiftly down the crags behind the house. They were rough and +steep, rotten in many places, and drilled with springs. But a little +sheep-path led in and out, bordered with blueberries and parsley ferns. +In one cleft a thorn had taken root, and baffled the wind and storms of +years; in another grew a holly; but for the most part the place was bare +of vegetation. Soon she saw the chimneys of Greystones below her. + +Lucy stood in the dairy churning. The door was open, and she could see +into the cow-house, and through it, framed as in a picture, the fellside +aglow with the afternoon sunshine. She was tired, her hair was ruffled, +and her cheeks were flecked with cream. Her eyes, at times, were almost +blinded with tears, and she saw the distant glories through mist. The +good green earth called to her, but she was doomed to toil at the churn +in the semi-gloom of the dairy while the day fled, while life fled. + +She longed to be out in the sunshine; she wanted to plait rush-baskets +as she had done as a child, to fish for minnows in the beck, to wander +down the dale and smell the aromatic scent of the springing bracken. She +looked at Jan Straw, who sat on the doorstep peeling rushes. He was like +a worn-out garment; she, too, would be like a worn-out garment before +long. Life was hurrying, hurrying by; not long ago she had been a child, +to-day she was a woman, soon she would be old with life behind her. Lucy +dreaded growing old. Each morning when she woke she thought that the day +must surely bring some change, but it passed as the day before had done, +passed in monotonous labour, leaving her a little older, a little +sadder, a little less hopeful. Now and then she cherished the thought +that she was a woman grown, and whispered to herself of love and home +and husband. But to-day she wanted to cast off all responsibility, to +have the mind and outlook of a child. + +She paused for a moment to wipe the splashes of cream from her cheeks, +and rest her arms. Then her great-grandmother called: + +"Lucy!" + +It was no use pretending that she had not heard; the tones of the old +voice demanded a reply. + +"Yes," she answered, reluctantly. + +"Has the butter come yet, Lucy?" + +"Nay." + +"Nay? I doubt the butter will never come to idle hands." + +The girl began again, and the thud, thud of the churn was like the angry +beating of her heart. + +Lucy's unwonted despondency rose from the strange temper of Joel. +Usually he was as affectionate as she could desire, but sometimes, +without any reason that she knew, he would be taciturn and neglectful. +Yet he loved her--she did not doubt it. There was an inconsistency in +him, and it puzzled her. For to Lucy's understanding, character should +be simple, and not a thing of complex feelings and contradictory +impulses. Though Joel purposed the highest achievements, he rarely +attained; though he said that he adored her, he could not rouse his +energy to fulfil his responsibilities. She was unhappy, trying to piece +together these parts of him, and present a clear picture to her mind. + +At last she heard the plop-plop of butter in the churn, and her eyes +brightened. When the brain is distracted with questions it is unable to +solve, that concern the inner life, it finds relief in turning to +outward shows, where something is being accomplished--be it only the +coming of butter. + +The hind had cleaned out the byre, and shaken down fresh straw. It +glistened in the gloom like thick golden threads, soon to be trodden +under the hoofs of the cows. Lucy could hear her sister's voice as she +drove them from their pasture across the bridge to the milking. They +lumbered in single file up the path--red cows, white cows, piebald cows, +with straight horns and full swinging udders, their brown eyes looking +from under their lashes with an expression of innocent content. + +Lucy was in a mood to draw analogies from everything about her, and she +thought of the yellow straw and Barbara's hair, and how soon life, with +its heavy foot, would beat out its gold. + +"If you could have a wish just now, that would come true," she said, +"what would you wish for most in the world?" + +Barbara leaned her cheek against the warm side of Cushy, her favourite +cow, and pondered this question, while the only sound was the swish of +milk into the pail. + +"Eyes," she remarked at length. + +"Eyes? You're not going blind, Barbara?" + +"Nay, nay, I've got the best eyes in the dale. I can count twelve stars +in the Pleiades, and no one else can see more than six. It's not them +kind of eyes I want--it's spirit-eyes." + +"Oh, Barbara, do you want to see spooks?" + +The girl laughed, and then was silent. At last she said: + +"I feel that if we could push a curtain aside, we'd find ourselves in a +wonderful world. It's here, about us, on every hand, but we can't get +in." + +"Spooks!" again exclaimed Lucy. "I've seen a spook. It's the spirit of +this old house--a grinning, grey hag, grey as its name--and it's got you +and me in its grip; but I'll get away from it, see if I don't. It takes +the very life out of me--haunts me like a shadow." + +"Shut your eyes to it," said Barbara; "don't think of it, then it won't +bother you." + +"Shut my eyes! So I do; but it's my bed-fellow when you're not here. It +gets close to me--ugh!--and whispers and whispers----" + +"Well, what does it whisper?" + +"Horrid things--all about death and sorrow and pain----" + +"They're the common lot of us creatures. You won't escape them even if +you run away from Greystones." + +"I'm off now, at any rate," and Lucy took her milk cans and set out for +High Fold. It was her habit to meet Joel at this time, on her way +through Cringel Forest, and glean from their short meeting either joy or +unhappiness upon which to feed herself until the same hour of the next +evening. + +The road to the village lay along the beck-side, and crossed the stream +by an old stone bridge just beyond the falls. The bridge was garlanded +in summer with honeysuckle; already the pale green leaves were out--the +first green leaves in the dale--and the sight gladdened the heart of the +girl. The further away she got from Greystones the happier she grew; she +threw off the brooding despondency that had clouded her spirit all day, +and hummed as she walked. The evening air was balmy, the snow had +vanished from the fells, spring had come at last. + +She had not gone far when she met Peter Fleming on his way to see her +great-grandmother. He was swinging along at a good pace, with books +tucked under each arm, and whistling like a blackbird. But he turned and +walked with her to the edge of the forest. She could not help a +momentary wish that Peter, with his honest grey eyes, and open smile +were Joel. She could have rested her heart in peace upon him. She would +never have been troubled with doubts. She would have been like a bird, +buoyed up like a bird on the calm blue waters of the mere, as happy and +unconcerned a creature as any on the earth. He had never shown her +anything but a brotherly affection, but she knew by instinct that artful +fingers, and a pretty face could cause his heartstrings to vibrate. Yet +it was Joel, and not Peter, whom she loved. + +He left her at the edge of the forest, and she followed one of the many +paths by which it was intersected, that led to a clearing where Timothy +Hadwin's cottage stood. But his door was shut, so she left his can of +milk on the doorstep, and ran down to a little dell to meet Joel. She +jingled her cans so that he might hear her coming. + +He was waiting for her with his back against a tree-trunk. + +A sweeter trysting-place these lovers could not have chosen. The mossy +banks were starred with celandines, now closing with the lengthening +shadows; hollies, dense and glossy-leaved, formed a complete screen +around, and down in the bottom, among grey pebbles, a spring bubbled up, +as clear as crystal and cold as ice, widening into a pool, in which the +lovely slim bodies of the sunbeams by day, and the moon-beams by night, +bathed and swam. + +Joel was in a lively humour, but Lucy would be serious. + +"Oh, lad, lad," she whispered, "take me away from Greystones. I'm so +unhappy there." + +"Unhappy! What or who has been frightening you, Lucy? Is it the old +woman?" + +She shuddered. + +"I'm sure the place is haunted." + +"So it is--by your great-grandmother. It's not canny to have a +great-grandmother, Lucy. She ought to be a ghost by now." + +"Oh, I'd rather have her as she is," replied the girl. "She can't get +out of the four-poster--at any rate she wont till she's dead. Then"--she +shivered again, and moved closer to him--"she would soon be after us, +keeking through the bushes, and crying out in that sharp voice of hers: +'Lucy, Lucy, away to your bed!' But, Joel, I wish you would tell her +that you want to marry me." + +"God forbid," he said fervently. + +"Why not, Joel? Don't you want to marry me? She's fonder of you than she +is of me." + +He plucked a bunch of the little yellow flowers and twined them in her +curls. + +"You're very pretty to-night, Lucy," he answered, "and you know I want +to marry you more than anything else in the world. But it would not help +us for me to tell her so, though she does profess to like the looks of +me. She likes the looks of her money better." + +"What's that to do with it?" + +"She'd want to know if I expected her to keep us." + +"You could say 'No.'" + +"Then she'd want to know if I could keep you." + +"You could say 'Yes.'" + +"But I can't keep you, Lucy. I can't keep myself, not yet, though I have +hopes that my luck is changing," he spoke mysteriously. + +"Shall we never be married?" she asked wearily, leaning her head upon +his shoulder. + +"We must wait a little longer." + +"It's always wait, wait, wait, Joel." + +"Well, you see, you shouldn't have fallen in love with such a +poverty-stricken creature. But I thank God--whenever I thank Him at +all--that you did. You're the only soul that has ever cared for me, +Lucy. My mother blew the thought of me away as though I had been dust; +and old Mally Ray, honest heart, doesn't know the meaning of real love. +I don't think her religion approves of the word. Look up, Lucy, and let +me see you smile--it's a garden of roses to me, that smile of yours." + +She did look up, but to ask in a cold voice: + +"How much money have you, Joel?" + +"Only a penny piece, but, like the widow's curse, it's going to +multiply." + +"Really?" + +"You shall see. Some fine morning I'll come riding up to Greystones and +carry you off to be lady of Forest Hall." + +She gazed at him through the dusk, at his handsome face and lithe +figure. He was a glorious make of a man. How could she ever have +distrusted him? His eyes were looking into hers with an expression of +the tenderest regard, his arms were round her, his voice was whispering +endearing words. + +So she gave herself up to the joy of loving and being loved, having cast +all her doubts and suspicions away as unworthy of her and disloyal to +him. + +They sat on a fallen tree with arms entwined. It was growing rapidly +darker; owls began to hoot in the forest; a damp, sweet smell rose from +the undergrowth. They talked bravely, as young things do, of the +future. + +Then Lucy ran home by the singing beck, up to the lonely house under the +crags, happy in Joel's promise that he would soon come for her openly, +and ask for her great-grandmother's blessing, which he was sure to get +if he came with full pockets. + +How they were to be filled she did not know or ask. But Joel had assured +her that his luck was changing at last. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE WAKING OF THE HOLY WELL + + +"Thee'll be home betimes," said Mistress Lynn. + +Lucy was standing before the kitchen looking-glass, pinning a flower +into the bosom of her cotton gown. She glanced up with a curl of +rebellion on her lips, then tossed her head and replied: + +"Aye." + +"Thee'll mind that now, my lass," continued the old woman; "I'll have no +bairn o' mine wandering about Cringel Forest after dark." + +"You did it yourself, great-granny," said Lucy, with resentment. "Many's +the time I've heard you tell of waking the Holy Well till midnight." + +"M'appen I did, Lucy," and she smiled grimly; "but I don't choose that +you should follow me. You might gang astray." + +"Well, I'll be back before dark," answered the girl. + +"At nine o'clock?" + +"Aye, at nine o'clock! It's a wonder you don't say seven or six maybe." + +"So I would if I saw a reason for it; but I don't," replied Mistress +Lynn imperturbably. "Go thy wayses now, and come back with a more +respectful tongue in thy head. I'll be glad to be rid of thy saucement +for a while." + +Lucy went out into the sunshine gaily. This was one of her few holidays +in the year, and for very shame her great-grandmother could not keep her +drudging at the farm when the whole village was bent on pleasure, waking +the Holy Well. The day was Tuesday in Easter Week. The sky was blue; the +birds were in the full rush of nest-making; the leaves were coming out +like magic; everything was light-hearted. + +To be sure the new curate had cast a cold eye on the festivities, and +even spoken against them from the church at the top of the village +street; but his sour looks and words could not take the sweetness out of +the day, or stifle the merriment of his parishoners. They had waked the +well on the 23rd of April for generations--long before there was a +church in High Fold, long before good St. Kentergerne had preached the +Gospel to their forefathers. They had waked it in the days when +mistletoe grew in Cringel Forest, and when they worshipped strange gods +at the Stannin' Stanes on the fellside yonder. Christianity had merely +given the old pagan custom, which it could not stamp out, a Christian +significance. No young, upstart curate, with his austere views, could +prevent the people from clinging with affection to a festivity, +sanctioned by the ages, and providing so bright a break in the routine +of their sombre lives. + +When Lucy reached the churchyard crowds were already gathered. The +well--a stream of water bubbling into a stone trough by the +lychgate--was hung with garlands of ferns and flowers; the village +street was choked with traffic and booths, where nuts and gingerbread, +and gaily-coloured confections were being sold by dames in their Sunday +best. Timothy Hadwin dispensed powders, balms and essences to the +shepherds and their wives--many of whom had come miles over the +mountains, and had not been to High Fold since this time last year. + +"Sixpence worth o' the linctus, Timothy. It's main good for the cough: +my man would have died last winter if I hadn't given him it regular; the +snow and the wind was sommat awfu' back the fells." + +"A pound o' camomile, Tim, old man. There's nowt like camomile-tea when +your innards are no' peacefu' like!" + +"Have you any o' that elder-flower water, Master Timothy, what makes +your cheeks soft?" whispered a lass, with a hasty look round to see that +no young man could overhear her. + +But the chief interest of Timothy's stall was a microscope, mounted on a +brass stand, through which the folk could examine a variety of +interesting objects; a kaleidoscope, and a burning glass. + +On the green, in front of the inn, games were in full swing, and in a +corner of the churchyard half-hidden by the ancient gravestones, a +cock-fight drew the male population like needles to a magnet. A big +brown bear was dancing to amuse the children; there were jugglers and +jesters from the nearest town; fortune-tellers with swarthy skins and +coral necklaces, and that dearest of delights to both old and young, a +Punch-and-Judy show. + +Lucy looked about her for a sight of Joel's tall figure, but he was not +to be seen. She wandered here and there, and though she was greeted by +merry voices, and answered them merrily enough, she was disappointed. +Where was he? and why did he not meet her as he had promised? He ought +to have been on the lookout for her coming, not she for his But Peter +Fleming saw her and ran across the short, bright turf. + +"Come and dance with me," he said; "the old blind fiddler is striking up +a jig." + +Lucy slipped her hand through his arm, but still looked round for Joel. +She caught sight of his head rising above a gravestone as he watched the +cock-fight. A slight flush mounted to her brow; her eyes sparkled still +more brightly, and she tripped down the street to the place where the +fiddler sat on a bench tuning his strings, never casting another glance +behind. + +"Thee's the best dancer in High Fold, Peter," she said gaily; "it's like +swinging in the air to dance with you. Come on, lad, my feet can't bide +still when they hear the music." + +She looked a bonny lass with her jetty curls and blue eyes. She floated +through the dance like a feather; she laughed like a bell. Peter was in +a mood to be attracted by her smiles. He had spent his holiday in +delightful idleness; he had been petted at home and made much of by the +villagers, and, though his head had not been turned, his heart was in a +condition to be easily stirred. He enjoyed a flirtation in much the same +way as he had enjoyed eating a stolen apple when he was a boy--the +excitement of getting it attracted him, and gave a flavour to the thing +attained. + +Lucy was ready to aid and abet him. She received his attentions with a +coy humour, ate gingerbread rabbits with him, danced with him, and gave +him a flower from her hair to wear in his button-hole. But her thoughts +were elsewhere, and her eyes again and again strayed in Joel's +direction. It was a salve to her wounded feelings to see that he had +noticed her, and was standing sulky and aloof on the outskirts of the +crowd. She would punish him well, and then forgive him, as she always +forgave him, and would always forgive him for worse offences. + +"Where's Barbara?" asked Peter, as Lucy rested on the grass and he +fanned her with a dock leaf. His eyes, too, had been straying, seeking +for a golden head and stately throat above the throng. + +"She's nursing a sick sheep," replied her sister. "Poor Barbara! there +is never any fun for her!--not that she wants it as I do, but something +always comes in the way to spoil her outings." + +"Barbara's an angel," said Peter. + +"She is that!" answered Lucy fervently. + +He clasped his hands behind his head, and looked up into the face of the +girl beside him. He never had any inclination to look at Barbara so; he +never lay at her feet and talked nonsense. There was something of a +man's attitude towards another man in his way of regarding her. She was +strong and self-reliant and high-minded; he only dimly understood her. +But that which he did understand drew his deepest reverence. He had two +sides to his nature, as most folk have; and though Lucy appealed to the +happy, homely, youthful part of him, with Barbara he was a +serious-hearted man, who knew that life was no game, and who purposed to +live strenuously in his appointed place. + +The afternoon wore on towards evening. The sun was getting low, and the +church flung a dark shadow on the graveyard. The folk drew together in +groups, sat themselves down upon the benches, and streamed in and out of +the Wild Boar. Before it, on a plot of grass, the bear was dancing. + +It looked mangy and starved. Yet even in its present condition it kept +some of the majesty of its early years, when it had been free to wander +among the forests of a distant land. Gentle and timid it was among the +human beings that stood around, laughing at its clumsy ways, and +sometimes prodding it with sticks; but it turned at bay when a snarling +dog ventured too near. + +The gipsy--a long, lean fellow, whose eyes smouldered--leaned against +the horse-trough and piped. He looked, among the fair-haired country +folk, as much of an alien as the bear dancing on an English green. His +slack, nervy figure needed but a word to make it taut as steel. He had a +barbed stick by his side, and a chain, from the animal's collar, +fastened to a ring round his wrist. He was much bedizened with coloured +ribbons and brass buttons. + +Peter stood on the steps of the inn and watched the scene with keen +pleasure. He liked the bear, although its eyes were dim with neglect, +and its fur clotted and evil-smelling. It suggested to him the infinite +variety and complexity of life. Its proper home was in distant forests; +it had feelings and instincts which he could not even imagine; its +destiny had no parallel with his; yet by its patience, gentleness and +power to suffer it was linked with his own nature. He liked the gipsy, +for he felt a chord of fellowship between them. Here was one who +disdained to sleep, eat and die among the crowd; who lived a roving life +in the green lanes, coming and going as he pleased, free as air. Such a +life attracted Fleming, who cared more for liberty than a dry bed. He +liked the village folk--nay, he loved them, though they stood +open-mouthed, like children, and were pleased as children at the +ungainly ambling of the bear. He knew that they were stolid, +narrow-minded; but round them his affections twined. They were the root +from which he sprang. + +It was Peter's habit to find some likeness between himself and the world +about him. Many of his ideas he had imbibed from Timothy Hadwin, who +when he was a child had taught him Latin and Greek, and used every +opportunity to impress the boy with a sense of the mystery of the +universe. + +Life touched life through the three kingdoms. The tiniest flower in the +hedgerow and the king on his throne were but links in one great chain. +It was this sense of his relationship to the whole living creation that +gave breadth to Peter's outlook, intensity to his mind, and power to his +bearing. He tried to understand, and he deeply loved all nature. His +college friends looked upon him as a crank, yet they respected him +greatly; for they once saw him bridle and ride a bucking horse that no +one else dared approach. + +While the gipsy lazily piped upon his whistle, and the bear continued to +dance, Peter entered the inn and persuaded the scolding housewife--whose +head was fairly whirling with so much coming and going--to ransack her +store for some of last year's honey. She gave it to him reluctantly; +but, then, he would never be denied anything when he asked for it. He +fed the beast with the melliferous morsel and such was the creature's +appreciation that he insisted upon following Peter, wagging his head +from side to side with a most ludicrous motion, as though coaxing him +for more. + +"You're a cupboard lover, my friend, I fear," said Peter. + +The bear sat down, whoofed and whimpered, while his master twitched at +the chain. + +"Hungry, eh?" Peter poked him in the ribs. "You look like it; never saw +a bigger bag of bones in my life! Here, you fellow, why don't you feed +him better?" + +"What's that to you?" + +"I don't like to see a hungry brother." + +"Get up," said the man to the bear; but it would not move, and continued +to whimper and look at Peter. The gipsy grasped his stick in one hand, +while he shortened the chain with the other. His temper was rising. + +"Leave the poor brute alone," interposed Peter; "it's only crying for +its supper, like little Tommy Tucker. Nay, now, leave it alone." + +"Is it yours or mine, master?" + +"Why, mine. See what a fancy it's taken to me!" + +He laughed good-humouredly. + +"I've a notion the beast would make a nice pet. What'll you sell him +for, you fellow?" + +The gipsy took no notice; he thought that Fleming was fooling him. He +raised his stick threateningly, but before the sharp point, which the +bear had learnt to know and fear, could descend, it was twisted out of +his hands. + +"Might is right," said Peter, with a broad grin. + +The man was angry; his was a nature that could ill brook crossing. He +clenched his fists, and came nearer, but he looked twice at his +antagonist, and decided that discretion was the better part of valour. +Peter was not only broader than himself, but taller, and he had heard +that the gentleman was a great wrestler. + +"Ho, my good fellow," said Fleming, "are you going to fight me for him? +Better come into the inn and settle the matter over a pot of beer." + +"What do you want the bear for, master?" + +"To play with--poodles aren't in my line. I need something big. Besides, +I've an idea you'll be sending him to the knacker's in a week or two, +and I'd like to save him from such a fate." + +The gipsy looked him over, wondering if he were in jest or earnest. + +"Honest! quite honest!" said Peter, reading the man's glance. + +The gipsy's eyes began to sparkle, and he turned towards the inn. + +"Come on, master," said he; "if you wants the bear you shall have him." + +They went in, while Jake the rat-catcher called after them: + +"Don't let the fellow cheat you, lad. He wouldn't get sixpence for the +carcase if he sold it for dog's meat. There isn't a crow-picking on its +bones." + +Peter and the gipsy were not long within. They came out laughing, the +latter wiping his mouth, his dark, lean countenance showing signs of +satisfaction. + +Fleming pulled his flute out of his pocket, played the tune that the +bear's master had been whistling, and the ungainly beast began to dance. + +"Eh, lad, yon's a nice new pet you've gotten. Your mother will be main +pleased to have it sitting in the chimney-nook," said one of the crowd. + +"Take it to bed with thee," remarked Dusty John, who had long ceased to +wonder at the vagaries of his son, but was rather pleased with them than +otherwise. "It will keep thee warm o' nights." + +"Nay, nay, it's ower moth-eaten to have much warmth in it. Best hap it +up in camphor, Peter, and get some of Old Camomile's powder to put away +the fleas." + + * * * * * + +Meanwhile Lucy had found Joel. The sun had set, and the rooks were +flying home above Cringel Forest. + +"Come with me up the dale," she said softly. + +He was not disposed to be friendly. + +"Cheer up, lad," she continued. "Let's be kind again." + +With a face still lowering, and his whole frame the very embodiment of +injured pride, he turned and walked beside her. + +He was jealous of Peter, yet sensible that he was to blame, not she. + +"You'd better marry Peter," he said at last, breaking the silence. + +"Who talks of marrying?" replied Lucy, coolly. + +"He's got money and brains. He'd make you a worthier husband than I." + +He kicked the stones out of his path and switched the heads off the +primroses that were growing by the wayside. The truth was, which Lucy +did not know, that he had been betting and had lost. When they came to +the edge of the forest, and the open dale lay before them, all gloomy +with shadows, Lucy turned. + +"Good-night, Joel," she said, and made as if to go. "I'm sorry you're so +cross. It's spoilt my day, my only holiday; good-night." + +But he flung his arm round her, his anger vanishing like a cloud that +has discharged its ill humours. + +"Stay," he said. "I know I'm a brute. But let us go back. There'll be +more dancing, and we'll trip the moon up into the sky and out of it +again. I'm a better dancer than Peter. He's too heavy on his toes--you +found that, eh?--rather a clumsy fellow, too loose in the make to be a +comfortable partner. Come back. Come and see the rockets and torches. +We'll have a good time, lots of fun. Who knows whether we'll see the +wakes together again?" + +She relented at once, dissolved like snow in the sun, when she heard the +pleading tones of his voice. + +"But I promised great-granny." + +"Stay," he repeated, and began to draw her back to the forest. + +"I daren't, Joel; she'd never forgive me." + +"Only a little longer." + +"Nay." + +Yet why should she not stay? Her great-grandmother had enjoyed such +occasions to the full when she was young. Why should Lucy not do the +same? She might go home, bid the old woman good-night, and when the +doors were barred, and the candles out, and Mistress Lynn thought she +was safely in her bed, slip downstairs, and escape by the cow-house. She +asked Joel what he thought of her plan. + +"I'll wait for you," he said, "don't be long. But there's Barbara! She'd +never consent. Stay now do, Lucy; don't go in. Let's go back to the +village, and you can face the din to-morrow morning. Lay all the blame +on me." + +She shuddered. + +"You don't know what great-grandmother's like when she's roused! But +Barbara's at Ketel's Parlour. It's not likely she'll come home to-night, +unless the sheep is dead. The sheep don't often die in her hands, for +she looks after them as though they were sick bairns. I'll not be long, +Joel." + +She slipped from his arms like a child bent on mischief, laughing under +her breath, yet not altogether at ease--it was no light undertaking for +anyone to try and hoodwink old Mistress Lynn. + +The great-grandmother looked at the clock as soon as she entered, and +seemed grimly surprised at Lucy's punctuality. A cotter's wife rose from +the settle and hurried away, so as to get her share of the festivities. +She had been keeping the old woman company during the girl's absence. + +"Sit thee down now," said Mistress Lynn, "and tell me about the wake." + +"I's so tired, great-granny," yawned Lucy. + +"Tired! At your age I could dance till dawn and not be too tired to milk +the kye at sunrise." + +Lucy sat down with an aggrieved expression. + +"If you'd let me dance till dawn I'd maybe have had the better grace to +tell you about it," she replied with some spirit. + +"Well, get away to bed. Thee's got a sharp tongue that it's no gert +pleasure for an old woman to hear." + +Lucy went upstairs, and moved about for a while, then she sat on the +edge of the bed and waited. It was a tedious waiting, but she dared not +creep downstairs, and let herself out by the cow-house door till there +was some likelihood of her great-grandmother being asleep. + +At last she thought that she might venture. She took off her shoes, and +slipped noiselessly down; the stairs were made of stone, so they could +not betray her by creaking. On the wall opposite the kitchen was a +little round beam of light. It shone through a hole in the door, where +a knot had come out. Lucy was surprised; she wondered what Mistress Lynn +could be doing with a light at this hour. She put her eye to the hole +and looked through. She could see the bed, and the old woman's hands, +but not her face. + +The candle flung a misty light on a pile of glittering coins in one +withered hand. Her great-grandmother was counting them, dropping them +one by one into a bag. + +Lucy was riveted to the spot. She could not tear herself away, even +though Joel was waiting, hidden in the copse just below the house. She +could hear a faint click as the coins fell against one another. That bag +was filled. The thin old hands picked up another, and poured its +contents upon the quilt. Lucy watched like one fascinated. She saw her +great-grandmother pick up several bags, and count many handfuls of +money--some of it silver, some of it gold. She waited until the candle +was put out, and she heard the curtains softly drawn. Mistress Lynn had +composed herself to sleep. + +Lucy opened the cow-house door and stole out into the night. A clear +moon was shining; the foam of the beck looked like white horses tossing +in the wind, and the primroses glimmered like stars. Joel was still +waiting. + +"You can't say that I haven't patience," he said. + +Lucy began to speak excitedly. + +"I've seen such a sight, lad, such a sight! I've seen great-granny +counting her money." + +"I knew she'd got a store somewhere," he replied. "I wish I had! It +would come in very handy just now." + +"But, Joel, she's old, and when she dies----" + +"We'll all be rich folk, Lucy." + +"And we can be married then, lad, and put Forest Hall in trim, and be +happy." + +He laughed, but not very spontaneously. + +"There goes a rocket over the trees," he said. + +"It goes up like my hope," replied Lucy. + +But the thing burst and was gone. + +"Prophetic, I fear," said Joel. + +When they came under the black shadow of the crag on the top of which +Forest Hall was built, they paused and glanced up. + +The moonlight brought the battlements into relief against the sky, and +shone silvery upon the fir-tree, growing out of a niche, and sweeping +the front wall with its feathery boughs. The house was very high, +strange and frowning, grander than it ever looked by daylight. + +Joel gripped Lucy's hand with a sudden excess of feeling. + +"I'll never part with Forest Hall," he said, as though he saw in his +mind's eye someone who wanted to take it from him. "I'll never sell the +old place. If I go down into ruins, it shall go down into ruins with me. +We'll fall together." + +"Don't talk so fiercely, Joel," replied Lucy, gently smoothing his +fingers to take the strain out of their grip. "Forest Hall will some day +be refurnished from cellar to garret, and you and I will live there like +a pair of cooing doves. Haven't you told me so many a time?" + +"Of course, Lucy," he said, relaxing. + +They walked on again, and near the outskirts of the forest met Peter and +his bear. + +"Hulloa, what have you there?" said Joel, while the girl drew back, not +caring to be caught alone with him at this time of the night. + +"A lap-dog for you, Joel." + +"The deuce have you! And what do you expect me to do with it?" + +"Give it housing room. You've got an empty shed, haven't you?" + +"Two or three. You're a rum chap!" and Joel laughed, for he could never +keep his resentment in his friend's breezy presence. + +"There's a good fellow. May I put Big Ben--such is his name, I'm +told--into one of them?" + +"Great heavens! do you want me to take the bear?" + +"It's as gentle as a lamb! Would you like to see me put my head in its +mouth?" + +"No! lead it away, fix it where you like; but I say, Peter, you don't +expect me to look after it, do you?" + +"Give it lodging only! Jake's going to see to its board. Many thanks, +Joel. I'm off to-morrow, but I'll be up to bid you good-bye in the +morning. Come along, you limping Ursus, it's time you were abed." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +JOEL'S DARKNESS + + +Easter was over; Peter Fleming had gone back to Oxford; Joel Hart spent +much of his time away from home; the lambing season was past; mid-summer +had come. + +Joel had friends after his own heart scattered through the +countryside--young men with small estates and little education like +himself. They forgathered in each other's houses, and spent their time +cock-fighting and gambling, losing one day to gain the next, enjoying +and suffering all the excitements of prosperity and failure in quick +succession. + +Joel began by winning, and saw an easy way of retrieving his fortunes +opening out before him. Then he lost, and, growing desperate, lost more +and more heavily, till he had little left to lose. He owed money to the +village tradesmen, but that did not trouble his conscience. When he +could not meet his debts of honour--as he was pleased to call them--he +felt disgraced; hurt in his pride. So he came riding home, gave himself +up to brooding, sent word to Lucy that he was ill, and kept the house +for days. + +Ill he most certainly was, but in mind and conscience, not in body. One +afternoon he sat alone in the parlour of Forest Hall, his head sunk on +his breast, and his eyes burning. The fire had died out, and the hearth +was filled with ash, yet, though it was June, he shivered. + +Mally Ray, his old nurse and now his housekeeper, had gone off for the +day, and left him to fend for himself. On the table lay the remains of a +meal, and the atmosphere of the room was heavy, in spite of the sunshine +outside, and the chiming of a light wind through the tree-tops of the +forest. + +He had slept little of late, and his nights had been made hideous by +dreams, which belonged neither to the sphere of waking nor sleeping, but +beset him when he was only half-conscious; and when reality, instead of +being obliterated, was turned into a distortion of the truth. + +A vision of old Mistress Lynn and her money-bags haunted him. But he +managed to banish it in his clearer moments. No sooner, however, had his +will become weakened by weariness, than the vision returned. He spent, +or seemed to spend, hours counting the coins, and dropping them into a +bag. Through the night, through the day, at unexpected moments, he was +possessed by this demon of counting. He felt the cold metal between his +fingers, yet his hands were in his empty pockets, or hanging by his +side. + +He looked round the room, and realised suddenly that the fire was out. +Then he got up. + +"Sleep," he muttered, "I must sleep or I shall lose my wits," and he +flung himself down on a settle. + +He closed his eyes. For a while he felt dizzy, tossed up and down upon a +sea of darkness, then his brain became illuminated as with fire; he +began again to count. One by one he dropped the coins into a bag. He +roused himself with a smothered curse, turned over, and tried to fix +his mind upon something else. + +He had gone fishing the week before with some of his friends, and they +had betted on their probable catch. But he had hooked only two or three +little trout, too small to be of any use, so he had flung them back into +the mere. Now he heard them fall with a splash, and jingle as they +reached the bottom. He seemed to be fishing again, and dropping them +over the side of the boat, but sometimes it was a coin he dropped, +sometimes a silver-bellied fish. Still he went on counting. The trout +and the money were confused in his mind. He knew that he had mixed them +up; he knew that he was neither asleep nor awake, and he tried to clear +his brain. The effort was painful, he struggled as though fighting with +evil powers, but in the end he overcame, yet rose up feeling sick, +dazed, and in despair. + +The room was dusky. How long had he been lying on the settle? He looked +at the clock, and it began to strike the hour of nine. At six he had +counted the strokes, since then he had not heard them, yet he had not +slept. He must sleep, or he would go mad. He sat staring before him for +a minute, then went to the door. + +He threaded his way through the deserted passages, where draughts blew +upon him from unexpected quarters; some of the rooms were shut up; but +others were open, disclosing their emptiness. A grey film of dust seemed +to lie on everything, and the evening light, glimmering through the +cobwebbed windows, gave a green colour to the air, as though it, even, +had gone mouldy with long disuse. + +He found Mally Ray returned to the kitchen, and preparing their evening +meal. But he refused it. + +Mally Ray was a dour-faced Scot, honest, clean, yet with a mind that +regarded human affection as a wile of the Evil One, who tried by such a +means to entrap the honest Christian to his hurt. In her heart of hearts +she loved Joel profoundly, she would have sacrificed her life for him, +but she would have thought shame to let him know it. As his nurse she +had not spared the rod, for she saw his weaknesses; now she used her +tongue in much the same way. She had a long, cadaverous face, a thin and +well-drawn-down upper lip, grey eyes and a high forehead. + +"Tidy your hair, lad," she said, "it makes you look like a wandering +Willy." + +He smoothed it down with both hands, accustomed to do what she told him, +but he pushed the hound aside that had come whimpering to his knees. It +was in bad condition, having had the distemper and lost its fine litter +of puppies with the same sickness. + +"I'm going out," he said curtly, "don't expect me back till you see me." + +She tightened her lip, looking at him with stern eyes. + +"I hope you're going after no foolishness, Master Joel." + +He laughed harshly, turned on his heel, and went away. + +Standing by the wall, he gazed down at the trees below him, which were +singing in the wind. There was a cool, sweet air, and the scent of damp +earth rising from the forest. He thought that he would go and see +Timothy Hadwin, and get a sleeping draught. If he were possessed by a +devil, as he verily believed he was, Old Camomile would be able to cast +it out. + +He followed the cart-road for some way, then took the winding path that +led to Timothy's cottage. The old man was sitting on the bench by the +door, enjoying the calm of the twilight. + +"I can't sleep," said Joel. + +Timothy looked quietly into his face, saw the lines round his mouth, and +the restlessness of his eyes. + +"Tell me how you feel," he replied. + +"I can't sleep," reiterated Joel; "give me something to make me sleep." + +"Come in," said the old man. His living-room was small, but neat and +clean. There were rows upon rows of shelves along the walls, filled with +jars and bottles; the place smelled of lavender, rosemary, lad's love, +and other sweet herbs. He mixed a powder and gave it to the young man, +then he made him lie down. + +"You must open your mind, my lad," he said, "and let the sweet +influences of the night in. Peace floweth about us like a river." + +"Not round me! Nothing has ever flowed round me but black waters, and +I'm drowning in 'em." + +Already he felt the cold waves of which he spoke pressing upon his +eyelids so that he could not see. He heard Timothy's voice; it came to +him as through a curtain. The old man was talking of peace. What was +peace? Was it but the exhaustion of passion, the sinking down of a +stormy sea, as waves sink, when the tempest is over? Or was it paralysis +of the living soul, which had felt so much that it could feel no more? +Or could it be the inflowing of some holy element, that would mingle +with his thoughts and purify them? He longed for it, whatever it was. He +longed to be quiet, and as he pondered over the thoughts which +Timothy's words had roused, the roaring in his ears subsided, the +darkness lightened like the coming of dawn. He imagined that he was +lying on golden sand, and gazing up at a river flowing over his head. +Peace! The waters of Peace! Timothy had said that they flowed through +the world, and now he was bathed in them. He heard the river's ripple as +it passed; he felt at rest. + +For a few minutes longer the old man talked on, but Joel could not make +out what he said, for the words were subdued and mingled with the murmur +of the magical river. + +"Settled weather has come at last," remarked Timothy, going to the door, +and looking at the sky, which was flying with rosy streamers, although +so late. But Joel made no reply. He had gone to sleep. + +A circle of silence held the cot all through the night. Though the white +tails of innumerable rabbits flickered down in the forest, and birds +called to each other, and leaves chimed a sylvan chorus, about the +purlieus of Timothy Hadwin's abode lay a deep hush. Here nothing +stirred; it was as though an enchantment had fallen. + +Joel slept profoundly. The evil spirit that haunted him in the meantime +had fled, and left his mind a blank. It was swept and garnished--a place +for the Holy Ghost to dwell in, or seven devils. + +Daylight had hardly died out of the sky when dawn began. It came with a +primrose light in the east, and a fresh wind. All things woke at the +passing of the wind. The silence about Timothy's cot snapped, and from +each grass-blade rose a sibilant whisper, that, united, sounded like +women's skirts sweeping by. Mint and thyme, lavender, roses and +honeysuckle, filled the garden with perfume. + +Joel, too, awoke. He was lying upon the settle covered with rugs, with a +cushion under his head. At first he could not remember where he was, but +gradually the trouble of last night returned. He lay still for a while, +thinking how soon another night would be upon him, and dreading the +thought of it. He remembered that to-day was his birthday. + +He got up. Timothy was not to be seen, but the fire was burning, the +kettle singing as it swung by its iron chain over the flames. His own +life was very like the kettle, hung by the iron chain of fate over the +fires of the world. He sat down to await Timothy's return. He had not +the energy, and he did not know if he had the desire, to go away without +speaking to him. Besides, another night was coming on, and he dared not +see it approach without having by him the medicine that gave sleep. + +Yet, although he was a good deal refreshed, the beauty of the summer +morning was not for him, for he refused to accept its bounty. He did not +smell the eglantine that climbed up the porch of the cot, and scented +the air with the most memory-waking of scents; he did not taste the +sweet wind that puffed in his face; he wet his dry lips and tasted +bitterness. + +Timothy was some time returning, and Joel, for lack of better +occupation, began to puzzle over the mystery of the little man--he +remained a mystery in High Fold, though the villagers had long ceased to +speculate about it, and had probably forgotten, so many years had he +lived among them, that his origin was still unknown. He had arrived one +spring-tide, forty years ago, and settled down in this cot. Though a +young man then, his head was silver-white. He lived quietly, received no +letters, paid no visits, save to the sick in the neighbourhood--but +spent his time gathering herbs, and, when he found an understanding ear, +he talked garrulously about his thoughts, but never alluded to his +circumstances. He was an educated man, knew many foreign languages, had +read many strange books, studied the stars, and believed, to some +extent, in astrology. Further than that no one knew about him. + +Presently the old man came, wet with dew, and carrying a basket of +roots, which he had been digging up in Cringel Forest. + +"There's a virtue in them at dawn," he said, "that's gone by the time +the sun is high. Everybody who rises at dawn has felt the same virtue in +his own body." + +Timothy talked cheerfully, and prepared their morning meal without ever +remarking upon the previous night. + +"Take an old man's advice, and a fishing-rod," he said, "and spend the +day on Swirtle Tarn. I'll come too. It's a long time since I tempted +trout with a bracken clock." + +Soon after breakfast they sallied forth, and went up the dale past +Greystones. Even on this June day the house seemed to stand aloof from +the sunshine. It looked lonely and out in the cold, like a soul that had +withdrawn itself from intercourse with its fellows. The heavy green of +the sycamores, now in full leaf, hid the barns. + +They kept by the beck-side. The bracken all about them was glittering +with beetles--bronzy, golden things, that hung like beads to the fronds. +In the distance they saw Barbara; near at hand Jan Straw was weeding a +little patch of cultivated ground with slow, slow fingers. + +Silence held the inside of the house as well as the outside. +Lucy was baking scones on the griddle, but the curtains of her +great-grandmother's bed had not yet been withdrawn. + +The old woman kept Midsummer's Day like a fast. In the annals of her +life it was marked as a day of doom, a day when her spirit came into +touch with the supernatural, when her heart wept tears, though her eyes +were dry. Its return each year brought the past back to her, the wild +past when adventure came riding to the door, and no one need go out to +seek it. Sometimes she could reach back through the dusty years, and +feel her flesh grow young and warm, and know that she, and the Annas +Lynn of twenty, were one. But at other times, the eyes that she fixed +upon those ancient scenes were old and cold, and she failed to make the +dry bones live. + +One Midsummer's Day in her youth she had stood on the fells and seen a +phantom army pass. This happened three years before the rebellion of +1745. Some of the village folk saw the apparition also, but none of them +recognised the leader of it, mounted on a black horse. A year later she +again saw the phantom army. It seemed to move along the top of the +fells--a train of marching men, gun-carriages and baggage. Then the +mists came down and hid it. + +Next year, Joel Hart--the Jacobite Joel Hart--had led a little company +over the hills into Scotland to welcome Prince Charles Edward back to +his rightful inheritance. Though another man's wife, Annas Lynn had wept +for the handsome cavalier. Months of disaster followed; the haughty lady +of Forest Hall had given birth to a son; but Culloden had been fought, +and there was no hope for the rebels. It was then that the lady came a +suppliant to Annas Lynn, whom she had scorned in the past, guessing that +more than a kindly feeling lay between her husband and her. But the +house was full of soldiers, and Joel had ventured home to see his child +before fleeing to France. She prayed that Annas would hide him till the +search was over. + +For a day and a night he lay hidden in the wool-barn, undetected by even +the keen eyes of David Lynn. Then on Midsummer's Eve the Northern Lights +had played for an hour above Thundergay as they had played before Lord +Derwentwatter was beheaded thirty years previously. "Derwentwatter's +Leets," the fell-folk had called the aurora since that night. Annas +watched the great bars shoot and fade with despair in her heart, for she +felt sure that Joel was doomed, and he was shot by soldiers on the +lookout for him the following evening. + +Upon these scenes the old woman dwelt every Midsummer's Day. + +She lay in the four-poster, shut in from distracting sounds and sights +by the curtains. Could Lucy have been so bold as to peer between them, +many a strange expression flitting across the old face would not only +have astonished, but startled her. For her great-grandmother could hate +and love with a mighty passion. Sometimes she bore a strange likeness to +herself as she had looked when she bade Joel good-bye, and he slipped +out of the wool-barn into the dark night. She had been tall and fair in +those days--like Barbara--but with a jewel glittering in each eye. Or, +again, her face might reflect that look of misery with which she had +watched his dead body being carried past the farm on a spruce-bough +early the next morning. Or her expression might change to one that +recalled her hatred of David Lynn, her husband, when he had stood by and +commended the soldiers for their deed of blood. From that day to this, +though he had long been laid in his grave, she thought of him with +aversion. She had spurned her children, and her children's children, +because they took after him in looks and character. Not till Barbara was +born, and another Joel Hart bore the form and features of his ill-fated +grandfather, did her heart warm again to human affection. + +She remembered that to-day was Joel's birthday. It was one more +coincidence, which led her to regard Midsummer's Day with superstition. +She looked upon the young man as a message from the other world, and she +gave him her blessing. When she died, her wealth was to be divided +between him and her great-grandchildren. She knew that he was hard-up +now, but money had grown so dear to her, that she could not part with it +till she must, even for a lost love's sake. By tortuous paths the human +soul travels away from the generous impulses of youth, and reaches, in +old age, a place where it had never thought to be! + +To-day her memory had been acute, and she had suffered. She felt that +she had been consorting with the living and not the dead--though they +had died long ago; three-score years and ten were wiped out. + +Pulling back the curtains, she called to Lucy. + +"Go down to Forest Hall and tell Joel I want him," she said. + +"He's but now gone up the dale with Timothy Hadwin," replied Lucy. + +"Keep a watch for him returning and bring him in. It's a long while +since he came to Greystones to see the old woman, though, doubtless," +she peered into the girl's face, "doubtless he's often been at the +bridge philandering with a young one." + +"Indeed, no, you're mistaken, great-granny." + + * * * * * + +It was evening when Joel came, bringing with him half a dozen trout +strung on a withy. He found Mistress Lynn in a talkative mood; he caught +a glimpse of the white flesh of her youth peeping out from under the +hard old mail of age. + +She talked to him of his grandfather and the wild times of the +Rebellion. She made the past live. She told him how the village was full +of soldiers and spies. She pointed to the wool-barn door, at the other +side of the passage, and bade him look in, and he would see it now as it +was then, with the fleeces piled up, waiting for market-day, but at that +time a hunted man was hiding among them. + +Barbara, sitting by the window darning, listened intently. The old tale +was an Iliad to her. She found in it the same elements of greatness, of +romance and poetry, as in the stories of Homer. The passions roused were +deep passions, the sorrows suffered were real sorrows. Her +great-grandmother, the ill-fated man, the lady of Forest Hall, had not +lived in vain, for they had felt down to the depths of their natures. +This was the essence of true poetry. Barbara thought that, if she had +had the learning, and the genius, she would have made an Iliad out of +the old woman's story for the fell-folk. + +The wool-barn door still stood open. The stone flags, the oaken rafters, +the brandereth on the hearth--the place had always been used for baking +and brewing, as well as the storing of fleeces--were the same as those +which Joel Hart, the Jacobite, had looked upon among the last things he +had seen on earth. Doubtless, during the day and night he had spent +there, they had become engraved upon his brain. A man could still hide +among the sheep's wool. + +Then Mistress Lynn unlocked the bridewain and showed Joel an old +horse-pistol with rusty stains upon it--which were his grandfather's +blood. In a fit of generosity she gave him a sovereign as a birthday +gift. + +Joel had listened to her tale with wandering attention. His own troubles +were too absorbing for him to give much heed to this story of long ago. +Although his mind had recovered its balance, and he was no longer +haunted by the fear of going mad, yet it had not gained serenity. He +felt that he was choking in a narrow way, and could discover no turning. + +The unlocking of the bridewain roused him. He took the sovereign, +fingered it restlessly, thinking of the hoard from which it came. + +"When I's dead, lad, thee shall have many like it," said the old woman. + +The impulse was on him to tell her, there and then, about the snare into +which he had got his feet, to throw himself upon her compassion, and beg +for her aid. But he controlled this feeling, for Barbara and Lucy were +present, and he was too proud to unburden himself before them. + +"It's ill waiting for dead folk's shoes," said Lucy. "I wish you'd give +us some of it to enjoy while you're here to teach us how to spend it +aright." + +"Dead folk's shoes, when they're well-lined, are verra comfortable +things to step into, my lass," retorted the old woman, taking no notice +of the other part of her petition. + +"I'm of Lucy's opinion," said Joel. "I'd have great pleasure in drinking +your health with it now, great-granny." + +She looked up with a certain suspicious light in her eyes. + +"You've got a sovereign," she said coldly; "how many more do you want?" + +He laughed uneasily. + +"As many as your kind heart could spare a poverty-stricken fellow like +me." + +"In good time, my lad, all in good time." + +Barbara also lifted her eyes and gave the young man a long and serious +look; then she dropped them without comment. + +Joel smiled sourly. If Mistress Lynn's money was to do him any good, he +must have it now. Later would be too late. + +Timothy Hadwin had cast out the evil spirit with which he had been +possessed. He had wakened in the morning free from its baleful +influence, but he had neglected to fill its vacant place with a better +one. He had let himself drift. All through the day the old man had +striven to rouse him, but he could make nothing of Joel. His mood varied +from flippant to sullen, but a serious interest in, or a manly attitude +towards life, he seemed to be incapable of attaining. + +Now he sat gazing on the bridewain, thinking of what it contained, and +wondering if Mistress Lynn would lend him some money. But even as the +thought passed through his mind, he dismissed it. She would want to know +all about his ways and means, his follies and sins; she would search +the most secret places of his heart if he once gave her the opportunity, +and there was much he would be ashamed for any eye to see. + +The old woman sent him to the spring to bring her a mug of fresh water, +for she was thirsty. As he stood in the gloaming with the dark farm +buildings all about him, and the sycamores shuffling overhead, and the +water gurgling at his feet, his eyes burnt, and he wetted his dry lips +with his tongue. He filled the mug and drank, filled it a second time +and drained it again. He was assailed by temptation. Could he not, by +some means, anticipate the old woman's decree concerning the disposal of +her money? A third of it was to be his--she had said so. Could he not +have it now? It profited her nothing laid up in blue linen bags. It +would bring salvation to him. The matter was not difficult to +accomplish. Fate seemed to have thrown the chance at him, nay, had +prepared it and laid it before him ready to be carried out. He had a +sleeping-draught in his pocket which Timothy Hadwin had given him. The +old man had been reluctant, but he had insisted. If he dropped it into +the cup of water, Mistress Lynn would drink it without thinking. And if +she did discover a faint, curious taste, she would imagine it due to the +state of the spring, grown round as it was with water-weeds. He could +hide, as his grandfather had done, among the fleeces, and then, when +night came, and Barbara and Lucy were safe asleep upstairs, what could +be easier than to slip out and open the bridewain unnoticed and unheard? +He had seen Mistress Lynn hide the key under her pillow. + +He put the idea from him with distaste: even though he promised himself +that he would take no more than his share, that he would repay it some +day, he could not help feeling it a cowardly act for a man to +contemplate and that man the master of Forest Hall. + +He filled the cup and returned towards the house. But on the way he +paused. The darkness of his future appalled him; he was undone if he +could not meet those debts of honour. Where could he hope to get the +money if not here? And such a chance was not likely to come his way +again. He had no time to argue the whole question over once more: he had +been away too long already. + +Mistress Lynn drank the water unsuspiciously. Old Camomile was too wise +to put the powerful drug he had given Joel the night before into such +weak hands. The young man was strong, and would sleep soundly enough, +when he learnt to regulate his life like a Christian gentleman. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +MIDNIGHT + + +"Great-granny has been very generous--for her," said Lucy, as she bade +Joel good-night in the copse below the house. "Fancy her giving you a +whole sovereign! Doesn't it make you feel rich? I wish she'd give me +one!" + +"All in good time, Lucy, all in good time," he replied, mimicking the +old woman's voice. + +"She was sharp, wasn't she, when we hinted we'd like to have some of her +money to spend now? But you're not as badly off as you say, eh, Joel?" + +"I told you my luck was changing," he answered somewhat irritably, but +he would not meet her eyes, for although it was too dark for them to see +each other clearly, he fancied that she might be able to read his mind. + +"I'm so glad, Joel, and--and great-granny's very old!" She was half +afraid to utter words which implied a wish that she dared not express. + +"She'll be older still before she dies," said he, then added as a second +thought, "I shouldn't wonder if she buried us first. Death seems to +forget the old folk sometimes, and to take the young instead." + +Lucy turned away; tears rushed to her eyes; she forced them back. + +What was wrong with Joel to-night? She had not seen him for a week, and +had been longing to hear him say that he had missed her desperately. But +he seemed to be preoccupied and answered her enquiries after his health +in on off-hand manner; his bearing was no longer gay, but distant. +Saying good-night she went back to Greystones. + +Joel let her go with the customary embrace, but she felt no warmth in +it. She was hurt at his indifference, and paused, when she reached the +garden, to compose her features before meeting the eyes of her +great-grandmother, who believed that she was in the dairy turning +cheeses. She thought of his handsome face and form, and then her +resentment sank. She dared not lose him; she could not contemplate a +quarrel; if she entered the house now and shut the door upon her present +feelings, she would be also shutting up sorrow in her heart. She +wondered whether she were to blame: whether she had failed in sympathy +and understanding. Perhaps she had been cold, and he was hurt as well as +she. + +Lucy plucked a half-opened rose and returned, meaning to run after him +if he had gone home. But he was still standing in their meeting place, +hidden by the trees. + +"I couldn't leave you so, Joel," she murmured, twining her fingers in +his. "I shouldn't sleep to-night if I thought you had any cause to be +angry with me. Have I done aught amiss?" + +He put his arms round her, roused to a show of affection by her voice. +He cared for her deeply, but there were times when he found her love +exacting, when he could not reach the heights whereon she stood. The +fault lay in himself. It lay in his heart, which was so weighted by +anxiety, that he often had not the energy to climb up beside her. + +"Yes," he said with a return to his usual manner, "you've done one thing +amiss--you've grown so deucedly pretty that you've left me neither a +calm heart nor a clear head to manage my worldly affairs." + +Lucy laughed, and pinned the rose-bud into his coat, reassured at his +words. She was happy again, happy as a flower drinking in the dew. The +beck sang of tranquillity; the trees were kindly souls, making a bower +for him and her; the darkness was a soft green curtain shutting out the +world and prying eyes. + +They lingered a while without speaking--she thinking only of him, he +distracted by his own thoughts. Then she went away. + +He saw her go with a feeling of relief. Now he would have quietness in +which to measure his intentions and understand himself. When the glimmer +of her cotton frock had vanished up the path, he sat down to +contemplation. He had not yet made up his mind what to do: he had +deferred his decision--so he thought--until this moment, because he +wished to face it squarely. He would not have his mind entrapped by some +subtle move of the hand of chance. But he was only deceiving himself. In +the silence of the copse, with the singing water to take the intensity +off a silence which would have distracted him, he found that he had no +decision to make. The contest had been fought in his innermost being by +manoeuvres which he was barely aware of. It had gone on, as it were, +under cover of a veil that he had drawn between his consciousness and +his nature. + +Later on he walked back to Greystones. He still half-heartedly hoped +that the door of the wool-barn would be barred, or that the dogs would +announce his coming, and so make his projected plan impossible. But no +one saw him, the latch lifted lightly--Barbara had not yet locked up for +the night. + +Waiting was tedious. His head swam with the heat, for he was obliged to +hide himself under the fleeces: the blood sang in his ears, and throbbed +at his wrists. Barbara passed with a candle, and shot to the bolts; +darkness closed down. He flung off the coverings, and sank upon the +wool-bales, nursing his chin. His heart began to beat like a hammer; he +thought that someone would surely hear it. + +The darkness danced. It was alive with threads of light wriggling past +him into the corners of the barn. He began to wish that he had not come. +To be sure he could unbolt the door, and slip away unseen and unheard. +But then he would lose his chance. That which he really desired was some +outside power to decide for him, either a voice audibly commanding, or a +superhuman hand forcibly withholding him. But nothing of this kind +happened. The way was smoothed. It seemed as though the powers above man +had planned the enterprise, and were egging him on to fulfil it. + +He wished that he had a light. The darkness was disconcerting with those +wriggling streaks of fire. He heard the kitchen clock chiming the +quarters and the half-hours, and when it struck twelve, he crept into +the passage. He listened, but there was no sound within. Then he gently +lifted the sneck and entered. + +Mistress Lynn was just turning away from lighting a candle. She was +sitting up in bed, and looked round at the sound. Their eyes met. + +For a moment they stared at each other--the man confused, the old woman +astonished, a look which swiftly turned to that expression of +suspicion, with which she had regarded him earlier in the evening. Then +she clasped her hands on her lap, and leaned back against the pillows. + +"I's pleased to see thee, Joel Hart," she said. "Surely it's sommat +pressing that's brought thee up to Greystones at this hour!" + +He did not reply; endeavoured to meet her glance with one as lofty; +failed miserably, and moved to the door, putting into his action a +boldness which he did not feel. + +"Sit down, lad," she said. "Come in, Joel. Thee needn't fear the old +woman; she wunna bite." + +Mistress Lynn smiled, but bitterly. + +"I'm going," he replied, "good-night." + +"Nay, nay, let's have a crack, Joel. Shut the door." + +Her voice held him. He glanced at her, but could make nothing of that +grim, inscrutable face. He did not know what to do. If he went away he +would still have to give an explanation of this untimely visit; it +seemed better to stay and face the difficulty now; invent a likely +motive--if he could. + +"It's late," he said, "hadn't we better wait for a more seasonable +opportunity to have a crack?" + +"What didst say?" she asked, putting her hand behind her ear. "I's +getting deaf, lad, breaking up, losing my sight, and my hearing, and my +wits, too, it seems. I's an old woman, Joel. How old art thou? +Twenty-five! It's good to be twenty-five! It's a wise, pleasant age to +be!" + +Her voice was growing scornful. + +"An age for sowing wild oats, and gathering apples off other folks +trees, eh? Haven't you a word to say?" she continued. "Haven't you a +reason to give for coming to see me? Lost thy tongue, hasta? Well, +well, I's pleased and proud it's me you've come to see; me, the +great-grandmother, and not one of the lasses upstairs. Step hither to +the bedside, lad, till I see thee better." + +Unable to understand the old woman's words, but hoping that his purpose +might escape undetected, Joel did as she bade him, swaggering somewhat, +and curtaining his real feelings with a smile. + +She gripped him with her skinny hands. + +"Oh, thee's a fine make of a man," she said, her voice changing; "thee's +a man indeed, a handsome, pleasant-spoken young man and a virtuous one." + +She shook him with her rising passion. + +"Didst think to find me asleep?" she asked. "Didst think to pluck the +bonny golden apples out o' my hand? I never sleep, lad, leastways, not +at night. And this night--wouldst like to know where I've been--eh?" + +She paused to give point to her words. + +"I've been with your grandfather. And you're blood of his blood and bone +of his bone! Ah! he should have married me, though I was but a +statesman's lass, and not heiress to a fine house. I'd have given him +children worthy of him--lads that would have held their heads high, and +walked with honest folk, and just folk, and proud folk--too proud to +soil their souls with their hands. It's your lady grandmother that's +polluted you, Joel, so you can't help it. Poor lad, poor lad--the spring +was poisoned before you were born!" + +Her voice softened, and she looked at him more kindly. + +"You might have trusted me, Joel," she said. "You should have been +straight with me, asked in the name of your grandfather, I'd have +listened for his sake." + +He muttered something about her hard nature. + +"Hard!" she replied. "Aye, I's hard, but iron melts. I'd have melted +like a bit of beeswax, if you'd been strong and true and wise enough to +come to me with a straight story. It's them crooked ways of folk I can't +abide. Why didn't you--eh?" + +She pushed him suddenly away. + +"You've a bad heart, Joel, though you've the face of your grandfather, +and he was the handsomest man in the dales. You've got his name +too--Joel Hart! Joel Hart! A young lass once thought it was the sweetest +music in the world! Shame on you, shame on you for bringing a stain on +it!" + +"It was stained before I got it," he replied; he was not one to take his +deserts meekly. "His own country shot him for a rebel!" + +"That's an ill jibe," she cried, shaking her clenched fist at him, then +fell back upon her pillows unable to continue, but glaring like a +wounded wild thing. + +He felt that some apology, some explanation must be made. + +"I'm sorry, Mistress Lynn," he began, "I never meant, I didn't mean----" + +"Well," she gasped, "is that all; you didn't mean--what?" + +He straightened himself, looked the old woman full in the face. He was +not a thief; he had wandered from the straight path; but the crooked way +was not to his liking; it abounded in pitfalls, so he forsook it. + +"I own I've done wrong," he said with manly sincerity. "I was mad. Life +has made me mad. It has frustrated all my hopes; it has put all its bad +eggs into my basket. I lost my head in a weak moment. But that's over +now. I shall not stumble again. If you've any heart to understand a man, +you'll let me go now and ask no more." + +His appeal touched Mistress Lynn to the quick. She wiped her brow, and +hid her trembling old mouth with the edge of the sheet. + +That ancient love which could not go out, though it might suffer an +eclipse, began to shine again, and slowly illuminated her features, like +an inner light. A cry that came from the soul had power to stir her. +Deep called unto deep. + +The door opened and Barbara entered. She had heard the voices, and come +down to learn the meaning of them. A shepherd's plaid of black and white +check was thrown over her shoulders, and her hair hung in a glistening +mass. The clearness of her face was like the coming of moonlight out of +clouds. She stood on the threshold, looking from Joel to the old woman, +then closing the door, moved to the four-poster. + +"Dost need me, great-granny?" she asked. + +Barbara's sudden entrance into that intense atmosphere caused a change +to work among the elements, just as a wind rising on a sultry day, may +mean the coming of storm, or the freshening of the weather. + +Joel was not sure whether to be glad or sorry. He looked at her in awe +as a benighted traveller might look at a snow peak, which the rising +moon all at once revealed towering overhead. He felt himself to be +little better than a clod of earth in her presence. + +To her great-grandmother Barbara's coming was a relief. The old woman +had received a blow, and however bravely she might hide the wound, she +could not stanch its inward bleeding. For once she was glad to shift +responsibility from her own to younger shoulders. + +"Sit thee down, Barbara," she said, "Joel's in sore trouble, and he has +come to me. Very right and proper of him! For who else should he come to +but his grandfather's old friend? Yet I don't ken what to do. Tell thy +tale, my lad, but tell no more than a young lass's ears may hear." + +She shot a warning look at him under her shaggy brows, and he understood +that she meant to keep to herself the knowledge of his unworthy +intentions. He thanked her by a grip of the hand, overwhelmed by the +forbearance she showed, which was as unexpected as it was gracious in so +masterful a soul. The meaning lay much deeper than he could probe. It +lay in the foundations of her nature--foundations of goodness and love, +although nearly a hundred years of building had raised over them a +superstructure, grim and narrow. + +He told his story. It was a story of adverse circumstances acting upon a +mind too indolent to do battle with them. Barbara listened with interest +and sympathy. Her life upon the mountains, her isolation,--for her +character was little understood by those nearest and dearest to her--had +made her a student of other people. She read their reasons and acts with +a clearness of vision unusual in one of little worldly experience. But +experience is not always knowledge. It was her own heart, with its +possibilities for good and evil, her own nature, curbed on every side, +that gave her insight into and understanding of life. Meditation had +taught her to know herself, and so given her a key with which to open +the secret doors of other souls. + +She read Joel's mind. It lay before her like an open book. Written upon +it was a tale of right desires and intentions, that had come to nought +for lack of a will to guide them. He did not speak of his love for her +sister, but she found it interwoven with the tale. She thought of Lucy +as she had seen her but a little while ago, lying asleep, with her hair +unbound, and her white arms thrown over the quilt, as pure a soul as +breathed. Then she glanced at Joel, and recollected that the door of the +wool-barn stood open, which she had shut before going to bed. Though she +could not follow that clue through all its phases, she read enough to +waken suspicions. This man, with the fine face and form, the dark, +well-shapen eyes, but the irresolute mouth had won her sister's +affection. And what did he propose to do with it? The protecting +instinct was strong in Barbara; it rose up like that of a lioness to +stand between its young one and danger. Though she was only a year older +than Lucy, in power to endure she was as a beech tree to the wind-flower +at its foot. + +She pitied Joel, she had a warm place in her heart for him; she had seen +him do many a kind action; his generosity and improvidence had largely +added to his present desperate condition; but her sympathy was tempered +with severity. There is no severity colder and more relentless than that +of the young. + +"You must go away, Joel," she said, for she knew that there was not any +hope for him unless he could cut himself adrift from his +companions--those young men who wasted their substance with riotous +living. + +"Go away?" he exclaimed. + +"Yes, away, abroad, out into the world, where chances and plenty wait +for men, great chances. Life will lie before you there, Joel, and you +can make it something better than you've made it here." + +"Away!" he repeated in astonishment. Was this girl proposing to settle +his plans for him? He glanced at her haughtily. He had never thought of +going away, and he would not think of it now, unless something good +appeared to be in store. Hitherto his world had been bounded by Forest +Hall and Lucy Lynn, and that which lay beyond was uncoloured by his +imagination. He did not desire a wider sphere of action. + +"You've got your feet in a bog, Joel," continued Barbara, "and you'll go +down till your soo'red in it, unless you walk another way. Great-granny, +give him money and send him abroad--to America--where the bulls and rams +go, and men make their fortunes...." She paused for a moment, then fixed +her large blue eyes full upon his face--"and get strength to feed +themselves on." + +The old woman nodded her head. The idea pleased her. For his +grandfather's sake she would do this thing, would part with some of her +money, and give Joel a chance of making an honourable future for +himself. Then he could come back, pay his debts, and live in a manner +fitting the master of Forest Hall. + +Joel looked at the faces of the two women confronting him. Their +likeness to each other just now was marked. But upon the face of the +great-grandmother he saw the ghost of a smile--a sad one it is true--but +Barbara, young and glorious in her strength, was as inexorable as a +judge. His heart sank. These two women held his future in their hands. +He was forced to recognise as much. From no one else could he get help +save from them, and they would bestow it as they thought fit. If he +refused to accept it, then he must go and--drown. + +They were like priestesses, demanding a sacrifice if he would be saved. +On the fells above High Fold rose a circle of upright stones surrounding +a huge slab, which popular tradition said was a Druid's altar. Barbara +and her aged kinswoman might be a reincarnation of that dark faith which +demanded blood, human blood to appease its gods. He had sinned, they +asked for his life as a recompense: and they meant to have it. If he +went away, cut himself off from Forest Hall, Lucy and his friends, it +would be like tearing out his heart. + +"You must go, Joel," said Barbara. + +Must he? He thought of the great roads of the world leading into the +Unknown. He thought of them with distaste. He did not want adventure: he +wanted money. He felt no thrill at the idea of fighting his way up to +success; he was a gentleman, and all that he desired was the means to +live as such. If he went it would be because he had no other hope. + +That which he had before wished was now coming to pass. By the irony of +fate he was being forced in a direction which he had no inclination to +travel. He thought of Lucy sleeping in the room over the rafters--of her +dusky hair, red lips, closed eyes--eyes so bright that he had often +called them his guiding stars; must he leave them, leave all those +charms that belonged to him, which she gave him freely and without +stint? + +"I'll go," he said suddenly, "I'll go, but I'll take Lucy with me." + +"Lucy'll stay where she is," replied the old woman sharply. + +Barbara strode forward, with a steady fire burning in her eyes, and an +august lift of her head. She laid a firm hand on the young man's +shoulder and made him look at her. + +"Joel Hart," she said, "is your love a true love?" + +"Before God, it is," he said solemnly. + +"And you seek her happiness?" + +"Above everything." + +"Above your own, Joel?" + +He did not answer for a moment. Barbara's glance, which never turned +away from a sight until it had revealed all that she wanted to see, held +him in a kind of mesmerism. Then he dropped his eyes; he could not lie +in her face. + +"I meant her no harm, I meant no wrong," he said bitterly. "But she's +all I've got in the world to love me." + +He would like to have spoken openly about his feelings, of his sense of +Lucy's goodness and purity, of his readiness to die for her, of the glow +she had shed upon his cold life. But he was tongue-tied, for Barbara had +stripped his heart naked, and his own eyes condemned it. + +He longed to get away from this stern judge. There seemed to be nothing +more left for him to do but go away. + +"You're both very kind," he said hoarsely. "You mustn't be hurt that I +can't thank you as I ought to-night. Perhaps I shall some day. I see +it's better that I should leave the dale; for Lucy's sake, if not for +mine. She's safe for me, Barbara. I'll leave her free, and never ask for +word or token unless I can marry her." + +Barbara unbarred the door, and he passed out. It was a clear night, the +summer stars were shining but faintly, as the dawn was not far off. + +The girl was deeply moved. She could not know, it is true, that by +forcing Joel to act in this way she was setting the seal to the tragedy +of her own life. But she realised that the man was suffering, and that +his sacrifice was a sacrifice indeed. Tears filled her eyes. + +"Joel," she whispered, "this is your chance; hold fast to it, set your +feet firm." + +The night air cooled the heated brow of the man, and the dusk was a +welcome curtain to his feelings. As he looked at Barbara, before going +down the path to the gate, it seemed to him that her face was no longer +that of the inexorable judge, but the face of a saint. He had been on +the point of hating her--he would have hated her had his passion not +been spent, and left him too exhausted to feel any more. Now he again +realised the greatness of her heart. He knew that come what might come +to Barbara Lynn--the thorny crown and the roughest road--she would walk +with just such an expression in her eyes as she had now. Her look met +his and poured into him the fresh spirit of the mountains. He felt +lifted up and renewed at the centre of his being. + +"Heaven help me, Barbara," he said, standing bare-headed, "some day I'll +come back for Lucy." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +JOEL GOES AWAY + + +Lucy lay upon the fellside, face down in the grass, hidden by the +bracken fronds. The sun was setting, and the mountains were suffused +with a rosy haze. Over the roof of Forest Hall, on the other side of the +dale, rooks were flying home. + +About the recumbent figure pee-weeps wheeled, making a piteous calling, +and the hill-pastures were tremulous with the bleating of sheep, for the +flocks had just been shorn. But Lucy heeded neither sound nor sunset; +the world about her seemed to be as silent and dark as her own soul. + +Joel had bidden her good-bye. To-morrow he was going away--and so far +away: to America. Once she had not been able to think of parting without +despair, but now she knew how willingly she would bear it, if they might +only part as lovers. Joel stood firm. Her entreaties and tears had no +effect; he was kind; he was also self-righteous. He had never meant to +tie her to him, he said; he had no right to ask for her love, when he +could not marry her; he had done her a great wrong; further wrong he +would not do. + +"When you've made your fortune, you'll come back, Joel?" she had +whispered. + +Then had descended upon him a sullen cloud. The exaltation, which he +had felt in Barbara's presence, vanished; he no longer breathed the +clear, invigorating air that had roused him to the strong +resolve--"Heaven help me! I'll return for Lucy." He felt angry, because +his hand had been forced, because his plans had miscarried, because he +had put himself in the power of two women; and, looking at the drooping +form of the girl whom he loved, though she was innocent, he felt glad +that he had the power to hurt her. + +"Back!" he had said, "back! Few that go away come back." + +The words were no sooner uttered than he had repented of them. The girl +had shrunk back as though struck, and he had been tempted to clasp her +in his arms, to vow that he would return, and marry her, if she would +only wait for him. But, remembering his promise, he had refrained. He +would not be so dastardly a soul as to ask for something he might never +be able to have. Lucy was very fair, gentle, and kind; his love had +brought her little happiness; he would not blight her future. She should +not wear his fetters, she should be free. If luck took sides with him; +if she remained true to her heart, then the last word had not been +spoken between them. But if he found only his old bad fortune dogging +his steps in a foreign land--which he fully expected--and she grew weary +of waiting; then this good-bye was good-bye for ever. + +He was going off at dawn. Lucy had seen the last of him, and the future +lay before her like a desolate plain, upon which no hopeful star rose to +lighten the monotony. Just now, however, her mind ignored it, and, +gripping the present, hugged it close to extract its utmost bitterness. + +She did not understand Joel, but she was conscious that he had steeled +his heart against her, that his handsome, haughty face was determined +not to relax into its old, loving, intimate look, with which he used to +regard her. He was going away, where he would meet many pretty women, +prettier than she, who would feel the charm of his fine manners and +handsome presence, and who would be only too eager to take his heart +captive. + +Lucy knew nothing about Joel's untimely visit to her great-grandmother +in the middle of the night. Neither did she know that the old woman had +given him money. The events, which led up to his sudden determination to +go away, were hidden in obscurity, and his attitude towards her made it +impossible to enquire further. She thought that he was acting wisely, in +all but his newly assumed consideration for her. She wanted to have the +right to think of him, encourage him, dream of him; she wanted, in fact, +to be sure that he would remain hers when he got beyond the reach of her +influence. He had said that she must be free. Free! the word was a +mockery! She had given herself to him. But now he returned the gift, +which he had once pleaded for! Was it, then, he who desired to be free? +Her breast was torn with the hard sobbing of outraged affection. + +Unable to bear her loneliness any longer, though shrinking from the +chance of meeting someone, she got up and looked round her. Dusk had +fallen; the pee-weeps were still flying overhead; the undersides of +their bodies glimmered in the gloom; all the glitter had died out of the +sky; and Forest Hall looked grey and frowning above its sea of green. + +Lucy pushed her hands through her hair, ordered her dress, which had +become disarranged with lying on the ground, and then she went slowly +down hill. She had no clear idea what she wanted to do, but her feet +took her to Forest Hall. She would, at least, feast her eyes upon the +lamp-light from his window, if she might not look upon his face. It was +the last time she would see him for many years, perhaps for ever. A +shudder swept over her as she thought how his form would slowly vanish +from her memory. Could she keep the intensity of this hour with her till +she died, it would be some comfort through the desolate life which lay +before her. But she knew, she had often been told, that the heart sooner +or later forgot, that wounds always closed, that the mind grew +indifferent, and would some day be able to look back wonderingly upon +itself as it had once suffered. The fear of these things befalling her +became like a nightmare. She cried out against them. She felt that she +could live, so long as she might continue to feel; but life, grown +insensible to that which it had once cherished, was as dreadful a +thought as no life at all beyond the grave. + +She came to the rock upon which Forest Hall was built and looked up. Its +remoteness chilled her. She paused, then walked some steps away. She +wanted to see Joel again, to reassure herself that the fears which beset +her were untrue. But if she went to the door and knocked, what could she +say? Had she not said all that was possible for a woman? Must she not +keep silent now unless he spoke? Ah! the bitterness of her sex! Had she +been the man, she would have surrounded the soul that she loved with a +wall of fire. It should never have stood in doubt, wondering if it +might warm its hands. Love would have compassed it. + +She drew back into the undergrowth and sat down. The place was damp, and +smelled earthy, but she gave no heed. Here she would stay and watch for +Joel's passing by. She would stay till dawn, if he did not come sooner, +in the hope of seeing some look upon his face that would give her +comfort. She did but crave a crumb to assuage the hunger of her heart. + +Lucy's despair had a deeper cause than Joel's departure. At the back of +her mind lay a thought, from which she would not draw the face-cloth to +see what kind of features it bore. It had lain there for months--a +corpse-like thing--having the power to throw a gloom over her brightest +moments. Had it not been for this baleful influence she could have dried +her tears with hopes for the future. She would have acquiesced in his +decision that she must be free, believing him only the more worthy of +her love for having made it; would have smiled bravely at the lonely +years that must pass before he could come back. But her mind was turned +into a charnel-house by that ghastly thing, which she would not bring to +the light. + +It was fear. + +Had she been wise and strong enough to look at it, she would have known +that below her love for this man was the apprehension that his beauty of +face and form held a shallow soul; that his sincerity was a thin sheet +of gilt over a hollow heart; that he was but a slender reed, which would +break if too heavy a weight were put upon it. But she loved, she +worshipped, she refused to see her idol's feet of clay. And the result +became that which she was trying to escape--a tormented mind. + +The forest lay silent. She could still hear the bleating of sheep on the +fells, and the crying of the pee-weeps. But under the dark blue shadow +of the trees nothing moved save a sheaf of flag leaves growing in a +ditch beside the road. After a little while Jake, the rat-catcher, came +along, leading Peter's big brown bear, which he had taken out for +exercise. The thin little man and the ungainly beast passed up the path +to the house on the crag, then the curtain of silence fell again, only +lifted for a moment by the return of Jake alone. He did not see Lucy, +and went home through the forest playing upon his flute. + +She wondered what time it was! She began to feel cold and thought that +she would not have the courage to stay there all night. Besides Barbara, +or the hind, or Jan Straw would soon come to look for her, and they +would come first to Forest Hall. She got to her feet meaning to go home. + +Then a window was thrown open far over her head, and the loud laughing +of men went jarring above the tree-tops. Some of Joel's friends, from +the country around, had ridden over to see him off and wish him +god-speed. He was making merry, while she was eating her own heart with +hunger. She wavered, took a step forward, then a step back, hesitated, +but, in the end, impelled by a stronger power than her own, she crept up +to the house, and looked in at a window. + +The room was lit with many candles, burning with long red tongues, and +much smoke. They shone upon pewter mugs, rough heads, and jocular faces. +Not a man among the lot could match Joel in bearing or grace of +countenance. He stood in the middle of them, with a tankard held high, +for he had just called a toast. She had not been in time to hear what +he had said, but she saw the smile run from lip to lip, and heard again +the loud laughing. + +She sank down on the grass under the window. So this was all that Joel +cared! She felt that he had torn out her heart, and flung it still +fluttering in her face. He could amuse himself with his companions, +finding a time for mirth upon his last night in Forest Hall; he could +blot her out of his thoughts with jests and singing. + +As a matter of fact Joel was thinking of her, and the toast which he had +called was to 'the lass of his heart.' It was not his nature to be +stiff, when others were genial, or pull a long face in the faces of his +friends. + +But to-night he was in a reckless mood. He had torn himself away from +the hands that would have held him; he had been forced to wound the +woman he loved; he was afraid to meditate upon his present frame of mind +or the future upon which he was entering. He craved for distraction, and +was grateful to his friends for providing it. He was ready to enter into +any wild scheme that would make the night spin and the morning come +before he had time to realize what it meant. + +Lucy lay stricken upon the ground; she could not tear herself away. +Chilling vapours rose and numbed her limbs. But behind her eyes she felt +flames. At times she was seized with fits of shivering. She knew that it +was dangerous for her to lie there for a heavy dew was falling--the +points of her hair hung with drops, which, now and then, rolled down her +neck into her bosom. But she wished that she might die, she wished that +the morning could find her stiff and stark under the window, with her +sightless eyes gazing up at the room, where Joel had spent the night in +merriment. And above all she wished that he might come there in the +dawn, and find her. She wanted him to carry away the eternal reproach of +a dead girl's face. + +This is that which she desired, and the scene which she saw with the +vividness of delirium. His horse stood ready saddled and bridled, his +gay companions were lounging in the doorway, he was about to mount when +his eyes fell upon her body half hidden by the grass. She felt the hush +that would follow his cry of horror. She saw the remorse upon his face, +the clenching of his hands, the sweat on his brow. With grim +satisfaction she lingered over the scene. Then her mind wandered on. She +thought that she followed him into distant lands. She saw him alone in +great forests, alone on wide prairies, alone in solitary huts, but never +alone, because her dead face would be peering into his. She saw him in +crowded cities, in drinking bars, in dancing halls, and even there her +dead eyes would blot out the light of other faces. He should never +escape her, she would follow him and haunt him until in death they met +again. Then she would show him the love and forgiveness of her heart. + +Yes, all that she had dreamed would come to pass. Soon she would die, +even now her limbs were dead, only her heart lived and her eyes burned. +But before she died she would look at him once more. + +She raised herself with difficulty, and stared into the room. It was +empty, most of the candles had gutted out, the remains of food were +scattered here and there, the mugs lay about, as though they had been +emptied in a hurry and dropped. For a moment she leaned against the +stone, trying to recollect herself, for she was dazed with hunger and +cold and sorrow; then she groped her way round the house to the back, +where she heard voices. + +Joel stood in the yard among his friends with half-a-dozen snarling +dogs. The moon was rising and she could see him clearly. But she kept +behind an outhouse so that no one should spy her. The knot of figures +broke up into groups, and in the vacant spot Peter Fleming's bear stood, +chained to the pump. It growled, dogs snapped, men laughed and whips +were cracked. + +Lucy looked on aghast. Was she dreaming? Was the scene a painting of her +own imagination or was it real life? Did Joel stand near her, gazing at +the bear-baiting, sometimes with reluctance--as though his heart was not +in it--and then with gradually growing excitement? Lucy's mind was +unstrung. All that she saw and heard came to her as through a mist. She +tried to rally herself, to get a grip of something that would bring her +senses back. Her hand passed up and down the stone wall of the outhouse +beside which she crouched, and finding a big rusty nail, she clung to it +as a drowning man might cling to a spar. It gave her support. + +The yard into which she gazed was a chaos. Men with whips and snarling +dogs circled about the pump. Limbs and bodies seemed to be tied together +in a knot that heaved and heaved in an attempt to undo itself and could +not. Lucy thought it was a nightmare. She dared not move, dared hardly +breathe, like one, who, in sleep, is subjugated by dreadful visions. + +But a change came over the barbaric revelry. The men surged aside, the +dogs were lashed off and flew howling to the rear. Lucy wondered what +had happened, feeling a vague relief, as though a weight had been +lifted from her brain. She swept her eyes round the yard. Surely her +sister stood yonder! Barbara it must be, for the form was that of a +woman though as tall as the tallest man. She stood in the clearing by +the bear, whose growling still continued to make a thunderous undertone +to the shriller sounds of men and dogs. + +The sight of her sister brought a breath of life to the stricken girl. +She had felt as though she were dying, but not peacefully as those who +are willing to lay down existence should die. Her path had been haunted +by evil shapes and visions. The Valley of the Shadow was as Pilgrim +found it--"full of hobgoblins, satyrs, and dragons of the pit, overhung +with the discouraging clouds of confusion." Barbara's coming dispelled +the horror. It was the visitation of an angel. From Lucy's distracted +mind the vapours cleared. She could think and see clearly again. + +She looked round for Joel; he had gone in with his friends. Only Barbara +remained to see to the bear and Mally Ray, sour and stern, came out to +help her. + +Then Lucy got to her numbed feet, and crept forward. + +"Barbara," she whispered, "Barbara." + +Her sister turned. + +"Why, lass," she said calmly, "I's been looking for thee high and low. +Come home, Lucy, come away home." + +The girl clung to her with both hands, sobbing: + +"I's been baited like yon beast, Barbara. Oh! I's wounded and sick and +weary. I's been hurt by the hands I kissed, and life's dark as a cloudy +night." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +PETER AT OXFORD + + +Peter Fleming sat by his study window, looking down into the quadrangle. +It was early morning, so early that stars still glimmered round Saint +Mary the Virgin's spire and over the Radcliffe Camera. Candles burnt +dimly in the room at his back, and on the table, spotted with wine +stains, lay the remains of supper. All the guests, but one, had gone, +and he was only a voice, for the window curtains swallowed him up. To +him Peter unburdened his soul; upon such an occasion, at such an hour as +this, men are not afraid to speak of themselves. + +Peter's college career was ended. Last night he had set the seal to it; +this morning he was entering upon a new phase. + +"You are not ambitious," said the voice--a mature voice, lacking the +boyish note that rang so triumphantly off Peter's tongue, as though he +were confident of conquering the world--"It's a pity; I always thought +you were! With your honours it's monstrous, that you should turn +school-master to your native vale, content with--how much?" + +"'Passing rich on fourty pounds a year'--and a goosegate!" + +"My dear fellow! it won't buy your books." + +"I shall read the book of mother Earth." + +"Sentimental rubbish! Is your mind quite made up?" + +"Screwed to the sticking point." + +The voice was silent for a moment, then continued: + +"So you'll spend your days teaching the young to make pot-hooks! Are you +going to succeed?" + +"The truth is, I think a little reflection will be good for me." + +"Reflection! What upon?" + +"Life." + +"Can't you reflect upon life without burying yourself first?" + +"My friend, you have never been among the mountains." + +"Conclusive! I haven't. I've only seen them from afar, and been chilled +by them. But seriously, why didn't you accept that post in India? You +were just the man for it--strong, honest, clever...." + +"Don't catalogue my virtues, my good fellow." + +"But why didn't you go?" + +"I'm the only son of my mother." + +"Hum ... a man's foes.... And if you return home now, what will you do +eventually? I don't suppose village school-mastering will satisfy you +long." + +"Eventually! heaven knows. Perhaps I shall turn flute player up and down +the countryside, go to all the fairs and markets and wakes and enjoy +myself. Or I might become a potter, or a tinker, or make a modest income +leading about a dancing bear. I've a predilection for the last." + +"You're too versatile, Fleming. But I'm really troubled about you! That +country of your's is a savage place--I make due apologies--nevertheless +it's the truth. You'll get into a back-water of life; you'll be cut off +from culture and learning--things you like, and long for, more than +most,--I'm afraid that the lump will leaven you, not you the lump." + +Peter put away his half-bantering tone, and became serious. + +"I've had a good time here," he said. "If I weren't convinced that +regret is a weed, which flourishes with the smallest encouragement, and +chokes many and better things, I'd regret that it's over. Like Father +Thames I've been mightily pleased to lap the stones of Oxford, and give +no thought to the changes lower down, or the ultimate submergence in the +salt sea." + +"You're heir to a considerable patrimony, aren't you, Fleming?" + +"I do not care about money," he replied without affectation. + +"Lucky dog! that's a pinnacle of virtue to which I have never attained. +Still money is an asset worth considering." + +"My father has saved, I believe; how much, I don't know--he's given me +all I ever asked for without stint. I can surely give him a year of my +life in return and not grumble. Still, of course, India attracted me. +But it would have broken his heart, his and my mother's, if I'd gone." + +"Your folk wanted you to enter the Church, didn't they?--dedicated you, +like Samuel, to the Lord, before you were born!" + +"Yes." + +Peter did not enlighten his friend further. He was not able to think +without pain of his parents' grief, when he had told them that he could +not fulfil their wishes. At first the miller had been very angry, had +grudged the money he had spent on his son's education, had called it +wasted, and said Peter was ungrateful, unfilial, and a fool. Then he had +ended by imploring him, with tears, to think seriously before blighting +his hopes. Peter's mother had kept silence, that was more distressing +than his father's passion. When they found him obdurate, though greatly +troubled because of their disappointment, they begged him to come home +for a year, think it over, and see, if by reflection, he could not come +to a happier decision. He had consented to their wishes, on condition +that he should not be idle, but have the post of school-master, which +the old pedagogue, who had held it for a lifetime, was now too old to +fulfil any longer. This was easily arranged. + +"You need not fear," he said breaking the silence, "I shall not drift +and drift and at last get silted up in a stagnant pool of decaying +promises. My time will come, and when it comes I shall be ready for it, +and none the worse, I hope, for this interregnum." + +"Heaven send it soon. I have no faith in your reflections. They may lead +you anywhere. You're such a queer chap. Think of a man like you, looking +forward, actually looking forward, to burying himself at the ends of the +earth in the hey-day of his youth." + +Peter laughed, a hopeful, manly laugh. He had no fears. + +"You'll come and stay with me next summer, old fellow?" he said. + +"Lord! do you expect to see me in that Hyperborean inaccessible, +out-of-the-world vale of yours? Aren't the people savages, heathen, +Goths? Didn't you once speak of a giantess, a sort of Polyphemus's +mamma, that lived in a cave and herded sheep?" + +"Oh, Barbara Lynn! Yes, I'll introduce you to Barbara Lynn. But let me +tell you, you'll take off your hat to her as you would to a duchess." + +"Look here, Fleming, don't make a fool of yourself." + +"I assure you I have no intention of doing so." + +"Well, you know what I mean. When you get up there among your mountains, +and are locked in by ice and snow, you'll turn lonely. Nothing sucks the +marrow out of a man's bones like loneliness. So take care. Don't marry a +peasant lass." + +"Most of my friends at home claim to be the sons and daughters of +statesmen." + +"Statesmen!" + +"Yes, statesmen. It's the finest aristocracy in the world that lives in +the little grey houses among the Westmorland fells. Most families can +trace their pedigree back for more grandfathers than the greatest folk +in the land. And they have coats of arms too, have them carved on their +bread cupboards and meal kists--though you'll not find them at the +College of Heralds." + +The two men were quiet for a while; the dawn grew and the irregular +buildings came out in blurred masses against the sky. There was not a +spire or pinnacle, whose shape Peter could not clearly trace. They were +drawn, as it were, upon his flesh, nay, engraved upon his bones so that +the wasting tissues of age should not be able to fret their outlines. He +had been marked indelibly by the finger-print of Oxford. To him had been +given the gift of an historical imagination. He lived in hourly touch +with the learning, the tragedies, the visions of the past. Hall and +cloister, chapel and narrow stair, echoed with its voices. + +On a summer's day his favourite haunt was the high gallery round Saint +Mary the Virgin's spire, where he could look over the city from its +centre, and delight his eyes and his mind with vision and picture. Town +and gown would seem to swirl below him in the narrow streets; +processions of monks and prelates would pass and repass; Cranmer, +Ridley, and Latimer would come and go, and face the flames yonder by +Balliol College. Archbishop Laud might pause opposite to his great +porch, which he had crowned with a statue of the Virgin and Child; the +deformed figure of Alexander Pope might wander by from the tower of +Stanton Harcourt, his mind stirring with the martial lines of Homer. Or +Peter might see Matilda, when the snow lay thick on the ground, escaping +from the castle, clad in white, while the armies of Stephen besieged it. +Then he would look at the shady gardens, the great trees, the silver +sheen of Cherwell or Isis, and remember that these had all been living +in those far-off days, and were still living, and would continue to +live, after he, and his generation had returned to dust. + +From the wider view he would turn to the winged monkeys, the griffins, +the pelicans of the roof below him, and he would hear again the chip, +chip, of chisel and hammer in the thirteenth century, when the very +stones he could lay his hands upon were first placed there. + +Northward he would gaze with Saint Cuthbert, who stands in his niche, +holding the head of King Oswald in his hand--and he would link his own +wild Northern hills, where Barbara Lynn herded sheep, with this ancient +city of civilization. Mayhap, as he thought of Barbara Lynn, his eyes +would light upon Christ Church, and he would remember the saint whose +shrine it guards, to whom Oxford owes her birth--Saint Frideswide, +blue-eyed and yellow-haired, who might have worn a crown. + +Thought is linked to thought, North to South, man to man, in endless +succession. Since Adam there has not been one break in the chain; the +whole of life is knitted up without a rent. Saint Frideswide and Barbara +Lynn stretched their hands to each other through the dim years. +Something of the same spirit lived in both, a spirit of self-mastery and +aspiration though one refused a crown to keep herself unspotted from the +world, the other, pure as any lily, should be crowned--so Timothy Hadwin +had prophesied. + +Peter did not despise the present because he lived so much in the past. +He was no step-bairn of his glorious mother, but received a full +inheritance from her hands. In the life about him he found inspiration +and fellowship, without which he would have been shorn of his Samson +locks. And he was a power among his fellow students. They might laugh at +his childlike enthusiasms; but they found him a tower of strength when +strength was needed; and under his outward sentimentality, they tapped a +clear spring of common sense. He had a masculine love of independence; +he could work with mind and muscle strained to their utmost; he could +idle like an Oriental; but he rose at dawn, slept on a truckle bed, ate +plain fare like an ascetic. Of his lowly birth he made no secret. +Patronage ran off him like water off a duck's back. He was curiously +insensible to differences of rank or breeding. In mental ability he +stood second to few. That which was said of William Pitt might be said +equally well of him--"He never seemed to learn, but simply to +recollect." + +Thus his academic years had passed; now he stood without the closed +door. His friends were going forth to careers of interest or influence; +he was drifting back to his Northern home to teach the village children +how to make pot-hooks. + +He had wrestled with himself for one bitter day, when the offer of a +post, under the East India Company, had come from one, who had seen and +understood his worth. A glorious prospect had opened out before +him--golden hands had beckoned, the fair face of Fame had smiled. But he +had turned away resolutely after one keen, longing glance, and forbade +his eyes to stray after the vision again. Then his parents had begged +him to come home, and though he could have found other spheres of work +and influence congenial to him, he felt that the wishes of those who had +given him birth, had struggled, denied themselves all, denied him +nothing, had lived only for him, must be respected. Now he was not +sorry, though at first he had been bitterly disappointed. He was +fatalist enough to believe that no other course would bring him success, +that the way would open out sooner or later; and wise enough to know +that a period spent alone in reflection might be made of infinite +benefit. + +The sun was rising. Over the slender minarettes came a broad yellow beam +that lighted up Saint Mary's spire, which soared into the blue air--a +being of character and destiny, a maker and moulder of men, as well as a +symbol of their deepest need. + +Great buildings, like great minds, deepen and fix their personality with +the passing years. The varied winds of life round their corners, refine +their angles, and blend them into a harmonious whole. Great buildings, +like great minds, endure a loneliness that is awful in its magnitude. +It is the price which must be paid by those who would rise above the +fretting trivialities of existence. And this is their compensation--they +uplift, they inspire others: they are an eternal assurance of the wonder +and sacredness of human life. + +There is nothing great in the world that has not this spirit of +loneliness. Mountains, piercing the clouds, stars glittering overhead, +purple seas, pyramids, palaces, cathedrals--no man knows them with the +familiarity that can breed contempt. They may rouse hatred and fear, +fire and sword have been turned against them; but fingers have rarely +been snapped in their faces, or shoulders shrugged under their shadow. + +The church of Saint Mary the Virgin, at Oxford, with the sun on its +spire moved Peter profoundly. It had influenced him all his college +days, it was influencing him still. It was sending him back to his home +with two strong guardians for his soul--Faith and Duty--to help him in +the monotonous way. It was giving him over--as it were--to the mountains +to be taught by them. + +That which the mountains have to give, they give freely to those who +seek it. David and Mahommed, simple herders of sheep, were not ashamed +to learn at their knees. Buddha and John the Baptist sought them in +manhood and returned to be teachers of men, and to change the current of +thought through all the world. + +Peter did not know what his future would be. He believed that he would +learn about it among his native hills. + +As the light grew, the man who was only a voice withdrew from the shadow +of the window curtains, and went away. With an uncompromising sunbeam +in the room to light up the supper dishes and soiled cloth, who could +speak of those things, which for the most part, remain hidden in the +heart? + +But he thought of Peter as he climbed up the narrow winding stair to his +own room. He believed that his friend would succeed, yet he regretted, +nearly as deeply as Peter, that it had not been possible for him to +accept the post in India. He would have been a great man, he thought; +now he was likely to be simply a good man--a good man lacking +distinction. Then he shrugged his shoulders with a laugh. The powers +that be, no doubt, set the latter above the former in their book of +human achievements. + +Later in the day Peter left Oxford. As he turned his horse on the London +road to look back upon the city, he looked with regret, it is true, +regret because he was leaving the place where the happiest years of his +life had been passed; but he was full of hope for the future. If +fritillaries hung in the Christ Church meadows, blue geraniums grew in +Boar Dale; if there were no spires and pinnacles at High Fold, there was +the grey gable of the old mill-house, and the revolving wooden wheel. +Though a great dome like the Radcliffe Camera did not rise out of +Cringel Forest, Thundergay was more noble. He would not be lonely for +there was Timothy Hadwin to sustain and inspire him. + +He flicked his horse's reins and rode away. It was vain to stand and +gaze. Deep in his heart was a thought to which he would not allow +expression, but for some time he could not see distinctly or breathe +with the ease of a man who is reviewing his past and looking forward to +his future with an undivided mind. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +KETEL'S PARLOUR + + +Barbara sat on a stool in the mouth of the cave, reading aloud Pope's +translation of the Iliad to Timothy Hadwin. The old man watched the girl +narrowly, and felt his mind swing back through the ages to the days of +Greek and Trojan. + +Had Barbara lived then she would have been called the daughter of a god. +Thetis of the Silver-foot ought to have been her mother, and some strong +warrior king her father. She would have made a worthy sister to +Achilles, a fit wife for Hector, tamer of horses. A wife! a wife! +Timothy wondered. Would Barbara Lynn ever become the wife of some good, +honest, plain man, and chain her mind to making and mending, the bearing +of children, the ordinary toils of a married woman's life. He could not +imagine her as such. She was in her fitting place as a herder of sheep +upon the mountains, where sun and tempest were her familiar friends. +Would she be happier if her lot brought her down from the clouds to the +earth? Would not the four grey walls of a cottage choke her? He felt +that in her nature was an intensity of feeling so great, that it was +more likely to bring her sorrow than happiness. + +The hour was noon of a summer's day. All around the heat shimmered upon +rock and grass; the tarn lay white and motionless; Thundergay was +wrapped in a haze; not a breath of air stirred the fern fronds. + +Barbara's voice when she read had an exaltation, which it lacked in +ordinary conversation. Her eyes, also, had lost their prevailing +meditativeness, and shone with an inner light. She thrilled to the +depths of her soul with the lives of the people about whom she read. Her +ears were alert to catch the voices still echoing down the centuries. + +Timothy Hadwin had told her that nothing which happened had an end. No +thought ever thought, no action ever committed could cease. Just as a +pebble, dropped into the sea, caused waves to spread all about it, which +rolled on and on in ever widening circles till they communicated their +movements to the edges of the world, so the accumulated energy of the +past was still surging around, beating upon human brains, and +influencing the latest born of man, though its origin had been swallowed +up and forgotten in the darkness of antiquity. + +Barbara believed this. Through books she reached direct contact with the +past. She was a vessel into which the magic old wine could be poured, +and it warmed her, filled her serene mind with passions and sympathies, +unknown to it at other times. + +Often through the week Barbara went to Timothy Hadwin's cottage, or he +came to Ketel's Parlour to hear her read, and to impart some of his +knowledge to her hungry soul. The brief hour was a treasure snatched +from the crowded commonplaces of the day, and was valued accordingly. + +Just now, Barbara was reading about the ransoming of Hector's body. Her +voice thrilled, and her eyes grew luminous as she pictured the old king +stealing across the plain by night with a wain filled with rich +vestments, tripods, shining cauldrons, and a priceless bowl of gold to +offer them in return for the dead body of his son. She could see the +whole scene--the city of Troy with its battlements and towers vaguely +outlined against the darkness, the dreadful plain of war, the long black +boats of the Greeks, behind which sounded the ever-rolling sea. She saw +Achilles' hut with its palisades, and pine bolt, that three strong men +were wont to drive home at night, though Achilles could drive it home +himself. And near by lay the body of Hector, face-downwards in the dust, +as Achilles had left him after dragging him round the barrow of his dead +friend at the dawn of day. Her eyes filled with tears for Hector, tamer +of horses, Hector of the glancing helm, who strove against fate; but +strove in vain, who was still beloved of Jove, and cared for in death by +the god of the winged sandals, who closed his wounds, and kept his flesh +from corruption. + +But that which touched her most was Achilles' speech to the old king, +when he came a suppliant to his hut in the night. The two urns standing +by the throne of Jupiter, one full of curses, one full of blessings +arrested her attention. Was it not true? Did the god not deal a mingled +lot to most of his creatures, but gave them an enduring soul to bear it? +The best and most beautiful things in the world were fraught with +sorrow. The sunset often made her sad; equally sad sounded the singing +of birds in spring; and love, the love of father, mother, husband, +child, was saddest of all. This she had learnt among her friends of the +dale. + +She read on to the end of the book, where the mourners sat down to the +sepulchral feast: + + "And peaceful slept the mighty Hector's shade." + +Then she closed the volume and looked at Timothy. + +"Why do we sup it so eagerly?" she asked. "It's a poisoned cup to some, +a bitter one to most, and sweet only to a few, a very few." + +The old man knew that she referred to life. + +"There was a preacher once," he said, "who thought it a burden too heavy +to be borne. He believed in re-birth, countless re-births through +generations, and the idea filled him with despair. His name was Gautama, +but people called him Buddha, the Enlightened One, the Enlightener. He +found a way of salvation and opened it to men." + +"Was it a good way?" + +"Judge for thyself, Barbara. _The mind_" he said, "_approaching the +eternal, has attained to the extinction of all desires?_" + +She mused for a moment upon the words. + +"I don't like them," she replied, "If I had no desires I shouldn't be +Barbara Lynn but a lump of clay." + +"Then drink the cup. Buddha turned it upside down so that it could hold +nothing. He emptied it of the sweetness as well as the bitterness. But +thou, hold it up to be filled and drink." + +"I shall have sorrow, Timothy?" + +"Yes, child." + +"Pain and disappointment." + +"It is the lot of those who would dig to find the riches of their own +nature." + +"The soil might be poor, and suffering turn up nought but dead ashes." + +"Tears fertilize it, Barbara." + +"Do you think that's the reason we have so much to bear? Should we be +like weakly flowers, things that would wither up with the heat of the +sun, or the cold winds o' winter, if suffering did not set us to deep +trenching?" + +All the vehemence had died out of her voice now. Speech had sunk to the +meditative tones of every day life. + +"Contentment leads to shallowness," said the old man. "If you had been +born in a great house instead of an upland farm, I doubt if you would +have striven so hard to know and understand things that lie far out of +your beaten track." + +"I've got a bitter envy towards those who have chances denied to me." + +"To some learning may be the goal; to you it may be the means to a +higher goal." + +"What dost mean, Timothy?" + +"You're a better scholar at self-discipline than at your books, my +lass." + +Her face fell and she looked disappointed. + +"Don't I do well? Will Peter think I have not improved?" + +He patted her shoulder. + +"You do very well indeed. I'm proud of you." + +Her brow flushed with pleasure and she rose, dwarfing and bedimming the +little man with her large frame and golden head. + +"To-morrow you'll come to me at the cottage," he said. + +She nodded, and they parted, he going down the dale, and she, leaping +like a deer up the fellside, to the sheep pastures high upon +Thundergay. + +She paused on a rocky point and looked back. Below her lay Swirtle Tarn, +and far, far off the shining waters of the great mere. She could see +Greystones, no bigger than a pebble, lying under the cliffs, and the +trees of Cringel Forest like a bundle of green wool fallen down between +a split in the hills. Troy, and the battle-field, and the long black +boats had vanished; but the land was mysterious with the epic of her own +life. + +She did not ask herself the reason for this emergence of her spirit into +fuller existence. But she was aware of a veil which had been drawn over +the arduous toils of the day, and the unveiling of beautiful things that +made a new setting to her mind. + +Peter Fleming was coming back. She often thought of Peter, and wondered +what changes he would bring to the lonely life of the fells. But her +imagination was nebulous; it pictured nothing concrete; she was content +to let her mind hover round the sun-glistening vapour and leave the +realisation for the unfolding of time. + + * * * * * + +Surprise, which gave rise to many wild rumours in the dale, had greeted +the announcement that Peter Fleming was going to keep school. No one +could think of an adequate reason for such a descent from the pinnacle +of learning where he stood. Anyone could keep school, but few had the +opportunity or ability to become a bishop. Dusty John said little, but +Peter's mother lost her disappointment at the turn of affairs in having +the school-room cleaned for her son, in seeing the moss scraped from the +doorstep, and in herself hanging curtains in all the windows. Peter +would live at home, and sleep in his attic under the mill-house roof, +but the school-parlour was to be his study. There he could have +silence, his books, and grow wise. + +The village school of High Fold was a little stone building standing +just within the fringe of Cringel Forest. The road ran by it, and the +trees crowded so closely around, that they seemed to jostle each other +in their eagerness to peer through the doors and windows. A kitchen, +bed-chamber and parlour, and a long room fitted with desks and benches +made up the interior, the walls of which were plastered and +white-washed, and patterned by the ever-moving shadows of the +encroaching trees. There the rustle of leaves was never silent. A +cobbled path led from road to threshold. Just now, in the late summer, +it was bordered on either side by a rank growth of hemlock. + +Barbara had passed by it several times lately, and looked at it with +speculative interest. She thought of a house as the shell of the mind +that inhabited it. Greystones was the cipher of her great-grandmother's +personality. The old woman had made it what it was, had given it an +atmosphere of a wild, yet living, past. What would Peter make of the +little green-bowered cot in Cringel Forest? She pondered upon Peter all +through the day, which sped with winged feet. + +In the evening Barbara went home. Swirtle Tarn smoked like a cauldron of +boiling water as she threaded its lonely shore. The vapour swirled up in +spiral form, and when it reached the light of the moon, appeared most +strange and beautiful, like columns of white marble rising from a floor +of polished blue stone. It was late, and Lucy must have gone to bed some +time ago; yet she would linger for a while to enjoy the beauty of the +night. + +The air was very still; even the waterfalls were subdued; the birds were +silent; the flocks were asleep; everything looked unsubstantial. + +Barbara thought that she had never before felt quite the same sense of +mystery in the night. Surely that which she looked upon was not the +material form of the earth, but its spiritual body! Were not those white +vapours its thoughts going up to the Eternal Being who gave them? All +thoughts had the same origin. The universe was full of them, but only +into the receptive mind could they come. There they worked magic, were +humanized themselves, while they spiritualized the human being in whose +brain they lodged. And having suffered this metamorphosis, they flowed +back again, as the glistening vapours flowed back to their source. + +Thus man and his Creator come into touch with each other. The Creator +gives the thought, the creature returns it with its own interpretation +thereof. So man is made spiritual, and God human. + +Such ideas as these were the outcome of Barbara's conversations with +Timothy. But she did not accept his many strange statements without +question. She pondered them for days, coloured them with her own +imagination, absorbed them at length into her own personality. This gave +her beliefs the force of experience. + +Barbara went home. + +Lucy had gone to bed but she was not asleep. Nevertheless, she shut her +eyes, and made no movement when her sister entered their room. She knew +that Barbara was bending over her, that Barbara's face was full of +compassion for her sorrow. But she was too weary with weeping to long +for anything save silence, and a corner where she could indulge her +tears unseen. + +Barbara dreamed that night of the mingled cup, which Jove gave the +children of men to drink. She tasted it herself, and Lucy drank it to +the dregs. Peter, laughing as was his wont, took it from Jove's hand, +and she saw his eyes grow wild, his hair white, his cheeks haggard like +a ghost. Then the vapours of the tarn rose around, swirling, twirling up +to the light of the moon, blotting out their faces. After this dream the +night was a blank until the day dawned. + +"Do you know when Peter will be back?" asked Barbara, as she milked the +kye in the grey of early morning. + +"Nay," replied Lucy: then she added passionately, "if I had a chance of +leaving the dale I'd never come back to it, never again. I'd put the +memory away like a bad dream. It's an ill place. It's under a ban. +Peter's silly to set foot in it when the world is free for him to walk +in." + +"I'm glad Peter is coming home," said Barbara. + +Lucy made no reply. So far she had not given much heed to Peter's +return. Now the thought sent a touch of colour to her face. + +Since Joel went away life had dragged for her. Drudgery had become her +lot, unlightened by any pleasant experience, or made bearable by hope. +She ate her bread with tears. She was glad when each day dawned, and +thankful when each day died. She longed for change, any change that +would break the monotony of her existence. She was weary of living, +although so young. Yet she did not desire death. All that she wanted was +to fall asleep, and waken up with the thread of her old life cut, and +the possibility of a new life before her. To go on and on, year after +year, always following the same humdrum path was a contingency, which +she could not contemplate without despair. She had striven to put Joel's +image out of her mind. He had written once, but his letter was +superficial, and she believed that he had ceased to care for her. Regret +that the past was past drove her to spend many a night in weeping. If +she could, willingly she would have forgotten him; but she was unable to +forget. + +Some days later as Lucy was walking through Cringel Forest she saw Peter +sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree near the school-house. He did not +hear her approach, and she had been watching him with gradually +brightening eyes for a few moments before he felt their influence. Then +he rose with a laugh; but it was not as spontaneous and merry as it used +to be. + +"You're welcome back, Peter," said Lucy. "The dale is very dull without +you." + +"Is that so?" he replied, taking her hand, and looking affectionately +into her face. + +"Even great-granny smiled when she heard you were back. 'Tell him to +come to Greystones,' she said, 'and bring his dancing bear with him. I +want waking up.'" + +"Well," he answered, with a faint note of sarcasm in his voice, "it's +some compensation for giving up your heart's desire to fill the role of +merry-andrew with satisfaction." + +"Didn't you want to come back, Peter?" + +"I was just thinking when I saw you, how duty, and affection and +inclination get mixed up and twisted into a knot in a man's soul." + +"In a woman's too," she replied. + +He looked at her. There was a pensiveness in her face that attracted +him. It had lost the inconsequence of childhood, and taken on the +maturity of the woman. She was less vivacious, but there was a +sympathetic glow in her sweet eyes. He saw all this at a glance; she was +not like Barbara, who hid her feelings under a placid brow. Lucy lived +and suffered in the eyes of the world. Peter had heard rumours of an +attachment between her and Joel Hart, but as Joel had neither substance, +nor--to a man's eyes--much character, he had paid little heed to them in +the past. Now he wondered if Joel had treated her badly. Poor Lucy! she +was far too good for him. + +He walked with her through the forest. + +"You know I'm going to keep school?" he said. + +"Aye. The children are delighted. They think you will feed them on +lollipops and give them no lessons to do. They call you Peter Piper, you +know." + +"Peter Piper is it! Soon it will be Peppery Peter. I'll go out to-morrow +morning and cut birch-rods to put in pickle." + +Lucy thought that in spite of his laugh he was sad. Her own sorrow had +opened up her nature so that she could understand others in a way she +had never been able to do before. Peter felt her sympathy. Though she +said little, the knowledge of it was conveyed to him by those unspoken +words, which are uttered and heard by the heart alone. He told her about +the post in India which had been such a temptation to him; about his +parents' disappointment because he would not enter the Church; and how +he had consented to their wishes to come home for a time, so as to give +the matter a longer consideration. + +"I wish I could do what they want," he said, "especially as my dear old +father is failing. Don't you think he's failing, Lucy? He is so much +quieter and slower than he used to be!" + +"Oh, your coming will cheer him up." + +"You have great faith in that side of my nature." + +"It's true, Peter, you've cheered me up a lot in the last half hour." + +"By telling you my troubles?" + +"I'm sorry," she said kindly. "I can understand, oh, believe me, I can +understand how you felt when you gave up the thought of going to India. +I've learnt a lot lately; I've had to give up things myself. Life isn't +all roses at Greystones, you know!" + +He looked down at her. + +"We've both lost some of the sparkle out of our eyes, Lucy," he said. +"It's the price men and women have to pay for the possession of their +own souls." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE BACK END + + +Lucy sat on the bridge that spanned the beck just above the farm. The +water had diminished to a thin stream, trickling between the stones; the +pools were nearly empty; the moss on the rocks was yellow instead of +green. All things looked parched; even the marshes were dry. The summer +had been as nearly rainless as a summer can be among the dales and +fells. + +Lucy's eyes were fixed upon the low grey house before her. The weeds, +which grew between its rough slates, were dead; the feathery grasses, +that found congenial crannies in the walls, drooped; the garden--a +narrow patch between the door and the beck--was already seared by the +hand of autumn. + +But that which Lucy's eyes beheld was not the Greystones of to-day, +gilded by the westering sun, but the Greystones of the days to come, +swept by the rain, beaten by winds, or wreathed round and round by the +whirling white sheets of a snow-storm. + +In a few weeks' time winter would be here; long, wild nights would +follow short, wild days; the sun would be blotted out, or rise above the +mountain rampart for a few hours, roll across the dale like a red wheel, +and plunge down behind another mountain rampart amid lurid mists, or +smoky clouds. + +Her mind dwelt upon this picture with dread. She told herself that she +could not pass another winter at Greystones, cooped up with the fearsome +old woman, her great-grandmother. She would lose her wits if she did, or +die; at any rate, lose her youth. Youth was not so much a matter of a +few years as of happiness--the happy were always young, the sad old long +before their time. + +As Lucy sat on the bridge this fair autumn evening, herself as fair as a +little rosy cloud floating overhead, although she was outwardly calm and +unoccupied, she was listening, not with the best of grace, to two voices +talking in her own soul. One had been trying to make itself heard for +days, nay, weeks; but she would pay no heed to it. Now it refused to be +stifled any longer. + +"You are doing wrong," said this better self, but the other part of her +vehemently protested innocence. + +Ever since Peter Fleming had returned to High Fold Lucy's attitude +towards life had changed. She had not been happier, but she had been +less willing to suffer with resignation. She had looked facts in the +face. She considered Joel's departure and the possibility of his ever +returning; would she not be grey-haired by then? Fortunes were not made +in a day. She weighed her own chances of escape from a life that she +detested. There was only one. So she made up her mind that sorrow should +not fall upon her like a blighting sickness, take the roses out of her +cheeks, the light from her eyes, the hope from her heart. She refused to +be thrust into darkness. If happiness was not bestowed upon her as a +gift, she would go out and seek it. + +Yet she was ill at ease--beset by fears, troubled by conscience. + +She rose from her seat upon the bridge and looked down the dale to +Forest Hall. Her eyes had lost their sweetness and were hard, her lips +were compressed. + +She was passionately wishing that Joel had not gone away, but stayed at +home and made the best of his luck. But as he had gone, why had he not +been kinder? The summer was nearly over, winter was at hand, and he had +only written once--a letter so cold that it might have been read from +the housetops, and even the rooks flying home would have got as much +satisfaction out of it as she. A loving word from him would have brought +summer back to her. She would have made shift to put up with her present +existence. She would have waited till fortune had smiled upon him. If it +had kept a sullen face, she would have given him cheer and hope. But he +had forgotten her. She told herself this again and again making a reason +out of it for her own actions. She would forget, too, and find someone +else to spend her affection upon. + +She had determined one thing--she would remain no longer than she must +at Greystones. She hated it. She hated the loneliness, the crags that +overhung the house, the snow, and the winds, and the rain. She hated her +great-grandmother. So hardened had she become by that which she had +suffered that she was not afraid to express her real feelings to +herself. She would cease to fetch and carry for the old woman, she would +refuse to be a drudge. She would be happy before she was too old to +enjoy happiness. + +She turned away from gazing down the dale as though she had fixed her +determination, but her better self would not let her be. It insisted +that happiness was a state of the soul and she could not win it until +hers was at rest. + +"I am doing no wrong," she argued, "nothing that hundreds of women do +not do. I am lonely, I seek companionship. I am sad, I seek happiness. I +want sympathy, so I give it." + +But, in spite of her protestations, her endeavour to throw a cloak over +the real meaning of her actions, she was conscious of a certain lowering +of her ideals. She was no longer the innocent girl she had been a few +months ago. + +"You are playing a game to win a man's heart," said her better self. +"You are wiling him by arts and ways that only a woman can use. You know +that men are attracted, like children, by that which is beautiful and +looks good, so you lay yourself out to please his eyes, and win his +love." + +Lucy moved restlessly from one side of the bridge to the other, as +though by such means she could get away from the troublesome voice. + +Was it true? she asked herself. Was she acting a part? She liked Peter +very much; she felt safe with him; she meant to marry him if it lay in +her power to do so; but did she love him? Was she not still in love with +Joel? In spite of all that had happened his features and form were +constantly in her mind's eye. He influenced her still; she could not +shake off the fascination that he had exerted over her from the +beginning of their courtship. Lucy rose. The communion of herself with +herself had brought her no satisfaction. + +Listlessly she wandered down the dale. She wanted to do that which was +right, but many conflicting emotions swayed her. Hurt affection, fear +of the future, wish for change, out-weighed other and better desires. +She strolled on. The sun had set, but a mellow light filled the aisles +of Cringel Forest. Without conscious direction her feet took her to the +dell, where Joel and she had spent many a twilight hour. She peered in, +standing on the banks above. How cool and green it looked! The holly +screen was coralled with berries, the mosses were luxuriant, the pool +gleamed like a dark jewel. Then the past rushed back upon her--the +months of separation shrivelled up; it seemed to be but yesterday that +she had met Joel there. + +Life came to a standstill. She did not cry out, or fling herself upon +the ground, or flee from the haunted spot. She remained peering through +the bushes, her eyes set wide, and her lids rigid. She was seeing a +vision of Joel Hart in her mind's eye. The place was full of him. The +pool had many a time reflected his features, he used to sit upon that +stone, lean against yonder tree. The harebells were in bloom when he and +she were last here--still two or three frail flowers hung fading upon +their stems. + +A footstep started her. So vivid was her impression of his presence, +that she half expected to hear him call, or see him rise up out of the +shadows. The blood surged through her veins, her heart beat loudly, her +breath came hurriedly. + +But it was only Peter Fleming that burst through the haunted +silence--plain-featured Peter Fleming and his big brown bear. She drew +further among the bushes, not wishing to be seen. The beast lumbered +down to the pool, splashed about in it, greatly to the delight of its +master; and, having churned up the mud, robbed the place of its magic, +and exorcised the vision, man and brute went away. + +Lucy returned to Greystones as troubled as she had left it. + +The first few weeks after Peter's return home had been spent by him in +schooling his heart to accept his present life cheerfully. He never +showed a desponding frame of mind to any one but Lucy, and only to her, +because she had--as it were--enticed him into unusual confidences by her +fair face and gentle sympathy. But his was not a nature to whine over +that which it could not have, and before long he got back--outwardly, at +any rate--his jovial temper. The villagers found him the same gay +fellow, ready to wrestle with them on the green when the day's work was +done; the lads and lasses teased him about his lap dog, Big Ben, the +bear; the children were more certain than ever that lollipops would be +their daily fare, when school began after the harvest was over. + +Peter passed a few days cutting down the trees round the school-cottage. +He made a clearing where the sun could look through, and he dug a +flower-bed under the window. Soon after day-break each morning, he left +the mill, swung up the village street past the church and entered the +forest. He spent many hours there, his eyes and ears alert to all the +wondrous life going on in the sweet green shade. Hares and rabbits, +water-rats and weasels scurried away before his approaching footsteps, +then stopped to look at him from a fern, or a tree-trunk, or a +moss-grown stone. Squirrels leaped among the boughs overhead, and threw +empty nuts down, and birds, less shy, and more mercenary, scavenged in +the drifts of last year's leaves, not heeding him at all. Often he +passed many hours with Timothy Hadwin, discoursing of things, that lie +at the roots of human development. He laughingly said that he was always +ready for an excuse to fling himself upon the warm, sweet-smelling +earth, and look at the sky, which hung over the tree-tops like a blue +china cup. But he was not idle. He read books of Theology and books on +Philosophy in the little white-washed parlour of the school-house. He +read sincerely, even with ardour, but ever came to the same conclusion +that the priesthood was not his vocation. + +Made restless and impatient by unavailing study, he at length flung his +books aside, turned to the free breezy life of the fells, and went +fishing. Swirtle Tarn, and all the mountain streams, saw his grey clad +figure through the dusks of early morning and night. Neither rain nor +heat could keep him at home. He was out from sunrise to sunset, his skin +burnt brown as an Autumn leaf, and his hair bleached to the colour of +wind-blown bent. + +Sometimes he saw Barbara, her figure outlined against the sky; or he +spied her climbing like a goat up the gaunt face of Thundergay; or he +caught the light glancing from her reaping hook as she cut bracken for +the cows' winter bedding; and once, when the sun was level with the +hills, a giant shadow of horse and woman fell upon him, and she passed +close by, leading home the peats. + +Peter did not often have speech with Barbara. He did not seek her, for +his mind was preoccupied with his own concerns, and she did not cross +his path. He saw Lucy much oftener, but he was too open and honest to +imagine that their frequent meetings were planned by the brain that lay +behind such blue and innocent eyes. + +Thus the summer died upon the hills. + +Harvesting, stacking turf, and bringing sheep from the highest pastures +made the "back end" busy for the fell folk. A spirit of good fellowship +inspired them, and they helped each other, gathering first at this farm, +then at that, toiling through the heat of the day and feasting at night; +dancing the harvest moon up into the sky, or out of it--as the case +might be. No lack of willing workers came to Greystones, and Mistress +Lynn indulged her pent-up generosity on this occasion, providing liberal +ale, bread, and cheese for her guests. + +On the night of the kern supper, the harvesters brought home the kern +baby in triumph to Greystones. The kern baby was made of the last cut of +corn, platted into some semblance of the human figure, its head stuffed +with a red apple. They hung it up on the kitchen wall, near the +four-poster, where it would remain until the end of the year, when the +best cow would get the corn and Jan Straw the apple. + +For half a century the kern apple had been Jan's meed on Christmas +morning. He took it to the kirk-garth, and laid it on the grave of "her +o' the white fingers." During the night some wild creature came out of +the forest and ate it up, but he never knew, for the churchyard was too +holy a place to be disturbed by many pilgrimages. He had an idea that +the apples were all garnered up somewhere, watched over by an angel, and +that he would find them again, hereafter, in a golden heap. + +The weather continued summerlike; the bracken grew taller and taller in +the moister places of the dale until it stood as high as Lucy's +shoulder. + +"We'll have to pay for this by and by," said Mistress Lynn. + +One morning a cloud hung over Thundergay. The next day the sky was +overcast, the air oppressive, and faint thunder rolled, like the booming +of great waves on a distant shore. + +"Didst ever have weather like this before?" asked Barbara. + +"Aye, long ago." The old woman laid down her knitting needles and told +the story of that time, with the awe of one who had heard the flocks +calling upon the hills night and day for water--a sound which lingers in +human ears for ever. + +"The ground cracked like an overbaked pot," she said. "The becks ran dry +and Swirtle Tarn shrank till it was little better than a farm-yard +puddle." + +Barbara went out. She took the cattle track to the cave where she and +the hind gathered the sheep from Thundergay. All through the hot +oppressive hours they toiled, and by the afternoon the flocks were +huddled upon the slopes above Swirtle Tarn, watching with frightened +eyes the flashes of light, that lit up the gathering darkness. Then the +hind left her to drive in the cattle. + +Barbara was the only human being in that gloomy place. And she was the +only living thing that was not afraid. The moor fowl called restlessly +to each other, flew hither and thither, or hid themselves among the +ling. A hare, crossing a strip of fern-clad slope, raised its head to +sniff suspiciously, when it shot away, swift as an arrow. + +At Greystones Lucy sat by the open door spinning. She dreaded a +thunderstorm as something supernatural. She would rather have been with +Barbara at Ketel's Parlour, than alone, here, with the old woman. + +She lifted her eyes again and again to look at the mountain round which +the blackest clouds were gathered. It seemed to draw nearer, until it +stood like a black blot just beyond the barn. Then she got up and shut +the door. + +Mistress Lynn watched the girl with keen eyes. She had noticed that +Lucy's face of late had regained its colour. But there was a hard +expression upon it, and her speech came slower and less gaily than of +old. The old woman knew the meaning of it. She could see into Lucy's +mind almost as easily as if it were laid open for her inspection. + +The daylight struggled and died; a grey unearthly gloom came on all +things, a stillness as of death. + +"Are you frightened, Lucy?" asked Mistress Lynn. + +"Maybe it's the last day," replied the girl. + +The old woman's face was ghastly as the face of a corpse in the strange +light which filtered through the windows. The kitchen seemed to be +swallowed up by a weird sepulchral vapour. + +She laughed. + +"Get down on thy knees, Lucy Lynn," she said ironically, "get to thy +knees and pray for a sinful old woman and an innocent lass. Don't forget +Peter Fleming forbye. I misgive me he'll come in for a wetting if he +doesn't tie wings to his heels. He went up the fells a few hours ago." + +"Peter! when? I didn't see him." + +"Why shouldsta? He came to see me, and you were in the dairy." + +Lucy seized the poker to stir the peats; it was heavy bar of iron and +clanged like a bell when she knocked it in her nervousness and +irritation against the stone jambs of the fireplace. Then she jumped up +and looked in at the cow-house, where the hind was just stalling the +cattle. There she saw Jan Straw, sitting with his hands on his knees, +staring into vacancy. He did not seem to see her, but he laughed like a +mindless creature at every rumble of distant thunder. + +"It's going to be a fearful storm, Tom," she said to the hind. + +"A regular smasher!" he replied. + +"You didn't see anyone coming down the fellside, did you, when you were +gathering the kye?" + +"Nay, never a soul. Every man o' sense has got his flocks into shelter +by now." + +Lucy returned to the kitchen. + +"Jan Straw's by with himself," she said. + +Her great-grandmother continued to knit composedly. + +"Look up the dale, and see if you can spy Peter," she said with a wicked +gleam in her eyes. + +"He's old enough to look after himself," replied the girl tartly. + +"Then look up the dale and see if the storm has broken on Thundergay. +I'm wondering about Barbara." + +Lucy did as she was bid. The sky was shrouded by a heavy pall, through +which the sun still shone as through smoked glass. But the mountain had +disappeared. Now and then it flashed into sight as the lightning played +round it, then darkness swallowed it up. + +Meanwhile Barbara was standing at the mouth of the cave. She looked a +very solitary being in the midst of that tremendous gathering of the +tempest. The forces which nature had wakened were so overpowering and +mysterious, they could have swept her away, if she had exposed herself +to them, like a withered leaf. Everything around her was magnified by +the lightning--the cliffs were towers, the bushes distorted creatures, +the rocks--fragments from the heights above, which former storms had +thrown about like pebbles--loomed in the darkness as big as elephants or +those prehistoric beasts, the mammoths that Timothy Hadwin had told her +about. Behind her the mouth of the cave yawned like a black mouth +waiting to swallow her up. The dogs crept close to her side, the sheep, +too, seemed to be reassured by her presence. Could they have spoken they +might have uttered the words said by the Red-skins to Montcalm: + +"_It is when we look into your eyes that we see the greatness of the +pinetree and the fire of the eagle._" + +The lightning played off its fire-works against the inky clouds; the +thunder crashed like the wheels of a great car hurtling down Thundergay. +The dales and ravines rolled and reverberated. Every pinnacle spat fire, +every cliff gave back the sound in twofold, threefold, even sevenfold +echoes. + +Still Barbara stood at the mouth of the cave and watched. She had not +seen a storm like this before--though thunderstorms were common +occurrences among the fells. She thought it was like the convulsion +which must have attended the making of the earth. She could imagine that +a god was moving within the cloud, striking upon his anvil with a great +hammer, and forging bands for a new world. + +The lightning and thunder ceased. The quietness was more oppressive +than the noise had been. A waterfall rang startlingly clear like a call. +The darkness increased with the silence. All the nearer objects sank +into a thick atmosphere. + +Then came the rain. It did not fall in drops, but in a flood. It drummed +upon the grass and rocks; it sounded like an army coming down the +mountain side and passing along the dale. Every well-head, that had been +dry for weeks, broke into clamouring; Thundergay gushed with fountains; +the fountains gathered; they rushed along like mad horses. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +SIX WHITE HORSES AND A COACH + + +The cow-house was dim, like night, when a cloudy moon is shining, +although the clock had just struck four. Through a small window the grey +light stole and vaguely lit up the horned heads of the cattle. It showed +Jan Straw sitting in a corner. + +Rain beat on the roof like the trampling of heavy feet; it fell in a +sheet from the eaves, and spouted like a waterfall from the drip-stone; +the noise of the beck increased until it became a roar. + +With a heave and a snort Cushy, Barbara's favourite cow, got up. She +feared! she did not know what she feared; but perhaps in those days when +the earth was new-made and cataclysms were frequent occurrences, her +forbears had learnt to dread the sounds of a rising flood. She stirred +the other beasts into restlessness, although they had borne the thunder +and lightning with timid resignation. + +Jan Straw sat motionless. He had stopped muttering, and his eyes were +half-closed. His hands were cold as ice. The flame of life was burning +very low. To him had come a presentiment that death was on his way to +put it out. Once he had seen a play acted upon the village green in +which Death came by with all his bones a-jangling, and the memory of it +had not faded. His intellect was too beclouded to fear. The dogged +stolidity, that had made him an unrepining drudge through manhood to old +age, now made him a placid watcher for the fleshless form that would +extinguish his little candle. + +Lucy heard the trampling and snorting of the beasts, and she came to the +cow-house door. Peter Fleming was with her, for he had reached +Greystones just in time to take shelter there. The sudden change from +the brightly lit kitchen, where the candles were burning, to the dimness +of this place at first bewildered him; he could not distinguish anything +clearly--the cattle looked like ungainly shadows, and their horns like +the bare and twisted branches of trees. Then one by one the forms took +shape, and his eyes fell upon the old man. + +"Hulloa," he cried, laying his hand on Jan's bent shoulder, "What ho, +Jan! how goes thyself? Why! I believe you've been asleep in the midst of +all this racket. It's loud enough to waken the dead." + +The old man roused himself from his lethargy, gathered his scattered +wits, and looked at the countenance bending over him for some moments +without replying. + +At last he asked in a voice that trembled away into silence: + +"Will it waken her?" + +Peter knew of whom he was thinking. + +"Nay," he said kindly, "her bed is a bed of peace." + +The grey face fell, and the young man saw that he had not anticipated +Jan's desire. + +"I shouldn't wonder," he replied, "if she doesn't hear it in her sleep, +and dream of you." + +"I thought as how she might waken and be watching," answered Jan. + +"M'appen she is," Lucy spoke with tenderness, for she was fond of the +old man. "She'll certainly be looking out for thee, Jan. She'll never +sleep so heavily but she'll hear thy step when thee goes." + +"I's going soon." + +His head sunk upon his breast; he was old, forlorn and weary. + +"Nay, Jan, nay," said Lucy, "you mustn't leave us yet. Barbara and me. +We'd be so lonesome sitting by the winter fire, wanting thy face that's +smiled on us ever since we were born." + +"We's o' comers and gangers," he replied. "There's new faces coming to +take the place of the old ones. I's ganging. He'll soon pass by." + +"Who, Jan?" + +"Him with the reaping-hook." + +Lucy laughed his words away, though she shivered. + +"It's a coach and six white horses that'll come for thee, Jan. Thee +shall ride on velvet cushions, the horses will be shod with gold, and +the bits will be made of silver." + +"Aye, that's the manner of it," said Peter cheerfully. + +"Six white horses and a coach," repeated the old man, then he shook his +head. "Coaches is for gentry folk. I'll have to go away with him, the +man of the bare bones. He's like me the way he gets his bread, reaping +the harvest from the fields, and no' finding mickle fatness in it +nouther." + +"Come to the fire," said Peter. "You're cold here, come and get warm." + +He helped Jan to his feet, and supported the tottering footsteps to the +kitchen, where the old man sank into his seat in the ingle-cheek. + +The rain was still clattering overhead, and sweeping down the windows in +a solid sheet of water, so that nothing could be seen through the glass. +Peter went to the door, and looked out. + +"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "the beck has wakened up with a vengeance." + +"It won't sweep away the house, will it?" asked Lucy. She felt much +relieved to have Peter by her side, and even dared to cast her eyes upon +the angry stream, swirling under the garden wall. + +Her great-grandmother laughed. + +"Lucy's a timid lass," she said. "Before you came she thought it was the +last day, but I knew the good God was a better landlord than that, and +would want more market out o' his green fields than he's gotten so far, +before he burnt them into ashes. Now she's afraid Greystones will fall! +Hoots-toots, bairn. Greystones will stand as long as there's a Lynn to +care for it. I've seen many a worser storm than this." + +The old woman talked on. When her mind got back to bygone days she was +garrulous. Some of her stories offended the fastidious tastes of Lucy, +but Peter liked them. Strange customs and coarser habits did not blind +him to the fact that life and its passions are much the same in every +age, only wearing a different garb. + +Lucy and Peter still stood, one at each side of the doorway, looking +out. The beck raced below them, spluttering and foaming, and they could +hear the grinding of rocks under its feet. It rose rapidly higher. Even +as they watched it snatched at a bush on the opposite bank, twisted it +as a child might twist a blade of grass, rooted it up, and swept it +away. + +"Barbara will get wet!" said Lucy. "She's at Ketel's Parlour. There's a +crack in the roof, and the rain sometimes gets in." + +Peter cast a glance at the still teeming clouds. He had not seen Barbara +for a long time, and he was half inclined to venture forth, make his way +up the dale, through a hundred spouting waterfalls, and share her lonely +vigil. + +Lucy divined his thoughts. She shut the door hastily and drew him to a +seat. + +"We'll have tea; you'd like tea, Peter? And great-granny is dying for a +cup," she said. Then she whispered so that the old woman could not hear: +"I'm so thankful you came--I really was frightened." + +Peter allowed himself to be ruled by her, making only a laughing +protest. The prospect outside was not enticing, and the prospect within +was comfortable and bright. + +Lucy stepped lightly about her duties, spreading the table with +clap-cakes, butter and honey. Peter's presence excited her; her eyes +sparkled; her movements were lively. She dulled her ears to the roar of +the torrent, and the rushing of the rain--though both were deafening. + +Jan Straw wakened from the sleep into which the kindly warmth of the +kitchen had thrown him, and followed her with a steady gaze. He thought +that she was a being between an angel and a fairy. Her eyes were blue +like flowers with the morning dew in them, her skin was soft and white +as the breast feathers of a swan, her cheeks were like roses. He had a +confused remembrance of a story, still told in the dale, about the man +who had seen the last of the fairies. He had disturbed them at their +play, and they had run up a ladder into a cloud, shutting a door after +them. No one ever saw them again among the tarns and meres, dancing by +moonlight. "Her o' the white fingers" had, also, gone up into a cloud, +and been seen no more. But she was an angel. Looking at Lucy he forgot +the man with the reaping hook. + +Lucy masked the tea, and called Jan to the table. They tried to forget +that awesome sound of rushing water outside. Mistress Lynn could be a +jovial companion when she chose, and she liked to cross wits with Peter. +He dared to contradict her--such a rare experience she appreciated, for +it was done good-humouredly. The old woman had a purpose in unbending to +him. She wanted him to marry Lucy. + +She wanted it for several reasons--because she liked him and knew he was +no fortune-hunter, because she wished to see Lucy settled before Joel +came back--she had other plans for Joel--because she was sorry for the +girl's disappointment: she knew what blighted hopes felt like when the +heart was young. Though she would not have scrupled to add +disappointment to disappointment had it suited her purpose, in this case +she was at one with her great-grand-daughter, and determined to bring +about that which they both desired. + +When tea was finished Peter bent over Lucy's chair to read her cup. + +"Health and wealth and happiness," he said. + +"I've heard it many times," said she, with a light laugh. "I've got the +first, and dreamed of the last, but I've still to catch a glint of the +other. Read Jan's," she handed him the old man's mug. "Perhaps you'll +find something worth having there." + +"Nowt but the rheumatics has ever come out o' my cup," said Jan gravely. + +"But I see six white horses and a coach," replied Peter. + +"Do 'ee now?" Jan put his finger into the empty mug and sorted the +tea-leaves one by one, counting them aloud. "So there be," he said. + +Lucy began to wash up the dishes, childishly pleased to bare her round, +white arms, when there was someone to see them. + +Throughout the meal, which had been a merry one, they had tacitly +ignored the rain, although it was still coming down--as they say in the +dales--whole watter. Now they were suddenly silent. But on the slates it +clattered, on the walls it slashed, on the ground it spluttered, through +the air it fell hissing. Over and above it the beck thundered. + +Mistress Lynn sat upright in her bed, and listened with an expression of +awe upon her grim old countenance; Lucy drew nearer to Peter, her eyes +wide and panic-stricken; Jan Straw left the ingle. + +"Hark!" said the old woman. + +Peter went to the door and looked out. + +Down the bed of the stream came a foaming, boiling cataract. Seen +through the gloom it was suggestive of flying, riderless horses, tossing +their manes in the air, and chafing at their bits. + +"Six white horses and a coach," muttered Jan, stumbling bare-headed into +the rain. + +"Come back," cried Lucy. + +"Come back," cried Peter. + +"Jan, Jan, you old fool," said Mistress Lynn, leaning out from her +great bed, and peering across the candle-lit room to the darkness framed +by the open door. + +But Jan was gone. The garden wall fell and the water rolled up to the +doorstep, where it seemed to pause before slowly withdrawing. It did not +go back alone. Lucy, regardless of her own safety, impulsive to +recklessness where her affections were concerned, followed it, and +thinking that she saw Jan but a few steps ahead, ran forward. + +The ground gave way under her feet, and the beck had its grip on her in +a moment. + +The incident happened so swiftly that Peter was already struggling with +the flood for the possession of the girl before he realised what had +taken place. When he tried to recall it afterwards he could remember +nothing save that his hand, by its own sense and cunning, had snatched +at her frock as she was being swept past him. He dragged her from the +water, and carried her into the house, laying her drenched form down +before the fire. She was not unconscious, and stumbled to her feet, +crying: + +"Jan, save Jan, Peter!" + +She would have followed him out again into the slashing rain, but +Mistress Lynn called her back peremptorily. + +The old woman was terribly upset. She had had to lie in the four-poster +and know that something dreadful was taking place outside. She had +watched Jan rush out, then Lucy, then Peter; but she had heard nothing +save the roar of waters, and seen nothing save a faint white gleam as +they foamed by. Now she strove for composure, and wiped the tears that +had come unbidden upon her cheeks. + +"Go and fettle thyself," she said to the shivering girl. "Then you'll be +fit to look after the old man if he needs looking after any more." + +Peter raced the beck through the copse where it was ploughing among the +tree-trunks; he sought along the basin by the falls, but he could not +find a trace of Jan Straw. He shouted, but he could not hear his own +voice among the roaring of the waters, much less a cry for help were it +uttered. He followed the flood through Cringel Forest to the village, +where he told what had happened. Then, knowing that there was no chance +now of finding the old man alive, if there had ever been a chance, he +retraced his steps to Greystones. + +He found Lucy kneeling before the fire drying her hair. A sob broke from +her when he returned alone for she had hoped against hope. + +"You couldn't find him?" she said. + +He shook his head sorrowfully. + +"Poor old Jan is gone," he replied. + +Lucy covered her face with her hands, but the old woman leaned back upon +her pillows, a red patch on each cheek. + +"Gone!" she said, "gone! Jan Straw gone! The last link with my ain +generation." She was silent, seeing the years which he had kept alive +for her, fading away. "So Jan's gone, the old, old, creature, but +younger than me by twenty winters. Poor Jan." + +Then she turned upon Lucy. She must find some vent for the choking +emotion of age. + +"This o' comes of your fairy-tales," she said. "Six white horses and a +coach! You'd better have left him sitting in the cow-house, waiting for +the man with the reaping-hook." + +"Don't blame me," cried the girl. "I would have saved him if I could." + +"You'd have drownded yourself to no purpose. What could a lass like you +do when the beck's in spate? It would have twisted you up like a +windle-straw." + +Lucy turned to Peter with entreaty in her eyes. + +He took her hand and stroked it. + +"I think you were very brave," he said. + +He saw again the water with its tigerish lips, the crunching rocks, the +broken body of a sheep tossing among the foam; he looked at the girl, at +her tearful eyes, her damp hair hanging in jetty rings round her face; +she seemed to be but a child, a forlorn, unhappy child, seeking for +sympathy. + +Hardly realizing what he did he bent down and kissed her. + +"Old Jan was glad to go, Lucy," he said. "You must remember that, and +not grieve for him. He had a long life and a lonely one. But he is now +walking beside still waters with her o' the white hands." + +Night came, the rain ceased, and the moon reaped the stars with a golden +sickle. The sky was calm, but the fells and dales were still roaring +with the sound of many waters, and streaking the darkness with silver +threads. Peter went home, stirred to the depths of his being. + +The next afternoon, when the beck had subsided to its normal flow, Jan +Straw's body was found in a pool and taken to Greystones. All the +village, and shepherds from distant cots among the hills, were bidden to +the funeral. Lucy and Barbara had no time for tears. Mistress Lynn would +not have it said that she had not shown honour to her old servant, and, +two days before the burial, the sisters were busy from dawn to dark +baking arval cakes to be given to the guests. These little cakes were +made of wheaten meal, and taken piously home, to be eaten in remembrance +of the dead. + +The ceremony was a solemn one in the mill-house. The old man, Peter's +father, ate the arval cake with one hand over his eyes, and his figure +bent as though in prayer. Peter's mother wept behind her handkerchief, +and nibbled a crumb of it, saying softly: + +"In memory o' thee, Jan Straw." + +Peter, too, was not unmoved. The simplicity and pathos of the act +brought tears to his honest eyes, of which he was not ashamed. + +Later on John Fleming sat at one side of the fire smoking, Mistress +Fleming at the other side knitting, and Peter lay on the rug between +them, telling stories of Oxford, when the old man suddenly took his pipe +from his mouth, and said: + +"I wish you'd marry, Peter." + +"Marry! Good heavens!" + +"I want you to settle down. Once I had other views. I thought I'd live +till you could read the burial service over me--earth to earth, dust to +dust, ashes to ashes, in sure and certain hope--you know how it goes. +Beautiful words, them! They kind o' sum up the big and the little o' +life. Well, but now----" + +He paused, took out of his pocket a large square of linen and wiped his +brow. + +"I'm sorry to have disappointed you, father." + +"I kind o' expected it," replied the miller. "I used to say to your +mother, 'the lad's not the right cut for a cassock. He'd split the skirt +o' it with his long legs, rax it down the back with wrestling, and +carry puppies and kitlins in the pockets.' But she--she didn't ken you +as well as I did. 'Leave him alone,' she said, 'the lad's all right. You +can't put an old head on young shoulders.' I wasn't for believing her. +'Zookers!' said I, 'I's an old man, but I's got a young head on my old +shoulders. The lad takes after me, that he does!" + +"I was hoping," Peter began, but the miller interrupted him. + +"Don't be hoping anything, or pluming yourself up that I didn't mind. +I've wished ever since--since--you ken when--that I'd brought you up to +be a decent honest miller like myself, and had knocked them eddication +notions out o' my head and your's too. They've done nowther on us any +good." + +"If you'd only consent to my going away--not out of the country--but to +London, say, I would do something to take the sting out of your +disappointment. You'd be proud of me yet." + +His mother laid a gentle hand on his arm. + +"Whist, lad," she whispered, "list to thy dadda." + +"We're getting old," John Fleming began, then stopped to clear his +throat. "We're getting old, thy mother and me, and we've no chick nor +child left but you, lad. We want you to stay at home with us till we're +called away." + +"It won't be for long, Peter," said his mother. + +"We'd like you to settle down," continued the old man. "There's money +enough--the Lord has blessed me with prosperity. You can take a wife, +Peter, and bring up a family. I'd like to see a grandson on my knees +before I die, and know that the old mill-house will go down to another +John Fleming--a sober, God-fearing man I hope he'll be, with no +book-learning to spoil his appetite for common labour. Not that I'm +blaming you, lad. I couldn't have wished for a better son--in that the +Lord has blessed me far beyond my deserts." + +Peter grasped his father's hand and shook it without a word. The old man +laughed, and slapped him on the back, then snorted, as though tears had +got into his throat. + +"I always have a cough when the winter comes," he said, tapping his +chest. + +"So you want me to get married," remarked Peter, after a while. "That's +a matter for deep reflection." + +"I've always wished for a daughter," replied his mother. "I cried when +you were born, but thy dadda was pleased." + +"There's a nice lass would just do for you, lad," said the miller, +winking at his son. "She's a bonny lass with no silly ways about her. +Your mother and me's kind o' fond o' her already. She looks us up +whiles, and twists as purty a bow as you could wish to see for your +mother's caps and bonnets." + +"I guess her name," said Peter. + +"It begins with L," replied the old man. + +Peter got up and stretched himself. + +"I'm going for a walk," he said, "it's a fine moonlight night." + +"And you'll think over what I've been saying?" asked the miller. + +The young man smiled, kissed his mother, and took his cap down from a +nail. + +"I'll tell you my decision when it's made," he replied. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +JOEL TAKES THE LONG TRAIL + + +It was the spring of the next year, and Joel Hart sat smoking outside +the store of Red Rivers Town. The hunters and trappers were returning +from the forest, bringing in their winter's catch of peltries, and the +place swarmed with men of many races, and all grades of colour from the +ebony of the negro, up through copper to the lighter eyes and fair skin +of the European. + +The town was a huddled collection of log houses, built round a wooden +fort. Puny, dirty, and arrogant, it yet stood boldly alone, snapping its +fingers--as it were--in the face of the wilderness, and telling it that +the days were numbered in which its silent places would remain +tenantless, and its secrets undiscovered. The forest crowded up to its +very doors, like a pack of wild creatures, gathering round the circle of +its fires, but kept at bay with axe and saw. + +Joel looked steadily before him. There were trees, trees, trees, nothing +but fluttering leaves and solemnly waving boughs for hundreds of miles. +On the fringe, where some men had been felling, lay lopped limbs, +fragrant logs, and stacks of small branches; but the forest stood behind +like an army, watchful, waiting, full of animosity. It threatened the +town as the town threatened it. Any weakness on the part of man would +bring it forward in a riotous march, waving green triumphal banners. + +For some days Red Rivers had been seething with excitement. It was +rumoured that in the mountains, far beyond the forest, gold had been +found. Already men were fitting themselves out to take the long trail, +and Joel was one of them. + +A hard and dangerous journey it would be, for, between civilisation and +the Delectable Mountains, stretched first the forest, then the +wilderness, silent and visibly hostile. It had baulked the desires of +many, and sown grass between their ribs; it lay like a colossal dragon, +like the worm Fafnir, guarding treasures that had been their bane. But +as the old saga saith--Every brave man and true will fain have his hand +on wealth till that last day. + +For gold men will face the deadliest of foes--the Unknown. They will +fight its cunning with human craftiness, its strength with endurance, +its secrecy with open minds. Though perils from snakes and savage +creatures, perils from savager tribes, from disease, exhaustion, hunger, +and thirst, may be their daily portion, yet they will push on with a +blind trust in their own good fortune. And as they go they will cheer +themselves with thoughts of nuggets, large as cricket balls, which they +will make the earth disgorge. + +Nearly a year had passed since Joel had left High Fold. It had been a +time of varied experiences. He had been dejected; he had been lifted +high. He had said that Destiny would never lead him to sip at the +Fountain of Success; he had blessed his lucky stars. He had made money, +and after his former habit, lost it in a night. Sometimes the future had +been a blank; sometimes it was lit with fantastical hopes. Occasionally +the present felt like hell, oftener it drifted away--he hardly knew +how--and left behind it a sense of dissatisfaction. He had soon tired of +the post which Mistress Lynn's money had secured for him--there was too +much drudgery in it to suit a pleasure-loving nature like his. But he +kept it until he had won, by less virtuous means, enough to pay his +debts to her and his friends. Then he gave it up. + +But the influence of a new world, where men wrestled cheerfully with +adverse circumstances, and overcame them by force of will, roused the +latent manliness in him. They went forth daily--their muscles tough as +steel, their bodies trained to every kind of hardship--and they came +back, sometimes in a few months, rich with the rewards of their +endurance. And so, when he saw men all around him strip for the contest, +and some bear off the prize, he determined to do likewise. + +He found an unexpected pleasure in action. Life, smacking of adventure, +got hold of his imagination, and quickened his brain. An up-hill road of +monotonous toil, even though it had led to honour and greater wealth, +could not have spurred him to self-denial and energy, such as now +regulated his thoughts. There was much of the excitement of the +racecourse in the life that he was living. He looked forward eagerly to +the day when he, and a small party of adventurers would set out into the +Unknown, carrying their lives in their hands. + +A genial glow suffused his outlook; he could see the dawn of a new life +before him. He was like one watching the light broaden and deepen before +the rising of the sun. + +A wind blew from the west, sweet with the perfume of damp wood. Few +things stir the memory like a scent, and Joel's mind harked back to +Cringel Forest, and the old house above the tree-tops. With luck he +would be able to restore it to its former modest but honourable position +among its neighbours. With luck he would yet set Lucy Lynn there as its +mistress. + +When he first left High Fold he had tried to thrust the memory of her +pleading eyes away. To a certain extent he had succeeded; for the world +to which he had come was a world of men and not of women, and no one +crossed his path to waken a longing for her in his heart. He had not +meant to treat her slightingly, any more than he had meant to rob +Mistress Lynn. He had drifted into the one, as he had drifted towards +the other, through a light and reckless valuation of moral conduct, and +an utter disregard of responsibility. He had written once, but things +were not going well with him at the time, so his letter was short and +superficial. He had meant to write again when luck changed: but luck was +long in changing, and by then her form had grown indistinct. + +With the awakening of his manhood, however, came a stirring of the old +passion. Every part of him was quickened--both his conscience and his +memory. He tried to bring her features back, but he must pay the price +for having neglected her so long, and hard as he strove to imagine her +as she was, her face eluded him, tantalized him, and came near only to +fade away as soon as he turned his eyes upon it. + +But the spirit in him, which Barbara Lynn, by her personality, had +touched to consciousness for a few moments, was now fully roused, and +struggling up, through manifold weaknesses that swathed it, to take its +place as the true director of his life. + +He acknowledged that he had done Lucy a great wrong--wrong at the +beginning and wrong afterwards--and he had made up his mind to atone for +it as far as he could. He would write to her to-night--a clean +confession of all that he had done amiss, before he disappeared into the +wilderness for--how long? Perhaps to find a grave there. + +Just now, as he sat smoking at the store-house door, looking into the +forest, he seemed to see Lucy clearly. She was walking demurely down the +woodland path in her best buckled shoes, which she only wore on Sundays. +She appeared to be happy. Her face was as childish in its outlines, her +skin as white as milk and red as roses, her eyes were as blue as when he +had first kissed her. He fell into a reverie, dreading to hear a strange +bird cry lest it should dispel the illusion. + +The afternoon quickly passed and evening came. He stood and watched the +sunset flare over the tree-tops in red and yellow--the red of blood and +the yellow of gold, two colours that have striped and stained each other +since ever gold was desired by the eyes of men, and blood willingly paid +for it. + +Joel went nearer to the forest and looked at the threshold leading to +the long trail--a great doorway of primeval trees, beyond which he could +see a grey-green road leading--whither? Through a hundred miles of +forest! He thought what a land of trees this was to which he had come. +The weight of luscious growth must give the world a tilt, he had heard a +man say, like a market basket over-full at one end. One day he had +climbed a hill in the neighbourhood, and seen below him a vast expanse +of green boughs, green to the horizon. Somewhere beyond them, bare and +blue, were the treasure mountains that he hoped to reach. + +Swamp and river, he had been warned, many a swamp and blackly-flowing +river, hiding from the wholesome light of the sun under the over-arching +boughs, would try to bar his path to fortune. The leaves were chiming +overhead--a pleasant sound to casual ears. But he had heard that it +drove men crazy. Though it were as unhallowed and insistent as the +voices which haunted those Persian adventurers who were turned to stone +in their endeavours to find the speaking bird, the singing tree, and the +golden water--a tale which Timothy Hadwin had told him long ago--yet +such was his present determination it would not have held him back. The +hope of fabulous things allured Joel as it had allured the men of old. + +He went into the store to write his letter to Lucy. + +As he sat, pen in hand, the lovely phantom which he had seen walking in +the forest with her best buckled shoes on, fled, and she assumed a +solidity that disconcerted him, now he was prepared to communicate +directly with her. His ready assurance vanished. What right had he to +send her a letter now, after so long a silence? She was human, not +faery: conjuring with a human heart had risks. + +He sat for a time pondering over the past, his eyes darkened with +regrets and timid with new fears. Many changes might have taken place in +the dale since he bade it farewell. A letter took months to come. His +letter, if he wrote now, would not reach her till the summer was in full +blow. Perhaps the great-grandmother was dead--swept away by the breath +of the past winter. Lucy might be dead! Death as often took the young as +the old. The silence gripped him like a nightmare. He wanted to break +the suspense. So intense were his feelings, that he felt he could roll +up the space which divided them, roll it up like a scroll, and see her +face to face. But he could not get his hands on the impalpable, restless +curtain, that shut them off from each other. + +If he had been able to roll it up, he could only have seen that which +would have robbed him of his energy and hope, for Lucy was in the midst +of preparations for her marriage with Peter Fleming. + +While he was thus pondering upon the best way to begin his letter, his +eyes wandered round the store. Two flaring lamps lit it up, and added +the smell of rancid oil to the strange odour of tan, hides, furs, and +woods with which it was redolent. He looked at the shelves of blankets, +the canoe paddles, the canisters of shot, all things alien to his +experience. He felt himself to be adrift in the Unknown, going he knew +not whither. He craved for a familiar sound or sight. He wanted Lucy as +he had never wanted her before. He began to write and tell her so. + +Then a man entered, the leader of the expedition which was going out in +a few days to look for gold. He was tall and sinewy, wearing a buffalo +cloak, and a hunting belt embroidered with the quills of the porcupine. +He inspired confidence. He knew the Unknown, and had conquered it. + +"What ho!" he said to Joel, "writing to your sweetheart? That's right. +Tell her you're going to seek your fortune, and will keep the first bit +of gold you find to make the wedding ring." + +"That's a good idea," replied Joel with a laugh. + + * * * * * + +He wrote his letter. He poured out himself. He hid nothing from her, +neither his weaknesses, nor his selfishness, nor the despair which he +had felt, at times, when he thought of her so far away, and wondered if +he would ever see her again. Perhaps he made more of this latter +statement than the facts warranted, but on the whole his letter was that +of an honest man who did sincerely love the woman to whom he was +writing. He did not implore her to wait, but he said that if heaven sent +him fortune, he would come to her--however late in the day it might +be--and ask her to share it. + +He ended by telling her that he would keep the first bit of gold he +found for the wedding ring. + + + + +PART II + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +BARBARA AND PETER + + +Winter came to the dale, bringing snow, wind, and rain. It sneaked into +the sheep-fold like a wolf, and not only into the sheep-fold, but it +went down to the village, and quietly carried off some of the old folk +there. Yet it did not so much as snarl at the threshold of Greystones. +It ran as it were--with its tail between its legs, past the house, +afraid of the great-grandmother in the four-post bed. + +Then the summer came, bringing the flocks back to the mountains, and +plenty to the dale. It poured its riches into the old woman's lap, for +the farm prospered. Hard on its heels followed another winter. + +Mistress Fleming at the mill-house, folded her hands, and lay down in +her last sleep. Her spirit slipped away in the night-time without a +sigh, and Peter, standing by her bedside in the morning, and looking at +the sweet old face, rosy still in death, found it hard to believe that +she would not soon waken and speak to him. The miller lingered out +another year, then he followed his wife. + +Peter was forced to acknowledge to himself, with bitterness, that they +did not find in their latter days, all the joy which they had expected. +No word of complaint ever crossed their lips, they were loving and +kind, but he read in their faces a disappointment which they strove to +hide, and thought they had hidden. + +Not only had he failed to realise their fond hopes for him, but his +marriage with Lucy lacked something, which they dimly felt, yet could +not see. The girl was pretty, and sweet, and dutiful. They welcomed her +with open arms. But she never took the place of a daughter to them. + +When Lucy first came to the mill-house, she experienced an uplifting of +her whole nature. She was treated with a respect, a dignity new to her, +and she was happy, believing that she had done right in marrying Peter. +But before long she began to feel the strain of living at so high an +altitude. She could not reach the standard expected of her by the old +couple, whose idol was their son; neither could she reach the standard +of her husband, who scorned to show littlenesses of mind or temper, and +would not have feared to lay his whole life open to the world, conscious +of its integrity, had duty demanded such a revelation. + +Peter had no place in his life for the little attentions that Lucy liked +to receive. She often thought him cold; for, having once said that he +loved her, he did not repeat the declaration, and she wanted him to tell +her every day. She missed the fond speeches that Joel had been so ready +to make; her eyes never brightened now to hear themselves extolled; her +cheeks never blushed to hear their own praises. Such light language had +rarely been on Peter's tongue, even when he played with her in the +forest, before he thought of marriage. Having been made his wife, she +was on a different footing: she was as the apple of his eye; she was +the woman he had enthroned, and he treated her with a dignity befitting +her position and his own. Alas! he expected from her a seriousness she +could not give! Neither would she enter into his pleasures--she thought +them low, poor Lucy! To gossip with Jake, the rat-catcher; to make a pet +of a dancing bear; to wrestle on the green--were these things not low? +Joel had never done them. + +No sooner had Lucy allowed her mind to dwell upon such thoughts, than +she began to be restless and dissatisfied. Then Joel's letter came, many +months after it had been written. She read it through and put it away +with a few tears, meaning never to look at it again, as a virtuous wife +should do. But she was already regretting her marriage, regarding it as +bondage, and so she drew the letter from its hiding place and got into +the habit of reading it often. She found in it all that she +desired--devotion, adoration, repentance; and she believed that if it +had only come a few months earlier, the whole course of events would +have been altered. She wrote to him, after a time, telling him of her +marriage, and a good deal about her deeper thoughts. But no answer came, +and she wondered if he had received her letter. Mally Ray, his old +nurse, heard from him now and again, and he sent her money; then he +disappeared once more into the wilderness. + +Peter's own feelings were poignant. Did he think that he had been +tricked? Who can tell, for he said nothing? Like his old father and +mother he hid his disappointment, and hid it better. He set himself, +mind and will, to bring about a happier understanding between Lucy and +himself. Had it not been for the fatal letter he might have achieved it, +but a subtle influence, which never showed itself, yet was none the +less real, frustrated all his endeavours. + +So the seasons ran on, and now Mistress Lynn wanted but one more year to +make her a hundred years old. + +Peter and his wife continued to live at the mill-house after the death +of the old folk, but the wheel was still, and the villagers had to take +their corn further afield to be ground. Lucy wanted him to sell the +place, and pointed out this and that abode in the neighbourhood which +might be made more comfortable and stately. Peter would not listen to +the proposal. He loved the old house, and disliked the thought of +parting with it, although he had no son to be brought up to be a miller, +as Dusty John had desired. Had Peter been willing for any change, it +would have been nothing less than the uprooting altogether of their life +at High Fold. But now, though he was free to go, something kept him +back. + +His father had left him a modest fortune, but idleness was unattractive +to him. So he still taught the village children. He gave Lucy all she +could desire in ribbons and muslins and laces, and he would have given +her a quiet mind if he could. As a village lass did the housework, she +was able to keep her hands as soft and white as she desired, but, with +no regular employment to discipline her soul, she sank into a habit of +fretful impatience, and robbed her home of its repose. + +Peter found interest and refreshment elsewhere. The year after his +marriage, while his parents were still alive, he had started a +night-school, and Barbara had come to it, brightening the bare walls and +dusty benches once a week with her golden hair and blue eyes. + +He found that she had developed both physically and mentally since the +time, when he used to read Pope's Homer to her. She bourgeoned into +leaf, like a tree, that has shown buds for many a day, but been slow to +unfold. In the new relationship, which was now possible to them, they +found infinite satisfaction. Barbara's smile grew softer, her strength +less assertive, and there was a light in her eyes, which made them look +as clear and blue as Swirtle Tarn on a sunny day. She was an apt pupil, +and drank in knowledge like a creature who had long been panting to +slake its thirst at that deep stream. She not only seized upon facts, +but followed the subtler flow of causes underlying them with clear +vision. She talked confidently to Peter of her wonders and +speculations--they were the thoughts of no common mind. + +Barbara lived a stimulating life through those winter evenings at the +night-school. She no longer seemed to be standing on a rock, surrounded +by mists, but the mists cleared away, the rock grew green. The wider +outlook gave a new meaning to her own existence, for it enabled her to +see its human dignity, underlying the trivialities that had disquieted +her hitherto. She ceased to despise those things which the mountains had +taught her. Knowledge became more valuable as she learnt some of its +mysteries, so that every morsel was worth cherishing. + +But deeper than the joy which Barbara felt in this expansion of her life +was another joy of which she was only dimly conscious. When Peter used +to read to her at Ketel's Parlour, she had once thought that if he ever +blessed her with his love, she would find her highest self in giving +hers to him. But this dream had quickly vanished, been dispelled by his +attachment to her sister. She saw little of him then, and less of him +for some time after his marriage. Not till the night-school started did +she realise how much of mutual pleasure the new relationship allowed. +And thus, innocent in heart, and unaware of her power, she had thrown +the spell of her personality over Peter. He influenced her also much +more than she was aware of, so they drifted towards a realisation which +must come sooner or later, and shake their natures to the foundation. + +From week to week Barbara looked forward to the day of the night-school. +She wakened in the morning with a sense of exhilaration; her methodical +movements received an energy that made the daily duties hum. Since Jan +Straw's death an additional man and maid had been employed upon the +farm. This set Barbara free to take up the duties which Lucy so +willingly laid down upon her marriage. Old Mistress Lynn found the +change admirable; though she had demurred at first, when she thought of +the extra mouths to feed and wages to pay. But Barbara stood firm. Now +everything ran smoothly. Her great-grandmother was happy, and no longer +disturbed by Lucy's flighty temper. She said that she desired to ride at +anchor upon an even tide, until the last sailing orders came for her +frail old bark to put to sea. + +One evening Barbara went down the dale, her mind, as usual, in a glow of +anticipation. It was early autumn and the nights were starry, unlike the +nights of summer, whose radiance was dimmed by a heat haze, and a sun +that seemed to set one moment but to rise the next. She welcomed the +stars back to the sky. They greeted her from up yonder like well-kent +friends, and were rich compensation for the lengthening hours of +darkness. Before leaving the dale to follow the road through Cringel +Forest, Barbara cast a glance at the Northern Crown. She liked to link +it to her own fate. It was very bright to-night, no veil of cloud +obscured the glitter of its jewels, and when it was bright she said that +she was happy. + +She entered the forest. Far away, shining dimly through the waving +branches, was the light of the school-house. She ran. On every side the +leaves came fluttering down, and caught on to her hair and shawl. She +shook them off, but they still trundled after her. Then she heard music +and paused to listen, her senses stolen away by the sweet sounds. Peter +was playing his flute in the school-room. She did not know the tune; she +had not heard it before. It had a haunting cadence, that returned again +and again, coming sadly at the end of a trumpet note. She thought that +the music ought to have words; perhaps it had; it sounded like a song. +She would ask Peter to play it for her when the school was over. + +Then the melody ceased abruptly. + +She opened the door and went in. The dead leaves swirled past her, and +began to dance in the middle of the floor, like live things. Timothy +Hadwin and Peter were sitting by the fire talking, the latter had his +flute still between his fingers. + +"Just look at the leaves," said Barbara, "there was a sharp frost last +night and they are coming down in showers." + +She fetched a besom from a corner to sweep them up. + +But Peter stopped her. + +"Nay," he replied, "they come so eagerly to school it would be a shame +to turn them out." + +Laughing, she put the besom away. + +"What a bairn you are," she said. "I really believe that you and Timothy +think they are little bits of human souls blowing about." + +"Well," replied the old man triumphantly. "You don't know what they are, +any more than you know what Barbara Lynn is." + +She sat down on a bench, and propped up her chin with both hands. + +"I admit that I don't know what I am," she answered. + +"No, nor yet what a leaf is. I daresay a leaf has the power to remove +mountains, like faith, but, like human beings, it doesn't know how to +use it." + +"You're a romancer, Timothy," said Peter. + +"Young man, do you know why of all the leaves in the forest not two are +alike? Is it not because there is a spirit of freedom in life however +lowly?" + +"Does anyone understand what life is?" + +"Ah!" said Timothy, "once men knew more about these things than they do +now. Long ago they healed the sick by laying their hands upon them, but +here am I spending my time making potions, and electuaries, and powders. +Well, good-night, children, I must go. Jake's son Joe has been eating +sour apples!" + +He went away with a laugh. + +Barbara took her usual seat, and several men came in. + +Peter's night-school was more successful than he had dared to hope. +Those were days when education had to be fought for by the peasant, and +books were sealed caskets, which might, or might not, contain treasures +he desired to have. So to the little forest school came a few keen and +curious souls, all inspired by one motive, a sincere thirst for +knowledge. From among the hills, over bog and brae, through mist, rain, +and hurricane trudged a shepherd with a passion for logarithms--he +afterwards gained distinction as a mathematician. Thither, also came the +village cobbler, trying to piece together a theory of life more +satisfactory than that offered by a very intimate knowledge of his own +mind. Jake, the rat-catcher, spent a hard perspiring hour once a week, +learning his alphabet. There were others also, full of eagerness to +acquire, and a conviction that even a nodding acquaintance with letters +was worth having. + +Barbara was the only woman who glimpsed the light and strove to win it. +The men would have resented her presence there had she been of a +different make. As it was they shared the bench willingly with her, and +she added considerably to the interest of those strenuous nights, when +they wrestled with the mighty, and the trees hummed in the wind +overhead, or the rain battered on the roof, or the snow blew under the +door. + +Peter had given a wide invitation to the village folk to come, and he +promised to teach them whatever they most desired to know. He laughed at +his audacity but was not ashamed of it, for he had a sincere purpose, +and hoped to lead many to the fountain, from which he drew refreshment +and inspiration. + +To-night he seemed to be tired. When the nightly tasks were over, he +usually read aloud for half an hour; he liked to send his scholars away +with the rhymes of Pope, or the quaint prose of Malory, or the great +verse of Shakespeare ringing in their ears. But this evening he read +listlessly, although the book was the noble and joyous history of King +Arthur. + +When all had gone, he still sat dreamily looking at the open page. + +"Play to me," said Barbara, taking the book from his hand. + +"Play! What shall I play?" + +She told him how she had heard his flute as she came along the forest +road. + +He took the instrument, and sitting in the shadow, played the haunting +little melody, that had held her spell-bound earlier in the evening. + +"Is it a song, Peter?" she asked. + +"Yes, I made it." + +"What about, Peter?" + +He smiled, but she thought that his smile was sad. + +"Only my own thoughts," he replied. "Now read to me. I've a mind that +you should read to me instead of I to you, for a change." + +This was the part of the day that Barbara liked best of all, when, +before going to the mill-house to sup with Lucy and her husband, he and +she read together or talked of those things that interested them most. + +"I think you're too tired to-night, Peter," said Barbara. "Let us go, +and study again another time." + +"Read," he said imperiously. + +"What shall I read?" + +"The book you took away from me when you asked me to play. Begin where I +left off. There's something in King Arthur that suits my present mood." + +She leaned back in her chair, and her full voice rose like the steady +tolling of a bell, as she read the tale of the Fair Maid of Astolat, +who came sailing down broad Thames in a black barge with a letter in her +hand to that most worshipful and peerless knight, Sir Launcelot of the +Lake. + +Peter shaded his eyes and watched her. He set his thoughts free from the +restraint under which he had been keeping them, and gave himself the +pleasure of listening to a pure, nature-voice. There was no vehemence in +Barbara's tones to-night; the words came slowly and simply like the flow +of a river. He glided away upon them from the school-room in Cringel +Forest to the silver shine of Thames. He saw it glide by many a grey +wall and steal dreamily under the trees. He was borne upon its waters by +many a fair town. From Oxford to Westminster he went, and if the barge, +clothed over and over in black samite, floated beside him part of the +way, he forgot it, lulled into dreamy reminiscences of his college days. + +How long ago it seemed to be since he had bidden them farewell, and come +riding back to his native hills. He had learnt much since then, much +which was a bitter daily meal to him. He was dissatisfied with himself. +He had meant to be so peerless, and he felt that he had failed. He +partook, in a way, of the knight's fate, for it seemed as though he must +be overcome in spite of himself. + +So the girl's voice, flowing smoothly like the Thames, which carried the +Fair Maiden of Astolat down to Westminster, took Peter from Oxford still +further away--into the ocean of self-communion. But a new inflection in +Barbara's voice roused him. He heard her read the answer to the king, +when he said that he loved not to be constrained to love. + +"That is true," said King Arthur and many knights, "love is free in +himself and never will be bound...." + +The girl looked up from her book, and met the eyes of Peter. Her hand +dropped to her side, and there was silence. They knew each the mind of +the other. + +The revelation came suddenly. It seemed as though an aggrieved fate had +got weary of seeing two honest hearts striving to hide their real +feelings, and had pulled the veil aside. + +They gazed across the bare floor, their thoughts leaping to mingle, and +their bodies stiff like images of wood. + +At last Peter made a movement. + +"Barbara," he said, "you asked me if the music I played was a song. I +made it out of my own thoughts. They were my thoughts about you." + +A wonderful light crossed the woman's face. She knew now what it was +that appealed to her in the melody. She knew that he loved her as she +loved him. + +She was dazzled for the moment, as by the rising of a great sun; about +her voices seemed to sing; her heart was filled with an inrush of the +joy and beauty of life. But he was filled with dismay, and yet a strong +temptation to satisfy his passion by a touch of their hands and lips. +There was nothing but the bare floor to keep them apart; no hand to +strike down the arms, which they might have stretched out to each other; +no one to forbid them the fervent expression of their love. Was there +nothing? Their whole life lay between, a true friendship, actions which +had always been honest. These stood by them in their need. + +Then Barbara laid down the book, and with a brief good-night went out +into the darkness and the sighing of the forest. + +Under the trees there was no light, for the star-shine could not pierce +the screen of branches, and the moon was late in rising. But here and +there the glow-worms were out in wandering bands, carrying their green +lanterns, and, to the discerning eye, shedding a tiny search-light upon +the delicate veining of fern and leaf. Barbara noticed them, for every +sense was sharpened to-night. She thought of her own thoughts, which +clustered about her brain like glow-worms, and made the darkness +glisten. She heard the trees rustling in the wind, and the sound was +musical to her ears. When it blew through a hollow it reminded her of +the tones of Peter's flute. The air had a violet hue and seemed to throw +a soft cloak over her. + +She was exultant. She could not but rejoice to know that Peter loved her +as she loved him. They had seen and recognised their kinship at +last--not the kinship of sister with brother, but the kinship of soul +with soul. + +In this packed world of men and women they two had found each other. The +bliss of realisation was hers to-night; the tragedy of realisation would +be hers to-morrow. To-night she accepted that which was offered to her +with a thankful heart, conscious of a sacrifice which she must soon +prepare. + +They loved each other. Nothing could rob her of the rapture of that +knowledge. She felt herself lifted up and set upon a throne. Was this +the crown that Timothy Hadwin had promised she should wear? How proudly +she would place it on her head, though none could see it but herself. + +When she left the trees and stood in the open dale, she looked again at +the Northern Crown. It was fading; all the stars were fading; a milky +mistiness was over-spreading the sky. She went on, still stepping +lightly, heedless of the ruts and stones through which she passed. + +Suddenly there was a leap of light behind her, and her shadow fell at +her feet, black and grotesque. She turned, and saw swimming out of a dip +in the hills, a great silver moon. + +When Barbara left Peter, he remained in the deserted room, staring into +the fire. He felt no exultation, nothing but great weariness, and +distaste of life. He felt that he had failed, and he had striven so hard +to attain. He had injured Barbara; he had injured Lucy; but never +wittingly. He would have sacrificed himself if by so doing he could have +saved them from pain. He had walked along a perilous path, certain of +his own strength and integrity, and he had never given a thought to +possible disaster. He was involving others in his own ruin. He blamed +himself bitterly. + +He plunged into thought, wondering if there was not some way in which he +could cut the net of a malicious fate from about their feet. + +But he must not linger any longer in the empty school, or Lucy would +think that something had happened to him or Barbara. He put out the +light and locked the door. The moon was just rising but he did not see +it, so dark was his own mind. + +When he got home, he found Lucy sitting on a stool before the hearth, +goffering the frills of a muslin cap. The room was bright, warm, and +cheerful, and the supper table was set. She glanced up impatiently as he +came in and said: + +"How late you are. Where's Barbara?" + +"She's gone home," he replied. Then he let his hand fall upon her hair, +and stroked it gently. It was an appeal, which she could not be expected +to understand. He felt that he must make amends for his involuntary +injury of her in his own heart. + +She drew her head away, and opened her eyes wide in surprise. + +"Why has Barbara gone home?" + +Peter stood looking down at his wife. She was neat, and dainty, from her +head to her feet. But her face was pale and listless, like the face of +one who sat too much indoors. + +"Take a walk up the dale to-morrow, Lucy," he said, "and see Barbara and +your great-grandmother. You don't often go, I think, and a walk would do +you good." + +"I've been out to-night," she replied. + +"Up to Greystones?" + +"No, silly, only for a walk under the trees. I heard you playing your +flute." + +Lucy had been to Forest Hall. She sometimes found an excuse for going to +see Mally Ray, and look at the portrait of Joel's grandfather, because +it was so like Joel himself. + +"I'm not hungry," she said, "I don't want any supper, but you'd better +get yours. It's a pity Barbara didn't come to keep you company." + +He sat down in silence, while she continued to crimp her frills, +apparently absorbed in the occupation. + +"Oh," she remarked at last with studied indifference, "I forgot to tell +you. I met Mally Ray to-night and she says Joel is coming home. He's +expected soon, that's if he took the ship he meant to take when he +wrote. He's made his fortune--lucky man." + +She stole a glance at her husband. He looked old and tired and careworn. +She rose slowly, not spontaneously, and sat down beside him, and patted +his hand. + +"Poor Peter," she said, "that night-school takes too much out of you. +You should give it up." + +"Shall we go away, Lucy?" he asked, almost eagerly. "Shall we shut up +this house, and leave High Fold?" + +"I'm not tired of it if you are," she said lightly. + +She did not want to go away now that Joel was coming back. Yet she was +afraid to meet him. Ever since she had written in answer to his letter +she had lived in daily dread and daily hope of seeing him again. + +She wondered how he would greet her. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +MORNING AT THE SHEPHERDS' MEET + + +Flames leaped up the chimney at Greystones, and filled the kitchen with +a ruddy glow. The shutters had been taken down, but the night seemed +still to hug the window-panes, and a black wind moaned in the sycamores. + +Barbara, cloaked and hooded, and Tom the hind, sat with porringers on +their knees, eating their breakfast of hasty pudding and milk, while the +sheep dogs eyed them intelligently, now and then thumping the flags with +their tails--the stark cold dawn, that was yet night, and the shepherd +staves propped against the wall, were signs which quickened their canine +hearts. + +Twice a year the Shepherds' Meet was held in Girdlestone Pass, at the +back of Thundergay, when the sheep that had strayed into other flocks, +were brought to be claimed by their owners. A wether was missing from +the Greystones' heaf, and three strange ewes had been found, which were +now penned at Ketel's Parlour, where Barbara and the hind would pick +them up on their way. + +They had to start while it was still dark in order to reach the place of +the Meet at a reasonably early hour. + +Clatter went the clogs of the servant-lass, who tramped in and out with +the sleep still in her eyes. + +"You'll mind what I've told you, Jess," said Barbara, giving the dogs +her empty porringer to lick. + +The wench came to a standstill, then tossed her head confidently. + +"Oh, aye!" she replied. "I'll not forget. I'll tie the legs o' the white +coo, for fear she kicks over the pail--she's a spiteful creature, yon +coo! And I'll give thy great-granny her tea at seven o'clock." + +"The green tea, remember, Jess. And be sure the water is boiling." + +"Oh, aye." Jess swung her head from side to side, and winked, when +Barbara's back was turned, at the hind. She knew what to expect from +Mistress Lynn if the old woman was not pleased with her ministrations. + +"I'll speak soft and go quiet," she replied, tip-toeing into the dairy +with no very light tread. + +Barbara drew back the curtains of the four-poster, and looked in; she +knew that Mistress Lynn was awake. + +"I'm just off," she said, "Lucy will be up some time during the morning. +Jess will look after you till then." + +The old woman raised herself upon her pillows. + +"Joel Hart comes back to-day," she remarked, her eyes brightening with +pleasure. + +"He should arrive about now if he caught the coach." + +"I shouldn't wonder if he paid me a visit before long--eh?" + +"Very likely, great-granny." + +"Fetch me my best cap--the one that's rucked and trimmed with +Valenciennes, and the white shawl that Peter--the wastrel--gave me." + +Barbara brought the things desired and helped the old woman to adorn +herself. + +"Well, good luck to thee, great-granddaughter," said Mistress Lynn, +smiling and well pleased with herself. "Don't let any o' them fine +fellows from Dove Dale or Patterdale persuade thee that there's better +farms than Greystones on t'other side o' Thundergay." + +Barbara and the hind went out. The air was damp, and the mountain passes +were choked with mist. Overhead the stars still shone, and an ungainly +moon was in the act of tumbling out of sight behind the head of the +dale, as they struck along the cattle-track to Swirtle Tarn. + +Before dawn, in the fall of the year, the atmosphere is chilly and +spiritless. The mystery of the night has gone, though the earth, to all +appearance, is still under its rule. There is a uniform dulness on the +landscape, while the stars grow dimmer, the mists cling closely, and +life is sluggish. The wind--if a wind blows--is gusty; rain--if it +falls--is listless. The brains of waking mortals are often oppressed +with a sense of life's futility. + +Barbara went along the path in some such mood. After her night of +rapture had followed days of depression, when she tasted the bitterness +of the cup, yet shrank back from drinking it. Like Jephthah's daughter, +although she did not fear the sacrifice, she asked for a short respite +to prepare herself for it. She had not seen Peter since they had read +each other's souls in silence; and to Lucy, her great-grandmother, and +all with whom she came in contact, she showed a serene brow. When no one +was near, however, when she was alone on the hills, with only sheep and +cattle to spy upon her, then her stricken face told of a pain that +stabbed body, soul, and spirit, and was none the less real because it +left no visible wounds. She tried to curtain her outlook and hide the +years to come. A short view of life, so short that a day would compass +it, was all that she held before her eyes each morning. Yet the future +persisted in confronting her. With a stride it would come out of the +darkness, and stare in her face, as much as to say--You shall not escape +me. It was this attitude of the future that harrowed Barbara's mind. +Present pain could be borne--she would brace herself to it; but the fear +that endurance might not endure to the end, filled her with dread. Could +the martyr be sure of his courage, martyrdom would be a state of +exultation. It is the poltroonery of the flesh, and the trepidation of +the spirit, that are his worst tormentors. + +But, although Barbara was in a silent mood, Tom, the hind, was +talkative. + +"Have you heard," he asked, "that a murrain has broken out among the +cattle further south?" + +"Nay," replied Barbara. "Who told you?" + +"A man from over the hills. He came into the Wild Boar last night, and +was full of it." + +This was news, and disconcerting news. + +"There's many a tall hill between us and it," continued the hind, "but +what's a hill to the murrain? The cow jumped ower the moon onced, so I +was told when I was a bairn. Nay, nay, if the black bane comes, it comes +by the will o' God, and there's no more to be said about it." + +"I once saw the Need Fire lit," replied Barbara, "and the kye driven +through the smoke." + +"What good did it do?" asked Tom. + +"The murrain never came to Boar Dale." + +"We'd better light it again," said the hind with a sceptical laugh. "But +it's my belief that the murrain will go up the land till it reaches John +o' Groats, and then zizzel out like a heath fire, leaving a black waste +behind it. Nowt stops it but the sea." + +"You're not a true shepherd, Tom," said Barbara; "if you were you would +hold fast to the faith of your forefathers and trust in your own good +luck." + +They had reached Ketel's Parlour, and there was a grey light in the sky. +The road into Girdlestone Pass ran round the top of the tarn, and on +through a deep ravine, where the mist swirled and twirled, revealing one +moment a patch of barren fell, then blotting it out, rolling away like +clouds of dust before the feet of an army, pouring like smoke out of the +clefts, and floating by like a veil torn into shreds. + +The hind unpenned the ewes, and they started along the misty track--the +Robber's Rake it was called, because popular rumour believed that Ketel, +the giant, had used it when he made incursions upon the more fertile +regions behind Thundergay. + +Having rounded the tarn, they passed from twilight into the mist. The +sky and the landscape were smudged out as though a wet hand had been +drawn across the picture. The ewes moved slowly, and Barbara and her +companion had not gone far, when they heard voices behind them, and she +recognised the unmistakable tones of Timothy Hadwin and Peter Fleming. + +The colour came and went in her face, and her heart beat quickly. She +felt mingled joy and fear--joy at the prospect of seeing Peter and +talking to him, fear in case she might again betray herself, and lead +him to disclose that which could not be the willing confession of so +good a man. + +With her knowledge of her own great love had come a consciousness of +power. She knew that she held Peter's weal or woe in the hollow of her +hand. + +She paused and called through the mist. There was no reply for a moment. +Timothy had grown deaf lately, and it seemed to Barbara that Peter, like +herself, was determining upon his part. + +A call came back, startlingly clear, and two blurred figures moved +upwards through the mist. + +"You've stolen a march upon us, Barbara," said Peter; "here's Timothy +priding himself on his early rising, making sure he'd be first on the +track." + +It was still too dark for them to see each other distinctly, but as they +went along they talked--about the state of the weather, the roads, the +prospect of a hard winter, all the trivial things which fill up the +greater part of human intercourse. + +The mists began to boil again, and rose up like smoke, dispersing as +they reached higher air, or becoming small, detached clouds, that +brightened to a carnation hue, when the light glimmered along the +mountains. The little company turned instinctively to the east. + +It blossomed like a garden in the sky, and the rim of the sun was just +visible above the hills. As they watched, it rose higher, rested for a +moment, so it seemed, on the top of a craggy ridge, then heaved itself +into the sky, where it hung a glittering ball of fire. + +Timothy raised his hands and salaamed. + +"Come away, you old sun-worshipper," said Peter, "you'll get a chill if +you stop to say your orisons up here," for a wind had come with the +sunrise. + +"If I were a rich man," said Timothy, "I'd build an altar to the sun on +the highest hills, and make a law that all folks should go up twice a +year and worship it. They should see the earth awake as from the grave, +they should feel the passionate gladness of the dawn, they should +receive strength for their labour, and inspiration for their minds. The +Mystery of the Resurrection is celebrated anew every morning." + +He turned away and walked on, but, before Peter and Barbara joined him, +they looked each other unflinchingly in the eyes; where they saw nothing +to make them fear. + +The ravine through which the Robber's Rake ran narrowed into a steep +defile on the other side of Thundergay. Looking down into Girdlestone +Pass the little inn could be seen called the Shepherd's Rest, where many +folk were already gathered--shepherds out of the surrounding dales, who +had brought stray sheep from other flocks and were seeking their own +lost ones. + +The Meet was attended by everyone who could possibly get there. It was +an opportunity for social intercourse, for the discussion of sheep-lore, +or of politics; of their own affairs, and the harmless gossip about +other people's. When the business of the day was over, the time was +devoted to sports, such as racing, fox-hunting, and wrestling. + +Barbara and Peter were soon separated by the crowd. There was a constant +coming and going. Those who had travelled a great distance, either +bringing or seeking wanderers--for a sheep will stray twenty miles over +the mountains--set out at once for their far-off homes. But most of the +shepherds remained, and while the sheep were being claimed, talked with +friends they had not seen, and would not see for many a long day. + +Such was morning at the Shepherds' Meet, a scene in which the varied +emotions of mankind made melody and discord; for pride, jealousy, and +affection, with all the notes that lie between, were there struck by the +fingers of these honest fell-folk. + +During the morning Barbara came across Timothy Hadwin. + +"Are you tired?" he asked her. + +"No. Why?" + +"Because I am," he replied. "Come with me to the inn, and we'll drink a +pot of the good wife's brewing together. She makes the best ale in the +whole country side." + +He slipped his hand through her arm, and the quaint little figure in the +flowered waistcoat, with the silvery curls on his shoulders, and the +tall golden-headed girl moved through the throng, side by side and drew +many eyes. + +The parlour and kitchen of the Shepherd's Rest were both full of men. +Tobacco smoke, beer fumes, and the indescribable odour of duffle, that +has been exposed to rain, sun, and wind, the wear and tear of months, +nay, years upon the fells, made an atmosphere heavy and grey. A stout +lass sprinkled the floors with fresh sand, and again and again took away +the empty mugs to bring them back brimming, and dribbling with yellow +froth. All morning there had never been a moment's cessation of the +smoking and drinking, the loud talking and rough jesting, that +accompanied the more serious business of the Meet. The polish of the +brass candlesticks grew dim, and mist settled on the windows, where it +concentrated into rivulets, and ran down into pools upon the floor. + +"We'll take our refection in the open air," said Timothy putting his +head in at the door. + +They sat down on a bench. Near them Peter was standing, surrounded by a +merry group, who were shaking him by the shoulders and slapping his +back. + +"No, no," Barbara heard him say. "I've given up wrestling: I'm too old." + +"Too old, art tha?" replied a burly shepherd. "Let's feel thy muscles, +lad." + +He began to squeeze Peter's arm. + +"Nowt much to complain of there," he continued. "How's thy wind?" and he +thumped the young man's chest with no light hand. "Nowt wrong there +nowther," he said. "Put his name down, lads, he'll wrestle." + +Peter glanced across at Barbara and smiled. + +Her eyes lingered lovingly upon his figure. She thought how strong and +self-reliant he looked. She knew that he was not handsome, like some of +the men around, but he was beautiful to her. She never wearied of +studying his face, his expressions; she liked the sign of power upon his +brow, and in his quiet grey eyes. She would have been proud to stand +beside him in the sight of men, and claim that she was his best-beloved. + +As she watched him, she felt suddenly that she was passing through a +fire. Her blood tingled, and her bosom heaved as though a wild thing +there was struggling to be free. + +Putting her mug down she got to her feet, afraid of her own mind. A +flood of passionate feeling was surging through her, sweeping away her +self-restraint, her common-sense, her respect for goodness, and her +fear of wrong-doing. + +She fled from the Meet, from Peter, from the seduction of her own +desires and turned to Thundergay, because she trusted that its cold wind +would beat out the flame, which had begun to burn in her soul. She was +assailed by the Harpies, those malignant powers, who would snatch her +away, if they could, and make her a slave, as they had snatched away the +daughters of Pandaros in the old Greek fable. + +But the Harpies were part of her own nature, and raged within her. Her +self was warring against herself. She had met a fiend in her own soul, +and she feared to do battle with it, where all things were favourable to +its victory. But Thundergay was calm, solemn, always steadfast even in +the midst of storm. So she sought the mountain solitude for help. + +As she climbed up the narrow defile, the ground seemed to reel around +her, and fall away from her feet. She stumbled, she was blinded, she was +breathless, as though the steep ascent now made too great a demand upon +her; but never before had her heart grown faint. Physically and mentally +she was demoralised, as many a brave man has been before an unexpected +foe. + +The thing that had thus startled her was her love for Peter assuming a +new and terrible aspect. For it had climbed down from its lofty seat, +and gnashed its teeth at circumstance, demanding its rights. Why should +it live in icy silence? Why should it not give and receive as others +gave and received? + +She was full of bitterness and questioning. The everlasting 'why' was +written on her life; not only on her life, but on all things; she could +not dissociate herself from her world. "Why" ran across the sky in +flaring letters; "why" was engraven on rock, fell, and dale. Why was +anything? + +Life should be full and radiant, not stifled and stunted. It should have +room to grow, and develop its manifold beauties. But her life, if she +cut her love for Peter out of it, would taste like dust and ashes in her +mouth. She wanted Peter; her arms wanted him; her heart wanted him. She +desired to cherish the beloved one, who was not cherished by his own +wife. + +This was the thought which caused her so much bitterness. Lucy did not +love Peter; Barbara had learnt, as the years passed, why her sister had +married him. Lucy had deliberately taken something which she had soon +ceased to value, but no one else had the right to treasure that which +she had cast aside. + +With clearer air and the silence of the mountain, calmer thoughts came. +She strove to hold to the belief that life was worth having, even when +it meant the denial of its keenest desires. She scorned the weakness of +her own nature, which made her cry so passionately for something that +she knew she could never have. She had dallied too long with an +importunate master; to-day she must conquer it, and make such an assault +impossible again. + +She came swiftly down to Ketel's Parlour and on home. Her +great-grandmother was sitting up in bed, still waiting for a visit from +Joel Hart, and Lucy had not come to Greystones as she had promised. + +"Oh, Lucy has a fine memory for forgetting," said the old woman. "She +will have slept in this morning." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +JOEL RETURNS TO THE DALE + + +Joel Hart returned to the dale on the day of the Shepherds' Meet. The +coach set him down at an inn, twenty miles from High Fold, in the small +hours of the morning; and, having hired a horse for the rest of the +journey, he rode through Cringel Forest soon after day-break. + +Mally Ray had cleaned the old house from cellar to garret, arranged the +furniture to the best advantage, and put fires in those rooms which she +considered most suitable for a young man who had made his fortune, but +was still a bachelor. + +She was preparing the breakfast when she heard the sound of hoofs on the +road. Austere and dignified, she yet flung a shawl over her shoulders, +and went out to meet him. + +Yonder he came, a dusky figure on a dusky horse, riding under the bare +boughs. He alighted as soon as he saw her. + +"You're welcome home, Master Joel," she said, and though he had been her +nursling, she shook hands with him after the fashion of her country. But +her hand-shake was sincere. + +"Still the same old Mally," he exclaimed with a laugh, and bending down +he kissed her cheek. With the horse's bridle over his arm, and his free +hand on her shoulder, they went up the path to the house. Joel gave a +swift glance round at the rank vegetation. + +"There's some need of a pruning knife here," he remarked. + +"Aye, Master Joel, you'll find plenty to do now you've come back. I hope +you mean to stay and settle down." + +He shook his head gaily. + +"I'll make no promises," he replied. + +He stabled his horse, wandered once round the moss-grown walk under the +windows, then entered the parlour and flung himself down in a chair. +Breakfast was ready, and he ate it in a strange mood. Five years in the +wilderness had greatly changed him. He had lived through wider +experiences, tasted fresh pleasures and disappointments, thought other +thoughts. But now he had come back to the old life, and already those +days were slipping away, and bygone habits reasserting themselves. + +"And how are all my friends, Mally?" he asked. "Mistress Lynn is still +living, I hear. She must be a tough old stick." + +"She's near a hundred." + +"Good heavens! Think of living for a hundred years! Fewer will satisfy +me!" + +"Fewer satisfy most folk." + +"Life isn't such a joyous game, is it, Mally, that you'd like to play it +for ever?" + +"I've no call to complain," she replied. + +Joel took his pipe from his pocket and lit it. + +"Neither have I," he said. "Fate kicked me badly once, but she's made up +for it since. I'm a rich man, Mally." + +"I'm glad to hear it. I hope you'll use your wealth wisely." + +"I shall not tie it up in a napkin like great-granny Lynn. By-the-bye, I +must go and see her this morning. Barbara, I suppose, still manages the +farm?" + +"She's a fine lass!" said the old woman warmly. + +"Handsome--eh?" + +"I'm no judge." + +"And Lucy--is she as pretty as ever? But now I come to think of it you +didn't consider her pretty. Well, I hope she's living in the seventh +heaven of happiness with her big booby of a husband. I never thought +that Peter Fleming would marry her--Barbara was more in his line." + +Mally made no reply. + +"You're no hand at gossiping," he said. "I'll have to go to Greystones +to hear the news. But tell me this--there's a good heart--does Lucy ever +ask after me?" + +"Whiles." + +"Whiles! as a Christian sister asks after a Christian brother, anxious +for the state of his soul! What sort of a man is Peter?" + +"He's a good man." + +"Oh, I heard he had brought his father's grey hairs with sorrow to the +grave! You see I've not been kept in darkness all these years, though +you told me very little, Mally. I fear Peter won't have much good-will +for me, since we baited his pet bear that night. Did it live or die?" + +"He keeps it at the mill-house. It was poor sport to set the dogs on a +gently creature like yon." + +"A low trick, Mally, I've thought so ever since. I'm glad it lived. But +it never cared much for me." + +"It never had much cause to. You'd better keep out of its way, Master +Joel." + +"I'll not meddle with it, don't fear." + +He got up, wandered through the house, whistled carelessly, then went +out. + +He stood on the road looking first north, then south. North led up to +Greystones, south through the forest to the village and the old mill. He +could not decide which way to take. He looked at his watch. The hour was +just nine, too early for a visit to Mistress Lynn, so he went in the +other direction. He had no intention of seeking Lucy, but he wanted to +look at the place where she lived. He left the road, and followed a +by-path which would lead him to the banks of the beck opposite to the +mill, and thus he would escape having to pass through the village. He +had seen the house in the early morning when it looked little more than +a blot through the twilight. + +Smoke was now rising from the chimneys, waving over the roof like an +azure veil. The parlour window stood open, and the dimity curtains +fluttered out and in with the draught. + +So this was Lucy's home--grey weather-beaten walls, an old wooden wheel, +a cottage garden, and the rippling beck. There were flowers in pots upon +the sill, and the curtains were gaily coloured. He thought that he would +have given her a statelier house, silken window-hangings, rarer flowers. +But she had not waited. + +For some minutes he stood, hidden by the trees, while his eyes roved +over the irregular outlines, and fixed themselves upon the window. He +wished that Lucy would look out. He wanted to see her again, to learn +if he would still care for her, if her fair face would still have power +to charm him. + +As he watched and waited, he thought of the other women who had crossed +his path in the last five years. When he had heard of Lucy's marriage, +he had been overwhelmed, cast down from his high hopes into a gulf of +darkness. Self-reproach and resentment had fought with each other, and +had at last proclaimed a truce, for though he owned that he had done +amiss, and had no right to expect that she would wait for him, seeing +that he had not asked her to; yet he bitterly resented the fact that she +had so soon filled his place with another. But he was young, and having +recovered somewhat from the blow, he had plunged into all the +excitements that his wild life provided, and they were many, enough to +drown regret--if regret can be drowned. He had amused himself with other +women, but he had not loved them--they had soon wearied him, they had +been stale, too ready to be won. After every fresh experience he had +turned longing eyes back to the idyll of the dell in Cringel Forest. It +became to him like the memory of a happy dream, a vision of Paradise, a +revelation of the true meaning of love. And so he had been drawn back to +the dale by the beauty and pathos of a vanished ideal. He cast longing +eyes upon that part of his life; he regarded it as the best part. For +the future he hoped and expected nothing, yet found a fascination in +wondering what it would bring. + +But at last a movement roused him. Lucy had come into the garden, and +stood looking at the sky as though wondering what the weather would be. +Then she opened the gate and passed into the village street, turning in +the direction of the road through the forest. + +Joel's first impulse was to stay where he was, but he quickly changed +his mind. Why should he hesitate to meet her? If he remained for any +time at home they were bound to cross each other's path continually. +Besides, he felt a great longing to look upon her face again. He +retraced his steps, and came on to the road, just as she was passing +over the bridge in his direction. + +She did not see him at first, and he thought that she looked older and +thinner. But when he moved out from among the undergrowth, a swift +change passed over her features. The cheeks took on a deeper colour, the +eyes, half frightened, half joyous, were raised to his. They were blue +as blue skies. + +Lucy had been wondering if she would meet him this morning. She had +heard his horse's feet pass at day-break, and had peeped under the +curtains, but been unable to see anything save a moving shadow. She had +dressed herself with greater care, pausing often to still the fluttering +of her heart. After the first thrill of excitement, she became +self-possessed, for she had often schooled herself to such a meeting. + +She came towards him with outstretched hand. + +"How are you, Joel?" she asked. + +"I'm well," he replied; "and you? But I needn't enquire--you look +blooming." + +Thus they crossed that difficult bridge of five years. + +They walked on together, and he told her about his journey, and the life +he had been living since they last met. + +But soon there befell a pause. + +Lucy found it disconcerting. + +"I'm going up to Greystones to spend the day with great-granny," she +said. "Barbara and Peter have both gone to the Shepherds' Meet in +Girdlestone Pass. You remember it, don't you?" + +"Peter and I have wrestled there many a time," he replied. "I think I'll +go and look him up for the sake of old times." + +They walked on in silence. Lucy wished that Joel would talk more. She +half wished he would treat the love they had once had for each other as +a forgotten dream. But, stealing a glance at him, she became aware of +his rising emotion; she seemed to hear it like the filling of a well +with water. It frightened her. + +She hurried her steps. She wanted to be out of the forest, and away from +scenes that wakened sleeping memories. She knew that his eyes were upon +her now, and she wondered, with that attention to trifles which the mind +sometimes affects in times of great stress, whether or not he liked the +new way that she dressed her hair. + +"You came very early this morning," she said. "You must be tired." + +"How do you know I came early? Were you watching for me?" + +"Of course. It's natural I should want to see you again--such old +friends as we are." + +He laughed, glanced up and down the road, and seeing no one, took her +hand. + +"It's pleasant to meet again after so many years. I came home to see +you." + +"That was foolishness, Joel," she replied kindly. + +"Perhaps! Through folly we get wisdom! Ah, here we are near our +trysting-place. Come and look at it, Lucy, for old time's sake." + +They were passing the little track, almost effaced now by ferns and +moss, which led to the dell, where they had spent so many joyous hours. +He took her arm, and with a movement that was more of will than muscle, +drew her in that direction. + +His face and eyes were waking with the old love. He had wondered if it +would stir again when he saw her. Now he knew that the intervening years +had only fallen like dead leaves upon it; that underneath, it lay green +and ready to burst into leaf, when they should be swept away. + +The knowledge that she was Peter's wife angered him, but did not make +him pause to restrain his feelings. + +Joel's was an illogical mind--illogical by nature as well as training. +He had never been able to see the true relation of events to one +another, or follow a straight course without deviating from it down some +byway. He strayed from the path, led by fancies instead of principles; +rarely did he consult reason, or entertain reflection, or employ himself +by taking a survey of the land through which he was travelling. He fell +into morasses, which foresight would have shown him; he came to barriers +which he could not climb, though the experience of wise men had set up a +sign-post, pointing out the way, but he would not stop to read it; he +reached a desert, where no water was, because he got tired of following +the pilgrim's track. Yet he had always meant to do right; his failures +had caused him regret. + +When he brought Lucy to the dell, he stood for a moment gazing at her +with a searching look. She was beautiful and desirable. But she seemed +to be cold. He would stir her heart's depths and bring forgotten things +to the surface. He would make tumult where there was calm. + +"Lucy," he said, "why didn't you wait for me?" + +"Don't let us rake up the past," she replied, her limbs beginning to +tremble, for she remembered that she was Peter's wife. "There's nought +to be got but ashes." + +He did not heed her. + +"Listen," he said, bringing his head to a level with hers; "listen and +I'll tell you what life has been to me since we last met in this place. +When I went into the wilderness I took with me the thought of you. I +knew that I had done you wrong, but it was done without intention, and I +said to myself, she will forgive, for she loves me. So I worked +hard--men have to work hard out yonder, when they go seeking their +fortunes. I suffered hunger and thirst, but counted it sweet for your +sake. I sweated in the sun and shivered in the snow for your sake. +There's nothing a man can do for the woman he loves, save die for her, +that I haven't done for you." + +He drew her nearer to him, and she did not resist. She had never been +able to resist the fascination of this man, who looked at her with his +handsome face aglow with a passion, that Peter had never shown. + +"The first bit of gold I found," he continued, "I kept to make your +wedding-ring. I tied it up in a handkerchief, and wore it over my heart +day and night. I kept it even when I was down in my luck. But it +reminded me of you, you, among the fells and dales of the home-country, +waiting and longing for me. It was a foolish dream, I know. Then fortune +smiled. Life looked all rose-colour, till one day I got your letter. If +ever a man had climbed high with hopes, Lucy, I was that man, and if +ever a man came sliding down at one blow, I was that man." + +Lucy's self-possession began to give way. She might have justified her +own actions, might have poured resentment and wrath upon him. She did +none of these things. + +"Oh, Joel," she cried, "life is very hard and bitter. But we must make +the best of it." + +She made an effort to go away, before her feelings betrayed her into any +deeper revelations than she had a right to make. But he caught and +kissed her. She struggled to free herself, but his arms were like steel +bands. If Peter had ever kissed her thus she might have become his as +truly in heart as she was in name. But Peter's kisses, though kind, did +not thrill her. He never swept her off her feet in the flood of an +overmastering emotion. He was always quiet and self-controlled, while +she loved to feel as though a stormy sea were beating upon her bosom. +She did not think that his love might be more enduring than that which +could rise like a tempest, but as suddenly fall again. + +For Joel and Lucy, just now, five years were blotted out, five years of +separation and misunderstanding. Duty, too, was swept into oblivion by +their reckless hands. Heedlessly they set out in an unsound boat upon a +dangerous sea, and forgot the depths below, the yawning lips of the gulf +which would suck them down sooner or later to everlasting regret. + +"You are mine, Lucy," whispered Joel, "you are mine. I always knew you +were." + +For a few minutes she lay soothed within the shelter of his arms. Then +she tore herself away. Without a word, but with a scared face, she fled +back through the forest to her home. There she flung herself down by a +chair and wept. + +She remembered that her great-grandmother would be expecting her, but +she dared not confront those eagle eyes in her present state of mind. + +The world had taken on a darker hue since she had gone out but a little +while ago. Yesterday was grey, but it had passed serenely. To-day clouds +were rolling up, and she heard the mutter of approaching thunder. + +Where was peace, that she might find it? Only in resignation. Where was +happiness, that she might snatch at it? Only in devotion to duty. Where +could she turn for safety? She felt that she was swinging over an abyss. +There was safety with Peter. But resignation was a hard bed. Duty had +lost its savour. And she was afraid of Peter now, for she knew that she +had wronged him. + + * * * * * + +Joel remained in the dell for a while after Lucy had left him. His idyll +had become a tragedy. His vision was defiled. He wondered if he should +go away now, and never return. He wanted to keep Lucy as he had always +thought of her--sweet, pure, dream-like. He could not do that and have +her. He meant to have her. He would sacrifice his ideals to have her. +How he would bring it to pass he did not know, but some time the way +would open out. Had she not said that she loved him? + +He burned with hatred towards Peter, towards the man who had +circumvented him. What use was his wealth to him if he must live alone, +deprived of the one thing he most wanted to have? + +He might have remained there for a long time, struggling with his good +and evil natures, but he was disturbed by the sudden entrance of the +bear and Jake into his solitude. The beast had a particular affection +for the pool in the dell, and preferred it to all others for its daily +bath. + +But no sooner did it set eyes on Joel, than it began to growl and +bristle up with anger. + +"Hulloa, Master Joel, back again to the dale," cried Jake. + +"Back again," he replied with assumed cheerfulness. "But it seems as +though I've found an enemy waiting for me." + +The rat-catcher tightened his hand on the chain. + +"Big Ben doesn't often show his teeth. Maybe you'd better hook it, +master; seems as though he'd got a memory, eh?" + +Joel laughed, but took the wiser part of withdrawing before the +creature had strung up its ponderous limbs to deal him a blow, which +would have ended his temptations for that day and many days to follow. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE WRESTLING MATCH + + +Joel looked in at Greystones on his way to the Shepherds' Meet. He would +rather have passed the house by, for he was in no mood to talk to +Mistress Lynn, but he did not like to seem discourteous to one who had +been as kind to him as she had been. + +"Why, Joel, man," she exclaimed, "thee's grown handsomer than ever. Thee +always was a bonny lad, but thee'd better have a care now, or all the +lasses will be making sheeps-eyes at thee up hill and down dale." + +"You look very well," said Barbara. + +He glanced from the old woman to her great-granddaughter, and smiled, +throwing off the impatience that he felt with an effort. + +"It's you who have grown handsomer, not I, Mistress Lynn," he replied. +"You look nearly as young as Barbara. If you put that grand nightcap +you're wearing on her head, she'd be the image of you, and you of her." + +"Hoots-toots! and me going on a hundred!" She shook her finger at him. +"I's too old to have my senses turned with such babblement. I was like +Barbara once, but not in your day, my lad. It's to her you should be +paying your compliments, not to her great-granny. Your grandfather gave +me all I ever wanted." + +She made him sit down by the four-poster, with his face to the windows, +so that she could see him well. + +"I couldn't pay Barbara a greater compliment," he said smoothly, yet +with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, for he saw the drift of her +mind, "than by likening her to you. You and she are the handsomest, +bonniest pair that I've set sight on since I last saw you both." + +"Get away with you, Master Joel; you've got far too sly a tongue for +simple folk like the lassie and me." + +He stayed at Greystones for half-an-hour, talking idly, and looking +round the kitchen with very mingled feelings. It seemed to be just as it +was the last time he had been there five years ago. Nothing was altered. +The great oak table stood under the transom windows, the bridewain near +the bed; he was sure that the fire had never been allowed to die out; +and hams and three whole sheep hung curing in the chimney as he +remembered they used to do. His eyes rested upon the clock. Once he had +listened to it striking the hour of midnight under unhappy +circumstances. Now he listened to it striking the hour of noon, under +other circumstances, not less unhappy. + +It was only twelve o'clock! He had arrived at day-break in a mood +partaking more of resignation than disappointment, and already he had +roused the sleeping dogs of his nature. They were in full cry after +forbidden sport. He felt that he could sit no longer talking +commonplaces to the old woman, and rose. + +"What, off already!" she said. + +"I'm going to the Meet. Most of my old friends will be there, and it's +too good an opportunity of seeing them all to be lost. I'll come in +again on my way back. Isn't Barbara going?" + +"She's been and returned. Barbara's a good lass and looks after her old +great-granny! The Lord will bless her!" + +The girl walked with him to the garden gate, told him that Peter had +promised to wrestle, and that he would be in time for the games if he +hurried; then she came back to the kitchen, meditatively. + +The misty morning had blossomed out into a fine noon. A few showers had +fallen, but the sun glanced through them, and they were not heavy enough +to damp the spirits of men used to bitter winds and merciless rains. + +The patch of flat ground about the Shepherds' Rest thronged with life. +Sheep, dogs, and human voices, both male and female, for the wives and +daughters gathered to see the games, added to the clamour of a wild +stream that rushed through the pass, below the inn. Above and all +around, the grey crags and wide sweeps of heather and bracken were +wrapped in sombre silence, save when a pair of herons flew screaming by +to their feeding-ground on some distant tarn. + +When Joel Hart came down the defile he halted for a moment to view the +animated scene below him. He was drawn towards it, yet repulsed. The +sight of so many well-known figures, after five years' wandering among +strangers, quickened his blood. Yet between them and him the thought of +Lucy flashed. He wished that he had not come, but returned to Forest +Hall, where he could have indulged his feelings for her in undisturbed +retreat; then, again, he was glad that he had come, for he wanted to +distract his mind from the still small voice of conscience which would +not let him be. + +His meditation had an abrupt end. Someone saw him, and his old +friends--those wild young men with whom he had wasted his substance in +the past--carried him off to the inn, where he ordered drinks all round. + +A reckless mood came over him. He thrust the vision of Lucy into a +corner, and, with a laugh that was forced, yet strove to be genial, he +entered into the spirit of the crowd, which was bent on extracting out +of the next few hours as much pleasure as every man could hold. + +His first impulse was to avoid Peter, yet, turn where he would, the +quiet grey eyes of his rival--so he had come to regard him--seemed to +meet his own. + +Peter knew of Lucy's early love for Joel--though she had only spoken of +it once, and that was shortly after their marriage--but he was free from +the suspicion, which is the bane of little minds, so he greeted the +newcomer frankly and calmly, unaware of the tumult which the sight of +him had roused. + +Joel flung back his head with a careless gesture. In his heart of hearts +he would like to have knocked Peter down. Was not Peter his supplanter? +Had he not, while pretending to be his friend, lured Lucy from him? But +he swept his hand across his face, and with it obliterated the hatred of +his glance, for he had no desire that it should betray him. + +"You're getting stout, Fleming," he said, "stout and contented-looking, +as befits a married man." + +"Portly, eh?" replied Peter. "Yes, I sit too much." + +"Thee should whickam-whackam, spickam-spackam more," said a young +shepherd standing by. "Old Schoolie Satherwaite had arms like a crowbar, +and o' with sugaring the cane. 'It's a grand receipt,' he used to say, +'a grand receipt for keeping the muscles in trim.'" + +"He kept more than his muscles in trim," answered another, "for he +trimmed our hides to some purpose. If he couldn't birch for aught, he +birched for nought. I mind the day he called Jerry Langdale yonder into +the middle of the floor, and, 'Jerry,' says he, 'I'm going to larrop +you.' 'I's done nowt amiss,' says Jerry, as pert as you please. 'Nowt +amiss,' says Schoolie, 'Good God, that's unnatural. I'll have to bensal +the natural man back intil you, and so circumvent the deevil' Jerry got +such a warming that it kept the frost out for many a day." + +"Peter's over-gentlemanly with the rascals," said one. + +"Peter can use the rod when he likes," replied another, nudging Fleming +in the ribs. "I heard tell how you spanked Jake's Joie, and o' for +telling a lie. Joie's mother told me that he took his porridge standing +for a week after, and he's been a truthfuller lad ever since." + +Peter pulled out his watch. + +"Time is running on, lads," he said. "I'd better go and get ready to +wrestle, or you'll give me no credit for having kept my muscles in trim +with switching the bairns." + +Joel was left with his own particular friends. They were not much liked +by the shepherds, for they gave themselves airs; but they spent their +money freely, and were treated with a certain amount of good-humour and +respect. + +Joel Hart was a lucky dog, they said, to go away and come back after +five years a rich man. They had trudged along the same old paths, but +not one of them had managed to find the goose that lays the golden eggs. +There was not much wealth to be got out of the dales and fells. They had +half a mind to try their fortunes overseas. They would have no +misgivings, but most of them had married a wife. Joel was a wise man not +to tie himself to a woman's apron-strings before he went away. Now he +had come home, of course he would marry, and rear a progeny to make +ducks and drakes of his money. That was always the way of it. Would he +stay now he had come back? or would they find him gone again some fine +morning? + +Joel unbent under the combined effects of home-brewed ale, and lively +companionship. He did not know if he would remain at Forest Hall. When +he was out in the wilds he used to think his home the most beautiful +spot on the earth, but he was not sure that he might not soon grow tired +of it now, after the life he had been leading. He had no intention of +taking a wife unless they could show him a lass that would cap his +fancy. + +But whether he stayed or not, he was glad to be back among his own folk +again. Out in the wilderness he had often longed for a sight of a +familiar face, and the sound of the Northern tongue. His arrival was +most opportune, for he would have been sorry to miss the Shepherds' +Meet. + +Six years ago they had had a great time--did they remember? John +Wheeler, the champion wrestler, had come, and given the native talent +high praise. He had shown some of them--himself for one, and Peter +Fleming for another--a few tricks. Wheeler dead since then! Ah! that was +a pity! He was one of the few champions who belonged to the good old +Westmorland stock. + +"Out at the gold diggings," Joel continued, "there were two or three men +who could wrestle. We often had a bout of an evening in front of the +drinking booth." + +"Wrestle now," said one. "There's your old friend Peter Fleming longing +to try a fall with you, I don't doubt. Come along, man. No shaking of +your head now. Lord! That's a good idea. We've not seen any decent +wrestling since you went away." + +Joel was carried off, making half-hearted protests. His mind was full of +confused thoughts. He was gratified at the manner in which his old +friends had received him; he felt a return of the reckless spirit that +had always awakened in their company; moreover, he would like to throw +Peter. He must double up that strong figure in ignominy; he must pay +back old scores, and new ones also. Though Fleming was more muscular +than he, yet his was the greater quickness and subtlety of action. He +would come off victor. + +He thought of Lucy, and emotion again rushed through his brain like a +stream in spate, carrying reason before it. + +But when he entered the ring he felt cool. He had a purpose to fulfil, +and this gave him the full command of his senses. He knew now that, +through the years of his absence, he had been moved with a vague +antipathy towards this man. Their old friendship had been but a veil +drawn over the blind face of hate. From the beginning they had been +doomed to circumvent one another. Peter had circumvented him by marrying +Lucy; the time had arrived for him to overcome Peter. + +That the occasion for wiping out the score was only a wrestling-match in +a mountain pass did not take away from its significance. To the +onlookers it was but a trial of strength and cunning; to Joel it had a +deep human meaning. Not as a friendly rival did he now confront his +antagonist, but as an embodied vengeance, determined to mark upon his +adversary the humiliation which he had received at the other's hands. + +Joel got strength, far beyond his physical powers, through the intensity +of his passion. It was a spiritual strength, derived from a spiritual +source, though not from the well of light. It bubbled up in a dark +region where lost souls come to drink, and those who have wandered from +the right path to seek forbidden things. + +Peter confronted Joel with a gay laugh, unconscious of the conditions +under which they were to wrestle. Peter played the game for the game's +sake, and though he was keen to acquit himself worthily, yet he could +take a fall, and think no worse of himself or like his conqueror less +for it. + +But now, as he and Joel swayed together with their hands locked behind +each other's backs, he became aware of something unusual in the +struggle. He could not have defined what it was, yet of its presence and +force he had no doubt. Its effect upon himself was annoying. His +good-humour left him. Over his mind came a chilling influence. He tried +to shake it off, but in vain. He felt sure that he was wrestling for +more than the barren triumph of muscle over muscle, but for what? + +Had it not been for the strength which his feelings gave him, Joel would +soon have measured a fall. As it was he exerted a force like that of a +glacier, not swift, but slow, ever driven on by the sullen weight behind +it, for Joel's hate was cold, not hot; callous not furious. + +Peter's anger increased. He felt that he had been entrapped into a +combat which he would have scorned had he known. The honest wrestling of +the dalesfolk was being lowered to serve the purposes of personal +ill-will. He could not withdraw honourably--no rule had been +infringed--yet he loathed the stake for which they struggled. His spirit +disdained the thought of heating itself in a common brawl. He had not +the inclination, even if he had had the time, to wonder at the reason +for Joel's attitude towards himself. When two men are at grips with each +other, there is little opportunity for reflection or philosophising. +Thoughts that do come, come like pictures flashed upon a screen, and are +switched away in a moment, leaving behind a vague impression of their +significance. + +Before long the bystanders began to realise that in the wrestling of +Peter and Joel there was an unusual element. At first they showed their +interest without restraint, but, as the struggle grew keener, though +neither had the mastery, feeling ran too strongly for much sound. A +sudden shout, a long-drawn breath, a murmur that broke off abruptly, +eyes which would not suffer the lids to blink, and hands that gripped +the hurdles as though they clung for life, were the measure of their +excitement. Those gathered round the ring were thrilled by such passions +as must have swayed men at a gladiatorial show, when men fought for +their lives. + +The wrestlers grew heated; their bodies smoked; their lips curled back +from their teeth; their eyes were bright. The spirit of the savage still +sleeps in every man. In Peter it began to awaken, roused by the clutch +of Joel's hands. The refinements of civilisation were in danger of +falling away from him, and leaving him a creature of brute force, whose +one idea was to bear down his enemy with cunning and superior strength. +But he drew himself together; he had never lost control of his nature, +and he would not do so now. Amid the ferment of his impulses he strove +to be calm, to be resistless yet not fierce, to overcome, but without +anger. + +The feeling of the spectators was intensified, as they saw the two +figures become motionless, though the veins on their arms stood up like +cords, and their bodies were bent in such a manner as showed the +straining of the great muscles of their backs and shoulders. Two figures +modelled in clay they might have been, instead of two struggling forces. + +Neither would give in. Their breasts laboured with painful breathing, +the breath whistled as it came and went. Down their brows poured the +sweat, making their faces shine in the yellow light of the November sun. +Their hair was clotted, their shirts were drenched as though they had +been dipped in the beck. + +Peter felt his head grow dizzy. He thought that his temples would burst +with the hammering of his blood. The sun got into his eyes and dazzled +them, and, though he managed to shift his position, the glitter of it +had already filled his brain. + +He seemed to catch a vision of Lucy, sitting quietly at home. He +wondered if she would ever come to know of the fierce battle fought for +her sake. Apart from his direct consciousness, his mind had gone on +working, and reached the conclusion that Joel's madness sprang out of +his love for her. + +The day was drawing to a close. Clouds were hurrying up from the +south-west, and reflecting a lurid glow down into the pass. Soon there +would be rain and night. + +Joel made a supreme effort to throw Peter. He rallied all his failing +powers, his face grew purple, he bent to give the last swing which +should lift his adversary from his feet, when he slipped and fell. + +There was a loud cheer from the onlookers; they leaped over the hurdles +to shake Peter by the hand; the ring surged with men and dogs. Then +silence fell, and hushed the words on men's tongues even when they did +not know the cause. + +Joel lay on the ground, his face ghastly as that of a corpse, while a +red stream trickled from his mouth. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +BY THE CRESSET'S LIGHT + + +Barbara was alone at Ketel's Parlour. A lighted lamp hung from a hook in +the ceiling, and a fire smouldered on a slab of blue slate, while the +smoke escaped through a cleft in the wall. Outside was night, starless +and black, though the hour was not much later than seven o'clock. Not +long ago she had heard the village folk returning from the Meet, but +they went home by a track on the other side of the beck, and did not +come near the cave. + +Barbara wanted to think, and, in order to think clearly, she must be +alone. The huge fire at Greystones, that made every corner of the +kitchen as bright as noon, and the alert old woman in the four-poster, +prevented any such deep meditation as she craved. But as the work of the +day was over, and Jess, the servant-lass, had sat down to spin by the +ingle, she could absent herself for a while with a clear conscience. + +The cave was part of herself. Its rocky walls seemed to have taken on +the impression of her thoughts. She had stamped her personality upon it, +and loved it as the habitation of her spirit. Here she was free, though +free nowhere else in the world; here she shook off the cloak under which +she hid her true being; here she could meet herself face to face +without fear of prying eyes. + +There was a charm in the cave which fitted her every mood. Were she +happy, the spring that bubbled out of the floor and ran sparkling among +the stones, laughed in unison with her. Were she sad, no sunlight could +come here to stare and mock. Were she weary, yonder was a couch of +heather and sheepskins for her body, and a silence that hung around her +brain like a curtain. Did she feel herself inspired to pray, the walls +and the dim light were solemn as those of a shrine. + +Peter had given her the cresset lamp, and she had brought her books +here, keeping them in an oak chest which she had found at Greystones, +that preserved them from damp. + +She knew the cave so well--every stone on the floor, every crack in the +walls where tiny ferns grew--that she could have found her way about it +blindfold. She often thought that, when she came to die, Ketel's Parlour +would remain the most vivid picture in her mind. + +Death was a familiar meditation to Barbara. She met it so often that it +forced itself upon her notice. The destroyer tramped the fells even in +summer-time, taking his toll of sheep and lambs, and now and then +snatching away a man. But when winter came, with its storms of wind and +rain; when it held the becks stiff behind icy bars; when it filled the +gullies with drifting snow and levelled dangerous slopes, then it seemed +to be a miracle that any living thing should come through it alive. Time +and again, between November and March, those whose work took them to the +great wastes, would face death, would go where a slip was destruction, +where presence of mind, and swift, unerring action meant life; where +nothing but the instinct that is born in some men, added to hard-won +experience, could bring them safe and sound out of the valley of the +shadow to their own hearth-stones. + +Barbara often wondered how her own end would come. Would she be like a +shepherd, who had gone out one wild night to bring the ewes to a more +sheltered spot, and who was blown over a precipice? Would she fall into +a drift when helping to dig out the sheep, and perish of the suffocating +snow in which a sheep may live, but not a human being? Would she grow +dizzy when climbing some steep ascent, and fall down to be dashed on the +rocks below? Or would she, like her great-grandmother, live for a +hundred years, and die at last in the four-poster, with the bridewain on +one side of her and the dresser on the other? + +No; anything but that. She hoped that death would not forget her, as it +had forgotten Mistress Lynn, that grim, grey, human Sphynx, which could +look back along the years for a century. That such a lot might be hers +filled the girl with horror. But she would not believe it. She cared not +how death came, but she hoped he would not tarry, for life held nothing +now that could make her wish to live. Life was full of renunciation and +sacrifice, and she was tired of striving after righteousness. + +She had not been long alone when she heard a voice calling her: + +"Barbara! Barbara!" + +Absorbed in her thoughts, she imagined that the voice came from her +inner consciousness, and was spirit speaking unto spirit. But it called +again, and this time fell upon her ear with unmistakable urgency: + +"Barbara!" + +Lucy was running across the slope, towards the light issuing from the +cavern's doorway. She looked excited, her cheeks were aflame, her eyes +shining. + +"You must come with me," she cried. "You must come at once, over the +Robber's Rake to the Shepherd's Rest. Joel is dying." + +She took her sister's hand, and began to draw her towards the door. + +"Sit down, Lucy, and calm thyself," said Barbara. + +"Sit down! Nay, I tell you we must go at once. Come, there is no time to +lose. He may be dead before we see him." + +"I don't understand," said Barbara. + +She stood under the cresset's light like a rock, while Lucy, like a +wave, fretted about her. Exasperating to such a nature as Lucy's was her +sister's calmness. + +"Oh! you don't understand," she cried. "You never have understood. You +have a heart like a lump of ice. You have always been against Joel and +me. It is you who thrust us apart. But, now that he is dying, I thought +you'd relent. Still, I'll go----" + +"Has he sent for you?" + +"Nay! I tell you he's dying. Oh, Joel, Joel, to think you should be +leaving me again so soon. But I'm coming, yes, I'm coming." + +The girl wrung her hands, looked wildly round, then her face hardened. + +"If you'll not come, I'll go alone," she said. "I'm not afraid of the +dark." + +But Barbara barred the doorway. She pointed to the stool from which she +had risen. "Sit down," she said, "and tell me what you know. Then, if +you're determined to go, I'll go too." + +"Joel may be dead by then." + +"Whether he lives or dies is not in your hands. It's not to you, Lucy, +that his soul will be given." + +"Oh, I wish I had passed by and left you alone. I might have known, I +might have had more sense, than think you would feel for me. You were +always hard as flint, though I used to believe you were a saint. But +don't cast me off, Barbara. I'm very miserable." + +Barbara knelt down by the distracted girl, and put her arms round her. + +"What is wrong with Joel?" she asked softly. + +"He's dying, oh God, he's dying, and I'm not there to bid him good-bye." + +Then, amid sobs, she told her sister all that she knew, about the way +Joel and Peter had wrestled, and how Joel had strained himself and +broken a blood-vessel. He was now lying at the Shepherd's Rest, attended +by Timothy Hadwin and her husband. Peter had sent her word that he could +not get home that night. + +"I'll never forgive Peter," wept Lucy. "He oughtn't to have wrestled. He +knows I hate wrestling. I've always hated it. Perhaps I knew at the back +of my mind it would some day bring trouble to me." + +"This is childish, Lucy," said Barbara, with a note of revolt in her +voice. She scorned her sister for preferring Joel to Peter. Joel had +nothing to recommend him save his physical perfection, and his old name. +His claim to sympathy, his affectionate nature, had never touched her, +so she failed to realise their effect on Lucy. If Peter had been her +husband, she would have found a glory in loving where duty pointed. +Alas, duty bade her pluck out her love and cast it from her. + +Barbara had known for a long time that her sister was not happy. There +was less simplicity in her manners than of old, less desire to please, +and much less concern about her fine clothes and good looks. That she +was nursing vain regrets Barbara needed no telling to know, and she had +hoped often that Joel would not return. Providence had willed it +otherwise. For the stricken creature nothing remained but to turn its +face from temptation, and follow the straight and narrow way, with grace +if possible, at all costs with determination. But Lucy had no intention +of keeping to so strict a path. + +"Come," she said. + +Barbara rose slowly from her knees. She knew that Lucy must not go. She +went to the doorway, and stood for a moment looking out. The night was +dark with clouds, and wind came shuffling over the grass at fitful +intervals. Now and again she heard the tinkle of waves breaking on the +shores of Swirtle Tarn; near at hand a sheep called, and was answered by +another and yet another, till the mournful bleat of the most distant +member of the flock died upon her ear. + +Lucy stared at her sister's back. She did not get off her stool for, +impulsive and excited as she was, stubborn too at times, she read +something in Barbara's pose that kept her silent. The firelight lit up +the shining hair pleated round the fine large head; one lock had become +loose and hung down upon her shoulder. She looked like a tower of +strength to the fearful heart, but to the antagonist she was a fortress +that no assault could take. + +Barbara never dealt in vague reasonings, or tried to veil the face of +denial to make it look less stern. She had called her own feelings of +the morning by no condoning name, and she now turned to Lucy with firm +lips and eyes. + +"You must go home, Lucy," she said, "back to the mill-house, and wait +there for Peter. He is kind, and will not keep you long in suspense, +wondering whether Joel is alive or dead. If he lives you can have no +place in his life; if he dies you can't help him on his way." + +"I'll at least bid him good-bye. Don't waste any more breath on me. +Barbara. I've made up my mind to go." + +"Then you will blacken both your souls, and such stains won't wash out." + +"What do you mean?" asked Lucy, turning her face away. + +"You know what I mean. You're letting your mind run after a man that's +not your husband. The Bible calls it by a black name, in thought as well +as deed." Barbara lifted her sister's face between her hands, and looked +at it for a moment. "Lucy," she continued, "you've always been proud of +your fair skin and your white body, but that sort of mind, the mind +you're letting yourself get, is ugly--ugly as a toad." + +Lucy twisted herself away with repulsion. + +"You've a bonny way of putting things," she replied haughtily, but her +lips quivered. She abhorred toads. From being a child, the sight of them +had filled her with loathing; they seemed too ugly to have been created. +And now Barbara said her mind was becoming like one. + +"You don't understand," she cried. "You're so high and mighty you +couldn't love a man as I love Joel. If you did you'd find a kindlier +name for it than saying it's like something that turns you sick to look +at it." + +Could she have seen her sister's face just then she would have been +dumbfounded by the change that passed over it. Throat and cheek and chin +became suffused with a passionate glow, and her lips quivered. But in a +moment the flood sank back again, leaving her pale and weary-eyed. + +"We've had a warning set us since we were born," she said. "I mean +great-granny. Neither of us would like to grow old in her way." + +"I never should. But you might, Barbara, for everyone says that you're +her living picture. And your heart doesn't come far short of hers for +hardness." + +Barbara winced, and Lucy, ever ready to make amends for her sharp words, +grasped her sister's hand. + +"Don't heed me," she said, "I'm beside myself. There's no fear of either +of us following in great-granny's steps." + +"She let her mind stray where it had no right to," continued Barbara. +"And you know what comfort it brought her. She grew to hate her husband, +and she cared nothing for her children. But her life was loveless and a +blank; still, she had to give her heart to something; so must all men +and women. We're made that way and can't alter it. You know where she +gave her heart--it's in her money-bags." + +A picture flashed across Lucy's mind of the sight she had seen when she +had looked through the door on the night of the wake long ago. She +remembered with curious distinctness the stealthy movements of the thin +old hands, as they counted the coins. Another scene rose before her; she +saw Cringel Forest, and the dell where she and Joel used to meet. She +saw it in summer-time, gay with blue-bells; she saw it again in winter. +She thought how she and Joel had met there only a few hours ago. Come +spring, come autumn, still she loved and was loved. Back swung her mind +to the old woman in the great bed, giving up her soul to the hoarding of +money. Could this last scene be the outcome of such an one as that of +the morning? She saw herself old and grey--the beauty of life and its +warmth fled; and dead her heart to all joy in the sun and the flowers; +gone the sympathy of her soul with other souls; hardened into +indifference the power of loving and careless of being loved. Could her +soul grow like that? like her great-grandmother's? + +"You're havering," she said. "I'm no more like her than I'm like a +corby-crow." + +Still she was ill at ease. + +"Won't you go away home now?" said Barbara. + +Lucy had half a mind to say that she would not go. But her blood had +cooled, and her reason began to reassert itself. She was dominated by +her sister's will and mortally afraid of the long dark track into +Girdlestone Pass. She rose and drew her cloak closer around her. + +"If Joel dies," she said, tears filling her eyes, "you'll have it on +your conscience that you kept us apart when we might have given each +other some cheer to carry us along our dark ways." + +"Lucy, Lucy," cried Barbara, "put Joel out of your head. You've got a +good husband, better no woman ever had. Can't you give all your love to +him? Make him happy. You'll be happy then yourself. You'll find life +worth living, better worth living than great-grandmother's has been; +better, far better than mine. Mine's a lonely life, Lucy. There'll never +be home and husband for me. But, down at the mill-house yonder, love is +waiting for you. For your own sake, for Peter's sake, for Joel's sake, +too, cleave to the man you've taken for better and worse." + +"You should have married him yourself," replied Lucy, with a somewhat +uneasy glance. + +"It was not I that Peter chose for his wife," said Barbara simply. + +Just then the herd brought a message from Mistress Lynn to know how much +longer Barbara was going to linger at the cave. + +"Tell her I've something to do that'll keep me here awhile," replied +she. + +Lucy bade her sister good-night and went away with the herd. She no +longer wanted to fly to the sick bed of the man she loved. Weariness +succeeded her passion of the morning and excitement of the night. +Barbara always had this effect upon her sister. When she opened her +heart to her, Barbara put it in a cleansing fire, and, though the +process might be painful, it was morally purifying. + +When Lucy and Tom had gone, Barbara put her hands to her head, and +lifted the locks that lay so heavily upon her brow. Then she stirred the +peats into flame. Her face was very white, and looked suddenly old. + +All the time that she had been reasoning with Lucy she had been +reasoning with herself. She had dealt with herself so severely that she +was now ready to give that which conscience demanded. + +She opened the oak chest. There lay her few treasures--books which Peter +had given her, that she cherished more than she would have done jewels. +She caught her lip between her teeth, but the hesitation was mental, not +moral. Like Lucy, she was seeing visions. + +She saw herself sitting in the school-room, reading these books, feeding +her hungry mind upon the feast that they spread for her. But they were +all associated with Peter, she had read them in the light of his mind, +he had shared them with her. She could not look at them without, at the +same time, seeing the face of her dearly-loved master. + +Then she saw herself growing old, with haunted eyes, with disappointed +heart, longing for that which could never be, and soured by the denial. + +Then she saw herself as she meant to be. She was free, because her own +soul's master. She was full, because she had renounced; she loved still, +but with no desire for recompense, no thought of return, giving out +perpetually like the sun, but not receiving. + +To attain such a height she must cut off her right hand and pluck out +her right eye. She must set her face firmly in the direction she meant +to go. It would be a road of toil, loneliness, sacrifice. She must never +cast so much as a glance at that other path, with all its alluring +lights and gorgeous flowers, which yet smelt of death. + +She lifted the books one by one, and laid them on the fire. The white +pages grew luminous, the black letters grew blacker, a splash, like +blood, blotted them out; they rolled up like a scroll and fell to ashes. + +Peter Fleming came to the cave on his way home; for he saw the light. +Joel was better, and as Timothy was remaining behind at the Shepherd's +Rest with him, there was no reason why he should stay. + +Barbara did not hear the shuffle of his feet on the grass; and unknown +to her he was a witness to her action of burning her books. He stood for +a moment, hesitated whether to speak, then stole away, as though he had +been prying into a secret chamber that his eyes had no right to see. + +He knew that Barbara would come no more to the night-school. He +understood her reasons, and bitterly reproached himself for the sorrow +that he had brought upon her. He thought of her fine soul and deplored +the narrowing and stifling of her intellect, that must follow this +deliberate cutting off of herself from such sources of life. + +Yet he felt exalted too. In spite of all, he was lifted up by the +knowledge of her strength. She seemed to rise and fill the night with +her spreading hair, and wide blue eyes, an embodiment of the power of +love, which holds all human hearts in the hollow of its immortal hands. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE SHEPHERD'S REST + + +Joel Hart sat on a bench, staring at the fire in the kitchen of the +Shepherd's Rest. Timothy Hadwin was bending over a basket of moss and +late mountain flowers, dissecting them with a small scalpel, while he +held a magnifying glass in his left hand through which he continually +peered. The good dame of the inn was spinning, and the whirr of the +wheels' rapid turning made a pleasant hum in the room, like the buzzing +of bees. Her good man had gone to the nearest market town on business. + +Outside a cold white mist hugged the fells. Little could be seen but a +patch of monotonous landscape in front of the inn, and nothing heard +save the thunder of the beck which was in spate. + +Joel was silent, preoccupied with his thoughts or else sunk in a +melancholy mood. Timothy looked at him from under his mild brows, then +took a pinch of snuff, and leaning back in his chair said: + +"You'll soon be well enough to go home, Joel." + +There was no answer. Either the young man had not heard, or he did not +want to talk. + +"Aye, he's gotten on gaily," said the inn-keeper's wife, a little woman +with beady black eyes and a smile that could be both kindly and +malicious. "He owes his life to you, Master Hadwin. You couldn't have +treated him better if he'd been your own son. But he wants waking up +now. Come, come, young gentleman, look as though you were glad to be +sitting in Jamie Brown's warm kitchen, and not lying cold and stark in +the kirk-garth." + +Joel raised himself with an effort. + +"I'm not sure," he replied, attempting a laugh, "that the kirk-garth +wouldn't be a better place for me. This sickness has taken all the sap +out of my limbs. I feel like a rotten tree, just waiting for the first +wind that blows to fling it down." + +"You're needing a cherry cordial to put new life into you," said the +dame, and she bustled to her press, bringing out a bottle that shone +like a ruby in the genial fire-glow. + +"Cherry cordial," he answered, "it's something stronger than cherry +cordial that I need." + +"Take my advice, young master, and don't drink any more wine to-day. +You've had as much as is good for you. Now sup this up. It'll put a +little colour into your white whisht-face, without addling your brains." + +Joel drank, then set the glass on the bench beside him. For a while +longer he remained in a state of gloomy silence, but a glow began to +steal over his body, and soon loosened his tongue. + +"I once heard of a man," he said, "that strained himself as I did, but +he died. For a twelve month and a day afterwards he came out of his +grave every night, and sucked the veins of living folk until he had +gained what he'd lost. Then he slept quietly." + +"An uncanny tale," replied the good wife. "I wouldn't think of it if I +was you. There's a long life and a merry one before you yet. Be cheery +now." + +"It was only one man whose blood he sucked," he said as though it were +an afterthought. Then he flung back his head and turned to Timothy. +"Shall we have a game at chess?" he asked. "You were going to teach me a +new move. Chess is a game worth playing, though I used to despise it. I +thought it slow. Do you know, I get great amusement out of giving all +the pieces the names of my friends, and seeing how they check-mate one +another." + +The old man got up with alacrity. He was always glad to interest Joel in +anything that would take the spleen from his voice and the dis-spirited +look from his face. As a physician of the soul as well as the body, he +desired to pour a healing balm on the hidden wound, which he saw was +causing suffering of an intense nature. Timothy had found the thread +which led him through the gloomy, cavernlike mind of the young man. He +saw that which was seated in the innermost depths of his being. But, so +far, all his efforts had been unable to dispel it. + +He got out the chess board, drew the table to the fire, and began to +give his pupil a lesson. Joel's interest seemed to be centred upon one +particular piece, and he watched all its movements with the eagerness of +a child. + +"It was a good idea of yours, Timothy, to teach me the game," he said +once or twice. "On beastly days like this, when no one is likely to pay +us a visit, it passes the time--eh?" + +"I used to be a great chess-player when I was a young man," replied +Timothy, "but I was afraid I had forgotten a great deal until I began to +show you the way. It's pleasant to sit in the fire-glow, when the +storms of life are over and revive old habits. It makes one feel young +again." + +While they were thus absorbed, the sound of many hoofs drew near. + +"List," said the good-wife, "there's Red Geordie and the pack horses. +He'll cheer us up a bit. He's better than a town-crier any day for +telling the news." + +Joel looked through the fire-window under which he sat--it was a little +window in the chimney--and saw, coming out of the mist, a string of +horses led by a black stallion. At the end of the trail rode a man on a +stout little galloway. His coat collar was pulled up to his eyes, and a +fur cap, with a sprig of bog myrtle in it, was drawn well down upon his +brows. The black stallion stopped of its own accord at the inn door, and +its train of followers halted also, and began to nibble the turf by the +road side. + +Their master stirred his pony, and, in a few moments, entered the +kitchen, shaking the dew from his cap. He was a man of medium height, +squarely built, with a bald head, and a fringe of red hair and whiskers, +that framed his face in a fearsome manner. + +"Come to the fire," said the good-wife, pushing up a chair, "come and +warm thyself." + +"That I will, mistress, and thank you kindly. It's a raw day, masters, +better in than out. And how goes the world with all of you?" + +He nodded to Joel and Timothy with a friendly laugh. + +"How goes the world?" exclaimed the dame. "Sometimes this way, sometimes +that; whiles it runs straight, whiles agee; whiles smooth, and whiles +like a clog wheel. But we've been lively lately, for this time o' year. +We've had a wheen visitors since the Meet, folk coming and going to see +Master Joel Hart yonder. He's been ill. You'll have heard of it, +Geordie, on your way up the country." + +"Master Hart, of course!" the new comer bent forward, peering into +Joel's face with his little sharp eyes. "Sakes! man, how thoo's changed. +I shouldn't have knowed tha. But welcome, welcome back, my hearty. Twice +welcome since thoo comes with well-feathered pockets." + +He shook hands with zest. + +"And how fend tha noo, Master Joel?" he asked. + +"Gaily," replied Joel in an off-hand manner. + +"He's nobbut very sweemish," interposed the good-wife, with just a touch +of malice in her tones. "He wants cheering up a bit." + +Red Geordie slapped his thigh and laughed. + +"It's the lassies he's missing," he said, "mistress, mistress, thoo +should have 'ticed up a posey o' bonny faces for him to look at." + +"To the Girdlestone in this weather!" she replied. + +"If thoo said, 'Here's a fine bird worth the picking,' they'd have come +like a flock of starlings after a bone, aye, would they." + +Joel turned away with a haughty shrug of his shoulders, and Red Geordie +sniggered, in no way disconcerted. + +"Well, what's been adoing down-by?" asked the dame, anxious not to +offend her lordly guest. + +"Marrying, kersening, and burying--just the day's work o' common folk." + +"Day's work, says you! It's little we sees o' such goings on in the +Girdlestone, saving the mating o' wind and rain, the birth o' +snow-storm, and the death o' summer on the fells. Be canny now and tell +us o' the news. Whose married? whose been kirsened? and whose dead +down-by?" + +"Well," replied Red Geordie, sipping his mulled ale with satisfaction, +"there's triplets in Troutbeck, and they's been called Shadrach, Meshach +and Abednego." + +"Sakes alive! it's enough to make Anabaptists o' them; they'll be +wanting to be rekirstened when they're grown up. Whatever was their +mother thinking o' to lay such a saddle on the lad-bairns's backs?" + +Red Geordie tossed off his ale and handed the mug back to be filled +again. + +"Pack horses, pack horses," he cried, "hey, mistress, we're all pack +horses on the road. Some on us carries one thing, some on us carries +another; some has his mother's follies, and some his dadda's sins, +forbye the sins and follies of his own getting." + +"Aye, it's a wonder when you come to think o' it--the cross-bred sheep +we be!" said the good-wife. + +Red Geordie again handed back his mug. + +"I'll have another glass, mistress, with a dash more nutmeg in it to +warm the thrapple. Now, Master Camomile, what kind o' fate would you +foretell for the three lad bairns, born at a birth? They ought to turn +out something by-ordinary." + +Timothy shook his head. + +"Doubtless they will suffer the common lot of man," he replied, "and +pass through the fiery furnace of tribulation like other folks. Happy +will they be if they can sing with the Hebrew children, 'Oh, ye fire and +heat, bless ye the Lord, praise Him and magnify Him for ever.'" + +Joel looked up quickly. + +"I never believed the story," he said, "men don't praise God in the +midst of the fiery furnace. They're more likely to curse Him." + +Ever since the pack-master's rollicking personality had entered the inn +kitchen, Joel had kept a moody silence. He disliked the quizzical glance +of the man; and the bald head, with its upstanding fringe of red hair, +raised an unreasonable antipathy in his mind. If the weather had not +been so cold and damp, he would have left his seat in the ingle-nook and +gone out, preferring the mist to becoming the target for Red Geordie's +eyes. + +His sudden outburst caused an uneasy pause, not so much because of the +words, but the intensity with which they were spoken. They seemed to +have been thrown off from the man's mind as smoke is thrown up from a +volcano. They were the sign of the fires burning within him. + +"Heigh-ho," exclaimed Red Geordie, who felt it his duty to restore the +conversation to a more natural tone, "I'll have to be taking the road +again. It's a dree day for a body to be riding through the Girdlestone, +a dree day, but less dree than it used to be before the Shepherd's Rest +was built. I mind well, when the snow lay on the fells, and wind swept +down them like a beast, trying to snap off your fingers and toes, and +there was neither inn nor cot for twenty miles! Those were days! I've +seen me riding with a match-lock over my shoulder and a brace of pistols +in my belt, like any rumbustical cateran. What with robbers and winds +and thunderstorms, the frights I got bristled up my hair so that it's +never laid down since." + +"The first time I rode through the pass," said Timothy, "I thought I had +come to the Delectable Mountains. It was a summer morning. I rode on +and on in a kind of a dream till suddenly I came to a gibbet with a dead +man swinging upon it. It distressed me." The little silver-headed man +looked as though the memory of it still distressed him. "For the rest of +my journey, I meditated upon our nature and the divine justice that is +above our justice, for it sees with the eyes of mercy." + +"I know who he was," said Red Geordie. "You can spare your sympathy for +him, master. He murdered his wife and flung her body into Quaking Hag, +and that minds me, by the by, I saw the last time I passed that Devil's +pot that the fence is broken." + +The good wife busied herself about preparing a meal. She made the fire +burn brighter, and put the kettle on to boil; all the time she talked. + +"They say he walks round Quaking Hag at nights, carrying a light to lead +witless folk into the peat holes. If the fence is down I wonder you let +your horses go on their lone. They might wander from the track and you'd +never see them no more." + +"Oh," laughed the man, "Black Geordie kens the road as well as me. With +a Black Geordie in front, and a Red Geordie behind, it's not many spooks +will trouble us. I'll go and whisper a word in the old fellow's lug, and +send him on. He'll be past the Hag before I catch him up. He should have +been a general in the army--that old fellow--for he comes clean out o' +all messes." + +He went to the door, and soon there was the sound of hoofs upon the +road. Joel saw the string of beasts disappear into the mist as they went +on up the pass. Their master came back to the kitchen, and with him +entered Peter Fleming. + +"Another glass, mistress," cried Red Geordie. "One for each of us; +glasses all round; a stirrup cup for me, and a happy union for you. Your +health, Master Joel Hart! and school-master Peter, here's to you!" + +At Peter's entrance Joel's haughtiness vanished, and with it went the +white whisht-look that had caused the dame anxiety. His eyes began to +burn, and his lips twitched. Colour mounted to his brow, and +concentrated into two red patches upon his cheek-bones. He got up from +his seat, in the furthest corner of the ingle-nook, and moved nearer to +Peter, looking at him with a gaze that roused suspicions in Red +Geordie's mind. + +He thought of the rumours that were flying about, concerning these two +men. Rumours were never to be relied upon--twenty years following the +pack-horses had shown him their inconsequence. He had an intimate +knowledge of the manner in which they grew, as they rolled from village +to village, himself being an active agent in starting them upon their +mad careers. + +He watched Joel intently, and scrubbed his upstanding whiskers with a +rasping sound. Peter might not know it, but hate was the fire that +glittered in Hart's eyes, hate was the colour that painted his wan +cheeks, hate made his lips twitch, and drew him from his corner to the +other end of the bench, for like love it finds satisfaction in being +near the object of its passion. + +"Good Lord!" he said to himself. "Here's enough gunpowder to blow us all +up." + +Then he turned to Peter. + +"And how's your bonny wife, school-master?" said he. "You should have +brought her with you to make a little sunshine in the Girdlestone, such +a dim, dark day as this is! A bonny face is always a bonny face, and +worth looking at, even when it does belong to another man." + +Joel scowled. + +"When Fleming's here I want no bonny faces," he replied. "Peter's a good +friend, and an old one. We're the best of friends, even though we did +wrestle in such a manner that it brought me to death's door. But we'll +have another wrestling yet, eh? Come, we'll drink to the next wrestling. +Mistress, wine, and the best you've got." + +"I'm glad to see you in such good spirits," said Peter kindly, but he +thought that Joel had already had more wine than was good for him. + +"Spirits! Yes, I'm looking forward to the next time we try a fall +together." + +"I've given up wrestling," said Peter. + +"Man, will you not try another fall with me?" + +"No. I'm going to let my muscles run to fat--as the good folk predict. +You gave me such a taste of it at the Shepherds' Meet, that my appetite +is satisfied for ever." + +"Satisfied, no! You'll not be able to stand still, when you see other +men in the ring. Besides we haven't finished the bout. You didn't throw +me, you know. We'll finish it some fine day when I go back to Forest +Hall." + +"Let me ken the hour," said Red Geordie, picking up his whip, "I'll come +and umpire. Hoo! but I'd like fine to see the end o' that wrestling. +Well, I must be off or Black Geordie will bring the whole lot back to +look for me. Good-bye, to you Master Hart. Good-bye, Peter Fleming. A +word with you, Master Timothy." + +The old man accompanied Red Geordie to the door. + +"He's mad," said the pack-master, indicating the kitchen with his whip. + +The kind old face looked distressed. + +"A hint in your ear, master," and the man bent down and whispered, +"murder." + +"No, no, you're mistaken. He's just excited and has been drinking too +much." + +"It's murder! I saw it in his face. If School-master Peter is a wise man +he'll go school-mastering to another place, and take his wife with him." + +Red Geordie mounted his horse, and rode off saying: + +"I ken what's what in the man's face. I don't ride the pack roads for +nowt, master." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE SPELL OF THUNDERGAY + + +The winter was one of storms. They rose suddenly towards evening, and +continued intermittently throughout the night, with long, strange pauses +between each, until the dawn of the next morning, when the sun got up +amid bars of yellow and purple cloud. But the glory of sunrise was +brief. The days were cold, short, and grey, and when darkness fell the +wind howled as though nature were in a fury bordering upon madness. The +silences, too, which fell so suddenly, when the storm was at its +highest, seemed to indicate periods of exhaustion, like those which +follow upon the unbridled passions of human beings. + +In the bleak and solitary dale, where the farm of Greystones stood, +there was little light till noon, for the mountain-wall surrounding it, +kept out the rays of the sun; and Thundergay, at its head, poured a +current of raw air into the hollow filling it with mist, through which +the wild geese called mournfully, and the sheep wandered, too depressed +to bleat, but seeking always for sustenance among the loose rocks and +beds of scree. Once a day their scanty meal was supplemented by a feast +of holly twigs which Barbara or the hind cut for them. They knew the +time by instinct, and, half an hour before, might be seen travelling +along the dale from all directions, and gathering round the thicket +where the hollies grew. + +This winter Mistress Annas Lynn began to feel the cold, and another +woollen rug was put on the bed. She spent most of the day in keeping +herself warm, and her usual occupation of knitting ceased. She did not +sleep much, and often Barbara would tip-toe to the bedside to see if her +great-grandmother were awake, and would find the bright eyes open, and +raised to her face in an instant, with a keen searching look. But she +spoke little, and appeared to find plenty of interest in her own +thoughts. Strange thoughts they must have been, which passed through a +mind so strong, individual, and so old. + +But at night when the door was shut, the curtains drawn, the fire +bright, she would sit up in bed and talk of the days long past, and +times that were rude, but full of a spirit that kept the brain alive and +made the flesh glow. + +When she was young, men and women lived upon the strong meat of exertion +and adventure. She said that they were giants compared to their sons and +daughters, who could not digest anything more solid than pap. The old +woman had a great contempt for the rising generation that she saw around +her. She flung many a gibe at them, when they gathered in the kitchen, +as they sometimes did of a winter evening, to hear her recount stories +that made their hair stand on end and their flesh creep. + +But in the midst of her quips and quiddities, she would sometimes break +off to talk of Barbara. As her own energies began to fail, she drew +vitality from the robust nature of her great-granddaughter. The girl was +true kin to the strenuous souls of old. She had in her veins the blood +of shepherd princes, her spirit was the spirit of kings--stern perhaps, +silent perhaps, but tempered as steel, unflinching before lightning +flash, or whirlwind, ready as her forefathers had been to face the +moss-troopers should they ever come again to rob the sheep-fold. But +Barbara was born three generations too late. She was like an eagle with +clipped wings, and had never a chance to show the mettle of her make. + +Sometimes Barbara was present at these story-tellings. She would sit +with her cheek resting on her hand, watching the flames, and seeing in +them pictures which her great-grandmother's words painted. She, too, +often longed for a life of adventure. Now that she had cut herself off +from her books and intercourse with Peter--she saw him as little as was +compatible with their relationship--now that she had clipped her own +wings, she found life stale, lacking in all enterprise and interest. + +She would not allow herself to meditate upon the past. She swept her +mind clear of it, no regrets, no longings, no phantoms or shadows must +find a lodging there. But an individuality such as hers could not become +thus permanently dwarfed. She might clip her own wings, but they would +grow again, and bear her upwards to cleave other air, and find other +climes than those to which she had been borne away in the past. + +Through the grey winter days and the wild winter nights, she flung a +part of herself to the winds, and as it fluttered upon the blast like an +autumn leaf, she thought of the trees in Cringel Forest, and pitied +their nakedness. But they would grow green again, and spread their glory +to the summer. So, perhaps for her, there would come a renewal, and her +soul would blossom like the may--nay--not like the may, sweet and +beautiful as it was, but like the corn of wheat, which unless it fall +into the ground and die, cannot bring forth fruit. She felt +compassionate towards the wheat which went so patiently into the tomb, +and came forth, like a shriven almoner of old, to give itself without +reserve to the service of others. + +Often when the wind shrieked about the old house, and the sycamores +groaned under the lash, Mistress Lynn would listen with eager ears for +the sound of Barbara's footsteps on the threshold. She knew by instinct, +and understood by experience, that her great-granddaughter was going +through some travail of soul. But she said nothing, only watched and +waited, noting with her keen old brain the change of Barbara from a +dreamy girl to a woman, whose will was becoming fixed in an inflexible +mould, and whose mind was changing to something more mature but less +comprehensible. As the winter deepened, the change grew more marked. +Often in the pauses of the storm Barbara would enter with a slight +smile, and a look as though she had been talking with someone, and was +still full of that which she had heard. + +"Where hast been?" the old woman would ask her. + +"At Ketel's Parlour." + +"Alone?" + +Barbara laughed, and there was a new inflection in her voice. + +"I'm never alone. I have the sheep and the heather and the birds. +Besides, there's Thundergay. Thundergay is father and brother and sister +and lover all in one. You know that, great-granny. You sent me to +Thundergay when I was only a bairn, and you said he'd teach me the way +we Lynns must walk in the world. Thundergay has opened his heart to me, +and I'm never lonely with him." + +At other times, in the midst of the battering of the wind, the girl +would come in, her eyes shining, and her hair in wild disorder. She +would go about her work with an energy never seen before in her +movements. The hinds and Jess looked afraid of her, and kept their eyes +fixed on their work. + +Lucy was surprised, she wondered what had come over her sister. But the +old woman said never a word to enlighten her. She was seeing, as it +were, a picture of herself eighty years ago. Lucy did not often get +speech with her sister at this time. Since the night at Ketel's Parlour, +when she had gone back to the mill-house instead of fulfilling her plan +of going to see Joel at the Shepherd's Rest, they had never opened their +lips upon the subject. Lucy felt aggrieved, though why she hardly knew. +She had expected to have Barbara's constant sympathy, after she had bent +to her wishes; she had relied upon having a strong arm to uphold her in +the path in which she had agreed to walk. Instead she was left to +herself: she had to pick her own way without encouragement and without +pity for her sufferings. + +She thought Barbara cold and without understanding. Lucy was miserable. +She was miserable because she was half-hearted; she still hankered after +forbidden things, instead of turning away from them, and determining to +draw out of her duty sustenance to enable her to fulfil it. + +Peter, too, seemed to be preoccupied and weary. He was smitten by the +blight of failure, by remorse, and stirred to a most righteous anger. +"You have cast an Evil Eye on Barbara," said his self-condemning +spirit. Reason murmured against the assertion; conscious of his +integrity he would not be condemned unheard. Fate had laid a snare, +covering it with pleasant things, so that he had stepped in without +warning. "You sat down in the Siege Perilous, who were not strong enough +to fill it," said the same condemning self, "and now you are learning +what the consequences are." + +But Peter saw one thing clearly and it was this: he must go away, and +take Lucy with him. He dared not leave her behind; for he was under no +misconception about the attitude of Joel towards himself or his wife. +Then, amid other scenes, he would beg her to help him, as he would help +her, to bring order and happiness out of the disorder of their lives. +Barbara he could not aid, save by going away. + +Barbara was working out her own salvation. As in all severe discipline +of either body or soul, some of the grace of her nature was sacrificed +to the attainment of strength. A stern light began to shine in the soft +eyes, and made their expression difficult to fathom. Folk with mean +spirits could no longer sustain their gaze with equanimity. She was not +so silent as she used to be, but her words were more enigmatical, and +seemed to spring from a current of thought flowing deeper than ordinary +mortals could probe. Like an underground river, it passed through scenes +of wonder and mystery that would have astonished them beyond measure +could they have followed its course. + +Barbara had diverted the flow of her passion for Peter out of the usual +channels in which such feelings run. Had she been free to love him in +the way that men and women are meant to love, she would have become the +most devoted of creatures, excelling others by a greater degree of +intensity in her affection, and not by an unique difference in its +nature. As a wife and mother she would have been calm, self-sacrificing, +supremely happy, viewing the larger world with a placid generosity, the +overflow of her own abundance. + +But in this direction her love could not flow. And as a subverted river +will change the face of the country through which it runs, so her nature +was changed. + +She loved Peter still, not passionately, but none the less strongly; not +despairingly, for she hoped for nothing; not with reservation, for no +human barrier blocked the way; neither sorrowfully, nor ashamed. All +that can be said is that she loved him as a human being, who has shaken +off the flesh and all its bonds, might love one who is still under its +dominion. + +The intensity of her love quickened the manifold energies of her nature. +As a wife and mother she would have awakened to a realization of the +riches of life's common things. Now that she must turn away from so +well-trodden a path, she came into a world none the less real, none the +less stirring with forces both spiritual and material, though +undemonstrated to the ordinary mind and eye of man. + +Life is seen through many windows. As time passes new ones are opened, +and old ones blocked up, sometimes by our own hands, often by the hands +of others. Barbara had deliberately shuttered one of her windows when +she burnt her books; but now a new one was to be opened for her. The +revelation came suddenly. The mountain Thundergay, the beloved nurse of +her youth, and her well-tried companion, drew back the curtains, and she +looked out, at first with blinking eyelids as though unaccustomed to the +strange light. What did she see? A wonderful world, a land of mystery, +a country inhabited by immortals. + +Nature was no longer dumb. It spoke to her in a language that she could +understand. It took the place of her books, and human friends; it came +into the circle of her love--that love which surrounded Peter with so +white a light, and emanated from her in never dimming radiance. + +She felt herself to be a part of a great order. There was a bond between +the golden clouds of dawn and herself, between the winds and her. She +had a common bond, too, with all living things, sheep, birds, and also +the foxes and the ravens. All were in their place, and she was in her +place. This gave to her life a sense of repose. + +But such a sense of security alone could not have built up the character +of Barbara Lynn. Mere freedom from fear is a negative quality, unless +the emancipated soul makes use of its privileges to flow out in search +of worthier objects to stimulate its energies. + +Had Barbara been placed in the midst of a crowded city, to humanity she +would have turned and would have spent her life in its service. But none +required her at High Fold: there was no one upon whom she could bestow +the riches of her nature save her great-grandmother, who desired and +asked for little. So to Thundergay she turned, to its dales and steeps, +its fountains and ravines. She drew inspiration to be strong from its +strength, and power to suffer from its endurance. She subjected her body +to severe discipline so that no crag defied her, while cold and +discomfort counted for nought. + +Only by such physical and mental training could she steel herself to +bear her sorrow without flagging steps. Some day a command might come to +her to climb higher, and she desired to be ready, prepared in her +threefold nature of body, soul, and spirit. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE CALL + + +"Good-bye, Lucy," said Peter. He was standing at the mill-house door, +while a man held his horse at the gate. "I wish you hadn't changed your +mind," he continued, "and were coming with me. I thought that we were +going to have a jolly time together. Won't you come? Are you sure you +don't care to come? There's still time." + +It was early morning, although darkness and night vapours hung among the +trees on the other side of the beck, and the village had not yet +awakened to the day's work. Lucy listened to the rushing of the water +and shivered. + +"How like a man," she exclaimed. "Still time when your horse is ready +saddled, and I haven't even a petticoat packed. No, no, I'd rather stay +at home, thank you. But I hope you'll have a pleasant journey." + +"I'm awfully loath to leave you," he said. + +"Why? I shall not run away. I'll be waiting for you on the doorstep when +you come home, ever so pleased to see you. They say absence makes the +heart grow fonder, you know. There, don't look so gloomy. You make me +wish I'd never said I'd go with you; for then you wouldn't have been +disappointed." + +"If you'd only say yes now, Lucy, you could make shift to do without the +petticoats. I'd buy you new ones when we got to London. Put on your +bonnet and cloak, there's a bonny wife, and come away." + +"Are you afraid I'll vanish?" + +"I've never left you alone before. I don't like leaving you here. The +mill-house is a dreary place when you've nothing to listen to but the +sound of running water. Will you go up to Greystones?" + +"And be scolded all day long by great-granny! Well, if it will set your +mind at rest I'll go. But don't worry about me." + +He was silent for a moment. + +"Good-bye, Peter," said Lucy, "it's too cold to stand here any longer. +Good-bye." + +He hesitated, seemed as though he would say something more, then turned +to go down the path, but she called him back. + +"Here, lad," she said, "give me another kiss. Don't stay away too long; +I'll be counting the days till you come back." + +When he had ridden off, in spite of her assertion that it was too cold +to stand on the doorstep, she did not enter the house at once, but stood +staring along the dark village street down which he had disappeared. Her +eyes seemed to entreat him to return, but she controlled her impulse to +call him back. Again she shivered. The sense of protection which her +husband's presence always gave her, was withdrawn. Yet what had she to +fear? The sound of the rushing beck was melancholy. + +She withdrew hastily and shut the door. A bright fire was burning in the +parlour, and the remains of breakfast lay on the table. She sat down in +Peter's chair, and looked at a little heap of bread which his restless +fingers had crumbled. She knew that he would not have left her just now +if he could have helped it, and she guessed the reason. A flush mounted +to her brow as she thought that he did not trust her, his wife. He need +have no qualms. She had only seen Joel Hart once since his return; she +had had nothing to do with the fierce wrestling at the Shepherds' Meet. +Since then she had walked as prudently as any demure matron could do. +What could he suspect? What right had he to suspect anything? Yet the +knowledge that he did not trust her stung. + +She wished, now, that she had gone with him as she had at first +promised. Why had she not gone? She had tried to persuade herself that +she could not endure the long ride over the pack-horse track; then the +cold, uncomfortable journey in a crowded coach; and lastly a strange +lodging in a strange city where she knew no one. If it had been the +summer time she would not have hesitated for a moment. She had wanted +all her life to see London--the Tower, St. James's, Westminster. Peter +had promised to take her, but something had always come in the way to +prevent him. It was too aggravating that he should have chosen this time +to go, when the snow might fall any day, making travelling not only +disagreeable but dangerous. + +A week ago, Peter had told her that the friend, who had offered him the +post in India, had written about an opening in London; and that if he +thought it would suit him, he must come up at once to meet certain +influential gentlemen who were deliberating upon it. + +Lucy had shilly-shallied, saying first that she would go too, then that +she would not go, and again that she would. The reason which lay at the +back of her indecision was the hope of meeting Joel. She had heard that +he meant to go away as soon as he was well enough, and she wanted, at +least, to bid him good-bye. + +For some unaccountable reason, she now felt afraid, and would have +given--what would she not have given?--to hear the sound of hoofs in the +street and then her husband's voice at the door. The room was still full +of the impression of his presence, though he had gone. His slippers by +the fire; his book on the sill, with the marker in it which she had +worked for him before they were married; the bright walls; the cushions +and hangings, the pictures--all the pretty things with which he had +surrounded her, rose up like witnesses to plead for him and condemn her. + +How she wished that Joel had not written the letter which had upset her +peace of mind! She wished that he had never come back to Forest Hall, +looking handsomer than ever. Peter and she might then have found +happiness. She thought, when she married him, that she loved him truly. +So she did, but she did not love him best. Why could she not love him +best? + +If Joel were to call her now would she spring to meet him, and claim him +as her soul's true mate? A numbness crept over her. Was it of this she +felt apprehensive--the coming of a call--and that she would not be +strong enough to resist? + +She longed for her husband's return, yet she feared him. She was afraid +of Joel, yet she loved him. She wondered whether there was another woman +in the world in such sore straits as she. + +Tears did not relieve her; they only spoiled the colour of her cheeks, +made her eyes red, and her head ache. So she dried them and looked up. +Daylight was streaming through the window and turning the lamp's flame +to a sickly yellow hue that paled and dwindled, like the changeling +children who are said to dwindle in the cradle when morning dawns. There +was something so unpleasant and unwholesome in its light that Lucy rose +and turned it out. Then she called the servant-lass to come and clear +away the breakfast dishes. + +She wandered in and out from parlour to kitchen, and kitchen to parlour. +She lifted up first this thing, then that; started to mend her frills, +but pricked her finger and tossed the work aside; took up a book but +dropped it listlessly; sat first in one chair, then in another; and at +last sank down on a three-legged stool before the hearth. + +The hours dragged. She glanced out, but the prospect was not inviting. +Bare and brown stood the trees; the beck rushed along as brown as they; +the road in Cringel Forest would be inches deep in mud; not a bird +chirruped. She wondered if she should go up to Greystones. She had +promised Peter that she would go, yet why should she? She liked +her own home best. She preferred its present dreariness to her +great-grandmother's tongue. Besides, up there, every movement would be +watched and criticised. And she might--she did not think it +likely--still she might want to go out without being asked where she was +going. + +This was the day that the Need Fire was to be lit in Boar Dale. Lucy had +no wish to come into the midst of a bellowing herd of cattle, so she +found in it another reason for deferring her visit. + +Towards noon a lad knocked at the door and left a small package for her. +She untied it with trembling fingers, for she knew that it was from +Joel. Out of it fell a little lump of gold, and a note asking her for +the sake of old times to come over the Robber's Rake to see him. He gave +no reasons, but she was not surprised. He had been ill; he was not yet +well enough to return to Forest Hall, and he had been longing to see +her, as she to see him. Perhaps he knew that Peter was away, and that it +would be easier for them to meet now than ever again. + +She dropped the gold and the scrap of paper as though they had been +red-hot cinders, and stood looking at them as if she expected them to +speak. And they did speak. No tongue could have been more eloquent than +that little bit of metal, no voice more full of entreaty than the +scrawled characters of Joel's handwriting. They were urgent. With them +she could not expostulate, excuse herself, or maintain a virtuous +reserve. + +Her dead hopes, dreams, promises came again to life and seemed to stand +about her, looking into her face with blinkless eyes. They entreated +her, for old sake's sake, to grant his wish. + +She knit her brows in perplexity. Should she go? Would it be wise to go? +Why should she not go? Wherein lay the unwisdom? She wanted to see Joel +for the last time, to tell him that they must never meet again; that he +must forget her, as she would endeavour to forget him. He need not leave +High Fold in order to escape her; for she and Peter were going away; but +he must not follow or attempt to renew their friendship. So plausible, +so self-controlled, so wise appeared her reasons to her own mind that +she could find no serious objection to complying with his request. + +She forgot, or would not allow herself to remember, that this was the +call which she had feared. But a thing far off looks so different to the +same thing at hand that she did not recognise them as one and the same. + +Musing thus, and undecided still, with her eyes flitting about the room +as though in fear of seeing something which would turn her from the +purpose she wanted to form, it seemed to her that she saw the grey-clad +figures of the miller and his wife come in at the door and sit down in +their vacant chairs. They did not look at her, they were but shadows, +but Lucy fled. She was afraid of Peter's dead father and mother. They +had loved him so, his honour was their honour, and they had died +heart-broken thinking her unworthy to be his wife. She had bitterly +resented their reproachful eyes, she bitterly resented that they should +cross her vision now, as though they had come to guard their son's good +name when he was away. + +Lucy put on her cloak and went out. + +In order to escape any undesirable questions or inquisitive eyes she did +not follow the road through the forest, but took one of the innumerable +paths that led along the fells, opposite to Greystones, on the other +side of the beck. + +Heavy clouds, that were purple underneath, but stained with a murky +brown along their upper edges, lay motionless upon the higher hills, +levelling their rugged peaks as with a knife. No gleam of sunlight or +patch of blue lit the savage landscape. It was made of iron and bronze, +a hard menacing corner of the world, whose scars and gashes, dealt by an +earlier age, kindly Time had not yet managed to rub out or smooth into +pleasant lines. The weather had been fine for several days, and a high +wind had dried the dead bracken and benty grass, but there was every +appearance of coming rain. + +From a field in the bottom of the dale, near Greystones, smoke was +rolling as though a subterranean fire had broken through the earth's +crust, and begun to belch forth its pent up energies in fountains of +acrid vapour. Now and then a red tongue leaped among it, only to be +smothered by a denser cloud. + +The Need Fire[1] was an ancient institution to which the dalesfolk had +formerly resorted in times of disaster. All the household fires were +extinguished, and it was lit by rubbing together two pieces of wood, +which had never been inside a human habitation. Peter had smiled when he +had heard that it was to be lighted in Boar Dale, and passed on from +farm to farm through that district. But Timothy Hadwin believed in it, +and Barbara was strongly in its favour. + +[Footnote 1: The last "Need Fire" was set going near Kendal in 1840. At +Crosthwaite its "smoke" was in the Kirk Lane on Sunday, November 15th of +that year.] + +Lucy looked down as she hurried along. + +A loud bellowing and bleating rose from the field. Little could be seen +for the drifting smoke, but she thought of Barbara in the midst of it, +helping to drive through the cattle, blackened--she did not doubt--by +the fire, blear-eyed, probably, with its stinging vapour, but in her +proper element. Barbara had been born into her true sphere--the bleak +mountains, the grey crags, the eagle, beating its wings as it were +against the overhanging clouds, were her fitting companions. But she, +Lucy, had never been at her ease with them. She had always felt forlorn +in this land of the dales and fells. It was not her spirit's country, +although her native land. Perhaps London would be more to her mind. + +She had not gone far when her thoughts came back with a start to the +object of her journey over the fells. The colour left her face and her +eyes were filled with alarm. The temporary wandering of her mind, though +it had only been for a moment, had again unsettled her. She hesitated, +wondered whether to go or return. Her heart was tossed about like +drift-weed upon unquiet waters. She felt that she was out upon a stormy +sea. If she retreated, would she regret her action when she got back +again into the safe harbour? She was afraid to go on, for she did not +know with what sunken perils the way was strewn. + +She came to the end of the sheep-track, where it joined the Robber's +Rake on the far side of the tarn from Ketel's Parlour. She halted by a +post that pointed the way, when the ground lay covered with snow. She +looked up and down. Just as the sign-post pointed in two directions, so +her mind was drawn in two directions. To go one way was right, to go the +other wrong. But which was right and which wrong? First she decided +this, then that, but as hastily reversed her ideas again. She arranged +them to suit her wishes, or her sense of justice, or expediency. She +could not decide. + +She walked on a little further. + +Then she saw a figure rise up from a rock upon which it had been +sitting, and come to meet her. It was Joel. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE TRYST AT GIRDLESTONE PASS + + +"Shall we go to the Shepherd's Rest?" Lucy timidly suggested. + +Joel would not hear of it. The good-wife was in the house, he said, and +she had a tongue for babbling that would challenge any mountain beck. +But in that wild and rock-strewn pass was many a sheltered nook, where +two people could meet unnoticed, and undisturbed, save by wandering +sheep or screaming curlews. He guided Lucy to the stone, which gave its +name to the place, and there they sat down. + +A more secluded spot they could not have found. It was wild beyond +expression. Before them the fellside shelved away, strewn with slatey +scree, at the foot of which a stream tumbled, and sent its thunders +reverberating along the pass. The pack-horse track marched with the +stream in the direction of the inn, which stood below them to the left, +hidden by the unevenness of the ground. To the right the road still went +on up a steep ascent, then, dipping over a brow, ran through low and +marshy moorland for many miles, until it reached the great North Road. +In the midst of this boggy part lay Quaking Hag. Overhead was poised the +girdle stone, a massive fragment fallen from the crags above, and +supported by rocks, that the storms of centuries had rough-hewn into the +shape of pillars. Underneath it the ground was dry and sheltered from +the raw air. Behind rose the mountain Thundergay, as rugged on this side +as upon that which looked into Boar Dale. + +Joel regarded Lucy with an intent gaze, and she stole many a glance at +him. He was not as altered as she had expected to find him. Indeed, save +for a restless light in his eyes, lines about his mouth, and the pallor +of his face there was little change to be seen. She wondered why he had +not returned to Forest Hall; for he had recovered from his illness +sufficiently to have walked the few miles between the Shepherd's Rest +and High Fold. + +"So you've come to see me at last, Lucy," he said, fondling her fingers +and looking into her face. + +"Did you expect me before?" she asked, wishing to withdraw her hand from +his, yet not liking to do so for fear it would seem unkind. + +"No, but I wondered if you would manage to give Peter the slip some day, +and get away. I used to buoy myself up through the long nights when I +couldn't sleep, with the hope of hearing your voice in the morning." + +"I'm sorry you have been so ill, Joel." + +"Don't be sorry, Lucy, at least don't cry, for it clouds your eyes, +which are just like two bits of blue sky, and there's not much blue sky +to be seen to-day. Do you know, my dear, when I lay sick in the inn +yonder, I often comforted myself by thinking that you were sitting by +the bedside, hidden behind the curtains, and that I could, if I liked, +pull them back and look at you. Fortunately I had sense enough not to +try the experiment. So I got the pleasure without the disappointment." + +"I wanted to come," she began hurriedly, "I would have come, but +Barbara wouldn't let me. I longed and longed and longed----" + +She broke off abruptly for his glance disturbed her. What was the +meaning of the light in his eyes? She had seen them grow radiant in the +past as lamps lit by some inner fire, but never seen them shine as now, +so fierce and glowing that they frightened her. She cast a look in the +direction of the Shepherd's Rest. + +"Isn't it too cold for you out here?" she said. "I don't mind being seen +by the woman at the inn. We are doing nothing we need hide. It is quite +natural that I should come to see how you are when Peter is away." + +"Is it?" he asked with a strange laugh. "I doubt if the good-wife would +think so." + +"Well, if it isn't," she replied, colouring and feeling more and more +reluctant to stay alone with him, "I'd better go home." + +He controlled his feelings, whatever they were, and laid a detaining +hand upon her arm. + +"Let's talk calmly like two sensible folk," he said. + +"I'm sure you oughtn't to be out. Don't forget how ill you've been, and +that this isn't a summer's day." + +"It's been a summer's day since you came, Lucy. But sit down. I haven't +spent five years in a land covered with snow for half the time without +becoming inured to some discomfort. Be good and kind. I've seen so +little of you, and thought so much that you shouldn't grudge me this bit +of pleasure." + +She sat down again, drawing her cloak closer about her. She thought that +the Girdlestone was not a fitting spot to talk with a man who had once +been her lover. She was perplexed at his manner. She felt instinctively +that a change had taken place in him. She could not have defined it; but +the deterioration which had been going on in his character for the last +few weeks showed through his words and actions, though they were as +affectionate as they had always been. + +For some moments he leaned back against the rock, letting his eyes rove +over her face. + +"I've carried your picture here," he said, tapping his breast, "all the +years I've been away; I'm now comparing it with the original." + +"Well," she inquired at last, "am I like it or have I changed?" + +"The same, the same, yet not the same. There's a firmer line about your +mouth than you could draw round it in the old days." + +"Age should bring wisdom, should it not?" She sighed and then continued. +"But I'm afraid I don't learn and grow wise." + +"I know who put that line there," he said sharply. + +She looked up, surprised. + +"It was Barbara, Barbara, damn her, the night she prevented you coming +to see me." + +She winced and rose to her feet. He saw that he had made a mistake, and +drew her gently to his side. + +"Oh, Lucy, Lucy," he cried suddenly, "I'm beside myself. I can't live +without you any longer. I'm mad I know; but I want you, I want you as a +man never wanted a woman before. We were born for each other, you can't +deny it. Come away with me. We'll go and make happiness for ourselves in +a corner of the earth, where no one will ever seek us." + +He put his arms round her, and she only half resisted, though she said: + +"But, oh, Joel, you forget that I'm another man's wife." + +"I don't forget it. The fact's there; but we'll disregard it. We'll go +away, now, at once...." + +She tore herself suddenly from him as though his embrace stung her. +"What am I doing? What are you saying? Oh, Joel, we cannot...." + + * * * * * + +It was not till then that she realised her position. She loved this man, +and, though she had married Peter Fleming, his image had floated before +her mind through all the years of his absence, and she had often +regretted that she had not waited for him. His return had excited her; +she liked his admiration and his caresses, and, at their last meeting, +she had let her feelings have their way. She had been full of thoughts +of that which might have been. But she had never intended being +seriously disloyal to her husband. She had come to see Joel, so she told +herself, merely to bid him good-bye; to tell him that they must not meet +again; and to say that she hoped he would be happy. Now she was aghast +at the place where her actions had brought her. Go off with Joel? She +could not dream of such a thing! He was an honourable man, only +over-wrought by his love for her. He could never really think of taking +her away. + +"Be brave, Lucy," he said. + +"I must leave you. We must part." + +"Be true to yourself, Lucy." + +"I should loathe myself if I did as you asked." + +"You love me, my dear." + +"But I'm Peter's wife." + +"Peter can get another, and you shall have me for a husband." + +"It can't be, Joel. We must say good-bye. I only came to say good-bye." + +"We'll both say good-bye--to High Fold and Boar Dale--we'll say it +together, and go away." + +She drew back to the furthest corner of their retreat, and stared at +him. + +"Do you know what you are asking me to do?" she said, scarcely above a +whisper. + +"I've thought it all out; I've planned it." + +"But I cannot go away with you." + +"You love me," he repeated triumphantly. + +"I did once," she cried, "but I'm afraid of you now. Peter would never +ask a woman to do what you are asking me, no matter how much he cared +for her." + +Joel moved to the entrance, and stood with his back to her for a moment. +The clouds were darker, the fellside more stern, the foam of the beck +whiter in the waning light. But the outlook was not so wild as the +picture which he saw within himself, when he turned the eye of his mind +upon it. + +Man never grasps the significance of his own thoughts. They cross and +recross, and deal with each other often apart from his direct +consciousness, and that which he has to accept is their conclusion. + +Hope and despair, hate and honour--all these had filled Joel's brain, +had joined forces or fought--as the case might be--and now he saw it +strewn with the remains of war, where one figure stalked, and its name +was hate. Then a faint light glimmered down, and he was aware of the +star of love still shining overhead. There was commotion in his mind. +Hate menaced the star but could not put it out. + +Turning to Lucy, he said: + +"Must it be good-bye?" + +Her lips quivered and she nodded. + +"It's a little word," he replied, "and very ill to say. I'll not say it. +If you go ... but you'll not go. Think of me, Lucy. Give a thought to +the loneliness of my life. Remember how I worked to get rich for your +sake. That bit of gold--have you got it?" She made a movement of assent. +"We'll still have it made into a ring, and you shall wear it. You're +mine in heart. Why should you be afraid to trust yourself to me? I'll +take care of you, Lucy. You shall be happy, you shall be rich. You shall +have everything you want, if you'll only put yourself into my keeping." + +"You might give me all these things," she whispered, "but you don't +understand, Joel. I should have the mind of a ... I should be like a +toad. Barbara said so." + +"I knew it was Barbara, who had changed your feelings towards me," he +bitterly replied. + +"I do think of you," she said, "I know you will be sad and lonely. So +shall I be. You do not think of me, Joel." + +He looked moodily through the gathering gloom. + +"The day is nearly over," he muttered, "and we have made little use of +it. For days I've been wanting to see you, wondering how I could bring +you to the Girdlestone. Now you bid us part, and forever. Well, let us +go. The sooner good-bye is said the better ... if it must be said." + +They went down the brae to the stream, which they crossed by a bridge. +The long, withered branches of a wild rose draggled in the rushing +water, catching hold of the flotsam that the swift current brought down, +and tangling it into a mat of twigs, leaves and sheepswool. + +The roar of the beck seemed to give Lucy confidence. She wiped her +tears, tried to smile bravely into the gloomy face of the man by her +side, and gently touched his arm. + +"You'll find someone much handsomer and better than me, Joel, to be your +wife." + +He shrugged his shoulders, and made no reply. + +"I've been like yon briar," she said in an undertone, "letting myself +draggle in a torrent, and holding on to all the regrets and +disappointments it's brought me. But now I'll shake them off. From +to-day, this hour, I'll lift myself up and hope that a green and +blooming time will come for you as well as me." + +"A green and blooming time will surely come," he replied quickly. "It's +coming now. I can't let you go, Lucy. It's no use pretending that I mean +to let you go. We must twine together...." His looks began to get wild +and his voice shook as though he were losing control of himself again. +"You know the song: + + 'Out of her bosom there grew a red rose + And out of her lover's a briar, a briar....' + +But I'm talking nonsense, and frightening you." + +A scared look came into her eyes. The afternoon was darkening, and it +was high time that she should be getting home, if she did not want to be +benighted upon the fells. She might lose her way unless she reached the +Robber's Rake before dusk. + +"Good-bye, Joel," she said, her voice trembling, not only with the +emotion that the words called up--for she knew that whatever more was +said, good-bye must be the last word uttered between them--but she was +startled by the fierce face turned upon her. + +"I told you we could not say it," he muttered. + +"But we must: we can't do anything else." + +"Speak the truth, Lucy, do you love Peter or me best?" He took her by +the shoulders, so that she must face him. "I loved you first," he cried, +"long before he did. You promised yourself to me. He has no right to +you." + +Joel's pent up hatred burst forth. It flowed from his lips like a +venomous flood upon the shrinking head of the woman. Deeper than his +love for her, so it seemed, ran his hate. + +"Let me go," said Lucy, "you don't know what you are saying." + +"Which of us do you love best?" he continued, taking no notice of her +attempts to free herself. "If you say Peter, I'll throw you into the +beck--its deep enough to drown you. But you love me best. I know it, +I've always known it. Be brave, be strong, Lucy. I've got a horse +waiting just beyond the dip in the road to take us away. We'll go away +now, and before anyone can follow us we shall be on the seas." + +He drew her along the pack-horse track in the direction that he +indicated. + +She struggled to free herself. She felt all the love which she had for +him ooze out of her. His attitude opened her eyes, and she realized, +with renewed dread, in what a dangerous position she had placed herself. +Her thoughts turned with a frantic rush towards her husband. Oh, if only +his face would appear through the gloom.... If only she could hear his +kindly voice calling to her.... But Peter was far away by now on the +road to London. She was alone. There was no one near, no one who could +help her. Joel's handsome countenance was like a nightmare: his fond +words, his embraces--the idea of ever having received such expressions +of love from him became suddenly repulsive. + +"Let me be, Joel," she said, "or I'll call out." + +He did not heed her. + +"Where shall we go, Lucy," he said, "there's all the world to choose +from?" + +"Go where you like," she replied, "only take your hand off my shoulder." + +She noticed that twilight was drawing swiftly down. In half an hour it +would be night, and the clouds were already settling lower on the fells, +so that the horrors of loneliness and darkness would be doubled by the +bewildering presence of the mist. But she had not time to think just now +of how she would get home. She must flee anywhere; she must escape from +Joel, who was acting and speaking as though he had gone suddenly mad. +Girdlestone Pass provided plenty of hiding places if she could only +succeed in baffling him. She cast her eyes swiftly over the landscape. +She must not take to the hillside--it was too steep and rough for her to +hope to elude him there; she would betray herself by falling, if she did +not come to a crag that she could not climb. The moorland on the left, +with it brown hummocks, scrub, and mossy stones, would provide her with +a surer means of escape. She never thought of Quaking Hag, she did not +know where it lay, for she had rarely been in the pass before. + +She wondered once if she should scream, but it was unlikely that anyone +would hear her. The Shepherd's Rest was too far off, and travellers +rarely passed that way. + +Every minute the dusk deepened, Joel had shifted his hand to her arm, +when he found that she ceased to resist him. He was peering forward, +trying to see the horse which he had tied to a tree so that it might be +in readiness. + +Then Lucy bent down, and set her teeth in his hand. He gave a sharp +exclamation, loosened his grasp, and she fled from him into the +shadows. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +A PATHWAY OF FIRE + + +The night was dark, no star shone, and, though the moon had risen, it +could not penetrate the clouds, which hung over the sky, and rested on +the mountain tops. There was just enough light to show how wild and +lonely was the pack-horse track through Girdlestone Pass. + +About nine o'clock Barbara came along it. She walked as a shepherd +walks, who has many miles to travel, and must not grow weary. She did +not hurry, neither did she dally nor halt, but kept up an even pace, +regardless of the dips and rises in the road. + +She was returning from a distant farm, whither she had carried the Need +Fire, and where the good folk had waited all the afternoon, the cattle +folded near the house, and a pile, like a haystack, of green wood ready +to be lit, when the sacred element--for such they regarded it--should be +brought from Boar Dale. They had given up all hope of receiving it that +night, when, about seven o'clock, a loud knock came to the door, and +Barbara Lynn stood there, with the smouldering embers in a cauldron. + +Now she was returning, but not by the way she had come, over a shoulder +of Thundergay, for there was no track to guide her, and the mist and +darkness hid the familiar landmarks; so she struck the road through +Girdlestone Pass instead, meaning to reach Greystones by the round-about +way of the Robber's Rake. + +She kept with her still some of the exalted feeling, which had thrilled +her, when she had carried the Need Fire over the mountains. In her own +eyes she had been raised from her humble office of hewer of wood and +drawer of water to the rank of a priestess. + +No Druidess, administering the rites of her religion, could have had a +greater sense of the mystery of life, and the debt it owed to symbolism +to make it intelligible, than Barbara at this time. Her character, +founded upon Christian principles, was yet bathed in a pagan glow of awe +and wonderment. Natural forces drew forth her reverence. Fire, Wind and +Water became personified: they bore an analogy to Life, Soul, and +Spirit. And her love of the old Greek tales filled her imagination with +so rich a store of treasure--much that was strange, fair and exalted in +ancient thought--that she had an inexhaustible wealth to draw upon for +her delight and nourishment. + +She had watched Timothy Hadwin kindle the Need Fire with a keen sense of +its inner significance. Fire was the symbol of purification and smoke +the symbol of prayer. It seemed to her fitting that man should make this +outward show of his repentance, for she believed--as most of the +fell-folk did--that the pestilence threatening the cattle was the sign +of an aggrieved heavenly power. When the Greeks sinned had not the god +of the Silver Bow sent his deadly arrows hissing among them, killing +first their dogs and mules, and then their men, until they heeded the +warning and made their peace with sacrifices and restitution? For what +transgression the black bane had been sent into the dales and fells +Barbara did not ask. Was it a question worth asking, when no heart was +pure? Let every man amend his ways, and the appeal to heaven would not +go up in vain. + +Filled with some such thoughts as these, she threaded her lonely path +through the dim land. Upon her body were still the marks of fire, her +cheeks were flushed, her eyes were scorched, and her clothes were so +well thurified, that they shook out a pungent odour of smoke at every +movement. Neither weariness, nor pain--she had been on her feet since +long before day-break--could rob her figure of its lofty carriage. + +The silence suited her mood; and the darkness, blotting out the well +known features of the landscape, allowed her brain to paint its own +picture of the country through which she was journeying. She was, in +fact, carried by her imagination far away from the Girdlestone. But no +earthly land received her spiritual body. She had come to a place where +there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage, having passed through +the Need Fire which purifies from all dross. There she walked in a clear +light, holding sweet fellowship with one from whom she must be forever +separated on earth. + +More and more of late Barbara had begun to fix her thoughts upon that +which lay beyond mortal existence. Her life was empty: instincts, +desires, hopes--the birthright of the human soul--were spilled like +water upon the ground. She had nothing to expect here: but there--what +glorious prospects opened out! + +Timothy Hadwin often talked to her about the next world, and she had +imbibed much of his philosophy, colouring it to satisfy her own desires. +She believed in a Great Spirit. She believed that every living creature +had a living soul. She believed that behind every material thing there +was a spiritual force. She believed that her desire for knowledge would, +hereafter, be fulfilled. All that she knew from the outside now, would +there be revealed in its inmost reality. + +But it was not an immaterial world that her faith painted. Trees, +streams, mountain gorge and starry peak made it beautiful. She loved the +trees, their leaves pleased her eyes, their chiming her ears; but when +she became a spirit, she would enjoy their very life in a deeper sense; +for she would be able to pass into their being like the Hamadryads of +Greece, only she would not die with the trees, for death would no longer +exist. In the same way she would be able to become one with the streams, +the dales and fells. But above all and beneath all--for it was both the +foundation and summit of her hopes--human fellowship would then present +no barriers to a perfect communion. She would need no eyes to see and +recognise the loved one, no hands to draw his attention, no feet with +which to come nigh him, no voice to tell him her thoughts. Spirit would +pass into Spirit, would live and move and understand, without bodily +aids, which are also the instruments of misunderstanding and separation. + +She was wakened from her dream by hearing a voice speak from the +wayside. Now that her attention was drawn to it, she could dimly make +out a huddled figure, whose limbs seemed to melt and become one with the +rock upon which it sat. + +"Angel or devil!" said a hoarse voice. "Who are you?" + +She came nearer and peered into the man's face. + +"Why, Joel," she exclaimed in surprise. "I didn't expect to see you +here." + +He staggered to his feet and she felt sure that he had been drinking. + +"It's always the unexpected that happens," he replied. + +When Lucy had run away from him, he had been so overtaken by surprise, +that for a few seconds he had not been able to grasp the reality of the +fact. Then passion had swept away his senses, and he had rushed hither +and thither like a mad man, calling, cursing, but seeing nothing, so +swiftly had her grey-cloaked figure been swept up into the gathering +darkness. His wild scheme of carrying her off defeated, and knowing that +his desires and hopes could never now be realized, he had so far +recovered himself as to lay hold of a shred of reason, and stifle his +anger. He had taken the horse back to the inn, and then had sat down in +his corner by the fire, silent and sullen, heedless of the dame's +chatter, and only wishful to be left alone. He had demanded wine, and +had tried to drown his wrath and bitter sense of failure. But he could +not endure the good-wife's tongue, and at length had got up and gone +out. He had told himself that he would go back to Forest Hall to-morrow, +settle his affairs with all speed and never set foot in Boar Dale again. +He was sick of the Shepherd's Rest, and would not have stayed so long +only the place had been convenient for his purpose. There he had hoped +to decoy Lucy and take her away. In the light of their last meeting, he +had felt sure that she would go with him. + +And now, having walked aimlessly along the pack-horse track, the mist +chilling him to the bone, he would have returned again to the inn, but +that he was afraid of the inquisitive eyes of the woman there, who +looked at him as though she were suspicious that some wild adventure +was in the air. He was not able to lash himself into his former fury, +his heart seemed to be dead. The hand of the woman he loved had killed +it. Even the thought of Peter did not rouse him. Hate, for the time +being, was burning low. + +In this mood he had come again to the spot where Lucy had fled from him. +He had begun to wonder in which direction she had really gone. How was +it that she had eluded him so quickly? He looked round him. Then there +had been light enough to distinguish the nearer objects--a stunted +thorn, the flash of the beck, the overhanging crags, but now all was +undefined, and bleak. A little glitter, just beyond the left bank of the +road, had caught his eye, and held him spell-bound. He had stared with +growing understanding. On that side lay marshy ground, stretching away +to the opposite fells, and yonder was Quaking Hag, shunned by all +travellers, and forsaken of God. He had sunk on a stone, sobered by that +which he saw, for the glittering mark was followed by another and yet +another, until the misty nature of the night prevented further sight. +They were the froth o' the marsh, a kind of putrified earth, which, when +it has been trodden upon, shines like fire in the darkness. + +He had just realised what the _igneum lutum_ meant, when Barbara had +come along the pass and he had accosted her. + +"Barbara Lynn," he muttered, a note of suspicion creeping into his +voice. "What the devil are you doing here?" + +"I'm going home." + +"Going home to Greystones! Have you seen Lucy?" + +"No. Why do you ask?" + +He did not reply for a moment, then said: + +"Are you sure you haven't passed her?" + +Barbara's blood began to quicken with vague doubts. + +"Have you seen her?" she demanded. "Has my sister been here?" + +"Yes, I sent for her." + +"And where is she now?" + +"Gone home long ago." + +"Thank God." + +Barbara uttered the words with profound gratitude, then she turned +sharply on the man. "You're doing wrong, Joel. Neither you nor Lucy have +any right to meet in this way." + +"It will never happen again," he said. + +She started uneasily. Into her mind crept a fear that all was not well. +She tried to read his face: the night was too dark and his manner +baffled her. + +But he rose suddenly, took her roughly by the arm, and turning her +round, pointed to the shining marks. + +"Do you know what they are?" he cried. + +"I've seen them before," she said, "on such a night as this. They're +footprints. Someone has been crossing the marsh." Horror crept over her, +but before she could frame a question, he had jerked his hand in the +direction of Quaking Hag. + +"The fence is broken," he said, "there are gaps in it. Does Lucy know +the place?" + +"What do you mean, Joel? What has happened? You said Lucy had gone +home." + +"She ran away and left me. I don't know where she went: I don't know +what's become of her. No doubt she's safe at home." + +Barbara uttered no cry, no word of anguish or condemnation. She stood +for a moment as though frozen, then turned to the man beside her. + +"God forgive you! Some ill may have happened to Lucy! Go to the inn," +she said. "Go at once. Tell every one to follow me to Quaking Hag." + +He hesitated. + +"Go," she cried. "Why do you stand there as if you hadn't heard? You're +sober enough to know what may have happened." + +"I'll help you to look for her," he doggedly replied. + +"That's as you please. But you'll go to the inn first." + +There was such a note of authority in her voice that he had to obey. He +dared not do otherwise. + +Barbara left the road, and followed the glittering prints that led away +over the marsh. As she got nearer to it, the will o' the wisp shone here +and there; the ground got softer, and she knew that slimy pools were +opening out on every side. Now and again she called Lucy's name, but +there was no answer. Utter silence closed round her. She went on, not +daring to hope that she might find a trace of her sister. Quaking Hag +kept whatsoever it took, and told no secrets. + +Her mind seemed to be stiff with horror. She could think of nothing save +that she must go on, until she could go no further. + + * * * * * + +The footprints were Lucy's. She had run, in her blind fear, some way +across the mire before she became aware of its nature. Her one idea had +been to escape from Joel, and, when she was safe, steer, by any +landmarks she could recognise, for Thundergay. She would not dare seek +the Robber's Rake in case her pursuer laid in wait for her there. Now +she realised that she was running in the direction of Quaking Hag, and +stricken with horror, she would have given expression to it in a call +for help, had not dread of Joel's finding her, controlled her tongue. + +She paused in her flight and listened. But she could only hear the +breaking of bubbles at her feet. Bewildered by the twilight, and the +unfamiliar place, she lost herself among a maze of peat-pots. With every +step she sank deeper in the ground. + +Then afraid to go this way or that she stood still. Should she call? No +one would hear her but Joel, and she would rather spend the night here +than see his face appearing through the darkness. She looked round. A +light shone and flickered like a candle. Could the pack-horse track be +so near, and was some one passing along it with a lantern? + +She started forward again, but only to feel water ooze round her ankles. +Another light shone for a moment to her right, then went out; one rose +almost at her feet. + +"The witch lights, the witch lights," she muttered, and sinking down +upon the damp ground, she covered her eyes with her hand. + +There was nothing for it but to wait till morning. She knew that by some +mischance she had wandered right in among the quagmire and, as she saw +the will-o'-the-wisps burn here and there, she wondered that she had not +been sucked down to death. She saw the glitter of her own footsteps as +the night darkened, but thought they were more witch-lights shining to +lure her to her doom. + +Numbed with cold, frightened to move, her teeth began to chatter, and +her limbs shook until they became even too cold for that sign of life. +She sank into a kind of stupor, from which she started at times, +thinking that she heard footsteps creeping nearer. But it was only the +marsh gas escaping with a sound like a low chuckle. She had no means of +guessing the time. Often she thought that the night must be nearly past; +it had lasted so long already. When the faintest light crept over the +blackness of the sky, she hailed it as the coming of day, but it was +only the moon rising behind the clouds. + +After that followed a period of utter prostration, in which she saw and +heard nothing. She was only conscious of an ever-present horror, which +did not seem to have any outward source--she had lost all knowledge of +the witch-lights and the marsh. + +In this state of stupor Barbara found her. + +"Lucy, Lucy," she said, lifting the girl in her arms, and though tears +came hardly to her, she sobbed with thankfulness. + +Lucy was roused at the sound. + +"Save me, save me," she cried. + +"You're all right," Barbara replied. "See, I'll carry you through the +mire, and then we'll jog along home. Great-granny will think we're both +lost, so long out at this time o' year." + +"It's nearly morning, isn't it?" asked the girl, clinging to her sister +with both hands. + +"Bless the bairn, no; not more than ten, at the latest." + +She carried the light form as easily as if it had been a child, and +retraced her steps. By the time she had reached firmer ground, she was +met by the inn-keeper and two men with lanterns. She saw Joel hovering +behind them; when she looked for him again he was gone. + +She took the fainting girl to the Shepherd's Rest, and there spent the +night, while a message was sent to Mistress Lynn to reassure her of +their safety. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +WINTER + + +Some days passed before Lucy was well enough to leave the Shepherd's +Rest. She had got a severe chill from her exposure to the night air and +the vapours of the marsh, but her nature was naturally buoyant, and the +relief she experienced from a quiet conscience, now that she had cut +herself off from Joel, enabled her to throw off that which might have +been a serious illness. + +She did not see Joel again. Mally Ray was not communicative, and as no +one ever met him in Cringel Forest or upon the fellside, rumour said +that he had gone away. + +Peter came back in less than a fortnight. He had accepted the post in +London--an important one that would use all his abilities--and from this +time, until the end of the year, the days were filled with the making of +arrangements for their removal. The mill-house was handed over to an +uncle of Peter's, who had been born there, and Lucy and her husband came +to Greystones to spend the last few days with Barbara and the +great-grandmother. + +A thin fall of snow covered the ground, and, frost having set in with +blue skies, a north wind blowing straight out of Thundergay, and clear +sunlight, the eyes were dazzled by the whiteness of the dale. The beck +was not yet frozen over, but it seemed to sing less clearly as it ran +between its banks, where the grass blades were encased in crystal, and +the bracken stalks, pricking through the snow, glittered with jewels. +But the craggy edges of the fells were black as ebony, and dark patches +showed here and there upon the pastures, where the sheep had been +scraping for a precarious living. + +At sunset a gorgeous display of light illuminated the clear, cold world. +Night lit up the intense blue of the northern sky with stars, while the +west was filled with gold-dust, and the snow slopes were stained with +red and saffron. Shadows lay in the hollows and clefts, and the long +ridges looked violet; their savage outlines were never so noticeable as +at this time of the year towards sundown. + +A ruddy beam fell through the windows at Greystones and made a pool of +light upon the floor. In the midst of it Lucy sat with her chin resting +upon her hands. Mistress Lynn was propped against her pillows, and, +though her face had begun to wear the almost unearthly look of extreme +old age, and the eye-sockets were far sunken in her head, the eyes +themselves burnt with their old sharp light. + +"It's likely I shall never see you again, great-granddaughter," she +said, "unless the Lord has forgotten me, lying here so long in the big +bed. A hundred years is a great span for one human body to take to +herself. Life grows tedisome at times. Still, I've known most things +worth knowing, seen most things worth seeing, aye, and had most things +worth having, though you'll not believe that, my lass." + +Lucy looked up from her day-dreaming for a moment, and remarked: + +"You've been very kind to me lately, great-granny." + +"Oh, I's smit with a sickness that takes the old folk whiles--a kind of +softening of the vitals; with some it's the brain, with others it's the +heart." + +"You mustn't talk of leaving us, great-granny. Peter's promised to bring +me to see you in the summer-time." + +"I doubt you'll find Barbara mistress of Greystones, then." + +"I wish Barbara would marry." + +"She'll never marry. She sends the lads trotting before they get their +noses through the door." + +"I used to think, when I was a bairn, that a lord would one day ride by +and carry her off. Timothy said she should have a crown." + +"Timothy's brain is all froth, like a beat-up egg. He wanted me to take +some of his magic messes last winter, when I had yon bad cough, but I +said, 'No, no, my man, none of your pesky stuff has ever found it's way +down my throat, nor ever will.' 'It'll ease your kist, Mistress Lynn,' +said he. 'Thank you kindly,' said I, 'but my kist is a hundred years +old, and if it's a bit stiff in the hinges we needn't wonder. Cranky +bits of furniture are none the better for tinkering at.'" + +"Barbara always laughed at Timothy's sooth-saying," replied Lucy; "all +the same, she often thought about it, I'm sure of that." + +"You'll never get to the bed-rock of Barbara's mind," answered the old +woman; "your spade's too short, my lass, for digging there. Though the +good God made you both out of the same clay, he filled you with +beck-water and Barbara with red wine. Havering! havering! An old woman's +tongue sometimes runs away. Light the candles, lass; its getting dark, +and Peter will soon be coming in." + +The candles, in their tall iron sconces, filled the kitchen with a +mellow light. The colour had vanished from the fells, but the stars +glittered, and the wide snowfields gave a moonlight glimmer to the +landscape. Lucy stood at the window for a moment, before putting up the +shutters, thinking about her great-grandmother's words. Glancing at +Thundergay, she thought how far and cold it looked against the +star-fringed edges of the sky. There was her sister's throne, there on +the highest peak with an outlook wide but wild, where she breathed an +air too clear and sharp for common mortals. + +She turned to the warm kitchen, recognising, with a glow of comfort, +that such was her fitting place. She did not desire a large +perspective--her eyes could not have taken it in. She did not crave for +communion with nature, she did not want to dip herself into the +mysterious pools that lay about the path of life. A common round, +enclosed within four walls, satisfied her needs. Yet she knew that her +husband's mind would sometimes escape from the warm nest that she would +make for him. Now and again he would leave her to climb such high places +as Barbara knew. There she would not be able to follow him. Yet she +would not murmur. She would make his home such that he would always +return to it for rest and sympathy. Ah, yes, if she were but a vessel +full of beck-water, as her great-grandmother had said, she would be able +to quench his human thirst. Barbara might stir and exalt as wine did, +but hers would be the more womanly office of attending to common needs. + +Peter had gone to the mill-house, Barbara was in the byre, Jess's shrill +voice could be heard in the yard, and the hinds were out. Mistress Lynn +seemed inclined to sleep, so Lucy returned to her seat, and stared into +the fire, looking like a child making pictures there. + +She was, in fact, seeing again the witch-lights and Girdlestone Pass. +The place had been so impressed upon her mind, that it returned with +startling vividness to haunt her, whenever her mind was unoccupied. In +the warmest corner of the chimney-nook it would make her shiver; in the +brightest flood of fire and candlelight she would see the rolling +darkness about her feet, and then the will-o'-the-wisp gleam with its +alluring, fitful flame. The horror of that time would remain with her +all her life. It had killed anything that was left of her love for Joel, +made her appreciate her position as Peter's wife, filled her with +gratitude towards him, for he had forgiven her with the utmost +gentleness. Had Joel stood before her now she would have turned from him +without a tremor save that of shame. + +Mistress Lynn was not asleep; like Lucy, she was thinking of the past. +The years that were gone came back to her in a long, long train. From +childhood, from her earliest memory, she followed events up through +girlhood to wifehood and widowhood, and here at last she had come from +the cradle to the four-poster, from having been a golden-haired bairn to +be a bedridden old woman. It seemed hardly believable the way in which +the years had gone. Yet the old clock, ticking in the corner, had marked +off the moments of her existence with a relentless hand. Often it had +been her solitary companion through long and wakeful nights, and she had +listened to it, and watched its white face flicker with the firelight, +never thinking that it was a stern angel, telling out the passing of +her years. + +As she passed her life in review, she thought that she had few regrets. +The last one--the failure of Joel Hart to fulfil her hopes for him--soon +fell away from her mind. She was too old to trouble any more about the +cross-purposes of other people's lives. Still, she would like to have +seen him again. Though she would have bitterly resented had any stain +been put upon her name, perhaps, at the back of her old brain, she felt +that, had his grandfather asked her to flee with him, she would have +gone, so great was her love--and made herself strong enough, and brave +enough, to take the consequences, and never cast a look behind. + +Joel Hart had not gone away. He had meant to go, day after day, but had +not had the resolution to carry out his intentions. He spent the dreary +time at Forest Hall in vain longings, and in reviving his hate for +Peter. He did not go out, but did his best to empty his wine-cellar. At +last, however, he made up his mind, and told Mally Ray that he would +ride off, as he had come home, in the dusk of early morning. The night +before, a restless spirit took him into the dale. He thought that he +would look at it for the last time. + +He wandered along, keeping to the same track as that which Lucy had +taken when she went to meet him in Girdlestone Pass. He came across no +one: those whose business took them to the hills managed to get it done +before twilight fell, and sensible folk sat by their fires, having no +inclination to wander about in the snow unless they must. + +From the other side of the beck he looked at Greystones. He saw the +light suddenly shine out when Lucy lit the candles, then as suddenly +disappear when she put up the shutters. + +The vision roused the devil in him. Yonder was the woman he had loved, +surrounded by light and warmth, while he stood out in the cold. There +did not exist for him a single smiling face in the whole bleak world. +Instead of bread, life had given him a stone to break his teeth upon. +Did he care for her still? He did not know, but he once did, and another +man had stolen her from him. That passion had become swallowed up in +another. Always more or less unbalanced, he had put himself, the whole +of himself, into one scale, and it went down. He had flung reason away, +so had nothing left to readjust the poise. He hated Peter with all his +powers. + +He turned his back on Greystones, and went towards home, hugging his +hate. Was he out in the cold? Passion kept him warm. It kept him more +than warm--it scorched him. His very soul was on fire with the maddening +flame. + +The track which he was following joined the forest road just at the +bridge above the falls. He paused to knock the snow from his heels, and +saw, coming towards him, the figure of a man. It was Peter Fleming +returning to Greystones. + +Joel straightened himself. He was in no mood to weigh his actions, or +control that which he felt. He had no time to consider consequences. He +was like a man who, in a sudden fury, takes all that he has and flings +it away, not caring, at the moment, whether it is irrevocably lost or +not. Joel saw, as in a flash, what he meant to do. He meant to hurl +himself upon Peter, and finish that wrestling bout, which had had so +disastrous an ending before. One or other of them should fall, and fall +for ever. He would pitch Peter over the parapet of the bridge down the +falls; even if they had to go together to their death he would do it. He +had told Lucy that he would drown her if she loved this man best; that +had been bluff to frighten her. Now he was in deadly earnest. + +But as he drew himself together, and made ready to spring, Peter, +unconscious of the implacable foe awaiting him in the shadow, paused and +turned. There was a muffled sound on the forest road of some heavy +creature coming quickly along. + +"I do believe it's Big Ben," he said to himself, and laughed. + +The bear loped up, sniffing and whimpering with pleasure. It rose to its +full height, laid a paw on its master's shoulder, and licked his face +like a great dog. + +"Run away from Jake, have you?" said Peter, pushing the beast down. +"Well, old fellow, I'm afraid you can't come to Greystones. The cows +won't give any milk when they see you about the place. What the deuce +are you growling at?" + +This exclamation was uttered in a different tone of voice. Big Ben had +scented Joel. As Jake said, the bear was a creature who had memories. +With every expression of fury, it went towards him, stalking on its hind +legs, showing its teeth, and waving its great hairy arms in preparation +for dealing a blow such as only a bear can give. + +Peter caught the chain that was dangling from its collar, and called it +back, as a dusky figure dashed past him. He did not see the man's face, +but he knew the form. + +In a few minutes Jake the rat-catcher came up. + +"I saw Joel Hart just now," he said; "he seemed to be in a mighty hurry. +Feared o' Ben, I should think. Ben doesn't like him. What in the world +is he doing here still? I thought he'd gone away." + +Peter, too, wondered, but he said nothing. + +He gave the bear back into Jake's charge and went on, much perplexed and +troubled. He was glad that Lucy and he were going away so soon, for he +could not help being suspicious that Joel had lain in wait for him with +no good purpose in his mind, and, save for the arrival of Big Ben, would +have made an attempt to carry it out. + +But he said nothing of this to anyone. + +The next morning Jake told him that Joel Hart had ridden away at dawn. + +The remaining days passed quickly. Barbara was in a gentle mood. The +sternness of her face relaxed, the fire in her large blue eyes was +subdued to a steady glow, which fell upon her sister and Peter with the +softness of serene skies. No shadow should darken these final scenes of +Lucy's life in the dales. Peter and she should depart, unsaddened by +that which they were leaving behind them. Sorrow at bidding good-bye to +the old woman there must be, for they were not likely to see her again, +but such tears would soon be dried. Her own sorrow, her own loneliness, +must be hidden. + +On Christmas Eve they all gathered in the kitchen to welcome in the +Christmas morning. Fresh bedding had been shaken down in the cow-house, +after the good old custom of those days, so that the cattle might have +clean straw to kneel on when midnight struck. Barbara had put a wisp, +with an apple, a jug of water, and a platter of oat-cake in an empty +stall, and, coming out, had bolted the door, for no eye might see that +scene, when the Christ-child came to bless the beasts, that had shared +with Him their shelter and their bed. + +The beck was now frozen over and nothing could be heard outside, till +from far down the dale came the voices of the waits, singing: + + "As I sat under a green-wood tree + On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day + I saw three ships come sailing in + On Christmas Day in the morning." + +Their voices drew nearer, and Barbara went out to the garden-gate, +followed by Peter. + +"I've got a shepherd's privilege," she exclaimed, with a light laugh. "I +can see angels on Thundergay." + +"I fear they don't bring you much good tidings, Barbara," he said, +letting some of the bitterness which he felt creep into his voice. + +"Hush," she replied, "listen." They could hear the words clearly. + + "She washed his face in a silver bowl + On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day, + She combed his hair with an ivory comb + On Christmas Day in the morning. + + "She sent him up to heaven to school, + On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day, + She sent him up to heaven to school + On Christmas Day in the morning." + +"I would not have it otherwise, Peter," said Barbara, laying her hand on +his. "You and I--we must go up to heaven to school." + +He said no more, and they went in, knowing that the first and last word, +which would ever pass between them upon that which lay deepest in their +hearts, had been spoken. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +BARBARA COUNTS THE GOLD + + +After many weeks of silence, the beck sang once more at the door of +Greystones. The sound stole upon the ear so imperceptibly, with the +slackening of the frost, that Barbara was unconscious of it, until its +clear voice again filled the kitchen with its familiar song. + +The hour was midnight; a watery moon sent a faint light into the room, +for the shutters were not up. A single candle burnt near the +four-poster, and the fire had not been covered down for the night, after +the usual custom of good housewives. The place had a waiting look as +though someone was expected. + +Barbara lay on the settle, covered with a sheepskin, her long limbs sunk +in an attitude of repose, but her eyes were open and her ears alert. + +The expected guest was death. + +In spite of the moon, fire, and candlelight, shadows lurked everywhere. +Barbara's recumbent figure had the uniform greyness of an effigy in +stone; the bridewain and the clock were vague; only the bed, with its +curtains undrawn, retained any semblance of reality. Old Mistress Lynn +lay high upon her pillows, her sharp, stern features lit by the candle +burning beside her. She was asleep. + +For some time Barbara had spent her nights upon the settle. There had +come no sudden change in her great-grandmother's condition; she sank +slowly, getting weaker and weaker as the winter passed; and now, at the +approach of spring, was slipping quietly away. Several of the village +folk offered to share the girl's vigil, but their presence in the +kitchen seemed to trouble the old woman, so Barbara kept watch alone. + +It was a quiet time. Neither pains of body nor distresses of mind +disturbed the fleeting hours of that long and imperious life. She slept +much and, when she was not asleep, watched her great-granddaughter with +dreamy eyes. But she rarely spoke, and though no foreshadowing of death +had laid a finger upon her lips, she seemed to be too weary to utter any +more of the sayings, which she had been so fond of uttering in the past. +To-night she breathed regularly, although deeply. + +So the moonlight and the firelight, mingling with each other into an +unearthly glimmer, the shadows, and the singing beck, held the silence +of the death-chamber undisturbed. + +Barbara listened to the voice of the running water with varied feelings. +It spoke to her of life; of the hopes and ambitions and renunciations +that had sounded such strange notes in her own soul. For its clear +ripple was accompanied by sad murmurs, and sudden splashes, as it ran +over pebbles, or flowed in a deep torrent, or fell from the rocks. It +played upon the whole gamut of sounds, just as life had played upon the +whole gamut of her emotions, and out of them made music, halting and +discordant, perhaps, at times, but always striving after more perfect +harmony. + +Barbara had real affection for the beck. When she and Lucy were +children, afraid of the dark, they used to lie awake at night, +shivering at the thought of the crags overhanging the house, but its +voice reassured them. The stream was a living thing, so free, and +light-hearted, and friendly. It never hid from the sun or the moon, it +gathered their light into its foam. Barbara used to call it the Milky +Way, and let it flow through her imagination like a galaxy of millions +upon millions of stars. And it was her and her sister's delight to fly +out of the house at the first peep of day, in the hot summer weather, +and bathe in the clear pools above the farm, bathe naked under the green +banks, with no eye but that of a distant shepherd to spy upon them. + +The beck was a true friend. It piped when they danced, leaped when they +sang, and mourned when they were sorrowful. To Barbara, as to her +great-grandmother, it told stories of the days of old. For it had seen +the midnight raids of the moss-troopers, had baffled the hounds when +they came on a man-hunt up the dale, and had, more than once, had its +clear waters stained with blood. But to-night it wakened more intimate +memories in Barbara's mind. + +She lay, soothed into drowsiness, while the events of her life passed +before her like pictures upon a screen, light and dark, monotonous, or +many-coloured, they came and went, and she looked at them as a painter +may look at the early work of his hands, and trace in it those ideas +which experience has since matured. She had not allowed herself to +meditate in this way for a long time. Some of her memories had still the +power to cast her weeping upon the ground. But now, whether lulled into +semi-consciousness by the beck, or subdued by the near approach of +death, she saw and handled, with unimpassioned feelings, that which had +been painted out of her heart's blood. It was as though she had been +lifted to a higher sphere, where the inner significance of life was +understood and where the crude pattern it had been worked into here, was +there transformed into a thing of perfect beauty. + +So the night wore away. The moon vanished, and rain came down with the +rushing sound of steady pouring. + +Barbara put more turf on the fire, stole across the floor, and stood +looking down upon the yellow, parchment-like face, lying high upon the +piled-up pillows. Then she went back to her couch. She had a feeling +to-night, which she could not explain to herself, that the tale of her +own days was written. Her life was becoming like the fly-leaf in a book, +which lies between the end of the story and the cover--a blank, white +page, where nothing more would be transcribed, no further adventure; +neither new phase of thought, nor struggle of flesh and spirit. The +excitements and turmoils were ended, the passions had been fought and, +when that page was turned, the book would be shut. Barbara's life had +been bound up with her great-grandmother's, and she could not imagine it +apart from her. So blank did it appear that she had not made any plans +for her future, when the masterful old woman should lie no longer in the +four-poster, but have exchanged it for a narrower, colder bed. + +Lucy had written to say that her sister must come and live with her, or, +if she would not consent to such a plan, come for a long visit. Barbara +knew that she would do neither; Peter would not expect her to, and he +would understand her refusal. He and Lucy were happy at their new home, +but she must never darken it. As she had lived, a lonely shepherd lass +upon the mountains, so she would continue to live, a lonelier woman, +finding solace among the stern grandeur of her native land. + +Worn out by her long watch, Barbara fell into a light sleep. She slept +as tranquilly as a child, and, for an hour or more, the deep breathing +of Mistress Lynn and her great-granddaughter was the only sound of life +in the room. + +Shadows moved about with the flickering firelight, and, when the candle +guttered to its socket, they came and stood round the bed, like +noiseless spirits, watching the figure there, which lay so still, that +it looked as if it had already sunk into the quiet composure of death. +Towards morning, in that cold hour before the dawn, Barbara was wakened +by a voice calling her. + +She flung off the sheepskin and came to the old woman's side. + +"Did you speak, great-granny?" she asked. + +"Aye; light the candle, Barbara." + +Mistress Lynn had raised herself on her elbow, and was looking round the +room with some of her former craftiness in her eyes. She noticed that +the shutters were not up, and bid the girl close them. + +"Come here, lass," she said. + +Barbara saw that she held the key of the bridewain, as though she were +afraid it might be snatched from her; she had never given up her habit +of hiding it in the bed. + +"Are we alone?" she asked. + +"Yes. Jess is asleep upstairs." + +"Who's yon sitting by the fire?" + +Barbara turned round with a start. + +"It's only the empty arm-chair, great-granny," she replied. + +"David Lynn died in that chair!" said the old woman. "I thought I saw +him just now warming his feet. He always had cold feet. 'David,' I used +to say to him, 'we'll never ken when you're dead, you that's already so +cold about the legs.'" + +"You've had a nice sleep, great-granny. Do you feel better?" + +"Better! I's well." She stretched out a lean hand, and drew the girl +nearer to her. "Someone's watching us from the corner," she whispered. + +"That's the clock." + +"Oh, aye, the clock, the moony-faced critter! Many's the time it's given +me the creeps. What time is it?" + +"Four." + +"Four in the morning! I hear a queer sound in the room, lass." + +"It's only the rain coming down and the beck running. There's been a +thaw through the night." + +"Ah, that's the reason I slept so long! I's been wondering for weeks +back what it was I missed. When I wakened whiles I thought I was dead, +the place felt so quiet-like." + +She listened with a smile on her drawn face. Then she asked once more if +they were alone. + +"Not a soul is near," Barbara reassured her. + +Mistress Lynn leaned over the edge of the bed, and tried to insert the +key in the lock of the bridewain. But she could not manage it, and fell +back. + +"Open it," she said. + +The girl took the key, and opened the cupboard. She knew what the old +woman wanted and, bringing out the money-bags, she laid them in her lap. + +The trembling hands closed over them, and for a while she lay and did +not speak. + +Barbara stood silently by, till a sudden suspicious look from the sunken +eyes made her move away to tidy up her own disordered couch. She shook +the rug, hung it over the back of the settle, and smoothed the cushion +upon which her head had lain. Then a call brought her back to the +four-poster. The old woman was plucking at the leather thongs to untie +them. + +Barbara was stirred at this strange action of the dying woman, whose +thoughts should have been elsewhere than lingering round the earthly +treasures which moth and rust corrupt. Yet the action did not surprise +her. For she could understand the heart, which would cling to its idol +to the end. She had inherited the same intensity of character. And to +save herself from becoming worse than a miser gloating over his gold, +she had had to cut off her right hand, and pluck out her right eye. For +a lawless heart was worse than a gluttonous one, however gorgeously it +might array itself in the garments of love. + +Barbara untied the bags, which the useless old fingers were fumbling at, +and poured out their contents upon the bed, where they lay--a heap of +silver and gold coins, glistening in the light of the candle. + +Mistress Lynn handled the pile lingeringly, loath to let a coin go when +she had grasped it, and she seemed to draw energy out of its cold touch. + +"Count it," she said, "but count it slow, so that I can follow you. It's +a bonny sight, a bonny sight, lass, and worth an old woman's gathering, +eh? It shall be yours some day, yours and Lucy's. You'll divide it +equally, Barbara, between yourself and Lucy when I'm gone. Joel Hart +doesn't need his share now. I never loved Lucy much; still, she's blood +of my blood, and bone of my bone. I'll deal fair by her. How much was +that, Barbara? One hundred pounds! One hundred pounds! Put it in this +bag and tie it up tightly." + +Barbara counted the money. She was not able to repress a feeling of +regret when she thought of the difference it would have made to her +sister's life and her own, if it had been used, instead of hoarded up in +the bridewain, and only taken out at night for a bedridden old woman to +gloat over. Now Lucy did not want it, and Barbara had no desire to +possess more than her needs demanded. + +The tinkle of the coins was heard in the kitchen for some time. When +they were all counted they were restored to their bags, and put away. +The bridewain was locked, and Mistress Lynn again hid the key in the bed +beside her. + +"You'll find it when I's gone, Barbara," she said, and, with a satisfied +smile, shut her eyes. The exertion had tired her, but her mind was at +rest, for she was dying a rich woman. + +It was nearly dawn, and, though it was wet and cold, there was a feeling +of spring in the air. The uplands were still white with snow, but it had +begun to vanish from the dale, and green grass showed here and there, a +welcome sight after the weary weeks of winter. A few venturesome birds +sang in the copse. + +Jess came stealing into the kitchen, wondering if death had yet snatched +away the imperious spirit from its withered body. But Mistress Lynn was +asleep or unconscious, Barbara was not sure which. So the work of the +day begun, which must continue, come life or death. The cows were +milked, the fowls fed, and the hinds went out to look after the sheep. + +But Barbara did not leave the kitchen. + +The grey day passed monotonously. The song of the beck grew louder, as +it was fed by the melting snows, and the cliffs behind the house ran +with water. Rain poured steadily down, washing bare the fells, and +streaking them with thin white lines, where the waking cataracts began +to leap. Barbara brought a chair to the bedside, and sat down, her hands +clasped idly on her knee. Mistress Lynn did not stir. + +Barbara was alone at Greystones. Jess had gone to the village, but the +girl was not afraid, although she was becoming conscious of another +presence there. The personality of the old house awoke, and took form. +She had often seen it before, a gaunt, grim figure--older far than the +great-grandmother--whose eyes were haunted by memories, whose features +were stricken by sorrow, whose cheeks were lined with the marks of a +wild yet lonely life. Such was the grey spirit of Greystones. This +afternoon it seemed to rise out of the flags at her feet, and stand +waiting, waiting as it had waited again and again through the centuries +while a Lynn died. + +From each soul that passed under its roof it took the memories, the +tragedies, the passions, and made them its own. There was no sorrow +known to human beings that it had not suffered, no joy it had not +tasted, but it tasted sparingly, for joy was not the common lot of those +who slept in its shelter. No Lynn was a stranger to it or unconscious of +its reality; it lived with each one intimately, was present at both bed +and board, and linked the generations together with its worn hands, +giving to the new the blessing or curse of the old. + +Some had fled from it, afraid as of a ghost. Lucy had been afraid. +Others, like Barbara, might shiver in its shadow, yet felt for it +something which they could not justify, nor explain. But the ghost of +Greystones--call it what you will--was not immortal. It must die with +the fabric that was its body, and already there were signs that that +body was sinking into ruin. Barbara thought of the doom which had been +spoken over it long ago, spoken, no one knew by whom, but perhaps by a +Lynn, who had feared its personality, that some day it would fall, and +then would end the race of strenuous souls, who had inhabited it for +three hundred years. + +Thus these two--Barbara and the old house--watched and waited while the +spirit of the great-grandmother struggled to be free, and leave for ever +the place it had known for generations, which it had upheld by its own +force of will, because it was determined to live there to the end. +Otherwise, Greystones would have been deserted long ago, have become the +home of bats and owls, till the fall of its roof-tree buried all its +memories in a ruinous heap. + +The day was drawing to its close, the fire had died down, and the room +was dim. Dim looked the clock, dim the empty arm-chair, and the +four-poster was already vanishing into night. Barbara heard a rattle on +the roof, but did not heed it. She thought that the weather had changed +again, and hail was falling instead of rain. The short shower died away +as abruptly as it had begun. + +The girl stood looking down at her great-grandmother with tears in her +eyes. The loneliness of her own lot suddenly appalled her. Soon she +would be left solitary in a vast, overwhelming world, with the dominant +factor gone from her life, and all the ties which bound her to her +fellows broken. For what had she in common with any woman in the dale +but her sex? And what had she in common with the men but her height and +strength? They did not understand her. The only soul which had been able +to enter into her mind was slowly vanishing away from her sight. + +Mixed up with her thoughts and her grief was the consciousness of a +louder hail on the roof. Then earth and stones poured down the chimney, +and she ran to the door. + +A fear, which she had not time to put into words, got hold of her. She +thought of the crags behind the house. The winter had been severe; for +weeks the ground had been held in the grip of an iron frost, and, now +that the thaw had come, there was likely to be some landslips in the +neighbourhood. When she opened the door, she saw the hind running down +the opposite fellside, waving his arms to her, but she could not hear +what he was shouting for the growling, crackling noises overhead. Then a +rock crashed past the house and plunged into the beck. + +Barbara ran into the garden and looked up. A sound like distant thunder +began to roll. She saw, as it were, the whole mountain move. Horror, for +a moment, robbed her of understanding, but she recovered herself. The +vast mass of Mickle Crags was heaving, and splitting apart, sending +before it showers of stones and soil, while around stood the grey +hills, looking on with calm features. She must flee if she would save +her life. But she could not flee, for her great-grandmother was still +living. + +She went back to the house, knowing that she was going to destruction. +Fear did not rob her step of its firmness, nor her eyes of their steady +glow. In a few seconds more, she, and the old woman, and the older +house, would go down to a common grave. They who had dwelt together so +long could not be separated in death. She bent over her +great-grandmother and slipped her arm under the worn head. + +The crash and tumble of falling rocks roused Mistress Lynn. She opened +her eyes and smiled. + +"Thee's a good lass, Barbara," she said. + +And thus they died. + + + + +EPILOGUE + + +In the kirk-garth of High Fold, among the mouldering head-stones, there +lies, half hidden by the matted grasses, a fallen pillar. + +It is hewn out of native granite, polished to so fine a grain that even +yet it looks like a piece of marble. But it has lain there for many +years, and will continue to lie, unless some kindly soul, knowing its +history, sets it again upon its pedestal, to defy the storms of that +wild region. + +The church is rarely used now, for the village has sunk into ruins. +Among the roofless cottages the stonechats may be seen flitting in and +out all through the long spring and summer days, and they build their +nests in the whin-bushes that grow in the old house-places. The sheep +come there to crop the grass, for it has a greener tinge, and tastes +sweeter than that but a few steps away on the fellside; and a great grey +mountain fox once made its home in a chimney. But the Brownriggs, the +Yewdales, the Idles, the Flemings--those worthy families who had lived +there for many grandfathers back, as they used to say, are all gone from +the old homesteads, allured by that will-o'-the-wisp which shines so +brightly and persistently in the streets of our great cities, and yet +rarely brings the traveller to anything better than the peat-pots, and +marsh mosses of Quaking Hag. + +The change had come quickly, within two generations. It came with the +power loom and the whirling of wheels, with the dying down of the old +industries, and the introduction of the new, which screamed out, like a +mad midwife, that they were bringing in the Golden Age. + +Forty years ago, smoke could still be seen issuing from the chimneys of +High Fold. The old folk left behind, used to meet at the well of a +summer's morning, and gossip about the days gone by. At that time the +pillar was still standing in the kirk-garth--a tall, finely-formed +column resting upon a Greek pedestal, but broken off roughly across the +top to show that it commemorated a life untimely ended. Travellers +rarely came that way, but those who did would stop to read the words +engraved upon it, and enquire further about Barbara Lynn, and ask who +Peter and Lucy Fleming were, that had raised the monument to her memory. + +Now moss, and the action of the weather, have partly obliterated the +lettering, yet a careful hand and a sharp eye may still lay it bare. +Kneeling on the grass beside it you can read this inscription: + + "Barbara Lynn died with her great-grandmother at the fall of Mickle + Crags in Boar Dale. Their bodies lie buried in the Great Barrow + erected over them by Nature; their souls are free and immortal." + +Then follow the date and their ages. Barbara was only twenty-six; her +great-grandmother was one hundred years old. Below that, Peter had +caused to be engraved these words: + + "Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail, + Or knock the breast; no weakness, no contempt, + Dispraise or blame, nothing but well and fair + And what may quiet us in a death so noble." + +Often the traveller heard enough of the story to fire his mind, and he +would go some little way out of his path to visit the scene of the +disaster, and meditate by the Great Barrow that covered the bodies of +Annas and Barbara Lynn, and hid the old house of Greystones under +thousands of tons of earth and rocks. No attempt has ever been made to +clear it away, the landslip had been complete and overwhelming, and even +the tale of treasure buried there roused no ephemeral hopes in the minds +of covetous persons. + +This part of the dale is greatly changed since Barbara's day. Above the +landslip the beck has widened out into a small lake, from which it +issues in a leaping cataract, that plunges down a hundred feet into a +deep pool below. This waterfall, whose thunder can be heard in Cringel +Forest, has since received the name of the Lynn's Force. The copse has +disappeared, not a tree now grows in the dale, save the twisted hollies, +which Barbara used to clip for winter fodder for the sheep. But, if you +stand on the top of the Great Barrow, you can get a more extensive view +of Cringel Forest than was possible in the old days. The rising sun no +longer lights up the windows of Forest Hall; for it, too, has crumbled +before the hand of time, and stands, now a gaunt ruin, open to the winds +and rains. But the beech trees still spread a sweet shade over the cart +road, though every winter their ranks are thinned by the storms. + +Joel Hart came home to his old house shortly before his death. He had +grown rich, and returned to leave his wealth to found an orphanage for +fatherless children in his native land. He had never married and, in his +will, gave instructions that he was to be buried in a deal coffin, no +mourners were to follow it, no stone was to be erected over his grave, +but it was to be made level with the ground. So, although it is well +known that he lies in the kirk-garth, there is no trace of his +resting-place. + +The story of Barbara Lynn's life, outwardly so uneventful, but inwardly +so full of passion, is still a tale often told by the winter fire in the +lonely farmhouses and shepherds' cots of her own land. It has gained in +incident with its passage down the century; many things that she did not +do are reported of her; yet, although she thought she was not understood +by her fellows, so significant and full of meaning are these additions, +that her character lives again for those who have a meditative mind, a +comprehending soul, and a tender heart. + +Often--so it is said--the figure of a tall woman, with golden hair and +blue eyes, has been seen on the hills by solitary watchers. She comes +and goes with a wind in her skirts, and a lark singing over her head. +These apparitions never bring trouble or sickness to the countryside, +but sweet summer weather, an increase to the flocks, and abundance to +the harvest. + +For many years after her death Peter Fleming came to High Fold, spent a +few days there, and then went away again. He lived in London and was +happy, well-off, and full of honours. Sometimes alone, and sometimes +with the little old man Timothy Hadwin, he visited the Great Barrow. +There, with heads uncovered, the two men who loved her best talked in +low tones, or talked not at all. Once Lucy accompanied them, but she +could not restrain her grief, and after that she let her husband go +alone, while she remained behind contentedly with her children, keeping +his home merry and bright against his return. + +As time passed she came to understand Peter better, and even got an +inkling of the nature of his love for her sister. But upon that subject +her lips remained for ever sealed. She had everything in her life to +make her happy, and she was happy. Peter and she had memories, hopes, +and sorrows which no one else shared, and so they were drawn nearer +together, till the tie of husband and wife was as close as it could be, +and held as sacredly. So the lives of all these men and women faded +away. + +If ever you go to the dales and fells, reader, spare a day to visit Boar +Dale, stand by Barbara Lynn's Great Barrow, and think of her. You will +hear the thunder of the force beside you, and see a buzzard floating in +the blue. Look at the same grey fells, whose immobile features saw the +death of one of the grandest souls that ever lived. Above all, look up +to Thundergay, to Barbara's rugged nurse, friend and teacher, who helped +her to be strong when she might have been weak. If you go at night you +will see the Northern Crown shine, and you will remember that she wore +her crown and wore it royally, though it bowed her head to sorrow and to +death. + +But Barbara is not dead; the good and the great never die. As Timothy +Hadwin said to Peter the last time that he came to Boar Dale: + +"Her spirit is here, in the wind, in the song of the beck, in the blades +of grass. But most of all, she is here in our hearts, in your heart and +mine, living in them, communing with them more closely than she did in +life. The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and there shall +no torment touch them." + + +THE END + + * * * * * + + + + +_By the same Author_ + +THE SOUL OF UNREST + +By EMILY JENKINSON + + +_PALL MALL GAZETTE_ + +"There is a fine quality in this story, and as rare as it is fine, the +magic of the natural and of the spiritual worlds." + +_THE TIMES_ + +"'Inis Glora and Angel Meadow! These were the teachers who were the +making of Bride Kilbride a splendid soul'--Inis Glora, the wild island +in the North Sea where Bride (or Bridget) grew up in the ruined castle +of the Macdonalds; and Angel Meadow, the overcrowded slums of a +provincial city crushed by a hungry winter and seething with social +unrest, which stirred her to service and love. Homes both of them of +dream for an imaginative nature; and the two worlds, so far apart yet +linked so closely by human ties, shine with the glow of enthusiasm and +of striving and suffering humanity through the pages of this finely +imaginative novel." + +_GLOBE_ + +"A remarkable and highly imaginative novel." + +_MANCHESTER COURIER_ + +"It is, indeed, a fine novel which betokens nothing of a skimpy nature +either in conception or relation." + +_DAILY NEWS_ + +"Characters touched with glow and wonder, seances that are always +informed with a sort of symbolism, give Miss Jenkinson's second novel an +imaginative power that lifts it well above the ordinary sort of fiction. +Her book has the rather unusual quality of beauty that never gushes into +rhapsody." + + * * * * * + + + + +Mr. EDWARD ARNOLD'S Latest Novels + + +SOMETHING AFAR + +By MAXWELL GRAY, Author of "The Silence of Dean Maitland." Second +Impression. + +_TATLER._--"'Something Afar' is, from the readable point of view, as +good a story as any which has been published this season. Personally I +don't think that Maxwell Gray has given us anything so good since 'The +Silence of Dean Maitland.'" + + +THE GENTLE LOVER + +By FORREST REID, Author of "The Bracknels." + +_SPECTATOR._--"A delightful comedy of middle age. Mr. Forrest Reid never +strikes a jarring note; his style is always delicately attuned to the +scene or the mood of the speaker, and we part reluctantly from the +companionship of the pleasant people whom he has set before us with such +convincing yet unaffected art." + + +THE VILLAGE IN THE JUNGLE. + +By LEONARD WOOLF. Second Edition. + +"The Village in the Jungle" is a story which gives a vivid and realistic +picture of life in a remote jungle village in Ceylon. The author was in +the Ceylon Civil Service. + +_MORNING POST._--"It is an admirable piece of work, which calls for +unqualified praise. We have met here with a new type of humanity drawn +from life, and we at once respect and pity it." + + +TINKER'S HOLLOW + +By Mrs. F. E. CRICHTON, Author of "The Soundless Tide," etc. Second +Impression. + +_MORNING POST._--"Mrs. Crichton is to be warmly congratulated on the +appearance of this truthful and entrancing story of Ulster village +life." + +_BRITISH WEEKLY._--"This is a most vital book, and full of the true +Ulster atmosphere. Mrs. Crichton moves us sometimes to laughter and +sometimes to tears. The plot is a good one and well carried through, but +the novel excels in its records of the talk of Ulster men and women." + + +BRIDE ELECT. By A. M. CHAMPNEYS. + +_SPECTATOR._--"The book has passion, eloquence, and intensity. It is +full of vivid moments." + +_MORNING POST._--"'Bride Elect' is excellent reading." + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Barbara Lynn, by Emily J. Jenkinson + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41422 *** |