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diff --git a/48813.txt b/48813.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..360d5aa --- /dev/null +++ b/48813.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15535 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Black Diamond, by F. Brett Young + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: The Black Diamond + + +Author: F. Brett Young + + + +Release Date: April 27, 2015 [eBook #48813] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLACK DIAMOND*** + + +credit + + + +This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler + + + + + + THE + BLACK DIAMOND + + + _by_ + + FRANCIS BRETT YOUNG + + * * * * * + + [Picture: Logo] + + LONDON AND GLASGOW + COLLINS' CLEAR-TYPE PRESS + + * * * * * + + Copyright + +First Impression February, 1921 +Second ,, March, 1921 +Third ,, March, 1922 +Fourth ,, April, 1922 +Fifth ,, May, 1922 +Sixth ,, September, 1922 + + * * * * * + + _Manufactured in Great Britain_ + + * * * * * + + TO + M. COMPTON MACKENZIE + GRATEFULLY : AFFECTIONATELY + + * * * * * + + + + +The First Chapter + + +ABNER FELLOWS was born in the front bedroom of Number Eleven Hackett's +Cottages, a four-roomed house of old brickwork that stood in the middle +of a row of twenty-one, set diagonally across a patch of waste land on +the outskirts of Halesby. The terrace was fifty years old, and looked +older, for the smoke and coal dust of the neighbouring pits had corroded +the surface of the bricks, while the 'crowning in' of the earth's crust +above the gigantic burrowings of the Great Mawne Colliery had loosened +the mortar between them and even produced a series of long cracks that +clove the house-walls from top to bottom like conventional forked +lightning. One of these lines of cleavage split the face of Number +Eleven and ran through the middle of a plaster plaque on which the pious +owner of the cottages had carved the words:-- + + _ISAIAH HACKETT_: + _GLORY BE TO GOD_, _1839_. + +This plaque, together with the metal medallion of a fire insurance +corporation and two iron bosses connected with the system of stays by +which Mr Hackett's descendants had tried to save their property from +collapsing, made the Fellows's house the most decorative feature of the +row, and gave Abner a feeling of enviable distinction in his childhood +long before he knew what they meant. + +His father, John Fellows, like the rest of the tenants, was a miner. He +had chosen to live in Hackett's Cottages because they lay nearer to the +colliery than any other buildings in Halesby and were within a reasonable +distance of the cross-roads where stood his favourite public-house, the +Lyttleton Arms. Hackett's Cottages, in fact, hung poised, as it were, +between two magnetic poles: the pit where the money was earned and the +pub where it was spent. To remain there contented would have implied a +nice equilibrium, had it not been that eastward of the cross-roads and +the Lyttleton Arms ran the Stourton Road, with houses on both sides of +it, and amongst them the Lord Nelson, the Greyhound, and the Royal Oak. +Next to the Royal Oak came the entrance of the Mawne United football +ground, and since John Fellows's passion for football was only exceeded +by his devotion to 'four-penny,' the pull of the colliery was hopelessly +overbalanced by these delights. + +At the side of the Royal Oak, on Saturday afternoons, the entrance to the +football ground swarmed with black coats; and the crowd of small boys, of +whom Abner made one, peering through cracks in the match-board palings +could see nothing but the backs of other black coats, or perhaps, above +the tilted heads of the spectators, the sphere of a football leaping +gaily into the dreary gray that passes for heaven in a black-country +winter. It cost threepence (ladies and children half-price) to enter the +football ground, and since John Fellows never wasted the price of a pint +on any one but himself, Abner had to be content with an occasional sight +of the football soaring above this or that quarter of the field of play +and with the hoarse waves of encouragement or derision that went up from +the crowd inside. + +Later, in the happy days before his father's second marriage and the +second family, John Fellows used to take the boy along with him to the +football field on Saturday afternoons, or rather Abner would trail behind +him as far as the gate and then pass through the turnstile in front of +him, wedged between his father's trousers and those of the man in front, +breathing perpetually the acrid smell of oily coal-dust which he accepted +as the natural odour of humanity. Whenever he could get himself washed +in time John Fellows made a point of going early to the ground so that he +might place himself in his favourite position, immediately behind the +nearer goal-posts, so close to the net that he could talk with George +Harper, the Mawne United goalkeeper, who, before this translation, had +been a collier working in the same shift as himself, or under-mine the +self-possession of the visiting 'custodian' with jeers and abuse. + +Even at these close quarters, where Abner felt the pressure of his +father's protecting legs and heard him spitting into the net over his +head, there was no conversation between them. John Fellows kept his +speech for his mates, for George Harper, or, on occasion, for the +referee; but at half-time, when most of the players ran in to the +pavilion and the ball was free, he would give Abner a poke in the back +and his neighbours a wink, and the lad would slip under the wire roping +and plunge into the _melee_ of boys who were scrambling for its +possession. Once Abner had dribbled the ball away from the others and +sent a shot at the goal which George Harper, who had stayed behind +talking, moved mechanically to stop, and missed; a ripple of laughter had +spread round the field, and when Abner ran back under the ropes with his +face flaming, his father pulled him in by the ear and said with his clay +pipe between his teeth: 'Damn' little blood-worm yo' are! Bain't he, +George?' And George Harper, staring down at him with his big, melancholy +eyes, said, 'Ah . . .' + +Next day, as a reward for his prowess, John Fellows took Abner with him +on his afternoon walk, past the cherry orchard, past the stationary cages +at the pithead and the silent engine-house of the Great Mawne Colliery, +down between the smoking spoil-banks to the bridge over the Stour which +separates the two counties of Worcester and Stafford, in either of which +the police of the other are providentially powerless. Here, on a cinder +pathway shaded by the sooty chestnuts of Mawne Hall, there was racing +between the limber fawn-skinned whippets that the miners fancy: timid, +quivering creatures, with their slim waists bound in flannel jackets like +frail women in their stays. It was thrilling to watch them slip from the +leash, race with their pointed heads converging, and roll over at the +finish in a cloud of cinder-dust. + +On that Sunday the police of Staffordshire were quiescent. George Harper +was there, his massive thighs bulging striped cashmere trousers. There +was joking between George and Abner's father about the goal that the boy +had kicked. John Fellows won five shillings on a dog called Daisy, and +Abner trailed home behind him at six o'clock, when the steam in the +engine-house was beginning to hiss from its exhaust in preparation for +Monday's work. John Fellows retired to the Lyttleton Arms with his five +shillings and spent a dozen more, while Abner went home, too tired to +play and clammed for his tea. It surprised him to find number eleven +locked up, though he ought to have remembered that before they went out +dog-racing his father had left the key with Mrs Moseley, who did the +housework, and cooked their dinner; but when he walked round to Mrs +Moseley's he found that she had gone to church and forgotten to take the +key out of her pocket. He tramped back home again and fell asleep on the +doorstep. + +In later years, when the conflict with his father began, he always +remembered these untroubled days with regrets: the Saturday football +matches; the Sunday whippet-racing and terrier-fighting, together with +certain afternoon walks along the tow-path of the canal, where the bodies +of puppies that were old enough to be taxed floated into beds of +loose-strife and willow-weed, and jack-bannocks hung swimming in shoals +through the yellow water. In all these memories John Fellows was a +benignant figure; and this one would hardly have guessed, for John +Fellows was not prepossessing. He was a short man with a low-set head +and an immense shoulder-girdle. His eyes were small and lost in deep +orbits, so that when his face was ingrained with carbon the white of the +sclerotics was intensified in a way that made them seem grudging and +malignant. Walking home in his pit clothes, bow-legged and with the +dazed and hampered gait which is the mark of men who labour underground, +he always looked as if he had been drinking. Generally he _had_ been +drinking, but at his soberest he was an ugly customer, and the blue +enamelled tin pot in which he carried his tea struck one as a dangerous +weapon. + +Poverty their household never knew. John Fellows could reckon on picking +up his three pounds a week, and spent every penny of it. There was +always meat in the house, and Mrs Moseley knew better than to serve him +with food that was not freshly cooked. In his way he was an epicure. +Although the Lyttleton Arms was the nearest public-house, Abner would +often be sent out with a jug to fetch his father's supper beer from the +Greyhound, or even from the Royal Oak, next the football ground, where +they kept Astill's Guaranteed Old Stingo. John Fellows had no use for +bottled beer. Bottled belly-ache, he called it. He rarely smoked a +pipe, for lights were forbidden in the pit, and the habit of chewing +plug-tobacco had made him prefer his nicotine neat. + +He was shaved once a week, on Saturday nights, and upon this function +depended another of Abner's special joys: the privilege of going with him +to the barber's shop, a low, boarded room heated by gas-jets and the +breath of expectant, expectorant men. Here, wedged upon a bench at his +father's side, he would read the comic papers that Mr Evans provided for +his customers. Some were printed on pink paper and some on green; and +while Abner absorbed the adventures of two alliterative tramps, he would +hear the sing-song of Mr Evans, a Welshman from some remote Radnorshire +village, as he talked to the victim of his razor and the other waiting +customers. Mr Evans was a great authority on local football, and +subscribed to a news-agency that sent him a sheet of half-time and final +scores long before the evening edition of the _North Bromwich Argus_ +arrived. His knowledge of football politics and personalities was all +the more remarkable because Saturday was his busiest day, and for that +reason he could never see a game of football played. Abner envied him +this abstract knowledge of the game; but more than Mr Evans he envied a +small boy with pink face and plastered hair who, wearing a long white +jacket, lathered the customers' chins, and when Mr Evans had scraped +them, sprayed their faces with bay-rum. At last, with dramatic +suddenness, this entertainment was withdrawn. John Fellows developed a +rash on his chin which Mr Ingleby, the chemist, declared to be barber's +itch, and Mr Evans became the object of his most particular hatred. + +'That bloody Welshman!' said John Fellows. 'I reckon shaving's a dirty +business.' + +And so he grew a beard . . . but he wouldn't let that Evans trim it, not +he! + +All Abner's early pleasures were in some way or other related to his +father. It was natural that John Fellows should take a pride in his only +child. He didn't talk to him much--a man who chews tobacco has better +work for his jaws than talking--but he was sometimes amused by his +company and proud of his sturdiness and capacity for mischief. He +rejoiced that his son was a 'bloodworm' much in the same way as his mates +rejoiced that their terriers were good fighters. He liked him to be +hard, and boasted that Abner could take the strap (as he called it) +without yelling. Indeed there was something to boast about in this, for +the miner chastened his son with a brown leather belt which, as the +buckle witnessed, had once belonged to a member of the South +Staffordshire Regiment. This belt, he sometimes affirmed, had been all +round the world before it came into his possession; but Abner was too +well acquainted with its other qualities to pursue the history of this. + +In spite of his weekly lickings Abner's life was generally happy. He had +no cares for the future. He knew that when his schooling was over he +would be sent to work at the pit. He wouldn't be sorry for that, for it +seemed to him quite natural to work underground, to earn big money and +spend it freely. When that day came he felt that he and his father would +be able to drink together on equal terms. By the time that he was +fourteen he was already taller than John Fellows, and meant to grow a lot +taller still. He was going to be strong and to learn boxing: perhaps, in +a few years' time, he would be able to strip and fight in one of the +boxing-booths at the wakes: perhaps, in stripes of chocolate and yellow, +he might even play football for Mawne United and talk like a brother with +the great George Harper. + +In this manly, indefinite future, women had no place. He had never had a +sister; as far as he remembered he had never had a mother; and so he +followed the example of his father whose domineering attitude towards the +widow, Mrs Moseley, was beyond any doubt correct, while Mrs Moseley, who +had her living to make, accepted it without protest, as a woman should +do. Towards girls themselves Abner felt no positive hostility, though he +passed them in the street as a well-mannered dog passes cats, with a +solid appreciation of their potential evil; but for members of his own +sex who dallied with emasculating tendernesses he and the boys with whom +he played were full of scorn and even of active malice. The worst libel +that any of his companions could suffer was a chalk inscription on his +own back door of the words: 'Tommy So-and-so goes with Cissy +Something-else.' + +Abner and his friends even went so far as to pester these votaries of +passion in their own most sheltered haunts. Above the pithead of the +Great Mawne Colliery runs a lane skirting the ancient cherry orchard of +Old Mawne Hall. It is short: at the end of it the pit-mound stands up +black, and over beyond the Stour valley a desert of blackness stretches +westward, with smoke-stacks thronging thick as masts of shipping in a +harbour. Over its hedges, in the dusk, light clouds of cherry-blossom +may be seen, but even before the wind has tumbled the petals down they +are blackened by smuts from the colliery chimney. This lane, indeed, was +a decorous walking place where one might hear a patter of moving feet and +low laughter on any evening in May; but lower down the slope, past the +colliery, it turned into another, shadowed with hot-smelling elder, +stunted hawthorns and oak-apple trees, which had a darker reputation. +Dipping down over the hillside this lane climbs back upon itself and +opens out again into the orchard road. This loop, which is called in +Halesby the 'Dark Half-hour,' was the favourite hunting ground for Abner +and his friends. Carrying the smelly dark-lanterns that are sold on Guy +Fawkes' day, they would creep as quietly as possible under the shadows of +the trees, selecting at a signalled moment some unfortunate couple locked +in each other's arms whom they might shame with their lights. Often they +got their heads smacked, but this only served to reinforce their opinion +that lovemaking which shrank from publicity was discreditable. + +One evening in summer when Abner was fourteen he took part in one of +these expeditions. The day had been hot. His father had promised him +that he would make him a kite in the evening. The split lath lay ready +on the table with a roll of blue paper. Mrs Moseley had boiled some +paste, and Abner had borrowed enough string and folded newspaper to make +a tail. As the heat of the afternoon declined a gusty wind began to blow +from the west, filling the street with dust and scraps of paper. At six +o'clock John Fellows came back from the pit. The dust had blown into his +eyes, that were never very strong. Tears and sweat together were +tracking down through the grime on his cheeks. He seemed to have +forgotten all about Abner's kite. + +'What's that?' he cried, irritably. 'Can't yo' give us a moment's peace? +Wait till I've swilled!' + +He had his swill in the brewhouse, filling a tin bath with black +soap-suds. The kite had become a grievance. 'Nattering away . . .' he +muttered, with his head in a roller towel, 'werriting about kites on a +day that would make a pig sweat blood!' + +Abner, who knew his father, got away without any further discussion, +leaving Mrs Moseley to soothe him. He went out and played cricket in the +sloping field above the pit where the ponies that have worked so long +underground that they are blind are put out to green grass and to a white +mockery that they get to know as daylight. When the boys came down to +play, these shaggy creatures stood huddled in a corner and edged against +one another, rubbing the coal-dust out of their matted coats. If they +strayed over the field of play Abner and his friends pelted them with +pieces of slag from the cinder heap behind the wickets. They also threw +slag at a group of little girls who dared to look at them over the broken +hedge. When the light faded so much that they could no longer see to +play, and the beam-engine in the power-house ceased to grunt, the boys +all lay down talking in the hedgerow, and the ponies wandered back to +pull at the grass on either side of the pitch. At last Abner, who was +the leader of the set, because he was the strongest, said: 'Let's go down +the Dark Half-hour and scare some of 'em.' + +On such a clammy evening there were certain to be many lovers. One of +the boys produced a halfpenny packet of red Bengal-lights. Abner +snatched them from him, left him crying, and with three others ran down +to the mouth of the lane. In the hedge-side couples stirred uneasily. +The tunnel under the elders was full of a hot odour of dust and nettles +and some kind of mint. They crept forward through the darkness in Indian +file. 'Let's try this one, kid,' whispered a boy named Hodgetts, 'him +over there up agen' the tree. 'Ere, where's the bloody box?' + +'There's somebody coming,' whispered a woman's voice. + +They struck three lights together. The tunnel glowed like a furnace. +Against the trunk of a tree a short man was leaning with a pale young +woman clutched in his arms. Abner saw that it was his father. He +dropped his match and ran. + +The boy Hodgetts came panting behind him. He was shouting: 'Kid . . . +kid . . . did yo' see who he were? It were your gaffer!' Abner turned +and swiped at him viciously as he ran. Joe Hodgetts crumpled up in the +hedge howling. Abner went on blindly into the Cherry Orchard Road. His +heart thudded in his throat like a water-hammer. He didn't know where he +was. He only knew that he was crying and that he had broken his knuckles +on Joe Hodgett's skull. He rubbed them in the black dust of the roadway, +and that stopped the bleeding. But nothing, it seemed, could stop his +tears. + + + + +The Second Chapter + + +WHEN he reached home, half an hour later, he was ashamed of himself. It +didn't matter to him what his father did. He only hoped that John +Fellows hadn't recognised him, for that would make him sure of a belting. +Still, he was glad that he had given Joe Hodgetts what for. He wasn't +going to have a fellow of his own age laughing at his father even if his +father had let him down by making a fool of himself. + +A year later John Fellows was married. In spite of Abner's scorn the +proceeding was natural enough. The man was under forty, and had been a +widower for more than fourteen years. The new wife, the woman of the +tunnel, was a girl named Alice Higgins, the elder daughter of an old +friend of Fellows, the timekeeper at the colliery, who had lost his left +leg many years ago in a crushing fall of coal. She was tall, slight, +with a fair complexion and honey-coloured hair: in every physical +particular the opposite of her swart and stubby husband. If such a thing +had to be, Abner would have preferred the maturer charms of Mrs Moseley, +whom he knew so well and liked, to those of any stranger. Indeed, from +the day of his father's marriage onward his life became more complicated. + +The very presence in the house of this new inmate, a woman wielding +authority, whom he remembered only a little time ago as a girl with a +pigtail down her back, made him awkward. His father had never even +mentioned their meeting in the lane--probably he had not recognised +Abner, but the boy was certain that Alice had seen him and remembered. +The consciousness of this mystery that they shared only aggravated the +distrust and shyness that separated them: a shyness which Alice herself +honestly tried to overcome by little overtures of affection. She was +quite determined, in her quiet way, that she wasn't going to be like the +stepmothers of tradition. She would try to be a real mother to Abner. +But how did real mothers feel? + +'Why don't you call me mother, like other boys would, Abner?' she said +one day, coaxingly. Abner only laughed. She hated him for laughing at +her. A boy of his age! + +But the real trouble did not begin till a year later when the first baby +of the new family was coming. It was a bad time for all of them. John +Fellows, after fifteen years of a widower's life, had forgotten anything +that he had ever learnt in the way of matrimonial tactics. He wasn't any +longer a young man, and his nature had inevitably stiffened. Besides, +the coming of this child was not like the adventure of Abner's birth, +when he and his first wife had been two tender young people rather +overwhelmed by the responsibilities of marriage. Alice became more +conscious than ever of the gap of years that separated them, the distance +which had always been implicit in her idea of her father's friend, 'Mr +Fellows.' With her it could never be naturally 'John.' And now that she +wanted somebody to take hold of her and share her fears she found herself +face to face with an elderly stranger. She was frightened at the thought +of being so utterly alone. Abner, a member of her own generation, and +the son of her baby's father, was a symbol of the whole disastrous +circumstance. + +In spite of all her good resolutions she couldn't help letting off a +little of her unhappiness on him. It was against her will that she did +so. Sometimes she cried with vexation at her own irritability and +resolved to overcome it. Then, as the months dragged on, she began to +wonder if it were worth while tiring herself out with good resolutions or +anything else in the world. She found herself becoming wilfully vixenish +with her husband. That didn't matter, for she seldom saw him; but a +little later a new emotion, stronger and more positively devastating than +any that she had known before, seized her. It was a thing that she +couldn't understand. She felt as if some strange, dark spirit had +invaded and perverted her consciousness, making her think madly and not +in the least as she wanted to think, filling her with a mixture of hate +and jealousy towards Abner. This passion would not let her be. However +tired and jaded she were the fiend was ready to tear her. She could not +see the boy without hating him. She felt just like a cat with kittens, +who spits at the kittens of another cat. + +She had plenty of opportunities for showing her hatred. Abner was now +fifteen. His schooling was finished, and he had begun to work at the +colliery, leading the ponies that drag trollies of coal along the +galleries of the pit. He found it quite good fun. The pony of which he +had charge was very old and quite blind, for it had worked in Mawne pit +since before Abner was born. He found it slower than a pony should be +and spent the first Sunday after he had started work in searching Uffdown +Wood for an ash-plant with which he might induce the pony to go faster. +When he had found one he fitted a pin in the end of it. + +A few minutes after six every evening the cage would come clanking up to +the pit-head, and before it settled with a jerk, Abner, black with +coal-grime, would shoot out like a hare and go whistling home to his tea. +He whistled because there was always a curious lightening of his heart at +the change from the murk of the pit to daylight. It was spring when he +started work. Every evening as he passed the cherry orchard he heard the +whistle of a blackbird poised on the topmost bough of one of the foamy +trees. He wondered exuberantly if he could find its nest some day. He +even collected a couple of pebbles to put in the place of eggs. But when +he got home there was no Mrs Moseley, waiting with a 'piece' ready +buttered and a cup of steaming tea--only Alice, dragging about the +kitchen, greeting him with jealous eyes. + +'Abner, you dirty little beast,' she would say, 'don't you dare soil that +table now. Mind your filthy hands! It's summat to have your father, let +alone yo'. Here, that's your father's towel. Loose it quick!' + +None of this was very serious, but it made a great difference to Abner. +He was continually being shocked to find that small details in the +arrangement of the house, such as the position of a chair which had +always been his favourite, were being altered from day to day. Alice had +a fever for making freakish variations in the kitchen furniture. She +couldn't be happy to see things in the same place for two days running. +She was never satisfied, making alterations, as it seemed, simply for the +sake of finding fresh work to do, yet always working under protest. Her +presence became dragged and unhappy, and the only results of her +unnatural labours were untidiness and confusion. + +Even John Fellows could not help being irritated by these fruitless +activities. His first wife, and later Mrs Moseley, had known that it was +as much as their lives were worth not to have the house swept and +speckless by evening ready to receive the pit dirt of the master. Now, +when he came home to find Alice crouching over the fireplace in her +bulged apron smearing red raddle on the hearth without as much as a +kettle boiling, he would stand still in the doorway, a short, aggressive +figure, and ask the wench what she thought she was doing croodled down +there in the grate and him waiting for his tea. Then Alice, with her +pale face averted, would snarl back at him and his dirt in the +high-pitched voice in which she used to gossip with Mrs Hobbs, three +doors down. All the women in Hackett's Cottages eventually developed the +same sort of voice. + +John Fellows really behaved rather well. He knew that it wasn't worth +while grumbling, reflected that all women were more than usually +unreasonable at these times, and so he would sometimes start his washing +in the scullery with cold water, knowing well that in a moment the little +vixen would be at his elbow with a boiling saucepan. Then he would catch +hold of her in his grimy arms, and she would cry out shrilly that he was +a great mucky beast and tell him to 'give over.' A little sparring of +this kind often put him in a good humour, and Alice, quick to recognise +the peculiar power which her physical presence still exercised on her +husband, sometimes presumed on it so far that these passages of arms +ended in tears. At such times it frightened her to see him suddenly +revealed to her as a strange, hard man, nearly double her own age, with +whom she was unaccountably living. Even maternity couldn't make her feel +anything but a little girl in the face of his strange maturity. She felt +that John Fellows knew, as well as she did, that she was only making +believe to be a grown-up married woman; he had shown it more than once by +his roughness to her; but that didn't really matter as long as the +neighbours never guessed her secret--the neighbours, and more +particularly Abner. For if Abner once knew the truth she could never +again be mistress in her own house (that was how she put it) and she was +so jealous of this imaginary dignity, and at the same time so conscious +of its artificiality, that she could never cease trying to put Abner in +his place. + +It was bad enough for Alice that her husband should laugh at her. +Certainly, she determined, she wasn't going to stand anything of that +kind from Abner; and though Abner himself had not yet shown her any signs +of disrespect she took great pains to give him no opportunity of doing so +by repressing him whenever she had the chance. Just as John Fellows had +once approved in Abner the aggressive tendencies that went to the making +of a 'bloodworm,' he now approved in Alice, so little and so desperately +game, the temper that made things so uncomfortable for Abner. As long as +she kept her temper for the boy and didn't try any of her tricks on him +it didn't matter. And since it pleased John Fellows, who loved nothing +better than a dog-fight, to see his little Alice bare her teeth, the girl +played up to him, knowing that her husband would keep Abner from hitting +back as long as the game pleased him. + +Abner suffered her sullenly. He soon found out that it wasn't worth +while disputing with her, and indeed, sometimes her violence, wasting +itself against his unconcern, recoiled on her, so that he had the +satisfaction of seeing her in tears. This vexed her, partly for shame +and partly because she saw that crying, which she had always regarded as +her last and most telling weapon, had no effect on him. They were both +of them little more than children. + +In the end it came to this: Abner, realising that Hackett's Cottages +could never again be a real home to him, decided, with the philosophy +which is learned early among people who have to fight for themselves, +that he must cut his losses and strike out for himself as soon as he +could manage to do so. He knew that for the present he could not afford +to find another lodging, but already he was doing a man's work at the +colliery and soon he would be earning a man's wages. When she realised +this Alice was sorry that she had helped to drive him away, for she had +dreamed pleasantly of all the money that she would soon be able to +handle, and had decided to buy a piano for the parlour and a +marble-topped washhand-stand, with a pink toilet set, for the front +bedroom. It would be a pity, she reflected, to get rid of a full +wage-earner in exchange for a little personal dignity. + +So, suddenly relenting, she became towards Abner the incarnation of +sweetness. Abner, however, wasn't having any. Even though he didn't see +through her, he felt that her attitude was rather too good to be true. +For the present he went on his way, paying regularly his weekly 'lodge' +and the subscription to an industrial death-policy that had been taken +out in the year of his birth to provide for his burial. But with the +fulfilment of these obligations, his dealings with Hackett's Cottages +ceased. He became a lodger pure and simple, only appearing at night, +when the others had gone to bed, tired, and ready to tumble into the nest +of blankets which Alice had not disturbed since he left them in the +morning. + +She wasn't going to put herself out for him, she said. In those days she +didn't feel inclined to put herself out for anybody. Unfortunately she +couldn't have it both ways; for by frightening Abner away with her temper +she had lost the use of his strength in the heavier work of the house. +She knew that she couldn't ask her husband to help her. He hadn't +married her for that. Her weary, and palpably interested attempts to +coax Abner back to her were a failure. Without showing a vestige of +bitterness he went stolidly on his way, and so she resigned herself, with +a sort of tired pride, to the heaviness of her lot. + +In a way this desertion of Hackett's Cottages was a good thing for Abner, +for it drove him out into the open air and rid his lungs of the coal-dust +that he breathed in the galleries of the pit. Joe Hodgetts, now more +than ever his friend and admirer, shared these joys. Together they +roamed over all the sweet country-side that ponders above the smoke of +Mawne. They did not know that it was beautiful. They only knew that +there were banks of hazel under which one might play pitch and toss or +nap without the fear of a policeman; that there were cool streams with +bottoms of red sand in which it was good to bathe; that there were +rabbits that came out timidly in the evening to be shot with catapults, +and wood-pigeons that rustled the trees on the edge of Uffdown Wood and +then emerged with clapping wings. + +Both boys had the instincts of poachers, and in the spring another +partner joined them: an equivocal terrier with a sandy coat, a long, thin +tail and a guttersnipe's intelligence which Abner got for the asking from +a miner at Mawne who didn't think the beast worth the cost of a licence. +He couldn't house the animal in Hackett's Cottages, for Alice couldn't +abear dogs . . . the dirty beasts! Abner's old friend, Mrs Moseley, came +to his help. The dog, now christened Tiger, found a home in her +washhouse, living among his hoarded bones on a strip of sacking in the +ash-hole beneath the copper. Here he would lie in the evening waiting +for his master, his thin snout pressed to the ground between extended +paws, motionless, pretending to be asleep. When he heard Abner's step +approaching he would lie still, with gleaming open eyes, and wait for his +name to be called. Then he would leap out and lick the pit-dust from +Abner's face with his tongue. Even Mrs Moseley, who fed him, was nothing +to Tiger if Abner were there. + +Together they would go out into the golden evening hunting rabbits which +Abner would sometimes bring home to Mrs Moseley, who had a way of cooking +them with onions soused in milk. They were a great treat to her, for +being a widow and no longer employed in John Fellows's house, she rarely +tasted meat. Sharing the proceeds of their hunting Abner and Mrs Moseley +would sit late over their tea next day, and Tiger, under the table, would +crack the rabbit's head and lick out the brains with his pointed tongue. +Later in the week Mrs Moseley would sell the rabbit-skin to a +rag-and-bones man for twopence. She was really very fond of Abner, and +even if he hadn't brought food to the house she would have been glad of +his visits, 'for company' as she called it. + +Because he kept the dog there, and because he was happy in Mrs Moseley's +society, Abner made her cottage his real home. It stood last in one of a +series of parallel streets that climbed desperately out of the dust of +the Stourton Road towards a low crest facing Uffdown and the other hills +of its chain. The lower story looked out on a wall of the local blue +brick; but the windows of the bedroom, a stuffy chamber in which the +widow spent the greater part of her day, and which the district nurse +penetrated every morning in a whiff of iodoform for the purpose of +dressing Mrs Moseley's bad leg, commanded, beyond a foreground of +cinder-waste, blue distances from which the hill air could have blown in +cleanly. The doctor had told Mrs Moseley that her leg would never heal +unless she gave it rest, and since all her relatives were now married and +too prosperous to give the old woman a thought, she was left to herself, +hobbling from the bedroom to the kitchen whenever it was necessary to +bank up the fire. On the hob stood a teapot, brewing a decoction of +tannin which had long since ruined her digestion but was the thing for +which she cared most in life. She called it her 'cup of tea.' + +Abner rarely noticed what an effort she made to receive him cheerfully +when he came for his dog. He didn't see how slow and painful her +movements were becoming. She never seemed to him any different from the +Mrs Moseley whom he had always known and taken for granted, until, one +day, she was put to bed and forbidden to move at all. She had spent the +whole morning crying to herself, for it seemed to her that the day was +not distant when she would have to be moved to Stourton workhouse, to be +carried downstairs and placed in the black van before a crowd of gaping +neighbours, dirty women with babies in their arms. She had always been +shy of the people who lived near her. A country woman, she felt out of +place with these industrial folk. She wished very much that she might +die. + +When Abner came into the house that evening he found the grate cold and +full of ashes. He ran into the washhouse to fetch Tiger, but the dog was +not there. Then he heard the voice of Mrs Moseley, distressed and +quavering, calling him from above, and a minute later Tiger came +scampering downstairs, thoroughly ashamed of himself, from his nest on +Mrs Moseley's bed. Abner, standing at the bottom of the stairs, listened +to the story of her troubles. She wouldn't tell him much about them, and +nothing at all about the deeper fears that haunted her. She told him to +get a cup of tea for himself, but when he suggested bringing another +upstairs to her she was scandalised. Even though she was old enough to +be his grandmother she thought that this would be indelicate; besides, +she couldn't be quite certain that the cleanliness of her bedroom was +beyond reproach, and had determined that before any one visited her, leg +or no leg, she must spend a day putting things straight. And of course +the floor must be scrubbed with carbolic soap. She begged Abner to get +her some from Mr Ingleby's shop. + +Later, as the days of her imprisonment lengthened, she found that she +couldn't be so independent after all. At an immense sacrifice she +consented to the presence of Abner in her room, that narrow, ill-lighted +chamber which the bulging four-poster nearly filled, where, in fact, it +was the only piece of furniture. Here Abner would sit in the hot +evenings of summer, staring through the closed windows at the distant +hills, while Mrs Moseley, in a tired, unhurried voice, talked of things +that had happened in his childhood and other days, more remote, when his +mother had been alive. The old woman had always been fond of Abner, +always a little frightened of his father; and now that this tall youth +was repaying her in some degree for the care that she had given him in +his childhood, she became very tender toward him. At times his coming +made her vaguely emotional, her tenderness helping her to realise how +very lonely she was. Sometimes, when she heard his step in the room +beneath her, she would very nearly cry, and the dog Tiger, lying on the +patchwork quilt, would lick her outstretched arm. She began to count on +his visits. Indeed, rather than lose him, she would even have consented +to have the bedroom windows opened. + +He never spoke of his own accord about Alice, but Mrs Moseley compelled +him to do so, inquiring every day how she was getting on. She had +promised John Fellows, to whom she was always grateful for her old +employment, that she would be in the house during the confinement, and to +lend the doctor a hand. John Fellows remembered well what a tower of +strength she had been at the time when Abner was born. In those days she +had possessed a comfortable figure and a jolly laugh. + +'I don't want her there!' Alice had protested. 'I'd rather have _anyone_ +with me nor her!' + +She didn't object to Mrs Moseley in herself, but she was suspicious of +any one who had known the house before she came there, convinced that the +old woman would sniff at her improvements and perhaps make mischief, +poking her nose into all the drawers and cupboards while she, the +mistress, was in bed. And perhaps John Fellows would compare Mrs +Moseley's cooking with her own! But her husband wasn't having any +nonsense of that kind. 'Silly wench, yo' don't know what's good for +you!' he said, considering the matter settled. Alice cried; but he +didn't take any notice of that sort of thing. + +As the time drew nearer it distressed Mrs Moseley to think that she might +still be in bed when she was wanted. She wished to be there not only for +the sake of the husband but also because she couldn't afford to miss the +ten shillings that her fortnight's work would bring her, to say nothing +of the fortnight's keep. Abner was impatient with her questions. + +'Oh, don't yo' worry about _her_,' he said. 'She's not worth it. Got a +temper like a cat.' + +'You shouldn't say that, dear,' said Mrs Moseley. 'She's the mother that +the Lord's given you. And it's hard days for women when they're like +that. I've been through it myself, so I know what they feels like. +It'll be different when the baby comes along.' + +But Abner was sure it wouldn't be different. It would take more than a +baby to change Alice. 'Besides, she bain't my mother,' he said. 'A +regular cat . . . that's what she bin! You'm the nearest I've ever had +to a mother.' + +Mrs Moseley smiled. Secretly, when he wasn't looking, she wiped her left +eye on the patchwork counterpane. + + + + +The Third Chapter + + +IN the middle of a summer night Abner's father came blundering into his +son's bedroom. 'Come along, get a shift on you!' he said. 'Go and +holler to Mrs Moseley, and then run on to the doctor's.' + +In his hand he carried a candle which lit up his surly face and threw the +folds on either side of the grimy wrinkles into relief. His eyes were +bleared and angry, for he had been sleeping like a log and resented any +disturbance at night. + +'It bain't no good my going for her,' said Abner sleepily. 'She's got a +bad leg.' + +'Bad leg be bosted!' shouted John Fellows. 'She'll have to come if I +send for her. Tak' your hook now!' + +While Abner dressed, his father was prowling from room to room letting +the tallow from the candle drip down the front of his trousers, and +shouting at the boy to hurry up from time to time. In a few minutes +Abner was ready and had crossed the patch of waste ground that lay +between the terrace and the Stourton Road. This highway was more +desolate than he had ever seen it before. In some of the upper windows +subdued gas-jets were burning, but most of them took on the gray light of +a moon that could not be seen. He was halfway into Halesby before he +really woke. Then, in the cool night air, he forgot his grudge against +his father for waking him. Even the foul dust of the Stourton Road smelt +sweet. He had never felt fitter nor more awake in his life. + +As he reached Mrs Moseley's door Tiger began to bark. He heard the voice +of Mrs Moseley trying to soothe the beast. Then he picked up some +pebbles and threw them against the window panes, and a moment later the +old woman looked out, Tiger scrambling into the window beside her. + +'Our father wants you,' he called. 'And I've got to go for the doctor.' + +'Dear, dear,' said Mrs Moseley, 'I knew it would happen like this. I +wouldn't disappoint your father for anything . . . that I wouldn't!' + +'Don't you take no notice of it!' Abner urged. 'Don't you come! I'll +tell 'em the doctor won't let you.' + +She shook her head solemnly and disappeared from the window. + +Abner, exhilarated with the night air, ran on to the doctor's house. +This gentleman appeared to resent his call. Abner was told to wait below +so that he might carry the bag. He stood there in a garden heavy with +the perfume of stocks. In the meadows along the Stour a corncrake was +calling. He wondered what kind of bird it was, and whether it was easy +to kill. He didn't mind how long the doctor kept him waiting. + +On the way back to Hackett's Cottages Dr Moorhouse spoke very little. He +asked Abner the kind of questions he usually put to young people, and +grunted in reply, as if he hadn't heard what Abner said. + +'Are you John Fellows's son?' he asked. And then: 'How old are you?' + +When Abner said that he was going in seventeen, he grunted. It scarcely +seemed possible that more than sixteen years had passed since, in the +same small house of Hackett's Cottages, he had ushered this tall youth +into the world. It filled him with a kind of discontent to realise that +for all these years he had been moving in the same groove, in a vicious +circle that had brought him back once more to this identical point. Only +it hadn't been so hard to turn out at night sixteen years ago. A dog's +life! People didn't realise it. There was Ingleby, the chemist, a +sensible man in most things, fool enough to make his only son a doctor! + +When they reached Hackett's Cottages they found the door of number eleven +open and a light shining in it. John Fellows came out to meet them and +insisted on shaking hands with the doctor. It was obvious that he had +been sampling the bottle of brandy that is always in evidence on these +occasions. + +'She's all right,' he said. 'She's all right, doctor. A tough wench she +is! Tougher than the other one.' + +He turned on Abner. 'Get the fire lit. Sharp, now! Else I'll drap thee +one. Fill the big kettle. Plenty of hot water. That's it, isn't it, +doctor? I know . . . don't I, doctor? . . . I know.' + +Somebody came limping downstairs. It was Mrs Moseley. + +'What . . .?' shouted the doctor. 'What's the meaning of this? What do +you mean by it, woman? Didn't I tell you to stay in bed till I let you +out? Of all the damned pig-headed foolishness . . ' + +Mrs Moseley smiled her tired, patient smile; but the doctor knew she was +in pain. He couldn't help admiring her. + +'You'll forgive me all right, doctor,' she said. 'Now, what could I do +with the poor young thing lying here like that . . . and after all I'd +promised Mr Fellows here? Don't you remember the last time?' + +'No, I'm hanged if I'll forgive you,' he smiled. 'You're an obstinate +old fool. Now run along upstairs. If you lose your leg it's not my +fault.' + +Abner was left alone in the kitchen with his father. While the boy raked +out the ashes from the grate and lit the fire John Fellows took the +brandy from the cupboard and had another swig, putting the neck of the +bottle in his mouth. He said 'Ah!' and smacked his lips. Then he went +out into the strip of garden at the back and walked violently up and +down. It was almost light when he returned. He was sweating and +quarrelsome. Abner had a bad time of it. Now that his poor mother was +suffering like this John Fellows hoped he'd be sorry for the way he'd +used her. If anything went wrong--he implied gloomily that something +probably would--Abner would be to blame for it. To give his fuddled +brain the chance for indignation that it wanted there entered the dog +Tiger, fawning, ingratiating. He had escaped from Mrs Moseley's house +and followed the scent of her or of Abner. He jumped up at Abner, +yelping with joy. + +For a second John Fellow's stared at him stupidly. Then he burst out +with: 'And here's that bloody dog again! Your mother's told you she +can't a-bear it, but she's no sooner upstairs . . .' He slipped the belt +from his waist and lashed at the wretched Tiger's quarters. The dog +squealed piteously. For a moment Abner saw red. He didn't see his +father any longer, only a stubby man, shorter than himself, staring at +him with bloodshot eyes, and sweat trickling down two grimy wrinkles. He +would have knocked his father down if Mrs Moseley hadn't suddenly +appeared at the foot of the stairs asking what the noise was about. The +sound of her voice steadied both of them as they stood staring hatred at +one another, and Abner's anger passed as quickly as it had come. Mrs +Moseley, standing between them, brought with her a pungent odour of some +antiseptic. The smell impressed Abner with the moment's seriousness. He +was suddenly sorry for Alice. He even wished that he had been more +patient with her. Then the whole sky was shaken with the vibrations of +the great bull at Mawne Colliery. Five-thirty. He slipped into his pit +clothes, left his father staring, and hurried from the house. + +When he came back from his turn at night the sense of stress that he had +quite forgotten in the work of the day returned. On the doorstep of +Number Eleven he felt intensely nervous. Something was going to happen, +perhaps something had happened already. The house was quiet. In the +kitchen a fire was burning that made for cheerfulness in spite of the +heat. All this was attributable to Mrs Moseley, who now appeared with an +encouraging smile. She told him that Alice's baby had been born at ten +o'clock. 'And when I got her clean and comfortable and washed the baby, +I thought, "Well, now, while I'm on my legs I may as well have a bit of a +tidy round." A lovely boy!' she said. 'Oh, what a beautiful babby--just +like his father!' + +Abner didn't want to hear about the baby. He stuck to his obstinate +determination not to countenance the affair at all, and Mrs Moseley +laughed at him for behaving like a baby himself. He asked her what had +happened to his father. + +'I haven't seen him, not since you went to work. But men's best out of +the way at these times.' + +Abner guessed that, once having started to drink, his father had probably +been drinking all day and might well by this time be lying drunk in some +hedge at the back of the Royal Oak. Mrs Moseley rebuked him. + +'You're hard on your father, Abner,' she said. 'It's a bad time for a +man when he feels he can't do nothing. You don't love and honour your +father the way you ought.' + +All through the fortnight of Alice's lying-in Mrs Moseley did her best to +keep the peace of the house and to reconcile Abner to the new state of +things. She made him feel almost as much at home as he had been in the +old days, limping downstairs in the evening to talk to him. Alice was +very jealous when she heard them talking below. On most evenings they +sat alone in the kitchen together, but sometimes they went out into the +strip of garden at the back of the house to a wooden bench screened by a +straggling hedge of scarlet runners. They sat there, often in silence, +till the sky darkened, reflecting above the western horizon all the +furnaces of Mawne; and no one disturbed them, for John Fellows, having +once yielded to the bottle, had continued his celebrations of the event. +After all, such things didn't happen very often. + +One evening Mrs Moseley brought down the baby for Abner to see. 'Look at +him, Abner,' she said, 'bain't he a pretty dear? bain't he a little +lovee?' + +Whatever the baby may have been he certainly wasn't pretty; but there was +something in his helplessness that appealed to Abner's generosity. In +spite of his prejudices he couldn't see himself being vindictive toward +this comical creature. He touched the baby's downy, wrinkled face with +his hand. The creature made a sucking noise, seeking Abner's fingers +with his lips, and at the same moment Tiger, with a snarl, took Abner's +calf between his teeth, and, with the gentlest pressure, threatened to +bite him. + +'There you are,' said Mrs Moseley. 'Look at jealousy! You and Tiger are +a pair, and that's the truth!' + +He laughed, but for all that he didn't look forward happily to Mrs +Moseley's departure. He felt that the baby would only serve to make +Alice more intolerably important. When, on the thirteenth night, a +dead-white, incredibly diminished Alice came down to sit for a couple of +hours on the sofa, he decided to ask Mrs Moseley to take him into her +house as a lodger. 'The money will come in handy,' he urged. 'I could +sleep in the washhouse with old Tiger.' + +But she wouldn't think of it. 'I couldn't do it,' she said. 'I wouldn't +like to put your father out, not if it was ever so! John's been a good +friend to me. I don't know how I could have lived all these years +without him.' + +'He's got a sight more out of yo' than ever yo' got out of him!' Abner +grumbled. + +But again she said 'No'--partly, it is true, because she felt that Alice +might make it the occasion for a quarrel, and partly because, much as she +loved Abner she knew that her strength would not allow her to look after +him properly. On many days of late she hadn't really been fit to do her +own housework, and so she fought shy, for Abner's sake as much as her +own, of the arrangement that he suggested. The money, alas! was very +tempting. + +Abner, who didn't generally notice things particularly and had always +taken people like Mrs Moseley for granted, had not appreciated the +changes that were slowly overtaking her. He didn't see the slight +contraction of her brows that had lately become a fixed expression of the +pain that wouldn't let her be. Neither he nor Alice nor John Fellows +were aware of Mrs Moseley's suffering; but the doctor, on his daily +visits, saw how gamely she was fighting, and said nothing; for he knew +that to abstain from obvious advice was the highest tribute that he could +pay to her fortitude. He knew that there was trouble ahead, but he still +joked with Mrs Moseley, and she, in answer, returned him a smile that +struck him as particularly sweet in this plain old woman, making excuse +for the reproach that remained unspoken. In the end, Abner, piqued at +her refusal, quarrelled with her. + +'Any one 'd think I was likely to be a nuisance,' he said. + +Mrs Moseley shook her head. She nearly told him all her reasons against +his plan, but when she came to speak of them her lips trembled. She knew +that she couldn't keep up much longer. On the fifteenth day she left +Hackett's Cottages. Alice, who paid her the agreed ten shillings from a +leather purse that she kept wrapped up in a handkerchief under her +pillow, thought it rather shabby of her not to offer to stay longer. +'You'd think it 'd be the least she could do after all your kindness,' +she said to her husband. John Fellows, not to be buttered with flattery, +merely grunted. + +It took Mrs Moseley more than an hour to walk the mile home. The doctor +passing in his trap, saw her resting on a doorstep in the Stourton Road. +He pretended not to recognise her, but scribbled a note on his list that +she was to be visited in the afternoon. Toward evening he stumped up the +crooked stairs and stood at the bottom of her bed looking at her with a +curious smile on his lips. She knew it was no good making excuses. + +'Let's have a look at it,' he said. And then: 'Well, my dear, this means +six weeks in bed. You know that, don't you? Ten shillings' worth, eh?' + +Mrs Moseley, conscious of the fact that it was worth a good deal more +than ten shillings, said nothing. If he only realised what a blessed +relief it was to her to be off her feet again! + +When Alice 'came downstairs' again, butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. +Abner had never known her so studiously charming. From the first it was +as if she smiled: 'For goodness' sake let us forget what has happened and +make a new start!' and he couldn't very well refuse to meet her. At the +same time he found it difficult to conceal his suspicions that she was +getting at him in some covert, female way. The situation would have been +easier to handle if Alice hadn't been a trifle pale and interesting. She +didn't pick up very quickly, and now, of course, in addition to the +ordinary housework she had to look after the baby, who was already +suffering from its mother's dietetic indiscretions. Like many thin young +women Alice could never conquer her inclination for sweets and for +vinegar, and as a consequence the child was noisy and irritable. Her +housework went to the wall, and in despair she turned to Abner to help +her out. Nothing could have been sweeter than her temper, and though he +didn't believe in it he couldn't help being sorry for her, and did what +she asked him. As a matter of fact, he was already a little interested +in the baby. The smallness of its limbs and the timid uncertainty of its +movements fascinated him. He regarded it with a certain benignant +curiosity, much as he might have looked at a nestling taken from a hedge +in April. + +Of course Alice was feeding her child at the breast. If Abner came into +the kitchen in the middle of this performance she would turn round +quickly and take the baby upstairs or out into the washhouse, blushing. +Abner wondered why she did this. Other women weren't so sensitive. +Sometimes he would pass a couple of them standing at their garden gates +gossiping and feeding their babies at the same time. He had never taken +any notice of them. Nobody else took any notice of them. There was +something in Alice's blushes that embarrassed him unreasonably. +Afterward he asked himself why this should be; but when next he saw Alice +hiding her white breast he blushed himself. + +The new relation was very curious. If it hadn't been for Abner's +profound distrust of her they might even have become intimate. It was no +good for Alice to pretend that she wasn't lonely. In spite of all her +pride in being a married woman and the mother of a family's beginning, +she couldn't conceal the fact that since the baby's birth her husband +took very little notice of her. It was as if he had said: 'Now that I've +done my duty by the nation and given you something to play with you can +just attend to my comforts without bothering me.' He had lately +transferred his custom from the Greyhound to the Lyttleton Arms. A +shorter walk at closing time. So far he had never maltreated Alice, but +she knew very well that she couldn't now play him the tricks that had +pleased him in their courting days. + +So, from being with her husband like a little girl in school, with Abner +she behaved like a schoolgirl released, chattering, eager and friendly. +It puzzled him, for he had never had a sister and didn't understand the +creature in the least. Her flatteries and sudden kindnesses surprised +him every bit as much as her spurts of temper. In each case she seemed +equally childish, particularly on days when she had been too busy to do +her hair and wore it in a honey-coloured pigtail at the back. Then, +there was another Alice who could assert with something very near to +dignity the fact that she was mistress of the house; and another, +blushing Alice, before whom he too had blushed. + +On the whole, however, her most obvious feature was her kindness. In the +evening, when Abner came home dirty from the pit, he would find the +soap-suds waiting for him and tea laid ready on the kitchen table. +Alice, as likely as not, would be bathing the baby, who already showed a +native sturdiness in spite of his mother's indiscretions. While Abner +ate his tea she would talk to the baby in a low, cooing voice, which she +was evidently convinced would fetch him. From time to time in the middle +of these whispers, she would look up sideways to where Abner sat munching +bread and butter with the sunlight in his hair. Abner, who knew that he +was good-looking, and was now a little conscious of his manly +superiority, took no notice of her. + +And yet, in the end, he couldn't help being dragged into the atmosphere +of intimacy which her small attentions created. Grudgingly he was forced +to admit that she had changed for the better. He was now old enough to +be flattered too. They became almost good friends, and only Abner's +native cautiousness prevented a complete reconciliation. Alice knew +this. She knew the shy spirit with which she had to deal, but was happy +to feel that she had accomplished so much already. Somewhere in the back +of her mind she suspected that a time might come in which she would rely +on Abner's strength to protect her and her baby. Some day she might need +his help. It was of John Fellows, her husband, that she was afraid. + +This new relation, Abner thought, was all very well. Still, just because +they had patched up their old quarrel, they needn't necessarily be always +together. He wasn't going to abandon his friend, Joe Hodgetts, and Tiger +for the sake of feminine small talk. Nor did he mean to forsake Mrs +Moseley, at whose house the dog still slept. Those early autumn evenings +were great times for Tiger. Abner knew of a dozen fields in which he +could be certain of putting up a hare. + +It annoyed Alice to see him so eager to get away just when she wanted him +most. She knew that he went in to see Mrs Moseley. She told herself +that she had always hated the old woman, even before she had been forced +on her by her husband. One evening when Abner was hurrying away after +tea she called him back. + +'Where are you going, Abner?' + +'Down town.' + +'You'm going to Mrs Moseley's.' + +'And why shouldn't I go to Mrs Moseley's? You can't stop me!' + +'Stay with us to-night, Abner,' she coaxed. + +Abner only laughed at her. Then she flew into a passion, standing up +white and trembling at the side of the table. + +'How can you go to Mrs Moseley's?' she cried. 'Who's Mrs Moseley, I +should like to know? You're all cracked on your Mrs Moseley, you and +your father! That fat old woman in her nasty smelly house! And you +didn't ought to leave me when I want you. You didn't ought to! I'm your +mother . . ' + +'Oh, you'm my mother, are you?' Abner burst into a laugh. 'That's +bloody funny, that is!' + +'Oh, you and your swearing . . .' she cried. + +He didn't wait to hear any more. When he was gone she fell down on her +knees beside the table and sobbed with her head in her hands: a frail, +pathetic figure with her hair in curling rags. Her sobs woke the baby, +whose cradle had been carefully placed in a draught between the open door +and the fireplace. + +'Oh, you now!' she cried, rocking the cradle roughly. She might easily +have upset it. Then, suddenly repenting, she picked up her son tenderly, +and hugging him to her breast, buried her sobs in his downy face. + + + + +The Fourth Chapter + + +AS the autumn hardened into an iron winter Abner had less time than ever +to spend on these distractions. When the football season opened he began +to play for the little club named Halesby Swifts, from which Mawne United +usually drew its recruits. Technically it was a professional club, but +the gate money that it drew from its adventures in pursuit of the local +charity cups did no more than pay for the boots and clothes and footballs +of the players. In the first round of the North Bromwich Hospital Cup +competition the Swifts had the good luck to be drawn against their big +neighbours, Mawne United, on the Mawne ground, and Abner, playing +centre-half, repeated the exploit of his childhood by scoring a goal +against the goalkeeper who had succeeded the celebrated Harper. It was +an elevating moment. The captain and others of the Swifts came running +up to Abner and wrung his hand. All Mawne and Halesby on the touchline +waved black bowler hats under the flag of Mawne United languidly flying +from its staff beside the Royal Oak. A great moment! Abner did not see +his father standing in his old place behind the Mawne goal posts with his +hands thrust into the pockets of his reefer coat and his eyes sparkling +as he puffed away at his black clay pipe. That was how John Fellows +showed his emotion. Later in the evening he showed it in another way. + +This match, however, made a considerable difference in John Fellows's +attitude. It gave Abner a standing with his father that had never been +granted to him before. Nor was this the only result of his success; for +on the following Monday Mr Hudson, the chief clerk in Mr Willis's works +at Mawne, and secretary of the United, an irreproachable expert in a game +that he had never played, sent up a message to the pit for Abner, and on +Tuesday he had 'signed on' for the senior club. + +'A lad like you, growing and that,' said Mr Hudson, 'didn't ought to be +working in the pit. I'll speak to the manager, and if you'll come down +to the Furnaces next Monday we'll see what sort of job we can find you.' + +On Monday morning Abner walked over to the Stour valley in which the +great works lay angrily seething, and picked his way through the gigantic +debris of the iron age: huge discarded boilers, brown with rust; +scrap-heaps of tangled metal that had served its day; stacks of rails; +purple mountains of iron ore standing ready for the blast-furnaces that +snored like dragons in their sleep and made the air around them quiver +with hot breath. Over a network of rails on which an officious +shunting-engine that the head of the firm had christened Lilian, in +honour of his daughter, ran to and fro, whistling shrill warnings; over +many steam pipes, snaky tentacles of the central power-house, that hissed +steam from their leaky joints, he passed to the office that Mr Hudson +inhabited. On the steps in the middle of his path stood a tall, pale +young man who stared out over the works as though some vision entranced +him. Abner, wondering what he was looking at, and following the +direction of his eyes, saw nothing unusual. He knew that this was young +Mr Willis, Mr Edward, as Hudson called him. He asked Abner what he +wanted. + +'Mr Hudson, gaffer.' + +'You'll find him inside.' + +He moved out of the way, still, apparently in the toils of his dream, and +Abner was shown into Mr Hudson, whom he found sitting at a desk with a +pencil behind either ear. 'Ah, here you are,' said Mr Hudson. 'There's +a good chap!' and took him straightway to one of the foremen, an old +butty of John Fellows, who gave him an indefinite labouring job that +consisted of moving metallic rubbish from one part of the works to +another as occasion demanded. At Mawne, it seemed, no fragment of iron +was ever allowed to leave the works as long as there was a foot of space +in which it could be stored. Abner also had to grease the wheels of a +little line of trolley-trucks that blundered up and down the hill in +front of the manager's house, between the furnaces and the high colliery +of Timbertree. + +'This is work for an old man, not for a strong lad like you,' the foreman +grumbled. He knew that there was always work above ground and good pay +at Mawne for a promising footballer. 'They'll fause you up now! Wait +till your footballing's over,' he said, 'wait till you've broke your leg, +and then you ask your Mr Hudson for a job like this and see what he'll +tell you!' + +But Abner was seventeen and had no thoughts for age. The greatest +delight of all was that he now breathed the air of the open sky all day +instead of the darkness of the pit; and even if the ecstasy of his +evening's relief was now blunted, there seemed to be no end to his +capacity for physical enjoyment. Beneath the caresses of air and light +his physique began to expand. He took a delight in the strict training +that the Mawne United directors enforced on their players. With skipping +and rubbing and sprinting his muscles became hard and supple and his +whole body marvellously fit. Football became his whole life. In his +work at Mawne, even in his dreams, he pondered on its tactics. All his +friends were players absorbed in the same game. He gained confidence and +skill, and by the end of the season he had become one of the crowd's +idols, followed from the arena by a trail of small boys and patted on the +back by strangers as he walked home after a match in his muddy clothes. +The girls also used to turn and look at him with bold glances; but his +life was far too full in those days for him to worry his head about +women. + +His relation with Alice had now passed its first emotional stage, and +though she was more interested in him than she had ever been before, she +had grown to understand him better, so that the storms which had made +life at Hackett's Cottages so intense no longer occurred. She washed his +football clothes with care and fed him regularly and well, as indeed she +should have done, for he was now earning good money. She had discovered +that it paid her best not to worry him. Sometimes a fit of restlessness +would make him say that he must change his lodging; but although he often +grumbled, he still stayed on in the room that he had occupied since he +was a child. In her anxiety to please him she even offered of her own +accord to have the dog Tiger in the house; but Abner only stared at her, +wondering what she was getting at, and laughed. 'Still jealous of the +poor old woman?' he said. + +Of course she was still jealous of Mrs Moseley. She couldn't help being +jealous; but though she denied this indignantly, and even tried to prove +her goodwill by paying several awkward visits with the baby to Mrs +Moseley's bedroom, she knew very well that the old woman's attractions +for Abner were the very least that she had to fear. She was really and +deeply jealous of the young women who stared at him on the football field +or in the Stourton Road. She knew how handsome he was growing; realised, +with an agony that was not wholly maternal, that sooner or later he was +bound to fall in love, and that was a calamity which somehow she felt she +could not bear. Little by little John Fellows was becoming less +important to her. All her life seemed more and more centred in her baby +and in Abner. Thinking the matter over she decided that it was her best +policy to encourage him in his friendship for the old woman, and she did +so gradually, insidiously, so that Abner should not guess what she was +doing or wonder why she was doing it. + +Abner needed no encouragement. He had never wavered from his loyalty, +and now more than ever he felt that he owed some attention to his old +friend. Since the day when she had taken to her bed after the +fortnight's work at Hackett's Cottages, she had never recovered +sufficiently to resume her former activities. Sometimes, indeed, it had +seemed that her leg was on the point of healing; but as soon as she +crawled downstairs and tried to go about her business it broke down +again, which was not surprising seeing how much her lying in bed had +weakened her. The doctor could do nothing but preach patience and leave +her in the hands of the district nurse. + +For a whole year she struggled along on the pittance that the relieving +officer gave her; but at last the disorder of the cottage became so +overwhelming that the nurse took the law into her own hands and, in spite +of all Mrs Moseley's protests, wrote a letter to the nearest of the old +woman's relatives, a younger sister, the wife of a North Bromwich +brass-worker named Wade. + +In answer to the letter Mrs Wade came over to see her sister, dressed as +for a funeral in closely-fitting black sateen. Being rather afraid that +she might find it awkward to get out of taking Mrs Moseley home with her, +the sight of the old woman's helplessness gave her a distinct feeling of +relief which showed itself in the warmth of her condolences. + +'Well, Eliza, this is a shame, isn't it? And my! won't George be shocked +when I tell him? To think of your never 'aving let us know! Just to +think of it!' + +Mrs Moseley feebly protested that it wasn't her fault that the Wades had +been told even now. 'I don't want to be a trouble to people,' she said. +Mrs Wade assured her that she wasn't anything of the kind. + +'George, he says to me: "Now, Florrie, you mind you bring Eliza hack with +you." But, of course, any one could see with half a glance that that's +impossible like you are. We could have made you that comfortable, too! +We 'ave a lovely little 'ouse. What with the money George is picking up, +and what we've saved.' + +By the time of the evening train on which her sister had promised to +return to North Bromwich, Mrs Moseley was heartily sick of George's name +and achievements. She hadn't really ever known her sister Florrie, and +now she felt that in spite of her suave manner and affectation of +kindnesses that cost nothing she had really come to spy out the nakedness +of the land, to check the value of her sister's scanty effects, to reckon +just how much lay between her and the workhouse. And all the time Mrs +Moseley was in a fever wondering what the house was like downstairs; +whether, in her absence, dirt had accumulated; whether Tiger had made the +washhouse in a mess. Indeed, when Mrs Wade departed, she crept +downstairs to see for herself. 'Whatever they says'--this was always her +cry--'they can't say I bain't clean!' + +The upshot of this visit was revealed to Abner a week or two later, when +he arrived one evening to find the faithless Tiger playing at the knee of +a stranger, a girl with the city's matte complexion, hair that was almost +black with a gleam of copper in it, and brown, long-lashed eyes. + +'That your dog?' she said, smiling. Her voice was low. Abner was now +used to the high-pitched voices of Alice and her neighbours. He had +never heard a woman speak so quietly. + +He said 'Yes,' and she, with the utmost self-possession, told him that +Tiger was a beauty. It wasn't strictly true, but it gave Abner a flush +of pleasure, for he loved Tiger. Then she said: 'I'm Susan Wade. Mother +sent me here to look after Auntie Liza for a week or two.' + +As a matter of fact mother, warned by a snuffy shilling-doctor in Lower +Sparkdale that Susan was anaemic and needed country air, had suddenly +felt more than usually generous toward her sister, and sent Susan to +'help,' with no more than the price of her keep. + +'Afford it?' she said, when her husband questioned her about Mrs +Moseley's ability to feed another mouth, 'Afford it? You don't know our +Liza! She was always the quiet one of the family. And a saving kind, +too. I know well enough she's got a stocking somewhere!' + +Mr Wade was not in the habit of arguing with his wife, and Mrs Moseley, +when Susan arrived at Halesby with a small wicker basket containing her +best dress and a bag of apples with mother's love, was so deeply touched +that when she kissed her her eyes filled with tears. + +'You'll be lonely,' she said, 'with an old woman like me.' + +'I shall go out into the lanes,' said Susan. 'Mother told me I must get +all the fresh air I can. For the blood, you know.' That put the matter +quite plainly. + +Mrs Moseley assured Abner that Susan was a dear, sweet child, and such a +little woman; but he never met her in Mrs Moseley's presence, for the old +lady had decided against the impropriety of Susan and himself together +beholding her in bed. Awkward, at first, he found in a little while that +she wasn't as formidable as he imagined, though all his triumphs in the +football field could not have given him one half of her staggering +self-possession. What impressed him most about her was, without doubt, +the sense of personal cleanliness that she carried with her. Susan was +on a holiday, and had time for such refinements. She wore clean print +dresses, while Alice and her shrill-voiced neighbours in Hackett's +Cottages, by whose appearance Abner had regulated his ideas of feminine +nicety, wore, as a rule, the livery of their toil. Susan, on the other +hand, lived like a lady, having no better work for her fingers than the +braiding of her dark hair. In the mornings she stayed with Mrs Moseley, +listening, in a kind of dream, to her aunt's recitation of the virtues of +people whom, in the days before her marriage, she had served. It seemed +as if that were the time in her life toward which her thoughts now +returned most happily, and the mere scraping together of its unimportant +details filled her with a mild afterglow of enjoyment. + +'I remember,' she would begin, in a weak, contented voice that was +soothing in its tiredness, 'I remember one day Mrs Willis--the first Mrs +Willis that is, old Mr Hackett's daughter down the Holloway and Mr +Edward's mother--I remember her coming into the kitchen with a beautiful +basketful of cherries. Fine, black fruit they was! And she says +"Hannah"--that's the Hannah that's still there, but I expect she's +forgotten _me_--"Hannah," she says, "look what the master's sent from the +cherry-orchard." They always call it the cherry-orchard, you know, up +above Mawne bank, and that was a wonderful year for cherries. "We'll +make them into jam, Hannah," she says. "And Liza"--that's me--"will help +you stone them." _Stone them_, she says! And how we laughed to be sure! +I can see her standing there now, a bit red in the face, for she was new +to housekeeping and never knew you don't stone cherries. She had a +couple of black-hearts in her lips, like the game you play. A dear lady, +she was! I can see her again in Mr Edward. Time passes, doesn't it? +You'll know that some day, Susan.' + +Susan tossed her head. Perhaps some day she would know, but sufficient +unto this were its quiet languors and the breath of summer air drifting +in at a chink in her aunt's window from the fields towards the hills. +She herself had grown up in the cramped quarter of Sparkdale, where, in +summer-time the blue-brick pavements burn under a pale sky, where there +is always a smell of dust and fire and rotting remnants of fruit dropped +from the hawkers' barrows into the gutter. At the back of their house in +Sparkdale lay a little garden plot; but her father had always given it +over to fowls that made it an arid, gritty patch littered with shed +feathers. All the parks lay miles away over the streets, and the only +green that Susan knew was the grass that grew within the railings of an +ugly Georgian church standing in a square that had once been fashionable +but was now neglected and unkempt. For this reason the sloping fields +beyond Halesby were wonderful to her, and things that would have seemed +common to a country child, enchanting. In the afternoon she went out +walking with Tiger. There was no need for Abner to be jealous, for these +walks bore no comparison in Tiger's mind with his evening visits to +rabbit-haunted banks. + +Susan had come to Halesby thrilled by her first experience of romance. +She had been initiated by a pale young clerk named Bagley who taught in +the Sunday-school of the decayed Georgian church. It had happened at +their annual 'outing' to Sutton Park. There, in a hot slade of larches, +Mr Bagley had held her hand, a small and very sticky hand in a lace +mitten. While he did so he had confided to her that his was an extremely +passionate nature, and that nothing but his hold on the Anglican faith +restrained him from exploiting it, and after this, immediately before +tea, he had kissed her once. That had been all; for after tea Mr Bagley, +weighed down no doubt by a sense of shame, had avoided her. All that +remained to her of this adventure was the power of making Mr Bagley +blush; and this was no very signal achievement, for Mr Bagley flushed +easily and had already written privily to advertisers in the weekly +papers who claimed to cure this weakness. It appeared indeed that there +would never be any more between them than a bond of secret guilt; and +since Susan had liked being kissed, even by Mr Bagley, she decided to +continue her experiments whenever the chance came. + +From the first sight of him Abner had pleased her. He was eighteen, just +a year older than herself. His handsome head, his excellent teeth, his +contrasting fairness, the size and strength of his body, all attracted +her. She thought she would like to be alone with him and see what would +happen. Therefore she began by inviting herself to accompany him on one +of his evening excursions with Tiger. Abner resented the proposal, +partly because he had never quite shaken off the convention of his +boyhood that girls were soft and any dealings with them shameful, and +partly because he was jealous of any stranger invading a world that was +so particularly his own and so specially guarded from the feminine +influence hitherto represented by Alice. But Susan, by her quiet +determination, made it impossible for him to refuse. She had always +been--after the poultry--her father's principal pet, and when Abner put +her off, she simply declined to believe that he meant it. + +He grumbled and submitted. He supposed that he was doing a kindness to +Mrs Moseley by taking her, and comforted himself with the thought that, +after all, Susan wasn't like other girls: a conclusion at which he +arrived without difficulty, seeing that he had known no other girl but +Alice. On his side, indeed, the relationship was as natural as it might +be. It was Susan who found it rather a failure in the absence of +sentimental developments. Abner treated her, she found, very much as if +she had been a boy; and though this was the pose with which she had +started their acquaintance, she didn't want it to remain at that. Mrs +Moseley's looking-glass, in which she could see herself when she sat in +her favourite place at the foot of the bed in the morning, assured her +that she was much nicer to look at now than when she first came to +Halesby from the city. She was plumper, her cheeks and lips were more +brightly coloured and her eyes clearer. Mr Bagley would have noticed the +difference. Abner, apparently, didn't. She comforted herself with the +reflection that he was too rough and rugged to realise her delicacy, that +he was only a common labourer and no fit associate for a foreman's +daughter, but when she came to think of it, her social quality should +really have made her more attractive to him. + +She was a very direct young woman. One evening when they went out for +their walk down the lane that leads to the woody basin known as Dovehouse +Fields they came to a lonely stile at the end of a bridge over a +tributary of the Stour, beyond which the red bank was tunnelled by many +rabbits. Tiger ran forward eagerly over the bridge and began to sniff at +the holes in the bank, and Abner would have followed him if Susan had not +barred the way, sitting complacently on the top of the stile. She sat +there in the low sunlight that warmed her cheeks, lighted gleams of +copper in her hair, and made her brown eyes amber. + +'I want to stay here, Abner,' she said. + +'Well, let us pass then,' said Abner, thinking only of rabbits. 'Wait +till I come back.' + +But she wouldn't move from her perch. She sat there smiling and swinging +her long legs. Tiger, who couldn't realise why any scentless human +should hesitate on the verge of such excitements, ran back and looked at +them, making little quick noises of encouragement. Susan called him, and +rather reluctantly he scuttled back over the bridge and jumped up to her +knees licking her hands. She said: + +'Don't you think I look nice, Abner?' + +'I don't see nothing wrong with you,' said Abner, without enthusiasm. + +'Don't be soft!' she said. 'I mean, don't you want to kiss me?' + +He didn't. He hadn't thought about such a thing. It was she who was +being soft now. And yet he couldn't help wanting to try when he saw her +smiling at him from the stile. He kissed her, very clumsily, on the +cheek. He had never kissed any one before, and its softness and coolness +bewildered him. But she wasn't content with this. She took his face in +both her hands and kissed his lips. He lost his head. He didn't know +what he was doing. He took her in his arms in a way that was very +different from Mr Bagley's passionate embrace. It seemed as if he wanted +to kiss the life out of her. She drew back, almost frightened of him, +but he wouldn't let her go. They left Tiger to his rabbits and wandered +off into the woods. When Susan returned in the darkness Mrs Moseley +could not help remarking how well she looked. + +This was no more than the beginning of the adventure. There was nothing +lukewarm about the passion that Susan had thus precipitated. Her +education, which had brought her very nearly to the level of middle-class +prudishness, had not prepared her for Abner's love-making. Mr Bagley, +she reflected, would have made her timid presents of sweets and, perhaps, +occupied the pew behind hers in church. He would have taken her for +walks in one of the decorous parks on the other side of the city. He +would have held her hand on the tram and paid her spoony compliments. +Abner paid her no compliments, gave her no presents. Nor did he hold her +hand: he held her whole body till she felt that her will was failing and +that her only duty was to obey him. She was terrified by his violence, +ashamed of responding to its crudity. She was almost sorry that she had +provoked him, for now it was she who fled from him and feared to be +overtaken, and though the excitement of the chase thrilled her she could +never escape from the vague threat of its inevitable end. Her mother, +she knew, would have approved of Mr Bagley. What would she think of this +handsome young labourer, this professional footballer? She knew that she +was bound to resist him as long as she could. + +This was no easy matter. Abner absorbed her, gave her no chance. Once +having got her he would not let her go. Her calculations of the future +didn't trouble him. Every evening when he had knocked off work he came +along to Mrs Moseley's house and called for her, and in spite of any +excuse that she might make, he took her off over the fields and into the +woods. Mrs Moseley unconsciously abetted him. + +'Your mother's anxious that you should get all the fresh air you can, +dear,' she used to say, 'and it's a beautiful evening. I wish I could go +with you!' + +The old woman was sure that she could trust them together, and for three +weeks of brilliant summer weather they spent the evening and the twilight +in each other's arms. Susan tried a series of tactics that she invented +for her own protection. She pretended to shrink from his coarseness and +from the dirt of the works in contrast with her own clean fragility. She +adopted another, distant attitude, proprietary and maternal. Abner +laughed at both of them. She even, in an extremity, played her last +card: the attentions of the elegant Bagley. 'You give him five minutes +alone with me, and I'll settle that!' said Abner. 'You're my wench, and +don't you forget it!' + +Providence, in the shape of a calamity, saved her. Her mother sprained +an ankle in the fowl-pen, and wired for Susan to return to North Bromwich +at once. The telegram came while Abner was at work, and when he reached +Mrs Moseley's cottage in the evening, Susan was gone. She left a +carefully written note behind her in which she addressed him as Mr +Fellows and said that she hoped he would always think of her as kindly as +she did of him. She said it would be nice to get back to North Bromwich +after so long in the country, but carefully omitted to supply him with +her address. At first Abner was stunned, then angry. He couldn't put up +with Mrs Moseley's mild meanderings. He hadn't the heart to go out into +the desecrated woods. When Tiger leapt at him, in anticipation of a +walk, he kicked the dog in the ribs. The football season would not begin +for another month, and since he had nothing to do he returned to +Hackett's Cottages. Alice, who had kept an eye full of jealous +suspicions on him for the last month, received him. She saw that +something had bowled him over. It gave her a secret satisfaction. + +'Early to-night, Abner,' she said. + +He would not answer her. + +'Whatever's up with you?' she said. 'You'm all moithered.' And then, +with a laugh, she answered her own question by another: 'Too much +sweethearting?' in a tone that pretended to be merely bantering but in +reality carried a sting. He knew that faint touch of malice in her so +well that it made him flare up at once with: 'I don't want no bloody +girls.' It didn't strike him that her malice might be taken as a +compliment, and when she laughed at his reply he walked out of the house +in a temper. + +He didn't know where to go; but taking his father's example he wandered +down to the Royal Oak, where he sat drinking pint after pint with one of +his football friends and a couple of women. At closing time the whole +party were turned out together and walked down into Halesby. It was +nearly daybreak when he returned to Hackett's Cottages, still the worse +for liquor, and blundered upstairs to bed. He slept so heavily that he +did not hear the Mawne bull in the morning. At ten o'clock a feeling +that some one was in the room aroused him. He opened his eyes to a +blinding light and saw that Alice had placed a cup of hot tea at his +bedside. He drank it so eagerly that he scalded his mouth. + + + + +The Fifth Chapter + + +THIS sudden outburst was sufficiently violent to satisfy Abner that for +the present he could do without liquor or women. It wasn't very +difficult to forget Susan, for she had really been more trouble than she +was worth. The affair would never have begun but for her provocation, +and since she hadn't the pluck to go through with it, Abner satisfied +himself by exaggerating her insipidity in his own mind. + +After the first sting of malice with which she had sent him off on the +drink, Alice showed her repentance, first symbolised by the waiting cup +of tea, in a hundred attentions and kindnesses. He never told her about +his affair with Susan, but she appeared to understand more or less what +had happened and even to sympathise with him in his violent methods of +getting over it. She made him so comfortable at Hackett's Cottages that +there was no more talk of his finding other lodgings. In the early days +of her married life the responsibilities of the house and its two male +inhabitants had been too much for her inexperience, and the coming of the +baby in the first year had made her abandon all attempts to keep pace +with domestic demands. In the second year she regained her strength and +a great deal of the physical charm that had originally attracted John +Fellows. The baby, a normal, healthy child, had also prospered, and now +that he was weaned slept away most of the day on his mother's bed +upstairs or in his cradle in the kitchen. Nothing marred the smoothness +of domestic life at Number Eleven but the uncertainty of John Fellows's +temper and his periodical bouts of drinking; and even in these +emergencies Alice's increasing knowledge of life and her absorption in +the care of Abner and her baby sustained her. + +The strangest part of the whole business was that Abner and his father +never fell foul of one another. Since that one dangerous moment on the +morning of the baby's birth there had never been any danger of this. It +was as if they had agreed to go on their own ways. Abner kept clear of +his father because his natural love of peace and increasing concern for +the convenience of Alice made him anxious to avoid a quarrel; and John +Fellows condoned his son's unreasonable abstinence from liquor on the +grounds of his success in the football field. Although he never said so +he was proud of Abner's prowess, gathering indeed a little reflected +glory from it among his mates at the pit and his boon companions at the +pub. + +It was fortunate for Alice that her family was so small; for it meant not +only that she was unburdened with housework, but also that the question +of money never troubled her. John Fellows never did anything by halves. +He worked as hard as he drank, and since all colliers are paid by +piecework, he earned enough to keep the house going and himself in +liquor. Abner also was well paid for the work he did at Mawne, and in +addition to this received a pound a week from the United Football Club +during the season. Out of these earnings he paid Alice eighteen +shillings for his board and keep, and this, together with her husband's +weekly allowance, enabled her to make the house exactly what she wanted. +There seemed to be no reason why this happy state of affairs should not +go on for ever, or, at any rate, until Abner found some other wretched +girl who took his fancy. This was the event that Alice dreaded most, and +for the present Abner's life was too full of work and training to make it +probable. + +They spent most of their evenings together while John Fellows was down at +the Royal Oak and the baby placidly sleeping in its cradle. They were +the happiest of Alice's life, for they realised all her ideals of what +domesticity should be. The little room was cheerful with firelight and +always warm, for John Fellows had the privilege of buying coal for next +to nothing at the pit. On the table she used to spread a cloth of bright +red chequers. A lamp in the middle of it cast a mild and homely light. +Alice would sit on one side of the fire, knitting woollen vests for the +baby or mending the men's clothes. She sat in her rocking chair, +enthroned with content, glancing from time to time at the sleeping baby, +at the shining brass, on which she particularly prided herself, at all +the tokens of comfort with which she was surrounded. The door of Number +Eleven was ill-made or warped with age so that a draught blew in beneath +it towards the fire; but Abner had arranged a curtain of red rep on a +running string above it, so that the draught was not felt and the swaying +of the curtain only emphasised the contrast between the winter without +and that glowing cosiness within. All these things that surrounded her +were her own, her world. She would not have changed one of them. The +glances that she gave to them were proprietary and richly satisfied. + +Sometimes, in the same way, she would let her eyes fall on Abner: a big, +loose-limbed fellow, over six feet high, with the closely cropped hair of +the footballer and a yellow moustache. In the evenings at home he wore +no collar and the firelight played on his powerful neck and lit the fair +down on his arm when he sat in his shirtsleeves. Even with him her +glance was proprietary. He also belonged to her, and she mended his +clothes with the same delight and devotion that she experienced in making +the ridiculous garments of her son. She rejoiced in his beauty and in +his strength. Perhaps, sometimes, the physical comparison that he +suggested with John Fellows made her admiration more poignant. + +Usually these long evenings were lonely. At times, however, Alice's +father, the timekeeper at Mawne, would come stumping up on his wooden leg +and take a seat before the fire between them. He was very fond of Alice. +He would pinch her cheek and hold her arm and make her blush by asking +every time he came when she was going to give him another grandson. He +was a poor old man. His pay, like most pensions, was inadequate, and the +cottage on the edge of the works which the company allowed him rent-free +was old and so damp that he suffered from rheumatism, particularly, as he +always said with a chuckle, in the leg that he had lost. Here Alice's +younger sister, Elsie, kept house for him. She had never been a +favourite of his and was a bad manager. She and her sister, who had +always quarrelled before Alice's marriage, were now, for reasons which +Alice attributed to jealousy, no longer on speaking terms. Mr Higgins +always tried to gloss this unfortunate circumstance with one of his +little jokes. + +'When I come up here,' he said, 'Abner ought to go and keep our Elsie +company.' + +Abner would laugh, but Alice glanced sharply at him. She hated to hear +any woman's name mentioned in connection with his, and most of all her +sister's; but Mr Higgins, unaware of these fine shades of feeling, +constantly pursued the project. 'Now if Abner here went and married our +Elsie what a queer kettle of fish it would be to be sure! Which would +you be, his mother or his sister-in-law? Both on 'em. Likewise Elsie'd +be your daughter-in-law and your sister. And if our Elsie was Abner's +aunt she'd be the great-aunt of her own babbies, surely!' + +'Oh, don't go on so, dad!' said Alice, sharply. 'Do give over!' + +'You can say what you like, Alice,' said Mr Higgins, 'but that's a knot +it'd take more than a parson to get over.' + +At half-past nine the old man would leave them with another of his little +jokes. Abner would see him out, and then, yawning, stretch his legs and +say that it was time he was turning in. He used to ask Alice, before he +went upstairs, if there was anything he could do for her. It was only a +formula, but the words always gave her a flush of pleasure. When he was +gone upstairs she would busy herself with preparing his can of tea, and +bacon sandwiches to take to the works next day. Then she would settle +down again in her chair at the fireside and sit with her work in her lap +dreaming and waiting for the unsteady, deliberate step of her husband on +the path. This was the worst moment of her day. + +John Fellows rarely returned home until half an hour after closing time, +and for this reason it was seldom that he saw Abner off the football +field. At home he never approached him except with the hope of +extracting inside information as to the probable results of the league +matches on which he proposed to bet, and in this he found Abner +unsympathetic, for although league football had not sunk in those days to +its present depths of unabashed commercialism, Abner knew that the result +of a match was sometimes decided in accordance with the bookmaker's +instructions. John Fellows never backed horses, for he regarded the turf +as a resort of crooks and sharks. He put his money on dogs and football +teams, and even if he lost it he had at any rate the satisfaction of +seeing it lost with his own eyes. He didn't mind losing money as long as +he had a run for it. According to his lights he was a sportsman. + +The football season had opened with a flourish as far as Mawne United +were concerned. In the North Bromwich league they had beaten all their +principal rivals, Wolverbury, Dulston, and even the Albion Reserves. +Now, in the semi-final of the Midland Cup they were to meet the Albion +again. The members of the team became more than ever popular heroes, and +Abner, down at the works, was conscious of his share in the distinction. +The winter had set in early with a November of black frost that made the +scrap-iron with which he was still engaged under the same grumbling +foreman harder and more icy to the touch, and congealed the grease in the +running guide-wheels of the trolley railway. It was some compensation +that the blast furnaces, which were surrounded in summer by a zone of air +undulant with intolerable heat, now gave a sense of neighbourly warmth to +the centre of the works. + +Abner, who knew that his position was more secure than ever, managed to +spend most of his day near these black towers, talking football to the +men who were engaged in making the moulds of sand into which the molten +metal would flow when the furnaces were tapped. It was an idle and a +pleasant life; but he enjoyed it, knowing, as did every one else in the +works, that it was no more than a preparation for the sterner business of +Saturdays. + +One Wednesday, in the middle of the afternoon, he was at work loading +some pigs of iron into a truck that stood waiting on the siding near the +furnace. It was good warm work for a winter's day, and Abner had thrown +off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and unfastened the neck of his +shirt. He and his mate had just hoisted the last of the pigs into the +truck when the furnace foreman gave the signal for the tapping of the +nearest tower. Abner watched the proceeding as he put on his coat and +wiped the sweat from his forehead. The men, stripped to the waist, +approached the vent of the furnace carrying a heavy crowbar with which +they loosened the plug of fireclay which kept the contents of the furnace +from escaping. They leapt aside as the first stream of molten mineral +gushed out. The foreman watched them, shading his eyes from the heat. +The fluid that came first was the dross of the ore which had sunk to the +bottom of the furnace, and this was diverted so that it flowed into a +wide pan where it would cool into a cake of brittle, iridescent slag. A +moment later pure iron began to flow. The puddlers closed the entrance +to the pool of slag, and molten metal crept, with the slow persistence of +a lava-flow, down the central channel and into the moulds of sand that +were ready to receive it. The damp air above the beds first steamed, +then swam with heat. Not molten gold could have seemed more beautiful +than this harsh, intractable metal. It ran into the moulds sluggishly +and with a soft, hissing sound. + +Some one tapped Abner on the shoulder and drew him aside. It was Mr +Hudson, who had walked down delicately from the office, so delicately +that he had not even disturbed the two pencils wedged above his ears. He +shivered slightly, for he had been shut up all day with a coke stove. +Drawing Abner aside behind the line of trucks he began to talk to him +about the cup-tie with the Albion. With the utmost friendliness he +discussed the prospects of Mawne United in the match, which was now only +ten days ahead. Abner answered him respectfully. Mr Hudson had not only +given him his present comfortable job, but also carried in his pocket the +future of every man employed in the works, for Mr Willis, whose eager +mind was always set on expansions of the monster that he had created out +of the fortune which his father-in-law had made in the Franco-Prussian +war, was far too busy to worry his head about such details. + +'So you think we'll win?' said Mr Hudson, fingering the bronze cross on +his watch-chain. + +'It bain't no good playing any match if you don't think you'll win,' said +Abner. + +Mr Hudson stroked his red moustache. 'I may say that the Albion has +offered us a hundred pounds to play the match at North Bromwich, on their +ground. The club could do with the money.' + +'Don't you take it,' Abner replied. 'Don't you take it. The Mawne +ground's worth a couple of goals to our chaps in a match of that kind. +That slope down by the Royal Oak puzzled the Albion last time. Our +forwards know how to use it.' + +'The Albion's particular anxious to win,' said Hudson. 'What's more, the +bookmakers are giving three to one against Mawne. That shows you which +way the wind's blowing.' + +'Well, I hope to God it busts them!' said Abner. 'I'm no friend to +football bookmakers.' + +Mr Hudson blenched at this loose employment of the deity's name. He took +Abner by the arm. 'Look here,' he said, 'speaking in the strictest +confidence, I can tell you that the club will accept Albion's offer to +play at North Bromwich. What's more, if Albion win, I can safely say it +will be worth ten pounds to you personally.' + +Abner shook himself free from Mr Hudson's friendly arm. If he had +followed the inclination of the moment he would have laid Mr Hudson flat +there and then on the cinders. His feelings had passed beyond the stage +of words. But while he stood glaring at Mr Hudson's face, now weakly +smiling and white with fear, he saw something else that stopped him: the +figure of a woman running towards them as fast as she could over the +cumbered ground of the works. She was hatless and had a shawl thrown +round her shoulders. He knew, even at a distance, that it was Alice. +She ran straight up to Abner, with her hair blown loose and with a flush +of excitement that made her singularly beautiful. + +Mr Hudson snatched at the opportunity for retreat. 'This lady wants +you,' he said. + +Abner, still under the influence of a divided emotion, took a step in his +direction, but Alice pulled at his sleeve. The tears that she had been +restraining as she ran overcame her and she could only cry 'Abner . . . +Abner . .' + +'What the hell's up with _you_?' he said roughly. + +'Your father, Abner . . .' she sobbed. 'It's your father.' + +'What's that? What's he done?' + +'It's an accident at the pit. Father sent up Elsie with the message.' + +'You mean he's dead?' said Abner, suddenly sobered. + +'No . . . not dead. . . . I don't think so. It's an accident. Some +kind of accident. Elsie was that moithered she couldn't say proper. So +I left her there and ran off for you. I couldn't take him in myself. I +couldn't think of nowt but running for you.' + +'Nell, if he bain't dead what the hell's the matter?' said Abner +practically. + +They left the works together. Alice, still out of breath, could scarcely +keep pace with Abner's long strides, but now her nervous sobbing had +ceased and she even smiled. At the corner of Hackett's Cottages they met +the procession from the colliery. For some obscure reason Alice's father +had lost the key of the store in which the stretchers were kept, and so +they carried John Fellows home on a door. In his progress from the pit +they had fallen in with a stream of children suddenly disgorged from the +Ragged Schools, and a train of these had swollen the _cortege_, curious +to find out who, or what, lay under the brown blanket. All the women of +Hackett's Cottages gathered at the gateway of Number Eleven to receive +him, many of them carrying babies and offering haphazard advice in the +intervals of giving them refreshment. The doorway of the house was too +small to admit the improvised stretcher, so they laid it down at the side +of the garden. + +'Be careful of my bloody tomatters,' John Fellows growled. It was the +first sign of life he had given. Abner and two others lifted him from +the door and carried him through the kitchen and up the twisting stairs. +The boards creaked under their weight as though they were on the point of +splintering. It was his right thigh that had been broken; and once, on +the journey upstairs, they jolted him so much that he unclenched his +teeth and roared like a bull. The crowd in the roadway shuddered. This +was their first considerable sensation. + +They laid him on the bed. Alice, now very pale and composed, followed +them upstairs with a cup of tea. + +'God! if I'm come to tea drinking it's a gonner,' said John Fellows. +'Send out for a spot of brandy!' + +A small boy was sent running to the Lyttleton Arms. Elsie had already +gone for the doctor. The news had spread quickly in various forms, and +all Halesby heard with sensation that John Fellows had had his skull +smashed in Mawne pit. The brandy came. He wouldn't have it spoiled with +water and swallowed it neat, but even the brandy could not alter the +ashen pallor of his face beneath its coating of coal dust. + +John Fellows was a hard case and could bear pain or any other human +calamity with fortitude. He lay on his back, gritting his teeth and +squirting the floor with tobacco-juice. Whenever he spoke it was with a +curious dry humour that seldom appeared in his ordinary conversation. He +never complained of his own sufferings, though he cursed the criminal +economy of the Mawne management in the matter of pit-props. 'They might +as well use match-sticks as this Norway stuff. They've put a stopper on +my football!' he said. 'But I'll see that they pay for it. I will, and +no fear!' + +Indeed they owed him something. The collapse of coal that had buried him +had taken place in a remote gallery on one of the lower levels of the +mine; and though Mr Willis, proud of his electric lighting and American +coal-cutting machinery, was in the habit of describing Mawne as a +drawing-room pit, the arrangements for salvage were by no means elegant. +John Fellows had lain for three hours beneath a ton or more of coal; and +though the weight of it saved him from the pain of movement, acting as a +kind of ponderous splint to the broken limb, the suspense of waiting till +he was dug out would have broken the nerve of a more sensitive man. From +this purgatory he had been hauled to one of the trolley-lines that +traverse the galleries of the pit: his only moment of relative smoothness +between the scene of the accident and his home being his upward journey +in the hoisting cage. + +They waited anxiously for the doctor. The boy made three more journeys +to the Lyttleton Arms for brandy. 'It's the only thing that keeps the +life in me,' John Fellows said. + +In a couple of hours Dr Moorhouse arrived. 'Sorry to see you like this, +Fellows,' he said. + +'You'd be sorrier if you was me!' Fellows grunted. + +With the help of Alice they split up his trouser leg, and the doctor +manipulated the thigh until he felt the crepitus of the broken bone. +Then he disturbed the patient no longer. 'It's a three months' job,' he +said. 'You can't have it seen to properly here. You want X-rays. +You'll have to go into hospital.' + +'Hospital . . .' John Fellows cried. + +Then, at last, he became fluent. The brandy had stimulated his +imagination even if it had dulled the pain, and he launched into an +uncompromising statement of the opinions with which poor people regard +the institutions that are erected for their care. He made it plain that +_he_, at any rate, wasn't going to die in any hospital, or be pulled +about by any students, and not a spot of drink. + +'I don't want you to die in any hospital,' the doctor said. He was +painfully used to this kind of outburst. It was always a long and bitter +controversy, and it always ended, as he knew well, in submission. While +John Fellows was fuming he fixed him up on a temporary splint and then +went home to telephone for the ambulance. At the foot of the stairs his +eyes fell on the patient face of Mrs Moseley, who had driven up on the +cart of a friendly baker as soon as she heard the news. + +'You here again!' he cried. 'Upon my word a lunatic asylum's the place +for you. Take your leg out of my sight. I never want to see it again. +I wash my hands of you!' He went off grumbling, and Mrs Moseley climbed +the stairs. + +It pleased John Fellows to see her. Indeed, from the moment of her +arrival, he would not let any one else touch him. In the old days Alice +would have been jealous; but hardship and difficulty had so changed her +nature that she even concerned herself with Mrs Moseley's comfort. The +old woman moved about the room like a soothing influence, and when, an +hour later, the ambulance arrived, she insisted on accompanying her old +friend to the infirmary at North Bromwich. John Fellows went off +cheerfully, with a quartern of brandy in his coat pocket. He was even +bright enough to joke with Mr Higgins, who now arrived on the scene, +having just discovered the key of the stretcher-store in his hip-pocket. + +John Fellows's removal to hospital made no great difference to any one +but Alice. To her the relief was enormous, for it not only saved her the +trouble of irregular meals, allowing her to devote her days to her baby, +but freed her nights from, at the best, uncertainty, and, at the worst, +terror. Now, when Abner had said good-night to her, she need no longer +sit with her nerves on edge, waiting for Fellows to come home, wondering +what would be the humour of his entrance. Instead of this she now sat +over the fire for half an hour of luxurious drowsiness, then picked up +the baby and went off placidly to bed. + +Of course she had to go easy with her housekeeping expenditure, for all +John Fellows's club pay would be absorbed in paying for tobacco and other +luxuries, such as butter, which the hospital did not provide for its +patients, but Abner, as soon as he realised this, told her that she could +count on the pound a week that he earned from the football club, and +more, if necessary, for during the last year he had found it possible to +put by a few sovereigns for himself. Alice did not find it necessary, +however, to draw on his reserves. Her own tastes were simple and Abner +was easily pleased. Indeed, John Fellows had always been the most +expensive member of the household. + +Abner was now in strict training for the cup-tie with the Albion and went +to bed early every night. The Mawne directors, as Mr Hudson had +foretold, jumped at the big club's offer to play the match at North +Bromwich, tempted not only by the welcome hundred pounds but by the +prospect of an even bigger share of gate-money. The team went through +their training with the greatest earnestness. Every afternoon they +turned out on the Mawne ground practising passing, shooting, and tactics, +followed by the eyes of the trainer, an international long since retired, +who walked about the field carrying always a black bag that contained +lemons, elastic bandages, and a patent embrocation of his own that smelt +like Elliman's. + +Nobody who saw these men at practice could possibly have suspected that +they thought of anything but winning their match, though each of them +must have known that all the others had been offered ten pounds a head to +lose it. In the dressing-room, where they stood rubbing each other down +with flesh-gloves in the clouds of steam that the cold air condensed from +half a dozen tin baths of hot water, they talked of plans and prospects +just as if no shadow of corruption had ever approached them. Nobody had +mentioned the subject to Abner since Hudson had tackled him at the works. +That, no doubt, was the policy of those who had put up the money: to let +the thought of it sink in over a period of ten days and trust to the +frailty of human nature on the eleventh. They knew their business, for +the mere presence of such a disturbing problem was enough to demoralise +the team. + +On the day before the match the Mawne goalkeeper sprained his ankle at +practice, and neither the bandages nor the embrocation of the trainer +could restore him. In this emergency the committee called upon George +Harper, who had retired four or five years before and was now a man of +substance and landlord of a public-house, to take his place. Abner, who +had always been on good terms with this idol of his boyhood, went up to +him after the last practice game and told him of Hudson's offer. Harper +listened to him in silence, nodding his head, but when Abner asked him if +he too had been approached by Hudson, he only laughed. 'Hudson?' he +said, 'that red-whiskered b--? No fear of that! He dursen't come near +me. He knows what he'd get, does Mr Hudson.' + +In spite of this, when the team were assembled in the dressing-room of +the Albion ground on the day of the cup-tie, Abner saw the trainer take +George Harper aside. He talked excitedly in a low voice, but Harper only +went red in the face and said nothing. As they left the dressing-room +Abner winked at George, and George, solemnly, winked back at him. The +captain kicked the ball into the middle of the field, and the Mawne team +ran out after him, amid a spreading uproar of cheers. + +The turf of the Albion ground was incredibly smooth and level after the +rough field in which they were accustomed to play at Mawne. The place +was, indeed, a vast oval amphitheatre, with high stands rising above the +dressing-rooms on the west and on every other side a sloping embankment +so packed with people that the ground on which they stood could nowhere +be seen. The vastness of this white-faced multitude was imposing in its +ugliness. Its pale, restless masses, represented on a horrible scale the +grimy flatness of the city complexion. From the crowd a low murmur arose +like the noise of the sea breaking on distant shingles, and over all its +surface floated a fume of tobacco smoke. A moment later the Albion team +emerged; the crowd swayed, and the murmur swelled to a roar of welcome. +The chocolate and yellow jerseys of Mawne so nearly resembled the +Albion's colours that the home team turned out in white shirts and +knickers. It was partly the spotlessness of this attire that made them +seem like a company of athletic giants, swifter, more flexible and +stronger than their opponents. Even Abner's six feet were dwarfed by the +diverse colours of his clothes. It seemed a ridiculous thing to match +this shabby team of stunted pitmen with eleven picked athletes. + +The game began. Almost at once the white line of the Albion forwards was +in motion. It was a lovely sight, a lesson in fleetness, elasticity and +precision. The Albion, taking no risks, had included a number of their +first league players in the team, and it looked as if Mawne must be +nowhere. Abner, at centre half, the pivotal position of the whole field, +felt that he could do no more than play a spoiling game against this +perfect machine. In the back of his mind he knew also that a certain +number, probably the majority of the Mawne players, were not anxious to +win. It is not easy, however, to play deliberately a losing game, or +indeed to play football with any degree of deliberation. The heat of the +game seemed to inspire the Mawne team to a stubborn, almost desperate, +defence. As a last barrier to the Albion attacks he knew that George +Harper, even if he were an old stager, was incorruptible; and George +Harper, in his prime, had never played a more marvellous game. Perhaps +the feeling that he belonged to an older and more gifted generation of +footballers helped him. Time after time, when the Albion forwards came +swinging down the field in a perfect crescent, he saved the Mawne goal. +His play was inspired, and when half-time came, no goal had been scored. +The players stood sweating in the dressing-room. The trainer handed +round cut lemons. Once again Abner saw him approach George Harper and +take him by the sleeve; but this time the goalkeeper pushed him away. Mr +Willis came down into the dressing-room to congratulate the players. He +was smoking a big cigar, and evidently immensely pleased with himself. +He, at any rate, was above suspicion. The referee called the players out +again. + +In the second half Abner worked as he had never worked before. The Mawne +team was tiring; play grew scrappy and spiteful; but though the Albion +players could do what they liked with the ball in midfield, they did not +seem able to score. Even if Mawne were equally ineffective it seemed +probable that the match would end in a draw. The Albion crowd grew +restless, and began to think that the referee was favouring their +opponents. The Albion players, now a little rattled, tried to effect by +roughness what they could not achieve by skill. Several free-kicks were +given against them for fouls, and the crowd began to boo the referee. It +was like the hollow voice of some sullen ocean-monster. The Albion, +encouraged by the support of the crowd, pursued these tactics. Two men +were ordered off for fighting. A moment later the crowd regained its +good humour stimulated by the sight of a shot from the Albion +centre-forward that hit the cross-bar above George Harper's head. If the +shot had been three inches lower he could not possibly have saved it. +The kick that followed transferred the play to the other end of the +field. It was close on time and everybody was nervous. A centre from +the Mawne outside right came to Abner's feet in front of the Albion goal. +One of the Albion backs tried to trip him, getting cleverly on the blind +side of the referee. Abner stumbled free, and since the goal was now +open, the player lashed out at his ear. Abner's temper was up. He left +the ball and closed with his opponent. The Mawne team held up their +hands and called on the referee like one man. A violent fight had begun +when the referee arrived, shaking himself free from a gesticulating +escort of Mawne players. The Albion men separated the fighters, and +though the referee warned both of them that if anything more happened he +would send them off, he gave a free kick to Mawne. The crowd howled. It +seemed for a moment as if they would burst their barriers and swarm on to +the field. Very grimly, his face streaming with blood, Abner took the +kick. The Albion goalkeeper, making a high save, tipped the ball over +the cross-bar. A corner. The players lined up, panting, in front of the +Albion goal. The young outside right, whose centre had been the +beginning of the trouble, took the kick. The ball sailed high and fell +slowly into the _melee_ of players. Abner, who had proved his +dangerousness, was carefully marked and charged at as the ball fell, but +he butted his opponent aside, and making full use of his superior height, +managed to head it into the top left-hand corner of the net. A shout of +'goal' rose from the crowd, but there was no applause. The strange thing +about the whole business was the attitude of the Mawne players. These +men, who had been playing a half-hearted game all afternoon, appeared to +be overwhelmed with joy. They ran up to Abner and shook both his hands +as if there had been no matter of ten pounds depending on his +achievement. Even George Harper came running down the field and patted +him on the back. George had his work cut out, for in the last three +minutes of the game the Albion made a desperate effort to equalise, and +subjected him to an incessant bombardment. Luck aided his skill, and +when the whistle went for time Mawne had won their match. + +Abner went home that night with a thick ear and a slowly closing right +eye. He was tired and sore but elated. He wanted to do nothing but sit +in front of the fire and think over again the progress of the match. +Alice, on the other hand, was terribly concerned with his injuries. She +dressed his face with some ointment that Mrs Moseley had recommended her +for the baby, and sat opposite to him burning with pain and indignation. + +'I wish you'd give it up, Abner,' she said. 'One of these days you'll +get killed. It's downright brutal. It's worse than prize-fighting.' + +'That's what it was,' Abner chuckled. + +He pretended that he didn't want her to fuss over him; but all the same +this devotion was very pleasant. As for Alice, the pain of seeing him so +battered was almost equalled by her pleasure in tending him. And they +were alone. She was thankful that they were alone. Time after time she +returned to her pleading that he would give up football. 'You've never +come home in a state like this,' she said. + +'Give up football?' said Abner. 'And what would we live on then? You +couldn't manage, and that's straight!' + +'I'd do it,' she said. 'I'd manage somehow.' + +He laughed at her intensity. 'Don't you fret yourself about me,' he +said, 'I'm all right.' He went to bed and slept like a log. She brought +him breakfast and clean dressings to his bedroom. + +On Monday morning down at the works Mr Willis met him. 'Good lad!' he +said. 'Good lad!' Later in the day Mr Hudson came down from the office +to the place where he was working. He smiled to conceal his annoyance. +'Well, I suppose we've got to thank you and Harper for the win,' he said. + +'I reckon we've not got to thank you!' Abner replied. + +'H'm, that's it, is it?' said Hudson. 'You'd better go up to the +pay-office for your money.' + +'Time enough when I've finished,' said Abner. Football always prevented +him from collecting his pay on a Saturday morning with the other men. At +the end of the day he went to the pay clerk. Instead of twenty-five +shillings as usual he was given fifty. + +'What's this for?' he asked. + +'Lieu of a week's notice,' said the clerk. 'The gaffer says we have to +cut down. Mr Hudson's orders.' + +'B--r Hudson!' said Abner angrily. + + + + +The Sixth Chapter + + +THAT night he went down to the public-house for the first time since the +day of Susan's defection more than a year before. The crowd at the Royal +Oak were glad to see him, for they were still talking about nothing else +but the result of the cup-tie. Every one was anxious to treat him and to +condole with him on his black eye, and he was prepared to drink as much +as they would give him, standing his own share up to the limit of the +fifty shillings in his pocket, as long as he could forget the anger with +which he had left the works. If he didn't, somehow, get the idea of his +injury out of his mind, he felt that he would probably go down to +Hudson's private house and wring his neck. + +In the Royal Oak, drinking nothing but hot whisky, he managed to lose +himself and the troubles of the day. He was conscious of nothing but the +warmth and comfort of the private bar, the dark varnished walls, the +polished beer engine, the shining rows of bottles, the crackle of the +bright fire. For a time the room was also full of jolly people who +laughed and spoke with loud, buoyant voices, the happiest company +imaginable. The spirituous air was exhilarating and endowed all the +contents of the bar, from the postage stamps on the ceiling to the brass +spittoons and sawdust of the floor, with a quality of unusual vividness. +At last this curious clarity faded and the details that had seemed for +some curious reason exciting, became blurred. Abner tucked up his feet +on a settle covered with American leather and tried to go to sleep. When +he awoke, his old friend Joe Hodgetts was piloting him home along the +Stourton Road under a sky of dancing stars. + +Alice was waiting up for him. Supper was laid on the table and she rose +from her chair by the fire to welcome him as he entered. The new light +dazzled him, and as he stood uncertainly at the door he took hold of the +red curtain to steady himself, and, lurching, pulled it down from its +string. Alice gave a cry. Even though she knew the symptoms well enough +in her husband she couldn't believe that Abner was drunk. She only saw +him standing there with the great discoloured bruise on his flushed face. +He held the curtain in his hand and looked at it stupidly, as if he +didn't know what to do with it. + +'Abner . . . what's up with you?' she said, running to take it from him. + +'There's nowt up with me,' he said solemnly. 'I'm drunk. That's all. +If any one's a right to be drunk it's me.' + +The equanimity with which she had trained herself to receive John Fellows +in such circumstances deserted her. She knew perfectly well that it was +no use arguing with a drunken man, but the case of Abner was so +exceptional that she began to do so. He took no notice of her, and then +she rated him violently, so that overcome by a sudden flush of anger he +took hold of her arms as if he were going to throw her down. He had +never taken hold of her like that before. She faced him, panting for +breath, and they stared into each other's eyes. He felt the warmth of +her arms through the sleeve of her bodice and realised her for the first +time as a living, warm-blooded creature. She trembled under his gaze, +but did not try to free herself. He felt that something like this had +happened before; remembered Susan. Suddenly sobered, almost frightened, +he relaxed his grip on her arms. Still she did not move. She stood +dazed, with her breath coming and going. 'I'm going to bed,' he said. +He staggered to the foot of the stairs and left her standing there. + +When he had gone she pulled herself together and put her hands to her +eyes as though she wanted to shut out what she had seen. She had +forgotten her first resentment and the emotion with which she trembled +now was one that frightened her and put her to shame. She felt that she +had just experienced the most thrilling moment of her life. After that +she could never pretend to herself that she was not in love with Abner. + +In the morning he woke early. Before Alice knew that he was astir he +went downstairs in his stockinged feet and lit the kitchen fire. By the +time that she herself appeared he had made himself a cup of tea and laid +the table for breakfast. Neither of them spoke of his violent homecoming +the night before or of the stranger scene that followed it. She had half +expected that he would ask her pardon for what had happened, but such a +proceeding didn't seem to him important. He had been drunk, now he was +sober, and that was the end of the matter. When breakfast was over he +went out into the dank washhouse and shaved. She was puzzled to see that +he was not going to work, for he had dressed in his Sunday clothes and +wore his watch-chain, decorated with a couple of silver football medals. +At last she plucked up courage to ask him if he was not going to Mawne. + +'No,' he said. 'I bain't going there no more.' + +'What's up then?' + +'Got the sack,' he said laconically. + +'But the money . . .' she said. 'We've got to live.' + +'I picked up two weeks' pay last night. You can have what's left.' + +He turned out his pockets and gave her a handful of small change. +'That's more than I reckoned there'd be,' he said. + +She threw down the money on the table and stared at him. 'I owe more nor +this!' she said. 'What about the football money?' + +'Don't talk to me about football,' he said. 'I've done with football as +long as that Hudson's on the committee.' + +The situation baffled her. Money they must have, and she was quick to +rack her brains for some way in which it could be got. An inspiration +came to her. 'You didn't ought to work with your eye in that state,' she +said. 'Better go down to the doctor's and put yourself on the box. +You've been paying into that club long enough and not had a penny out of +it.' + +'Club?' said Abner. 'I don't sponge on no clubs! I'm going down to the +pit to see the doggy. I reckon he'll find me a job underground.' He lit +his pipe and went out into the frosty morning. A delayed impulse made +her want to give him his knitted neck-scarf, but it came too late. She +didn't know what to make of it. In a single night all the pleasant, +ordered happiness of the life that they had been leading since John +Fellows's accident had been overwhelmed. She felt it unreasonable, +incredible, that this should have happened. She could not even solace +herself with the care of her baby, who was now beginning to babble and to +stagger with uncertain steps from chair to chair. She found herself +wishing, for a moment, that there wasn't a kid to worry about, and was as +quickly bitten with remorse, for she knew that the baby was her most +precious possession on earth. She could settle down to nothing. The +foundations of her routine life had been dissolved. She had not even +money enough to meet the bills that she always paid on Mondays. But the +thought of money was nothing to her compared with her anxiety as to +Abner's attitude toward herself. She found a little comfort in thinking +that he had not yet recovered from the effects of his debauch, and that +when he returned in the evening they might take up their relation at the +point where it had been so abruptly convulsed. On this her whole +happiness depended. + +Abner's visit to the pit was satisfactory in so far as it procured him +without the least difficulty a job underground. He was a trained miner, +and in those days, when the output of the mine had been diminished by a +series of accidents and a growing tendency to work short time, any new +hand was welcome at Mawne pit. When he came back in the evening he +reassured Alice that even if they had to go easy in the matter of +expenditure they need not starve in the interval before John Fellows +returned to double their income. To meet the present emergency he handed +her the sovereign that he had received from the football club. 'If that +sod Hudson had had his way you'd have had ten,' he said enigmatically. +'You'd better send a nipper to the Oak with my boots and football gear,' +he told her. 'I've done with Mawne United.' + +She was thankful for his solution of her money difficulties, for pride +would not have allowed her to face the butcher and the grocer without the +money in her hand. In spite of the loss that it implied, she couldn't +reasonably refuse to be glad that he had abandoned football since she had +so often begged him to do so. What troubled her far more than this was +the fact that his attitude toward her was changed. It was clear that he +had not been too drunk to realise the significance of the moment when he +had held her in his arms and they had looked into each other's eyes. He +had seen the emotional precipice on the edge of which they were standing. +Well, so had she; but that seemed to her no reason why they should not +pretend that things were as they had always been. She was content to +play her part; even, for their common comfort, to forget what had +happened. The only thing that she could not bear was that he should +avoid her as though she were an evil thing to be feared and distrusted. + +This, in effect, was what he did. To drink habitually was not in his +nature. When he drank he did so simply as a means to escape from himself +or from some harassing emotion; and so he did not seek a refuge, as she +had feared he would, in a public house. None the less it soon became +clear that the pleasant homely evenings at Hackett's Cottages were now at +an end. The chair which Alice always arranged for him at the fireside +was never occupied. When he came home from the pit at night and had +washed himself in the scullery he now went out again to spend the +evenings with his friends, with old Mr Higgins, with George Harper, or +with Mrs Moseley. He hated his work at the colliery: the dark, cramped +labour in remote subterranean stalls was a terrible change from his free +and easy life at the furnaces. He hated the dirt no less than the +darkness and it scarcely mended matters to realise that he was wanted at +the pit. + +Opportunities of escape soon presented themselves. The retirement of +their most promising player from the United team created a sensation not +only in Mawne but in the surrounding towns. Abner would give no +explanation for it. When people asked him why he was not playing for +Mawne he merely told them to go and ask Hudson. It was impossible for +him to change his team in the middle of the season without an official +transfer. The secretary of the Albion made a special journey to Halesby +to ask him to consent to this; but since this proceeding would have +presented the Mawne club with a handsome transfer fee, he refused. The +Albion offered him good and easy work in North Bromwich if he would sign +on for them next season. 'You can have it for the asking,' they +said--but he refused, for though he would have liked nothing better he +felt that it would be wrong to desert Alice in her present emergency. +Until his father returned it was his duty to stay with her. + +The winter wore on, and John Fellows, whose alcoholic history made him a +bad subject for a fractured thigh-bone, still lay in hospital. Abner +stuck to his thankless labours at the pit. He worked longer underground +than he need have done, simply for the reason that he did not want to +spend his evenings in the dangerous company of Alice. After that night +he knew that he could not wholly trust himself. His earnings were now +sufficient to keep the household in comfort, and the money that he drew +from his overtime he put aside for an emergency, concealing them in an +old stocking underneath the mattress of his bed. He wanted to be sure of +his liberty as soon as his father returned. + +At Christmas, Alice made a heroic attempt to recover her lost happiness. +A week before the festival she went down into the market at Halesby and +bought a branch of berried holly which she hung above the middle of the +table from a nail that had once supported a hanging lamp. She decorated +the branch with cheap trifles, flags, lustred balls and candles of +coloured wax in metal clips shaped like butterflies. Over the +mantelpiece she pinned a scroll of varnished paper with 'God Bless Our +Home' in gothic characters upon it, and in various inaccessible places +she put sprigs of mistletoe. Although she said nothing to Abner it was +evident that she was counting on him to celebrate the feast at home. A +few days before the event she showed him a present that she had bought +for the child, a wooden horse with red nostrils, a lambskin mane, and a +ridiculous dab of a tail. Even this failed to move him, and up to the +last moment she was in doubt as to whether he would forsake her. She +schemed her very hardest to keep him, using as a bait the child whose +curious ways and stumbling attempts at speech amused him. This creature +loved, above all things, to be caught up and perched on the dizzy height +of Abner's shoulder, so high that he was able to examine the unexplored +country of the ceiling. He also loved to play with Tiger, who now came +and went in Hackett's Cottages of his own accord. Tiger liked children, +and he and little John would roll over together on the kitchen floor. +Alice always made the dog welcome, tempting him with such bones as never +entered Mrs Moseley's house. He was a link with Abner, and therefore to +be encouraged. + +In the end Abner spent Christmas Day at Hackett's Cottages, or, to be +exact, the morning and evening of it, for the afternoon he devoted to +watching the league match between Mawne United and Dulston on the Royal +Oak ground. He could not bring himself to forget football altogether +even though he persisted in his determination not to play. In spite of +all Alice's pathetic efforts, the day was not a success. In the evening, +when they sat over the fire and Mr Higgins, who had brought in a basket +of oranges, had left them alone together, she made a direct attempt to +have the matter out with him. + +'Why are you so funny with me, Abner?' she said. 'I don't know what I've +done that you should treat me distant like this. You didn't use to do +it.' But he would not answer. 'You've took a turn against me,' she +said. 'I know you have. What is it I've done?' + +'_You_ ain't done nothing,' he said. 'And _I_ ain't took a turn again' +you neither. I'm all right if so be you'll leave me alone.' + +'Yo'm different even with our John,' she said. + +'Don't yo' bother,' he said at last. 'It'll be different time ourn comes +back. He must be getting on a bit now.' + +She had to leave it at that. It had been a difficult evening for Abner, +for in spite of her troubles the firelight and the excitement that the +baby's pleasure in his presents had given her made her look very +attractive in her own fragile way. 'When ourn comes back . . .' She +sighed, for she felt that John Fellows's return would put an end even to +the small measure of happiness that she managed to extract from the +present. When John Fellows came back she would be faced with all the old +desperate problems, the old terrible nights. As they sat over the fire +she turned her face aside to hide the tears that came into her eyes. +Abner puffed stolidly at his pipe. 'When he comes back,' he said, 'I +reckon I'll have a look round for another job.' + +'Where?' she asked, in alarm. + +'Oh, anywhere out of this place,' he said. 'I'm sick of Halesby. I +reckon I'll go to Coventry or Wales. There's good money in Wales.' + +'Abner,' she cried. 'Oh, Abner, you'm not going to leave me? Not with +him. . . . I couldn't abide it, Abner. Abner, if you leave me, I'll +make a hole in the cut, God strike me if I won't!' She could contain +herself no longer and went sobbing upstairs. Abner found it difficult to +resist an impulse to follow her and comfort her. He was not used to a +woman's tears. He got as far as the foot of the stairs, then slowly +turned back and sat on, smoking till midnight amid the pathetic +decorations of that poor room. His reflections determined him more than +ever to cut himself free from the embarrassments of life at Halesby. +Coventry was almost too near. Yes, he would go down into Wales. On his +way upstairs he listened for a moment outside her bedroom door. He +thought he heard her still sobbing under the sheets, but when he listened +the sound of sobbing stopped. + +Next day she had quite regained her self-possession. They went together, +taking the baby with them, to visit John Fellows in the North Bromwich +Infirmary. They found him lying in a long, clean ward festooned with +Christmas decorations. The ominous erection of an apparatus of weights +and pulleys at the foot of his bed emphasised his helplessness. He did +not appear to be very pleased to see them, and his embraces so frightened +the baby that he set up a howl. The baby need not have been frightened, +for John Fellows was far less impressive than he had been in his former +state. The whole man seemed to have shrunk. He was newly shaved; his +rough hands had become clean and almost transparent; but though he now +looked as if he couldn't hurt any one, the presence of the visitors set +him grumbling at once. From the first he appeared to be offended with +Abner because he had not thought to smuggle in any liquor for him. + +'You ain't brought a spot,' he said. 'Well, you're a b--y fine son!' +Even three months of abstinence had not diminished his craving. He told +them that he dreamed of liquor, but that there seemed to be no chance of +him getting any nearer to it than in dreams, for, as far as he could see, +his leg was exactly as it had been when he came into hospital. After +this outburst of discontent he softened a little, pinched Alice's cheek, +played a little with the baby, who had by this time overcome his fears, +and even talked to Abner about football. In this way he heard the story +of the Albion match and Mawne committee's attempt to square the players. +At first he was enthusiastic about George Harper's resistance to the +corrupting influence; but on second thoughts he disapproved of it. 'I +reckon you and George done your mates a bad turn. It ain't every day you +can pick up ten pound for nothing.' The only thing that modified his +opinion was the dislike that he shared with all the other men at Mawne of +Hudson. 'Hudson . . .' he said. 'I wish you'd a' finished him!' + +While Abner and his father were talking football Alice had approached the +sister, a dark, capable-looking woman whose features and hair and eyes +were as rigid and sharp and metallic as the scissors hanging from her +starched belt, on the subject of John Fellows's progress. This woman +stared at her for a moment. 'Are you Fellows's daughter?' she asked. + +'No, sister, I'm his wife.' + +'He's the worst grumbler we've ever had in this ward,' said the sister; +'but as a matter of fact he's getting on finely. The doctor says the +bone is set nicely, and he should be out in a couple of weeks now. I +expect they'll send him out on a Thomas's splint. You don't know what +that is,' she added, with a rather scornful intonation, but then, +noticing that Alice looked tired, she took her into her bunk and gave her +a cup of tea. + +'I couldn't imagine that you were Fellows's wife,' she said, 'and this +his baby. I thought your husband was the young man who came with you.' + +'He and baby's half-brothers,' Alice explained, blushing. 'By Mr +Fellows's first wife, you know.' + +'Well, I hope you'll be happy,' replied the sister doubtfully. 'It's +time the visitors were going. Is Fellows a very heavy drinker?' + +'I'm afraid he is,' said Alice mildly. + +'I thought so,' said the sister. 'We ought to keep him in here for your +sake. But there's always a rush on surgical beds at Christmas time. +You'd better call your stepson.' + + + + +The Seventh Chapter + + +ABNER was genuinely relieved when Alice told him the good report that the +sister had given her on his father's condition, for it promised him a +speedy release from the discomfort of the situation. Alice, who had +accustomed herself to examine every shade of expression that he showed, +knew that he was rejoicing at the prospect of leaving her. The thought +piqued her, for she had forced herself always to behave toward him +exactly as if there had never been a moment of embarrassment between +them. Her pride would not let the matter rest. + +'You'm glad he's coming back,' she said. 'I know you be.' + +'I'm glad his leg's joined, if that's what you mean,' he replied. +'That's only human-like. Besides, it's best for everybody.' + +'And what about me?' she asked, passionately. + +He would not answer, and she flowed on with a stream of reproaches, +telling him that she knew he hated her and couldn't bear the sight of +her, in the hope that he would be driven to say that he did nothing of +the sort. Abner remained passive. He knew very well that if he were to +lose his temper with her the situation might easily become just as +dangerous as if he were tender. The main thing to be avoided with her +was emotion of any kind. Life had been made difficult enough for him +already simply because he knew that their relation was capable of +passionate developments. He knew what passion was, and in spite of +himself he could not always banish the thought of Alice from his mind. +Admitting this, he had mapped out a course of conduct for himself, and he +meant to stick to it until the happy day of his relief. + +It was not a fortnight but a month before John Fellows left the hospital. +He came back, as the sister had anticipated, with a Thomas's splint on +his thigh and instructions to attend the infirmary as an out-patient in +another month's time. The splint was an embarrassment that he resented, +for it compelled him to sit in an uncomfortable position with the right +leg extended, but it did not prevent him walking or drinking, and as soon +as he had mastered the first of these processes he lost no time in making +up for his long abstinence from the second. The rules of the friendly +society to which he belonged forbade its members to visit public-houses +as long as they were receiving sick pay, so that the invalid was forced +to enter the Lyttleton Arms by a back door which he reached by crossing +the garden of a friend, and having once solved this problem Fellows +managed to put in the day without any difficulty. + +Every Friday morning he hobbled down on his crutches to the doctor's +surgery and obtained a certificate by means of which he drew his weekly +pay. It was only twelve shillings a week, and he never parted with a +penny of it to Alice, so that the household now depended entirely on +Abner's earnings. It puzzled both of them to imagine how he managed to +live in a state of fuddled alcoholism on this small sum. They supposed +that his old friend the landlord, trusting him, put it on the slate in +the hope of being paid when Fellows went back to work. He had always +been free with his money, and no doubt his boon companions of the past +were ready to treat him as often as they could afford it. + +At the end of February he went in to North Bromwich in accordance with +the hospital orders and returned without his splint. The doctors had +told him that it would now be wise to use the leg as much as possible and +suggested that the colliery authorities, who were partly responsible for +the accident, should now give him a light job at the pit-head. John +Fellows, however, didn't see the point of this. He had paid into the +Loyal United Free Gardeners for more than thirty years and now that he +had the chance he meant to get some of his money back by staying on the +box as long as they would let him. He could get quite enough exercise +for his leg in his clandestine approaches to the Lyttleton Arms. What +was more, he would not do a stroke of work until his claim against the +colliery was settled. He had consulted a solicitor, and a claim under +the Workmen's Compensation Act was pending. + +Abner meanwhile waited impatiently for his release. The presence of his +father in the house had eased the awkwardness of his relation with Alice +by abolishing the sense of lonely isolation that surrounded it. Alice +herself was almost complacent. She did not mind how long John Fellows +abstained from work as long as Abner was left to her. At the end of May +the doctor refused to continue the farce of signing the miner's +certificates. John Fellows grumbled, but had to admit that he had done +fairly well out of the club. He pushed on his claim for compensation, +which was settled for fifty pounds. Alice was overjoyed at this +windfall, for the strain of her straitened housekeeping had forced her to +run up a few small debts with tradesmen. She took the opportunity of +asking her husband for money when Abner was in the room. + +'Money . . .?' said John Fellows. 'Money . . .? What do yo' want with +money? What's money to do with me when I've a son at work earning a +man's wages? If yo' want money better ask our Abner. Didn't I keep him +all through his schooling in food and clothes? working day and night? I +reckon it's his turn now.' + +'I bain't goin' to keep you in pub-crawling any longer,' said Abner. +'You'd best give her some, while you've got it. I'm going off to work in +Wales.' + +'Work in Wales!' cried John Fellows. 'I'll teach you to talk to your +father like that,' he cried, coming over to him with his head low between +his shoulders like an angry bull. When he reached his son he stopped, +for Abner had thrown back his elbow. Alice ran to separate them. There +was no need for her to have done so, for Fellows knew better than to +appeal to force. + +'You're a fine pair, the two on you!' he said. 'And don't you go +thinking I can't see.' + +He went out of the room with the limp that he now cultivated, and it was +well that he did so, for by this time Abner was white with rage. He +would have followed his father if Alice had not withheld him. + +'Abner, don't!' she cried. 'What did he mean?' + +'You know what he meant as well as I do,' said Abner with a laugh. +'Still, that don't matter. I'm off to-morrow.' + +But he did not go. Thinking the matter over he could not bring himself +to abandon Alice and her child to the desolation that he knew must follow +his departure. It even seemed to him that his going might suggest to his +father that he had hit the right nail on the head. The fact that, this +time, Alice knew better than beg him to stay, also influenced him. By +this token she accepted his independence and appealed only to his +generosity. She never had a penny of her husband's fifty pounds. Some +of it, no doubt, he owed to the landlord of the Lyttleton Arms: but in +any case it became clear that as long as it lasted he could not be +expected to return to work. In the meantime he took great pains to avoid +crossing Abner, feeling less obligation towards the housekeeping expenses +from the fact that his nourishment in these days was mainly liquid and +taken elsewhere. + +It was difficult to say how long the money would last him. For the +present he was managing extraordinarily well and there seemed no reason +why he should ever take up work again, although there was now no physical +reason why he should not begin. The summer passed without any change in +their arrangements. Abner still disliked his work. The prolonged strain +of working in cramped positions was beginning to tell on his eyes; but in +the lower levels of the pit he suffered little from the extremity of heat +which made work above ground almost impossible in the July of that year, +and made his father thirstier than ever. Under the new conditions he +found it impossible to save money for the needs of the day when he should +be free. All his earnings but a few shillings went to Alice every +Saturday night, and it was with difficulty that he refrained from +breaking into the small store that he had kept intact in his stocking. + +On August bank-holiday the men at the pit stopped work. This was the day +of Dulston Wake, the principal festival of the black-country year. Each +of the small towns that lie like knots on the network of tramways that +has its centre in North Bromwich has its own minor fair of swing-boats, +roundabouts, and cocoa-nut shies, but none of these have half the +significance of Dulston Wake, which is prominent not only by its +magnitude but also by the weight of tradition that belongs to it and by +the magnificence of its setting. In all his life Abner had never missed +it, nor, for that matter, had his father; and when the day drew near it +was taken as a matter of course that the whole family should put on its +Sunday clothes and go to the Wake together. They left soon after midday, +John Fellows already mildly intoxicated, Abner in his blue suit with a +white silk neckerchief, and Alice, carrying the baby breeched for the +occasion, in her best black costume. + +They had to walk more than a mile from Hackett's Cottages to the terminus +of the electric tramway system that had not yet come to Mawne. John +Fellows, who had forgotten his limp, led the way at a great pace down +Mawne bank, so fast indeed that Alice grew tired by the weight of the +child. The day was one of sweltering heat, of the kind in which the +people of the black-country prefer to take their pleasures. John Fellows +carried a bottle of draught beer in each pocket of his coat and a red +pocket-handkerchief escaped from under the brim of his bowler hat. He +turned to swear at Alice for delaying the progress of the party, and +then, mumbling something under his breath, put on a spurt of ridiculous +energy and left them behind. + +Abner relieved the panting Alice of her burden, and carried the child on +his shoulder. Soon they had crossed the Stour at the bridge by the +gun-barrel works and had gained the relative coolness of shade under the +chestnuts of Mr Willis's hanging gardens. They arrived at the tramway +terminus ten minutes later than John Fellows to find that he had not +profited by his exertions since the trams were overcrowded and a +breakdown had disorganised the service. He had taken the opportunity of +sitting down on the cinder path and emptying one of his beer bottles, and +as fast as he drank beer sweat oozed from every pore of his body. When +the tram appeared in the distance he pulled himself up with a grunt and +prepared to fight for a seat in it. It was quite impossible for Alice to +compete in this kind of scrimmage. John Fellows pushed his way in first +and sat fanning himself with his hat while Abner, Alice and the baby were +left behind. They did not see him again during the day. + +They waited for twenty minutes in the sun before they found a place in +one of those reckless tramway-cars that go roaring like spent shells +through all the wastes of the black country. They could not speak for +the jolt and jangle of its progress, for the clanging of its bell and the +alarming sputter of electric sparks when it swayed on its springs and +threatened to jump the rails. In all their four miles of journey they +could see no green. They passed through endless streets of grimy brick, +baked culverts from which a blast of acrid and lifeless air rushed +through the front of the car like a sirocco. Even though the fires of +the furnaces and factories had been banked down for the holidays they +could still smell the heat which had scorched and blackened this volcanic +country on every side. + +At last they were jolted through the narrow streets of Dulston, happily +without catastrophe, and ejected at the foot of the hill on which its +medieval castle stands. Here the crowd was at its thickest. Noisy +hawkers sold ticklers and leaden water-squirts and programmes of the +fete. Tram after tram disgorged its sweaty contents to mix with the +cooler occupants of brakes and char-a-bancs. Through the dense foliage +of the castle woods that hung limp in the heat like painted leafage in a +theatre, the discordant music of competing roundabouts floated down, and +beneath it one could hear the low, exciting rumour of the fair, toward +which the steady stream of new arrivals was setting. It was a stiff pull +up the slope of the castle hill and every one who climbed it seemed +bitten with an infectious speed. At the top of it the crowd thickened +beneath the constriction of a narrow Norman arch and then burst and +scattered into the huge central courtyard where gray ruins looked down +upon this modern substitute for the tourneys of the middle ages. + +Abner and Alice were caught up in the excitements of the fair. He soon +added to his burdens by knocking down three cocoa-nuts. At a +shooting-gallery to the admiration of Alice he smashed thin globes of +glass spinning above a jet of water. For his prize he chose a brooch of +imitation gold: a heart pierced by an arrow and surmounted by the word +'Alice.' She laughed and pinned it in the neck of her black bodice. She +marvelled at the sureness of his hand and eye. There was no one in all +that crowd whom she would have chosen for her escort rather than him. +She rejoiced, for the first time in many months, to find him a happy and +natural companion, only wishing that she could forget the fact that John +Fellows also was there, drinking, no doubt, in one of the canvas marquees +that the firm of Astill had erected in each corner of the courtyard. +Once, and only once, she spoke her thoughts. 'I wonder where he is, +Abner. . . .' she said. He only laughed at her. + +'I'll find him if you like.' + +'Oh, don't be soft, Abner,' she said. 'I was only wondering. . .' + +They spent their coppers at a dozen booths, seeing the fattest lady and +the smallest horse in the world, the riders of bucking bronchos with +woolly trousers and slouch hats, who were even better shots than Abner; +and the lady of mystery, who divined the name and age of Alice and the +dates on Abner's football medals and told them that their married +happiness was threatened by a dark woman. To this seeress Alice +protested blushing Abner was not her husband. 'Well, my love,' said that +lady, pointing to the baby, 'that bain't nothing to boast about.' The +crowd in the tent laughed, and Alice was annoyed with Abner for laughing +with them. 'You ought to have told 'er,' she said crossly as they +emerged. 'It's enough to take my character for life!' + +By this time the cause of the mystery lady's speculations was getting +tired and peevish. Abner took him for a ride on one of the galloping +roundabout horses, but the motion only made him sick, and so they left +the courtyard and sat resting in the tepid air under the shadow of the +castle beeches, undisturbed by any but casual lovers who had sought the +same kind of privacy. + +'I think it's awful the way they be'ave!' said Alice, hugging the baby to +her breast as though she thought he might be corrupted by the sight of so +much unbridled passion. It came natural to her to adopt this pose of +modesty in Abner's company. She expected him to agree with her; but he +only laughed, and this set her thinking of the dark episode of Susan Wade +and wishing she knew what actually had happened. 'You didn't ought to +laugh,' she said, 'it bain't decent.' + +But Abner was too contented to pursue the argument. + +The child slept for an hour, and Abner sat smoking beside them. He went +back to the fair-ground and brought her a cup of tea. Thus refreshed +they returned to the castle courtyard. The sun was setting; the +uppermost storeys of the ruins were tinged with warm and mellow light, +but the crowded space beneath them had grown cooler. Hissing flares of +naphtha were lighted. Swing-boats soared out of the pit of the ruins +into the glowing sky. The crowd, released from the burden of heat under +which it had laboured, began to pluck up spirits. There was a good deal +of friendly horse-play, from which Alice shrank into the protection of +Abner's bulk. Little John did not seem much the better for his sleep. +He was tired and irritable, and frightened by the squirts of water and +the feathered teasers. It seemed as if they would have to take him home. +'But I did want him to see the fireworks!' Alice said regretfully. +Already two monstrous fire-balloons had ascended and drifted away till +they showed no bigger than the moon. + +'Come on then,' said Abner. 'I've had enough of it if yo' have. Let's +get back before the trams is crowded.' + +He took the baby from her arms and she, almost unwillingly, followed him. + +At the end of the courtyard, near the Norman archway by which they had +entered, stood a boxing-booth, inside which the show was just on the +point of beginning. The proprietor, a heavy-jowled ruffian in a sweater, +whose board proclaimed him to be an ex-welter-weight champion of +Bermondsey, had collected a crowd round his platform by inveighing, in +the intervals between ringing his bell, against the sporting reputation +of the black-country. At the back of the platform two of his staff, a +nigger and a Hebrew, were sparring gently like kittens at play. It +seemed that the reason for his resentment was his failure to get the +Dulston audience to do anything but watch him and his pets. What he +wanted, he said, was sport . . . just to see what the local talent was +made of. + +'Sport?' he said, 'you don't know the meaning of the word in this +gord-forsaken 'ole. When I puts up this tent in Durham or Middlesborough +or Wales, they flock into it, flock in . . . ready to take a turn with +the boys and give a little exhibition. Frightened to use your fists, +that's what you are here. What the hell's England coming to? That's +what I want to know. It's enough to make me sick, you people! It's +enough to make me want to take down the saloon and burn the whole +bleedin' bag of tricks, damme if it isn't, an' the boys waiting here for +a bit of sport.' The nigger had stopped sparring and was grinning +insolently at the crowd, among the younger women of which his strangeness +exercised an attraction. Nobody, however, seemed inclined to enter the +booth. + +'Come along, Abner,' Alice whispered, tugging at his arm. + +The proprietor rang his bell again. 'Now, for the last time,' he said. +'Just commencing! If you haven't the spunk to put on the gloves +yourselves, come and see a pretty exhibition of scientific boxing. And I +give you my word this is the last time I ever bring my entertainment into +the bleedin' black-country!' + +'Good job, gaffer,' said somebody. + +The laughter of the crowd made the big man lose his temper. 'Good job, +is it?' he cried. 'I'd ask the gentleman that made that remark to come +up here and say it to my face. Ever hear the name of Budge Garside? +That's mine! 'Ere, I'll give five pounds'--he pulled out a leather bag +of money and jingled it--'I'll give two pounds to any of you chaps +that'll stand up to me for six rounds. That's what I think of the bloody +lot of you. Men! There's not one of you black-country chaps worth the +name. All you're fit for, as far as I can see, is to carry the babby +about and 'old the missis's 'and. Yes, sir, it's you I'm talkin' to!' + +Everybody looked at Abner. Alice again tried to pull him away. 'That's +right, my dear,' said Garside, encouraged, 'take 'im 'ome before 'e gets +'is pretty face spoiled!' + +Abner shook himself free from her hand and shoved the baby into her arms. + +'Come on, gaffer,' he said, 'I'm game.' He moved forward through the +crowd. Alice, clinging to him desperately, tried to hold him back, but +the people made way for him, and even helped him forward, swarming up on +to the platform after him. Garside, pleased with the result of his +stratagem, shook hands with him. 'That's the spirit I like,' he said +thickly. 'Come on in and strip. Let's have a drink to start with.' +They disappeared together into the tent. Sixpences rattled into the +wooden bowl that the negro held to receive them. Men and women poured +into the booth anxious to see what kind of battering the representative +of the district would get. The little Jew pushed back the crowd and held +up a piece of boarding with the words 'House Full' painted on it, while +the negro fastened the strings of the tent door. + +Alice was left alone in the crowd outside clutching the baby nervously in +her arms. She could not have borne to see Abner fight. All she could do +was to wait patiently outside and listen in agony for any sounds within. +She could hear very little but the buzz of conversation. Even when she +crept round to the side of the tent and put her ear to the canvas the +sounds that came to her were indistinct, unreal, and blurred by the +nearer rumour of the multitude, the hiss of naphtha flares, the creaking +of swing-boats, cracks of rifles, and above all the raucous blaring of +the steam organs and the shriek of their whistles. If only she could +have heard something she would have been happier. She could not bear to +think of Abner's white flesh being bruised, and yet, curiously enough, +she was thrilled and proud of him. Her distaste for violence couldn't +get the better of her exultation in her man's virility. She stood at the +side of the tent tensely listening. A rocket screamed into the sky; +there was a moment of relative silence from the crowd in which she +thought she heard a sound of dull thuds mingled with another pattering +noise. The rocket burst into a shower of gold amid a salvo of 'Oh's!' +The crowd, noisily streaming towards the ramparts, from which they could +see the fireworks against a blacker sky, jostled her, passing between the +boxing-booth and the next tent. Six rounds! It could not last much +longer. Why had he left her so roughly? Why hadn't he taken her with +him? Of course you couldn't take a baby into a boxing-booth--not even a +black-country baby--but there was no reason why he should have pushed her +aside like that. She wouldn't forgive him that roughness in a hurry! +But she knew that she would: she would forgive Abner anything as long as +he did not disregard her. The crowd still streamed past her. Showers of +starred rockets and tadpoles of fire were bursting above her in the +velvet sky. A whole battery of maroons shook the ruins. He would be +sorry to have missed the fireworks! If he were badly knocked about she +still had some of Mrs Moseley's ointment left--a fine thing for bruises +or broken skin. That was the night, she remembered, when he had come +home drunk: the night when, for a moment they had gazed into each other's +eyes. She knew how dangerous the emotion of pity was. A set-piece +suddenly sputtered out of the darkness. Letters of fire began to form +themselves. What would they say? GOD SAVE . . . 'The king,' of course. +Little John began to cry, saying that he wanted to go to bed. 'Yes, my +precious!' she crooned, 'mammy'll take you home.' Six rounds. . . . She +suddenly remembered how a young pitman at Mawne had once been killed in a +boxing-booth by a knock-out blow on the chin. A knock-out blow . . . she +remembered old Mr Higgins talking of it. But Abner was strong. Nothing +of that kind could possibly happen to him. Even so, she couldn't get the +sinister picture of Budge Garside with his heavy jowl out of her head. +He was such a deadly-looking customer! Suppose . . . + +A sound of cheering came from inside the tent. She ran round to the +front, wishing to goodness that John would hold his noise. The curtains +opened. The negro came out with another signboard: 'Just Commencing.' +People surged out of the tent laughing and talking together. A bold girl +burst out laughing in the nigger's face. Alice took hold of the sleeve +of one of the men who came out alone and looked as if he were sober. +'Tell us what's happened?' she gasped; but he only stared at her and +shook his head and went on straight forward as if he had mistaken her +motive for accosting him. The tent emptied. After a moment she saw +Abner shaking hands with the giant in the door. He didn't seem to notice +her, and when he came down the wooden steps and she called his name he +did not look pleased to see her. His lip was cut and his forehead still +damp from a vigorous sponging. She took his arm; she wanted to show him +how glad she was. He was too dazed to resent this familiarity, simply +saying: 'Come on out of this!' In the gate of the courtyard he stopped. +'Wait a jiff,' he said, 'You'd better take the two quid.' He gave her +the coins and then, suddenly realising the tiredness of her face in the +lamplight, asked her to give him the kid. 'I reckon this is a man's +job,' he said with a deep laugh. + +This time they caught their tram without difficulty. They spoke very +little, and in whispers, for John had fallen asleep in his mother's arms, +and even if he had wanted to talk, Abner would have known better than to +risk waking him. As a matter of fact he had taken a good deal of +punishment from Garside's left. On points he would have been thoroughly +outmatched and nothing but his stubborn will had kept him on his feet +until the end of the sixth round. The mild elation that had sustained +him when he left the booth had now faded, and in its place he began to +feel the effects of the terrific hammering that he had undergone. His +lip was beginning to swell and his body felt cold in spite of the sultry +weather. He dozed in the corner of the tram-car, and when they came to +the terminus and Alice roused him by a touch on his sleeve, he felt it an +unreasonable effort to pull himself together and carry the child up Mawne +bank. The creature was still asleep and hung a dead weight on his +shoulder. Rather than wake him when they reached Hackett's Cottages +Alice carried him upstairs and laid him still asleep in his cot. + +When she came downstairs again she found Abner in the washhouse bathing +his face in cold water. 'Don't do that, Abner,' she said, 'let me see to +it proper.' She took Mrs Moseley's ointment and some strips of linen +from the cupboard, but he wouldn't let her touch him, saying that he was +tired as a dog and would rather turn in. She gazed at him sorrowfully, +knowing that she could not drive him and fearing to persuade. He rallied +her weakly: 'If you stand lookin' at me like that yo'll be late for the +funeral,' he said, and then, softening, 'You look dead tired yourself. +Put the light out and leave the door open.' + +'No,' she said. 'I've never done that. I shall wait up for him.' + +'Well, you women takes the biscuit!' said Abner. + +He left her there, and rolling up in his blankets soon fell asleep. It +was not often that he dreamed, but on that night his dreams would not let +him be. From the very moment that he first slept he seemed to be +fighting, fighting with Budge Garside on a platform of creaking boards +with a rope barrier round it, lit by hissing naphtha flares. Every +moment he grew more exhausted; but he had to go on fighting in spite of +the violent jabs of Garside's fist over his heart. The crowd in the +booth, whose faces could not be seen for tobacco smoke, were laughing at +him, and this filled him with an angry determination to go through with +it. The round seemed endless. He waited for the umpire's bell to save +him, but the umpire had vanished. And now he was fighting all three: +Garside with his broad, shaggy chest, the small-headed negro, and the +little Jew who skipped about like a flea. He hadn't bargained to take on +all three at once, but there was nobody to whom he could appeal, and so +he had to go on boxing as well as he could in this hurricane of six +fists. He thought of Alice and the baby whom he had left outside. If he +were knocked out, as he surely must be in a moment, she would have to +look to herself. That couldn't be helped. Suddenly he heard her calling +from outside the tent: 'Abner . . . Abner!' He tried to call back to +her, just to show her that he was still keeping up, but no voice would +come through his cut lips. Garside landed a terrific blow on the point +of his chin. He woke. . . . He supposed he was awake. But the voice +that he had heard in his dream still followed him. She was calling +'Abner . . Abner!' He tumbled out of bed, pulled on his trousers, and +ran downstairs. The mild light of the kitchen dazzled him. + +In the corner, beyond a pile of overturned furniture, he saw Alice +cowering, and above her John Fellows. In the struggle which he had not +heard his father had ripped her bodice and torn away the gilt brooch that +Abner had given her. Now he had her at his mercy, holding her by the +hair, shaking her from time to time like a terrier with a rat and making +her scream with pain. Abner had never seen such terror in a human +creature's eyes. When she saw him she cried for his help. 'Abner . . . +Abner . . . make him give over. Tell him I done nothing!' + +'Abner,' said John Fellows savagely. 'Abner . . . there's a bleedin' +side too much Abner in this 'ouse! You'll get out of it quick, the pair +of you.' + +'Loose her!' Abner shouted. + +'Loose her?' John Fellows laughed. 'I reckon I've let her go too much +as it is. Give me the slip, the two of you. Took her off into the +woods, tickin' and tannin', you dirty devil! Give her joolry! Give your +own mother joolry! An' what happened when I was on my back in the +hospital?' + +'Leave go of her!' said Abner, coming nearer. + +'In the very bed you was born in,' cried John Fellows. 'Yo're a fine +bloody fossack! Out you go, the both of you! Joolry! Give me the slip, +would you? No -- fear! Gerrup, I say!' + +He pulled Alice up from her knees. Her sobs rose to a scream. 'John, +you'm killing me!' + +Abner took him by the arm. + +'Lay hands on your own father, would you? Take that, you . . . !' He +hit Abner full on his bruised mouth with all his strength. Alice, +released, ran to the other side of the room and stood panting, her hands +clutching at her torn bodice. The baby started crying upstairs. + +Abner put his hand to his mouth. His lip was bleeding again. He pulled +himself together. 'You're boozed,' he said. 'Get on upstairs!' He +tried to lead his father to the door, but John Fellows was not to be put +off. 'Boozed!' he said, 'and what would drive a man to booze worse nor a +bad wife? No, yo' don't get out of it like that. What've you done to +'er?' + +'I never touched her,' said Abner. + +'Never touch 'er, an' give her joolry!' Fellows scoffed. 'Maybe I'm +boozed, but I'm not too boozed to put you to rights.' He launched a +savage blow at Abner's face, and encouraged by the fact that Abner did +not return it, followed it up with another. Alice, crying 'Oh!' ran to +the door. 'Stay where yo' are!' Abner shouted. John Fellows closed with +him, lashing out viciously. He had been something of a boxer in his day, +and his attack was so violent that Abner found it difficult to defend +himself. Fellows fought like a tiger cat, with boots and finger-nails +and teeth. His bloodshot eyes were fixed on Abner's throat. It was as +if all the suppressed malice of seven years had been suddenly released. +Then, suddenly, he dropped Abner and flew at the frightened Alice. Abner +stopped him with a blow under the right ear. He crumpled up and fell on +the floor like a sack. + +'Abner . . . you've done him in!' Alice cried. + +He fell to his knees and listened for his father's heart. The impulse +still fluttered there. 'No . . . he's only stunned. I reckon he'll wake +up sober,' he said. Alice stood trembling and sobbing in short gasps: a +strange, mechanical noise. Abner remained bent over his father's body in +silence. + +'Johnnie's crying . . . bless his little 'eart!' she said. He took no +notice of her. 'Put the rug over 'im. Leave him here till 'e comes to.' + +'Abner, 'e spoke something awful! 'E said you'n me had been going +together while he was away. 'E took up this brooch. . . . A thing like +that!' + +'I don't want to 'ear what he said.' + +''E said our John wasn't his child . . . said I'd always been rotten bad. +. .' + +John Fellows gave a groan. + +'Hark, 'e's coming round,' said Abner. + +'An' I never done nothing! . . . nothing!' + +'You'd better look to the babby.' + +'Poor lamb! Nothing, I never done, Abner . . .' + +'I know you done nothing. You don't take no notice what a man says when +'e's boozed. You look to the kid, while I get my clothes on.' + +'Yo' bain't goin' to dress?' She picked up the alarm clock that Fellows +had knocked down from the mantelpiece. It was still going, with a harsh +metallic click. 'It's not two o'clock yet.' + +But he had gone. Left alone she glanced fearfully at the form of her +husband. For a moment he lay quite still. Then he shuddered, rolled +over and began to snore. The baby was still wailing upstairs. If only +John Fellows had been dead! But that would have been murder. What was +Abner doing? She could not live without Abner. She went upstairs to his +room and tapped at the door. Candlelight glinted through cracks in the +boards. He answered angrily, she thought, but she came in. + +'What are you doing now?' she whispered. + +'Putting two-three things together.' + +'What's up now?' + +'I'm off out of this.' + +'Going?' she cried. 'Abner . . . you can't go and leave me like this. +Not with him!' + +He laughed. 'I can't take you along with me. Not likely!' He went on +pulling out clothes from his wooden box. She broke down altogether. + +'Abner . . . Abner, don't go and leave me. I can't . . . I can't . . .' +He put on his scarf. 'Abner, only stay along with us for a bit. . .' + +'I've stayed too long as it is.' + +She tried to put her arms round his neck, but he pushed her away. 'It's +lucky I've got a bit of money put by for a start,' he said, fumbling in +the mattress for his stocking. 'I'll give you what I can spare.' + +Then suddenly he swore violently. He had found the stocking, but it was +empty. He turned furiously on Alice: 'You devil, you took it!' + +She fell at his feet, imploring him to believe that she knew nothing +about it. 'I've never told you a lie, Abner,' she said. + +His rage made him unreasonable. 'You're like the rest on 'em! Twenty +pounds! What have you done with it?' + +'I swear I never seen a penny of it, Abner. It must be there. Look +again.' + +He had ripped the bed to pieces, but there was no money. Suddenly light +dawned on them both. They had found the explanation of John Fellows' +continued affluence. Thinking of this, they could not doubt where the +money had gone. + +'That's the worst turn he ever done me,' he said, pulling on his cap. + +Even now she could not believe that he was going. 'Not till the +morning,' she said. 'Don't leave me with him like that in the dark.' + +In the kitchen Abner again examined his father, who now appeared to be +sleeping peacefully. 'He won't remember a word of it when he wakes,' he +said. + +Again she implored him not to leave her, but now she could see that +entreaties were useless and that his mind was made up. It was the most +awful parting in her life: as final and annihilating as death. For more +than three years she had lived for him and very little else. He opened +the door. It was a bland summer night, the sky full of soft stars and +the country of a breathing sweetness. + +'So long, then, Alice,' he said. + +She could not speak. She put up her arms and kissed him for the first +time in her life. He did not then push her away; but she felt that he +was only compelling himself to tolerate her embrace. 'I never touched +that money,' she said hastily. + +'I know you never did,' he replied. 'So long . . .' + +His shadow disappeared into the darkness. She shut the door of the +kitchen. John Fellows lay on the floor snoring, and upstairs the baby +still cried. + + + + +The Eighth Chapter + + +THERE was no moon, but the sky, even at this early hour of the morning, +was full of a curious shimmer of light reflected mirage-like from the +upper air clothing Europe to eastward of the English lands. At that +season of the year sunlight was never distant. Now, every moment the +stars shone fainter, and the slate roofs of the houses seemed to gather +light. Abner stood looking up and down the Stourton Road. He did not +know which way to turn; he was dazed by the suddenness with which the +freedom so long and so patiently awaited had come to him. In the +bewilderment of the moment he could scarcely even realise that it was +sweet. He had planned it differently and anticipated the day so often +that its violent arrival took him off his feet. He had expected to leave +Mawne deliberately in his own time and carrying his savings in his +pocket. Events had cast him out violently and penniless . . . not quite +penniless, for he still had a little change left from the money he had +taken to the Wakes. He remembered with regret that he had been fool +enough to give Alice the two sovereigns he had won in the boxing-booth. +They would have come in handy; but reflection told him that Alice would +need them a great deal more than he. + +A man began to cough in the front bedroom of the house before which he +was standing. People upstairs were beginning to wake. A cock crowed +dismally. He had better make up his mind, for day was beginning. +Eastward the Stourton Road led to Coventry, westward to Wales. Whichever +way he went his lack of money would compel him to walk. He wasn't afraid +of walking or, for that matter, of sleeping rough; and yet he felt that +he was at sea and incapable in his present condition of making up his +mind. His head and body ached with Garside's blows, for the bruised +muscles were beginning to stiffen. He was sleepy, as well as tired, and +couldn't remember one thing that seemed to be calling for recognition in +the back of his mind. He went on walking aimlessly towards Halesby; the +motion set his mind working once more and he remembered the thing that +had baffled and escaped him. Tiger. . . . He couldn't very well leave +the dog on Mrs Moseley's hands. At the same time he didn't want to +frighten the old woman by disturbing her before daylight. To do so would +entail explanations, possibly arguments on the subject of his filial +duties. It would mean another good-bye, and he wanted to get away +quietly without anything of that kind. Still, he meant to have Tiger as +much for his own comfort as for Mrs Moseley's. He determined to see what +could be done. + +The old woman's house was the last on the right of a steep, cobble-paved +street climbing at right angles to the Stourton Road. He turned up it, +his hob-nails raising stinging echoes on the stones. He felt as if he +must surely wake every one that slept there. Mrs Moseley's house was as +quiet as the rest. He surveyed it strategically. At the back of it lay +a little yard that in happier days had been used as a fowl-run. To +advertise the presence of these treasures within, her husband had +prevailed upon the landlord to top the wall with fragments of broken +bottles. This barrier now confronted Abner. Luckily he was tall enough +to reach the top of the wall with his hands, and he soon discovered that +time and weather had taken the nature out of Mr Moseley's mortar so that +it crumbled easily and allowed him to remove the glass from a foot of the +coping. In two minutes he had done this, straddled the wall, and dropped +down softly on the other side. Tiger, bad watchdog that he was, still +slept. Abner came softly to the door of the washhouse and tried it. +There was no fear that Mrs Moseley would leave a door unlocked at night +even behind a glass-topped wall. The only other aperture in the scullery +was a window that was too small for him to get through and set very high +in the wall. With his pocket-knife thrust through a broken pane he +lifted the hasp and opened it. Tiger gave a sharp bark. + +'Ss . . .' Abner whispered. 'Tiger. . . . Good dog. . . Come on then.' + +Tiger, with a snuffle of recognition, came out of his hole and yawned. +The next moment he was jumping up towards the window, anxious to get at +his master and whining like a baby because the window was too high for +him. Time after time he leapt and failed to reach the sill. The wall +was too smooth, and the space of the washhouse too cramped to give him a +run for his jump. He grew excited and inclined to be noisy, and at last +Abner, seeing no other way out of the difficulty, put his arm as far as +he could through the window, and when the dog jumped caught blindly at +the loose skin of his back and hauled him through. Tiger trembled with +gratitude and the anticipation of new joys. He licked Abner's face as he +lifted him up and put him on the top of the coping. He jumped over into +the road and Abner followed him. A policeman, attracted by the strange +phenomenon of Tiger's egress, watched him as he dropped over. He was a +young man, a football player, who knew Abner, and when he saw Tiger's +master emerge he grinned. + +'Got him out without waking the old woman,' said Abner. + +'Rabbits?' said the other, with a wink. Abner laughed. Both of them +knew that the game-laws do not run in colliery districts. 'Looks as if +'e knows all about it,' said the constable at parting. Tiger was already +nearly out of sight, sniffing the grass as he went. Since Abner went +back to work at the pit he had been deprived of hunting at this ideal +hour. + +It was extraordinary how Tiger's company restored Abner's confidence. He +felt no longer alone and worried by indecision. Tiger had gone so far +that it was useless to call him back. He had chosen his own direction, +and Abner was content to follow him. What he wanted most of all, he +decided, was a sleep. + +Beyond the level of Mrs Moseley's cottage the houses thinned away and the +ground fell steeply to the fields above the Stour, the scene of Abner's +walks with Susan more than a year before. Dawn came, heralded by no +fierce splendours, white light stealing from the east over a cloudless +sky. The birds were already awake, but the hush of August held them, so +that the warblers were silent. Larks there were, lost in the sunlit +levels above the whiteness; thrushes made subdued domestic noises in the +hedgerows; linnets already flocking for the early harvest of seed, +rustled the hawthorn thickets, chaffinches sang boldly in a more vulgar +strain. A soft air bloomed the drowsy hedges. Elder blossoms and +slender umbels of parsley flower gleamed like dull ivory. Light, and +more light came welling over the world. When Abner had reached the plank +bridge over the Stour where Susan first had kissed him, the edge of the +woodland rose up black beyond the stream, the water gleamed beneath the +alders, and the hills, that had lain folded in night, lifted their heads. +Now the birds were silent. Only the larks still sang. Walking behind +the ecstatic Tiger through a green lane in Uffdown Wood, Abner saw the +peak of Pen Beacon before him smitten with fire. The sun was up. +Gigantic shadows dappled and barred the grass. Tiger, dancing from side +to side, pursued a phantom hound. They left the woods and dropped over a +stile into a winding road. As yet the sun had no real heat: colour it +warmed, but the air was cool, cool and clean as the surface of this rocky +road so often scoured by torrents. The heavy odours of the woods +belonged to night, but the smell of the road was one of morning. +Gradually the banks released the peculiar perfume of a hill-country in +sunshine, a lovely, healthy savour of thyme and bracken and dry heather. +A breeze swept the harebells. Still they climbed the path towards the +top of Uffdown where the sun came first. Even at this hour pods were +snapping amid the almond scent of late gorse blossom. In the shadow of a +hedge where prickles were few Abner threw himself down propping his head +on a tussock of thin grass. He closed his eyes, and was soon asleep, and +Tiger, having smelt and scared innumerable rabbits, came at last to lie +beside him, propping his slender lower jaw upon the smooth of Abner's +thigh. + +He did not sleep for long. His watch had stopped, and he could not tell +the time, but from the height of the sun he judged it to be between eight +and nine o'clock. The grass of that southern hedge-side was already warm +and fragrant, and the mistiness of the Severn plain beneath him promised +another day of broiling heat. He was horribly stiff and lay on with a +sense of lazy luxury, letting the sun warm his bones. Sprawling there +with his eyes closed he now began to consider where he should go. + +The obvious goal of an out-of-work in the midlands at that time was +Coventry, an ancient city then rising on the third of its great +industrial booms, the manufacture of motor-cars. There was always work, +and well-paid work, to be had in Coventry. The journey was short, and +Abner had no money to waste on railway fares. Even so, the idea of +merely moving from one side of the black-country to another did not seem +to represent the kind of radical change that he had intended. He wanted +to make a clean start in a new country. It suddenly struck him that, +after all, there was no real reason why a man should spend the whole of +his life in the dust of coal and metal or the smell of fire. This joy of +sunlight and fresh air seemed too good to lose. + +He knew nothing of the conditions of labour in the country beyond the +fact that many black-country families migrated every autumn into the +fields of Worcestershire for the gathering of hops. He remembered how he +had seen these sun-browned companies returning, men, women, and children +together, carrying their household goods in old perambulators, looking +happier and more healthy than the majority of Halesby people. He had no +very definite idea when the 'hopping' season began; but whether he were +too late for it or too early he knew, at any rate, that he had a store of +strength and health to sell. He wasn't afraid of work. Why shouldn't he +work in the open air? For the summer at least . . . after that he might +go down with the money he had earned into the Welsh valleys and take to +the pit again. He knew that between him and Wales lay a vast green +country in which a man might live as well as anywhere else. Even now the +sun was drinking up the mists that concealed it, revealing sombre +woodlands heavy in leaf, yellow cornfields, the smoke of hidden towns or +villages, and, here and there, a shining bend of river. From that high +post, indeed, he gazed upon the pastoral heart of England, the most +placid and homely of all her shires; but the national schools had taught +him nothing of these things, and, as the mists ascended, showing the +cliffs of Cotswold long and level, Bredon an island dome, May Hill and +Malvern, Abberley, Clee, and all the nearer hills of Wales, he only knew +that it was green and big and that it promised freedom. + +He decided on Wales, and began to take stock of his possessions, counting +the change that remained in his trouser pocket--seven and ninepence +ha'penny in all--and untying the bundle into which he had put a change of +socks and underwear. He wished, now that he came to think of it, that he +had changed into his working clothes, for it did not seem right to him to +look for work in his Sunday best. He turned out the pockets of the coat, +wondering what tokens of his past life it would disclose. In the breast +pocket, to his great surprise, he found a small packet of paper that he +couldn't account for. He opened it, and found that it contained two +sovereigns. He stared at them incredulously and laughed aloud. Alice +must have slipped them in when she said good-bye to him. He felt +suddenly tender toward her, and immensely pleased at this striking turn +in his fortunes. He scraped out of his side pocket some dry remnants of +tobacco, filled his pipe, tied up his bundle, whistled to Tiger and set +off down hill leaving the brow of the Uffdown between him and the +blackness of Mawne. + +It was all new ground to him. The hills that he was leaving behind +formed a lip of the saucer in which the midland coal measures lay, and +their line had always marked the limit of Abner's curiosity as boldly as +they defined his physical horizon. Now he was passing quickly to the +unknown plain. The path grew rough and precipitous. For a hundred yards +it cut into a plantation of larches fully grown. His feet and Tiger's +made no sound on the drift of needles. The wood was dry, warm, fragrant, +and as quiet as a church. One would have thought that no living creature +was there, till Tiger scented a squirrel, and Abner heard above him the +thin alarm note of the wood-wren. From the wood they crossed a stone +stile into a sunless lane, steeper even than the path across the hill, +grass-grown for want of traffic and now possessed by a company of solemn +foxgloves. This lane, though unfrequented, was the favourite +picnic-place of Mr Willis of Mawne Hall, who always called it 'our little +Switzerland.' The only thing that struck Abner about it was its +steepness. A stone that he dislodged in his walking bounded on as though +it were falling over the roof of a house, and Tiger scuttled after it +full-pelt. Abner also found that it was easier to run than to walk. + +At the bottom of the hill they came to a deserted watermill, fed by a +stream that here issued from the hills. Near it stood a large farm-house +that had fallen from its state of ease and comfort, and was now partly +inhabited by a labouring family. A small boy was sitting playing with +stones and eating a crust on the green in front of the house. Tiger ran +up and sniffed at him, and he dropped his crust and ran screaming up the +garden path. A pale woman with red hair rushed out to see what was the +matter and comforted him with her apron. Abner said good-day to her, but +she pulled the child inside the door as if she were frightened. He heard +her bolting herself in, and laughed, for he didn't realise what a ruffian +he looked with his bruised, unshaven face and his swollen lip. Tiger, +however, had the crust of bread and was thankful. He was no less hungry +than his master. + +Down the valley they passed. A hundred yards below the mill the trees +receded and the stream widened into a neglected fishpond half-covered +with water-lily leaves. The air was full of glittering blue +dragon-flies, and the roadside littered and scorched by the signs of an +abandoned gipsy encampment. The fishpond ended in a patch where the +stream gushed through narrow sluices into a pool of brown, clear water. +Sunlight, beating through the leaves above, lit the bottom with floating +patches of golden brown, showing the shadows of trout that lay there +gently swaying with their heads toward the sweet water. The coolness of +this bathing-place was so alluring that Abner stripped and washed the +slippery sweat from his body. Tiger, who was used to this kind of +performance but hated water, watched him from the bank. When Abner had +dried himself with his spare shirt they set off again down the sunny +road. + +He hoped that they would soon come to a village, for the bathe had only +served to sharpen his appetite. As yet there were no signs of human +habitation, but from the fields that chequered the hills on either side +of the road came many country sounds: the creaking of invisible +cart-wheels, the crack of a whip, the lowing of cattle and voices of men +that echoed in the closed valley. A little lower down they met a man +riding bareback on a pony, driving a flock of sheep before him. His legs +hung straight down so that they nearly touched the ground. Tiger and the +sheep-dog exchanged inquiries, but the horseman took no notice of Abner, +who stood against the hedge while the flock stampeded past him with +frightened brown eyes, raising a dust that was laden with a hot smell of +wool and sheep-dip. The farmer's man appeared to be riding in a dream, +mechanically switching the pony's flanks with a branch of hazel. Abner +woke him by saying good-morning. He stopped the pony with a kick and +turned to look. + +'Any pub handy hereabout?' Abner asked him. + +'Pub? . . . Ay, you'm close on it. Ten minute'll bring you to the +Barley Mow.' Abner had some difficulty in understanding him, for the +language that he spoke was not that of Mawne. He thanked him. Then, +after a long scrutiny, the horseman informed him that the nearest +workhouses were at Bromsgrove and Kiddy, five miles to the right or left +of the inn, said good-bye and kicked his pony into an amble again. + +By that time the sheep had long since pattered out of sight; but this was +an easy country in which hurry had no place. It amused Abner, and did +not in the least offend him, to be taken for a tramp. In a few days, but +for Alice's final bounty, he might easily have become one. The labourer +had made an estimate of the distance of the pub in accordance with his +own leisurely way of progress. In less than half the time that he had +predicted Abner found himself in front of an old red-brick inn shadowed +by an immense horse-chestnut whose leaves already drooped with heat. As +Abner reached the door, a man whom he took to be the landlord was +starting to drive off in a yellow dog-cart, probably to some market, for +a small pig was netted in the back of the trap. A big, blowsy woman whom +he called 'mother,' but who appeared to be of his own age and was no +doubt his wife, saw him off. 'Don't forget Emily's stays, dad,' she +called. He waved his whip in answer and went bowling down the road into +the sun. The woman returned with a sigh that sounded as if it betokened +relief, to the wide, semi-circular steps where Abner was standing waiting +for her. She had not seen him arrive, and appeared not to be pleased at +the prospect. When he began to speak she cut him short with: 'No, the +master never gives anything. We have to make it a rule on this road.' + +He had to explain that he wasn't begging. 'Can you give us a bit of +breakfast, missis,' he said, 'I can pay for it.' He showed her one of +his sovereigns. + +She looked him up and down incredulously, and then said: 'Come on in and +set yourself in the tap. Better leave the dog outside, or my Betsy'll +have his eyes out.' Her Betsy, a big, black tom-cat, too rashly +christened in his first days of innocence, was already arching a back +more like that of a geometer caterpillar than a cat. 'She can't abear +them if she don't know them,' said the landlady. 'Once she knows them +she'll lie in their arms like a child.' + +Abner left Tiger whining outside the door, and the landlady, now +satisfied that he wasn't as rough as he looked, was heard shouting orders +to Emily in the kitchen. A smell of frizzling bacon came down the +passage. + +Abner settled himself on an oak bench. This taproom was very different +from that of the Royal Oak. The floor was of big, uneven stone flags and +all the furniture was black and shiny with centuries of use. The place +did not smell, as did the Halesby pubs, of stale spirits and tobacco. It +was as sweet as they were sour. Agricultural almanacs and signed +photographs of memorable meets hung on the walls, and over the +mantelpiece a number of cards recorded the fees and procreative +achievements of shire stallions. Abner was nearly asleep when the +landlady herself appeared with a plate of bacon and eggs and a pot of +tea. + +'There now, how will that do you?' she said. + +Abner started to eat and she sat and watched him, apologising once more +for her first reception. 'We have to be careful, you see. What with all +this unemployment there seems to be more tramps on the road summer-time +than ever there was. In winter they dies off like the flies. Dad says +they come and go with the swallers. That's a lovely bit of bacon.' + +It became evident from her conversation that she was curious to know what +Abner was doing. She could see that his clothes were decent and that he +wore a silver watch-chain, but hinted that she couldn't understand the +battered state of his face. He told her that he had had an accident. + +'There now!' she said. 'They always go in threes, and bless me if yours +ain't the third I've come across this week. Have a drop more tea?'--she +poured it--'Which way are you going, then? If you'd been a bit earlier +dad could have give you a lift.' + +Abner told her that he was looking for work, asked her if she could help +him to find it. + +'You're not a farming man,' she said, 'and it's all farmering +hereabouts.' + +He told her that he was ready to turn his hand to anything, and she +confessed, a little dubiously, that he might possibly get some casual +employment with one of the farmers. 'If I was you,' she said, 'I should +go on through Chaddesbourne and ask at Mr Cookson's--he's the biggest +employer round here--but you're a bit too early for the harvest. +Everything's backward in these parts after the bad spring.' + +He thanked her, and while she went out to change his sovereign, put aside +a hunk of bread and a slice of bacon that he had not eaten for Tiger. +They parted cheerfully and Abner set his face towards Chaddesbourne. + +The heat of midday now lay heavy on the land, but in this wooded +country-side one might always be certain of shade. In half an hour he +came to Chaddesbourne, a village of black and white half timber that was +already engaged in the midday coma with which it supplements its normal +sleep of centuries. In all the length of the street Abner saw no human +person stirring, nor any sign of life more violent than that of lazy +butterflies sunning their wings upon the yellow flowers in cottage +gardens. All the half-timbered houses had long strips in front of them +behind which it seemed to be intended that they should sleep for ever in +security. In a sandstone church some one was playing the organ. Abner +had no ear for music and so he did not stop to listen. + +At the end of the village he heard a more welcome sound: the clinking of +a blacksmith's hammer on his anvil and the hoarse wheezing of bellows. +It was very different from Mawne with its vast hydraulic presses, but it +showed the same process on a small scale, and the smith in his leather +apron, working through the heat of the day, with the sweat tracking +through his coal-dust, was more like a man of Abner's own race than the +labourer in the lane. He seemed glad of an excuse to stop work and talk +to Abner. He offered him a drink of beer from a bottle, drank himself, +and wiped the froth from his red lips with the back of his hand. + +'Looking for work!' he said. 'Well, I can tell you straight +Chaddesbourne's the wrong place for that. Not even at harvest time. You +see, this is a dairy country, properly speaking. All the milk's drove to +the station and sent into Brum by train. Mr Cookson? Yes, Mr Cookson's +a very nice gentleman as every one knows; but I reckon he won't be +harvesting for another fortnight, being late-like. Still, there's no +harm in trying.' He pulled on his coat and put a padlock on the door of +the forge, for his home was a couple of hundred yards away in one of the +long-gardened cottages. He said good-bye to Abner cheerily, and gave him +directions for finding Mr Cookson. 'If I was you,' he said, 'I should +cut across the fields behind the house. It'll save you some sweating on +a day like this. Third gate on the right and follow along the hedge on +your left hand.' + +Abner took his advice, and calling Tiger to follow him entered the field. +A quarter of a mile away on the hill-side he could see the red roof of +the building that the smith had pointed out to him as Cookson's farm. +Tiger was in his element. He had never been in a field more rich in +rabbit smell. Abner, following the smith's directions, kept to the hedge +on the left. It ran along the margin of a little wood that sheltered him +from the sun and intrigued Tiger with prospects of infinite sport. It +was impossible to keep the brute to heel, and though Abner cursed him +till he came out of the wood he could not resist the temptation of +running ahead of his master, sniffing the enchanted air. Suddenly, at +the corner where the spinney ended, he stood stock still. Abner also +stopped and watched him, for he too scented sport. There was a slight +rustle in the hedgerow and a white creature, a little bigger than a +stoat, put out its head. In a second Tiger had it by the neck and +silenced its squealing with a shake. The next moment the owner of the +ferret appeared round the corner of the hedge, a florid man of forty +dressed in a prosperous greenish cord, carrying a gun. He fired at +Tiger, who stood looking curiously at the ferret as though he still +expected it to get up and run away. Tiger rolled over without a yelp, +and Abner ran straight at the man who had shot him. + +'What you done to my dog?' he cried. + +'And what the hell are you doing here, you poaching blackguard?' He saw +how ugly Abner looked. 'Keep clear, or I'll put the other barrel in +you!' A stupid-looking labourer slouched round the hedgeside and picked +up the ferret, pinching it as if he were appraising its value as an +article of food. Then, mumbling something, he thrust it into a sack that +he carried and gave the dead body of Tiger a vicious kick. Abner would +have flown at him for he needed something on which to vent his rage, but +Mr Cookson again threatened to shoot. He had to content himself with +cursing the farmer for his brutality. 'The dog didn't mean no harm,' he +said. 'You'm a coward to shoot a dog like that.' + +'Not so fast, my friend,' said the farmer. 'I've not finished with you +yet. I want to know what the devil you were doing skulking along my +hedge. Thought you'd pick up a rabbit, eh? I know that game . . . +taking the dog a walk. What were you doing on my land, eh?' + +'I'm lookin' for work,' said Abner. + +'And you look like getting it. I don't suppose it's the first time +you'll have picked oakum.' + +Abner did not hear these words. He thought only of the shattered heap of +flesh that had once been Tiger. He would have gone blindly for the dog's +murderer if he had not suddenly realised that his own case was hopeless. +The owner of the gun looked like business, and the labourer was now ready +to tackle him from behind. He could do nothing. Mr Cookson, however, +having caught a poacher red-handed, didn't mean to let him go. + +'I've had enough of this game,' he said. 'You black-country chaps think +you can slip over the hills and do what you like . . . you and your dogs. +It's no use turning ugly now. You'll come along with me to the police +station, and that's all about it. That's the best ferret I've got, worth +a dozen of your damned dogs.' + +Abner, who saw that it was not worth while arguing and whose anger had +now become more subject to his reason, tried to explain once more that he +was coming to the house to ask for work. + +'That's an old tale,' said Cookson. 'We've had enough talk. Come along! +That don't explain what you were doing in this field.' + +The farmer also was now becoming more reasonable. Abner explained that +he had taken the field-path on the smith's advice. 'If you can't credit +it, you ask him,' he said. 'It was the lady at the Barley Mow sent me +here and give me your name. That is if your name's Cookson.' + +'That's my name right enough,' said the farmer, 'and you won't forget +it!' He began to grumble at the landlady as the prime cause of his +losing the ferret. None the less, he now appeared to believe Abner. At +the root he was a good-natured man, celebrated for the sudden violence +and quick subsidence of his temper. + +'Want work, do you?' he said. 'Well, I've got no work for you nor no one +else, and if you see Mrs Potter again you can tell her so. What that +woman wants to do using my name I don't know. I reckon I'm feeding half +Chaddesbourne as it is. Still, I'm ready to believe you. If you take my +advice you'll clear quick before I change my mind. Go on, hook it!' He +put his hand in his pocket and jingled some money as if he were debating +whether he should give Abner half a crown. + +'What about my dog?' said Abner. + +Mr Cookson took his hand out of his pocket and his neck flushed. 'I've +told you you'd best clear,' he said. 'George'll bury the dog.' He +turned to the labourer. 'George, you go up to the yard and get a spade.' +He ejected the unused cartridge from his gun and turned his back on +Abner, and Abner, still sore with resentment, took his advice and +returned to the road. + + + + +The Ninth Chapter + + +IN the first moment of his loss he did not feel like retracing his steps. +When he reached the main road he turned his face westward once more and +set off walking as hard as the heat would allow him. He passed through a +land of almost monotonous green, stopping once or twice to drink a pint +of beer at a pub in one of the many half-timbered villages that straggled +along the road. In the afternoon he reached a crest crowned with a +plantation of smooth trunked beeches from which he could see the chimneys +of an industrial town. This, he decided, must be Kidderminster, or, as +the farmer's man had called it, Kiddy. Once or twice in his life he had +played football there for Mawne United, but in these excursions he had +never noticed anything but the squalid streets between the station and +the football ground. There was a workhouse in Kidderminster, as he had +been told, but he was not yet in need of workhouses. The landlord of the +last inn had found out that he was going into Wales, and had pointed out +to him the rampart of the Malverns, dim-blue in the heat, as marking the +course of his road. The idea of finding employment in the country now +pleased him little. The sooner he reached the coal valleys, with the +remains of his money, the better. From his new point of vantage the +hills were still visible, floating like cragged islands in the haze. He +left the smoke of Kidderminster on his right hand and forsook the road +for a narrower lane that seemed to run in the direction that he wanted to +follow. When evening came he was still walking south-west. Now the +Malverns, whenever he saw them were etched black against a background of +flame. The air was cool and sweeter. It was such an evening as Tiger +would have loved, and his loneliness, which had been numbed by the heat, +returned to him. + +He must by this time have walked more than twenty miles since daybreak, +and he was tired and hungry. Soon after sunset he turned in to an +inviting public-house that stood alone on a straight length of road +running between meagre oak-trees. The landlord was an aged man crippled +with rheumatism who sat grasping two sticks in a chair beside the hearth +of the taproom. He looked suspiciously at Abner and told his daughter, +an angular woman of forty who did all the housework, to attend to him. +This woman gave him clearly to understand that they didn't like strangers +and said that they could give him nothing to eat but bread and cheese. +He accepted this gratefully and settled down to his supper under the +grudging eyes of the old man. + +The inn seemed a lonely and neglected place, for the road on which it was +situate had fallen into disuse. Abner, however, was glad of a rest, and +sat on smoking and drinking beer for the good of the house when he had +finished his supper. The ale was good and put him in a happier frame of +mind, so that he no longer found the silence of the old man +uncomfortable. A little later a number of farm-labourers drifted in and +ordered their quarts: a solemn and gloomy company who spoke little and in +a language that Abner did not understand. He tried to put some life into +them by standing treat, but even this order did not arouse the least +enthusiasm in the landlord's daughter, who might reasonably have felt +that things were looking up, or in the company. These people were silent +drinkers who sat in pairs, taking alternate swigs from the quart pot that +stood between them. They looked upon Abner, this stranger from beyond +the hills, as peaceful border farmers might have regarded a northern +marauder. They drank his beer; but that was all that they could do for +him. The light failed, but no lamp was lit in the taproom, and one by +one the customers bade the landlord good-night and stole away like +shadows. The woman put her head into the room from time to time as if +she hoped to find that he was gone, and the old man sat by the fireplace +saying nothing. Abner was sleepy and when she next appeared asked her if +she could find him a bed. 'Anything'll do for me,' he said. 'I can +shake down anywhere you like.' + +For the first time since Abner had seen her she was really positive. 'We +never do such a thing, do we, father?' she cried. The old man did not +appear to have heard her. + +'I bain't one to make trouble,' Abner said. + +She wagged her head violently. 'We never do such a thing,' she repeated. +She shook the old man's shoulder. 'Father, 'e says 'e wants to sleep +'ere!' + +'We don't sleep no strangers,' said he. 'We don't sleep no one. Not in +a solitary place like this. You'd best be goin', young man. Time to +lock up . . . time to lock up.' + +Abner asked him where he could go, but neither of them seemed inclined to +help him. They knew of no house that would take strangers, and the +nearest village, Harverton Priors, was more than three miles away. Even +if he went there, they said, it was unlikely that he would be taken in. +'We'm not accustomed to strangers, these parts,' the woman kept on +saying. She followed him like an anxious but impotent dog, edging him +away from the counter as if she thought he had designs on the till. He +bought an ounce of tobacco and departed. When she had got him out of the +door he heard a key turn in the lock and this taciturn person beginning +to talk fast in an excited whisper to the old man in the corner. Abner +laughed. Thanks to the excellence of their beer he was at peace with the +world. + +By this time he was getting used to finding himself an object of +suspicion. He determined to give Harverton Priors a miss, for at this +time of night it was probable that the whole village would be asleep, and +to turn in for the night in the first isolated barn that he found. +Failing that there was no reason why he shouldn't sleep in a dry ditch. +His father had often done so unintentionally and so far seemed none the +worse for it. + +A mile or more from that inhospitable inn he saw the kind of building for +which he was looking standing in a field on the left of the road. It was +a red-brick barn, half-timbered like the houses of the neighbourhood. A +group of cows lay ruminating in their sleep on the far side of it and +Abner picked his way between their shadowy shapes to a doorway with an +oak beam for lintel. A rough door closed the aperture. At first he +thought that it was locked or bolted but it yielded to his pressure. He +half expected to find some animal inside, for when he first came to the +door he had heard a noise like a calf turning in straw. He struck a +match carefully. The place was clean and dry, half filled with hay of +the last season's harvest that had evidently been placed there for winter +fodder. He decided that the rustling that he had heard must have been +made by rats. Well, rats wouldn't worry him in his present degree of +tiredness. He closed the door and sank down easily into a soft, +sweet-smelling bed. + +He lay still on his back with his eyes wide open staring into the +darkness above him, thinking of the extraordinary variety of adventures +that had filled the last twenty-four hours. This time last night, he +reflected, he must have been dozing in the corner of the tram-car between +Dulston and Mawne. Now he had nothing left to remind him of his old life +except the clothes he was wearing . . . not even Tiger. He wondered what +his father was feeling like now; wondered what had happened to Alice. He +had never before thought so tenderly of her. She had shown what she was +made of when she slipped the two sovereigns into his pocket. When he got +work in Wales, he decided, he would send her money . . . not that she +would really need it, for now sheer necessity would compel John Fellows +to go back to the pit, unless indeed he had any of the money left that he +had stolen from Abner. The thought of his savings suddenly reminded him +what a fool he had been not to search his father's pockets before he left +the house. On the whole he wasn't sorry that he had left him +undisturbed. He didn't feel unkindly toward him, for he recognised that +no man is responsible for what he says or does when he is drunk. In the +black-country people who know the rougher side of life are always ready +to condone crimes of passion or liquor. 'The old chap's welcome to the +money,' Abner thought, 'leastwise if any of it comes our Alice's way.' + +His mind was still too crowded for sleep. He thought he would have a +smoke and began to fill his pipe with the tobacco he had bought earlier +in the evening. Again he heard a rustling noise in the hay. When he lit +his pipe he would try to see what caused it. He waited, listening, and +when next he heard it struck a match and peered in the direction from +which it came. + +'Douse that light, mate,' said a voice, almost at his elbow, 'and take +your bloody feet off my chest. You'll be afther settin' the place alight +and sending the both of us to hell before our time!' + +Abner dropped his match with astonishment. The other, suddenly +materialising, put his foot on the glowing fragment. + +'I reckon you give me a bit of a start,' said Abner, laughing. + +'Start, is it? It's finished we'll be if you go throwing match-sticks +that way into a heap of tinder.' The turn of speech amused Abner. + +'It's easy to see that you don't know the way to travel, or you wouldn't +be doing the like of that,' said his unseen companion. 'I may well be +stranded to the world, but it's not burning I want this night of our +lord, I'm tellin' you.' + +He settled down into the hay again, this time at some distance from +Abner. Abner had never yet caught a glimpse of him. He could not tell +whether he was old or young, pleasant-looking or villainous, but he knew +that the stranger was the first person who had accepted him without +question since his wanderings began. He no longer felt sleepy and was +indeed glad of a chance to talk with another human being. In this at any +rate his shadowy companion was ready to oblige him, taking the +conversation into his own hands without the least hesitation. He asked +Abner where he had come from and how long he had been on the road. + +'God help me!' he said, 'you're not born yet!' Then he asked Abner if he +could spare him a gorm. Abner had not the least idea what a gorm was, +but the voice explained that it meant a little weeny dooney bit of +tobacco--'for to chew,' he explained, 'we don't want anny more fireworks. +"Anny more for Annimore," as the guard says.' + +Abner gave him his gorm, deciding that the owner of the voice, whatever +he looked like, was a cough-drop. They drifted into a discussion of +Abner's adventures during the day. + +The owner of the voice, who in the course of conversation proclaimed +himself to be a certain Mick Connor, usually known as Kerry Mick, had +apparently followed much the same track as Abner. He had been refused +refreshment at the Barley Mow and taken a dismal pint from the hands of +the landlord's daughter at the second inn, whose nose, he said, would +poke a ragman over a double ditch. He listened more seriously to Abner's +account of Tiger's death. 'You're after losin' a good friend,' he said, +and after a moment of silence in which his jaws could be heard +masticating his gorm, embarked on a long story of his own youth. 'I'll +tell you something quare,' he said. + +It had happened more than twenty years ago in the county of Kerry--Abner +was none the wiser--in the very first situation that Mick Connor had ever +taken. 'There was money in Ireland them days,' he said. 'The country's +gone to the dogs ever sence the Boer War.' He was engaged as pantry-boy, +at six pounds a year and a suit of clothes, and he earned it by cleaning +thirty lamps and a dozen pair of shoes every morning before breakfast and +waiting at meal-times in the servants' hall. The rest of the day he +spent in dodging the butler, an ould devil with a lip would trip a duck, +who liked his pint more than most and used to threaten to take the skin +off of him with a twig whenever he saw him. + +The story seemed to lead nowhere, but Mick Connor's voice was low and +persuasive and he evidently liked talking. Abner lay and listened. + +Even in those early days Mick Connor had been used to the open air. He +hated house-work, he said, and would often go off and hide himself under +the dining-room table, a place of concealment which the butler at last +discovered, to cry. He would stand at the pantry windows looking out +over the fields to the river where the third footman was already enjoying +himself catching eels and perch in the holes. The house was a prison to +him. The only friend that ever came to him from outside it was a +wolfhound who slept in the stables, but with whom he had made great +friends ever since he had been in the house by feeding it with scraps +from the pantry. The butler hated dogs, and this dog above all others +because it had once stolen a ham. Mick loved it and fed it regularly. +It used to jump up to the pantry window and lick his face through the +bars. + +When he had been in this place for a year or more the family moved for +the summer to another house on the coast some thirty miles away. For +Mick it was a happy change. He and his friend the third footman were +chosen to go there and the savage butler was left behind. There were no +railways in that part of Ireland, and so they went to Coulagh by road. +The children were to follow with their nurse the next day, so the footman +and the cook preceded them in a wagonette loaded with luggage. They went +slowly, and behind them walked Mick, leading two pannier asses named +Haidee and Mokie, on which the children would go for rides by the shore. +They started late and the last part of their journey was made in the +dark. The cook, who had a drop taken, was telling ghost stories fitting +to that wild hour and place. There was one tale in particular of how she +had met the devil in the flesh sitting by a milestone near Coulagh three +years before that made Mick afraid to look on either side of him. He +walked with Haidee on his right and Mokie on his left and the tail of the +wagonette in front of him, and even then he didn't feel safe. + +When they came to Coulagh in the darkness they had a grand supper, but +even in the cheerful firelight Mick couldn't forget the details of the +cook's encounter with the devil. The house was small, and it had been +settled that he, as the least important member of the party, should sleep +in a little room above the stable in which the asses were housed. He was +thankful that the animals were there, for otherwise he would have gone +mad with the loneliness. When he reached the stable he went into the +stall and talked to them and got on the two of their backs, sitting first +on one and then on the other the way they wouldn't be jealous. Then he +patted their necks, rubbed their noses, and went up the wooden stairs to +bed. He undressed, got into bed and put out his candle. But he couldn't +sleep, partly because the room was so strange after the cook's stories +and partly because a wind was blowing fit to bring the house down. All +of a sudden the wind fell, and in the quiet he could hear another sound +like a door banging and the rattle of chains. He supposed he had not +fastened the stable latch, but even if the asses got their ends of cold, +he didn't dare to put his nose out of bed. But the noise of bumping and +chains continued. Even when he put his head under the clothes he could +still hear it. 'I can hear it the way I am now,' he told Abner, 'a +great, rattlin', t'udding noise. I commenced to get terrible afraid. +"Something's surely coming now," I thought. "God help me!" And it came +on bumping and rattling up the stairs. "This is the devil," says I, "let +loose on me!" an' when I put my head under the clothes what should I see +but all the things I'd ever done in this life; all the birds I'd took the +heads of off with a catapult, flittin' about with no heads and the wings +broke on them, and all the bottles of whisky I'd ever stolen on the +butler. An' the noise come bumping upstairs. "God, I'm gone!" I says, +getting down middleways in the bed, and with the same there was a great +t'ud and the door flew open on me and it come into the room. Bump, bump, +bump it went, an' the chairs went over and the basin of water I'd never +washed in come down with a crash--and I lying there with the pespiration +running down me on to the sheets like a spout. "God, I'm gone!" I says +again, and that was the last word I spoke that night, for the sheets was +stuck to me back. Then it comes over to the bed, and I tries to get +under the mattress, but before I knew where I was I felt two great hands +on the both of my thighs. "Now I'm destroyed altogether," says I, but +before I'd finished thinking it come on the top of me in a lump with the +chain draggin' along the floor, and me lyin' there not as thick as a +match. Then I commenced to feel the sheet being drew down over my face +and two hairy arms round my neck, and with that a great, big, hot tongue +licking me. "Ah, my beautiful," says I, "I have you at last." That dog +was so fond on me he'd smelt me out over thirty miles and pulled the log +he was tied to in the stable after him and broke down the door and come +upstairs into bed with me. I loved that dog. And that's why I say +you're after losin' a good friend in yours. Give me the lend of another +gorm to go to sleep on.' + +Abner gave him the tobacco, and after that the story-teller was silent. +Falling asleep, Abner heard only the regular noise of his companion's +jaws as they chewed. In half an hour they were both asleep. + +Early next morning Mick Connor woke him, telling him that unless they +cleared out the farmer's men would find them. Abner was far too +comfortable for the moment to want to move, but as soon as he regained +full consciousness he realised that his skin was itching all over. + +'This place is alive with fleas,' he said. + +His companion only laughed. 'That's all you know about it,' he said, +'and the both of us eat with hayseeds. I'm after telling you somethin'. +Never choose hay to sleep in if you can fin' straw. It's worse than a +houseful of bugs.' + +Abner was curious to see the owner of last night's voice and the teller +of stories. He found it difficult to fit in the man with his narration. +It was impossible to guess his age, but his hair was slightly touched +with gray and stood up in a frizzy mass that made him look wilder than he +was. He was of middle height, thin and very wiry, with a small head, +bright eyes like a bird and a bony face in which the skin over the +cheekbones was netted with red veins. His eyes were blue, and humorous +or savage as the occasion took him. At this hour of the morning he did +not appear anxious to talk and his voice that had been soft and +persuasive in the darkness, was rough and short. They left the barn +together. The cows were still sleeping outside and a dew was on the +grass, but the moisture had not fallen on the road, which seemed as baked +and dusty as ever. + +'Which ways are you going?' the Irishman asked. + +'Going to Wales,' said Abner. + +'Then the two of us had better travel together,' he said, and Abner +consented. + +They walked for some miles in silence. Mick, at this hour of the morning +was not disposed to talk. He went on ahead with a long, loping gait, +very different from the tramp's habitual shuffle. They came to a brick +bridge that proclaimed itself unsuitable for traction engines, and here +he suddenly climbed the hedge and started to wash himself in a bed of +cresses. He took out the broken end of a comb and smoothed his wet hair +close to his head like a picture of the Madonna. The water took the gray +out of it so that he looked almost young. Abner also washed, and when he +had picked the irritating hayseeds out of his shirt, he offered his +companion half of a piece of bread that remained in his pocket. Mick +took it without a word and dipped it in the water. Without this soaking +he could not have tackled it, for though his bristling moustache +concealed the fact, he had scarcely any teeth. + +Eating this breakfast together they sprawled on the bank of the stream +among rushes, with which Abner amused himself by stripping the pith with +his nails. His silent and melancholy companion broke the silence by +asking him if he had any money. Immediately Abner was suspicious. His +second sovereign and all his silver were secreted in his waistcoat +pocket. He had placed them there in the night as soon as he realised +that he was not sleeping alone. In answer to his friend's question he +produced a handful of coppers. 'Tenpence ha'penny,' he said. 'That +won't go far.' + +'Houly sufferings!' said the other, 'is it carry ten-pence halfpenny +three miles?' + +He spoke no more, and they set off again. During the rest of the day +Mick Connor maintained his attitude of detachment, striding on ahead of +Abner as though he had nothing to do with him. They bought a stale loaf +in a small market town and the Irishman produced from the treacle tin +that he carried three eggs and some rashers of bacon. They lit a fire on +the edge of a wood and made a good meal. Toward evening they crossed a +wide river flowing silently between high banks. Mick, who appeared to +know the country, told Abner that this was the last bridge for twenty +miles. Beyond the stream a little town lay smoking under the hill-side. +They drank a pint of beer together and pushed on. The evening light +seemed to awaken Mick. He became talkative and profane at once, +disclosing to Abner the fact that he knew where good work was to be had. +He scoffed at the idea of Abner's working underground while there was a +chance of earning his living in the open air. 'I can put you in the way +of a job will make your teeth water,' he said. At first he kept up an +atmosphere of mystery of the kind that particularly pleased him, but when +Abner pressed him he disclosed the fact that he had learned from a tramp +near Bromsgrove how the corporation of North Bromwich were engaged in +relaying a defective piece of piping ten miles long in their Welsh water +scheme, and that casual labour was hard to get in those parts. With the +combination of his own wit and Abner's strength they should find a +comfortable job to last them for six months. He reckoned that three +days' walking would bring them easily to the site of the work, and gave +Abner to understand that he was lucky to have met him. Abner was ready +to acknowledge this. 'That's all right then,' said Mick, 'and now about +that tenpence halfpenny. Do you think I'd be after sleeping wud you and +not know of the gold sovereign that's in your waistcoat pocket this +moment? It's on the table the cards should be if we're travelling +together.' + +At this Abner was really angry. He didn't like the idea of any one, +friend or no, rummaging in his pockets at night. They stopped in the +road quarrelling, and Abner took off his coat, preparing to settle the +matter with blows before parting company. The Irishman seemed surprised +that he took it so roughly; pointed out that when he had the chance of +stealing Abner's money he hadn't taken it, said that he didn't want a +penny of it. Little by little, with soft and humorous words he cooled +Abner's anger. At the next inn they split the sovereign over two quarts +of beer, and by the time he had finished drinking Abner was ready to go +shares with the change, an offer that Mick was too generous to accept. +'What for would I want money?' he said, 'as long as I'd have the price of +a naggin in my pockut?' A man must be a fool, he added, if he couldn't +travel in a fat country the likes of England without money. In Ireland, +it was true, one had to use one's wits, for every one else was doing the +same thing. He searched in his pockets and laid out a yellow piece of +paper among the beer-spills on the inn table. An Irishman's passport, he +called it. Actually it was an eviction order, which seemed to Abner an +unusual type of letter of credit. Not a bit of it, said Mick. In +Ireland all you had to do was to carry this along with you and tell a +tale about the little children was starving on you, and you could kick a +shillun out of every priest you come across. In the old days there was +many a toff that'd give you half a crown to be rid of you. They had +another drink, and Mick became rhapsodical on the subject of money. What +good had money ever done him? Money . . . in his day he'd had the money +would buy the two sides of Grafton Street. He recalled his great double +on Winkfield's Pride and Manifesto for the Lincoln and National. Three +hundred pounds in his pocket . . . but it went away like wather. Porther +would have supplied a better simile. When once he began to talk about +horses there was no stopping him. The lust of the born gambler shone in +his small blue eyes. 'Take away racing and I'm gone,' he said. 'It's +the only thing that keeps the life in me!' He went on talking until he +saw that Abner was nearly asleep over the table, then he plucked at his +arm. 'Come along,' he said, 'let's be getting a move on before we're +threw out.' + +That night, in a condition of sublime charity toward the world and each +other, they could find no barn to sleep in and rolled themselves up on a +bank of dry bracken under the misty moon. Counting his money next +morning Abner found that most of it had gone. He knew better than to +grumble about it, but suggested to Mick that they had better go easy. + +'Go aisy, is it? Not at all!' said the Irishman. + +At midday, leaving Abner in a small spinney of firs, he went off to the +nearest village with the price of a quart, and returned a couple of hours +later laden not only with the beer but with a good-sized fowl and pockets +full of potatoes. Displaying these spoils he winked, and Abner asked no +questions. They boiled water in Mick's treacle tin, and having poured +this over the bird to make the plucking easy, roasted it with the +potatoes in the embers of their fire. It was a splendid meal. Beneath +its charred covering the flesh was sweet and juicy. Abner had never felt +fitter in his life or freer from every vestige of care. When the meal +was over Mick slept like a gorged boa-constrictor and woke in an +ill-temper, but by this time Abner was getting used to his alternations +of enthusiasm and melancholy and left him alone. It was a good life: +there was no denying that, and in another day or so they would arrive at +the scene of their new work. + +That misty moon was no negligible portent, for at sunset great clouds +began to gather from the south, and, before night, fell a thunder shower +that drenched them. The dusty road drank up the rain and all the earth +smelt sweet, but the August weather had broken and the country of wooded +hills into which they had now come seemed to breed rain. They decided +that it would be impossible to dry their clothes, and pushed on through +the night, Mick loping ahead like some drowned bird and Abner stolidly +following. They passed through the wet streets of a country town at +midnight. Not a light could be seen in the solemn Georgian houses, but +from a belfry, almost lost in cloud, the sound of a plaintive carillon +floated down. + +'Ludlow,' said Mick. 'There do be races here.' + +They crossed another noisy river. The road climbed endlessly, winding +over a steep hill-side. They entered a forest where the rain troubled +them no more, so tired that they decided to rest for a while. Here they +had the luck to find a hut thatched with heather that had been used by +woodcutters. At the risk of burning it over their heads they lit a fire +with some dry branches that they found inside it. Here they lay +half-blinded with wood-smoke stolidly chewing tobacco, for Abner, unused +to the road, had allowed his store to become soaked. Mick soon fell +asleep, but Abner could not do so. He lay there till dawn in his +steaming clothes, listening to the incessant dripping of the rain from +millions of leaves, a sound that was soothing in spite of its desolation. +Sometimes a wind that could not be felt would stir the tops of the trees +to a commotion and then the drops would fall like hail on the soaked +leaves of the forest. The fire died down; there was no more wood in the +hut, and drops of water began to fall from the roof into the hissing +embers. It was hellishly cold, but Mick still slept like a dog, though +his left leg twitched in his sleep. At dawn Abner woke him. He grumbled +because Abner in his vigil had finished the tobacco. It looked once more +as if they were going to fall out, but the sense of common misery was too +great to allow them to do so. + +They tramped on through the woods in the rain. They could see nothing +ahead of them but misty trees and no sound came to them but that of +dripping moisture and sometimes the harsh call of a jay. The sun was so +completely veiled that dawn passed into day almost without their knowing +it. Only a whiter, colder light gleamed from the wet leaves. 'We'll +never get shut on these bleedin' trees,' said Abner; but his companion +did not answer. Suddenly Mick began to sing in a hoarse, unnatural +voice:-- + + Macarthy took the floor in Enniscorthy; + Macarthy took the floor in Enniscorthy; + For his eyes and ears and nose + Were like marbles on the floor + Of the fragments of the man they called Macarthy. + +He sang the same verse over and over again, and at the end of the third +repetition, he stood stock still, for they had come to the edge of the +wood. 'By the houly, we're through wud it!' he said. + +The huge confusion of the Radnor march lay before them, vast and sombre +and wild with cloud. To north and south of the spot where they were +standing the woods rolled backward into England, upward to the sky. It +was difficult to believe that they had emerged a little below the crest +of the hills, for the precipitous wall behind them rose magnificently +black into the mist with fleeces of cloud entangled in its surface like +wisps of wool in a winter hedge. Beneath their feet a lake of white +vapour hid the trough of the Teme valley lapping the bases of other +wooded hills. Nothing could they see but dark masses of trees thrown +into fantastic folds and pinnacles by the shapes of the hills that +carried them: an amphitheatre of savage stone fleeced with unending +woods. 'That's Wales,' said Mick. 'God! I could do with a drop!' + +In spite of the melancholy grandeur of the scene Abner felt that an end +was in sight. They scrambled down a steep bank, and Mick, still singing, +stampeded a flock of horned black-faced sheep that crowded with +glistening wool under the lee of a hedge. They crossed a zone of huge, +wind-writhen hawthorns and came to a road, or rather a rutted track of +wheels that cut the hill-side diagonally. In the middle of this track +stood a wooden sled with iron chains for carting timber and a pile of +tree-trunks that had been dumped at this stage of their descent from the +woods. + +'Plenty of work here,' said Mick, 'time they've finished clearing these.' + +They followed the track to a gate that gave on to a metalled road. Even +this was heavily scarred with the cartage of timber. On every side the +vast debris of forestry was seen. Birds began to sing in the wet +hedgerows. The road was alive with yellow-hammers and linnets. The rain +ceased. + +The scramble down the hill-side had warmed them and they now walked at a +good pace. Villages were few, the greatest of them no more than hamlets +clustered about red-brick farms, and as yet no labourers were seen in the +fields. For miles and miles they passed no public-house. + +'Ne'er a drop stirrin',' said Mick. 'This is a grand country, right +enough!' + +By eight o'clock the sun was through and the folding mist, sucked +upwards, revealed great stretches of arable land that would have been +melancholy in dull weather but now began to gleam in patches of warm +colour. Moisture clarified all the air; oat-fields ripening for harvest +were full of tawny lights, and the breasts of the linnets rosy. A +signpost told them that they were less than a mile from Aston by +Lesswardine, and in a few moments they saw a little church hedged in with +pagan yews and a dilapidated parsonage still dead asleep. Mick thanked +God for the sight of an inn, even though it were closed. A swinging sign +with a heraldic device battered by long conflict with rain and wind +proclaimed it the Delahay Arms. Tall hollyhocks stood sentinel on either +side of the door. + +At the end of the village they took a cross-road to Lesswardine, moving +through water-meadows of brilliant emerald with placid dykes on either +side. Somewhere near them ran a river, its course marked by a black line +of brushwood. Sunlight becoming more generous warmed them through and +through. The road drew near to the river and to a spur of hills nursing +the valley of a tributary. In a sheltered coomb they saw an encampment +of white tents bleaching in the sun. A wood fire was lighted among them. +The smoke went straight upward. Round the fire they saw men lounging in +their shirt-sleeves among great stacks of alder-wood. There was a +tempting smell of bacon in the air which made their mouths water. + +'What are these chaps about, Mick?' Abner asked. + +'Cloggers,' Mick shouted back to him. + + + + +The Tenth Chapter + + +ABNER and Mick advanced to the edge of the bivouac. Its inhabitants did +not seem to be disturbed by their presence. Mick, who was never at a +loss for words, gave them good-morning. A tall man, with a large, +unshaven face and a check handkerchief knotted round his neck, who was +sitting on a log by the fire, turned and stared at him. He had wide, +humorous eyes and when he spoke he gave the impression, by winking, that +his words concealed some subtle joke. Meanwhile with each of his hands +he sat fondling an immense and hairy forearm. + +'Well, lad, what is it?' he asked, in a strong Lancashire accent. + +Mick explained that Abner and he were looking for work on the Welsh water +and asked if it were anywhere near by. + +'Eh, you've a good step yet,' said the other. 'They're working up beyond +Chapel Green, two miles from Lesswardine. Been long on the road?' + +'Four days,' said Mick. 'I hear there do be a good job goin' there.' + +'Ay,' said the north-countryman sardonically. 'Work for them that likes +it.' His wink seemed to imply that Mick obviously didn't. + +Three other men lounged up to them. Another, who was holding a shovel +over the fire, sang out: 'Come on, Joe, the rasher's done.' + +The big man raised himself from his log. Before this it had been +impossible to realise his hugeness. 'Better have summat t'eat wi' uz,' +he said. + +His sudden hospitality, so little in keeping with his appearance, +surprised Abner. In a few minutes they had settled down with the rest to +the enjoyment of the frizzled bacon and large cans of tea. Mick was soon +at home, contriving at the same time to eat enormously and to keep the +conversation going. + +The encampment, as he had first explained to Abner, was one of many such +that may be found scattered up and down the length of the Radnor march in +summertime. The men who inhabit them are known as cloggers. They come +from the black industrial towns of Lancashire, and their business is the +making of wooden clogs. All are skilled labourers, and in each of their +communities there is a foreman on whom the commercial responsibilities of +the venture falls. Early in spring he makes a visit to the border +country and bargains with farmers and landowners for the right to cut the +thickets of black alder that choke the bottom of every valley in this +western brookland. In May the rest of the gang follow and there begins a +nomadic life in which they wander from valley to valley, felling the +thickets, stripping the black bark from wood of a milky whiteness and +cutting billets of a size suitable for clog-making. On rainy days when +their harvest is well in hand, they carry the process further, and set to +making the clogs themselves. Sometimes they live under canvas on the +site of their labours; sometimes they find lodgings in the nearest +village; always, as strangers--or rather as migrants--they carry with +them a reputation for boldness and extravagance in speech and behaviour; +but, for all that, the border people make much of them, knowing that they +earn plenty of money and spend it freely. + +The valley on which Abner and his friend had lighted was by this time +nearly stripped of its alders. Piles of clean white billets stood +bleaching in the morning sun ready to be carted to the nearest point on +the railway. + +'You're not afther wanting a hand with the wood?' Mick asked. + +'No, lad,' said the big man, 'this is a tradesman's job. You'll get work +right enough up by Chapel Green. You tell the foreman that Wigan Joe +sent you along. But happen you'll find it hard to get a lodge there. +Come Tuesday we're makin' a shift to Mainstone Bottom, and me and my +mates are going to take a lodging in the Buffalo. Old Mr Malpas or his +son George'll see you right. Happen we'll have a quart together then. +Come on, lads. . .' + +Abner and Mick took their dismissal and moved off together. The sun was +now high and not a shred of mist remained in all the river basin. Before +this it had seemed confined on every side by high hills thickly wooded. +Now, to westward, far greater hills arose, huge, bare, and dappled with +shadows of the last retreating clouds. While they breakfasted Abner had +laid out his tobacco to dry in the sun. They lighted their pipes and +walked on cheerily, Mick singing fragments of a song about the Sultan of +the Turks and the Irish Board of Works. They crossed the river Teme by a +stone bridge above a glassy pool. 'I'm telling you there's a fine lot of +salmon in there,' said Mick. + +'Salmon?' asked Abner, who had only been acquainted with the tinned +variety of this fish. + +'Salmon right enough!' said Mick, leaning on the parapet. 'The times +I've watched them coming up the river Barrow, before you was the height +of a match!' + +They left the roofs of Lesswardine on their right, turning in towards the +bare hills. The river swept away from them to cut the village in two. +From a perpendicular tower of reddish stone they heard a lazy peal of +bells. + +'Sunday morning,' said Mick. 'God help us!' + +From all that sun-drenched, silent countryside, from the towers of many +hidden villages other bells were heard, melancholy, mellow voices, +floating luxuriously in an air lightened by rain. + +'By the houly!' Mick continued, 'and the pubs shut on me! If it isn't +enough to make a man make dead childer!' + +They passed three villages in which closed doors confirmed this gloomy +reflection. The villages themselves were not gloomy. Leisure, +prosperity and content radiated from their flowery gardens, from the +clean pinafores and collars of the children loitering to church, from the +faces of the men who gossiped at the gates of sunny gardens in their +shirt-sleeves. In no part of England could villages more trimly English +have been found than in this ultimate border of the Marches. It was as +though the nearness of another and an alien civilisation compelled them +to insist on their national character. + +'In Wales,' said Mick, sourly, 'there's divil a one open Sunda'.' + +They crossed another river, the noisy Barbel, a torrent of mountain water +wherein no weeds could grow, swirling clear into black pools. A stone +set in the middle of the bridge told them that they were now in Wales, +and as though to emphasise the change of country the barren hill-sides +rose abruptly to receive them; on their right a tremendous crag of gray +stone crowned with a pointed earthwork, and in front of them fold on fold +of softer contours pale in the sunlight from the intricate convolutions +of which the brawling river issued. + +A village of stone awaited them, blank house-walls fronting on the +roadway with small windows and roofs of clumsy slate. In the midst an +ugly chapel, with the word 'Ebenezer' carved above its doorway, from +which the sound of a drawling hymn emerged, and at the end of the village +a public-house with the painted head of a bison for sign and, as Mick had +anticipated, closed doors. Even the windows were shuttered. + +'We'll see if there's annything stirrin', said Mick, beating at the door. + +For a time they could get no answer, but at last the door was cautiously +opened and the head of an old man appeared. How old he was it would have +been difficult to say, for though his eyes were rheumy and the irises +ringed with the white circles of age, his hair was plentiful and scarcely +streaked with gray. He leaned on a stick and did not seem pleased to see +them, speaking in a tongue that Abner could scarcely understand. When +they told him that Wigan Joe had sent them he became a little more +hospitable, but the consciousness of a Wesleyan policeman in the village +still prevented him from opening the door to them. The foreman of the +water-works job, he said, whose name was Eve, could certainly be found at +the Pound House at Mainstone, three miles away over the river. 'That's +in England,' he mumbled, as though he were speaking of a barbarous +foreign country. As to lodgings he could not help them. On Tuesday the +cloggers were coming over from Lesswardine and had arranged to take his +two rooms. Mick pressed him, and he admitted that, at a pinch, his wife +might be able to put them up until then, provided that they were in a +position to pay for a room and food. Abner assured him that that was all +right, but he still refused to commit himself till Mrs Malpas returned +from chapel. As a favour he allowed them at last to leave their bundles +with him while they set off again to find the foreman. They promised to +return to Chapel Green in the evening, and before they turned their backs +he had closed the door again with evident relief. + +They reached Mainstone just before the opening of the Pound House. The +foreman Eve, whom his associates called Gunner, a little man who wore a +shield over the socket from which one of his eyes was missing, told them +that they need not want for a job if they meant business and told them to +apply to the clerk of the works early on Monday morning. 'You say Mr Eve +sent you and it'll be all right.' At the end of this sentence he was +snatched away by a power beyond his control, for the doors of the +ale-house opened and the twenty or thirty men who had been lounging +outside flowed into the bar like metal into a mould. + +It was a clean and pleasant place surrounded by settles of black Welsh +oak. The presence of the navvies from the waterworks had made it into a +kind of recognised canteen, and behind the bar were ranged three great +barrels of Astill's ales. Even at a distance of eighty miles from North +Bromwich the power of Astill's influence was felt. Mick, without any +difficulty, had already enrolled himself as a member of the company. He +had paired off with a big lumbering fellow in corduroys with a red, +stupid face and curly hair. + +'Who's going to give the ball a kick?' Abner heard him saying, and a +moment later he was taking a quart pot of beer from a dark, strapping +girl who served behind the counter. A medley of voices arose: the +high-pitched accents of the Welsh, the soft Hereford burr, a smattering +of audacious cockney, and then the harsher northern speech of a number of +cloggers who had wandered in. The room was crowded to suffocation, and +Abner found himself lucky to get a seat alongside the one-eyed foreman, +Eve, on a bench near to the window. Abner began to talk to him, but the +Gunner was not inclined to keep it up. He was a little man with firm-set +jaws from which speech seemed to escape with difficulty. His whole body +was spare and dessicated and his skin so tanned with exposure to weather +that the blue-black patterns tattooed on his forearms were scarcely +distinguishable from his skin. He drank rum and water stolidly with a +little cough between each gulp and scrutinised all the company with his +one eye that was dark and keen like that of a bird of prey. He drank +three or four rums, one after the other, but the process had no loosening +effect on his taciturnity, nor did it dim the brightness of his eye. +Abner asked him how long he had been on the waterworks job. + +'Fourteen year,' he said. + +'Is it like to last long?' + +'It's like to last as long as I do. I'm what you might call on the +establishment, as they say in the service. Been with it since they made +the resservoyer in the Dulas valley. They say it's an unlucky job this +here water. I was there when the dam was broke nine year ago. Always +something up with it. . .' + +Then, warming a little, he began to ask Abner if he were used to navvying +work, snorted when he told him he was a miner, and told him that he'd +have a job to get a bed to sleep in. 'The cloggers is coming into the +Buffalo Tuesday,' he said, 'and the folk round here is scared of us. +They're like children with strangers. They're a lot of damned Welshmen, +only don't you tell 'em so or they'll let you know about it.' He waved +to the dark girl behind the counter, who brought him another tot of +spirit as though she understood his signal. + +'You're looking up fine to-day, Susie,' he said. + +'Get away with you, Mr Eve,' she replied. She may have blushed, but the +blood ran so richly under her brown cheeks that no blush could have been +seen. Eve took hold of her arm and pulled her gently towards him. +Evidently she was used to being handled, for she did not seem to resent +it. With her dark hair almost brushing the foreman's cheek she winked at +Abner. + +'Mr Badger been down to-day,' said Eve in a whisper. + +'Oh, you _are_ a tease,' she said, with a movement of petulance. 'Now, +do let me go! You're not the only gentleman that wants serving.' + +Eve gently pinched her arm. 'Well, then,' he said, 'just you ask George +Malpas to come and have a word with me, there's a good girl!' + +She left them, pushing her way familiarly through the crowd of men with a +refined 'Excuse me!' and crossed the room towards a tall, dark young man, +better dressed than most of the company, who stood holding a pot of ale +in the opposite corner, and talking to Wigan Joe, who had just arrived. +When the girl spoke to him he nodded, and a moment later came over to the +bench on which Abner and the foreman were sitting. From the very first +Abner liked his face, and indeed he was a handsome specimen of the border +type, with an olive skin and dark eyes set rather wide apart under level +brows. At the moment his cheeks were a little flushed with the liquor +that he had been drinking. + +He and the Gunner were evidently old friends. + +'Well, George,' said Eve, 'how goes it?' + +'Middling, Gunner, middling.' + +'Now, my son, hark to me. This young chap here is coming on to our job +to-morrow . . . a mining chap from North Bromwich way . . . and he wants +to find a lodge. Think you can do something for him?' + +'Well, now you'm asking!' said George Malpas. 'The cloggers are coming +into the Buffalo Tuesday; but I reckon mother might find him a bed time +they come. 'T'is all accarding. . . . Not that her won't be glad to +oblige you, Gunner.' + +'I've a mate along of me,' said Abner. + +'Your mate looks more like sleeping in a ditch,' said the Gunner with a +dour glance at Mick. 'Irishmen are all alike. God, don't I know 'em! +I've been shipmates with one or two of them chaps in my time. Well, +George?' + +'I'll see what I can do,' said George Malpas. + +'Your mother ought to be glad of a decent chap.' + +'All right, I'll take him along with me when they close, don't you fear.' + +He moved off again towards the bar. At the same moment there appeared in +the doorway a man of middle height and sturdy build. He was dressed in a +cord shooting coat and breeches. His face was swarthy and sanguine and +he surveyed the company as though he had a grudge against every one of +them. Indeed he had reason to be suspicious, for if black glances could +have killed he would have been a dead man within a minute of entering the +room. He stood there as if he were waiting for the hostility of the bar +to take some more tangible form, and at last a young man emerging from a +pint pot with an accession of Dutch courage, said mildly: 'Well, Mr +Badger, how be the young pheasants going?' + +'Don't you ask him,' said another. 'This be a terrible place for foxes.' + +The keeper took no notice of these remarks nor yet of the laughter that +followed; he went straight up to the counter where Susie stood polishing +glasses and shook hands with her formally. + +'Who's he?' asked Mick Connor, already considerably nourished, 'A keeper? +You leave go of him, darlin'. You'd as well be shaking hands with the +divil!' + +'You'd best hold your tongue,' said another. 'He'm our Susie's fancy.' + +'Gard be good to her then!' said Mick with a sigh. + +Neither Badger nor the girl seemed to be conscious of these reflections +on their intimacy. Badger was leaning over the bar with his face close +to hers and whispering. She still went on polishing her glasses +mechanically, nodding with pursed lips, in response to whatever he was +saying and glancing from time to time in a mirror, advertising Astill's +Bottled Ales, that hung on the wall at her right hand. Evidently all was +not well, for she hurriedly rearranged a curl of dark hair that hung in +front of her right ear and had become entangled in a garnet ear-ring. +This process of preening attracted Abner's attention to her sex. +Suddenly he found himself comparing her rather maturer charms with those +of Susan Wade. Perhaps her name had something to do with it. Both were +of the dark beauty which had always attracted him, though Susan the first +had been a pale city-dweller and little more than a girl, while the +barmaid was a woman of his own age, generously yet perfectly formed, full +of strength and health and physical splendour. She bent over to listen +more carefully to the keeper's whisper that was almost lost in the hubbub +of the taproom, and Abner saw the smooth whiteness of her neck, faintly +browned like an egg. The liquor that he had taken inflamed his +imagination. For the moment she seemed definitely desirable. + +Mick Connor, having kicked as many drinks out of his neighbours as they +would give him, staggered over to Abner's side. In this state he looked +more than ever like a bird. His small eyes glistened and the arteries of +his temples stood out like whipcord. He asked Abner for money, and when +Abner said, quite truthfully, that he had none to spare, he began to +round on him fiercely in a language that nobody could understand. It +seemed as if a row were in the making, and this was the last thing that +Abner wished for. He didn't want to be involved with Mick in a dispute +before the foreman, Eve, who stared critically at his friend, and +particularly before the girl who stood behind the counter. He tried to +lead Mick away before it was too late, but the Irishman wrenched himself +free from his hands and began to take off his coat for a fight. The +whole room was now listening and laughing at the scene. The girl behind +the bar, seeing that things were getting serious, excused herself to the +keeper and came down to ask Abner to take his friend away. + +'We can't have this sort of thing in here, you know,' she said. + +She came so near to Abner that he was aware of the smell of her hair. +Her nearness disturbed him so that he could scarcely answer her. Mick, +however, found no difficulty in stating his case at the top of his voice. + +'I know,' she said, with the air of one who was used to the settling of +such complications. 'You two boys had better go out and get a bit of +fresh air. Go on now, be good chaps,' she continued good-humouredly, 'or +I shall have to call father.' + +Mick turned on her savagely. 'Call your father, is it? Who said I was +drunk?' + +'I never said you was drunk. Just you sit down and be quiet.' + +By this time Badger had reached her side. 'Best leave him alone, Susie,' +he said. 'Half-past six, then?' + +She nodded, and the keeper went out. At the same moment the landlord of +the house, a short, wheezy man, with yellow pockets under his eyes that +made him look like an owl, appeared behind the bar, and shouted to Susie +in a high-pitched voice, asking what was the matter. + +'It's all right, dad,' she said, smiling back at Abner, who had by this +time succeeded in pushing Mick Connor down into the seat next to the +foreman and thrusting his own unfinished pot of beer into his hand. + +'Then what's all the bloody noise about?' Mr Hind inquired, with a +violent wheeze at the end of the sentence. 'Don't forget we've got a new +policeman here that's a stranger to the ways of the place, and the +justices lying in wait for me. I can't have no rows here, or they'll be +saying the place isn't properly conducted. You mind that, boys!' + +But there was no further disturbance. Mick, having finished the rest of +Abner's beer, retired mechanically to the society of his first friend, +the big navvy in corduroys, who was now too drunk to realise what money +he was spending. The landlord walked to and fro behind the narrow bar, +glancing anxiously at the minute hand of the clock that was gradually +approaching the hour of two, and talked wheezily about his distrust of +the new policeman. Through the little door of the kitchen behind the bar +came the frizzle of a basted joint followed by the metallic clang of an +oven door. Something savoury was doing for dinner. The clock gave a +whirring noise which suggested that it was as asthmatic as its owner and +struck two with a harsh, ringing note. The landlord stopped dead in his +prowling. 'Time . . .' he shouted. + +'See you Monday,' said the Gunner, winking at Abner, who was already +preparing to rescue Mick Connor from his new friend. The bar emptied. +In the space of two hours its atmosphere had become so thick with tobacco +smoke and the fumes of liquor that it smelt stale and fetid. Mick was +walking arm in arm with the navvy in a state of unstable equilibrium. +Abner took his arm. 'Come on,' he said. 'Let's see about the lodge.' + +'And who the hell are you?' said the Irishman truculently. 'You keep a +civil distance!' + +The big man rallied to his supporter, and Abner saw that for the present +Mick was best left alone. The other two went off together, Mick singing +a song in which the navvy joined though he did not know the tune. A tall +policeman with mutton-chop whiskers watched them from the other side of +the road. Abner turned and saw that the young man whom the Gunner had +addressed as George Malpas was waiting for him. + +'Best come along of me to the Buffalo and have a bite,' he said, and they +set off together. + +Abner found that from the first he liked George Malpas. His dark face +and eyes were bright with the drink that he had taken, his speech rapid +and vivacious. They walked quickly towards Chapel Green and the hills, +talking all the way, and Abner felt that this was the first person whom +he had met on his travels who really accepted him with naturalness and +without suspicion. Malpas told him that he need not worry about his +lodging. 'Dad's getting up in years,' he said, 'and a shadow'd frighten +him, but mother's all there and she don't know how to say "no" to me.' + +He spoke all the time quickly and with a certain restlessness that, on +the surface, made him seem free and daring. He questioned Abner eagerly +about life in the black-country. Once he had been in North Bromwich and +this experience had made him discontented with a country life. 'It's +proper dead here, that's what it is!' he said. 'Time a man gets to my +age he ought to see a bit of the world; but a chap gets nabbed with a +wife and a couple of kids and then it's kiss me good-bye to all that! +You single chaps don't know your luck!' Evidently George Malpas had +tried his hand at everything. He had been a wheelwright; a farm bailiff; +for a year or two he had helped his mother in the management of the +Buffalo, and lately, since the job on the pipe-line had begun, he had +been doing labourer's work: a thing that seemed unnatural to a man so +handsomely and delicately made. 'Anything for a change: that's what I +say,' he maintained. 'What a chap like me ought to do is go to sea, but +these old hills are like a prison. Damn me if I wouldn't as soon be in +Shrewsbury jail as here!' + +They crossed the bridge into Wales. By this time George Malpas's mother +had returned from chapel and the door of the Buffalo was unlocked. +George opened it for Abner. In the bar, on the left, he saw the two +bundles exposed prominently on the table. Beyond in the kitchen they +found the old man sitting in the chimney-corner and Mrs Malpas dredging +flour into the roasting-tin from which a joint of beef had been taken. + +'Just in time, mother!' said George. 'How's the old legs, dad?' + +'Badly . . . badly, George,' mumbled his father. + +'Can you give us a bite of dinner, mother?' + +At first Mrs Malpas did not reply. She was a little woman, primly +dressed in a constricted black dress. She had a mass of gray hair with a +tinge of yellow in it; her features were finely shaped, like those of her +son, but her mouth was hard as stone. When she had finished making her +gravy she turned a pair of piercing black eyes on Abner and spoke in a +low voice. It was level and expressionless, but one felt, all the time, +that she meant exactly what she said and that nothing could turn her from +a determination once expressed. Facing her, he found that her face was +beautiful, but hardened by suffering, by the responsibility of an old and +ailing husband and the anxiety of a wayward son. + +'Is this the young man who left his bundle here with dad?' she asked. + +'Yes, this is the chap. All he wants is a bed.' + +'Well, I can't do it, George, and you know I can't,' she cried; 'what +with the cloggers coming, and all! Your father told them so.' The old +man nodded. + +'Give us some dinner first, mother,' said George persuasively. 'Then +we'll talk about it.' + +'It's no good talking,' Mrs Malpas persisted. 'I mean what I said, and +so does your father.' + +Although it was obvious that nothing that the old man might say would +alter the course of events that she had ordained, his wife had acquired +the habit of pretending that he shared the responsibility of her +decisions. George, with a side glance of encouragement at Abner, tried +to joke her out of her seriousness. + +'You can't get over me that way, George,' she said; but when he took her +arm her eyes and mouth softened and she made no attempt to prevent Abner +sharing the meal which her son helped her to put on the table. At the +end of the process he kissed her, and she suddenly stiffened. + +'You've been to the Pound House, George! I can smell your breath.' + +'Well, can't a chap go to the Pound House without a fuss being made?' he +laughed. 'You'm jealous, mother, of that seven days' licence!' + +'If it was to make my fortune this minute,' she said intensely, 'I +wouldn't sell one spot of drink on a Sunday. Nor would father,' she +added in a milder tone. + +The flash subsided and she went on to ask about Mr Hind's asthma; but she +took no notice of George's reply, for her inquiry had only been a +preliminary to asking how Susie was. She watched him closely when he +replied that Susie was all right. 'Her new friend Badger was there,' he +added with a laugh. + +'I mind the time,' said the old man dreamily, 'when there was three +badgers dug out one month up the Castel Ditches. Turrible teeth a badger +has. Turrible . . .' + +'He means Mr Badger, the keeper, father,' said Mrs Malpas. + +'All keepers is the same,' said the old man. 'Water or game-keepers, +there's not a pin between 'em.' + +He relapsed into one of those fits of vacuity which often droused his +normal, if senile, intelligence. Mrs Malpas dragged him back with the +announcement that the dinner was ready. + +'I'll go and draw some beer,' said George. + +'You'll do nothing of the sort, George,' replied Mrs Malpas. 'You've had +all that's good for you at the Pound House. If your father can do +without beer before evening, so can you!' + +George passed the reproof off with a smile, but stayed where he was. + +Meanwhile Mrs Malpas rescued four hot plates from the oven and thrust +them into Abner's hands with 'Catch on, please!' and the party settled +down at the table, the old man occupying a shiny chair with a patchwork +cushion; the mother, rigid as her own chair-back, facing him, Abner and +George disposed on either side of them. The food was excellent and Abner +was more than ready for it. It was the first square meal that he had got +his teeth into for a week. Mrs Malpas's appetite was in keeping with the +ascetic character of her face, but the old man ate ravenously of beef, +vegetables, and dumplings, and the two others were not far behind him. +All through the meal Mrs Malpas cast anxious glances at her son's plate. +Abner could see that beneath her mask of severity she was really full of +a fierce maternal concern for his comfort. The only tokens of tenderness +that ever appeared in her were shown towards him. When she spoke of +George's wife and of the children there was an almost imperceptible +hardening in her tone, and George answered her shortly, as if he knew +that the subject had only been raised for politeness' sake. + +For all this they enjoyed their meal. The room was dim, for the hot sun +from outside was caught in the folds of a lace curtain and a mass of lush +geranium plants with which the window-sill was crowded. The scent of +their leaves filled the room with an atmosphere of summer, languid and +happy. One could almost have guessed that it was Sunday. + +When the meal was over Abner began to fill his pipe. + +'No smoking in here, young man,' said Mrs Malpas sternly. 'If you want +to smoke you'd best go into the tap.' + +'It's mother's fancy on a Sunday,' George apologised. + +'You know your father can't abear it,' said Mrs Malpas, but the old man, +who usually woke up when his name was mentioned, did not hear her, being +busy with a paper packet of snuff. + +When she began to clear the table, George returned gallantly to the +subject of their visit. 'What about this chap's lodging?' he asked. + +'It's no good asking me, George. I've told you once.' + +'You can give him a bed till Tuesday while he's looking round, mother.' + +She shook her head positively. 'I've got to clean things up between now +and Tuesday. Besides, there's two of them.' + +'Don't you trouble yourself about the other,' said George. 'He's gone +off with one of our gang. This is a nice, steady chap. . .' + +But Mrs Malpas did not budge. 'Your father wouldn't hear of it,' she +said finally. By this time she had cleared away the dinner things, taken +off her apron and placed a family Bible with a blue silk marker on the +table. Mr Malpas had settled back in his chair by the hearth with a +snuffy handkerchief over his head. + +'Just for two days,' said George. + +'George, 'tis no good.' + +He knew better than to press her under the circumstances, and so they +prepared to go. Abner took out his money to pay for the meal. Cupidity +struggled with principle in Mrs Malpas's eyes. + +'Not on a Sunday, young man,' she said. + +Abner thanked her clumsily. George kissed her, and for a moment she +dropped her stiffness and clung to him. + +'Come on, then,' he said to Abner. 'Good-bye, dad.' + +But Mr Malpas was already asleep, his mouth sagging beneath the edge of +his handkerchief. Abner picked up his bundle in the taproom and he and +George went out into the grilling sunshine. + + + + +The Eleventh Chapter + + +GEORGE MALPAS, having taken a fancy to Abner at first sight, had +determined to ask his own wife to give him a lodging. The relation +between the two young men had begun with a quick, spontaneous liking on +either side. Abner was only too glad to see a friendly face, not being +built, as was Mick Connor, for picaresque adventure, and feeling that it +would be well to settle down again. George Malpas, on the other hand, +liked him because he represented something new, because he had exhausted +the possibilities of the cloggers' company, which led no farther than the +Pound House--a place which he could only visit with irritation since +Badger, the keeper, had cut him out with Susie Hind--and because the idea +of a presentable stranger living in his own house appealed to him on the +score of variety as well as from the financial point of view. + +As they left the Buffalo, George expounded his project to Abner. It did +him good, he said, to talk, and particularly to talk to a man of his own +age who could understand him. If Abner had been married he would have +realised that it was useless talking to women who pretended to listen, +but never gave a thought to what a man was saying. The thought of his +marriage always roused him to bitterness. It had been imposed on him, +indeed, by the anxiousness of his mother, who adored him, her only son, +beyond words and, under the influence of chapel, had conceived it her +particular duty to save his soul from hell. Hell, in the eyes of Mrs +Malpas, meant neither more nor less than sexual promiscuity, and seeing +in the handsomeness of George a spiritual danger, she had followed the +advice of St Paul and married him safely, as she thought, before worse +happened. + +She herself had chosen a wife for him. Indirectly, for she knew that he +was wilful and easily scared, she had contrived to make him fall in love +with the daughter of a local farm-bailiff, Morgan Condover, a steady, +and, as it seemed, a solid man, who managed the outlying members of the +Powys estate. Mary Condover, the daughter, was a little older than +George; a shy beauty, with whom the lad soon fell in love. George, as +the only son of the innkeeper at Chapel Green, was considered a good +match, and Mrs Malpas played her cards so well that within six months of +falling in love George found himself married and installed in a house of +his own. He was happy: Mrs Malpas could see that for herself, and she +thanked Heaven that she had been permitted to save her son alive. + +Before a year was over George's first child was born. There was a great +christening party at Wolfpits at which old Mr Condover, having drunk a +good deal more than Mrs Malpas approved, confided to her that his +newly-born grand-daughter, whom they had christened Gladys, would take +the first place in his will. This was exactly what Mrs Malpas had +intended from the first, and her satisfaction was so deep that she could +almost have forgiven the bailiff his lapse from sobriety in spite of the +unfortunate example that he had given to his son-in-law. The intense +thankfulness that flooded her heart when she saw George so happily and +satisfactorily bound in the chains of domesticity atoned for the troubles +that were crowding on her own life. Her husband, who had been ailing for +some years, was smitten with a stroke of paralysis from which he never +fully recovered. She knew that hard times were coming but faced them +cheerfully. For many years Mr Malpas had meant less to her as a husband +than as the father of her son. She would do her duty by him--nobody +could suggest that she had ever done less--on the surface she would +acknowledge him still as the head of her household, but his illness would +give her the opportunity of managing the business to her own liking and +scraping together, in the years that remained to them, a little money +that, added to the small fortune of which Mr Condover had boasted to her +at the christening, should make her son secure for life. She even hoped +that he might succeed Mr Condover in the care of the Powys estate. + +Her _Nunc dimittis_ was premature. Just before the birth of George's +second child, a healthy boy whom they had decided to name Morgan after +his grandfather, Mr Condover, at the very height of his prosperity, +hanged himself in an outhouse. His death revealed the fact that the +money of which he had boasted at the first christening did not exist. It +soon appeared that he had defrauded the Powys estate of more than eight +hundred pounds, and rumour said that he had been involved with some woman +in Ludlow. This was a terrible blow to Mrs Malpas, for in remote country +places the shames of the fathers are visited on the children to the third +generation, and never forgotten. When the baby was born she begged her +daughter-in-law not to give the child his grandfather's name; but Mary, +who had loved her father, obstinately persisted, and Mrs Malpas could +never hear it without feeling that it carried with it a reproach. She +tried to persuade George to change it, but George did not care. He was +no longer in love with his wife, who now stood to him for a symbol of the +chains that his mother had imposed on him. He felt that she had cheated +him out of an enjoyment of life that was his due. At any cost he meant +to regain his freedom, and Mary and his mother were the sufferers. The +wife, indeed, had the care of her children to console her for George's +neglect; but the mother, against whom he nursed a deep, indefinite grudge +as the author of all his misfortunes, found that she must bear the +responsibility of her own schemes. + +The household at Wolfpits now missed the subsidies which Mr Condover had +generously distributed from his masters' money. George had drifted into +an extravagant way of life that he had no intention of changing. Partly +because of his expansive nature, and partly because, in truth, he had +never had his fling, George found it difficult to settle to any steady +work. He became a drain upon the resources of the Buffalo, and Mrs +Malpas, who found it hard to refuse him anything, was forced to draw upon +her savings to support him. In her irritation and despair she blamed +Mary for all this, thinking of her as a feckless housewife who had been +brought up in the lavish ways of her father. + +'The bad blood's in her and is bound to come out,' she said, airing her +grievances on Mr Malpas who now cared for nothing but his food. George +did not mind who was to blame as long as he got the money that he wanted. +He was beginning to be interested in other women, particularly, for a +little while, in Susie Hind, the daughter of the proprietor of the Pound +House, an inn which Mrs Malpas had always regarded as the Buffalo's +bitterest rival. It pained her beyond words to think that her +hard-earned savings should find their way into Mr Hind's till. + +'George,' she said, 'if only you'll keep away from that there place I'll +see what I can do for you. Or if only you'd settle to regular work. . .' + +'Thank you kindly!' said George. 'Why don't you let me take on the +licence of the Buffalo now that dad can't do it justice? Then you and +dad could go and live somewhere quiet as you've a right to do at your +age.' + +'Never, George!' she said intensely. 'Never. . .' + +He laughed at her. 'Why not?' + +'I couldn't trust you,' she said. 'The man that keeps a public ought to +be teetotal. I know what would happen to you.' + +'You've never give me a chance,' he protested. + +'What's more, I'm not going to,' she maintained. + +'It's a job I'm cut out for. I like company. I could double your +business in a month.' + +'And drink yourself dead in six,' she said. + +'You've never seen me drunk, mother.' + +'But I know you, my son!' + +'I'm dead sick of this country,' he said. 'Town's the place for me. If +I could get away out of this and make a fresh start. Damn me if I won't +do it.' + +'Hush, George!' she said. 'I've never heard your father use a word like +that in his life.' + +But the thing that she was really frightened of was that he should go. +He was the only thing left to her, and if he went all light would have +gone from her life. She controlled her tears and took him into the +little bedroom where, in an oak chest, she kept her savings. She gave +him money, and he left her, contented, kissing her with an affection that +was mingled faintly with pity. When she held him in her arms all her +tense anxiety for a moment disappeared. She could only think of him as +the son of her body in whose happiness and physical welfare she +delighted. It seemed to her that she could now only purchase these +precious moments with money, but for a little while she could forget this +in the joy that he gave her. + +Time after time he begged her to let him take on the business, but she +always refused him, sheltering herself, as her habit now was, behind the +negligible personality of her husband. It would have shocked her beyond +words if George had pointed out to her that his father didn't count, and +that her consideration for him was a pretence; but George knew better +than to vex her in this way, for the key of the chest upstairs was kept +in her pocket. What is more, even though their two wills were always in +conflict, he loved his mother. She meant a great deal more to him than +Mary had ever done except in the first blindness of his passion, and for +this reason, no less than for the other, he was tolerant. + +'Don't you take no notice of mother,' he told Abner as they walked along +together. 'She's got a funny way with her, but she's all right at the +bottom. There's not many women could have done what she has. The only +bad turn she ever done me was when she got me threw over the pulpit.' + +It was the third time in their walk that George had spoken grudgingly of +his wife, but this did not strike Abner as strange, for it was exactly +the attitude not only of his father but of most of the men with whom he +had worked at Mawne. He grunted sympathetically in answer to George's +complaints, and all the time, as Malpas eagerly expounded his own +aspirations towards freedom and adventure, they were climbing gradually, +passing by many gyrations of a narrow road into the curve of the hills in +which Wolfpits lay. + +Within a mile of Chapel Green the character of the country changed. +Before that only a hint of mountainous severity had been visible in the +stone buildings of the village with their narrow windows and their cruel +roofs of slate. At Chapel Green the pastures that lay beside the river +were not greatly different from the water-meadows of Teme, which is an +English river, but the fields through which the road to Wolfpits passed +were poor and of a paler green. Their hedges were scanty, writhen and +knotted with hard life. The generous elms grew fewer, standing stunted, +forsaken and sparing of leaf. They seemed to shiver with poverty in this +alien soil. In their place the hardier mountain trees appeared: birches +that quivered even in this tranquil air: oak and holly and yew crouching +in the hedgerow sombrely but crowned with waxen honeysuckle. These poor +fields seemed to feel the pressure of the hills on either side from the +slopes of which blown spores of bracken and seeds of gorse had settled +and thriven like hill-men in a rich plain. In the midst of the fields +smooth water-worn boulders were scattered, and through the pit of the +valley a noisy tributary of the Barbel, that Abner came to know as the +Folly Brook, set up an unceasing murmur like that of a thunder-shower on +summer leaves behind a dense curtain of green. + +Still the road climbed. It rose in bold curves, like a kestrel soaring, +into colder air. Sometimes the brook flowed near it, and Abner could see +through gaps in the arras of alders roaring stickles of bright water. +Sometimes it swept away from them, hugging the foot of the hills, +sounding no more than the evening breeze in a poplar tree. Gullies that +fed it scored the road with tracks of winter torrents. At that season of +the year no moving water could be seen, but once or twice in shadier +places slow moisture oozed and dripped from beds of mosses on the banks. + +'The cloggers is coming up the Folly when they've finished down +Lesswardine way,' said George. 'I reckon they'll liven things up a bit.' + +The road grew rougher; it seemed to falter in its purpose. + +'Where do you get to this way?' Abner asked. + +'Right up into the Forest and on to Clun, but not many uses it,' said +George. 'The Clun men don't come much over our way. 'Tis a stiffish bit +of collar-work. This here's Wolfpits.' + +The road swept up obliquely to a crest and then sank to the level of the +stream. Abner had a vision of the whole valley expanding into a kind of +amphitheatre through the middle of which the little river pursued a more +leisurely course, winding gently through the fields as though it rejoiced +to linger under the open sky. On either side the mountains rose to their +full height, no longer concealed by foothills: from lip to lip the cup +was roofed with dazzling blue. In the open space beneath, an avenue of +chestnuts led upwards from the river to a great red house fronted with +three pointed gables and crowned by clusters of fantastic chimney-stacks. + +'You don't mean that one?' said Abner. + +'Ay, that's Wolfpits,' George replied. 'Looks all right, don't it?' + +As they descended the house was lost from sight and George began to +explain that Wolfpits had once been a great house, the most westerly +possession of the family whom Condover, his father-in-law, had served, +but that the pastures which surrounded it, for all their greenness were +poor and the mansion itself too remote and gloomy for gentlefolks to +inhabit in this age of comfort. + +'They say it's ha'nted, too,' he declared, with a laugh, 'though I don't +pay no heed to such stories. I reckon it stood here empty for close on a +hundred years till Mary's father got Mr McKellar, the agent, to let it +off in pieces to them that wanted houses. There's more than five farms +up this valley lying empty for the want of a bit of work putting into +them, but the old lord was so took up with his new model village down by +Lesswardine, he hadn't the money to put into the old ones. Not that I +grumble at him. . . . 'Tis a good solid house to live in. There's three +families in it now, and room for four more in my opinion. And I reckon +I've a kind of right to it,' he went on; 'the Malpases was big people in +these parts at one time. You'll find their names on the vault in +Lesswardine church. _John Malpas_, _Gentleman_, that's how it's written. +There's a Reverent Cyril Malpas rector of Aston to this day. Mary's +father went into the family history at the time we was married. The +Condovers is an old family too.' + +These claims to a faded aristocracy did not interest Abner, but he could +not help being impressed by the size of the house as they approached it +through the shade of the chestnut avenue. It was built of small red +bricks, strange to the country but now beautifully weathered by time. +The eastern end was covered with a gigantic growth of ivy, but from the +western side, which they were approaching, the parasite had been stripped +on Mr Condover's advice and the red wall glowed as though it were exuding +the imprisoned sunshine of three centuries. In this generous light one +did not notice an air of desolation which the uncurtained upper windows +gave to it. + +'All that's wrong with this old place,' said George, 'is the rats. But I +reckon you've been sleeping rough and won't notice them. This is our +garden. Mary's a great one for flowers.' + +They had entered a drive that swept up in a spacious curve to the steps +of the front-door, an entrance which had been closed for many years. In +place of the lawns that had once been the pride of its inhabitants lay +three long strips of garden, each carefully tilled and separated from its +neighbour by a fence of wire netting, the remains of some dismantled +fowl-run. A path of bricks, salved from one of the dilapidated stables +of the mansion, ran down the middle of the nearest garden-patch, and in +the centre of it two children sat playing in the sun, a fair-haired girl, +some six years of age, and a boy, a little younger, in whose dark +features Abner could trace a resemblance to the handsome face of George +Malpas. + +'Them's my youngsters,' he said carelessly. He opened the gate and +tweaked the girl's ear as he passed. 'Well, Gladys?' he said; but +neither of the children seemed much moved by his arrival, being more +interested in the strange figure of Abner, whose progress up the path +they watched with the vague suspicion of mountain sheep that stare before +they plunge away through heather. + +'I'll see if the missis is in,' said George. 'Mary . . .' he called. +'Where's the girl got to? Sit yourself down.' + +The room had once been the kitchen of the great house. An enormous iron +range was built into the wall on one side, and on the other were racks +and shelves which must once have held many dozens of plates. The sun +slanted through a western window and showed Abner that the comfort of +this stone-paved room lay in its cleanliness. The iron range was almost +handsome in its massive, shining bulk above the whitened hearth, and in +the fender a bundle of green bracken was set in an attempt at decoration. +The fronds of this plant filled the room with a warm and drowsy odour. +In a corner a grandfather clock, with a solemn face on which the name of +_Carver_, _Hay_, was engraved, marked the passage of time with a slowly +swinging pendulum. + +George Malpas called his wife again, and from a cool-smelling chamber on +a lower level that might well have been a dairy, a woman appeared and +stood in the doorway. + +'I've put the dinner away, George,' she said. 'It's past three o'clock.' + +'Don't you worry your head about the dinner,' he replied. 'I've brought +this chap back with me. He's coming to work with us on the water job. +Mother has a fancy she can't take any one in at the Buffalo, so I've +arranged to give him a lodge here. You'd better put him in the top room. +I reckon you won't find him particular.' + +At first she made no reply, but stood looking intently at Abner. It was +difficult for him to believe that she was George Malpas's wife and the +mother of the two children whom he had seen playing in the garden: she +seemed too young, too slight, little more, indeed, than a young girl. +She wore a clean apron of white linen, still creased from the ironing, +and her straight chestnut hair was bound back plainly on either side of +her temples and braided in heavy plaits behind. + +She was tall, and her slimness, together with the narrow apron, made her +appear taller. Her brow was wide and unwrinkled, her eyes were hazel, +her nose straight and slightly marked with golden freckles. One would +have said that her face represented the most untroubled calm if it had +not been that her mouth was a little sad. Only her lips betrayed the +fact that she had suffered. She stood in the shadow and looked at Abner +narrowly but did not speak, for she had known enough already of George's +boon companions to be a little careful of them. + +'Don't stare at the chap like that!' said George irritably, 'or he'll +think you're cracked.' + +Then she spoke in a voice that showed more refinement than could have +been expected. Her speech was almost free from the pleasant burr of the +Marches. + +'I dare say we can manage,' she said. 'I'll see about it.' Then she +addressed Abner directly. 'What's your name?' + +'Damn me if I ever thought to ask him!' muttered George. + +Abner told her, and she repeated it after him: 'Abner Fellows.' + +'Well, that's a queer name,' said Malpas. 'I don't mind ever having +heard it before.' + +'It's out of the Bible, George,' said his wife. + +'Out of the Bible, is it?' he laughed. 'Well, that's more in your line +than mine.' + +She left them quietly to attend to the details of Abner's room. Malpas, +still a little restless, took him out again, talking incessantly and +showing him what remained of the ancient features of Wolfpits: the line +of damp stables with boxes for thirty horses, the yew-trees that had once +been clipped to the shape of peacocks but had now straggled into those of +monstrous antediluvian birds; the red-walled garden, now a wilderness of +nettles, whose fruit trees spilled their pulpy produce on the mossed +paths. From the farthest corner of the garden they could see the house +which, from this angle appeared tall and narrow like a tower, with +chimney-pots for battlements. In an upper window there appeared the +figure of a woman standing still and gazing out over the mountain. + +'That's Mary putting your room to rights,' said George, but he did not +call to her. + +He spoke to Abner of the other inhabitants of Wolfpits. One was an old +woman, Mrs Mamble by name, the widow of a labourer who had worked on a +neighbouring farm. 'She don't properly belong to these parts,' he said; +'they came from down Tenbury way, but she's took up with Morgan and +Gladys, and Mary likes her company. He must have been a good chap in his +time, for they give her the house rent-free.' + +The other tenant, whom they saw working in his garden beneath the ivied +end of the house, was another solitary creature, an old man named Drew +who had worked as a farm-labourer in the district for more than thirty +years. He, too, was a foreigner, having first come to Wolfpits in charge +of a pedigree Devon bull. In the middle period of his life he had been +employed in a flour mill a few miles down the valley of the Folly Brook. +The new steam mills at Lesswardine had robbed him of this employment, but +not before the constant carrying of heavy sacks had twisted his back to a +curve in which rheumatism had fixed it. Now he could only walk with his +shoulders bent so that when he spoke he had to raise his eyes, staring up +at those who questioned him, as though his back still bore the burden of +a phantom load. All his joints were swollen and knotted with rheumatism; +his huge hands resembled the branches of an ancient tree and his whole +aspect, staring with pale blue eyes beneath a tangle of reddish hair as +yet untouched with gray, was that of a gnome, and proper to these +inaccessible mountains. His life was lonely, and for this reason he had +never lost the uncouth speech of the South Hams from which he had +originally come. When they passed his garden on their way back George +gave him good-afternoon and he raised himself, as with infinite labour, +from his work, gazing at them with the patient eyes of a yoked beast of +burden. + +'He's a rum old chap,' said George. 'You wait till he's on one of his +boozing fits, and then you'll see.' + +By this time Mary had finished Abner's room and set the table. The +children, tired with play, had come in and were clamouring for their tea. +At the same time the fourth member of the Malpas family arrived, a yellow +lurcher bitch, named Spider, who had been absent on some dark business of +her own and now returned to gambol with little Morgan on the floor. The +children were never tired of teasing this animal, but George, who only +tolerated her when he himself went rabbiting in the evening, generally +treated her cruelly. The dog fawned on him, but there was more fear than +affection in her devotion. Abner told them the story of Tiger. The +children listened with wide eyes and the mother looked at him without +speaking. A fire of sticks crackled merrily down in the room that Abner +had taken for a dairy. At last Mary Malpas brought in tea and the +children ate stolidly and shyly, talking to each other in whispers as +though they were disturbed by the presence of the stranger. + +Perhaps it was also the presence of Abner that made George Malpas take +unusual notice of his wife. He treated her very much as he would have +treated the children or the dog when the fancy took him, but his faintly +patronising tone only appeared to embarrass her. When she gave him his +tea he would have kissed her, but she stiffened slightly and even +blushed, so that Abner could see the colour rising in her white neck. +Later she softened a little from her seriousness and the children too, +realising that Abner was no more than an ordinary mortal, began to raise +their voices. They sat on with the door open in the mellow evening +light, and an atmosphere of homeliness and quiet descended on the room so +happily that Morgan cried when his mother told him that it was time for +bed. During all the afternoon she had scarcely spoken to Abner, and she +seemed relieved to find a chance of escape. She puzzled him. In his +life he had only known one woman intimately, and that was Alice. He +could not help comparing the two of them. The cleanliness and refinement +of Mary Malpas became exaggerated by this comparison. Instinctively, at +first, he had allowed himself to be influenced by George's treatment of +her, but her aloofness and reserve now made him feel that she was in some +subtle way superior. He could not say that he liked her; but he +wondered, none the less, what she was made of. + +She disappeared upstairs and he and George sat on smoking in the +twilight. The sun had fallen like a plummet behind the western hills; +the valley now lay in deep shadow and only the upper air was overspread +with films of light. Night fell. Down in the valley a night-jar began +his mechanical trilling. Over by Mawne, in Dovehouse Fields, a hundred +miles away, another night-jar was beginning. A sense of new and settled +happiness descended on Abner. He had come, it seemed, to another stage +in his pilgrimage. Wolfpits was not like one of the bivouacs in which he +had sheltered with Mick Connor during this crowded week, but a resting +place. He felt that the future need not trouble him, that his feet were +firmly planted on this new soil. The only tie that held him to the past +was the memory of Alice, so strangely awakened by the presence of this +other, and so different, woman. He feared that there could be no such +happiness for her. Lying in bed in that strange room he decided that as +soon as he had earned some money he would send it to her. At least it +was his duty to return her the two sovereigns that she had slipped into +his pocket when he left her. Yet, when he remembered the life at Mawne +against which he had fretted for so long, his heart was thankful for this +release. He fell asleep. + + + + +The Twelfth Chapter + + +NEXT morning Abner went with George Malpas to interview the clerk of the +works, who engaged him as a labourer at twenty-two shillings a week +off-hand. This man had been as long on the waterworks job as Gunner Eve +himself. Year after year he had led a nomadic life moving from one point +to another of the great pipe line that stretches from the valley of the +Dulas Fechen to the reservoirs above Halesby. + +The piece of work on which Abner and his friends were now engaged was no +more than the result of one of the last feeble struggles of the gods of +stone against their iron masters. In this part of its course the +pipeline, crossing the swollen head waters of the Teme, had been lodged +upon a deposit of old red sandstone, a rock that was easily worked and +lent itself to Barradale's plans. A hidden leak, caused possibly by some +obscure subsidence, had distorted its bedding. Two unsuccessful attempts +had been made to deal with it, and now the engineers had decreed that the +whole track must be deflected northwards for half a mile on to a shelf of +harder Silurian stone. The scene of these new workings was placed at the +mouth of the valley, some three miles below Wolfpits and immediately +under the shadow of two hill bastions: the high peak which culminated in +the earthwork known as Castel Ditches and a wide hog's back known as +Callow hill. + +Hither, in the early morning, Abner and George Malpas would set out +together carrying the packets of fried bacon sandwiches with which Mary +supplied them overnight. Spider, eager to follow them, would watch them +go, quivering with anxiety; but George Malpas had lately taken a dislike +to the dog and would curse her if she moved a step in their direction, +throwing a stone that made her scamper back into the garden. These +morning walks were very pleasant to Abner, and pleasant too was the +sudden change from a green solitude to the sight of working men who +swarmed in the cutting beneath their feet. A trolley way, crowded with +iron trucks that were reddened by rust and by the sandstone of the Dulas +valley from which they had come, cut through the workings, and beside it +ran a deep trough cut ready to receive the black iron pipes that were +dumped along its edge. Most of the workers were old hands at the game, +but there remained a certain amount of rough digging labour for which +Abner's strength and his experience in the colliery made him suitable. +This was allotted to him by the foreman on the first day of his +employment. + +He looked eagerly for Mick Connor, who soon showed himself and appeared +none the worse for the debauch in which he and Curly Atwell, the huge +west-countryman, had engaged. He declared he was seven pounds better for +it, expressing himself as usual in terms of the race-course, but Abner +saw from the first that their travelling acquaintance was really at an +end. + +During the day's work he did not even see George Malpas, being paired, in +his new labours, with a youth named Joseph Munn, whose face was +disfigured by a hare-lip. These two were set to work at some distance +from the rest, clearing the sub-soil from a shelf of rock where a culvert +of stone would soon be built to carry storm water from the slopes of +Callow. Chance had been kind to Abner in the selection of his companion, +for it soon appeared that Joe Munn was a black-country boy who had been +born in Dulston, and in his early days had even seen Abner himself +playing football for Halesby Swifts. He spoke Abner's own speech, he +knew the streets that were familiar to him, and a common knowledge of +distant places is a greater bond between men than a common knowledge of +their fellows. As far as actual work was concerned Abner might well have +had a more satisfactory partner, for, physically, Munn was a typical +product of the black-country at its worst, pale of face and lank of limb. +He seemed indeed altogether too puny for the work on which they were +engaged, and only a congenital consciousness of being born to labour +induced him to accept a state that made demands above his strength. +Abner would sometimes watch him as he stood panting with the sweat +breaking out in beads along the unhealthy skin of his bossed forehead and +matting the wisps of his neutral-coloured hair. In the end their +partnership resolved itself into one in which Abner did most of the work +when the foreman was not there. And he did not grudge this, for he had +strength enough for two and so much vigour that he enjoyed the using of +it. Munn would lie down in the sun with his chin in his hands, watching +Abner at work, talking of famous cup-ties that he had seen, or of the +excitements of Dulston Wakes. + +'I don't know how you ever come to find yourself on a job like this,' +Abner said one day. + +'It was company I wanted,' Munn explained. 'Before I come here I was +driving a traction injin down in Gloucestershire . . . what they call the +Forest of Dean. That was a place, if you like! The other chaps used to +go off into Cinderford and leave me alone with the engine up in those +woods. Lonely . . .! I went half balmy, straight I did! Yo'd never +guess what it was like. I used to start talking to myself for company +like. Ever done that, Abner?' + +Abner laughed. Of course he had never done that. + +'So I went up to the foreman and says: "Mister, I can't stick it." I +couldn't say no more, I couldn't . . . trembling like a bloody leaf. +"What's up with you now?" he says. "I wants company," says I. "What you +want is a nursemaid," says he, and gives me my money on the Saturday. +Then I comes along here. Strike, if I wasn't glad to get away from all +those trees! And Gunner Eve, he look after me a bit. He's a good chap, +the Gunner, ain't he, kid?' + +Working with Abner, or, more exactly, watching Abner work, Joe Munn +recovered a little of his broken spirit; but the story of its destruction +was older than his experience in the silences of the Forest of Dean. His +earliest days had been spent in a double-back house in a Dulston slum, +where, half-fed by an aged grandmother, he had made the pallid growth of +a potato sprouting in a cellar. Thence he had passed to the children's +ward of Dulston workhouse, being shot out at the age of fourteen to make +his best of the world. Even now he laboured, without knowing it, under +the shadows and suppressions of those early days. These summer mornings, +working with Abner, were the happiest that he had ever known. They +became sound friends in a partnership wherein Abner was canonised as a +hero and protector, a position which he sustained with an amused +tolerance. + +His relation with George Malpas remained equally happy. They always +walked down to work together in the morning, but after that Abner rarely +saw his friend, for Wolfpits held no attraction for him, and he preferred +to take himself, when the day's work was over, to the Pound House, or +sometimes to the old people at the Buffalo. In a few weeks Abner's +temporary lodging had become a permanency. Mary Malpas, in consultation +with her husband, had settled the sum that he should pay for bed and +keep, and Wolfpits itself, that sinister and desolate mansion, had become +a pleasant and homely place. + +At first he never accompanied George on his evening visits to the Pound +House. It pleased him better to walk home up the valley in the cool of +the evening and sluice his head and back beneath a pump of cold spring +water that stood in the deserted stable-yard. Then Mary would give him +his tea, always with the same air of watchful and remote reserve, and he +would smoke his pipe in the garden, talking to the children who, in the +confidence of their own secret alliance, were gradually becoming a little +more friendly. Or he would play with Spider, who had now learnt to take +a place near his chair at meal times in the hope of being fed with scraps +from Abner's plate. + +Sometimes, too, he would lean on the fence watching old Drew at work in +his garden. The old labourer was as hardy as the knotted oak that he +resembled. His day's work began before dawn: he had more than three +miles to walk to the farm on which he was employed, but when he returned +in the evening after trudging the fields all day, he could never rest, +but must be putting his strip of garden in order so intently that he +scarcely had time to answer Abner's questions, staring up at him with +those patient, over-burdened eyes. His wages, which were regulated by +his age rather than his capacity for labour, were only twelve shillings a +week, so that his garden produce was really essential to his life. When +he had finished his gardening, or when the light failed, he would retire +to his kitchen and drink a crude, sweet spirit that he distilled from +turnips. Sometimes at night they would hear him singing to himself the +innumerable obscene verses of Devonshire folk-songs. Then, when he could +sing no longer, he would drag his twisted limbs upstairs and sleep like a +log in the certainty of waking before dawn to set out on his labours +again. His life indeed had been so solitary that he distrusted any +intrusion, and Abner had known him and spoken with him for many weeks +before he felt that his presence was welcome. + +The other tenant of Wolfpits he rarely saw, though her five years in the +old house had made her a confidante of Mary, and indeed her principal +refuge in domestic emergencies. Sometimes when he came home at night he +would find her talking to Mary in the kitchen, but at the sight of him +she scuttled away so that he saw no more of her than one sees of a +rabbit's vanishing tail. + +Mary Malpas did not evade him in this primitive fashion and yet, even +when he had been living at Wolfpits for more than a month, he felt that +he really knew her no better than the fugitive Mrs Mamble. He could find +no parallel to her in the history of his dealings with Alice at Mawne. +The thing for which Alice had been mostly concerned was her dignity as +mistress of John Fellows's house, and this she had been active to assert. +Mary Malpas, on the other hand, had no need to stand upon her dignity. +It was instinct in the refinement of her speech and even more in her +silence. The fact that her father had been a swindler and a suicide +could never rob her of it. Abner fancied for a time that the awkwardness +between them was caused by the way in which he had been suddenly thrust +upon her household. He felt that he might stand to her as a symbol of a +new slight inflicted on her by her husband. Otherwise why should she +deny him the least suspicion of human contact? He even made an awkward +attempt to settle the matter by asking her if she would not be better +pleased if he tried to find another lodging. + +'If I'm in the way like,' he told her, 'just you say so, and I'll be +off.' + +'Why should you think that?' she said, without the least sign of emotion. +'There's no reason why you should go away . . . if you are comfortable.' + +She didn't say that they were glad to have him, though the fact remained +that his money was useful to them. She didn't say that they would be +sorry to lose him. He simply felt that she had made him look foolish, +and as this was the usual result of his dealings with her in spite of her +politeness and her care for his comfort he gave up trying to find out +what she was made of, and settled down to his life at Wolfpits as though +she had nothing to do with it. + +He had always been fond of dogs and children, and Gladys, Morgan, and +Spider soon became devoted to him. Morgan was evidently his mother's +favourite, and the little girl soon took a shy but definite fancy to +Abner, wandering alone down the lane in the hope of meeting him on his +way home from work and riding back to Wolfpits perched on his shoulder. +She would watch him gravely while he stripped and swilled himself in the +stableyard, standing by with a towel ready to catch the beads of water +that sparkled on his eyebrows and his hair. Then hand in hand they would +wander round the farmstead, visiting the pigsties and the barn in which +the fowls were housed and searching for the nests of broody hens in the +hedgerows. She loved above all things to sit upon his shoulder when she +carried home the eggs in the small cup of her hands. She liked his +hugeness and his strength, and rather despised Morgan for the fact that +he was his mother's boy. + +In those hills autumn came early, and soon sunset brought with it a hint +of evening cold. The air of the mountains drooped upon the plain as soon +as the western summits hid the sun, and in a little while their evenings +were of lamplight. When Abner trudged home at night he could see the +linnets gathering together for their autumn flights, hear the whir of +their wings and their tender, reedy notes. Starlings, southward bound, +swept the air in wheeling cohorts, and swifts darted wildly round the +chimneys of Wolfpits. Wood fires were lighted in the kitchen grate at +night, and when Abner had finished his tea he would settle down on the +right hand of the fireplace with a pile of cut logs at his feet. + +At first he looked forward to these evenings with some anxiety, feeling +that the presence of this silent and, as he thought, unsympathetic woman, +would make him uncomfortable; but strangely enough this did not happen. +The devotion of Gladys put him at his ease and occupied him so much that +he did not have to speak to her mother. When first the fire was lighted +Mary Malpas would move about the house on her own business. Abner would +hear her talking softly to Morgan in the scullery while Gladys chattered +to him in the flickering light that filled the room with moving shadows. +Later, like a shadow herself, Mary would return with the boy and settle +herself softly in the chair on the other side of the fire. Morgan would +struggle up on to her knee and cuddle into his mother's breast, and +Gladys, not to be outdone, would climb on Abner's knee and beg him to +tell her stories. He knew no stories for children, for he had never had +a mother to tell them to him, but he would talk to her about Mawne and +the blind pit-ponies, about the rabbits that lived in Dovehouse fields, +about Tiger and the excitements of the wakes with their galloping horses +and soaring swing-boats. Gladys had never seen a fair and these +descriptions fired her imagination most. + +'Why ain't there no swing-boats here, mother?' she would ask. + +'Because there aren't enough children to go up in them. You'll see them +some day.' + +'Abner'll take me to see his; won't you, Abner?' + +By this time of the evening, Morgan, curled up on his mother's lap, was +usually as sleepy as Spider who lay like a hedgehog on the hearth between +them. Mary sat there hugging the child in her arms and never speaking +for fear that she might disturb him, and Gladys, impressed by the silence +of the firelit room, would snuggle closer to Abner and talk to him in +whispers that her mother could not hear. They sat on either side of the +fire in these strangely divided camps, and Abner would become aware of +the beauty and placidity of this silent woman sitting still in the gloom +with firelight playing in her hair, listening all the time though she did +not move, unless it were to touch with her lips the forehead of her +sleeping child. He used to watch her and wonder what she was thinking. +He could not help watching her as she sat like a statue staring at the +fire. When she turned her eyes towards him he would look away. He +became so used to her silent company that he could not have been happy +without it. + +The days shortened, the pollard elms turned gold and the rusty chestnut +leaves in the avenue fell of their own heaviness. The drowsiness of +summer had passed and a new restlessness seized him. He could not be +contented with this peaceful static existence into which he found himself +sinking. The silence of Mary Malpas lay on him like a heavy spell. He +had rested enough and could no longer be contented to drowse before the +fire with a child in his arms. The peace of Wolfpits could tempt him no +longer when the chill autumn air stimulated him to action and the natural +violence of youth. He felt that what he wanted was the society of men +and the pursuits of manliness. + +Once or twice he walked down to Chapel Green in the evening and drank a +pint with the labourers who gathered in the Buffalo under the eye of old +Mrs Malpas, but he found that he couldn't get on with her. She was +always restrained and severe, giving him the impression that she had +taken a dislike to him from the first, and when she talked to him he felt +that she was trying in her own superior way to find out exactly what her +daughter-in-law was doing at Wolfpits. Even her questions about the +children seemed to him to be dictated by malevolent curiosity rather than +by affection. He felt that he was like a child in her hands and that she +could get what she liked out of him. When he went to the Buffalo he had +expected to find the cloggers there, but they did little more than sleep +in that dismal house, going for their pleasures to the relative gaiety +and light of the Pound House, where they could do as they liked. With +the labourers at the Buffalo Abner had nothing in common. He understood +nothing of their talk of crops and beasts and weather even when he could +penetrate the meaning of their speech. He gave the Buffalo up as a bad +job and went to the Pound House himself. + +He used to go along there with George Malpas as soon as the whistle +signalled that the day's work was at an end, and there, in a brighter +light and in the stir of a roaring business he found an atmosphere more +suited to his restless spirit. Sometimes he sat with George Malpas; but +George was a gloomy drinker and better company when he was sober, so more +often he took his seat next to Gunner Eve, who drank nothing but spirits, +and sometimes, under their influence, would talk to him of his old days +of service in the navy, of blue Pacific havens, palm-huts with brown +women, or sometimes of that savage African river on which he had lost his +eye. That was the kind of life that Abner wanted. In the Gunner's +stories a vista of adventure opened before him. The liquor made him +think that such was the only life for a man. The foreman's tales of +amorous adventure enthralled him. Therein lay the proper use of women. + +There was only one woman in the Pound House: Susie Hind, the fine, +strapping girl whose presence had disturbed him on his first visit to the +inn with George. Mrs Malpas's hints had led him to believe that she was +an old flame of George's. He found himself comparing her with George's +wife and thinking of the silence and remoteness of Mary he felt it was +easy to understand why George had been led away. The freedom of Susie's +manners had suggested that she was attainable. Abner, listening to the +gunner's adventures, brooded on this, and the more he did so the more +desirable Susie became. There seemed to him no reason why he should not +possess her. Every night he sat in the Pound House looking at her. He +drank more than he need have done simply in order that he might remain in +her presence. This inflamed his imagination and magnified in his eyes +the physical elegance which she regarded as necessary to her calling, but +he hardly dared to speak to her openly in this concourse of men, and when +she came near him with her bold but beautiful eyes, his heart beat wildly +and he could say nothing. He usually stayed in the alehouse till closing +time and walked back to Wolfpits through the haunted night arm-in-arm +with George Malpas who was by this time a little sentimental. In one of +these walks he asked George about his relations with Susie. + +'Oh, she's all right, you can take my word for that,' said George with a +laugh. + +'Yo've seen a good bit of her,' said Abner. + +'All I want to,' George replied, with a wink that was invisible in the +darkness. + +Abner was silent and he continued: 'You'd best go easy for a bit, though. +For the time being she's took up with that devil Badger. But that won't +last. I know our Susie, bless her heart! Susie has her fancies.' + +Abner knew already that there was something between Susie Hind and +Badger. He had watched their whispers jealously often enough. Now he +began to examine their intimacies more closely. The general unpopularity +of Badger's occupation only helped to increase his jealousy. When he saw +their hands meet over the counter he felt that the natural thing to do +would be to rise from his seat, take Badger by the neck and throw him out +of the bar. He measured the thickset keeper with a fighter's eye, and +felt confident that he was a match for him. Meanwhile he must bide his +time. + +Every night he went regularly to the Pound House and sat there waiting +for his opportunity, never doubting but that he would get her when the +time came. By the mere habit of his presence a sort of relationship was +established between them, for Abner's strength and his fairness pleased +her, and she would sometimes pause for a moment in her business, standing +close to him with a tray under her arm and one hand on her hip. The +Gunner used to chaff her as she stood there. He had done enough +lovemaking in his young days and now his only attitude towards women was +one of jovial cynicism. No doubt the foreman thought that Susie stayed +because she enjoyed his teasing; but Abner knew better. He knew it was +himself, not Eve, that Susie was watching. Between them, unseen by the +other, the air was charged with potential passion like the sky of a hot +night, placid and slumberous yet ready to burst into lightning. He could +laugh at Gunner Eve, this dry old man who vainly imagined that he was +pleasing her fancy. She smiled at Eve, but all the time her smouldering +eyes were fixed on Abner, and he knew that she heard nothing. Then +Badger would come in and handle her as if he were her master. Abner did +not even mind this, for he saw that she was beginning to treat the keeper +as a habit and her eyes did not caress him secretly. He began to feel +that he could afford to despise Badger, but he hated him none the less. + +In those days he saw little of George Malpas at the Pound House. Soon +after Abner began to visit Mainstone regularly George had transferred his +custom to an inn in Lesswardine. Abner did not ask him why he had done +this, for to have done so might easily have compromised their friendship. +If George preferred to spend his evenings away from his lodger's eyes, +well and good. On the other hand he did renew his travelling +acquaintance with Mick Connor, who remained one of the best customers of +the Pound House. Mick had always been a generous drinker. When he was +in low water he was not ashamed of sponging on his pals, but in these +days he seemed never to be short of money, and this, together with the +glibness of his tongue, made him a popular figure in the alehouse. Abner +wondered where the money came from, for Mick's wages were the same as his +own, and though he knew that the Irishman was a born gambler he could +scarcely believe in the permanence of his friend's luck. + +Quite by chance he discovered the source of Mick's income. One Sunday +morning he had walked down to the Pound House followed by the dog Spider +when Mick fell in with him by the way. He surveyed Spider with a +professional eye. + +'That's a likely lookin' dog,' said Mick. + +'Ay, she's all right,' said Abner. + +'Give me a bitch every time for hunt'n . . . Ah, ye divil, get away wud +you!' + +Spider had suddenly become wildly interested in the Irishman's person and +was jumping up and smelling at the tails of his coat. + +'That's a wise dog,' said Mick. 'I'd be glad of a dog the like of that +on a moonlight night.' + +Abner had guessed what he meant, but Mick, who could never resist the +chance of producing a sensation, opened his coat and showed him the +contents of a game pocket that he had constructed by making a slit in the +lining. It was a fine cock-pheasant, splendid in its chestnut autumn +plumage. Mick displayed it sentimentally. 'Doesn't that make your teeth +water?' he said. 'God, you could ate it in your hand the way it is! And +that bird do be worth a good half-crown in Craven Arms.' + +'Where d'you get him?' said Abner. + +'You ask Mr bloody Badger,' Mick replied with a wink. + +Abner pressed him, and he went on to explain that he and Curly Atwell and +one or two others had developed a plan of poaching on a commercial scale. +A man named Harford, a rabbit merchant in Craven Arms, the railway +junction and cattle-market over the hills, had arranged to deal with +their produce. Naturally, in such a dangerous business, he bought cheap +and sold dear; but the proceeds of their sport were enough to keep the +whole gang in unlimited liquor, the thing that they needed most. + +'It's the only way to keep clear of the buttermilk cure,' said Mick, 'the +way they pay us in this cursed hole.' + +He ended by pressing Abner to join them, pointing out that Spider would +be a useful ally, and Abner, without any hesitation, accepted. He was +glad of anything with a spice of adventure in it to give vent to his +energies. He didn't care much about the money even though he remembered +that he had not yet been able to send Alice her two pounds, but it +pleased him to think that this was another way of getting even with +Badger, a feeling in which Mick, with no more definite reason than an +instinctive hatred of gamekeepers, concurred. + +In this way there began a series of midnight adventures that were a great +joy to Abner and an even greater to George's dog, who asked nothing +better in her sport than the help of human allies. On these nights of +misty moonlight the secret beauty of the country-side smote on Abner's +heart though he knew nothing of it but that he was happy. In the daytime +the land was dead and nothing lived in it but he and his fellow men, but +when evening came the hills, the woodlands, the rivers and the upland +wastes of heather tingled with life. Something secret and timid that +sunlight numbed into a protective sleep, now stirred and wakened. The +voices of the rivers changed; they were no longer only torrents of swift +water but living things. Trees that in day were silent awoke and +whispered in the night. Amid miracles of nocturnal beauty Abner walked +unseeing. He only knew that he lived more fully, more intensely in the +night. + +His senses quickened. His eyes were like the sharp eyes of a hunting owl +so that he felt that in daylight he had been blind. His ears were tuned +to an exquisite degree of sensitiveness. The cracking of a twig, a +distant step on leaves, the least tremor of a growing tree, sent a shock +of alert pleasure into his brain. And the impalpable cool mist of autumn +sharpened his scent to a keenness that delighted him. This state of +acute sensitiveness was the basis on which the more than physical thrill +of imminent danger was imposed. The labourers who worked on the farms of +Squire Delahay's estate were naturally in league with Badger against the +depredations of these foreigners. Each of them was himself a poacher in +a quiet way; but they poached for the pot rather than for the market and +felt that the presence of Mick and his gang was a menace to their +privileges. These men, if less intelligent, were as skilled in woodcraft +as the Irishman himself, and Mick's friends followed their craft in a +constant peril of discovery. + +It was a profitable adventure. Abner soon found that his wages were +trebled. Grouse from the mountains, pheasants from the spinneys, +partridges from the stubbles, all found their way into Mick Connor's bag +and were driven in a ragman's cart to Craven Arms. Mick was content to +leave the rabbits to the labourers who spied upon him. He spent his +money wildly. It even pleased him to treat Badger to drinks in the Pound +House bar, knowing very well that the keeper guessed where the money came +from. + +In November salmon began to run up the Barbel to meet the winter floods, +and Mick Connor was more than ever in his element, remembering desperate +days upon the Barrow when he was a boy. Salmon spearing was to Abner the +most exciting pastime of all: the stealthy approach to the riverside up +to his knees in the ditches of the water-meadows: the milky whiteness of +November fogs; the nearing clamour of the river roaring whitely over +stickles into the salmon pool where it lay dumb and black: Mick Connor's +hoarse whispers, the lumbering shadow of Curly Atwell, and, in the +darkness, the swirl of an eddy black as ink. + +'Ready . . .' Mick would whisper, and suddenly a flare of light, +reddening faces, casting grotesque shadows, lighting the yellow +tree-tops, making a beacon for miles of dreamy country, as though the +forest were aflame. The night sounds vanished from Abner's ears. The +woods held their breath and listened. He could hear nothing of the +river's tumult--only the harsh breathing of Atwell and the hiss of the +colza flare. + +'By the houly! Look at him! Fourteen pounds if he's an ounce!' + +The shadow of a lifted arm against the light. A violent descent, and +then a swirl in the black water and the great fish struggling on the +bank. For Mick Connor never missed his mark. + +'Out with the light!' And then a sudden darkness in which the roar of +the stickle and the vague noises of the trees returned. + +This curious insulation, the way in which light blinded their pickets of +alarm, was the great danger of salmon-spearing. The glare in the +tree-tops would always give them away if Badger and his men were on the +watch; and one frosty, owl-haunted night in the middle of November they +had a narrow shave. Mick Connor was leaning over the bank with lifted +spear when Abner heard the breaking of a stick. A man cursed as he +floundered in a ditch not twenty yards away. Abner, who doubted the +quickness of Atwell, smothered the flare with his hands. It scorched the +horny skin of his palms, but it gave the signal of alarm. On that side +of the pool the current had undercut the marly bank so that the poachers +could not be seen, but Abner's ears recognised the sound of Badger's +voice. The keeper's party ran towards the bank. A single man, the +foremost, leapt down beside them, shouting that he had got them. Abner +let out from the shoulder in the dark. His fist met the flesh of a man's +face. The man gave a cry. For all he knew it might have been the face +of Curly Atwell, but it gave him a good feeling in the dark, for he felt +instinctively that it was Badger's. They left their spear on the bank, +plunging into the swift stickle above the pool, and found refuge in a +wood. Some one fired after them. He fired low, and the twigs snapped +about them. Abner plunged on through the wood. He knew that he was +running for his life. It was good to be running for his life. He went +on crashing through the undergrowth of the wood battling with +back-springing saplings, torn with briers, laughing, curiously, wildly +exultant. He did not stop to think that he had lost touch with the +others. In an affair of this kind each must look to himself. He only +knew that he had escaped out of the mouth of danger. His head spun with +the elation of his heart pumping blood into his brain. In that moment he +felt that he had courage for anything, and it pleased him particularly to +think that Badger had suffered this defeat. + +He emerged from the woods into open fields, so calm under the peace of +night that it was hard to believe that any human violence had lately +invaded them. Westward the quiet hills stood folded for the night. A +gibbous moon rose languidly above the mists. He stood in the middle of +the field, tingling to his finger-tips. He forgot that his legs were +sodden with muddy water, so splendidly his body glowed. It was +ridiculous to think of crossing the hills to Wolfpits, for it was no more +than nine o'clock. This was not a time for sleep but for living. He +turned his steps in the direction of the Pound House. + +Just before closing time he reached it. One end of the bar was full of +cloggers, to whom Wigan Joe was reeling off Lancashire stories. The +other was unusually empty, for the Gunner and most of his company had +left the house for want, perhaps, of Mick Connor, who was their principal +entertainer. Susie stood behind the counter at the deserted end of the +bar swilling dirty glasses, wiping them one after another, and listening +all the time to the clogger's stories, many of which she had heard before +the same evening, since Wigan Joe had a way of running through his +repertoire and beginning again like an automatic musical-box when the +liquor was in him. As Abner entered the bar Mr Hind appeared in the door +of the kitchen. + +'I'm goin' up, Susie,' he said with a jerk of his head in the direction +of the staircase. 'Two minutes to go, and then lock up.' + +She said, 'All right, dad,' carelessly, never looking at him, for her +eyes were on Abner. 'Night, all!' Mr Hind muttered as he disappeared. + +Abner went straight up to her. The mood of physical triumph and elation +was still on him, and she must have known that there was something +strange about him since, for the first time, she lowered her eyes. + +'I want a word with you, Susie,' he said, addressing her thus for the +first time. + +'Best hurry up, then,' she said, smiling. 'It's only two minutes afore +we close. What are you taking?' + +'Give us a double gin,' he said, and while she poured the limpid spirit +into a clean glass he asked her what she was doing on Sunday afternoon. + +She wouldn't answer him. 'Look what good measure I've given you,' she +said, handing him his glass. + +He put the drink down on the counter. 'You're not goin' to put me off +like that,' he said. She murmured something about Mr Badger. + +'Damn you and your Badgers,' he said. 'What about to-night, then?' + +'Oh, don't be soft! Look at the time. It's just on ten.' + +'Get on with you! The time don't matter.' + +'No, I couldn't,' she said. 'Of course I couldn't. Father's gone +upstairs.' The clock struck ten. Susie called, 'Time, please!' and the +cloggers rose to go in the middle of one of Wigan Joe's most complicated +stories. They moved toward the door in a bunch, bidding good-night to +Susie, who stood waiting with the key in her hand. Abner stayed by the +bar finishing his gin. The last good-nights echoed down the street. +Susie stood at the open door waiting for him. + +'Come on, do!' she said. 'It's after time.' + +'Why shouldn't I stay here?' he said, with a laugh. + +'You know as well as I do why,' she said, with a managing air. 'That new +policeman, Bastard's got eyes like a weasel.' + +'Is that all?' he asked. + +'Yes, of course that's all.' + +He came to the door and quickly closed it, then took her in his arms and +kissed her. She returned his kisses. + +'Leave go of me now,' she whispered. 'Go out in the lane while I lock up +and then come round to the back door, but don't make too much row about +it.' + +'Yo'm not codding me?' + +'Of course I'm not.' + +She closed the door after him, saying 'good-night' in a clear voice for +the benefit of the problematical constable. He heard her lock the door +and slip an iron bar across into its sockets. The lighted windows went +black. He slipped round to the back of the house and stood waiting in +the angle that it made with an outhouse where dry bracken was stored. +For a long time, as it seemed, he stood there staring at the faint and +frosty stars. Then the door opened softly. She did not speak, but he +stole on tiptoe to the door and entered the kitchen. Inside it was quite +dark, for the shutters were closed and the fire banked down. He could +not see her, being only conscious of her warm and fragrant presence. He +groped in the dark, suddenly finding her face on his own. + +'My . . . how cold you are!' she whispered. + +Half an hour later she let him out into the yard, with more tender +whispers of farewell and warnings that her father slept lightly. For a +few minutes he stood away from the moonlight in the shadow of the house, +bewildered, stunned. He saw the white road stretching in the direction +of Chapel Green and Wolfpits, but it meant no more to him than if it had +led to the world's end. He was no longer a part of the world. He +towered above it supreme and isolated in the flame of his own throbbing +exaltation. He had no need of friends or houses or rest, no memory of +the past, no thought for the future. He stood there self-sufficient and +unassailable. + +A little later he became aware of the fact that his feet were carrying +him automatically over the moon-lit road toward the hills, but he was +almost unconscious of his progress, and it filled him with a sort of mild +surprise when he saw familiar landmarks of the road loom up before him, +grow clear, and fall away behind. His footsteps rang upon the iron road +as though he were shod with steel. From the brow of the hill above +Wolfpits he saw the basin of the Folly Brook brimmed with mist. The +gables of the house rose up into the moonlight, the hills stood black +behind. Under the heavy chestnuts of the avenue it was almost dark; the +water in the ruts had frozen to a thin crust so that the surface was +curiously splashed with moonlight and with ice. Fifty yards in front of +him he saw a figure moving with lurches from side to side of the lane. +At first he thought it was a stray bullock, but there was something human +in its movements and so he leapt to the conclusion that it was old man +Drew rolling home drunk with sweet turnip from the cottage of some +friend. The figure leaned for a moment against a stone wall, and Abner, +coming abreast of it, saw that the drunken man was George Malpas. + +'Hallo, George, what's up?' he called. + +'God, Abner, is that you?' George murmured thickly. 'I haven't half got +a drop, I haven't!' The situation amused George so much that he shook +with weak laughter. + +'Come on, then, old son!' said Abner, taking him by the arm. Strong as +he was he found it difficult to steer a straight course. George, having +once submitted to the direction of another will, now became somnolent. +Abner almost had to carry him up the garden path. + +A light burned in the kitchen, and on the doorstep Mary stood waiting for +them. She looked very frail and beautiful in the light of candles. From +the first her eyes had taken in the situation, and she offered no spoken +comment on it though her mouth showed that she was suffering the shame of +the situation. + +'Give me a hand upstairs with him, please,' she said. + +The excuses that Abner was ready to offer for his friend died on his +lips. Between them they directed the steps of George upstairs. When he +reached the bedroom he stared about him as though he had never been there +before, and then, giving the problem up, lurched over on to the bed +covering his head with his hands. + +'We'd best get his boots off,' said Abner. + +He took the right and Mary the left. It was a strange thing how they had +to wrestle with the leather laces and how tightly the boots stuck to his +inanimate feet. + +'Now he's all right,' said Abner, when the job was finished. 'He'll come +up like a daisy in the morning, never fear!' + +She did not reply to him but stood with the candlestick in her hand +staring at her husband's body. + +'Will you come downstairs with me, please?' she said. + +Abner had not bargained for this. He could not think what she wanted of +him, but he could not very well refuse her, and so he followed her down +the creaking stairs into the kitchen. She put the candle on the table +and faced him silently from the other side. Then she said:-- + +'Tell me all about it, please . . . everything.' + +There was nothing to tell her. He said that he had found George leaning +up against a wall in the avenue and helped him over the last lap. + +'Were you at the Pound House to-night?' + +'Yes, I looked in just on closing time.' + +'Then I'm sure that you know. Please tell me!' + +'I've told you. I don't know nothing.' + +'I don't believe you . . . not if you was at the Pound House. That's +where he gets it.' + +'Well, you know more about it nor me then,' said Abner. + +'Don't talk to me like that! I know . . . I'm not a child.' + +'It's no good talkin' like that. A chap must take a drop in and out. +It's human nature.' + +'Oh, it isn't the drink!' she said. 'He doesn't go to that place only +for the drink. I should have thought you being with him would keep him +straight.' + +'I don't know what you're talking about.' + +'Yes, you do,' she said, striking the table with her clenched fist. 'You +know . . . you know. . . . It's that woman!' + +'I don't know naught of George's women,' said Abner obstinately. + +'Then you've no eyes,' she said, with a gesture of scorn. 'The woman at +the Pound House!' She blazed with a white anger: 'That dark-eyed devil +that's been after him these months, that Susie Hind . . .' + +'Oh, her . . .' said Abner, with a laugh. + +'Don't you put me off!' she cried. 'Don't put me off! It's not for me, +it's for his children. You see, I know, so you'd best tell me.' + +'I can tell you one thing,' he said. 'George ain't been with Susie Hind +to-night.' + +She clenched her hands furiously. 'You're only telling me lies . . . +lies. How do you know? How do you know?' + +'How do I know? I like that! I know because I've been with her myself.' + +He thought it was a fine and brutal thing to say. With the same words he +had rescued his friend from an awkward suspicion and proclaimed the thing +that he had been wanting to shout to the stars on his way home. He had +been burning to share his triumph with some one. George would have heard +it if he hadn't been so drunk. Now it was out; he had got it off his +chest; he stood there smiling and triumphant, wondering what she could +say next. + +'So you needn't vex yourself about poor old George,' he said. + +For a second she stared at him. The white anger died out of her face. +She became suddenly red. Her clenched fingers opened and she clutched at +the table. Then she gave a sudden, choking gasp, and spoke:-- + +'You . . .' she said, 'you . . . ! Oh, I shouldn't have thought it of +you!' + +'What's up with you now?' he said, good-humouredly. Her body was shaken +with a fit of sobbing and she left him staring in the candlelight. + + + + +The Thirteenth Chapter + + +NEXT morning when Abner came downstairs in the dark he found George +making himself a cup of tea in the kitchen. + +'That you, Abner?' he said, turning his neck gingerly as though it hurt +his head to speak. 'God! It's lifting the top of my skull off! This +dose'll last me for a bit. Mind you, I wasn't so boozed I can't remember +what happened. I should have slept up against that old wall if you +hadn't come along. You'm a good pal, Abner.' At this point his voice +gave out. 'Have a spot of tea?' he said in a hoarse whisper. + +As usual they walked down the valley together at dawn. The fields lay +hoary with rime, so that the light of dawn was like cloudy moonlight. +Their heels crunched into the brittle ice of the wheel-ruts. Before +them, on the white road, ran the wayward pattern of Spider's dancing +feet. Not a bird sang. The cold air gripped their temples. It was as +though winter were closing on the world and those who dwelt in it like an +iron vice. Dawn whitened beyond Castel Ditches: light without +heat--light reflected from ice. But the steady walking thawed their +limbs and George was soon asking in a husky voice for details of what had +happened the night before. Something in Mary's attitude when they woke +that morning had struck him as unusual. He guessed that she had found a +new grievance, and was anxious to know what she had said. He laughed +when Abner told him that she had questioned him on the subject of Susie: +laughed till the cold air choked him. + +'They'm all the same, the women,' he said. 'Jealous . . . that's the top +and bottom of them. What did you tell her?' + +'Said I hadn't seen you at the Pound House.' + +'God! You didn't say I'd been to Lesswardine?' + +'I dain't know naught about it.' + +'And the less you know the better, or you'll be having these women buzz +round you like flies. You can tell our Mary what you like, but you'll +need to keep your eyes skinned with mother. I've got to bide on the +right side of the old woman or it's all up. She'll have it out of you +before you know you're there.' + +By this time they had reached the lower end of the valley to which the +cloggers had lately transferred their work. The whole gang were now +housed in the Buffalo and the other scattered cottages of Chapel Green, +but a couple of tents were left standing on the banks of the Folly Brook +and the smoke of a wood-fire went up blue into the air. + +'I can't make mother out,' George grumbled. 'Here she is with Wigan Joe +and the rest of them in the house: a mint of money for the asking, and +she goes scaring them over to Mainstone with her long face. If I had the +Buffalo I'd soon see they spent their money in the house. It's as good +as robbing me the way she sends them away. She don't want the money, but +I want it bad enough, God knows!' + +They parted when they reached the workings. George whistled to Spider, +but the dog only wagged her tail and then dived into a trench, preferring +to stay with Abner. Munn appeared, rubbing his hands with cold. Abner +laughed at him. + +'Put your back into it, Joe, and you'll soon feel right,' he said. + +The day's work began. A red sun rose sluggishly, half frozen. The light +glinted on the long line of swinging picks and the sounds of the work +rose cheerily in the thin air. Very different was this from the subdued +activity of summer. The labourers did not work only for money but +because the exertion sent the blood tingling warm into their hands and +feet. Work was an ecstasy and to Abner a greater ecstasy than to the +rest of them. He thought of Susie and of the night before. He whistled +as he worked for sheer physical joy, rejoicing in his strength, for now +once more, after months of soft disuse, his body was finding its right +expression and coming splendidly to its own. He stretched his limbs in +the sunlight, recapturing the moments of physical exaltation that used to +come to him when the Mawne United team stepped out on to the smooth turf +of the Albion ground, a company of clean and splendid athletes. And all +the time, beneath the pleasant anodyne of work, his body glowed with a +rich contentment, knowing that in a few hours night would come and Susie +be clinging in his arms again. + +He had no fear that she would forsake him. He felt, in every fibre of +his body that he was a match, and more than a match for Badger. Having +once attained her he knew that he could keep her; and in this he was not +deceived, for Susie, having looked on him and found that he was good, had +taken a fancy to him and now kept pace with his passion, asking as much +as he could give. Every evening, as was already his custom, he would go +to the Pound House and take his seat beside Gunner Eve; but now he no +longer needed to follow Susie with his eyes, was no longer tortured with +vague jealousies, for when she passed him he could feel her soften and +respond to his presence. Sometimes, when no one was looking, she would +turn her head in his direction and for a moment their eyes would meet. +He did not care when men spoke to her lightly or placed their hands upon +her arm, for now he knew that she belonged to him and could be his for +the asking. The events of the first night were repeated many times. Now +a single whisper was enough to ensure that when the alehouse was empty +and Mr Hind safely in bed, the kitchen door would be opened softly and +Susie waiting for him in the warm darkness. It amused Abner to see the +coldness that she now showed toward Badger. The keeper was puzzled, for +all their love-making was secret and nocturnal, and Susie and Abner never +appeared in public together. Badger knew that for some unknown reason he +had lost her, and this made him more persistent than ever in his +attentions, being far too important in his own estimation to be discarded +without good reason. Abner laughed to see his irritation. He and Susie +laughed together in the night. 'I can't imagine whatever I saw in him,' +she said. + +At the end of November Susie went away for a week to stay with her +grandparents in Hereford. Without her the Pound House meant nothing to +Abner, and without considering that his absence might be noticed, he +drifted back into his old habit of returning to Wolfpits in the evening. +It was now more than a month since he had done this, and in the interval +he had scarcely spoken to Mary Malpas. Returning, and expecting to pick +up the threads of the old life exactly as he had left them, he was +surprised to find the atmosphere of Wolfpits curiously changed. The +attitude of Mary herself was cold and unfriendly. He found it difficult +to make headway against it, for she scarcely spoke to him, and even the +children seemed to have become infected with their mother's distrust. It +was true that they had seen so little of him as almost to have forgotten +him, but it seemed strange that his old favourite, Gladys, no longer came +instinctively to his arms. He could not accept the change without a +protest. One evening, finding Mary alone, he tackled her. + +'What's come over you?' he said. + +'Nothing's come over me. What do you mean?' she replied coldly. + +'Yo'm different . . . like you was scared of me. What have I done?' + +'You know best. You know what you told me . . . that night,' she said, +with tight lips. + +'That's nothing to do with you,' he said. + +'No . . . Nothing.' + +'Then what's up with you?' + +She laughed uneasily and went into the scullery. Abner was seized with +sudden rage. It didn't surprise him that George couldn't get on with +her. Mrs Malpas was right. She was trying to play the lady with him. +With a woman like that it was useless trying to be frank. He could read +suspicion into everything that she did. When Gladys, who was now +regaining her confidence, climbed on to his knee, she followed the child +with anxious eyes as though she feared that he would corrupt her. He +determined to have the matter out with her, but she never gave him a +chance, arranging carefully that they should never be alone. For this or +for some other obscure reason she always invited her neighbour, Mrs +Mamble, to come in and sit with her in the evening. This old woman, +innocent of the strange relation between them, would sit in front of the +fire talking incessantly of her dead husband and her distant relatives +down Tenbury way. She had a brother who kept a small shop in a hamlet +called Far Forest, and was never tired of talking of his importance as an +elder of the local Wesleyan synod and the achievements of her nephew +James, whom his father had destined for the ministry. The old woman +tried to entertain them both with these recitals, but Abner had little +patience with her, and tried to forget that she was there. He sat +reading the football news in the last Sunday's _People_; but even this +could not shut out the sound of her slow, insistent voice. One night he +asked for pen and paper and wrote a short but laborious note to Alice, +enclosing a postal order for two pounds, which he had bought in Chapel +Green. Mary watched him all the time that he was writing. + +'Ah, yo'm curious, bain't yo'?' he thought. 'Pretending to take no heed +of me, but yo'd give your eyes to see what I've written.' + +Indeed she offered to post the letter for him; but he declined, putting +it in his pocket with a laugh. + +In the end he found these evenings at Wolfpits so uncomfortable that he +was glad when Mick Connor inveigled him into a new expedition against +Badger's preserves. By this time the keeper had looked about him and +made plans for defending his master's property, so that the game was +getting more dangerous every day. Badger had made friends with Constable +Bastard, the new policeman, who had been drafted to Mainstone from +Shrewsbury and looked upon poaching with the uncharitable eye of a +townsman. To the great embarrassment of Mr Hind, who, not unreasonably, +lived in terror of the licensing justices, and had not yet determined in +what degree the new policeman was corruptible, Bastard began to take an +interest in the customers of the Pound House, poking his whiskered face +inside the taproom every evening and taking count of the company like a +shepherd numbering his sheep. Mr Hind's heart sank when he found that +the constable was a teetotaller. The appearance of Bastard's face in the +doorway made him tremble for his licence, though these visits only meant +that the keeper and the policeman were working together, hoping to +identify the authors of each poaching outrage by establishing their +absence from the Pound House. + +The first expedition in which Abner took part during Susie's visit to +Hereford gave them a big haul. Abner's own share of it was fifteen +shillings, and, thus encouraged, they raided the keeper's preserves on +three nights in succession. The constable, checking the tale of drinkers +at the Pound House, pointed out that Abner, Mick, Curly Atwell, and +another had been absent on each of the nights in question, and that Mick +had celebrated his return by recklessly standing treat to the whole +taproom. + +'That young Fellows,' said Bastard, 'he's not been nigh the place for +more nor a week. For myself I'd say that he looks a quiet chap, but you +never know . . . upon my word you don't.' + +'The simpler they looks,' said Badger emphatically, 'the more they wants +an eye kept on them. I'm pretty near certain I saw him that night they +was arter the salmon.' + +'Never you fear!' said the constable, 'I'll keep an eye on the lot.' + +It never occurred to Badger, whose energies were centred for the present +on one problem, to connect Abner's absence from the Pound House with +Susie's visit to Hereford. He was an obstinate and not very intelligent +man, thick-set in mind as in body, who had learnt his own craft +thoroughly and knew little else. He had become aware of Susie's coldness +toward him before her departure, but he had not thought to explain it by +her fancying another man. In any case the matter might wait. He could +only do one thing at a time, and for the present he was too busy with +Mick and his friends to waste good time in dangling round the Pound +House. Perhaps it was only that Susie wanted more fuss made of her. All +in good time . . . + +After ten days she returned, and Abner began to visit the Pound House +again. He found her imperious and exacting, she could not see too much +of him. Bastard reported him to Badger as a regular attendant at the +inn. + +'You needn't trouble about that young Fellows,' he said. 'He's after +other game.' + +'There's no game here to speak on but ours,' said Badger stupidly. + +'Ah, it's a different kind I mean,' said the constable. 'That girl of +Hind's is looking after him. Any night of the week if you want to see a +picture you can watch her take him in by the back door when the old man's +asleep upstairs.' + +Badger went livid and swore so violently as to shock the constable's +principles. + +'I don't believe it,' he said, 'not a word of it.' + +'Seeing's believing,' said Bastard. 'At any rate seeing's good enough +for me.' + +All thought of the poachers vanished from Badger's single mind. He left +the constable in the middle of their conversation and went straight to +the Pound House, where he found Susie alone, making a petticoat from a +pattern that she had bought in Hereford. She could see by his stormy +entrance that something had upset him and switched on her most +ingratiating manner. + +'Well, it is a time since I've seen you, Mr Badger,' she said, laying +aside her work. 'Will you have something?' + +He wouldn't drink; he refused to waste time in preliminary skirmishing. + +'You're not going to get round me that way,' he said. 'What's this about +you and that chap Fellows?' + +'Fellows?' said Susie. 'What Fellows is that?' + +'Now don't start that game on me,' said Badger angrily. 'I've seen there +was something up with you for the last month. Now I know what it is. +You can't go on like that with me. I'm not that kind of man.' + +'And I'm not that kind of girl, Mr Badger,' said Susie. 'I thought +better of you, indeed I did.' + +'You can drop all that,' said Badger, with a laugh. 'You can let on +you're as innocent as a lamb, but I know better. Understand that!' + +'If that's what you mean, I can tell you straight I'm not going to listen +to your dirty tongue. I'm not accustomed to be spoke to by my friends +like that.' She rose indignantly and would have gone into the kitchen +but he caught hold of her arm. + +'You don't deny it,' he said. + +'I wouldn't demean myself.' She tried to wrench away from him, but he +would not let her go. The warmth of her arm on his fingers made him mad. +He wanted to use her roughly. She cried out with pain. + +'Don't!' she cried. 'You're hurting me!' + +He wanted to hurt her. He only held her tighter. 'Where's your father?' +he said. + +'Father's gone out,' she said. 'Oh, let me go!' + +'Gone out, is he? Well, I'll have a talk to him about this when he comes +back. Then we'll see . . .' + +'You can tell him all the dirty lies you like,' she said defiantly. + +But, in reality, his words had thrown her into a state of terror. That +squat owl-faced father of hers was the one person on earth whom she +dreaded. It came over her suddenly that somehow or other she must +prevent his knowing, for though he had no objection to his daughter being +free with men for the good of the house, she knew that he was anxious to +keep on good terms with Badger and would be furious to think that she had +taken up with a labouring man. Somehow she must flatter the keeper out +of his intention; but she knew that a sudden change of front would be a +manoeuvre too transparent. It pleased her, therefore, to give vent to +the emotions which she had so far controlled and to break down in the +most natural tears. She put her handkerchief to her eyes and sobbed +violently. + +Badger was bewildered by this but still determined. + +'You don't get over me that way,' he said. 'Not if I know it!' + +She went on sobbing, and the spectacle began to get on his nerves. + +'You can cry your eyes out, my girl, but I'm going to tell your father.' + +She raised her eyes. 'It's not that!' she said violently. 'You can tell +him any lie you like and it won't make no difference to me. What I can't +stand is that you should think it of me . . . that you should think I'd +go with a common chap like that. It's cruel, Mr Badger . . . cruel! +After the friends we've been. . .' + +She put her hands on his shoulders and looked at him, pleading. His lust +got the better of him and he took her violently in his arms. She +submitted, and he began to forget his suspicions. She clung to him so +that he could think of nothing but that she was desirable. Then, +cunningly, gradually she became playful and childish, teasing him, +indignant that he should have thought so ill of her. By the time that he +left her she had convinced him that nothing could spoil their intimacy; +but whatever she pretended she could not shake herself free from the +fright he had given her. She felt that the time would never pass till +she could see Abner and warn him. + +It was no easy matter, for when the evening came and she began her work +in the bar, moving among the drinkers with her usual smiling freedom, +Badger was also there following her with hungry eyes as she went about +her work. He sat in a corner, isolated, for none of the strangers would +have anything to do with him. While serving a tot of gin to Gunner Eve +she contrived to whisper to Abner, begging him to keep away from the +house that night. + +'Why? What's up?' he said. + +'I can't tell you,' she whispered. 'Come to-morrow early, before it's +light on your way to work. Just to please me!' + +She spoke so urgently and with such evident distress that he obeyed her, +and Badger, who had seen her bending over to speak to Abner, spent a cold +night watching the back of the Pound House in vain. He might well have +been better employed, for while he stood there shivering Mick Connor made +free with half a dozen of his pheasants. + +Next morning, in the half light of dawn, which made the cold kitchen look +unspeakably sordid, she received Abner. The meeting had none of the warm +glamour of their nightly love-making, and her anxiety made him impatient. + +'What the hell do I care for Badger?' he said. + +'Oh, quiet . . . quiet! Don't speak so loud!' she implored him. She +submitted to his embraces, but her mind was not with him. + +'I can't think what's up with you,' he said. + +His unconcern irritated her. 'Can't you understand?' she said. 'It's +better to do without me for a little than to lose me for good. That's +what would happen if father knew. He'd send me away to Hereford, to +grandma's. That's what he'd do. Only for a week, Abner. After that, +when he's forgotten about it, things 'll be better.' + +Her distress was so real and she seemed so little to belong to him in her +present state that he consented not to see her for a week. + +'Then I shan't come a'nigh the place,' he said. 'I'm not goin' to sit +there looking at you and nothing after.' + +'Yes . . . that would be best,' she said gladly. It inflamed him to +think that she could take this complete divorce so calmly. + +'Better finish it off,' he said. + +Then she clung to him. 'No, no, Abner. . . . I couldn't bear that! +Only a week, my love, only a week. . .' + +He kept to his side of the bargain, and Badger was relieved to see him no +more at the Pound House, although the suddenness of Abner's abstention +coloured his suspicions. What with his pheasants and the woman the +keeper's life was becoming too complicated for his intelligence, for Mick +profited by Badger's new devotion to Susie by ravaging his coverts. In +this Abner, who had no other way of killing time, joined his friend, and +on the last night of the week came a sharp but bloodless encounter in +which the keeper was more than ever certain that he had seen Abner's +face. After this it became fixed in Badger's mind that Abner was his +principal enemy, the man who was obstinately working against him wherever +he went. Somehow or other, he determined, he must get the better of him. + +On the night when Abner returned to the Pound House, Badger was already +there. Mick, as usual after a successful foray, was spending money +freely, and by nine o'clock the room was full of excited men. Abner was +ready to drink with the best of them, for his pockets were full of money +and he had not been inside a pub for a week. To add to this uproarious +assembly in came George Malpas, returning early from his own dark +business in Lesswardine. + +'Go easy, boys,' he said, as he entered, 'that damned copper's outside.' + +But Mick Connor had by now gone too far to go easy. The liquor which in +the early stages of intoxication merely rendered him funny now made him +boastful, and the sight of Badger, glowering in his corner over a hot +whisky, provided him with a subject for his wit. Atwell tried to keep +him within bounds, but Mick, once fairly nourished, could talk the cross +off an ass's back. The laughter with which his sallies at the keeper's +expense were greeted stimulated him. He plunged into wild excesses of +simile, while Badger sat sipping his whisky, going redder and redder as +he listened. He knew that the whole room was against him; felt that +before long he must do something to assert himself. If he went out into +the road he would only be laughed at, but no man could sit there +listening to Mick Connor without shame. + +'Wait while I'm tellin' you,' said Mick. 'Over in Connemara there used +to be an old gent named Hewish, a proper old sportsman. It was he that +invented that game I've told you of . . . spider racing, spiders burning +the legs off of them on a hot plate. Cock-fightin' too. And +badger-baitin'. I'm after tellin' you that's the sport for a man!' + +A roar of laughter greeted him. 'And so say all of us!' said Mick +insolently, staring into Badger's corner. Badger pushed aside the table +and rose to his feet. His glass went down with a crash. + +'Oh, Mr Badger!' Susie cried. + +'Gard! The baste's afther turning on me!' cried Mick. 'All together, +boys!' + +Badger pushed his way through the crowd to Mick. The Irishman lowered +his head and butted him in the stomach like a ram. Badger, falling, saw +Abner's smiling face and lashed out at it. The two men went down +together, fighting on the floor. Susie rushed into the kitchen, calling +for her father, and at the same moment the constable ran into the room. +He began to try and pinion Abner, who had Badger on the floor. + +'Leave them alone,' cried George Malpas excitedly. 'Badger hit him +first!' He took hold of the policeman's shoulder, and tried to pull him +back. + +'Do you know what you're doing?' Bastard shouted. 'Obstructing my duty?' + +But George would not let him go. The policeman left Abner and closed +with Malpas. He was the taller, but the older man. They swayed in each +other's arms and then, tripping on the leg of an overturned chair, went +down together. The policeman was undermost and his head hit the stone +floor with a dull thud. George, who had fallen above him, freed himself +from his arms. + +'The b--'s stunned,' said Atwell. 'Serve him right!' + +Mr Hind had appeared on the scene and was bending over the prostrate +policeman. George leaned panting against the bar. + +'There's blood coming from his ears and nose,' Mr Hind said hoarsely. + +'The b--'s stunned,' Atwell repeated stolidly. + +'He's not stunned,' said the landlord, looking up. 'He's dead!' + +By this time Abner had got the better of the keeper, whom he held beneath +him on the floor. He heard the crash as George Malpas and Constable +Bastard went over amid a hubbub of voices. Then, with the landlord's +words, which Abner did not hear, fell a sudden silence. He wondered what +was up, released Badger, and pushed forward to the cluster of men that +surrounded the policeman's body. He heard the word 'dead' passing from +one to another. 'Lock at the blood coming out of his ear,' they said. +And there was George Malpas leaning up against the bar with his hands +behind him gripping it, ghastly pale and panting with his mouth open, and +twitching at the corners. He didn't see Abner or any one else. A +curious inertia had fallen on the group of men about Bastard's body. +They simply stared at it as though it had fallen into the midst of them +from another planet. Mr Hind, by way of an experiment, lifted the +constable's hand and let it fall again. It fell on the floor with a +wooden sound. + +'Somebody run to Lesswardine for the doctor,' said Mr Hind. + +'I'll go myself,' said Abner. + +'That's right. Tell 'im about the blood, and be's quick as you can.' + +'It's snowing,' some one called. + +Abner went hatless to the door. Looking back into the kitchen he saw the +face of Susie. It was white, like a mask. For the moment it meant +nothing to him. They looked at each other for that fraction of a second +unrecognising. Abner started running toward Lesswardine. The hard road +echoed. The night was deadly black and snow was falling. + +He scarcely noticed the snow. He went on plodding over the road to +Lesswardine without realising, for the time, the importance of his +journey. He felt the snowflakes spatter his face, his neck, his chest, +for in the struggle with Badger his shirt had been torn open. He was +glad he had come to grips with Badger. He felt he could do what he liked +with the keeper now. The white-faced vision of Susie, till then +unrealised, came back to him out of the darkness. Scared, she must have +been! + +In Lesswardine yellow lamps beamed through halos of cold air. Crossing +the bridge he saw that his clothes were as white as a miller's. The +great flakes danced like moths in the lamplight, they flew into his mouth +and melted on the heat of his tongue. His feet did not echo in these new +streets, for the macadam was felted with an inch of snow. He had nearly +reached his goal. It was senseless to go on running, panting, and +swallowing mouthfuls of snow; but his legs would not obey these +half-formed thoughts and carried him onwards. + +The doctor was smoking his after-supper pipe when Abner arrived. The +Hinds were good patients, and he did not hesitate to turn out. 'Give me +a hand with the mare,' he said, and they went out into the stable to put +to. The doctor's wife had warmed his overcoat and wrapped a muffler +round his neck. He gave Abner a peg of whisky to keep him warm. When +they were clear of the Lesswardine lights he asked for details of the +affair. 'By Gad, that's serious,' he said. 'That means an inquest and a +P.M.' He thought to himself: 'Two guineas,' and touched up the mare with +satisfaction. + +'You say Bastard and George Malpas went down together? He was struggling +with George?' + +'Yes--it was me and Badger he was after.' + +'That's beside the point,' said the doctor. 'It's a bad lookout for +Malpas--and for his mother, poor old lady! A bad lookout. . . . It's +homicide--manslaughter.' + + + + +The Fourteenth Chapter + + +BY the time that Abner and the doctor reached Mainstone, Bastard's body +was growing cold, and the last hope that his unconsciousness was any less +than that of death had vanished. The Pound House was still full of those +who waited for the verdict, a silent, sober company. Mr Hind, who had +not seen the beginning of the struggle, tried vainly to find out what had +happened. All accounts of it were confused and contradictory, and in any +case it mattered little to the landlord, for he knew that his house was +already in the black books of the police, and felt sure that this +catastrophe would mean the loss of his licence. The doctor scarcely +needed to look at Bastard's body. + +'Yes, fractured base,' he said. 'He must have died at once. An elderly +man with brittle bones. There's nothing to be done, Hind. I'll knock up +the sergeant when I get back to Lesswardine and telephone the coroner.' + +'I wouldn't have had this happen for nothing, doctor!' moaned Mr Hind. + +'Of course you wouldn't. It's not your fault.' + +'He must have tripped over that chair.' And everybody, including the +doctor, stared at the offending piece of furniture with interest. + +'Come on, Abner,' said George Malpas. 'Good-night, Mr Hind.' + +Mr Hind did not reply. + +All through that night the snow fell slowly, incessantly. The soft, +frozen sky drifted downward idly on the land, and George and Abner had to +pick their way back to Wolfpits blindly in the small hours, guided +through the plain by the presence of ghostly trees and in the Wolfpits +valley by the snow-muffled tumult of the Folly Brook. The hills were +desolate and savage. They lay dead, and the sky covered them. Wolfpits +itself rose before the travellers' eyes sudden and black through the +falling snow. There was no light in any of the windows, for Mary had +given them up long ago and gone to bed. Wood embers smouldered in the +kitchen grate. George poked them into a blaze. They took off their +snow-plastered coats and sat in front of the fire. + +'Well, this is a bloody fine thing!' said George. 'Old Bastard gone and +me a murderer. I've looked for some queer things but never for this.' + +'I reckon it's my fault,' said Abner. 'That's bound to come out.' + +'That's not going to help me,' said George, with a laugh. 'Not it! . . +. It's mother I'm thinking of. There's no luck in our family. It's no +good talking about it. It's my last fling, and I'd do it again for a +pal. If it hadn't happened to-night, it wouldn't never have happened at +all.' + +Abner could say nothing. Even now he didn't realise the seriousness of +his friend's position. + +'Just my blasted luck!' said George. 'Better turn in unless you want to +get frozen.' + +He went upstairs with his candle, and Abner followed. + +When daylight returned the snow had ceased, but the night's fall had +obliterated the track of their returning feet. Wolfpits had become a +black island in the surrounding whiteness. From the drift upon the +doorstep the snow lay smooth to the tops of the hills which dawn +illumined with a rosy light. Never had the mountains seemed so near to +the house, so beautiful, and so little threatening. + +Abner woke early and looked out on this transfigured world. In all the +house no one was astir. Even old Drew, who worked in all weathers, had +not yet emerged from his snowbound door. George and Mary still slept. +It was very cold, and Abner threw his coat over his bedclothes. It was +no good getting up, for he knew that with so deep a fall there could be +no work on the pipe-track that day. He lay in bed, smoking, watching the +clustered chimneys of Wolfpits against the sky. The rosy hue faded from +the mountains. The sky cleared to a thin, dazzling blue. A thread of +smoke issued from old Drew's chimney, rising, straight as a larch, into +the clear air. In the room beneath him, where George and Mary slept, he +heard voices. No doubt George Malpas was telling his wife what had +happened. Sometimes the talk was rapid; sometimes there were long +silences. Abner was thankful that the sad business of telling Mary had +not been left to him. He heard the children's voices on the stair. The +time had come when he would have to face them all. + +They were all in the kitchen when he came downstairs. He could see from +Mary's eyes that she had been crying; she scarcely dared to look at him +lest she should cry again. George was pretending to be cheerful. He was +playing with the children, telling them how they must make a snow man in +the drive. He said good-morning to Abner as though nothing had happened +overnight, and Abner's heart went out to him for his courage. Mary did +not speak to him, but it seemed to him that her red eyes were +reproachful. He felt that she probably considered him responsible for +the tragedy, was conscious of his indirect share of guilt, and wished +there were some way in which he could atone for it. He admired the manly +way in which George took his trouble. Indeed he never felt so wholly +friendly to George in his life. + +The elders breakfasted in silence, but the children talked incessantly, +being excited by the snow. An overwhelming impulse to put himself right +with Mary made Abner stop her when she was carrying the breakfast things +into the scullery. + +'George has told you?' he said. + +'Yes, he's told me. I suppose there's nothing to be done?' + +'Naught that I know on,' he replied. And she left him quickly, for she +did not want him to see her crying again. + +George lit his pipe at the fire. 'Funny to hear them kids,' he said, +with a half smile. 'I mind it just the same once before. It was at +Mary's father's funeral when his sister, her Aunt Rachel, brought her +youngsters over from Bromyard.' + +They were spared more of these harrowing contrasts, for the air was warm, +and the children, carefully wrapped up by Mary, ran out to play in the +glistening stuff. Mary did not reappear, and the two men sat on over the +fire. Only George spoke from time to time. + +'It's all of a piece with my luck,' he said. 'I reckon I was born +unlucky. One thing and another. . . I don't mind as long as it don't +come out what I was after in Lesswardine. She's a decent woman and I +wouldn't have her damaged by it. I wish to God I'd stayed like she +wanted me.' + +He seemed to be waiting for Abner to speak, so that he felt bound to ask +who the woman in Lesswardine was. + +'A young woman, a widow . . .' said George. 'I wouldn't have her name +mentioned if I could help it. She's got enough to put up with. Probably +I shan't see her, so I'll give you a note for her.' + +He relapsed into silence. 'The odds is,' he went on, after a long pause, +'this is the last time I shall see Wolfpits at night. Well, I'm not +sorry for that, though there's no denying that Mary's been a good wife to +me.' + +He spoke more excitedly. 'There's one thing: try as they will, they +can't make it murder. Accidental manslaughter, that's the most they can +make of it. That means a couple of years hard labour. You can't tell. . +. . It depends on the damned jury. Only mention the word "poaching" and +the judges are again' you. Yes . . . you can't deny she's been a good +wife, if I hadn't married her too young. I've got mother to thank for +that. But I don't know what'll happen to her. She's too proud for +charity, and she'd starve herself and the children rather than take a +penny piece from mother.' + +'She won't want while I'm here,' said Abner. + +George looked at him steadily without replying. + +'You mean you'll stay here and keep the home together?' + +'If you want me to,' said Abner. + +'You're a good pal, Abner,' he replied. 'I've said that before. And I +wouldn't have her suffer. There's something in what her dad used to say +. . . about good blood and that. If I hadn't took a fancy against her +this wouldn't never have happened. I wouldn't have the home broke up.' + +'I'll look to that,' said Abner. 'That is, if she don't turn against +me.' + +George's handsome face was working, against his will. He grasped Abner's +hand in his. It seemed a natural gesture. 'You're a proper pal,' he +said, and then, in a debauch of self-pity, 'By God, you're the only pal +I've got that I can trust!' + +Morgan came running into the room ahead of Gladys, anxious to be the +bearer of exciting news. He ran straight to his father. + +'Well, son?' said George. + +'Dad . . . dad. . . . There's a pleeceman comin' up the drive with a +bicycle,' he cried. + +'A strange one we don't know,' Gladys added. + +'Go into the back to your mother,' said George. + +The constable from Lesswardine knocked at the door and handed two +summonses to George and Abner. 'Inquest at the Pound House at two +o'clock. You understand it's important.' + +'Have a drink of beer before you go?' said George. + +'I don't mind,' said the constable, becoming less official. + +George went down into the cellar with a jug. + +'This is a bad job,' said the constable. 'A bad job, sure enough.' + +Abner asked him which way he thought it would go. 'There's no saying,' +he replied. 'As long as they don't bring it in "murder."' + +He was a fair young man, newly recruited to the force from some +Herefordshire village. The ride in the snow had freshened his complexion +and made him look healthy and jolly. + +'There's a nasty drift at the bottom of the hill by the bridge,' he said. +'A good six foot of it! Well, here's luck!' he said, as he drank off +George's beer. + +'Luck's the word!' said George, 'and God knows I need some!' + +Mary came into the room with a set face. 'Warrants for the inquest,' +said George. + +'Oh, is that all?' she answered, with relief. + +They set off early for the Pound House, fearing that the driven snow +might delay them. George was almost gay, and Abner wondered at his +friend's courage. They avoided Chapel Green, being anxious not to pass +the Buffalo. In Mainstone a few women came to their doors and stared at +them. The Pound House door was open. A number of jurors had already +arrived. They were mostly farmers or shopkeepers from Lesswardine and +had agreed that the day was a fine one in spite of the snow and that it +was lucky that the tragedy had happened at a time when they were not busy +on their farms. Susie was nowhere to be seen, but Mr Hind, worried and +paler than usual, was doing an excellent trade in hot whisky and water. +He was sorry, he told them, that there was no lemon in the house. Indeed +he was feverishly anxious to put himself on good terms with the jurors. + +When George and Abner entered an awkward silence fell upon the company. +Several of those who knew Malpas said good-day to him. The fact that he +was greeted by these men who were shortly to sit in judgment on him +encouraged him. He took a seat on one of the benches in the corner of +the room. Abner went to the bar and asked for a drink. Mr Hind, with +hatred shining in his pale eyes, served him. + +'Hope you're all right to-day, Mr Hind,' said Abner friendlily. + +The landlord trembled with rage. He pushed Abner's glass at him, +spilling a quarter of the whisky. 'I hope I've seen the last of you,' he +said. + +The jurymen now congregated in the other corner of the room as though +they realised that it was not fitting that they should mix with such +important figures in the affair as George and his friend. They talked +together in low voices. Abner and George sat quietly listening, but only +instinctive glances in their direction told them when George's name was +mentioned. At the end of the bar was another door, leading into the +club-room, generally used for the meetings of friendly societies, in +which the inquest would be held. Abner wondered if the body of Bastard +lay inside it; for heavy steps were heard from time to time through the +closed door. At last the door was opened and the sergeant of police from +Lesswardine appeared in it. + +He stood there very erect and official, bending stiffly to recognise the +more important of the group of jurymen. Then his eyes fell on George and +Abner. He beckoned to them and called them into the second room. Abner +had expected that Bastard's bony carcass would be revealed lying in +state, but instead of this he saw a long deal table with an arm-chair at +the head of it and six other ordinary chairs on either side. In front of +the coroner's seat were spread a pile of official papers, ink, +blotting-paper, and a selection of equally impossible pens. On the wall +above it hung a trophy, the horns of a North American bison with a boss +of black hair between them, which, in a more savage age might well have +symbolised the official's power of life and death, but, in fact, +represented those that were vested in the master of the local branch of +the Ancient Order of Buffaloes. The sergeant looked at his watch. It +was already past two o'clock. He went out to look down the road to see +if the coroner was in sight. The young constable who had delivered the +warrants earlier in the day was busy placing a copy of the New Testament +in front of each of the jurymen's seats. When the sergeant's back was +turned he winked at George and Abner. Then he closed the door and left +them alone. + +'They've summonsed fourteen for the jury,' said George. 'I've counted +'em. There's three good friends to me: Mr Prosser of The Dyke, Jones of +Pensilva, and Watkins the tailor. The one I'm frightened of is the big +chap with the red face. Williams, his name is. He fell out with mother +over a hogshead of cider five years ago and haven't spoken to me nor her +since. He'd be glad enough to see me swing! Well . . . what's coming's +bound to come. 'Tis no good thinking on it.' + +He said no more, but began to beat out the rhythm of a music-hall song on +the floor with the end of his stick, staring straight in front of him at +the bison's head. Abner wished that something would happen. He hated +this mechanical tapping. + +A loud voice was heard in the bar and with it the scraping of feet. The +coroner had arrived. The sergeant threw open the doors with a flourish +and Mr Mortimer entered. He was a big man, with a handsome, rather heavy +face, bushy white eyebrows over pale blue eyes, and a pointed beard in +which a yellow, like that of tobacco stains, was mingled with white. He +walked quickly to the head of the table, his coat-tails flapping behind. +Under his arm he carried a sheaf of papers that he spread out flat in +front of him. Then he patted the table on either side of them with his +hands and took up a pen. The sergeant stood stiffly at his elbow, and +the jury shuffled into their places. Mr Williams, as by common consent, +planted himself at the coroner's right hand. + +'I declare this court open in the King's name,' said Mr Mortimer in a +deep, impressive voice. The sergeant stood as though hypnotised by the +formula. The coroner turned on him suddenly. 'Now, sergeant,' he +boomed, 'look alive! We don't want to stay here all day. Get the jury +sworn!' + +He dived once more into his papers, yawned, rubbed his hands, glanced +behind him at the symbolical buffalo, and then suddenly decided to clean +his nails with a pen-knife. Meanwhile, with Testaments lifted in their +right hands, the jurymen, one by one in different inflections of the +border tongue, repeated the oath which the sergeant administered to them. +'_I swear by Almighty God_.' . . . I swear by Almighty God.' '_That I +will well and duly inquire_.' . . . 'That I will well and duly +inquire.' It was like the chorus that one may hear any morning of the +week outside the windows of a country board-school. From time to time +the coroner looked up impatiently from his manicure, and the sergeant +increased his pace. + +'Finished?' said Mr Mortimer at last. + +'Yes, sir. All correct,' said the sergeant. + +'Now, gentlemen, you must choose a foreman. Only be quick about it. +We're late.' + +In point of fact the jury had been waiting for him for more than an hour, +but the question of choosing a foreman did not detain them for long, +since Mrs Malpas's enemy, Williams of the Pentre, had already virtually +chosen himself. + +'Very good . . . very good!' said the coroner. 'Take them to view the +body, sergeant.' + +They filed out behind the policeman, opening their ranks at the door to +admit the doctor from Lesswardine, who apologised for his lateness and +shook hands with the coroner. + +'You've done the post-mortem?' said the latter. + +'Yes, that's what kept me.' + +'And found what you expected?' + +'Yes . . . fractured base. I had no doubt about it.' + +'Cheap two-guineas' worth. You'd better take your money now to save +time. Sign for it here.' + +The doctor pocketed the sovereigns and placed the florin aside, according +to the unwritten law that obtains in such cases, for the sergeant. + +'Sad affair,' said the coroner, with a yawn. 'Good man, Bastard. One of +the old sort. Conscientious. No brains. Ideal policeman. What the +devil are those fellers doing? I've promised to call for tea at the +Delahays.' + +'I was hoping,' said the doctor, 'that you'd come back with me. My wife +. . .' + +'No, thanks. . . Very kind of you all the same.' + +'We don't often see you this way.' + +'No. Not since Condover's suicide. I believe his son-in-law's mixed up +in this affair?' + +'Yes. . . . He's over there in the corner. It's the usual thing, I +think. A brawl in an alehouse. Alcohol.' + +The coroner nodded his head dolefully. His cellar was the best in +Ludlow. + +The jurors returned, and with a final glance at the buffalo's head, as +though he expected it to tell him the time, Mr Mortimer began business. +First the sergeant identified the body of his subordinate. Standing +rigidly at attention he rattled off the oath at a terrific speed, running +his evidence on to the end of it without a stop. He could soon show the +coroner how to do it. Mr Mortimer never raised his eyes from his papers. + +'I may say, sir . . .' began the sergeant impressively. + +'You may say what you like, sergeant, when you're asked for it,' snapped +the coroner. 'That's enough.' + +The sergeant stepped back, full of offended dignity. The jury were +impressed. Mr Mortimer was behaving in accordance with his reputation. + +Other evidence followed rapidly. George and Abner leaned forward, +listening. George with his head in his hands and his eyes staring out +under the arch of his fingers. The second finger of his right hand still +beat out the rhythm of the music-hall song that was running in the back +of his mind. + +'Dr Hendrie!' + +_'I swear by Almighty God that the evidence I shall give to this court +shall be the truth_, _the whole truth_, _and nothing but the truth_. +Arthur Cuthbert Hendrie. Thirty-eight. M.R.C.S. and L.R.C.P. I am a +physician and surgeon practising in Lesswardine. I had seen deceased but +did not know him. Yesterday evening before ten o'clock I was called to +the Pound House. I arrived there between ten and eleven . . . nearer +eleven, and found deceased lying on the floor of the bar with blood and +serum flowing from ears and nose. Both ears. He was quite dead.' + +'Quite dead. . . . Can you say how long he had been dead?' + +'No.' + +'Very well. Go on.' + +'I immediately formed the opinion . . . they told me that he had had a +violent fall . . . that death was due to a fractured base of the skull. +There was a bruise over the left temporal region.' + +'You performed a post-mortem examination.' + +'Yes. This morning. I found the fracture that I had suspected in the +middle fossa.' + +'Will your honour ask'n what that there means?' + +'The witness means the middle part of the base of the skull. FOSSA,' the +coroner explained loftily. + +'Death, no doubt, was instantaneous. The condition was consistent with +the story of a violent fall on a stone floor. The same condition might +have been caused by a blunt instrument. Deceased was old for his years, +as shown by the atheromatous condition of the cerebral arteries.' + +'Very good. Have you any questions to ask the witness?' + +The jury all shook their heads. + +'If you are in a hurry, Dr Hendrie, I think we can spare you.' + +'Thank you, sir. Good day.' + +'Daniel Prosser Hind!' + +Daniel Prosser Hind, forty-nine, was a licensed victualler and the lessee +of the Pound House. The owners were Messrs Astill of North Bromwich. He +knew the deceased: couldn't say that they were friends, as deceased had +only lately come to Mainstone. He remembered last night. The bar was +middling full. He himself was in the parlour working over accounts, his +daughter being in charge of the bar. About nine-thirty he heard a row +and ran into the bar. The first thing he saw was Mr Badger on the floor +and young Fellows on the top of him. Behind them he saw Bastard lying on +his back, with blood coming from his ears and nose. Some one said +Bastard was stunned. He felt Bastard's heart and said: 'No, he's dead.' +He did not see deceased fall. He was told. . . . He quite understood +and begged his worship's pardon. If he might say so, nothing of this +kind had ever occurred in a house under his management before. What with +the cloggers and the navvies it was no easy matter to keep an orderly +house. He wished to express regret for what had happened. He could not +say if Badger and Fellows had been drinking. Mr Badger was usually a +temperate man. A man named Connor had the appearance of being the worse +for liquor. + +'Were you not aware of this before?' + +No. As he had explained, he was busy with the October accounts. + +'You consider your daughter a fit person to be in charge of a crowded +bar?' + +Yes. His daughter was quite competent and used to keeping order. + +'How old is she?' + +She was twenty years of age. Messrs Astill, he persisted, always +expected the accounts to be ready by the end of the month, and he had +happened to be a little behind with them. Messrs Astill would speak for +him. + +'You consider that you performed your duty as licensee of this inn?' + +Yes. Certainly he considered he had done his duty. He had sent for the +doctor at once. + +'You really expect me and the jury to believe that a girl of twenty is a +fit person to be left in charge of a bar full of those rough men? Very +well. . . . You can stand down.' + +Susan Hind, twenty, said she was daughter of the previous witness. She +did not know deceased, though he was in the habit of looking in of +nights. She had never served him in the bar. On the night in question +there was nothing unusual. There were near about twenty men in the bar. +Mr Badger was sitting alone over in the corner. He was not drunk. +Fellows was not drunk. She didn't think that Connor was drunk. She +ought to know when a fellow was drunk! There was no special rule as to +when they should be served or not. Yes, that was it, she used her +discretion. Certainly Connor was excitable. He had had two or three +quarts. No, that was nothing for Connor. He was always quick with his +tongue, and the others were laughing at him. She agreed with her father +that she could manage men if any one could. She had been used to it for +years . . . ever since she was sixteen. She hadn't noticed anything +until Badger dropped his glass on the floor and came over to Connor. She +supposed Connor had riled him, but she hadn't been listening. Connor +always went on at people. She saw Badger give Fellows a hit in the face +and then the two of them went down. She called her father, and while her +back was turned Bastard must have come in. She saw him try to pull +Fellows off Badger. She saw Malpas take Bastard by the arm. He didn't +use no violence that she saw. Bastard tried to fix Malpas's arms. She +saw the two of them swaying about together. They must have tripped over +something, they went down so sudden. Bastard did not cry out. She +remembered nothing more, she was that scared. Malpas had not been +drinking. He had had one drink: a small whisky. Of course she couldn't +say if he had got drink anywhere else. In her opinion he was sober. The +only man in the room that was drunk was Atwell. She had gone on serving +him because she knew by experience that he could behave decent with it. +He was like that most nights. + +Atwell, who had smiled at this tribute to his powers, was called next. +He didn't remember nothing. He couldn't say if he was drunk because he +didn't remember. Asked if he wasn't ashamed of himself, he had nothing +to say. + +Michael Connor corroborated the evidence of the witness Susan Hind. +Anything he had said to Badger was not out of the way. He was only +letting on. He admitted having a drop taken. He was nourished, not +drunk. Atwell was drunk, more luck to him! That was making the court no +impertinent answer. He said it by the way of no harm. + +'Abner Fellows!' + +He had been sitting half hypnotised by the progress of the evidence. +Each of the witnesses had seemed to him strange and unfamiliar. This +subdued, tight-lipped Susan was not the girl who came passionately to his +arms. Mr Hind was pale, shabby, shrunken. Even Mick was not the radiant +companion that he knew. He heard his own name in a dream. George Malpas +pushed him forward as the sergeant took an officious step in his +direction. He stood at the foot of the long table, staring at the top of +the coroner's head and the buffalo horns above it. The foreman of the +jury was examining him closely, much as on market days he would have +examined a likely bullock. The man with the white beard went on writing +in a large, fluent hand, while the sergeant thrust the Testament into +Abner's fingers and dictated the oath to him. He had to clear his +throat, for his voice had left him. The coroner blotted his notes +methodically and looked up. + +'Yes. . . . Abner Fellows. Age?' + +'Twenty.' + +'Occupation?' + +'Labourer.' + +'Tell me all you know of what happened last night . . . not too fast, I +have to write it down.' + +Slowly Abner told his own story. + +'Very good! You say that Badger hit you in the face. Are you on bad +terms with Badger?' + +'I never spoke to him before.' + +'When he struck you you lost your temper?' + +'Any one would.' + +'You say Malpas is a friend of yours?' + +'I lodge with him.' + +'And Malpas was not drunk?' + +'Not that I could see.' + +'Do you know where Malpas had been that evening?' + +Abner hesitated. He felt that George's eyes were on him from behind. +'No.' + +'Very well.' + +Abner went back to his seat. He saw Mr Hind rubbing his hands together +nervously, saw the white face of Susie. He flopped down heavily into the +seat beside George. Malpas never stirred. He still sat with his hands +to his head, drumming with his finger on his temple. + +'William Badger!' + +William Badger, gamekeeper in the employment of Sir George Delahay, said +he had been to the Pound House on business. His business was to try and +pick up information about poaching on his master's land. Nothing was +safe in Lesswardine since the navvies had been working there. He was +watching three men. + +'Name them.' + +Connor, Fellows, and Atwell. He believed Connor was the ringleader. He +had not come there to watch Malpas. Constable Bastard knew that he was +there on that business. He had told Bastard that he thought he had +recognised Connor in an affray three nights before. He had sat in the +corner quietly listening. Connor had been talking 'at him' all evening, +and at last he had lost his temper. He was a quick-tempered man and +couldn't abide poachers. He had meant to shut Connor's mouth. He +couldn't say if he had meant to hit him. When he came up to Connor he +saw Fellows looking ugly. They were all the same gang. He didn't +remember hitting Fellows in the face, but if he hadn't done so Fellows +would have hit him. The next moment Fellows was on the top of him. He +didn't see Bastard come in. Bastard was a friend of his. He did not see +Malpas and Bastard fighting. He could not have seen Bastard fall, as +Fellows was on the top of him. In his opinion Bastard had died in the +performance of his duty. Bastard had been a great help to him. + +'George Malpas!' + +George walked straight to the foot of the table, haggard, tall, handsome +as ever. While he gave his evidence he still drummed with his fingers on +the board. The tone of Mr Mortimer's voice sharpened as he questioned +him, but George's account of the affair agreed in every detail with that +of the other witnesses. + +'You do not suggest that you attacked Bastard when under the influence of +drink?' + +'No. I had not been drinking.' + +'Where had you spent the earlier part of the evening?' + +'At Lesswardine.' + +'In a public-house?' + +'No. With a friend.' + +'Were you and Bastard on good terms?' + +'I had never spoken to him before in my life.' + +'Then why did you suddenly attack him?' + +'I never attacked him. Badger had hit out at Fellows and Fellows had a +right to get his own back. I wanted to see fair play. I put my hand on +Bastard's arm.' + +'That's all very well, you know. It is a serious offence to interfere +with a constable in the discharge of his duty.' + +'Fellows was my pal. I never did nothing to Bastard. When I touched his +arm he turned on me. He was trying to take me in charge. We must have +tripped on something. We fell down together. I had nothing against +Bastard.' + +'Very well, you may sit down.' + +The sergeant cleared his throat: 'If I may say a few words, sir . . .' + +The coroner finished his notes, then sat back to listen. + +'I may say, sir, that we have been dissatisfied for some time with the +conduct of this house. Neither Mr Hind nor his daughter bear a good +character with us, and Bastard has had occasion to speak to me about the +goings-on here from time to time. He has also said that Mr Badger was a +great help to him. Connor, Atwell, and Fellows all have the name of +rough characters. We have only been waiting for the necessary evidence . +. .' + +'That will do, sergeant.' + +'Very good, sir. On inquiries in Lesswardine, I find that Malpas spent +the evening in the house of a young widow woman named . . .' + +George rose to his feet and took a step forward. + +'Sit down!' shouted the coroner. + +'Named . . .' + +'That will do, sergeant.' + +'As you wish, sir.' + +Mr Mortimer adjusted his glasses and sat for a moment in silence, turning +over his paper:. + +'Now, gentlemen,' he said at last, 'you have heard this . . . er . . . +very distressing evidence. In this type of case--and I am glad to say +they are rare in the district--it is usual to find a great conflict of +evidence. Here the . . . ah . . testimony is unusually clear. In the +first place you have a public-house. A public-house which, I am bound to +say, appears to me to have been managed with a considerable degree of +laxness. In this part of the country we . . . ah . . . suffer from the +presence of a floating population, gipsies, cloggers, and at the present +moment the men engaged on the North Bromwich Waterworks. These men have +to spend their evenings somewhere, and it appears that the Pound House . +. . ah . . . found favour with them. They were in the habit of drinking +here every night, sometimes under the supervision of a girl of twenty. +The sergeant has said that he considers this young woman . . . ah . . . +advanced for her years. That may well be; but none the less I think Hind +has been lacking in responsibility. Very good. . . . Among the men who +frequent this house are three notorious poachers: Connor, Atwell, and +Fellows. Poaching is another of the pests that this floating population +brings in its train. Badger, the keeper, who gave his evidence very +clearly and straightforwardly, was in the habit of visiting the Pound +House to keep an eye on this . . . ah . . . disorderly trio. As he had a +right to do, he enlisted the help of the deceased. The affair began in +the usual way of a public-house brawl. What Connor said to Badger; +whether Badger assaulted Fellows: these are matters that do not concern +you. Only, in passing, I say that the whole business could not have +occurred in a properly managed house. There was a struggle. The +deceased constable, in the plain performance of his duty, entered the bar +and . . . ah . . . commenced to separate Badger and Fellows. If his +desire was to protect Badger, well and good . . . but even that is +immaterial. Now comes the important part. Malpas says that he . . ah . +. . says that he put his hand on the arm of the deceased and that +thereupon Bastard turned on him and tried to take him in charge. He +then, by his own admission, resisted arrest. He and Bastard struggled +together and fell in each other's arms. The medical evidence tells us +that Bastard died from a fractured base of the skull, the result of this +fall. You may ask yourselves the question: "Was Bastard within his +rights in arresting, or trying to arrest Malpas?" You need not find an +answer to it. Legally the answer is "Yes;" but all that is expected of +you is to determine how the deceased met his death. He met his death in +a struggle with Malpas. Malpas, by his own admission, first laid hands +on him, thus obstructing an officer in the performance of his duty. +Next, again by his own admission, he resisted arrest. As a result of +this resistance Bastard fell. As a result of the fall he fractured his +skull and died . . . ah . . . instantaneously. You may trace, if you +like, the responsibility for his death backward through Connor, Badger, +and Fellows to Hind; but the immediate cause of it was Malpas.' + +The coroner took off his glasses and pushed his notes aside. He spoke +slowly, waving the pince-nez to mark his points. + +'Very well. . . . Now it is your duty to determine the degree of +Malpas's responsibility. Did Malpas intend to kill the deceased? The +sergeant of the police has tried, very improperly, to make a statement as +to Malpas's general character.' + +The sergeant shuffled his feet and swallowed, but succumbed to a sense of +discipline and was silent. + +'I am bound to say that there is no evidence pointing to Malpas having +killed Bastard of malice aforethought. There is no reason to suppose +that he lied when he told you that he had never spoken to Bastard before. +Did he, then, desire to attack Bastard on the spur of the moment with +intent to kill. He has told you that he wanted to see fair play between +Fellows, whom he describes as his "pal," and Badger, and I am inclined to +believe him. Another question presents itself: "Did he become murderous +under the influence of drink?" This is negatived by all the evidence. +Now you must be careful. If Malpas laid hands on Bastard with intent to +kill, either under the influence of an old grudge or in a sudden fit of +passion, whether drunk or sober, he is guilty of murder, and it is your +duty to say so. If, on the other hand, he laid hands on Bastard without +intending to offer him any violence, and if, in the course of a struggle +in which he was resisting arrest, he caused Bastard to fall and thus +brought about Bastard's end, his crime lies on the borderland between +murder and homicide . . . ah . . . manslaughter. If Malpas had no part +in the death of the deceased, you may say that the constable died by +misadventure. I think this is a case in which you may be left to decide +for yourselves. Nothing that you know of Malpas's private life, and I +presume that you all know something of it, must influence your verdict. +The death of a policeman, a man whom the law provides for your protection +and the protection of your property, is a very serious matter. If +policemen are to be obstructed in their duty with impunity the whole +fabric of life in these remote districts becomes . . . ah . . insecure. +You may now consider your verdict. You had better retire.' + +Mr Mortimer put on his glasses. The jury, led by Williams, shuffled out +like a group of sidesmen collecting in church. The sergeant bent over +the coroner, whispered and handed him a paper which he put aside. +'You're in too great a hurry, sergeant,' he said. The witnesses sat +motionless in the back of the court: Susie, as before, staring straight +in front of her as pale and tragic as a young widow; Mr Hind with his +hands clasped in front of him, bunched up like a sack, and his pouched, +owl-like eyes paler than ever, waiting for a rider to the verdict; +Badger, obstinate, with his head thrust forward; Mick and Atwell stolidly +masticating tobacco. Abner saw them all petrified by the gloom of +suspense. George's finger had ceased from its mechanical tattoo. All +through the coroner's summing up he had listened intensely; once or twice +his lips had moved and his muscles stiffened as though he wanted to say +something. Now he sat quite still with his hands on his knees, staring, +as it seemed, at the buffalo's head. + +One after another the witnesses were called up to sign their evidence. +The coroner looked at his watch and sighed. It seemed as if he would not +have time to take tea with the Delahays, and this annoyed him, for Lady +Delahay was a very attractive woman and a visit to Lesswardine Court +always left him with a pleasant afterglow and made him feel that but for +his wife he might have become an ornament of county society. The +sergeant stood like a waxen policeman in Madame Tussaud's. By a +combination of frowns, winks, and rollings of the eyes, he indicated to +his bewildered subordinate that the Testaments on the table might now be +collected. The young constable stumped round the table on noisy tiptoes. +No other sound was heard but the settling of thawed snow on the roof, the +tinkle of a distant anvil, and the noise of a blob of nicotined saliva +which Atwell privily dropped upon the floor and then obliterated with a +sideways motion of his foot. + +The jury re-entered and took their seats at the table. The sergeant +insensibly stiffened. Mr Williams held a paper in his hand. + +'Well,' said the coroner. 'You have arrived at your verdict?' + +'Yes, your honour. Unanimous. We find . . .' + +'Wait a moment. . . . Yes, very good . . . go on.' + +'We find, unanimous, that the deceased died in accordance with the +doctor's evidence, and that his death was caused unintentionally by +George Malpas.' + +'That is manslaughter.' + +'Yes, your honour. Unintentional manslaughter.' + +'You can't qualify it. Manslaughter. You have added no rider?' + +'No, your honour.' + +'Well, I am bound to say I endorse your verdict. I think that you might +profitably have expressed your opinion on the management of this house.' +He called 'Daniel Hind!' + +Mr Hind rose with a gasp. + +'You have heard what I think of the management of your house, and I hope +that the licensing justices will . . . ah . . . endorse it. Another time +when an inquest is held in this room in winter the least you can do is to +put a fire in it. George Malpas!' + +George staggered to the end of the table. + +'You have heard the jury's verdict. You will be committed on my warrant +to take your trial on a charge of manslaughter. You are lucky that the +charge is not . . . ah . . . graver.' + +The sergeant, who had been waiting for this, again presented his paper to +the coroner, and Mr Mortimer, having wiped the nib of his pen, signed it +in his bold, deliberate handwriting. He signed it carefully and looked +at his signature afterward. It was not often that he tasted so singular +a sensation of power. The sergeant blotted the document and advanced +toward George Malpas. He came like a dignified spider toward a fly +safely entangled in its web. + +'Better go and tell them,' George said to Abner. 'Tell mother first. . +. . Tell 'em I'm all right.' + + + + +The Fifteenth Chapter + + +ABNER did not wait for George to be arrested. To the evident scandal of +the sergeant he made straight for the door and slipped into the bar. He +closed the door quietly, and stopped for a moment. There was something +in the feeling of the room that told him he had broken in on a secret. +No doubt the continued strain with which he had heard the evidence +unfolded had tuned his nerves to a supersensitive pitch: he wasn't +usually nervous under any conditions, but the sudden change from the +courtroom to this cold, empty chamber, unfamiliar in the snow-light, took +him aback, unsteadied him. At the moment of his entrance the room had +been expectant, listening. Now, when he paused for a second to look at +it, he saw nothing unusual, only the long shelves with their black +bottles of dubious port and sherry, the keg-shaped receptacles of glass +in which spirits were kept on tap, the polished handles of the +beer-engine. The only unusual thing was the closed door of the room +behind the counter in which Bastard's body now lay. He didn't try to +find an explanation for the peculiar chill that this room gave him, +midway between the dead man's flesh and the anguished soul of the man who +had killed him; but he felt it, and when he turned the key in the locked +door and stepped out into the street he felt again, behind him, the sense +of something strange stealing back into the bar. He shivered and set off +for Chapel Green to tell Mrs Malpas. + +All sparkle of light had vanished from the snow; the sky had now grown +colder than the land, and in the north a wind was rising. He walked fast +to keep the heat in his limbs. He passed the last cottages of Mainstone +and came into the length of Roman road which he and George had so often +travelled at night. The wind set up a faint and mournful singing in the +telegraph wires. The winter night descended. No human shape was to be +seen on the long white road but that of Abner and another smaller figure +that approached him rapidly from the west. He took it for granted that +this was a little girl hurrying home to Mainstone from the dissenting +school at Chapel Green, but when they met in the dusk and stared at one +another he suddenly became aware that the wayfarer was George's mother. +All the time since he left the inn he had been turning over in his mind +the ways in which he might best reveal his tragic news. Now that he +found himself face to face with Mrs Malpas, small, intense, and awful in +her Sunday bonnet, he could say nothing. They stared at each other for a +moment in which Abner was conscious of the hatred in her black eyes. + +'Evenin', ma'am,' he said. 'It's lucky I met you. George sent me along +with a message.' + +'Tell me . . . tell me quick, young man,' she cried. 'Don't keep it back +whatever it be!' + +'Bad news, ma'am.' + +'I know it is. Tell me!' + +'They've took him in charge. It's manslaughter.' + +She made a shrill, wailing noise, something between a laugh and a cry. +She gripped his arm tight. He knew that she would almost rather have +touched any one on earth, but if she had not steadied herself she would +have fallen. + +'Manslaughter. . . . Oh, God, my God! O Lord, have mercy on him, poor +soul, and on us too. To think it should come to that! Oh, God . . . +God!' + +She clutched him again as though a wave were sweeping her legs from under +her. Her bony fingers went into the muscle of Abner's arm. + +'Now don't take on, ma'am,' he said. 'Manslaughter's a different thing +from murder. Thank your luck for that!' + +'Don't talk to me of luck!' she cried. 'Luck's a heathen word. As a man +sows so shall he reap. The hand of the Lord is heavy on me and my son. +He hath forsaken the way of righteousness. Drink and strange women and +all the abominations of the ungodly. All my prayers on him were wasted, +young man, for I couldn't keep his feet in the way. Whom the Lord loveth +he chasteneth. The Lord gave and the Lord hath took away, and now he +stands before an earthly judge. I must go and see him.' + +She detached herself from Abner's arm, but a fit of trembling took her +and made her cling to it again. + +'You'd best come home along of me, ma'am,' he said. 'They'll have took +him to Lesswardine by this time.' + +She broke down into harsh sobs, crying childishly, and in between her +sobbing he could hear her babble the same curious mixture of scriptural +and unscriptural lamentation. She talked so wildly that he thought the +old woman was going off her head. When she sobbed the jet ornaments on +her bonnet danced. + +'Come home along of me, ma'am,' he repeated helplessly. + +She seemed not to hear him. 'George, my little George . . .' she sobbed, +abasing, accusing herself before the harsh personal deity that she +imagined, wrestling with him in prayer and entreaty, 'Oh, Lord, forgive +him . . . forgive him . . . forgive him!' Then, quite suddenly, she +stopped. No sound was heard but that of her faint trembling. Abner +thanked goodness that she had tired herself out, but he was mistaken. +Without the least warning her weak hands pushed him away. She stood +before him in the middle of the road and faced him with her ridiculous +bonnet awry and her fingers clenched like the claws of some small, fierce +wild animal, waiting to spring at a man's throat. Her wrists worked with +passion. She forgot all her scripture and cursed him in her own words. + +'It's you who've led him astray,' she cried. 'You . . you! Didn't I +know it the very day when you and your mate came to our house? You, the +scum of the roads! That's fine company for a decent man! You can't +touch pitch and not be defiled! I begged him and begged him not to have +the likes of you in his house, but he laughed at me. And you've dragged +him down, down . . . as low as a man can be dragged. You with your drink +and your poaching and your women! Don't think I haven't heard what +happened . . . the two of you coming home drunk of nights, singing bawdy +songs in the dark. That wasn't enough for you! You must drag him into +your drunken fighting, drag him down and down into your mucky life. And +then you come and talk to me of luck. Luck! He's been led astray, +that's what George has, by your company. If George's soul is damned, +it's you who will suffer for it, bringin' your town ways into a country +place. You and his precious wife! The two of you between you! What's +in the blood comes out in the life. Her father were a thief and a +swindler and a suicide, and God visits the sins of the fathers. Like +father, like daughter! That's the sort of bedfellow my George has had, +and this is what she's brought him to, poor lamb! But don't you think, +young man, that God don't remember! If you done it to the least of these +you done it unto Me! Don't you think you can push a young man into hell +and not fall into the fire after him. You and her together. . . . You +can trust God for that!' She exhausted her breath and stood panting. + +'Come on, missus,' said Abner heavily. 'You'll be perished out here.' +But when he clumsily approached her she ran away down the road toward +Mainstone like a mad woman, this pathetic bundle of burning hatred in her +Sunday clothes, and left him foolishly standing. + +He went back in the dark to Wolfpits, heavily burdened with the second +part of his task. The children were playing quietly on the hearthrug and +Mrs Mumble, who considered it only neighbourly to give Mary the benefit +of her company in a domestic emergency, was talking of homely, +unimportant things with the idea of distracting her mind from the more +tragic affair that held it. When Abner appeared she excused herself, +kissed the children good-night, enveloped Mary in a more significant +embrace, and left them. + +Mary stood waiting for what he had to say. He could not help recognising +the contrast between her impressive aloofness, her self-control, and the +hysterics of old Mrs Malpas. She could not pretend that she felt +nothing; since George's disaster, however little she might care for him, +must bring with it all sorts of complications. She was a woman who had +been used, in the lavish days of her father, to a certain degree of +comfort and elegance, and even if she had known hard times at Wolfpits +during George's freakish periods of idleness, she had never been faced +with anything so threatening to herself and her children as a complete +stoppage of wages and, in the last resort, the humiliation of parish +relief. She waited with her head erect, straight as a larch, in the +perfect control of her finely-tempered mind. + +'It's what we thought it would be, missus,' he said. 'Manslaughter they +brought it in.' + +'Where is he?' she asked, almost in a whisper. + +'They've took him in charge. That'll mean the lock-up at Lesswardine, +time they've got the case ready for the police-court.' + +She was silent for a moment, and then:-- + +'Does he want me to see him?' + +'He didn't say nought of that.' + +'No,' she said reflectively. + +'He said: "Tell 'em that I'm all right,"' Abner explained. 'Nowt else.' + +'_Them_?' + +'That's his mother . . .' + +'Ah!' She stiffened a little, and Abner, scenting a new hostility, +continued: + +'This business bain't all George's fault. It's a bit of bad luck that +might have happened to any one. It might just as well a' been me . . . +as well and better. If that Bastard hadn't gone at me from behind +George'd never have touched him.' + +'If he'd been home here,' she interrupted, with a sudden energy, 'it +wouldn't have happened at all. It's drink that's done for George,' she +added. + +'He hadn't a drap in him,' said Abner loyally. 'He was as sober as I am +this minute. He hadn't set foot in the place not half an hour.' + +She was silent for a moment, and then, with a curious directness, asked: + +'Where had he been then?' + +'How should I know where he'd been? I don't meddle or mak in George's +affairs.' + +She pressed him: 'Didn't it come out at the inquest where he'd been?' + +He saw how things were going, and lied brazenly in George's defence. + +'No,' he said. + +'Well, that's one comfort,' she said, with a sigh. 'I've borne enough +shame from George without that!' Then, as her suspicions flashed up +again: 'But I don't believe you. They don't let things like that pass.' + +'I don't know what you'm after.' + +'Oh, you're all the same, you men! You think women are simple enough to +be put off with anything. It's you who are simple. Do you think we +don't know it? I know where George was that night as well as you do. +I've known of his new fancy for three months now. That woman and me have +met one another on the road, and looked at each other and smiled and +passed the time of day and not another word, because we knew, both of us, +the thing was best hidden and it would humble the two of us if it came to +light. But I don't believe they'd let a thing like that go at a +coroner's inquest.' She waited for his reply. + +'They said he'd been at Lesswardine. A widow woman, they said, but they +didn't tell her name. That's the truth.' + +'Nothing more?' + +'I tell you that's the lot. I was neyther piller nor bo'ster. I'd have +told you at the first, but I thought to save your feelings.' + +'Feelings!' she repeated. 'There's better ways of saving a woman's +feelings than keeping the truth from her. That was George's way. If you +guessed anything of what women are like you'd know that it's the truth +they want. You can forgive a man a lot if he doesn't lie to you.' Her +tone changed suddenly. She became dispassionate, practical, once more. +'When will it come on at the police court?' + +'I don't know. I reckon they won't keep him long at Lesswardine.' + +'I shall have to go there,' she said. 'Even if he doesn't want me it's +my place to be there. If I don't go there George will think that I've +thrown him over. I would have come to-day if he'd let me, but he begged +me not to. He's funny, like a child, is George.' + +Her voice softened when she spoke the last words, as though her +imagination had suddenly carried her back to the days of George's +courtship when her father was a hearty, prosperous man and no troubles +whatever had entered her life. For the moment she seemed to Abner no +more than a child herself. At the first moment he had thought her +insensitive, in the next she had put him to shame by her frankness, now +she was yielding, pitiful. These alternations of stoicism, passion, and +tenderness bewildered him. He had not thought that women were so +various. In addition to this she was beautiful. He wondered what +perverse strain in George could ever have compelled him to desert her. + +After another long silence she thanked him for what he had told her, then +turned and left him. He heard her talking brightly to the children as +though nothing had happened. + +Although darkness had fallen it was still early. Abner's natural impulse +would have bidden him walk back to Mainstone and find Susie. It had been +a torment to see her cold and remote, seeming no more to him than a +stranger. In the hushed court-room when he had stolen out at the moment +of George's arrest she had not looked at him. He had left her staring +straight in front of her like a pious churchgoer. He decided, in the +end, to stay at Wolfpits, for the night was cold and unhomely and he +still carried in his mind the sinister vision of the empty bar with +Bastard's body lying in the room behind it. More than this, he began to +be conscious of a definite duty toward Mary, whose attitude had ended by +filling him with admiration and loyalty. He felt it in his bones that +she despised him, being undeniably a creature of finer clay than himself, +but the moment in which she had demanded his confidence remained with +him. It was as though the veil which had always hung between them had +been suddenly rent, admitting them to an intimacy as clear as light. In +all his life he had known no such experience. Even in the most +passionate moments of his relation with Susie she had been no more to him +than a strange woman for whose beauty he hungered without reason. He +knew her body and thrilled to it, but of herself he knew nothing. With +Mary it was different. At first he had felt vaguely that he must be +loyal to her for the sake of his friend, not so much because he loved +George as because their friendship had been the immediate cause of their +disaster. It was for herself that he must now be loyal, and this seemed +strange to him, for it was an obligation which he had never considered as +possible between a man and a woman, and nothing but that sudden moment of +vision could have revealed it to him. + +He devoted his evening to the children. Their frolic in the snow had +excited them. They were full of play and laughter. Mary moved about her +business silently, watching the fireside group with benevolent eyes. At +seven o'clock, just before their bedtime, another constable came to the +door with the police-court summons. The case had been fixed for the +following day--eleven o'clock at Lesswardine. The man was in a hurry to +serve his other summonses, and would not enter. Abner told Mary the +news. + +'Eleven o'clock,' she repeated intently. 'Come thy ways, Morgan, love, +time for bye-byes.' + +The children left Abner unwillingly, Gladys insisting that he should +carry her upstairs. He did so, and Mary followed with her son in her +arms, rubbing his cold-flushed eyelids with his fists. + +Abner returned to the fire. Eleven o'clock! Less than twenty-four hours +ago none of this had happened. He was impressed, in spite of himself, +with the inevitable regularity of the machine that had drawn George +Malpas into its ponderous clutches. He saw, for the first time, the +tremendous power of the law, and his own helplessness. + +Mrs Mamble joined them for supper. When they had nearly finished another +knock came to the door, and Abner went to open it. The new visitor was +old Drew, who came in, blinking at the light. + +'Please come in, Mr Drew,' said Mary, 'and take a seat.' + +He stood for a moment, a bowed and awkward figure. Then he placed on the +tablecloth three brown eggs that he had carried in his huge misshapen +hand. + +'I bringed you two three eggs, missus,' he said. 'They'm getting +tarrable scarce these days, and I reckon the chilring might like them.' + +'That is good of you, Mr Drew,' Mary cried. + +'Don't 'ee mention it!' said the old man. 'I rackon it won't be so aisy +for 'ee with the maister in trouble. Us all knows what that be, and +you'm welcome to them. Iss, us all knows what trouble be, praise God! I +had a brother of my own to Lapton Huish as was took for the killing of +his wife, though the poor twoad never knew what he done, for a' suffered +from fits, a' did. Tried and hanged into Exeter he were . . . dear soul +too! Iss, I know what trouble manes.' + +'We all know what trouble means,' said Mrs Mamble, with a sigh, 'from the +highest to the lowest; but the law be kinder these days than it used to +be. My poor dear Robert's grandfather was a labourin' man, a quiet, +Christian man too, as never raised a hand against any livin' creature, as +Robert told me times, but that weren't enough to save him from hanging. +It was a hard winter, I can't mind how many years agone, though Robert he +told me, and they got him for stealing a sheep--stealing, they says!--as +he found dead-stiff in the snow on Clee Hills. As he'd a right to, with +the fields like stone and no work and the children crying for bread. But +they hanged men for that in Worcester jail in them days. Ay, and when my +Robert was a lad, the other boys 'd put it up against him as his dad had +kept sheep by moonlight: that's what they call hanging in chains, like +the gibbet, so they call it, as used to stand in olden times near Clows +Top. A quieter man never breathed, nor a better worker. Put a bit more +wood on the fire, Mr Fellows, do!' + +Abner threw a faggot on the fire and the flames leapt. This friendly +flicker, aided, perhaps, by the hypnotic drone of Mrs Mamble's voice, as +soothing as the sound of running water or the midnight rustle of poplars, +so encouraged the old labourer that he let himself sink into a chair by +the corner of the table. + +The firelight glinted in his beard, and Abner saw that his full lips were +red as those of a young man. He saw also Mary's face, withdrawn into the +gloom. It seemed as if she were dreaming, her mind altogether removed +from the voices of her comforters. + +'Ay,' said Drew, 'I've heard of men that was strung up for stealing sheep +down Exmoor way. There's a many sheep on the moors, and ponies too. You +should see them when the foals come along, springtime, and when they'm +drove down to Bampton fair. 'Tis a fine sight, sure 'nuff! But that +there's nothing to the old times. My granf'er, 'er was barn up Somerset, +not too far from Ta'nton, used to tell as how men was stringed up by the +dozen, the same as jays or magpies, by a tarrable old chap of the name of +Jeffereys. Bloody Jeffereys, that's what they called 'en. A judge he +were. . . . Iss, bloody Jeffereys.' + +'There now!' said Mrs Mamble, throwing up her hands. + +'And them they durs'nt hang they sent off to Canada, so I'm told. Ay, +many likely chaps was sent there and never came home no more, though what +they sent 'en for I can't rightly call to mind, unless 'twere +rick-burning. Had the redcoats to 'em, they did! But that's all past +and gone, thanks-be! Iss, past and gone. . . . The law bain't what it +used to be. There's juries these days. An' what be manslarter but a +thing that might come to any man unbeknownst? Don't 'ee be afeared, +missus! Don't 'ee be afeared! There be no shame in "going up the line," +as they do call it down our way.' + +'No shame, as you say, Mr Drew,' said Mrs Mamble solemnly. 'But the +shame's not everything. It's a hard thing on a woman that has little +children with her crying for an empty belly when a man's away in jail and +not a penny in the house but what the parish gives her. And the +questions they ask! That's where the shame comes in, and I've known many +a proud woman starve for a crust of bread rather than answer them, +they're that disgusting.' + +'Ah, get away, do! woman,' said old Drew, with a laugh. 'What's +questions? And Mrs Malpas here ban't going to do no such thing. A woman +never knows what friends she's got till she's found trouble, and they +that has a roof to their heads and a bit of garden to till can spare +something for their neighbours. No, don't 'ee believe 'en, my dear! If +it's only potatoes and swede out of the fields, no chilring 'll starve to +Wolfpits, not they! Don't you believe it! An' a woman like your +George's mother with a tidy little business at the Buffalo. . . . +Trouble 'll tell you your friends.' + +The clock struck nine. + +'Now that's a fine thing to be sure,' he went on, with a glance of +admiration, 'a fine thing to have a clock to tell 'ee when to be going up +over, and keep 'ee company night-time. 'Tis hard to judge the hour in +winter when the old sun be hid!' + +He pulled his stiff limbs together painfully, and left them with more +encouragements. + +'He's a quiet man,' said Mrs Mamble, when they heard him treading softly +over the snow, 'but I always reckoned he'd be a good neighbour.' + +She seemed loath to leave Mary to herself, and even proposed that she +should sleep with her, nominally for the sake of warmth, until the strain +of George's trial should be over, an offer that Mary found it difficult +to refuse with grace. When she left them she took the younger woman to +her breast and kissed her tenderly. Abner opened the door for her, and +when he returned he saw that Mary's eyes were bright with tears. He felt +that he himself must struggle to add some words of reassurance, but +before he could do so she had said good-night and vanished. + +Next morning he rose early. He had lit the fire and made the kettle boil +before she was astir. When she heard his feet in the kitchen she hurried +to come down and thank him. + +'You needn't have done that,' she said. + +'That's nowt,' he replied bluntly. 'We've got to get on the road early.' + +After breakfast she deposited the children, as had been arranged, with +Mrs Mamble. Morgan, who scarcely ever left his mother's side, resented +this. + +'Where are you going, mam?' he cried. + +'Only to Lesswardine with Abner here.' + +'You're not going for good, mam? You're coming back again?' + +'Don't be a silly boy, Morgan. Of course I'm coming back.' + +'When, mam?' + +'This afternoon.' + +A new anxiety seized him. 'What's for dinner, mam?' he said. + +'A nice brown egg, my love, what Mr Drew brought you,' said Mrs Mamble, +coming to the rescue. 'You come along now, and you shall have dear +Robert's watch to play with.' + +To the last temptation Morgan succumbed. This watch was the principal +curiosity of Mrs Mamble's bedroom. It hung there in the smell of rotting +wood, a silver monster, like a toy warming-pan, suspended in a celluloid +case above the old woman's bed. Mrs Mamble whipped them away, and Abner +set out with Mary. + +Snow still covered the ground, but by this time, in lane and road, the +trampled ways were clear and the bordering drifts marked with the +treading of birds, squirrels, and other woodland creatures. Abner was so +unused to walking with a woman that he set a pace that Mary could not +equal. Breathless, she begged him to walk more slowly. The exertion and +the cold air flushed her cheeks and reddened her lips to the hue of holly +and spindle-berries in the hedge. Her body glowed, and her hair was +bright as the fronds of bracken in the sun. In spite of their tragic +mission her lips smiled. No spiritual anxiety could check the +exhilaration of the blood that this crisp winter morning gave her walking +under the open sky. But when they drew near to Lesswardine the houses +closed in on them like the walls of a prison; the fine snow was swept and +sullied, the light faded from the sky. + +A special court had been summoned to deal with George's case. The +squire, Sir George Delahay, was driving down to take the chair, and +before Abner and Mary arrived the court-room was nearly full of +Lesswardine villagers who could always spare a morning if anything +sensational was passing. Abner, as one of the principal witnesses, was +soon separated from his companion. He was herded together with the +others into a small block of chairs on the right-hand side of the bench +and opposite to the dock. From this point he could see the court, a mass +of white faces from which arose a rumour like the buzzing of flies. In +the midst of them he saw Mary, pale and innocent. It was in her agony +that these buzzing tormentors would find delight. Almost on a level with +her at the other end of the bench he saw old Mrs Malpas. She had come to +the court as she would have come to chapel, in the same dour, determined +spirit, in the same tight black dress. They sat abreast of one another, +these two women to whom George Malpas belonged, and not a glance passed +between them. + +A new witness arrived, a fair young woman, clothed in black and veiled, +who walked in hurriedly with lowered eyes and tried to conceal herself, +as it seemed, behind the chairs of the men. The flies buzzed as loudly +as when they are driven from a heap of filth. Abner guessed that this +was George's Lesswardine woman. Mrs Malpas darted one eager glance in +the new-comer's direction, but Mary did not raise her eyes. At the last +moment Mr Hind entered with Susie. She smiled, and the sight of her made +Abner's blood leap, for she was no longer the white-faced impersonal +being that she had seemed at the inquest. She met his eyes full, and +smiled again. Mary also was looking at him now. Abner went hot under +their two glances. Why did Mary look at him? The other was the woman +that he wanted! + +In a sudden silence George was brought forward. He seemed none the worse +for his night in the cells. He walked straight to the dock with a +policeman on either side of him, looking neither at his mother, whose +hands went to her heart, nor at Mary, who did not move. His eyes found +Abner on the opposite side of the court, and he smiled, but the smile +suddenly vanished and he went pale, for beyond Abner he had seen the face +of the woman from Lesswardine. He went pale with anger that they should +have dragged her into this; but there was no one on whom his anger could +fall. His hands, that had quickly clutched at the edge of the dock, fell +to his sides. He stood there with his fine, pale face and black hair, +and on him were centred the emotions of those three women who would not +look at each other. The court buzzed again, going suddenly silent as +Badger's master entered and took his seat on the bench above the head of +the clerk. + +The proceedings were formal, being no more than another step in George's +journey to Salop. The only new witness was the young woman whom the +police had unearthed to establish the sequence of George's movements on +the night of Bastard's death. She gave her evidence in a subdued voice +and never raised her eyes. She said that George had never taken liquor +in her house; that he had often come to see her; that he was her friend. +No more. + +When she had left the box George gave a sigh of relief. Abner wondered +why he should have preferred this shrinking creature to Mary or to Susie +Hind. The sitting ended in the obvious way, George being committed to +take his trial at the county assizes. Nothing else could have been +expected. + +At the door of the court Abner rejoined Mary. Mrs Malpas, who had been +whispering to the local solicitor, marched past them without speaking, +and Mary flushed at this deliberate slight. + +'She won't speak to me,' she said. 'I think that's too bad! That was +Lawyer Harley she was talking to.' + +'Don't take no notice of her,' said Abner. 'That old woman's +half-cracked.' + +He went on to tell her that Mick Connor, who had gone to the Buffalo out +of curiosity the night before, had heard Mrs Malpas tell one of her +customers that if George were sent to Shrewsbury she would employ the +best criminal advocate on the circuit, even if it cost her the last penny +she possessed. He did not tell her that Mrs Malpas had declared that it +was nothing but the proud ways of Mary, 'that thief's daughter,' she +called her--that had driven George to his ruin. + +'He didn't look at me once,' said Mary on the way home. + +'He'd no call to look at nobody,' Abner replied. + +'He looked at _her_,' said Mary bitterly. 'He's strange. I don't know +what to make of him.' + +'That's natural enough. He didn't want to see her dragged out in +public.' + +'Dragged out in public?' she cried, with an unusual flush of spirit. +'What about _me_?' + +They settled down to another placid evening at Wolfpits. The children +had enjoyed their day with Mrs Mamble, though Morgan was persuaded with +difficulty to go to bed without the coveted warming-pan under his pillow. +Mrs Mamble was just preparing to leave them for the night when a knock +came to the door, and without waiting for it to be opened to her Mrs +Malpas entered. Her walk to Wolfpits over the roadway, now slippery with +ice, had exhausted her, so that she looked more like a wraith than a +woman. Even so she did not stop to recover her breath. She clenched her +hands in the queer gesture that Abner had noticed the evening before, and +with trembling wrists began to storm in Mary's face. + +'What have you done with the money?' she cried. 'What have you done with +it?' Abner laid his hand on her shoulder, for she looked dangerous. + +'Take your hands off me!' she screamed. 'The money. . . . I want my +money!' + +'I don't know what you mean,' Mary said. + +'My money, you brazen madam!' she cried. 'The money out of the box in +father's bedroom. More than fifty pound . . .' + +'I don't know what you mean,' repeated Mary, bewildered. + +'It's gone . . . gone! Don't tell me you don't know where it's gone, +when I know you've a' had it! He can't have spent it all. Give me +what's left . . . to pay the lawyers. George would never have gone and +took it without you to put him up to it . . . you with your lady's ways +and your fine speech! Ah, that's where the bad blood comes out. Your +father was a thief, and you're no better! Bad blood . . . bad blood!' + +'Don't you dare . . .' Mary cried. 'Don't you dare speak of my father!' + +She stood tall and flushed above her mother-in-law. + +'Give me the money . . . what's left of it,' Mrs Malpas pleaded. 'Give +it me, and I won't say no more.' + +Her violence had spent itself. Now she was only small, pathetic, +withered. Mary controlled herself. She would not answer. + +'I'd forgive him taking it. . . . I'd forgive him. Mr Harley says +they'll want twenty pound before they touch the case. Only twenty pound. +. . . I can find more later. Give me twenty pound.' + +'She says she don't know nothing about it,' said Abner. + +'_Says_! It must have been George. No one else knew where I kept it. +He's hidden it. Up in his room. You must look . . . you must look!' + +'I know nothing about it,' said Mary, mastering herself. 'I've not seen +a penny. I . . . I can't talk to you. I wish you would go away.' + +'Leave the woman alone, missus,' said Abner. 'She's enough to put up +with without you. You'd best go out quiet. You'm not answerable. Come +on, now!' + +The old woman seemed to pull her strength together, looking from one to +the other. They waited for a new outburst, but instead of speaking she +suddenly threw up her hands and burst into a fit of choking sobs. Mary +made a compassionate movement toward her, but Mrs Malpas stopped her with +a violent gesture. Then she straightened her bonnet and moved to the +door. She became her old, wiry, deliberate self. Her voice was clear +and her face like stone. + +'If George took it,' she said emphatically, 'it was the devil that drove +him, and I can't do no more. But not one penny shall you ever get out of +me, Mary Condover. You can starve, you and your children together, but +don't come crying to dad and me. You and your pride. . . .! Now you can +see what you've to be proud of. The daughter of a thief and the wife of +a thief. That's what you are! I never want to set eyes on you again . . +. you and your fancy lodger!' + +She went out, leaving the door open behind her. Mary stood looking after +her, shaken like a tree in the wind. Then she gave a curious laugh and +sat down at the table. Abner could do nothing for her; but she managed +to contain herself until she had risen and passed from his sight +upstairs. + +It was fortunate for them all in the suspense that now held them that the +Shrewsbury assizes had been fixed for the middle of December, immediately +before the Christmas vacation. On his committal by the Lesswardine +bench, George had been taken at once to the county jail where he lay +awaiting his trial. In the meantime the leisurely routine of work in +those wintry valleys, disturbed so abruptly by these violent events, +reasserted itself. The snow melted. To the sodden days of thaw +succeeded a period of mild and mistily golden weather that would have +seemed like spring had it not been so silent. The work on the pipeline +began again like the progress of some great engine that had kept its +power hissing beneath the snow, and daily gathered speed. Even the Pound +House, still suspect by the police but happily safe until the Brewster +sessions, regained its old popularity, though Mr Hind, having been duly +warned, gave more attention to his business than ever before. It had +been clear from the first that he had taken a violent dislike to Abner, +whom he regarded as the cause of all his trouble. On the day of the +inquest he had shown this by his silence; but when Abner appeared again +at the inn, he told him in as many words that his custom wasn't wanted. +Susie, a little shaken by her father's severity, implored him not to +persist in coming to the Pound House, and though she appeared no less +passionately devoted to Abner, the lovers' meetings were fewer and their +secrecy more precarious. + +It was strange how little difference George's absence made to life at +Wolfpits. Within a week it almost seemed as if the place and its +inhabitants had forgotten him. Neither Mary nor the children ever +mentioned his name, and since the day of the police-court proceedings +Abner had heard nothing from him but a single scribbled letter which +George contrived to send from the lock-up by the hand of the young +policeman who had drunk his beer. In this letter a new flicker of care +for his family had shown itself: he had reminded Abner of his promise to +stay at Wolfpits and look after them. 'I would have sent you some +money,' he wrote, 'but they've taken it off me. Mary can ask mother if +she's in a fix.' The reminder was quite unnecessary. Abner had given +his word to a pal and meant to stick to it, though he foresaw a difficult +moment when the plan should be disclosed to Mary. He could not see, for +the life of him, how to open the subject, and so he let things take their +course, waiting for the occasion to arrive without his interference. + +It came, as he had half expected, at the end of the week, when the next +payment for his lodging was due. Instead of his usual fourteen shillings +he gave Mary the whole of his wages wrapped up in the piece of paper in +which he received them at the works. The situation embarrassed her, as +she told him, for she had no change. + +'I don't want none,' he said bluntly. + +'But I can't take it from you,' she protested. 'It isn't right.' + +'Right or wrong,' said he, 'you and the children can't live on less, and +you'll find it a tight pinch as it is.' + +'I can't take it,' she said again. + +They stood on either side of the table with the packet of money between +them. + +'It isn't only that,' she added. 'Don't suppose I think the less of your +kindness. . . . I wish I could tell you what I do think . . . but I'm +afraid it isn't right for you to stay on here now George is away.' + +'That's why I ought to stay,' he said. + +'You don't understand,' she replied. 'Men don't think of such things. +It would be the talk of the village. They'd say there was something +wrong.' + +'As long as there bain't nothing wrong there's no harm in talk. Talk +never hurt nobody.' + +'There's George's mother . . . you don't know her! Remember what she +said that night.' + +'Do you think I'd ever take the upper hand of you?' + +'No, no . . . it's not me,' she said quickly, turning away from him. + +'Then there's no call to be soft over it.' + +'There's George, too . . .' + +'Don't you fret yourself about George,' he said, and showed her her +husband's letter. 'That's what George thinks about it. I reckon that's +good enough.' + +For a long time she would not take his money. The hard facts of her +case, the words of Mrs Malpas, and the ugly necessity of applying for +parish relief, seemed to weigh less with her than this tyrannous modesty. + +'You can take it or leave it,' he said, 'but I've promised George and the +money will come to you just the same. . . . Supposing I get another +lodge, the money will be less, that's all. If you bain't afeard of me . +. . .' + +She protested: 'No . . . no . . . .' + +'Then I may as well stay on. You can't do without a man in a place like +this. There's the wood to chop and the water to draw and that. I should +have to come here just the same. We've got to live on a poor wage, and +it's all the better if I'm here.' + +'I must think it over,' she said. + +In the end she consented to his staying--happily for herself since +otherwise life would have been almost impossible. During the three weeks +that passed before George's trial, they settled down into a new and +orderly condition, living poorly, it is true, but contentedly, and aided +by the attentions of their neighbours. Mrs Mamble, perhaps at Mary's +request, often softened the awkwardness of the situation by dropping in +about supper-time and staying to talk over the fire, and old Drew was +continually giving the children presents of eggs from his own fowl-yard, +farm-produce from the land on which he worked, and even some of the milk +which, according to the custom in those parts, he received in part +payment of his wage. Mary could not refuse these gifts so beautifully +given; she could not even return him adequate thanks; but she tried to +add a little to the comfort of the rooms in which the old man lived, and +offered to attend to his clothes, an attempt in which she failed, since +Drew always locked his door when he left it in the dawn, resenting, in +the manner of many bachelors, the least interference with his own homely +dirt, and wore in winter every shred of clothing that he possessed. + +The sense of an obligation unfulfilled would have made them awkward if +the old man had not accepted the help of Abner in his garden, a +proceeding that he watched with suspicion, being as fidgety as any old +maid, and that of Mary in the feeding of his fowls. Within a few weeks, +indeed, the inhabitants of Wolfpits had settled down into a kind of +communal life that was happy if only for the fact that its existence +implied so much goodwill. + +The subpoenas for the assizes arrived, and with them a new wave of rumour +and excitement troubled the villages. It was agreed that George had no +chance of being acquitted, but those who had experience of the law vied +with those who had none in predicting the term of his sentence. Through +the medium of Susie, Pound House gossip filtered back to Abner, and in +this way he learned that Mrs Malpas had managed in spite of her loss to +brief a barrister named Rees, who had a great reputation for skill in +criminal defences on that circuit. A week before the trial Abner +received a note from the lesser of the two local solicitors, who, being a +liberal and a nonconformist, had nothing to lose by an implied opposition +to the squire. Together with Mick Connor and Atwell, Abner repeated his +version of the affair to this man. + +'I shall let Mrs Malpas, senior, know by wire when the case is likely to +come on,' he said, 'and you, of course, will hold yourselves in +readiness.' + +A fortnight later Mrs Malpas sent up a message by a small boy from Chapel +Green to Wolfpits, telling Abner that it would be necessary to set out +for Shrewsbury on the following morning. The message made no mention of +Mary. + +'But I shall go all the same,' she said. + +They left Wolfpits in darkness, whispering their farewells to Mrs Mamble +for fear of waking the children, whom Mary, dressing quietly, had left +asleep. The nearest station to Chapel Green was that of Llandwlas, a +minute hamlet hidden amid the springs of the Barbel, a little to the +north of the single line that winds painfully out of Wales between the +dominant masses of the forests of Radnor and Clun. From Wolfpits, +cross-country, this made a five-mile walk. A dripping mist hid the land, +and they saw no soul until they reached the station. There, on the raw, +deserted platform, where the porter had lit a single oil lamp to show +that the day had begun, they waited, walking up and down to keep +themselves warm. They were early, and the only other sign of life was +the yellow square of the stationmaster's bedroom in the adjoining +cottage. Even if daylight had come, the density of the mist would have +given them the same sense of isolation. Little by little the place +became alive: first a float drove up with a couple of milk-cans; next +came a gnomish figure who carried a stick, with dead rabbits slung from +it over his shoulder: then a noisy party of two, whom Abner recognised as +his fellow-witnesses. + +'That's Connor and Atwell come up,' he said. + +'Let's keep at the other end,' Mary whispered, moving away. + +Two more traps arrived, the first containing the Hinds, the second +Badger, alone, and last, the small, energetic figure of George's mother. +All these people, whom a chance blow had precipitated into the same grim +business, stood waiting for the train singly or in isolated groups of +two. A straining of wires was heard, and the fogged, red eye of the +signal changed to green. The stationmaster threw up the shutter of the +booking office with a rattle. Abner found himself wedged in front of the +window between Badger and Mr Hind. Mrs Malpas, fidgeting with her purse, +stood waiting in the background. As Abner rejoined Mary, a sound of +distant panting was heard, and a minute later the front of the engine +loomed enormous through the fog. They entered a third-class smoker at +the end of the train. The milk-cans were rolled over the echoing +platform into the van, and the train moved off with a clank of couplings +and a hiss of white steam. Down through the valleys, mile on mile they +wound. The train rocked on the gradients until it seemed that the +carriages must touch the black edge of the woods. The mist turned white +and dazzling. The sun had risen. + + + + +The Sixteenth Chapter + + +AFTER nightfall on the same evening that train of old-fashioned coaches +came blundering back along the curves of the Llandwlas line. The +snorting of its engine was the only sound, as its yellow windows and +fire-belching funnel were the only light, in all those miles of woodland +and valley. The train ran late as usual, stuttering up the gradients as +though the weight it carried were too much for the power of its groaning +pistons. + +Scattered through the various compartments of its three short coaches sat +all the witnesses of George's condemnation. The jury, having no +alternative, had found him guilty of manslaughter, and the judge, who saw +in front of him a programme of cases more important than this flicker of +violence in a remote agricultural district, wasted no time on his +sentence. If Bastard had not been a policeman, and therefore a humble +symbol of the code which his lordship administered, if the witness Badger +had not been a gamekeeper, which was much the same thing, George might +easily have escaped with a few months' imprisonment, or half a year's at +most. The barrister whom Mrs Malpas had employed for the defence +realised this. The fact that he was most eager to establish seemed to be +that George was not, and had never been, a poacher, and that he was not +on bad terms with the man he had killed. Mrs Malpas, sitting in the +public gallery on the bench in front of Mary, listened eagerly. Her +heart sank as she listened to the evidence, the words that she had heard +before in the police-court at Lesswardine, for she had expected that the +little man in the gray wig who had shaken hands with her an hour before +in consideration of the thirty pounds that she had scraped together to +pay him, would throw some new and startling light upon the case, reducing +Badger to tears and confounding the Lesswardine police. She had expected +thunders and passionate appeals to the mercy of the jury. Instead of +this he spoke in a low voice, with a Jewish lisp, and even cracked a +joke, at which the jury smiled, with one of the witnesses for the +prosecution. The old woman felt that she had been betrayed. Seeking +ideal justice she had found something trivial and cynical. The whole +business was nearly over before she realised that it had begun. The +judge summed up lazily, only pitching his voice when he dwelt upon the +necessity of such men as Bastard to the public safety and the very +existence of property. The jury retired for less than two minutes. The +judge gave sentence of eighteen months' hard labour, and the white face +of George, who had stood like a statue throughout the trial, disappeared +from the dock. When she looked again she saw that another man, who +looked like a tramp, had entered it. People around her began to talk, +for this was a case of real murder, and this mean-looking creature was to +fight for his life. Only then did the old woman realise that George's +case was over. She passed Mary in the door of the gallery and hurried +downstairs, where the counsel whom she had briefed congratulated her on +the issue of the case. While she was engaged with him and with Harley, +the solicitor, Mary passed her and joined Abner on the steps of the +court. Mrs Malpas, in the middle of her conversation, gave them a queer +sidelong glance that filled Mary with uneasiness. + +'I don't think we had better go home together,' she whispered. + +'Come on and get a spot of tea,' he said. 'I reckon you must be clammed, +and there's near an hour before the train goes.' + +It made her flurried and impatient to think that Abner had not understood +her. + +'I don't want you to be with me,' she said. 'She's watching us. Don't +you see?' + +'Let her watch!' said Abner, looking round in a way that made Mrs Malpas +sure that they had been speaking of her. 'Come on . . .' + +But she slipped away from him in the crowd outside the steps so quickly +that he could not very well follow her with dignity. At the same moment +Connor and Atwell appeared and solved his perplexity by dragging him off +into a public-house. Mick gave the ball a kick, as he called it, with a +round of Irish whisky. None of them had tasted any food since they left +their homes before dawn, and the spirit soon went into Abner's head. +They sat in a corner of the bar, laughing uproariously at Mick's +ridiculous stories, and making outrageous plans for getting their own +back on Badger. Indeed, if the clock in the bar had not struck to warn +them of the time, they would have missed their train. They had to hurry +down the steep hill to Shrewsbury station. Lights were gleaming in the +muddy streets and in the windows of tall, half-timbered houses. Above +them hung the threatening mass of the castle. + +'That's where poor old George will get his lodging,' said Mick. + +'This time eighteen month . . .' said Atwell solemnly. + +'Ah, not at all,' said Mick. 'Sure he'll be out and about next winter, +if he plays his game.' + +At the station they found they had still a few minutes to spare, and +Abner's hazy intention of looking for Mary was lost in another rush to +the third-class refreshment-room. Just before the train started he ran +along the carriages to see if he could find her. In one carriage he saw +Mrs Malpas, in another three Lesswardine policemen, in a third Mr Hind +was sitting with Susie, who smiled at him. Mary was nowhere to be seen. +Mick pulled him into a smoker as the train was starting. + +'God help me!' said he, 'is it crazed you are that you can't leave the +woman five minutes to herself. You'll be seeing all you want of her time +her George comes out.' + +Atwell laughed stupidly. Abner jumped up in a rage and was for throwing +Connor through the window. + +'Ah, be quiet now!' Mick persuaded, 'for I don't mane a word of it!' + +Abner settled down sulkily. Atwell had already forgotten the incident +and was snoring in his corner. Mick hummed quietly the song about +Macarthy, spitting through a chink in the window between the verses. The +train jolted on into the darkness, crossing the deep valley of Severn, +skirting the eastern foothills of the Long Mynd, sliding down with braked +engine into the basin of Teme. At Craven Arms a Welsh cattle dealer +joined them, a small, red-bearded man, who eyed them suspiciously and +would not be drawn into talk with Mick Connor. The train climbed +painfully, the air grew colder. Atwell's snores joined with the clanking +of the wheels to set a spell of drowsiness on Abner's fuddled brain. He +fell asleep. + +At Llandwlas Mick woke him. They tumbled out on to the deserted +platform. Mary was nowhere to be seen. She had slipped him again, and +though he was inclined to be angry at this unreasonable conduct he +submitted to Mick's suggestion that they should walk back to Chapel Green +together and get another drink. Two traps passed them on the road, +flinging an uncertain light upon the frosty hedges. From the first of +them Susie called good-night; in the second they could see the helmets of +the police, but no trace either of Mrs Malpas or Mary was to be seen on +the road. + +The sleep had cleared Abner's head. They walked quickly through the raw +air and in a little more than an hour they saw the poplars of Chapel +Green. + +'What about a drop at the Buffalo?' said Mick. + +Even from a distance they could see that this forbidding resort had +become unusually cheerful. It was now the time of evening at which the +labouring men who formed the greater part of Mrs Malpas's customers +finished their quarts and went home to bed. As the three men approached, +many voices were heard. + +'Sounds as if there's a drop stirrin',' said Mick. 'By the houly, an' so +there will be! There's the Pound House, after being closed on them with +Mr Hind and Susan away!' + +He opened the door and a mist of tobacco smoke met the colder air. At +the same moment a tall musical box, shaped like a grandfather clock and +worked by a penny-in-the-slot apparatus, struck up the tune of Champagne +Charlie. In front of it, beating time with a pint pot, dangerously full, +stood Wigan Joe. The man was three-parts drunk, as were most of the +other cloggers who crowded the bar. At his right hand, next the fire, +sat old Mr Malpas, following with anxious eyes the evolutions of the big +man's tankard. The room was so full of smoke and occupied by the jingle +of the musical box that Abner and his friends entered without the clogger +realising that they were there. . . . + +'That's a good rousing tune, lad,' he cried, leaning over Mr Malpas and +beating out the rhythm with his free hand on the old man's shoulder. +'Eh, it's a grand night is this. Makes you feel like you're young again. +Let's have another bloody penn'orth!' Mr Malpas nodded, smiling feebly. + +Fumbling in his pocket for the coin, he became aware of Abner, Mick, and +Atwell. + +'By gum, lads, is that you? Tell us quick what's happened . . .' + +'They give him eighteen months,' said Abner. + +'The b--s!' said Joe under his breath. He took them aside and explained +that he and his mates had thought that old Mr Malpas would be lonely-like +with George in trouble and his missus away. 'We thought we'd stay in and +brighten things up a bit to take his mind off it like. We've had a nice +bit of harmony,' he said. 'Eighteen months! Well, that's a b-- that +is!' + +At this moment the musical box, after one or two metallic protests, +inharmoniously stopped in the middle of its chorus. Joe threw a penny to +the man who sat nearest to it. ''Ere, put in another copper,' he said, +'an' wind the blasted thing oop.' The clockwork grated and the tune +began again. 'Don't say a word to the old 'un,' he said. 'Keep his mind +off it: that's the ticket.' + +With this end in view he left them and poked old Malpas, who had now +relapsed into a state of nodding imbecility, in the ribs. 'Do you see +that there gun, dad?' he shouted. + +Malpas stared vaguely. + +'Gun,' he repeated. 'Don't you go telling me you don't know what a gun +is!' He pointed to an old muzzle loader that hung above the hearth. + +'Oh, ay . . . gun!' said Old Malpas blandly. Wigan Joe bent over him and +began to declaim in his ear an endless, and, as it seemed, pointless +story, of how he had once gone out with a friend to shoot crows; how he +had seen a crow on a haystack on the parish boundary, and how his friend, +after taking careful aim, had missed it. At this point he raised his +voice still louder. 'By gum, lad,' I says, 'you're the first ever I knew +that shot at a haystack and missed a parish!' With the last words he +gave the old man a hearty slap on the back, and Malpas collapsed into a +feeble fit of laughter. + +'Shot at a haystack and missed a parish,' the clogger repeated, roaring +at his own joke, and presenting it to the company, who were now in a +condition to laugh at anything. + +At the same moment the door opened and Mrs Malpas entered. Joe steadied +himself, the others were silent at the sight of her small, tragic figure, +only the musical box continued to jangle out its tune and the old man to +be shaken with equally mechanical chuckles. She did not speak, but took +in the whole assembly with her eyes. + +'Evening, ma'am,' said the clogger. 'We've been giving the old gentleman +a bit of a tune to liven him up like, and make him forget his troubles.' + +Without answering, she stepped straight over to the musical box and +pulled a lever that stopped it. Then she shook the shoulder of her +husband, who had not yet realised her coming. + +'What's up with you, dad?' she cried. 'Are you stark mad?' + +'It's all right, mother,' he replied feebly. + +'Right?' she cried. Then she turned on the others. 'Out of this!' she +said. 'Out of this, every one of you. . . . As if there wasn't enough +shame and sorrow in this house without your mocking it with your drink +and your music. Out of it, I say!' And she waved her arms as though she +were driving cattle. + +'Now don't take on so, ma'am,' said Wigan Joe mildly. 'It was all meant +for the best. Can't you let the man forget his troubles? It's a poor +heart that never rejoices!' + +'Don't speak to me!' she cried angrily. 'To think that you have the face +to come here, you that led him astray with your drink and your bawdiness! +To come and make a mock of his own father!' + +Her eyes fell on Abner, who had risen to go to the door. + +'And that man!' she cried, whipping herself up into a white paroxysm of +rage. 'That man who, if all had their rights, would be in the dock and +in the prison where my son is lying! That's the man he's suffering for! +That's the serpent he took into his bosom!' She stood before Abner +spitting like a snake herself. 'Never let me see your face again!' she +cried. 'Never come nigh this door. It was the devil that sent you to +bring trouble on a good Christian house!' + +Again Wigan Joe protested the innocence of his intentions, while the old +man sat nodding by the fire as if the storm had broken without him +knowing it. + +'Don't talk to me,' she said, 'with the liquor in your breath. Go away +and leave us alone.' + +Abner went out. The other men were standing on the pavement laughing. +Mick implored him to go on with them to the Pound House where Mr Hind and +Susie had by this time presumably arrived, but he shook his head and took +the road to Wolfpits, pondering, through the darkness of night, on the +curious turn which his fortune had taken. + +He had now time to think about Mary, and the unreasonable obstinacy she +had shown in leaving him on the steps of the court and later avoiding him +both at Shrewsbury and Llandwlas. He felt a little concerned that she +should have chosen to walk so many miles cross-country through the dark +rather than submit to his company. After all it would have been only +natural for them to go home together; he had always treated her with +respect, and there was nothing in the history of their acquaintance that +should have made her shy of him, nothing--unless it were perhaps that one +curious moment on the night when they had carried George upstairs between +them and put him to bed. Then he had told her, in George's defence, of +his own intimacy with Susie Hind, and this revelation, instead of putting +her at ease, as it should have done, had actually seemed to embarrass +her. This knowledge, however, gave her no reason for her present +behaviour. Indeed, if she knew him to be so thick with Susie, there was +surely less cause than ever for her to be shy with him herself. He gave +women up--you never knew where you were with them. He supposed that +nothing but fear of Mrs Malpas was at the bottom of Mary's queer +behaviour. 'I don't want you to be with me: she's watching us,' she had +said when she gave him the slip at Shrewsbury. Another memory of Mrs +Malpas returned to him: the end of her outburst at Wolfpits when she had +come in search of her money. 'You and your fancy lodger!' she had +screamed. Abner laughed to himself. It was clear that Mary hadn't much +of a fancy for him at present. + +All the same he couldn't entirely dismiss Mrs Malpas from his thoughts. +She had shown herself definitely hostile to him, and his last vision of +her clearing the bar of the Buffalo, a puny figure with white cheeks, +burning eyes, and nodding plume of jet, showed him her fanatical +strength, stronger for the fact that she regarded herself in her most +violent moments as a representative of the right and the rest of the +world as inspired by the devil. Yet he couldn't get away from the +ludicrous side of her, and found himself chuckling in the dark, 'Poor old +soul' he thought. 'She dain't know what she wants, and that's the +truth!' But Mrs Malpas did know what she wanted. + +Mary had gone to bed when he reached Wolfpits, but she had left his +supper ready on the kitchen table. He ate his bread and cheese and drank +his beer. That night, exhausted with the strain of the day, he slept +heavily. + +So the new life began. If George Malpas, lying in Shrewsbury Jail, +returned, in one of the debauches of sentiment to which his nature was +subject, to the idea of his desolate wife and family, and dwelt on it +with pity or remorse, he might well have spared himself the luxury of +these emotions. There were few changes at Wolfpits. The children knew +that they need no longer expect the violent attentions which George gave +them when he felt like it; Spider, the bitch, settled down to a life +untroubled by George's kicks and stones; while Mary, that strange and +secret creature, was spared at least the alternations of reproaches and +endearments which made up the greater part of her marriage. George had +vanished from her life. For three months at least no word, no sign from +him might reach her. It was true that the family had to live more +simply. Abner's wages, which she now took without question every +Saturday night, could buy them nothing more than the absolute necessities +of life, and, even so, must be spent with care; but it pleased her to +think that she was managing on them and that not one penny went on +frivolous things. + +Abner himself kept back no more than a couple of shillings for tobacco +every week. To drink was out of the question, and it now seemed to him +fortunate that Mr Hind, in a fit of temper, should have warned him off +the Pound House. He now spent most of his evenings at home sitting +before the fire, with Gladys on his knee, and making catapults or other +wooden weapons for Morgan with his knife. Even in so small a household +as theirs there was plenty of rough work that a man could do, not only in +the way of digging and dressing the garden and hewing wood for the fires, +but actually in patching up the crumbled fabric of Wolfpits which, left +to the mercies of rain and frost, would have fallen about their heads. +The sudden intimacy with their neighbours into which George's arrest had +thrown them, continued, and the more Abner detached himself from the life +of the cloggers and of his own mates, the more sufficient did this +isolated communal life of Wolfpits become. It was the most peaceful and +natural that he had ever lived, and he grew to love it for its regularity +and calm. + +The only force that tended to drag him out of this centripetal existence +was Susie. Whatever her father might think of Abner, and however little +he might come to the Pound House, she had no intention of giving up a man +to whom she had taken such a passionate fancy. Of all those with whom +she came in contact in Mainstone, Abner had pleased her best, being more +completely her opposite than any of the others. His fairness, his +strength, and a certain innocence in his composition, had made her choose +him for her own, and even though he found the relation exacting and +occasionally inconvenient, Abner was still under the spell of her +physical attraction. Indeed there seemed to be no fear of this being +exhausted, for their meetings were necessarily rarer and therefore more +enthralling. + +In the regularity of his new life at Wolfpits lurked the obvious +disadvantage that Abner's visits to Susie became conspicuous. Mary knew +better than to question him on his movements--pride, as well as the tact +which she had learned in her experience of George forbade her to do +so--but when Abner returned late at night from these assignations she +would look at him queerly, and a silence and restraint out of which she +could not school herself, made it evident that she resented the mystery. +He wished, indeed, that she would ask him where he had been, for then he +would have been able to put her off with some deliberate lie which she +could believe or reject as she pleased. Anything, he felt, was better +than this uncomfortable chill, this shy curiosity of gaze, this silence. +It was a condition of affairs that he could not stand and made him +anxious, beyond all considerations of prudence, to blurt out his +secret--if secret it were--and dissolve the grudging air of mystery with +which she received him. + +One night when he had come home late and could stand her silence no +longer, he said suddenly:-- + +'Where d'you reckon I've been to-night?' + +'I don't know,' she said. 'I don't want to know.' + +He laughed, and she made a slight gesture of annoyance. + +'I never met a woman yet who didn't want to know where a man had been,' +he said. + +She turned her back on him. 'Will you lock the door and put out the +lamp?' she said coldly. + +'I've been to the Pound House,' he volunteered, watching her all the +time. + +'I should have thought you'd had enough of the Pound House,' she was +tempted to reply bitterly. + +'To see Susie Hind . . .' he continued. + +'Yes?' + +'So now you know, missus.' + +He wished, perversely, that she would turn on him and tell him what she +thought of him. It would have cleared the air. Instead of this she +spoke calmly and almost scornfully. + +'Why did you want to tell me this?' + +'Because a woman's always itching to know.' + +'Do you think I didn't know it already?' Then she repeated her first +words: 'Please lock the door and put the lamp out,' and left him. + +This made things no better. He had wanted to justify himself, or, at any +rate, to brazen the matter out. He wanted to pierce her armour of +reserve, to see her as she was. Whether she were jealous or merely +actively scornful didn't matter as long as she showed herself to be alive +and tangible. He wanted to feel the shock of their two wills, their two +persons clashing without this irritating veil in which she hid herself +intervening. Whether it were love or hate he wanted to feel some +definite contact with her: something comparable with the moment when she +had spoken to him of George's woman at Lesswardine. This she denied him. +It was unreasonable that she should behave in this way to the man on +whose charity, if he put it at the bluntest, she was now living. It +seemed as if she had made the maintenance of this spiritual remoteness +the condition of her dependence on him. He felt, vaguely, that she +wasn't playing the game, and explained her attitude to himself as the +result of her unnatural fear of old Mrs Malpas's tongue. He was tempted, +at times, to throw in his hand, to launch out again, to leave Chapel +Green and let her go her own way. He pretended to himself that his +promise to George, an obligation that went a good deal deeper than +friendship, restrained him; but he knew in his heart that even if he had +not undertaken the care of George's wife he would never have left +Wolfpits. He only wished that her pride, or whatever it was, would let +her be reasonable. + +Susie wasn't like that. With Susie he knew exactly where he was. She +had even, once or twice, shown herself jealous of his devotion to Mary, +and tried to read into it an intimacy which was very far removed from +their real state. She had seen Mary in the police-court and in the +gallery at the assizes, had recognised her beauty and the dignity which +contrasted so deeply with her own abandon. She would ask Abner questions +about her, implying that Mary must be jealous of his visits to Mainstone, +in this way half convincing Abner that it was unnatural for her not to be +jealous, and aggravating his grievance. + +'I suppose she takes your money and then treats you like dirt,' she said +scornfully. And Abner could not be sure that she hadn't described the +situation exactly. + +Christmas came and passed: a meagre Christmas such as their means imposed +upon them. The morning was bright, and Mary took the children to church. +In the evening Mrs Mamble and old Drew joined them, and in their company +the bearing of Mary curiously lightened. She became young and gay, +almost childish. There was laughter in her eyes and her cheeks were +flushed with firelight. The old labourer had brought with him a bottle +of cowslip wine that he had made in the spring, and they sat together +late into the night telling stories of forgotten people and distant +counties. About midnight the others left them, and though her attitude +sensibly changed, a little of the glow was left in Mary's face. + +'Last Christmas,' she said musingly, 'we all went down to the Buffalo in +the evening--George and me and the children.' + +Abner also remembered. He told her of his own Christmas at Hackett's +Cottages, how John Fellows had been in hospital with his broken thigh and +he had been left alone with Alice and little John. Mary leaned forward +and listened to him in the firelight with her soft eyes fixed upon his +face. + +'Was it her you wrote that letter to?' she asked. + +'The one you wanted to post?' + +'I thought I could save you the trouble.' + +He laughed. 'Yes . . . that was her.' + +'How old was she?' + +'Somewhere about the same as you, I reckon.' + +'And two children?' + +'No, only one kid.' + +'How long was he . . . I mean your father . . . in hospital?' + +'Pretty nigh six month.' + +'And you had to keep the house going?' + +'Of course I had. There wasn't nought coming in except his club, and +that bain't nothing to speak on.' + +'Six months . . .' She stared into the fire, and there was a long +silence. 'It's funny, isn't it?' she said at last, without raising her +eyes. 'Funny how things turn out?' + +'Yes, it's a rum go.' + +Then she began slowly to question him about Alice: what was she like, +fair or dark, how tall, the kind of dress she wore--curious details that +he had to search his memory to answer. She seemed to be working out for +herself the obvious parallel, but never looked at him. + +'Why did you leave them?' she said at last. + +By this time is was no longer difficult to talk to her. He told her +continuously the story of his last days at Halesby. She listened +eagerly, putting in from time to time a short question for which he could +see no reason. He told her of John Fellows's bouts of drink, of the way +in which he had set himself to work through his compensation money, of +the day of Dulston Wakes, the boxing booth, the brooch, the moment when +he had come blundering down into the kitchen at Alice's cry for help, the +struggle--and the blow with which he had knocked his father out. He even +told her of the sovereigns that Alice had slipped into his pocket when he +left her. + +'That's what I sent back to her in that letter,' he said. + +'Was that all? It was good of you.' + +He was silent, and she pressed him again. + +'Why didn't you go before?' she said. 'Why did you stay on there till +that happened?' + +'I dunno',' he said. 'I reckon I'd got to see it through. That football +business turned me up.' + +'You wanted to go before?' + +'Yes, I was pretty well sick of it. Any one would have been.' + +She looked at him, and her eyes were now humble. She spoke almost with +diffidence. + +'Abner,' she said, 'if ever you want to go from here for any reason, no +matter what it is, promise me that you'll tell me straight. Don't you +keep it hidden like that, feeling that the children and me are a drag on +you! If you want to go to-morrow, you go. Don't you think of what you +said to George. You don't owe him anything. You don't owe me anything +at all. If ever you feel for one minute you want to go, please tell me +straight. I can look after myself, and I shall understand. That's what +I felt with George. Promise me. . .' She leaned toward him with +clasped, beseeching hands. + +'I'll tell you right enough,' he said awkwardly. 'Don't you fret +yourself about that.' + +She sighed, and pushed her hair back from her forehead. + +'Now I feel easier,' she said. 'How late it is!' + +She wished him good-night, and left him; but he did not move till the +logs collapsed in the grate. He was thinking drowsily of the other +Christmas in Halesby, of the different way in which Alice had approached +him, how she had tried to draw him nearer to her and how he had resisted +her. He thought of the clinging dependence of Alice contrasted with the +strength and independence of this other woman. Poor Alice! She had +never answered his letter or acknowledged his postal order; but then, she +was never one for letter-writing. The suggestion of freedom, the open +way of escape which Mary, in her pride, had shown him, made him feel for +a moment curious about that other life that had seemed so far away. If +he wanted to do so, he reflected, he could throw up his job at a week's +notice and take a train that would transport him in half a day back to +North Bromwich, back to the familiar smoke-pale sky, to the chimney +stacks, the furnaces and the smell of pit mounds. The odour of coal-dust +and slag-heaps was in his nostrils. He saw the packed amphitheatre of +the Albion ground and the white-lined turf within it. He heard the +rumour of a football crowd, the thud of the ball, the referee's whistle. +So utterly remote. . . . He went to the door and opened it before he +turned the key in its wards. He saw nothing but the high blackness of +the winter night, not even a single star. The dank air chilled him; it +crept into the lighted room. + +'It's a rum go . . . a bloody rum go!' he said, yawning. + +With the New Year, Abner's work on the pipe-track became more strenuous, +for much time had been lost in the ten days of snow that fell about the +time of Bastard's death and in the violent floods that followed on the +thaw. A mild January did little to dry the sodden workings, and the task +of shovelling earth was heavier to Abner than his old labours in Mawne +Pit. His mate, Munn, who lodged miserably in a leaky labourer's cottage +on the river-bank at Mainstone, was taken ill with bronchitis, and Abner +worked alone. Up to his ankles in reddish clay he toiled, his hands were +rufous and his trousers caked with it. The burden of the wet earth +weighed on him. It was like a sullen enemy that made his feet leaden and +strained against the muscles of his arms. All the labourers felt it. +Their speech, which had been gay and good-humoured, became dogged and +irritable. Nor were they the only folk who suffered. In every farm of +the sodden Wolfpits valley men were making the same struggle under the +raw and steely sky. Brimming dykes that drained the meadows shone cold +beside the black hedgerows. The Folly Brook, a brown torrent, dammed +with broken branches that gathered leaves and creamy foam, filled the +whole valley with melancholy roaring. Waterfowl, snipe, and mallard and +even slow-winged herons, moved upward to the sodden springs. It was a +sad season in which the solitary workers on the farms, seen at evening in +the fields, looked as if they were stuck fast in mires from which they +could not escape: so slowly they moved, so huddled and pitiful they +seemed. Even on the drive at Wolfpits, where the gravel was reasonably +dry, it was painful to see the bowed figure of old Drew returning at +night, his boots so caked with mud that he could scarcely drag himself +along. It was no wonder that the man found consolation in the sweet, +fiery spirits that he distilled. He sang so loudly at night that Mrs +Mamble would come in and sit with Mary and Abner rather than listen to +his high, cracked voice. + +Toward the end of January the vicar of the parish awoke to the fact that +George Malpas was in prison and his wife presumably destitute. Between +his vicarage and Wolfpits lay the vast bulk of Castel Ditches, so that he +rarely visited the valley in winter. George Malpas, too, was a member of +a dissenting family, his mother being known as a fanatic Methodist; but +the Condovers, in so far as they had ever professed religion, were church +people. Morgan and Gladys had both been baptized in the parish church, +and since scandal informed him that old Mrs Malpas, like the dissenter +that she was, had abandoned her son's family, the vicar sent the parish +relieving officer on a special visit to Wolfpits to see if Mary were +starving. + +It pained and astonished the vicar to learn that she was doing nothing of +the sort. She was not even humble, as a woman in her degrading position +should be. The relieving officer, who had made his long journey to +Wolfpits for nothing, reported that she was not in need of relief, and +for the most shameful of reasons. There was a lodger, a young man +employed on the water-works and known to the police as a desperate +character, who appeared to be filling the absent husband's place. +Malpas's wife had not even made any decent attempt to conceal this state +of affairs. She had confessed brazenly that she was living on this young +man's earnings. To help her in any way would merely be putting a premium +on immorality. The vicar nodded his head gravely. Such cases were all +too frequent in rural districts, and yet it was a relief to feel that his +principles freed him from any further responsibility. He mentioned the +matter with satisfaction to his wife at supper on Sunday. At this meal, +his weekly labours being ended, he always felt that he could speak more +lightly of parish matters. + +The vicar's wife was shocked. 'I always thought her such a superior +young woman, dear. Do have some more beef!' she said. The idea of the +superior and desirable young woman, whom she remembered as the mother of +those two sweet children, living in open sin, obsessed her. It was a +terrible and fascinating picture, and since the usual supply of gossip +failed at the next Lesswardine working party, she dilated, in hushed +tones, on the latest enormity. + +'One feels a thing like that in one's own parish,' she said, speaking, as +usual, as if she, and not the vicar, were the incumbent. 'But I am +afraid nothing can be done.' + +Somebody made a suggestion. The sister of the vicar of +Aston-by-Lesswardine, Mr Cyril Malpas--the name was a curious +coincidence--was shortly to be married to a young engineer, and the vicar +would consequently be in need of a housekeeper. What a providential +escape it would be if this young woman could find a home in Mr Malpas's +vicarage! 'If only Mr Malpas would overlook this terrible state of +affairs and take her,' they added. + +'The only difficulty that I see,' said the vicar's wife, 'is that of the +children.' + +'But the matron at the workhouse is so motherly, and such a religious +woman. Poor little things! It would be a blessing in disguise.' + +Mr Malpas readily consented. His sister Celia, to tell the truth, had +not been very successful as a housekeeper. Her individuality had been +too marked--not to say aggressive--for that position, and a woman who had +her reputation to regain would surely be anxious to please. + +The new arrangement was proposed to Mary. The vicar's wife put the +matter delicately, for she prided herself on her tact. More than ever +she was impressed with the young woman's superiority and the sweetness of +the children. + +'Then I shall tell Mr Malpas that you will be glad to come, Mrs . . . er +. . . Malpas?' + +'I must talk it over with Mr Fellows,' said Mary. + +'Mr Fellows?' + +'My lodger.' + +'Oh . . . yes, I see . . .' said the vicar's wife. That evening Abner +came in tired from a day's work in the rain. His clothes were soaked; +they steamed as he stood before the fire and filled the room with a harsh +odour of wool and sweat. She told him calmly of her visitor and of the +proposal that she had made. She did not say a word of her own +inclinations. + +'What about the kids?' he asked. + +'I couldn't take them with me. They would go to the workhouse.' + +'To hell with the work'us!' said Abner. 'Not likely! What do they take +you for?' + +Mary smiled. She told him what they took her for. + +Abner was seized with rage. 'They're a dirty lot of swine, that's what +they are!' he said. 'By God, I'd like to tell 'em of it!' + +'It's natural,' she said. 'It looks like that.' + +'And what the hell does it matter what it looks like, so long as there +bain't nothing wrong? Old George knows it's all right, and he'm the only +one as matters.' + +She did not answer. + +'An' what's the difference you being here with me or living alone with +that there parson?' + +'He's a clergyman,' she said. + +'A clergyman, is he?' Abner cried. 'A clergyman! I like that!' + +It pleased her, in her heart, to see him so moved. + +'Well, what do you think of it?' she said quietly. 'If you want to go, +like you did before when you were at home, this is your chance.' + +He stood scowling in front of the fire. He couldn't make her out. When +he left the court at Shrewsbury he had set himself to a deliberate line +of conduct and determined to go through with it. When they had spoken of +it before it had seemed to him that he and Mary were agreed on it and +that nothing could change it until George's return. Even now he couldn't +bring himself to believe that she wanted to make a change. He knew her +quiet passion for the children too well to think that anything could +tempt her to abandon them to the care of strangers. Also he knew her +pride. He believed that her pride and nothing else was keeping her from +telling him exactly what she felt. It was useless for her to pretend to +him that she had no feelings. It struck him that she was not playing the +game. When a man and woman were placed in their position anything but +the most complete confidence in each other was unfair. He would force +her to say what she thought. Even if it humbled her he would force her +to speak. + +'It's naught to do with me,' he said. 'If you want to go, you go, and +that's all that matters.' + +She was silent for a long time. + +'If you want to go, you go,' he repeated. + +At last she spoke, very quietly. + +'I don't want to go,' she said. + +A feeling of joy swept over him, a curious, almost physical exultation. +He had brutally broken through the veil in which she hid herself. He had +seen herself at last. Now, with the blood tingling in his fingers, he +would assert himself triumphantly as the man by whose labour she lived. +She could despise him no longer. He wanted to tell her so, to make +himself strong before her, but when he looked at her and saw her +humility, he could do nothing. His words withered on his lips. He +scarcely knew what he was saying. + +'Give us a spot of tea, then,' he said roughly, and she turned from him +without another word. + + + + +The Seventeenth Chapter + + +SHE stayed at Wolfpits. The iron of winter lay heavy on the land. The +hills were leagued with winter to hem them in and isolate them. It was +as though Wolfpits were besieged. For many years there had been no such +winter in the Powys march, and old men who divined portents of weather +from the berries of holly and the conduct of birds, foretold that there +was worse to come. By the end of January the cloggers, as sensitive to +sky-change as any feathered migrants, had struck their tents in the +Wolfpits valley, leaving half their harvest of alder ungathered, and set +off north for Lancashire where, in a country parched with fire and warmed +with millions of huddled houses, they might finish the shaping of their +wood for market. In any case they had stayed in the country later than +usual, and when old Mrs Malpas, shocked by Wigan Joe's attempts to put +life into her husband, bundled them out of their lodging at the Buffalo, +they had no choice but to go, for the tenting that flapped miserably by +the banks of the Folly Brook was no shelter for men in that bitter +weather. + +'We'll be back to hear the cuckoo, lad,' said Wigan Joe. 'You'll none +get rid of bad pennies like uz.' And Abner, walking down the valley to +work, heard no longer the echoing of their axes nor the crack of rending +wood. Where the trim piles of billets had stood covered in tarpaulin he +now saw nothing but squares of withered grass, and charred circles where +they had made their fires among the birches by the river. Their +departure made Wolfpits seem more distant and desolate than ever. Little +by little the constriction of winter was crushing all life out of the +valley. Only Wolfpits was alive, and it seemed a miracle that even +Wolfpits should live. + +For a few days at the latter end of February there came a mockery of +sunshine, sad, like the suns of autumn. Abner sang as he walked down the +valley; the labourers sang at their work. In a moment, such is the +indomitable hope of living things, the birds broke their silence, the +purple hedges were flushed, the bare twigs of hazel trembled as though +they would shake their pale catkins out; one could feel the sap of life +secretly stirring. But on the third day March came in howling like a +lion with a dry wind from the northwest, sweeping brown leaves along, and +the branches of the trees that bowed before it rattled dryly like dead +bones. Once more the floods arose and drowned the land, and there was no +more thought of spring. + +Through all this season the excavations under Callow Hill went on, and +this was fortunate for Mary and her children, since Abner's wages came in +steadily through many weeks when snow and flood made it impossible for +men to work on the farms. Sometimes old Drew would be weatherbound at +Wolfpits for two days at a time, and this was a misery to him, for he had +no life but his work, and his employer knew better than to pay him for +anything less than he performed. On these days he would shut himself up +in his rooms leading the life of a hibernating animal, lighting no fire +and cooking no food, simply lying wrapped up in the blankets on his bed +with door and windows closed against the cold. At night he would drink +himself warm with his turnip-wine, and keep Mrs Mamble awake by singing. + +Fair or foul, the work of the pipe-track never slackened, and Mary was +kept busy scraping the caked mud from Abner's clothes. The rain ceased +and the floods fell. There followed a hushed season in which the note of +the chiff-chaff was heard sounding faintly, timorously. The trees +whispered together in the night. The valley was silent, and yet, beneath +the silence, one felt a secret battle of blind forces. Moment by moment, +cell by cell, the creatures of earth were breaking free from the heavy +lethargy that had sealed them. Even in the dull members of men the slow +flame quickened, the numb fibres stirred. As yet on the surface of the +earth few changes might be seen. Over the fields flights of peewits +wheeled and screamed, with flapping, tumbling wings. Only the bloom of +purple on the hedgerows flushed to a warmer brown, only tassels of +elm-blossom in bud softened the stark outline of their branches: only, on +the fringe of the woodland, the green of dog-mercury appeared. + +Then, with a sudden fervour unknown in more temperate climes, spring +came. The sloes were sprayed with light; the hue of hawthorn twigs +paled; in the space of a single week the whole earth broke in a green +flame. Nor was it only green things that were born. White lambs +appeared as by magic in the fields, seeming as little dependent on the +agency of men as the white daisies. At evening, when Abner came home +from work, they leapt into the air and twisted their heads sideways in +the leap. The valley was full of tender bleatings. He laughed at them, +striding homewards. His mates laughed and whistled at their work. Even +the sad, disfigured face of Munn grew blandly, childishly happy. + +Gladys and Morgan knew that spring had come--indeed they had known of its +coming long before Abner suspected it. They made great plans to go out +into the fields with Spider and see the lambs at play; they cried when +bedtime came, for very excess of life. 'But it ban't dark, mam,' they +said, coaxing Mary to let them play a little longer. She could not +refuse them, for she herself loved to sit sewing in the doorway, hearing +their voices echoed from the warming walls of the house while the +swallows darted to and fro under the eaves above her. She would sit +there talking lazily to old Drew, who now began to be busy with his +garden. When she inquired how his rheumatism was, he would straighten +his back with a smile, and tell her that he felt like a man of thirty. +When rain came he would stand on his step gazing at the garden fondly, as +though he expected to see his seeds pushing above the finely-tilled soil. + +During all these days they heard nothing of George. The three months of +silence that the law imposes on a prisoner in jail were now over. Mick +Connor, that specialist in all the details of a criminal's life, informed +Abner that when this time was over, the convict was usually allowed the +privilege of writing one letter a month, and, if his conduct were good +enough, he might even receive one visitor of his choice. But no letter +came to Wolfpits. One day at his work Abner overheard a conversation +between two of his mates from which he gathered that Mrs Malpas had made +a journey to Shrewsbury and seen her son. 'He's looking up fine, by all +accounts,' said one of them, 'and the old woman's pleased as anything he +hasn't sent for his missus.' + +Abner experienced a sudden feeling of anger for Mary's sake. He felt the +slight almost as much as if it had been pointed against himself; but on +the way home he decided that it would be better not to tell her. +Probably she imagined that a prisoner was shut off from all communication +with the outer world for the term of his sentence; and, if this were so, +it was better that she should remain in ignorance. Who would be George's +next visitor? The woman from Lesswardine? + +A drowsiness fell on the valley, a deep drowsiness of growth and heavy +green. Cuckoos began to call at dawn: even in the heat of the day they +called, flying from hedge to hedge. The monotony of their song lulled +the valley to sleep. Twilights lengthened. Abner was now so settled in +his life at Wolfpits that his friends would come up and see him there, +sitting in the garden through the evening, talking to him and playing +with the children. Munn, who had never yet shaken himself free from the +toils of his unhappy childhood, came shyly, and was self-conscious in +their company, particularly when Mary joined them; but Mick Connor, who +had never been shy in his life and loved children, as most Irishmen do, +made his visit to Wolfpits almost a daily custom. In this happy, languid +season, he had no more serious business in hand. He even viewed Badger +indulgently. Badger might shoot as many foxes, might hatch, rear, and +put down as many young pheasants in the woods as he liked--the more the +better! For the present Mick was content to take his ease. + +Mary liked him . . . she couldn't help liking him, for he made her laugh, +and was so kind to the children. Morgan, in particular, looked forward +to Mick's coming, for his young animal instinct had discovered that the +poacher's pocket in the skirts of the Irishman's coat sometimes contained +bananas, a fruit to which Morgan would devote himself to the degree of +suffering. Mick could never make Gladys forsake her Abner's knee for +his; but Morgan's stomach always got the better of filial love when his +new friend appeared. + +'Is there aught in your pocket, Mis'r Connor, to-night?' he would say +coaxingly. + +'Morgan, you mustn't be rude!' Mary would protest. + +'Mayn't I ask him, mam?' + +Mick would wink at him: 'And how would I know what's in there? Come and +be looking, for yourself.' He would take Morgan up on his knee and then, +half awed by warnings that something might bite him, the child would slip +his hand into the deep pocket and pull out the fruit with a chuckle of +delight. + +'Mr Connor spoils you, and that's the truth!' Mary would reply. + +Sometimes the pocket was empty, and at such times Mick was put to an +elaborate explanation of what had happened, embracing the origin of this +mysterious fruit. + +'Wait an' I'll tell you,' he said. 'Last night, when I looked in my box +where the leprechaun puts it, there was a beautiful lot of fruit there. +Oranges and grapes and apples and the rest, more'n I could lift in the +both of my hands.' + +'Not any bananas?' Morgan asked anxiously. + +'Bananners? Ah, don't be talkun! Three beautiful bunches of them fresh +from the tree, with the juice runnun' out of the stalks of them, they was +that ripe. "So," says I, "I'll put them all in my pocket, I will, and go +out and ate one or two of them." His voice sank to an awed, confidential +level. 'So, when I was after leaving Mainstone, and got out on the +turnpike, I walked quick along the cemetery wall, for you never know what +you mightn't see in a place the likes of that. An' then I heard a sound +of wheels behind me and the hoofs of horses trottun' up to the corner. +An' I thought, "Who would be driving after me at that time of night, an' +not a star showun'. Houly saints, I thought, what can it be?"' + +'I know what it was,' said Morgan grimly, for he had heard of this +adventure before. + +'Is that a fact?' said Mick, with impressive surprise. + +'It was the dead-coach, mam,' said Morgan in a whisper. + +'And so it was,' replied Mick, slapping his thigh. 'The dead-coach--and +on the box of ut two men in long black coats with the faces blacked on +them and hair like our ass. When they see me they pulls up sudden, and +these black pair jumps off of the box and takes hould on me and puts +their hands in my pocket, the way my shirt stuck to my back for fright, +and stole all the fruit on me and drove off without a word.' + +The sensation of this adventure was almost enough to compensate Morgan +for the loss of his fruit. It was Morgan's favourite story. But Gladys +was Abner's girl, and would rather sit on his knee listening with wide +eyes. On Abner's knee she felt quite safe. + +Sometimes Abner, Mick, and the two children would leave Mary busy with +her sewing and walk down together to the bridge over the Folly Brook, or +to the meadows where thickets of hazel and shy companies of birches stood +along the stream. Mick always carried a catapult with him. Ever since +his boyhood he had been a deadly shot with this weapon, and could 'knock +the head off of a wran,' as he put it, at a range of thirty yards. He +made Morgan a catapult with which the child blackened his thumb-nails, +and carried in his pocket small round pebbles that he picked from the bed +of the stream, now shrunken to a thread of gin-clear water. + +Although he could never resist killing birds when he had the chance, Mick +loved every feather on them, and indeed he knew them well: their +nestings, their flight, their song, and their quick cries of alarm. He +showed Morgan all the birds of that mountain valley: the tree pipits that +sprang upward like a stone tossed into the air and then planed downwards +with spread tails twittering like mechanical toys: the sandpipers that +called plaintively from spits of sand: the black dippers that fled +upstream under the arching alders; the water-ouzel that made in echoing, +stony combes a noise that he imitated by tapping two pebbles together: +the redstarts that fluttered their bright tails near the walls in whose +crevices they nested. And they would stand still, this little group of +four, listening to the warble of the blackcap safely hidden in +impenetrable thickets, or lift their heads, under the high shade of +larches to hear the hissing note of the wood-wren, coming home tired in +the twilight, the children's hands hot with the green smell of moth-like +cuckoo-flowers that they had gathered in the meadows. + +While the light faded the two men would smoke their pipes on the bridge, +where the big black trout that inhabited the pool hung gorged with mayfly +and held the stream with faintly quivering fins. Mick loved to watch +them quietly, telling, in his slow, hypnotic tones, of the great cannibal +trout of the Barrow, so strong that they could pull a child into the +water after them. When they turned to go home Morgan would beg to shoot +at the trout with his catapult. He never hit one, but when the stone +reached the water they could see the dark streaks of the fishes vanishing +under the shadows of the bridge. + +Often Mick would talk of great days in Ireland, the days of country +race-meetings and fairs, and round these events also a legend arose. +When Morgan was shooting with his catapult the Irishman would encourage +him with the patter of the man who kept a shooting gallery, reeling off +long strings of words that meant nothing to the child, and standing up +with bright eyes and flushed cheeks as though the hum of the fair were +still in his ears. + +'Now then, walk up, walk up. . . . Fire, my rattler, fire! Six more +shots a penny! Right through the hardware shop--and very near winning +the silver cane! Fire, my bold American, fire. Pass along to the next +caravan: your halfpenny is no more!' + +He told them of the maggie-man, a live Aunt Sally, who stood up in his +tub with tangled hair and fierce beard warding off the flights of sticks +that were hurled at his head, and of that great mystery, the Live Lion +Stuffed with Straw. Morgan drank it all in eagerly. + +'Why bain't there no fairs in these parts?' he said. + +In a weak moment his mother told him that there were fairs in Shropshire, +and above all, the great fair of Brampton Bryan, held every year in June. +She told him how her father had taken her there many years ago, when she +was a little girl, and how she had eaten the cakes which are made on +purpose for this festival. 'Bron cakes, they call them,' she said. + +The fact that eating was added to these other delights inflamed Morgan's +imagination. + +'Will they have Bron cakes this time?' he asked. + +'Of course they will. They always have Bron cakes.' + +'Can't we go, mam?' + +'It's a long way away,' she told him. + +'But granfer took _you_ . . .' + +'Granfer had a horse and trap.' + +'Grandma Malpas has a pony,' Morgan persisted. + +'Some day, when you're a big boy, you shall go,' said Mary. + +The subject dropped from their conversation, but not from Morgan's mind. +The child knew better than to pester his mother about it, but as the time +of the fair grew nearer, he talked to every one else that he met, to +Mick, to Abner, to Mrs Mamble, and even to old Drew. The thought of Bron +Fair obsessed him and even found its way into his dreams. The week +before the event he became so persistent and showed so keen a +disappointment at the thought of missing it, that Abner began to take him +seriously. + +'Why shouldn't we take 'em along?' he said to Mary, when the children +were in bed. + +'It's too far away,' she said. 'Much too far.' + +'It's not that far over the hills. Some of our chaps is going to walk +there.' + +'You can't drag children up hill and down dale.' + +'Well, there's the train from Llandwlas.' + +She shook her head. 'You can't get back the same day,' she said. + +'You could put in the night at Redlake. There's a station there.' + +She said nothing. 'It's a shame to disappoint them,' he added. + +Her interest in the children's happiness was her weak point, and in the +end Abner had his way. He settled with the Gunner that he should leave +work early on the Thursday afternoon and return on Saturday morning. He +met Mary and the children on the platform at Llandwlas in the afternoon. +Morgan had never travelled in a train before, and stood excitedly at the +window, next to his mother. Gladys sat quietly by the side of Abner, who +carried the brown paper parcel in which their clothes and provisions were +packed. He was not quite comfortable, for it seemed to him even now that +Mary had undertaken the expedition under protest. This was unreasonable, +for he had enough money to carry them through, and it was no use going on +an expedition like this unless she were determined to enjoy it. But Mary +was thinking of her last journey from Llandwlas in the morning train to +Shrewsbury. Perhaps she was thinking also of George. + +A fit of train-sickness put a stop to Morgan's enthusiasms for a time. +In the cool of the evening they reached the station of Redlake, a small +village which stands on a little river that is a torrent in winter but in +summer no more than a trickle of water. From there a road, hung with +heavy trees, runs straight to Brampton Bryan, three or four miles away. +The train was crowded, and as they approached Redlake Mary grew uneasy, +for she guessed that most of the travellers were bound for the same place +and with the same purpose and began to wonder if they could find a +lodging in so small a village. She whispered her fears to Abner, and +they hurried from the station into the sloping street. The first inn +that they came to was already full. + +'You might get a room at the Harley Arms, if you're quick,' a flustered +landlord told them. They went straight on. Abner walked too quickly for +them, and Mary almost had to run, dragging the children behind her. At +the Harley Arms a fat woman eyed them suspiciously. + +'It's the worst day of the whole year,' she said. 'I don't see how I can +do it. If you'd come in by the next train you wouldn't have found a bed +in the whole of Redlake.' + +'You can't turn the children out,' said Abner. 'The little boy's been +sick in the train.' + +Morgan's face was still patched yellow and white at the corners of the +mouth. The landlady, against all her intentions, softened. 'Poor little +soul!' she said. She tied another knot in the string of the blue striped +apron that she wore, as though her hands must be doing something to +contribute to the general atmosphere of haste and flurry. 'Poor little +soul! Well, now, what can I do? What with the pies and one thing and +another! The only thing I can do is to put the man in the front room +along with Mr Prowse at the back; but I must say I don't like disturbing +Mr Prowse, the number of fairs he's been with me. Comes regular, he does +. . . you can look for him like the swallows. Still, he's a nice man: a +very nice man, and if I told him all about it I don't think he'd stand in +your way. Come along, my dear!' + +The last words were addressed to Mary, whose hand Morgan was clutching +convulsively as though he still felt the train swinging under his feet. +They all entered a room on the left of the doorway. In it were two long +tables spread with coarse linen cloths of a gleaming whiteness and laden +with a series of boiled hams crisped with golden bread-crumbs, and +gigantic pies whose crusts were of the same rich hue. Loaves of white +bread stood between them, and at the head of each table a leaning tower +of plates. At the other end of the room a barrel of cider had been +propped upon two bottle-boxes. + +Even Morgan's revolted stomach could not resist the inspiration of seeing +so much food. In a hushed voice he asked Mary what was inside the pies. + +'Inside of them, my love?' cooed the landlady. 'There's bunny rabbits +inside of them, and lovely pieces of bacon in a jelly that would stand by +itself. You'll see what's inside of them soon!' She laughed happily and +then, tying another knot in her apron-string, explained to Mary that the +rabbit pies of the Harley Arms were an institution on the eve of Bron +Fair. 'We used to make as many as thirty of them,' she said, 'but the +fair's not what it was in those days. Still, they must have their pies. +They'd drop down dead if they came into the room and never see them! +There they are, waiting ready for them: pies and ham and bread and cider, +and they helps themselves. We're too busy to look after them. They +takes what they want, and pays the same whether its much or little. +That's the custom, you see.' + +By this time the concentration of rich smells had overcome Morgan's +interest. 'I want to lie down, mam,' he said, and Mary stopped the +landlady in a flood of reminiscence to inquire again about their room +before disaster came. + +'Well, now,' she said in a more kindly, mysterious voice. 'I'll tell you +what do. I'll put you in Mr Prowse's room without asking him. That's +the best way. If you're there, you're there, and that's the end of it. +You can put the little girl on the sofa and the little boy can sleep in +between the two of you. 'Tis a fine, old-fashioned bed. A family bed, +as the saying is.' + +Abner saw Mary go red. He came quickly to the rescue. + +'We're not man and wife, missus,' he said. + +'What! You're not a married couple? That's different altogether,' said +the landlady, her tone hardening. + +'This young man only came along with me to help me with the children,' +Mary explained. + +'I've kept this place respectable all my life, and I don't intend to +start anything different,' said the landlady severely. 'I think you'd +better look somewhere else.' + +Mary, half shocked, half frightened, would have taken the children away +at once. 'Come along, Abner,' she said. But Abner would not be beaten. + +'Look here, missus,' he said to the landlady. 'If we wasn't respectable, +we could have took you in, and you been none the wiser. I'm here looking +after this young woman. There's nothing else between us. If there was I +should have codded you we was married.' + +'Don't, Abner!' said Mary. + +The landlady looked from one to the other of this strange couple. Morgan +began to whimper, and the sight of the child's tiredness melted her +heart. + +'You'd better come on upstairs,' she said to Mary, and then, with a +defiant glance at Abner: 'But the young man will have to look out for +himself. There's no bed here I can give him. My husband and the boys'll +have to sleep in the loft as it is. I oughtn't to take you in, by +rights, and that's the truth.' + +'Never you mind me,' said Abner. 'It won't hurt me to sleep rough.' + +She took Mary and the children upstairs. Abner stayed on in the long +room alone, listening to the busy clatter of the house. The landlord, +his sons, and a couple of village girls, who had been brought in to deal +with the rush of business, went running up and down stairs and stone +passages and in and out of the bar as quickly and apparently as aimlessly +as the inhabitants of a disturbed ants' nest. The sun dipped behind the +mountains. A train arrived from the north, then another from the south, +and each time the street was flooded with a crowd of excitable men +knocking at door after door in search of lodging for the night. Abner +heard the landlord in the bar refusing them one after another. With the +second train arrived the important Mr Prowse, a tall, lumbering man in +cord breeches and black leggings covered with the red dust of the Black +Mountain, from the slopes of which he came. He wore a close red beard, +and spoke in a high sing-song, for part of his mountain pasturage was in +Wales. He had already drunk too freely at the Craven Arms station buffet +to be much worried by the idea of a sleeping companion. + +'What is it you're after this fair, Mr Prowse?' asked the landlord. + +'Draught horses,' said the farmer. 'They're very scarce down our way, +and a price that would frighten you.' + +'Then you and me are going to have a field day, Mr Prowse,' said a fat, +asthmatical Cardiff Jew, who had just arrived in the doorway. + +'Ah, Mr Myers, how is it then?' said the farmer. 'Mr May says he's put +you and me to sleep in the same room. There's a young woman in the +front.' + +'A young woman?' growled Myers. 'What's a young woman doing here at this +time?' + +'The more of them the better!' said the farmer, with a laugh. + +'No. . . . I've got over all that,' said the Jew, shaking his head. + +'Now, what are you two gentlemen taking with me?' asked the landlord. + +They all settled down to talk about horses. Abner was getting more and +more hungry and wondering when Mary would come downstairs. The sight of +that magnificent array of food whetted his appetite, but he did not want +to be the first to begin. He drew himself a mug of cider from the cask: +a dry, half bitter product of the Hereford orchards. He drank a pint of +it, and the alcohol, taken on an empty stomach, made him happy and +confident. He no longer felt uneasy that Mary was so long away. + +Now he had not long to wait for his supper, for Prowse and Myers came in +from the bar, and in a few moments other men arrived. They all carved +for themselves huge segments of pie and rich slices of ham with knives +that were whetted thin with use. Abner took his place among them. +Nobody spoke to him, for he seemed to be the only stranger in the +company. Many of them had not seen their friends for a whole year, since +their last meeting in the same place. Twilight came, and the lamps were +lit. The buyers sat on talking and drinking at the tables, running with +one accord to door or window when the hoofs of some horse that had been +brought to the fair for sale were heard trotting down the road. + +'Jenkins wants to sell that there cob to-night rather than take him to +Bron,' said Myers. + +'Never buy a horse you don't see by daylight,' Prowse replied, shaking +his clay pipe to mark the words. + +'I don't,' said Myers, with a wink. 'I heard a fellow from Brum offer +him forty, and he's a fool if he don't take it.' + +'There's high prices going this fair,' said Prowse. 'There's a great +scarcity down our way. Jenkins is a chap as knows his business.' + +'And so do I,' said the Jew. 'So do I.' + +Abner, mildly exalted, walked out into the moonlit street. At the +cottage doors and down by the bridge little groups of men in breeches and +leggings stood talking together with low voices. From time to time the +clatter of approaching hoofs was heard and the men stopped to listen. +The village was full of a strange sense of expectancy. Abner wandered +over the bridge and a little way upstream. In the hush of the night he +heard a girl laughing. The sound disturbed him. He thought suddenly of +Susie. The excitement of drink and a full stomach turned his thoughts in +the direction of physical desire. He stopped and listened for the girl's +voice again, and wondered what man was with her. + +He walked back irritably into the village. An old man was putting out +the oil lamps that gave a feeble light to the street. What was he, +Abner, doing without a woman, when the village was full of them? He +looked up at the front room of the inn where Mary and the children were +sleeping. It filled him with an unreasoning annoyance to think of her +sleeping calmly there. She was treating him ridiculously, without +confidence. Why hadn't she come down into the room for supper as soon as +she had put the children to sleep? Just because the landlady had shocked +her by suggesting that they should sleep together, he supposed, and, by +God, it might have put some sense into her if they had done so. He +laughed. He hadn't thought of Mary in that light before; but in this +curious state to which the liquor, the moonlight, and that light voice +heard in the darkness had excited him, he felt that he had been a fool +not to make love to Mary. If once he had treated her that way and she +had accepted him, there would be an end of her airs and graces. George . +. .? Well, George's own life didn't exact a high degree of fidelity from +his wife. + +So, like a hungry animal, Abner prowled beneath the inn windows. The +panes of that which belonged to Mary's bedroom shone blankly in the moon +through twigs of white jessamine. In the bar, Mr Prowse, now very drunk, +was declaiming staccato judgments on the value of basic slag. Abner +would have joined them and got drunk if he had any money to spend, but +the small sum that he had saved for the occasion would do no more than +pay for their lodging and their return fares to Llandwlas. The moonlight +seemed to cool the air. Even the smell of jessamine grew fainter in the +cold. It was no good standing there any longer, and so he found a +sleeping place on some straw in the loft above the stable, and settled +down as well as he could, listening to the steady grinding of the horses' +jaws and the snatching noise that they made as they pulled out hay from +the racks above their mangers. + +Mary slept badly. Earlier in the evening, when Morgan and Gladys had +fallen asleep, she had caught the landlady on the stairs and begged that +her supper might be brought to her in her bedroom. There she had +devoured a solitary plate of the famous rabbit-pie, but hearing below her +the sound of many men's voices and still dreading to be mistaken for +Abner's wife, she had not dared to go downstairs and find him. Instead +of thinking any more about it she decided to go to bed, creeping gently +under the sheets for fear of disturbing the children. But she could not +sleep. The bedroom was immediately over the room in which supper was +served, and she could not hear so many voices buzzing beneath her without +wanting to catch what they were saying. As the evening wore on the house +grew noisier. It seemed as if they would never go to bed; and when, at +last, the noise ceased and she had nearly fallen asleep, the moonlight, +beating in through the muslin-curtained window, awoke Morgan. He said +that he was thirsty, and after much groping, she gave him water from the +ewer on the washhand-stand. Thus awakened from the sleep that followed +his train-sickness, the excitement of his strange surroundings kept him +going for a couple of hours of questions about the fair. + +'Why bain't Abner up here?' he said at last. + +This was more than she could explain. 'If you don't keep quiet, my son,' +she said, 'I shall take you right out and give you to Abner for the +night. Then you'll cry to come back to your mother. You're a little +nuisance, that's what you are!' + +She tucked him away and huddled him against her breast away from the +moonlight, and so, at length, he fell asleep. + +Next morning, Abner, who had slept well, was early astir, but no earlier, +it seemed, than the rest of the world. In the yard below him the owner +of the stabled horses was up and grooming them. He asked Abner to give +him a hand and offered him a shilling for his trouble. 'I reckon they'm +going to make wonnerful prices to-day,' he said. An opaline sky, covered +with the faintest veil of mist, promised a hot morning. + +The landlord of the Harley Arms had not yet risen, but the girls were +sweeping the passage and setting the table for breakfast in the long +room, and his wife was watching them with sleepy eyes, while she sipped a +cup of tea. Abner joined her, paid the bill for the night, five +shillings, and took some tea with bread and butter to the door of Mary's +room. He knocked and called to her, and she answered in a voice that +seemed alarmed by his nearness. + +'I bain't going to eat you _nor_ the children,' he said. 'It's going to +be a fine day. How long do you want to keep us waiting?' + +She assured him timidly that they wouldn't be long, and by half-past nine +they had become part of the stream of traffic flowing along the road from +Redlake to Brampton Bryan, raising clouds of hot dust under the heavy +green of the trees. + +'I don't think the sun will come through, after all,' said Mary +regretfully, though the sight of the horses sweating on the road should +have told her that this was fortunate. They walked slowly along the edge +of the white highway, Mary anxiously pulling in the children to her side +when swift traps or single horses, southward bound, came past them. It +seemed to her that so great a collection of strong, spirited animals, +which snorted and sniffed the air excited by the presence of strangers of +their kind, was dangerous. What would happen to Morgan and Gladys if +some sudden noise or infectious fear threw them into a stampede? All the +way along the road she was looking anxiously ahead for the next gateway +or gap in the hedge, planning ways of escape. + +The children loitered, and it was nearly noon when they reached the +outskirts of Brampton Bryan. The sky was still white. Mist lay cold on +the hills, but the plain grew suffocating. At this point, where the +traffic began to feel the backward pressure of the congested village, +matters were complicated by an actual constriction of the road. Horses +and traps were crowded together in a block, and the men who drove them +looked serious and impatient. There was scarcely room along the side of +the road for them to pass. + +'Come on,' said Abner. 'What are you waiting for?' + +'Can't we wait here till they move on?' said Mary, gathering the children +closer to her. If she could have done so without encountering other +advancing dangers she would have turned back. She hated this narrow, +twisting neck of roadway. + +They waited, leaning up against an iron fence, breathing the hot smell of +the horses. Other people on foot passed them in a steady stream. Among +these Abner saw the farmer from the Black Mountain and his friend the +lethargic Jew. They appeared to be talking together, and thinking of +nothing else, but their eyes were wide open, and when they saw a likely +animal they would stop and ask the driver about prices or stoop and run +their hands along the horse's slender legs. They did not notice Abner +with Mary and the children in the hedge. The block of vehicles moved on +a little and was checked. The movement, slight as it was, infected the +animals with restlessness. They snorted, and champed their bits; they +danced with springing fetlocks and necks arched to the tightened reins. +Mary pressed closer to the iron railings. She felt that she was foolish +to be scared, and yet it irritated her to see the unconcern of Abner. +What was his strength compared with the violence of horses? Again the +block moved on. + +'We can't wait here all day,' he said; but she only shook her head. + +A strange cart pulled up opposite to them, drawn by a spiritless pony and +bearing a black tin plate with the words: Hughes, Brecon, painted on it +in a scrawl of white. A gipsy drove it, and behind, on the tilted +cart-tail sat a withered, dirty woman and a girl of fifteen with a +beautiful dark face and long, black hair, which the old woman was +carefully and necessarily combing. To the tail of the cart a cowed and +mangy mongrel of the greyhound breed was tied with a strand of rope. The +eyes of the girl were dark and wild as those of an animal, and she stared +insolently at Abner, half-smiling, attracted, no doubt, by the contrast +of his fair strength. For some strange reason Mary felt that the girl's +glance hurt her. 'She's smiling at you. Don't look at her, Abner!' she +whispered. 'How dirty she is!' The whisper disturbed the old woman, who +ceased her hairdressing, wiped the comb on her apron and smiled across at +Mary. She had no teeth but a single yellow tusk in the middle of her +lower jaw. She leaned over the edge of the cart and held out her hand +toward them. + +'Shall the old woman tell your fortune, my pretty dear?' she whined. +'You and your lovely children and your husband? A fine upstanding man, +my dear, if ever there was one. Cross the old woman's hand with a bit of +silver and she'll tell you the future as it's written!' + +Mary looked away. The gipsy girl continued to stare at Abner. + +'Ah, don't you want to know the happiness that's coming?' the old woman +went on, with her hand outstretched. 'I tell you that's worth more to +you than a piece of silver. All that lays before you, my pretty dear. . +.' + +Mary clutched at Abner's arm. 'Don't look at her! She's staring at you! +I think we'd better go on,' she whispered. But a cart had pulled in to +the side in front of them, and they could not move. The old woman +continued to pester them with her whinings. When she saw that no silver +would cross her palm she changed her tone. She leaned further out of her +cart, speaking now of ill-fortune rather than good, gratuitously +prophesying evil, and a near evil at that. Abner bandied words with her +and laughed, but Mary felt her heart sinking within her. From more +maledictions they were saved by a sudden forward movement of the block. +The cart started with a jerk which pulled the mongrel who had been biting +at fleas on its belly, to its feet. The girl gave Abner a final, dark +smile; the old woman spat in Mary's direction. + +'Come on,' said Abner, 'now's your chance!' + +But Mary could not move. In some way the encounter had destroyed her +nerve. 'Let's wait till it's clearer!' she pleaded. + +A drove of mountain ponies that the gipsies had driven down to the fair +from some heathery upland of Montgomery or Clun, followed them. They +were small, shaggy, and very wild. They stamped and snorted, then +huddled together anxiously in a bunch, sniffing the air with distended +nostrils. The sense of being herded together between the hedge and the +iron railings made them tremble with fright, and Mary was no less +frightened than they. Her anxiety spread to the children, and for the +first time since they had left Redlake Morgan forgot his cakes. He began +to whimper. + +'They're all right,' said Abner. 'Don't you take no notice of them.' + +A little black stallion, the last of the herd, suddenly took fright. He +made a dash for the hedge on the opposite side, but the blackthorn was +too high for him and he stood quivering half-way up the bank. A heavy +loutish man, of Atwell's build, who seemed a giant beside the little +animal, climbed up and took hold of it by the ear. It gave a sudden +convulsive movement, and in a moment the man and the horse were fighting +together. The animal pulled him to the ground and for a moment they +struggled in the dust. Then another man sat on its head and put a snitch +on its muzzle. They jumped aside and the pony leapt to its feet. It +stood trembling and screamed with pain. The big man, panting and dusty, +held the rope of which the snitch was made. A bitter fight followed, the +pony rushing wildly from side to side with fierce, terrible screams, the +man holding on grimly yet barely keeping his feet. The other gipsies +drove on the rest of the herd, and those who came behind ran forward to +watch the duel, with cries of encouragement now to the man, now to the +beast. It was a horrible sight, at which Mary did not dare to look, +though Abner enjoyed it. To and fro the panting animal plunged. It +rolled on the ground, leapt in the air, with fierce snortings and shrill +cries. Its eyes were bright with rage. At last it stood stock still in +the middle of the road and would not move. The man who had sat on its +head approached it with a halter. Still it stood its ground, trembling +violently, shaken with angry snorts, foaming. It seemed that the fight +was over and the wild spirit conquered, but before he could slip the +halter on its head the animal had taken another violent leap. Abner saw +its body hurling through the air and threw himself in front of Mary and +the children. He went over with the stallion on the top of him, hearing +Mary's cry. The iron railings were bent back, and Mary was holding +Gladys in her arms. The shouts of the crowd rang in Abner's ears: 'Her's +dead! They've no business to drive 'em on a public road! Savage they +are! Poor little thing! These bloody gipsies! That chap did his best . +. .' + +Two men were now holding the pony, and the big fellow was bending over +Mary and the ghastly face of the child. Abner pushed him aside. 'She's +all right . . . she's all right!' said Mary. Gladys was crying in +shrill, frightened gasps. + +'My leg, mam, oh, my leg!' she wailed. + +'Try to move your toes, love,' a woman said. 'If she can move her toes +the bone's not broken.' + +A dozen others clustered round with various advice, while the men stood +staring stupidly with pained eyes. Mary was hiding the child's face in +her bosom. Morgan clung crying to her skirts. Her face was terribly +set, but she soon recovered her presence of mind. + +'Abner . . . you take Morgan,' she said. 'We must find a doctor.' + +'He lives just round the corner, ma'am,' a bustling woman cried. 'The +red 'ouse with the trees in front of it. You can see the roof.' + +'Let me take her. She's too heavy for you,' said Abner and Mary +surrendered the child, picking up Morgan in her own arms. A curious +crowd followed them to the doctor's house. + + + + +The Eighteenth Chapter + + +THEY found the doctor just setting out on his morning round. His wife, a +forbidding woman, plainly dressed and flat-chested, caught him in the +stableyard and brought him back into the surgery. + +'It's the first accident . . . a little girl,' she said. 'Did you ever +know the fair without one?' + +He followed her in fussily, hoping that there was nothing to keep him, +for he had a long list of country visits to get through before the broken +heads should begin to roll up in the evening. Abner had laid the child +down on a high couch covered with American leather. In the road she had +screamed her breath away and now she lay shivering and whimpering softly, +almost quiet. + +'Well, what is it?' said the doctor brusquely. + +'It's her leg,' Mary whispered. 'I'm afraid it's broken.' + +'A kick from a horse,' said the doctor's wife from the background. + +'Let's see!' + +Mary's fingers fumbled with the tapes of the child's drawers. + +'Scissors!' said the doctor. The sudden touch of steel made Gladys cry +out loud, and the first cry of alarm was quickly changed to one of pain. +She struggled with the pain and by her movement increased it. The doctor +leaned his left arm above her body and held her still. Mary, clasping +Gladys's hands in hers, put down her face to the child's tear-dabbled +cheek. Her own tears were mingled with those of her child, but she made +no sound. Abner stood helpless, watching, and behind him also stood the +doctor's wife, gaunt, flat, immobile. In a former state she had been a +sister at the North Bromwich Infirmary. + +The doctor was leaning over Gladys and breathing heavily through his +nostrils. His hands, lean, brown, and slightly stained with iodine, were +placed firmly yet tenderly upon the pink and white of the child's thigh. +His fingers moved like tentacles, searching, soothing the spastic muscles +under the skin. Gladys gave a sudden frightened, 'Oh . . . _mam_!'--and +the fingers tightened like bands of steel. All the man's mind was in his +fingers; his eyes gazed vaguely out of the window to the cascades of +fading laburnum blossom in his shrubbery, the billowy outline of lilac +against the white sky. + +'Yes . . .' he said at last. 'Separated epiphysis. Lower end of femur. +I shall want a small Liston splint and plenty of strapping. I expect +she'll need a whiff of chloroform, too. If you'll get it I won't move.' +Then he addressed Mary. 'I think it will be better if the small boy is +out of the room. They can look after him in the kitchen.' + +Bribed by a sup of cocoa, Morgan allowed himself to be taken away from +his mother by the doctor's wife, who soon returned with the splint, the +dressings, and the anaesthetic. + +'I'll just get her under, if you'll see that she doesn't move. If she +kicks about there may be a lot more haemorrhage.' + +His wife took his place and he sprinkled a few drops of heavy liquid on +to a wire mask covered with lint. A sweetish odour mingled with that of +the lilac. It seemed to Abner that the room had suddenly become +oppressively hot. + +'Now breathe deeply. Smell it in! It's ever so nice!' said the doctor. +Gladys sniffed, then choked, and tried to push away the mask with her +hands. + +'Hold her fingers, mother!' said the doctor. Mary closed her eyes and +took the child's fingers in her own. + +'That's better . . . that's better.' He sprinkled more chloroform on the +lint. In another minute he raised the mask. Gladys was now breathing +heavily; her face was suffused, and she puffed out her lips with each +breath. The doctor handed over the mask to his wife. 'Give her a drop +now and then,' he said, 'and plenty of air as well. She's just nicely +under.' He pushed back an eyelid with his finger to see that the +pupillary reflex was active. 'Nicely . . . nicely.' + +He rose to his feet and changed places with his wife. + +Again he placed his hands on the child's thigh, but now the hands were no +longer gentle agents of perception, but strong and ruthless weapons. His +brown fingers grasped the limb firmly. The room swam before Abner's +eyes. He went down like a stone. Mary gave a cry of alarm. + +'He's all right,' said the doctor, with a glance over his shoulder. +'These big strong fellows are always the most liable to faint over a job +like this. Give me a woman, any day!' + +When Abner came to his senses the limb was set. A long splint with a +serrated lower end had been strapped to the child's body from armpit to +heel. Her face was still flushed, but she breathed as softly as though +she were lying in a natural sleep. The doctor was washing his hands and +preparing to set out again. He offered Abner a medicine glass full of +cold water with a dash of brandy in it. + +'What's owing, gaffer?' Abner asked. + +The doctor looked him up and down. 'A labourer,' he thought, 'with a +wife and two kids: a decent-looking young fellow.' He hated asking those +people for money in the middle of a misfortune; but he had to live. + +'Oh, we'll say five shillings,' he said, 'but don't forget to send me the +splint back. Dr Davies, Brampton Bryan. That will find me!' + +Abner gave him two half-crowns that were loose in his pocket. + +'Thank you,' he said. 'You must be careful how you carry her. The +bone's in a nice position if you don't disturb it.' + +'How long will it take, doctor?' Mary asked. + +'Five or six weeks with luck. Good-morning!' + +For an hour or more they stayed in the surgery, visited from time to time +by the doctor's wife. Gladys awoke as from a gentle sleep. The support +of the splint freed her from the spasm of the torn muscles. She rubbed +her eyes and cried softly in her mother's arms. + +'We'd best go straight to the station,' said Abner. + +So, having torn the unwilling Morgan from the material attentions of the +cook, they set off along the hot road that they had travelled earlier in +the day. They walked slowly, for they had at least three hours to spare +before the afternoon train left Redlake station. They reached their goal +at three o'clock and laid the child down flat on a bench in the waiting +room, while Abner produced the sandwiches which he had cut earlier in the +morning at the inn. Morgan, having fed and cried a little because his +dinner did not include specimens of the famous Bron cakes, fell asleep +upon his mother's knees. Mary and Abner talked together in undertones +for fear of waking the children, until the station-master entered the +waiting-room with a swagger and threw up the shutter of the +booking-office, peering at them with official eyes through the wire +grille. + +'I reckon I'd better get the tickets,' said Abner. He went to the +window, asking for two third singles and two halves to Llandwlas. The +station-master whipped the tickets out and stamped them as smartly as +though a queue of a hundred trippers was waiting for him. 'Five and four +pence ha'penny,' he said. + +Abner felt for his purse: he knew that the doctor's fee had only left him +a few coppers loose in his pocket. A panic seized him. He could not +find it. He turned to Mary. + +'You got my purse?' + +'No, I've never seen it.' + +'There was a quid in it. I must have put it in my waistcoat. Wait a +moment, gaffer. . . . God! my watch is gone too!' + +'Don't get moithered now,' she urged. + +But though he searched everywhere he could not find it. He appealed +again to Mary, but she had no money, not a single penny. Abner had +nothing but a handful of coppers left. + +'They must have took both of them . . . picked my pocket!' he said. + +She advised him to look again, but it was useless. 'While we was +standing up again' those railings,' he muttered, 'talking to that gipsy +woman. It's gone right enough. Not a bloody cent except this!' He +threw the coppers on the sill of the booking window. + +'Had your pocket picked?' said the station-master with a laugh. 'It's +not the first time that's happened at Bron Fair!' A bell clanged in the +signal box, and a porter peered at them through the door with a stupid, +rustic face. + +'Can't you let us have a ticket on strap?' Abner asked. + +'Not likely!' said the stationmaster. 'I've heard that tale before.' + +'The little girl's had an accident . . . broken her leg,' Mary pleaded. + +The station-master shook his head. + +'There's not another train to-day,' she said. 'Have we time to try and +get some money in the village?' + +The porter gave a stupid laugh. + +'Train's two minutes overdue now,' said the station-master blandly, +glancing at the clock on the booking-office wall. + +'But what can we do?' she cried. + +The train clanked in. A number of country people in their Sunday +clothes, coming from the villages under the Long Mynd, swarmed on to the +platform. They came laughing into the booking-office. 'All tickets!' +shouted the porter at the door. Abner was still rummaging in his pockets +when the train went out. They were left quite alone. + +'What can we do?' Mary repeated, in a voice full of trouble. + +'We've got to walk, that's all,' said Abner. + +'But you can't carry her all that way!' + +'It's only eight or nine miles over the hills. We can walk that easy +before dark if we take our time.' She shook her head. 'There's Morgan,' +she said. + +'You'll have to help Morgan on a bit.' + +'It's too much. You can't carry her all that way.' + +He laughed at her and, in the end, persuaded her. By this time Morgan, +awake and refreshed, was again clamouring for food. In the post-office +at Redlake they bought him a packet of acid-drops and some biscuits. + +'Now that's got to last you, my son,' Mary told him, and for the present +he was satisfied. + +They set out slowly on their journey home. For a mile or more the road +ran along the side of the little river, but soon the valley fell away +beneath them, a deep trough clogged with brushwood, and the road +degenerated into a stony track. It seemed that they had now penetrated a +country that was untouched by the excitements of Bron Fair, for whenever +they came near to a farm, and these grew fewer and fewer, being hidden +for the most part in folds of the hills and lost in sheltering trees, +they found men moving slowly about the fields or calling cattle to the +byre for the evening's milking. + +Soon the distances of the landscape had faded from them altogether. They +came to an upland scarred with stony lanes where they could see nothing +on either side of them but thistle pastures, poor and unkindly, huge +fields where many sheep were feeding in the mist. Morgan enjoyed +himself, running up the banks to a gap in the broken wall and scaring +them as he stood there like a phantom himself, waving his arms. At last, +when it seemed that they could climb no farther into the clouds, the road +began to fall. + +Abner was glad of this, for, strong as he was, the weight of Gladys, made +more awkward by her long splint, was telling on him. The road gave him +no rest: it went on inflexibly between its walls of stone, and when his +breath failed him there was no clean air with which he might fill his +lungs: only this thin, clammy whiteness. They jolted down into a valley, +where they found a village of stone houses, so cold and mountainous in +character that it seemed to have been scoured with snow. + +Above the door of the post-office Abner spelt out the word, _Newchurch_. + +'New church?' said Mary, with a sinking heart. 'But Newchurch is miles +and miles away from us! I drove here once with father. Are you sure +it's the right road?' + +'It's right by what I heard at the Pound House, when Mick talked of +walking over to Bron. It's right enough . . . only the hills make it +seem longer.' + +A little later she asked him anxiously what the time was. + +'Don't you know my watch is gone?' he replied irritably. 'By what it was +in Newchurch I reckon we've a good four hour before dark. And then +there's a moon.' + +They crossed another ridge of hills. Half-way up the slope Morgan said +that he was tired, and asked his mother to carry him. She took him up in +her arms without a word and dragged along behind Abner. He looked back +at her, questioning, for the slowness of her pace impeded him. She knew +what he was thinking. + +'I can't go faster,' she said, trying to smile; but at the next brow she +had to stop to fetch her breath, putting Morgan down on the bank beside +her under a bush of green broom. + +'I want to walk again now, mam,' he said cheerfully. 'Are we nearly +there?' + +He had pestered her so often with this question that for a moment her +strained temper gave way. + +'Don't worry, Morgan!' she said sharply. 'I'll tell you when we're +there.' + +Abner laughed, and she turned on him with annoyance. She thought he was +laughing at her irritability, but found that his eyes were kindly. + +'Lucky for them they don't know,' he said, shaming her with a smile. + +She tried to cover her annoyance by asking if they were anywhere near the +top of the hills. + +He knew no more than she did. Certainly by the time that they had rested +and moved on again the fog had thickened. The stone walls and the clumps +of hawthorn and furze with which the fields were scattered looked misty, +wild, gigantic. + +'Time we quickened up a bit,' he said. + +'How can you be sure it's the right road?' + +'Because there bain't no other, missus,' he replied. 'Up you come, my +pretty!' And he hoisted Gladys into his arms again. + +They could no longer guess at the time of day. Mary supposed that it was +now getting on for six o'clock, but the sky that drooped upon them was of +a uniform, milky whiteness, and they could not guess the level of the +sun. The air, indeed, grew colder, but that was a relief in itself after +the oppression of the valleys. + +They walked on, maybe for another hour. Mary's arms ached with the +burden of Morgan, who told her from time to time that his legs hurt him +or that he wanted to go to bye-bye, and vexed her to the point of anger +with his cry of, 'Are we nearly there?' She herself was utterly fagged +and hungry. Her anxiety for Gladys had made it impossible for her even +to think of food in the earlier part of the day. Now her stomach ached +with emptiness, and the cold, moist air that she drew into her labouring +lungs did nothing to quench the drought in her throat. Morgan suddenly +began to whine for a drink of water. The sweets had made him thirsty. + +'They don't lay on the water up here, my son,' said Abner cheerfully. + +'But I _want_ some,' Morgan insisted. '_Or_ tea,' he added, as a slight +concession. + +Mary quietened him as well as she could with promises. They had not +passed a farm or a shepherd's cabin for miles. She could see no hope of +any building ahead short of the Wolfpits valley, not even as much as +would shelter them for the night if they lost their way or if the +strength of the weakest failed. They were wandering on and on, blindly, +as it seemed, into a desert of high, poor pastures. Now they no longer +saw large flocks of sheep. Those that they startled were solitary +creatures that sprang up in alarm from the wayside tangles of furze and +brier, horned mountain sheep, with shaggy fleeces and black faces. + +She felt that the light was failing. Perhaps the sun had set. Surely it +had set, for they had walked endlessly. At sunset the birds began their +song in the thickets about Wolfpits, but here there was no shelter for +birds. Only the wheat-ears bobbed their white rumps in front of them and +the meadow-pipits flew before them in their endless game of waiting and +of flight, so tame that Morgan ran to catch one with his hands. Out of +the whiteness above them they heard the lost bubbling voices of curlews, +or the harsh cawing of the carrion crow. + +She dragged on behind, and Abner walked ahead, never tiring. She would +have died rather than have complained, as long as he made no complaint. +A stone cottage rose up out of the mist. + +'Now you shall have your drink,' she cried encouragingly to Morgan. The +sight brightened her, for she was parched dry herself. But the cottage +was only a ruin with a broken gate on either side of it that had made a +walled enclosure for sheep. Not very long ago sheep had been penned +there, for torn fleece had stuck to the splinters of the gates and the +road was strewn with dry dung. Abner went up to the door to see if by +any chance they were mistaken; but the place was quite deserted. + +'Let's sit down a bit,' he said, and lit his pipe. She sat down wearily +beside him. Morgan, smelling round the garden like a puppy, came back +with a bunch of wallflowers and gave them to her. Their scent was a poor +substitute for food, but she kissed his cold face. + +'I want a drink of water, mam,' he said again. + +She looked desperately at Abner. + +'Wait till we come on a bottle of pop, son,' he said. Morgan stared at +him with big eyes. 'Real pop?' he asked. + +'You wait and see,' said Abner cheerfully. + +Gladys, who had just begun to cry quietly in his arms, said that she was +cold. + +'We'll keep you warm, my pretty!' he said, gathering her to his breast. + +'Are we nearly there, mam?' came the voice of Morgan. + +'Yes . . . yes . . .' She turned to Abner: 'It can't be much farther, +the time we've been walking.' + +He did not answer. 'Up she comes!' he said, kissing Gladys and lifting +her gently. + +'Your 'stache is all over water, Abner,' the child whispered. + +They passed through the second gate, but here a new perplexity faced +them. They had come to open moorland. The road that had hitherto been +enclosed by stone walls was now no more than outlined by wheel-ruts +bitten deep into the peaty soil. Mile upon mile of misty heather rolled +away before them. Then the track faded altogether, splitting into three +narrow lanes between the masses of ling. Abner stopped, and this, his +first hesitation, filled Mary with dread. + +'Which way is it?' she called. + +He could not answer. 'We must be somewhere near the top,' he said at +last. 'Somewhere on the far side of the Ditches. If it wasn't for this +stuff we could see all right.' + +'But you can't see,' she said. 'You don't know. You don't know any more +than I do. We're lost.' + +'Don't you go on so quickly,' he said. 'If we keep to the middle we +can't be far out.' + +He pushed on a little. A hen grouse rose with a frightening flutter from +under his feet. She went whirring away low over the heather with a harsh +stuttering cry. + +'Where's the cattypult, Morgan?' Abner cried. + +And then they found water. + +'Come along, here's the pop-shop!' he said. The child ran forward and +knelt above a tiny cup of peat fringed with yellow stars of butterwort. +He lapped up the precious stuff eagerly like a dog, so greedily that he +choked, spluttered, and soused his white lace collar. Mary wiped his +face for him. 'Go on!' said Abner, and she too stooped her aching back +and drank. Abner drank last, having laid Gladys down in the yielding +heather and scooped up water for her in his hands. + +Now they were refreshed, almost joyful; but Mary could not help looking +anxiously at the hills in front of them, for every moment it seemed to +her that the heather grew blacker and the distance fainter in the mist. + +A crest that had once seemed unattainable fell behind them. Reaching it +they had expected to find themselves looking down into the Wolfpits +valley. Instead of this they saw more broken walls and the outlines of +two huge trees. It puzzled them. It seemed that they had come to the +edge of a shallow basin scooped in the top of the hills. Perhaps they +might find a farm. The idea encouraged them. + +They walked forward more quickly, for here the turf was smooth and the +heather no longer impeded them. The trees came up out of the mist, not +only two of them but a whole avenue of beeches planted by the hands of +men, stretching away before them in the line that they had followed. + +'There must be a house,' said Mary. 'They wouldn't plant trees like this +for nothing.' + +Abner nodded. In spite of his air of gaiety he had been anxious and was +now relieved. It was a noble avenue of more than a hundred trees. They +walked on midway between the two lines of them, expecting at every moment +to see the shadow of the house. But the avenue ended suddenly as it had +begun, and instead of a house they saw nothing but two gateposts of +stone, ancient and weathered, surmounted by immense round balls. The man +who had built them two hundred years before had planned a stately +approach to his mansion. It was easy to imagine the gates of wrought +iron that would have swung there. But of the house that he had dreamed +there remained not as much as a ghost. + +'There must be a house!' Mary cried. + +Abner shook his head. Nothing could now be seen but the desolate line of +the beech avenue stretching away behind them. A light wind rose on their +right, driving the mist in front of it. They seemed to hear the endless +volumes of it hurrying by, but it was only the long sighing of a waste of +heather. This sound made Mary really aware of the threatening silence +that surrounded them. Even the presence of Abner standing there as +stolid and unmoved as ever could not steady her. + +'We can't stay here,' she said. 'It's an awful place. It's like a +churchyard. Do let us go on.' + +She left the desolate gateposts with a shiver. She hurried, taxing her +strength to the last, to put them behind her. The wind rose; the mist +was whirled along the slopes before them in torn fleeces. She crossed +another ridge and then sank down in the heather, ready to cry herself. +The buffetings of the wind were fit to break her heart. + +Then a miracle happened. A gust of wind tore an opening in the mist and +the vision of a heaped mountainous landscape grew before their eyes. +Southward the indented bow of Radnor Forest rose blue-black, the summit +of Black Mixen hugely threatening. Westward in molten clouds the sun +went down over Wales and fifty miles of thin air and solid mountain were +mingled in a fiery haze. The sky was a furnace in which the mountains +melted away. But Abner and Mary had no desire to see these splendours. +Their eyes were fixed, peering into the trough of the valley beneath +them. They saw green woods, blue in the evening light, the squares of +barns, the rich mosaic of fields, the gleam of a river. And their hearts +fell, for each was certain that the valley beneath them was not that of +the Folly Brook. It was far wilder and more strange. They looked at +each other. + +'Do you know where it is?' he asked. + +'I can't think, unless it's somewhere near Clun.' + +'Better get down while the light lasts. There's farms there,' he said. +As he spoke the sun dipped down. White clouds swept across their window. +Only the memory of what they had seen told them that they were not +utterly lost. + +They descended the slope carefully, for the grass was slippery and the +only tracks were scattered with stones. Abner could not help her; she +knew that he was far too busy saving Gladys from unnecessary jars. She +fell, and Morgan cried out that she had hurt his arm. She pulled her +strength together and tried to carry him. Somehow she must struggle on, +for the darkness was falling. Even with their sudden vision in her mind +she could not now feel certain that their direction was right. For a +time they followed a wheel-track skirting the mountain, but it ended by +turning upwards, and they knew that this could not help them. Downward +it was difficult to go, for the fields were small and irregular, and the +hedges often impassable, yet downward, somehow, they must go. + +They beat through a zone of these entanglements in wood and stone. Night +was falling fast. Since the revealing moment of the last summit they had +sunk so deep that they must now surely be near the bottom of the valley, +whatever valley it might be. But when the barrier of irregular fields +lay behind them they found themselves on open, sloping ground again. +Abner stalked on ahead without pausing. She, at the end of her tether, +called out after him to stop for a moment, but he did not hear her. His +shape went on into the dusk, and she knew that if she did not follow she +must be left behind. + +Suddenly the white air was full of the screaming of birds . . . a shrill, +high, sound that took her back into her childhood. Once, with her +father, she had been taken to Swansea on a business trip and had heard +gulls calling on the Gower Cliffs. She felt that she must be dreaming. +Even on a night of storm no gulls could be blown so far inland as this, +and yet she was sure that her childish memory could not have failed. The +cries that she heard now were the cries of gulls wheeling and screaming +in the mist above her head. + +Abner turned and called her. 'Did you ever hear the like of it?' he +called. 'I never heard such a chronic row!' + +'They're gulls,' she shouted. Her voice was thin in the mist. +'Seagulls.' + +'That's where they must have come from. Off of this water,' he called. + +And she saw, peering in front of her, a ghostly wood of pines and before +them a lake of dark water fringed with reeds. The wind swept across it, +bending the reeds, breaking the glassy surface into ripples, and rolling +milky mist before it. The wind came in gusts, roaring through the trees +with a noise that was like that of the sea, and the gulls screamed above +them, unseen, as they might have screamed over storm-bound cliffs. She +stood with her knees trembling at Abner's side, and Morgan clutched her +hand. She herself felt like a child, lonely, frightened. They stood so +quietly together that some of the birds swooped down on to the water as +though driven by the wind. + +'Yes, they're gulls,' she said. 'Seagulls. We're more than fifty miles +away from the sea. I don't understand.' + +She laughed nervously. It came to her suddenly that she could go no +farther. Her legs could not make a single step. The gulls came dropping +down in twos and threes, and settled on the lake. They were smaller than +those that she remembered, she thought. They dropped down just like +pigeons when you scatter grain. + +'Come on,' said Abner. 'It's near dark.' + +But she could not move. The child tugged at her skirt. She felt the +tugging in a dream. + +'We can't stand staring here all night,' Abner was saying. She was aware +of him standing beside her in the dusk, holding Gladys to his breast. +She saw the child's white hands clasped about his neck, as quietly as if +she were asleep. She heard him, but could not stir. Then Abner touched +her upper arm, and the pressure of his fingers went through her body like +fire along a fuse exploding some mine of passion that had lain hidden +beneath her long silence. It burned her like flame, burned her and rent +her. . . . She trembled and turned on him violently. Words of abuse +came tumbling out of her mouth. She did not know or care what she was +saying. She lashed him, wildly, desperately. It was he who was to blame +for all this trouble, he who had persuaded her to take the children to +Bron and allowed her to be insulted in the inn at Redlake; he who had +entangled them in the crowd where Gladys's leg was broken; and now he'd +lost them, and brought them to a place where they might all die of cold +with his damned foolishness. Some devil inside her brain drove her on, +delighting in the vile things she said, raking up little grudges of the +past and throwing them in his face, revealing, against her will, such +petty miseries as her jealousy of Susie Hind. 'It's with her you ought +to be,' she cried, 'instead of troubling us! That's where you ought to +be! You'd better go on and leave us, Gladys and Morgan and me. You +don't know any more than I do where we are, with the night coming on. We +can't go a step farther, neither me nor Morgan, poor little thing! Oh, +go! Go! I wish to God I'd never set eyes on you!' She threw herself +down, exhausted, on the wet grass. + +He had stood up to it utterly bewildered. He couldn't protest, for all +her ravings were so childish, so disconnected, so passionately illogical. +He simply let her go on until she had finished with him. Then he +disengaged Gladys's arms from his neck and laid her down gently. + +'You're just about done in,' he said. 'It's natural.' + +Again he placed his hand on Mary's arm, hoping to soothe her and to +persuade. She gave a strange shudder, as though his fingers had been +ice, and burst into tears, covering her face with her hands. + +He comforted her clumsily, talking to her as he would have done to a +child, until she no longer shrank from him, being too weak to care. Then +she took hold of his coat and clung to him, still sobbing her heart away. +She was broken . . . quite broken. + +The moment was terrible for Abner. He felt his heart leap so wildly that +he knew she must be conscious of its thudding. The movement of her body, +shaken with sobs, against his own, filled him not with pity but with +exultation. There was no woman like her in the world. He knew it. +Hadn't he known it long enough? If he told himself the truth he must +admit that for months he had never wanted any other woman. The desires +that had hungered him the night before, walking beneath her window and in +the moonlit lane, returned to him in waves of greater force. He laughed +to think that, being so near to her, he should ever have given a thought +to Susie Hind. Now she was in his arms. His hands caressed her beauty. +How should he touch her body without passion? And why? Surely she could +feel the blood beating in his fingers, even if she told herself that he +was only trying to comfort her. No one could see them there . . . no one +except the two children, crying softly together because they heard their +mother crying. Why shouldn't he gather her in his arms, overwhelming her +with kisses? He could see nothing but her lips. . . . + +But when he strained her to him she stopped sobbing and pushed him away. +It was now dark but for the light of the moon hidden above the mist, and +he could only see the paleness of her face. Her ghost spoke to him. + +'I've lost my handkerchief,' she said simply. + +He gave her his own, and she thanked him. + +'I don't know what I've been saying,' she whispered. 'I think I must +have been mad, Abner. Please forget it.' + +He would have helped her to her feet, but her muscles would not respond +to the brain's message. She gave a weak laugh. Now she did not mind +being weak. She looked at him helplessly. + +'I can't go another step,' she said. 'I'm sorry, but I can't. Perhaps, +if you left us here, you might find if there's a house near. I'll look +after these poor lambs. We can keep warm close together.' + +No doubt she spoke wisely. He left them without a word, though Gladys +cried out with alarm to see him going. His shoulders loomed up in the +cloud, and as he skirted the lake the gulls rose screaming from its +surface to be lost in the sky. + +Abner continued his course downhill. Relieved of the weight of Gladys he +now felt himself master of his limbs. The hedges and the roughness of +the road troubled him no longer, and when he had been walking no more +than ten minutes he saw in the growing brilliance of the moonlight a gate +that gave on to a metalled road. He strained his ears to listen for any +sound, and heard, at length, the noise of a dog howling at the hidden +moon. That meant a farm, or at least a shepherd's cottage. A walk of +ten minutes in the direction of the sound brought him within sight of a +mass of outbuildings that made a courtyard in front of a low-roofed +house. Two long windows on the right of a central doorway were lighted. +He saw the shadows of geraniums in pots against the blinds. Another dog +came at him out of the darkness, snarling and sniffing him from a +distance. He knocked at the door and heard a chair pushed back over the +stone floor. + +'Come in . . . come in!' some one cried. + +The farm kitchen was bright, with a heavy brass lamp in the centre of the +table and a yellow shade that threw a mild radiance over the many hams +and sides of bacon that were slung from the smoky ceiling. The table was +laid for supper and a shrewish-looking woman was eating bread and cheese. +She stared at Abner with a piece of cheese stuck on the end of her knife, +looking neither astonished nor frightened. + +'Who is it, please. And what do you want at this time of night?' she +said, without moving. + +'I'm sorry to put you out, ma'am,' he said. 'Me and three others, a +woman and two children, lost our way coming over the hills from the fair. +The little girl's had an accident and we had to carry her. Proper done +in, they are, and I left them about a mile away over there.' He pointed +in the direction of the hills. + +'Well, I don't see how I can help you,' said the woman, who went on +eating. 'The master never has no dealings with gipsies. What's more, +he's gone to the fair himself in the trap and ban't back yet.' + +Abner explained to her that he was not a gipsy. 'You can't leave a woman +an' two kids out there at night,' he said.' + +'Where did you leave them?' she asked. + +'Up by a pool. There's a lot of birds on it. Seagulls, she said.' + +'Oh, ay, them's the sea-crows. They comes here every year. But that's +not ten minutes' walk from here, that isn't!' + +'There must be a man about the place as can give me a hand with them,' +said Abner, irritated by her unconcern. + +'All gone home an hour ago,' she said, shaking her head. 'There's only +me and the master, and he's not back yet.' + +At that moment all the dogs began to bark together. She got up and +opened the door, and the lights of a gig turned the corner and dashed +into the yard. Another cob was tied to the cart tail. The woman ran to +meet the new-comer, and a big man threw the reins over the horse's flanks +and got out of the trap. The dog yelped round him friendlily, and he +cursed it. 'Get away!' he said. + +'You'd best take out,' he said to the woman. 'I'm properly starved, I +am. What do you think of the new cob? Forty-eight pound! I never knew +such prices!' + +'There's a chap here says he's a woman and two children lost up by the +sea-crows' pool,' she said, disregarding his question. 'You'd better go +and have a word with him.' + +'Gipsies?' he said angrily; but without waiting for her reply he stalked +stiffly into the room, slapping his dank hands and blinking at the light. +He stared at Abner. + +'Hallo!' he said. 'I know you. You'm George Malpas's lodger.' + +Abner also recognised his host. It was Mr Williams of Pentre Higgin, the +farmer who had chosen himself foreman of the jury at Bastard's inquest. + +'Well, what's all this I hear about a woman and two kids?' said the +fanner threateningly. 'Is that Malpas's wife?' + +Abner told him what had happened. What bewildered him most was to +realise that after all they had hit the upper part of their own valley. +The Pentre was indeed the farm on which old Drew worked, and less than +five miles from Wolfpits itself. The farmer poured himself out a glass +of cider and stood smacking his lips while Abner told his story. + +'Well, this is a pretty turn-out!' he said. 'I heard some talk of an +accident to a little girl over there.' + +He went to the door. 'Hi!' he shouted, 'you'd better put to again, +missus! Shove the new cob in the stall and give 'en some hay. Mind he +don't bite you.' + +He chuckled to himself, being what people in those parts call +'market-peart,' then drank off another glass of cider, and motioned to +Abner to follow him. 'We'd best find Badger to give us a hand,' he said. + +He tied the reins of the harnessed horse to a post in the yard, and threw +a blanket over its back. Abner followed him silently out of the yard and +up the road. They stopped in front of a small cottage, and Williams +knocked at the door. After some delay Badger in his shirt-sleeves opened +it, emitting a queer odour of naphthaline and the dried skins of animals +and birds. + +'Put your coat on, Bill,' said the farmer. 'Malpas's wife and kids is up +by the sea-crows' pool. Got lost in the fog.' + +In a few moments, as it seemed, they had found the derelicts. By this +time Mary protested, she was quite able to walk. Abner again picked up +Gladys, Williams carried Morgan, and an easy path brought them down to +the farm again. Badger walked beside Abner, but never spoke a word. + +'Now I reckon I've got to drive you home,' said Williams sourly. 'You'd +better jump up quick.' + +The lights of the house shone on Mary's pale face. She did not look at +Abner, but the woman of the farm, who appeared to be Williams's wife, +stared at her with hostile eyes. 'Good-night, Bill!' the farmer called, +as Badger slouched away. + +'Thank'ee, Mr Badger!' Abner added. But Badger only mumbled something +that he could not hear. + +The sweating horse jogged easily down the lane to Wolfpits. + + + + +The Nineteenth Chapter + + +ALL that night Abner heard Gladys crying softly and Mary moving about in +the room beneath him. In the small hours she knocked at his door and +begged him to take Morgan into his bed. Gladys was so restless that the +child could not get to sleep. They spoke together with the oak door +between them, and a moment later, having knocked again, she thrust a +small, red-eyed figure into the room. Abner picked him up and carried +him into bed. The child nestled close to him, like a small, warm-blooded +animal. Abner wrapped him up in his arms, protectively, as though, by +steadying his muscles, he could compel him to settle down to sleep. +Morgan's fingers lay gently on his forearm, soft and listless. He was so +quiet that Abner thought he had fallen asleep already. In this he was +mistaken. The change of rooms and the adventure of finding a new +bedfellow had completely wakened him, and when he had lain dead still for +a little while, Morgan's fingers began to stroke Abner's arm. Then he +fidgeted and spoke in a reverent whisper: + +'Abner, are you awake?' + +'Ay, what is it?' + +'Why is your arm all hairy, Abner?' + +'Why? Because I'm grown up.' + +'Mam's isn't,' said Morgan, after a thoughtful pause, and then: 'I like +being here.' + +'Then don't you go asking questions or I'll put you out again,' said +Abner. + +After this the child was quiet. He lay there burning in Abner's arms. +Falling asleep, his limbs relaxed, and then, suddenly clutching at +consciousness, twitched violently. These movements were like those of a +very young animal, feeble and frightened, and Abner, feeling them, +gathered the child more closely in his arms, until he moved no longer +save with the gentle breathing of a sweet sleep. + +Abner had never slept with a child before. It gave him a queer, almost +physical sensation of comfort in addition to the protective emotions +which Morgan's helplessness aroused. He had never thought seriously what +it would be like to have a child of his own, and even now he did not +explain his feelings in that way. He pictured himself, for a moment, in +the position of father to a child of Susie Hind's, and the prospect did +not move him. The only way in which he could explain this curious +enthralling tenderness was by the fact that Morgan was really part of +Mary, that the child had come to him straight from the warmth of her +arms, carrying with him an impalpable essence of herself. He wondered +vaguely what he would have felt like if the child had been not only +Mary's but his as well, and in the midst of these tender and dangerous +reflections he fell asleep himself. + +Next morning, before returning to work, he left a message with the doctor +at Lesswardine, asking him to call at Wolfpits. All through the day he +was restless and unhappy, feeling that his proper place was at Wolfpits +lending Mary a hand, supporting her anxieties. He consoled himself with +the knowledge that Mrs Mamble was used to domestic troubles and would +probably be of more use to Mary than himself, even apart from the fact +that their finances would not easily stand the strain of the lost time. +He only wondered, all the time, what the doctor's report would be, and +whether their wild night-journey might have added to the child's injury. +He did not mention anything of what had happened to his mates, and the +day was therefore long and anxious. + +It was after dinner-time when the doctor reached Wolfpits. Escorted by +Mrs Mamble, he soon got to business and took down the injured limb, +complimenting the Brampton Bryan surgeon on the way in which he had done +his job. The dislocated fragments, he said, had been skilfully opposed, +and the leg now lay in a good position. Gladys was young, a child's +tissues were full of vitality, and the splint, which he put on again, +need not be worn for more than three weeks. + +He stayed a little longer than he need have done, for he had finished his +round and Mary Malpas was an attractive woman. He was a middle-aged man +and not above taking a kind of guarded pleasure in the intimacy with such +charming creatures that his profession gave him. He asked her how it had +all happened, and Mary told him, without hesitation, of their train +journey two nights before, of their difficulty of finding rooms at +Redlake, and of all that had led up to the accident. He listened +gravely, giving no sign of unusual interest when Abner's name was +mentioned, but when he drove away again he chuckled to himself, being +intrigued by this new little sidelight on the frailty of human nature, +and taking an interest that was not wholly professional in the idea of +this extraordinarily desirable woman finding consolation in the arms of +her lodger. For that was how he interpreted the case. + +When he got home that evening he told the story to his wife. Little +incidents of this kind, which came so often into his professional +experience, supplied him with a vicarious sexual stimulus which his +marital relations had lacked for some years. Mrs Hendrie, listening, +pursed her lips, and smiled. The story was not one for general +publication, but she knew that it would be acceptable to the vicar's +wife, who had already taken such a kindly, if profitless, interest in +this unfortunate young woman. + +In this way the scandal of the Redlake adventure began to be whispered in +that most exclusive circle of which the sewing-party at the vicarage was +the centre. In this quarter, indeed, Mary had been already judged and +damned as a woman who preferred a life of open sin to the privilege of +attending to the blameless, physical needs of the Rev. Cyril Malpas. The +new intelligence did no more than supply a sorrowful confirmation of what +was already suspected. 'It's those two sweet children I'm thinking of,' +said the vicar's wife. 'Imagine the awful effects of surroundings of +that kind in later life!' The vicar only shook his head. After all, +Wolfpits was so very nearly in his neighbour's parish as to make him +scarcely responsible. + +It came as a great relief to Abner to find that Gladys was none the worse +for her journey in his arms. In the morning they pulled round the long +kitchen settle into the sun, and in the evening he carried this out of +doors so that the child might enjoy the mellow light with the others. +She took a few days to get over the original shock of the accident, but +after that she settled down into a placid convalescence, fully aware of +her importance and treating, not only Mary and Mrs Mamble, but Abner and +Mick Connor, as her slaves. Morgan was vaguely jealous of the attention +that they paid her. + +'But _I_ slep' with Abner,' he said, 'and Gladys an't, has her, mam?' + +Mary smiled at him. Now that she knew that Gladys's injury was not so +severe as they had imagined she could afford to smile, sitting there in +the summer evening with her friends about her. It was so quiet at +Wolfpits. Not even the birds were singing. She sat there and heard the +trout rising and plopping in the pool beneath the bridge, a hundred yards +away, and then the murmurous wings of a humming-bird-hawk moth, hovering +in a nebula of bronze, swooping to plunge its curled trumpet into the +cups of flowers. Then beetles droned above them and bats zig-zagged with +rapid wings. She told Abner that it was time for him to take the settle +into the house. While he did so she held Gladys in her lap and watched +the man's big shoulders as he moved almost without effort under the +weight of the settle. It reminded her of another memory of him that she +knew she would never forget: a picture of trailing mists and loneliness, +and a man walking before her with a child in his arms. + +In this state of happiness and innocence neither of them suspected any +mischief of tongues. It is true that Abner had found the presence of +Badger at the Pentre on the night of the fair a little sinister at first, +but the fact that they had chosen to descend into the Wolfpits valley at +the level of the sea-crows' pool and Williams's farm was the purest +accident, and Mary, who only knew the keeper by name, and had never seen +him outside a court of law, thought nothing of it, while Mr Williams of +the Pentre never entered into their calculations as a source of evil. + +But Williams, in spite of his ready kindness in driving them back to +Wolfpits with his tired horse, had chuckled to find in this incident a +chance of annoying his old enemy, Mrs Malpas of the Buffalo. In all +things he was a gross and childish man, whose plan of life embraced only +two classes of acquaintance, enemies and friends, and he spent the +greater part of his time in scheming to annoy the former and overwhelm +the latter with the most naive of kindnesses. As for Mrs Malpas, not +even pity for her in the affair of George could induce him to forget his +quarrel over the hogshead of cider. He knew very well that her weak spot +was her own claim to an unassailable chapel morality, and having already +enjoyed the pleasure of scoring her off by sending her only son on his +first stage to Shrewsbury as a felon, he could not now resist the +satisfaction of telling her that her daughter-in-law had been away with +the lodger while George was in Salop jail. + +Next week, at Ludlow market, he entertained the farmers' ordinary with +the story, and in the evening, having done a good day's business and +drunk enough to make him fear no man, he drove home, chuckling to +himself, by way of Chapel Green, pulling up at the Buffalo for a final +drink. It was the first time that he had visited the inn since that +unfortunate quarrel. The cloggers who had gone away in the previous +winter had found lodgings in a village farther westward on their return +in the spring, and the Buffalo had never emerged from the silence in +which they had left it. Mrs Malpas seemed surprised that any one should +call so late at night. The bar was empty, and she had to light the +swinging oil lamp for him, standing on a chair. Williams himself found a +match and lit it for her out of sheer fuddled kindness. It struck her +that he was too kind by half. He drank his whisky standing in the middle +of the taproom, smacking it on his tongue. + +'You didn't go to Bron Fair, ma'am?' he said. + +'No,' Mrs Malpas replied. 'Nor have I these many years.' + +'There's pretty things to be seen there,' said Williams, with a grin. +She made no reply, and he advanced obliquely from another angle. + +'How's your son getting on?' + +'But for the shame that we all bear, Mr Williams, he's out of harm's +way.' + +'Yes, it's a good Christian prison, I'm told,' said he, laughing. +'Chaplains and all! How's his wife, eh?' + +'I don't know,' said Mrs Malpas shortly. 'And I don't want to know.' + +'Smart looking young woman!' Williams leered. + +'I know nothing about her, Mr Williams.' + +'Then I'll tell you something, ma'am. She's been off on the spree, +childer an' all, to Bron Fair. Slept the night at the Harley Arms, +Redlake, with that lodger chap. What do you think of that?' + +Mrs Malpas blenched. 'That's your story, Mr Williams, but there's no +need to believe you, thanks be!' + +'But seeing's believing, ma'am,' said Williams heavily. 'And I seen. +What is it I owe you now?' + +She gasped: 'Sixpence,' and took the money. Williams gave her a cheery +good-night. He wondered at the way in which she had taken his scandal. +'A proper hard old case, an' no mistake!' he thought. Mrs Malpas, +forgetful of economy, left the light burning and went straight in to her +husband. In moments of stress, even though she despised him and knew +that he hardly understood her, she would use him as a dummy on which to +vent her feelings. + +'Dad, dad!' she cried. 'That was Mr Williams of the Pentre.' + +'Ay, mother . . . good land, good land! Williams. . . . Ay.' + +'He has a tale of our George's wife. She's going on with that Fellows as +lodges with them, the one that brought trouble on George. They was +caught the two on them, at the Harley Arms, Redlake. You know . . .' + +The old man, who was now awake, mumbled something about that being in the +nature of things when a young woman was left too long to herself. She +picked up the word furiously. + +'Nature!' she cried. 'It's the nature of a brute beast, not the nature +of a Christian woman! It's the bad blood in her!' + +He let her rave on in the dark. It was late, and now unlikely that any +one else would call in at the bar. His head nodded, while she went on +fuming, half to him and half to herself. She persuaded herself that her +morality had been offended, though it was really the spiteful +satisfaction of Williams rather than his news that had wounded her, for +she could not think any worse of Abner and Mary than she did already. +When the heat of her irritation against the farmer subsided, its place +was taken by another and more subtle flame. She realised that she had +found something to explain her former unreasonable hatred. Williams, in +trying to shame her, had put a new weapon into her hands, one with which +she might positively injure Abner and Mary together in George's eyes. It +had been the hardest part of her dealings with him at the time of the +trial to see the way in which his loyalty to Mary, however little that +might mean, returned. Now that her chance had come, George couldn't keep +up this sentimental pretence of a belief in Mary's goodness any longer. +Williams had justified her at last. + +She helped the old man up to bed, blew out his candle, and left him in +the dark. Then she went downstairs, carried the lamp from the bar into +the parlour, took out a sheet of lined paper, and a penholder carved out +of olive wood from the garden of Gethsemane, and--began a letter to +George. She wrote without haste, in the firm pointed characters that she +had learnt as a young girl, carefully, methodically, with a perfect and +cold precision. From first to last not the least quaver of indecision +stayed her pen; but when she held the paper to the light to read what she +had written, her hands trembled and the words ran like fire across her +brain. + + '_MY DEAR SON_,'--_she had written_, '_I hope this finds you in + perfect health as it leaves me_, _thank God_, _and your father_. _I + am sorry to say that I have sad news to tell you which_, _I am + afraid_, _is all too true_. _Your wife and the young man Fellows + have been away together_, _living in sin at the Harley Arms_, + _Redlake_. _It was madness of you_, _as I tried to tell you before_, + _but you would not listen to your __mother_, _to have trusted them_, + _but you only laughed me to scorn_. _Now it is an open scandal and + hard for your poor father to bear_. _You can do nothing to mend it + where you are_, _but be patient_, _dear George_, _and remember the + word of Hebrews xii. 6_: "_Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth_." _I + wish I had not to write this_, _George_, _but I have always told you + that she was a light and wicked woman_. _Still it is just as well_, + _and God moves in a mysterious way_, _for when you come back you can + take the children away from her_, _though do not think that you will + have the Buffalo_, _even if God should take your dear father_, _for + the justices would never give it to one who had been in jail_, _even + for no fault of their own_. _In this way you are saved from + temptation_. _This is the Lord's doing_, _dear George_, _and it is + marvellous in our eyes_. _Why did you not send for me last month_, + _my son_? _I will tell you more_, _please God_, _when we meet_, _I + remain_, _with fond kisses_, + + _Your loving mother_, + '_ARABELLA MALPAS_.' + +She sighed, sealed the envelope, and addressed it to:-- + + '_GEORGE MALPAS_, + '_NO._ 157. _COUNTY JAIL_, + '_SHREWSBURY_.' + +Then she folded her spectacles, blew out the light, and went upstairs in +the dark to the room where her husband was already snoring. She crept +into bed beside him and soon fell asleep in the blessed consciousness of +innocence. + +Williams, blabbing to old Mrs Malpas in the childish hope of irritating +her, was not the only person who found an interest in spreading the +story. Badger, pulled into the mist out of the stink of his +preservatives and walking sullenly up the slope toward the sea-crows' +pool, had slowly realised that here was an opportunity of discrediting +Abner in the eyes of Susie Hind once and for all. Although the lovers' +meetings had of late been fewer and secret, while Susie, reminded from +time to time of the keeper's jealousy, had been clever enough to laugh +him off and to make him feel ridiculous, Badger had not forgotten his +suspicions. It was true that he never now saw Abner at the Pound House, +and never heard his name mentioned outside the tirades of Mr Hind, who +was still anxious for his licence, but the rearing of his young pheasants +was now keeping Badger busy, and since he had no time to waste in +watching, he could never be quite sure that Abner was not profiting by +his forced neglect. Sometimes he would threaten Susie as he had done +before, pretending that he knew more than he did; but experience had +taught her how to deal with this crude creature; she treated his violence +as though it amused her, and he always ended by accepting what she said +with certain dark reservations that only troubled him beneath the +threshold of consciousness, and set him strangely wondering at night. + +In the middle of one of these doubting moods Williams had come knocking +at his door with Abner beside him, asking for his help in the search for +Mary, and next day he and his neighbour had talked together, Williams +delighted as a child in his discovery of such frailty in old Mrs Malpas's +daughter-in-law. Badger cared nothing one way or the other for Mary's +chastity, he had no particular grudge against Mrs Malpas or her son, but +he quickly saw that in Williams's discovery he had hit on a rare +touchstone for Susie's feelings toward Abner. He saw that he must make +use of it before the tale became common talk, so he cornered Susie at the +first opportunity that he found, and told her, as bluntly as was his +custom, what had happened. + +'He's brazen-faced enough, that chap Fellows,' he said, 'seeing that he +told Mr Williams right out that he and George Malpas's wife had slept at +the Harley Arms, over Redlake way. Took the two children with 'em and +all! That was the rum part of it!' + +While he spoke he watched Susie with his small keen eyes, sharpened by +the habit of observing wild game, waiting for her face to betray to him +exactly what she felt toward Abner. But it was not for nothing that +Susie had learnt the art of being all things to all men. Badger's eyes +were a little too eager, and she was quick to see it. + +'Why do you want to tell me this, Mr Badger?' she said slowly. + +'He's an old friend of yours. You don't put me off as easy as that!' + +'Then you might have saved yourself the trouble,' she said, turning her +back on him. 'If you've any other dirty stories to tell, I'll be obliged +if you'll keep them to yourself.' + +He flushed darkly, so that she felt she was overdoing it. She came back +to him and stood talking of other things, her hand on the table within an +inch of his own. + +'I hope you didn't take any offence,' she said softly. 'Only I don't +like to hear my name coupled with a chap of that kind.' + +Badger swallowed his liquor with satisfaction. It seemed to him that he +had artfully secured his point. He looked Susie up and down, appraising +her, lazily satisfied. She had gained a new value in his eyes. He held +her in talk, and she loitered by his table, standing on one leg. In +taking away his glass she even touched his hand. They were alone in the +bar. He caught her and kissed her. Protesting, as a matter of form, she +smiled. In her heart she hated him like poison. Her mind was aflame +with vague jealousies, for any fool could see that Abner was worth two of +this man. + +That night she heard the gang from the pipe-track discussing the accident +at Bron, winking at each other over the way in which the story had come +out. They laughed without condemning. To them it seemed no more than a +good joke. When her father's back was turned the Gunner began to pull +her leg about it; but she laughed back at him, giving him coarseness for +coarseness, and went on wiping her glasses, humming to herself the +refrain of a pantomime tune. She heard herself singing. Her voice +sounded toneless and unreal. When she went to bed she could not sleep +for fretting. Abner had not been near her for more than a week, and she +did not dare to take the risk of sending him a message at his work. She +knew that she wanted him. She was not going to lose him without a fight. + +Next afternoon she was free, and knowing that Abner would be safely at +work, she dressed herself elaborately in her best clothes and a pair of +new shoes and set off boldly for Wolfpits. Her hands trembled and her +frock was drenched with perspiration as she dressed. + +'Where are you off to, got up like that?' her father called after her. + +'Can't I dress as I like, dad?' she said, with a toss of her head. + +'There's tempest about. You'll get soaked to the skin!' he shouted. + +She felt as if she were soaked to the skin already. The long spell of +rainless weather had reached its climax, and the delaine frock that she +had chosen had been cut for elegance rather than for comfort. The sun +went in, leaving a white and heavy sky. The leaves of elm and chestnut +drooped in the heat as with the weight of their own dust. Her new shoes +were too small for her, and by the time that she had toiled up to the +bridge over the Folly, she wished that she had not come. A yaffle mocked +her from the edge of the wood. Swallows were hawking low down over the +dust of the road. An awful, oppressive silence weighed on the land. She +hesitated, then turned painfully up the Wolfpits avenue, but when she had +almost decided to turn back, the thunder broke above her and big drops +spattered the dust. The thought of the new tulle in her hat made her run +for shelter. The trees of the avenue gave a long sigh and the rain +swished down in torrents. Round the corner she saw Mrs Mamble running +about, like a woman possessed, after the washing that she had spread on +the bushes to dry. + +'Slip into the porch, miss,' she cried, catching sight of Susie, 'or +you'll be drownded.' Then she called to Mary, who was ironing in the +kitchen: 'There's a young lady got caught in the storm, Mrs Malpas!' + +'Please come inside and wait till it's over,' Mary cried, glancing +through the window. + +Susie entered. 'Take a seat,' Mary said, and went on with her ironing. +One side of her face was flushed with the heat of the iron that she had +tested by holding it to her cheek. It made her look as if she were angry +or embarrassed. The kitchen was full of the sweet, scorched smell of +linen. Susie, sitting nervously on the edge of the seat to which she had +been shown, felt that the falseness of her position must be made clear. +She was out to fight, and not without courage. + +'My name is Hind . . . Susan Hind,' she said. 'From the Pound House, you +know.' + +Mary stopped ironing and looked at her. She began to wish that she had +not turned herself out so elegantly. She felt that she must look like a +street-woman. + +'Yes . . . I thought I knew you,' Mary said. + +'I came over to speak to you.' Susie hesitated: 'About Mr Fellows . . .' + +'Yes?' + +'There's a tale going round . . .' She faltered. She wished that she +were not sitting on the edge of the chair, that Mary were not taller than +herself. There was something unfair and consciously superior in the +woman's plain white apron. More than this, she had the subtle, +inexplicable advantage of being a married woman with children . . . even +if her husband had deserted her. Mary put down her iron on its stand and +looked her full in the eyes. Now her cheeks were equally flushed. Susie +wished that she would speak, even if she were only to repeat her +provocative 'Yes?' She took fright suddenly, stood up, and plunged. + +'It's not fair!' she cried. 'You know it's not fair! You, a married +woman, that have had your life and a couple of children! But as soon as +your husband's well out of sight you must go running after another man. +Take his money--that's one thing! But take him--that's another! I +suppose you're the kind that can't make yourself happy unless you're +making some man soft on you . . . so they can hang round you and you play +the lady on them! Don't you imagine I don't know the dog's life you give +George! And now you've got hold of your lodger--lodger, I says!--and +turned him crazy. Call yourself a lady! Doesn't every one know what +your father was? We all know about that. George himself told me. And I +can tell you what you are, straight. You're nothing better than a whore +on the streets if the truth was known.' + +Mary trembled. 'Don't shout so! Don't shout so!' she said. 'I don't +know what you mean.' + +'What I mean?' cried Susie hysterically. 'What I mean? Why, going about +the country in strange places and laying about with single men. That's +what I mean. Call yourself a married woman . . .' + +'You're wrong . . . you're quite wrong!' + +'Am I wrong then? I know whose word I'd sooner take: Mr Williams's and +Mr Badger's or yourn! I know that was the first time it came out, but +that makes no difference to what every one in the district has known for +a fact these months. But I'll tell you one thing--and don't you forget +it!--you're not going to take Abner off me. Not if I kill him first. +And I'm not talking wild, understand. I mean it. If I have to shame you +to your face I'm not going to let him go. Shame . . .' she laughed. +'That's a fine word to use for the likes of you!' + +She gave a gasp for breath, then, with a flash of hopeless hatred, as +though she were searching the room for something that her violence might +appropriately destroy, she went out blindly into the rain. + +Mary stood rigidly at her ironing-table. A flash of lightning ripped the +sky in front of her window, nearly blinding her, and her lips uttered a +cry. Mrs Mamble ran in with her skirt thrown over her head, for she was +frightened of thunder. + +'My!' she cried from under the skirt. 'My, what a downpour!' She looked +out timidly. 'Well, I never! She's gone!' + +'Yes,' said Mary, with a helpless laugh. 'She's gone!' + +'Gone? Why, the girl must be mad!' + +Again Mary laughed at the wide astonishment in Mrs Mamble's eyes. +Another flash followed and the old woman wrapped up her head again, +waiting for the thunder. It came with a crash, right overhead, and the +house shook. Mary suddenly remembered the children, who were playing in +the parlour. + +'Do go and see to them, Mrs Mamble,' she said. 'There's a dear.' + +She herself could not move. She went on folding her linen. It seemed as +if she must find some mechanical task for her hands to do. In a moment +Mrs Mamble returned to say that the children were not in the least +frightened. She kept dodging in and out of the house all afternoon for +fear of the storm returning and catching her unawares, telling of the +damage that the rain might have done to the hay lying out in the meadows +or to the standing corn. + +'But there's no denying that it's wanted,' she said inconsequently. + +By the time that Abner left work that evening the storm had rolled away, +rumbling over the treetops of Bringewood Chase. All day he had worked +under the heavy sky, breathing an air that was dead and choked with dust. +Now the vault was clear and brilliant as that of an evening in spring. +The smell of dust rose from the road, blackbirds were singing, and from +the pale, steaming hayfields waves of sweetness drifted across his path. +His steps were light and his heart happy. + +Mary received him as usual and gave him his tea. He laughed with her +over the violence of the storm and asked her gaily if the doctor had been +to take the splint off Gladys's leg. + +'We must put by a shillin' or two for that,' he said. For the moment he +was so full of his own content that he had scarcely noticed her +preoccupation; but when he mentioned money she made a quick, instinctive +movement, as though she wanted to speak and to refuse it. Little by +little he began to realise that she was trying to avoid him and sometimes +leaving his questions unanswered. + +'What's up with you, missus?' he said. + +'Nothing,' she replied. 'Nothing at all that I know of.' + +But her denial did not convince him. All the evening he tried to guess +what could have upset her, but she evaded him, pretending that she was +her normal self. He knew better. Even when she spoke to the children or +to Mrs Mamble, who came in to talk about the havoc of the storm and to +give them the news that a sheep had been struck by lightning on +Williams's farm, Mary was listless and dull. + +Abner used her gently. He knew that women must have their moods, and +that a man needed to be patient with them if he would be happy; but day +after day now passed without any change in her attitude. Since the +discovery of his own passion that he had made by the sea-crows' pool, it +had been hard enough as it was for him to live with her on ordinary +terms; but now, even though he humoured her, she was distant with him. + +He tried to make her explain herself. She only shook her head. It +seemed, indeed, as if a single day had thrown them back into all the +awkwardness of his early life at Wolfpits, and that she had suddenly +taken it into her head to upset the convention under which they had +agreed to live. Most of all, she avoided him whenever he spoke of money, +and when he brought her his wages at the end of the week she left them +lying on the table as though touching them would have burned her fingers. +If he had not loved the woman, and her children too, he would have broken +away in accordance with his nature. As it was, he hung on, sore and +bewildered, wondering what new coldness she could inflict upon him. + +Another shock awaited her. One day, when Abner was away at work, the +postman bicycled up to Wolfpits and handed her a letter. This was so +rare an event at Wolfpits that the man waited, as country postmen, who +also act as interpreters, often do, to hear its contents. + +'You'll see by the postmark it's come from Shrewsbury,' he said. + +'Yes, so I see,' she replied, thrusting it into the pocket of her apron. + +She had already recognised George's freehand writing. He went away, but +she kept the letter in her pocket unopened. She dared not open it; and +when at last she did so, the words sent a chill over all her body. + + '_MY DEAR WIFE_,'--_she read, shivering_--'_Although I may be doing + time I'm not yet dead that I know of_. _They say that love is + blind_, _but don't you go imagining that other people haven't got + eyes_. + + '_Your loving husband_, + '_GEORGE_.' + +She was seized with a pain that had scarcely abated when Abner came home +at night. She could not bring herself to speak to him. She desired, +passionately, to show him the letter, but shame would not let her do so. +He, in his turn, was sick of the wretchedness of their present relation, +and when the children had been put to bed, he told her so in words that +he had chosen for their roughness. She stared at him from the other side +of the supper table with grief and resentment in her eyes. + +'If it's as bad as that, what makes you stay here?' she said slowly. + +'I like that!' he replied. 'You know as well as I do.' + +She took fright at this, for she wasn't sure of his meaning, though she +knew in her heart what she wanted him to mean. She was afraid that he +would guess at her unspoken admission. + +'_I_ don't keep you here,' she said. + +He got up and walked the room. A hay-moth hurled itself against the +shade of the lamp with a sharp ringing sound and fell crippled on the +tablecloth. + +'It's hurt,' she cried. 'Kill it!' + +Abner crushed the insect with his thumb and threw it in the fireplace. +The coppery bloom came off on his fingers. For a moment she was +hypnotised watching him. Then she recovered her senses. + +'I don't keep you. There's no need for you to stay in every night,' she +said. + +'No. There bain't. I'm damned if there be!' he replied. + +He picked up his cap and walked out of the room. She nearly ran after +him to thrust George's letter into his hand. But she was too late. 'So +much the better,' she thought. She felt that she had been saved from +some calamity. + +He set off, walking furiously through the mellow evening, trying to cool +his blood with violent exertion as instinctively as an animal eats grass. +By nightfall he had reached the remote valley, nine miles away in folds +of the Forest of Clun, whither his friends the cloggers had returned in +the spring. He found their canvas pitched in a coomb under high +sheepwalks, and Wigan Joe made him as welcome as ever. They sat out in +the soft, moonless night, talking and drinking beer. It was like old +times for Abner to hear Joe reeling off stories one after another in his +flat Lancashire dialect. He lolled there listening till the company grew +drowsy. There was no question of his returning to Wolfpits that night, +for the sky drooped like a pall of velvet on the earth and he could never +have found his way. He turned in with the others on a pile of dried +bracken, waking at dawn to set off again toward Chapel Green. + +For a few hours he had shed his restlessness, but when he reached +Wolfpits in the evening the sense of restraint descended on him again. +He felt that Mary was watching him, wondering where he had been. Her +eyes were tragic, and, as he thought, reproachful. + +This only irritated him. He couldn't be bothered with her moods. When, +speaking to Mrs Mamble, he happened to mention that he had walked over in +the evening to the sloggers' workings, she looked at him with such a +searching suspicion that he could not contain himself. + +'What's up with you?' he said. 'Do you think I'm codding you?' + +She looked away without answering. + +'There's no need to believe me if you don't want to,' he said. + +And what the hell did it matter to her where he went or what he did? If +he were to leave her to herself for a bit perhaps she'd begin to realise +that he was useful, and that it wouldn't pay her to treat him like dirt. +It was time she had a lesson! + +He spent the next evening with Mick Connor in a pub at Lesswardine, +mixing his drinks, standing treat recklessly. He had to borrow six +shillings from Mick to pay his score. It pleased him to think how Mary +would stare at his money next Saturday when she found it six bob short . +. . she, who was too proud to pick it up when he gave it her! + +At the yellow turnpike house outside Lesswardine their paths diverged; +and this was unfortunate, for it was easier to walk arm in arm. Mick +left him; but as soon as he found himself alone the vision of Mary +returned to him: Mary, as he had seen her and desired her, sitting pale +on the border of the pool a fortnight ago. In his perverse and drunken +mind he hated her. It seemed to him that she had been making a fool of +him, alternately alluring and rejecting. + +He walked along, sweating violently, in the direction of Mainstone, +wishing to God he'd never known the damned woman. Women . . . and yet a +lusty man of his age couldn't live without women! It was against nature +to live without women, and a man was a fool if he did so. He went hot +and cold, thrilled with voluptuous sensations. He laughed at himself, +and staggered up to a gate at the side of the road to light his pipe. He +broke three matches and then discovered that they were damp and would not +strike. He remembered indefinitely that Mick had upset a pint of beer +into his pocket. He cursed the matches and Mick together. + +A light breeze moved above him, and as in the distance he heard a sound +like that of a gentle shower falling on leaves in June: a sound that +meant something to his memory. He became suddenly aware that he was +standing at that moment on the outskirts of Mainstone village, +immediately beneath a big poplar tree. A dozen times he had stood there +in the shadow waiting for the light to go out in the windows of the Pound +House, for the steps of Bastard to pass him, for the moment when he might +safely steal across to Susie's door. + +His pulse quickened. Some hidden instinct must have made him stop there. +No light could be seen, but there, in the darkness, was a woman whom he +could have for the asking. He pulled himself together, and a moment +later was standing by the outhouse door. He threw a clod at her +window-pane. She had better not try putting him off to-night! If he had +to climb in at her window she must come to him. He fretted with +impatience. + +But he had not long to wait. In a few minutes she had opened the back +door. He heard the door scrape, but it was so dark that he could not see +her. He put out his hands, groping in the darkness, and found her, warm +and breathing. + +'I thought you were never coming again,' she whispered. + +He took her in his arms and clothed her in kisses. She clung to him, +breathing softly, while his kisses enveloped her. His misery left him, +vanished miraculously in the darkness. In the black confusion of his +thoughts it seemed to him as if he were kissing Mary Malpas. + + + + +The Twentieth Chapter + + +A STRANGE fate awaited this renewal of passion. Over the border in +Wales, where many dark and violent things are born, a sultry flame had +been kindled about this time in the heart of a Wesleyan local preacher +named Evan Hughes. He was a Montgomery peasant, a carpenter by trade, on +whom, brooding over the historical sanctity of his calling, an +inspiration had fallen. He preached in the chapel Bethesda, in the +hamlet Llandewi Waterdine. He spoke in the dialect of his +fellow-workmen; his words were ludicrous and pathetic; but the fire that +scorched his heart was in them, so that men and women rode over the +mountains on their ponies to hear him and many professed themselves +converted. Why, or to what they were converted it would be hard to say, +unless it were that the isolation of their lives laid them open to long +broodings on sin and on salvation, and that knowing, as all men know, +that they were sinful, they could not be happy in solitude till they were +saved. + +The unconverted said maliciously that Evan Hughes had been shocked into +sanctity by proceedings of affiliation and a maintenance order. However +this may have been, his preaching was on chastity of the body, and more +particularly of the bodies of women, a doctrine that was acceptable, for +the most obvious reasons, to married men with wives younger than +themselves, and on sentimental grounds to young unmarried girls. The +flame spread quickly through these green shoots, and the dry, withered +twigs went up with a crackle. Women of sixty years and older stood up on +the chapel floor and prayed God to grant them continence. Evan Hughes, +with a singular lack of humour, hailed them as souls plucked from hell +and greeted them as sisters. Thus, having cleansed the Kerry Hills and +the borders of Clun, he set his eyes, like any spiritual freebooter, on +the English border, cursing the fatness and laxness of the Teme valley so +violently and with such free quotations from the prophet Jeremiah, that +the local circuit invited him to conduct a revival from their pulpits. + +First he came to Chapel Green, and naturally enough converted old Mrs +Malpas, who was always on the side of the angels. She sat under him with +tears streaming from her eyes for the sins of her friends, and afterward +had the honour of putting him up at the Buffalo in spite of his +prejudices against the licensed trade. On this, the first Sunday of the +revival, the Chapel Green Methodists achieved the authentic shiver, and +the vicar of Mainstone, who had heard all about it, made a reconnaissance +of his parish, shaking his head and warning his people against the +influence of unhealthy fanatics. + +'It's a crime,' he said, 'putting such ideas into young people's minds. +We don't want that sort of thing in the country. Mainstone is a clean +parish. Apart from that unfortunate young Mrs Malpas at Wolfpits there +is scarcely an . . . unsavoury household in it.' + +In spite of this official discouragement, Evan Hughes increased. The +revival, unlike those epidemics of disease which afflict the body, spread +steadily eastward. Chapel Green with its sober, bucolic population, had +made the mildest of beginnings. At Mainstone half the vicar's +congregation thronged the chapel. People walked over from Lesswardine on +the Sunday evening in little laughing groups and returned in silence with +a Roman segregation of the sexes. Those who scoffed had such a bad time +of it that they held their tongues. + +Among the victims of this collective exaltation was Susie Hind. No doubt +the violence of her renewed passion for Abner had thrown her into an +emotional state. Abner was now absorbed in it, and content to be +absorbed, seeing that in this way he purchased forgetfulness; but Susie +had to run the risk of discovery or worse until her nerves were all on +edge. + +At first Abner could not make out what was the matter with her. One +Sunday night she cried and cried in his arms and would not tell him why. +For the rest of the week she brooded on the extremity of her sin; then, +with the same queer directness that had driven her to confront Mary +Malpas some time before, she sought an interview with the evangelist and +laid her confession before him. He turned away from her. + +'Don't tell me,' he said. 'I cannot hear these things. My ears are full +of them. "_Go and sin no more_!" and remember me when you pray.' + +She went home burning but humiliated, and gave herself up to an ecstasy +of self-abasement in prayer. When the men joked with her in the bar at +night she would not listen to them. Next Sunday she went again to the +chapel and wept. She knew that after dark that night Abner would come +and call her. She loved him, but it seemed to her that her immortal soul +was more precious than mortal love, and here were two souls to be saved. +She lay stiff in bed waiting for his signal, compelling herself to be +cold. A clod struck the window-pane. She clasped her hands in an +attitude of prayer and lay like a stone. Again he signalled to her. She +dared not lie there any longer for fear he should become impatient and +waken her father. She slipped on some clothes and came to the door. + +'I can't see you, Abner,' she whispered hurriedly. 'I can't let you in. +I can't . . . don't ask me.' + +He thought she had taken leave of her senses. 'What the devil's up with +you?' he said. + +She shook her head and would have closed the door on him, but he put his +foot in it. 'Don't!' she said. 'Oh, don't!' + +He had no intention of being put off like this. He tried to kiss her, +but she kept him at arm's length, and when he had done his best with +persuasions and still could get no sense from her, he became angry and +raised his voice. Now genuine fear was added to her other emotions, and +in order that he should not awaken her father she consented at last to +follow him out into the lane. He was on the point of agreeing when it +flashed into his mind that this was only a ruse to get him away from the +door so that she might lock it in his face. + +The only explanation that suggested itself to him was that she might be +expecting another lover. 'No, you don't my girl!' he said. 'You'll come +along with me.' + +He waited for her, and in another moment they had crossed the road under +the shadow of the poplar. From that point she could see the roof of the +cottage where the evangelist was staying. The gable rose up high like a +symbol of the power she was obeying. 'Not here,' she whispered. 'We +might be seen.' He helped her over the gate, taking her down in his +arms. She stiffened beneath his touch. A heavy dew had come out on the +grass that washed her ankles as she walked, for she had not pulled on her +stockings. Owls were hunting in the misty starlight. One floated before +them along the hedgerow--ghostly on quiet wings. He caught her up in his +arms. + +'Now what's it all about?' he said. + +She hurried to tell him before it grew more difficult, stammering with +haste; but when she came to the story of her conversion and her interview +with Evan Hughes she felt the weight of his ridicule overbearing her. +She hadn't humbled herself enough to bear the indignity of being laughed +at, and least of all by Abner. She stopped suddenly. + +'Let me go back!' she said, trying to free herself. 'Let me go back!' + +He only held her closer. + +'What's all this havering?' he said. 'What's up with you, eh? Give us a +kiss!' + +She put her hands up to his mouth, struggling. 'I can't . . . I can't!' + +'What do you want then?' + +She took her plunge. 'Abner, why don't you marry me?' she said. + +'Marry you? Marry?' he cried. He laughed out loud at the idea. + +Then it came to him in a flash that there must be some urgent reason for +her request. People in his class and in that part of the country rarely +married unless they were obliged to in accordance with the local custom. +He had been caught in the same way as nine out of ten of his married +mates. It was like his cursed luck! He wouldn't believe it. His first +feeling was one of bitter rage. He saw himself tied hand and foot, +helplessly handed over to the commonest of fates, another fool caught in +the web that women spun for a free man's undoing. He saw in front of him +an endless dull routine of life at Mainstone. He saw himself finished, +and the idea of paternity gave no consolation to his bitterness. Then, +in the same swift vision, he saw the little household at Wolfpits that +depended on him for support, and among them the wan, devoted face of Mary +Malpas. + +'Why didn't you tell me before?' he said at last. 'How do you know +you're like that?' + +She flushed in the dark, with an involuntary affectation of modesty. + +'How dare you?' she cried. 'How dare you? I'm not. There's nothing +wrong with me.' + +'Then what the hell is all this talk of marrying about?' he cried. 'What +d'you take me for? I'm not that soft?' + +He laughed out loud in the suddenness of his relief. It stung her pride +to think that he was laughing at her. Anger boiled up in her, and she +forgot all her pietistic resolves as she freed herself in abuse. In a +single second the penitent had been turned into a virago mad with +jealousy, letting fly at him a spate of foul words that she had learned +in the taproom. She didn't stop to think what she was saying. The words +swept over her mind in a flood and made her deaf. Then she saw Abner +shaking with laughter at her performance and pulled herself together. + +'I've finished with you, you great beast!' she said. 'A dirty chap that +goes running all over the country after women! I'm not going to take +turn and turn about with a married woman, so don't you think it! You and +that great stick of a Condover as George Malpas got sick and tired of in +three year . . . you and your Mary!' + +'Here, drop that?' said Abner darkly. 'Shut your mouth!' + +'Drop it?' she cried. 'You're not going to shut my mouth when the whole +village is disgusted with you and your goings on . . . and her putting on +a face as innocent as a saint and taking the children out for walks, poor +little devils! You wait till George comes back and then she'll show you +the back door quick enough. I don't know what you want taking up with a +piece of muck like that. You're a dirty hypocrite, and as for her . . .' + +Abner stopped her mouth, but she fought and struggled. + +'Next time you'd better go farther off than Redlake,' she spluttered. +'You dirty, rotten swine!' + +It was lucky for her that she wrenched herself away from him, for Abner's +blood was in his head. She went running like a madwoman over the ghostly +field. If she had stayed he could have murdered her. Slowly following, +he came to himself, and wondered what the devil he was doing in that damp +field in the middle of the night. He cursed all women as he saw them in +her violent image, but when he set his feet on the high road, his anger +had subsided and he began to realise how blind he had been. He knew that +Susie had probably spoken no less than the truth about the local +scandals. Looking backward he found that he could explain the smiles and +winks and sidelong glances of his mates. Fine friends they were, who +made sport of a man and never told him why! And it dawned on him, still +stupidly incredulous, that this trouble and nothing else was the cause of +the change in Mary's behaviour, the thing that had snatched her so +violently away from him. No doubt it had come to her ears through Mrs +Mamble. All women were spiteful by nature, and could not resist the +pleasant temptation of giving pain to others of their kind. They had let +her know in some covert way what folk were saying, and she, too proud to +confide in him, was protecting herself as best she could. He knew her +pride . . . he wished to God she were not so proud, and yet, since that +was her nature, he must be patient with her. + +He was not built for patience. Walking home to Wolfpits with the high +road beneath him, and the mild humming of telegraph wires that stretched +away to the ends of the earth above, he felt once more the restlessness +with which his spirit was so familiar: the desire that had come over him +in fierce gusts from time to time ever since the days of his childhood, +the will to be free, to cut all coils and launch out into the life to +which he had a right. Ever since his boyhood he had been as much a +prisoner as George Malpas, and for even less reason. Breaking free from +Mawne and reaching out over these hills, he had merely passed from one +prison to another. The only periods of freedom he had known had been +those dimly-remembered days with his father before Alice came to +Hackett's Cottages, and the week of his travels on the road with Mick +Connor. Always, somehow or other, a woman had been at the bottom of his +slavery. Women were the curse of his existence. It pleased him fiercely +to think that in his breach with Susie he had shorn through one of these +shackles. He hated women, and yet, in his heart, he could not remember +Mary without tenderness, and knew that, however loudly he might protest, +he was going back along the road to Wolfpits of his own free will, and +whatever it might cost him, must stay there until George Malpas returned. + +That night he was too late to see Mary; but next morning, when he arrived +at the work, he tackled Munn on the subject of the Redlake scandal. + +'What do they say about me and Mrs Malpas, Joe?' he asked. + +Munn stammered. 'Nowt as I know, Ab,' he said. + +'Drop that, kid! Don't you come that over me!' he said. 'Spit it out!' + +'Naught out of the way,' Munn said at last. 'They say as you and her is +pretty thick.' + +'Oh, they do, do they?' said Abner. 'And what do you think about it, +eh?' + +'It's none of my business,' said Munn doggedly. + +'No more it is, my son,' Abner laughed. 'Get on with it!' + +'They said you'd been caught out over at Redlake.' + +'Then it's that bleeder Badger!' said Abner. 'Wait till I see the sod! +That all?' + +'I didn't hear no more,' said Munn. + +'Well, kid,' said Abner. 'You keep clear of the women! Don't you have +naught to do with them!' + +'No fear,' said Munn, with a smirk of his hare-lip. + +Abner had meant to have the matter out with Mary, but when he thought it +over he saw that nothing was to be gained by this. He understood her +awkwardness, and, knowing the delicacy of her temper, left well alone. +She, on her part, would have suffered an agony of shame in showing him +George's letter. After his final interview with Susie she noticed a +change in him and wondered what had caused it. He began to spend his +evenings again at Wolfpits, going out to talk in the stables with old +Drew, picking baskets of fruit from the walled garden and working, more +rarely, in their own tilled plot. She was curious to know what had +happened, but kept her thoughts to herself, and was grateful at least for +his forbearance. + +She had heard no more of George, and though she had lived in fear of +seeing old Mrs Malpas ever since Susie's visit had told her that the new +scandal was abroad, the weeks passed by and no outside intelligence +penetrated the remoteness of Wolfpits. At times, when she saw Abner +moving quietly about the heavy work of the house she was overwhelmed with +a sensation which she persuaded herself was gratitude, and longed to +burst through the convention of silence or commonplace that bound them. +It would have been fairer, she thought, to open her heart to him, to +stand face to face without a veil between. But she did not know what her +own heart contained, or what the veil concealed, and her courage always +failed her. Not only would her confession involve an abasement, a +sacrifice of pride that she could not face, but Heaven only knew where it +might lead. And yet, in spite of these things, they were almost happy. + +One Wednesday evening early in August, just before the gang knocked off +for the day, the clerk of the works came walking gingerly among the +scattered culverts to the trench in which Abner and Munn were working. +He carried a paper in his hand which he consulted with short-sighted eyes +before he addressed them. + +'Fellows and Munn, isn't it?' he mumbled. 'Munn and Fellows. Yes.' + +'That's us!' said Abner, throwing down his shovel. + +'I've a letter from the boss,' said the clerk, 'orders to cut down the +wage-bill on this job. We've got to sack all supernumerary hands--those +that aren't regular, that is--so we shan't need you two after Saturday +week. That gives you ten clear days' warning to look about you.' + +'Right you are, gaffer!' said Abner. + +The clerk went blundering on to another trench, having ticked off two +names on his list. + +'Well, Joe,' said Abner. 'What about it, my son?' + +'I dunno, Ab,' said Munn dolefully. 'Back to bleedin' old Brum, I +reckon. That's about the ticket. I wouldn't have had this happen not +for a bit! I shall never find another lodge like old Mrs Taylor's. +She's been a mother to me, that woman! What are you going to do?' + +'Stay on here, Joe,' said Abner. 'Pick up another job somewhere.' + +'That's right enough for you,' said Munn. 'I can't go farmerin' an' +all.' + +'Right enough is it?' Abner laughed. 'You wait and see!' + +The siren sounded, and Connor came along the trench whistling jauntily as +he always did when he was up against it. + +'Got the boot, Mick?' Abner asked. + +Mick nodded. 'It breaks the heart in me to think I'm afther leavin' all +them pheasants,' he said. 'Off on the touch again: that's what it's come +to. Ireland's the only place to live in, and I'll knock down enough for +a double at Punchestown if it's only hawking of dead Roses of Jericho +round the basements of Merrion Square. Shure, an' you'll come along wud +me!' + +Abner shook his head. + +'God help you, you couldn't be worse if you was married' said Mick, with +a leer. + +Abner laughed. He knew Mick Connor too well to take his tongue +seriously. + +That night when he went home he did not tell Mary what had happened, for +it seemed to him his news would only disturb her needlessly. At the same +time he knew that something must be done, and after tea he went down to +the bridge to wait for old Drew's return. + +The labourer looked at him and scratched his head. 'That's the worst of +they casual jobs,' he said. 'Money? Yes . . . but you never get knowed, +and there's nothing permanent to them.' + +Abner asked how he should set about finding a job in the district, and +the old man looked solemn. + +'I rackon you'll find it easy enough for a month or maybe six week with +the harvest coming. They be glad of any help they can get in they times. +After that you can whistle for it.' + +'Anything 'll do for me,' said Abner. + +'Now mark 'ee, 'tis like this,' the old man explained, 'this country, +when fust I know'd 'en, were a tarrable place for barley and wheat, but +now, like the vules they be, they've a' given it up and gone in for this +dairyin'. Proper women's work, I call it; and women be cheap in these +parts, as they ought to be. I don't say as there ban't the apples as +well.' + +Sufficient unto the day was the evil thereof. Abner knew now that he +could not look beyond the harvest for regular work, but harvest labour, +being rare, was well paid, and by working overtime he might easily amass +a little store of money. More than that, he might even prolong his +employment, if he made good friends, by helping to pick the yellow apples +from which thin Shropshire cider is made, but on this, he knew well, he +could not count with any certainty, as the orchards were alien and few. +He begged old Drew not to mention his quest to any one at Wolfpits, and +the old man blinked his assent. + +Next Sunday evening he said good-bye to the friends who shared in his +dismissal. Munn, who had scraped together a little money, was going to +Ludlow, where he would catch a train for Dulston. Mick Connor, being +sick of England, as he said, was tramping north to Holyhead. Abner +walked with him to the crest of hills above Clun. + +'If you're ever in the city of Dublin,' Mick said, 'all you've got to do +is to go into Nagle's Back. Ask for the devil they call Kerry Mick, used +to lodge with Mother Muldoon, and the grocer's curate 'll give you a +naggn' for the love on him.' + +Abner watched him swing away down the hill, with his loose-jointed, +loping stride. He returned home late at night. Mary, contrary to her +custom, was sitting up for him. + +She sat at the table reading, and he quickly tumbled to her reason for +doing so. In the midst of his farewells he had forgotten to give her his +week's wages the night before. She would not ask him for money; but she +was hoping that her unusual presence would make him realise what he had +forgotten. Seeing this he was tempted, for a moment, to withhold it; to +wait and see what she would do, to force her into a spiritual submission; +but then he remembered that the shock which he was being forced to give +her would be quite enough. + +'Here's the brass,' he said, placing it on the table in front of her. + +'Thank you, Abner,' she said. + +'I reckon it's got to go a long way this week. I've kept none back.' + +'What do you mean?' she asked. + +'It's going to be the last, far as I can see.' + +For a second she thought that the moment had come; that her coldness had +actually forced him into leaving her. Remorse, mingled with cold fear +for the future, overwhelmed her; but he saw her bewilderment and told her +simply what had happened. + +'I've got to look out for work,' he said. 'It may come along any day, +only the harvest's late.' + +'We shall have to manage,' she said calmly. 'You can trust me to do the +best I can.' She stood waiting as if she wanted to say something more, +but at the last her courage failed her. 'I have a few shillings put by,' +she said. 'I always thought something might happen.' + +'Well, yo'm a marvel and no mistake!' he cried. + +During his first week of idleness Abner went out every day visiting the +farms of the neighbourhood in search of a promise of harvest work. It +was a lean year: the drought of the summer had stunted the straw; a +couple of violent thunderstorms had done more harm than good, and the +farmers were now hanging on as long as they dared, gambling on the chance +of rain that was due. Wherever Abner went they shook their heads. + +'Can't say when we'll be cutting,' they said. 'Next week, or week after, +or three weeks' time. It depends on the weather, and the damned stuff's +that poor it isn't worth reaping. Worse than the hay . . . and that's +saying something!' + +At night, when he came home, Mary looked anxiously for his news, but he +could tell her nothing. He made casts farther afield. He did not care +how far he went if only he could find work; but down in the plains, +although he could see for himself that the ears were fuller, he was met +by the same evasive replies. He came to hate the sight of these sour, +prosperous farmers. It seemed to him that they all had the same callous +faces as the distant Mr Cookson who had killed his dog; but he knew +better than to let Spider follow him on these visits. + +'You might try Mr Prosser of The Dyke,' said old Drew one evening. 'That +be a fine big farm, and they say he do go in for barley.' + +Next day Abner visited The Dyke. It was a farm that he had missed in his +former expeditions, a house buried in beechwoods that stood, +unappropriately, high and dry on a lofty ridge south of the main road +between Mainstone and Lesswardine. It lay five miles from Wolfpits as +the crow flies, and nearly seven by road. A green drive bordered by +hazels and sheltered by smooth beeches in which squirrels were playing, +brought him to the house: a melancholy edifice, built four-square, and +covered with plaster that had once been painted white but was now +streaked with green. He knocked at the back door, but could make nobody +hear. A dog flew out of a kennel near the yard gate, tugging at his +chain, and inside the house two others, excited by the sound, came +pattering along the passage and scraped at the lower edge of the door +with their paws. + +Abner gave it up. Evidently nobody was at home. He took a drink of cold +water at the pump and set off home through the green lane. Half-way down +it he heard a sound of muffled hoofs, and a dog-cart, of the sturdy kind +that farmers use, came swinging round the corner. The driver was a woman +of twenty-five to thirty years of age, swarthy, with a rich autumnal +colouring, and gray eyes. Another, younger girl, with her hair in a +pigtail, sat beside her. They passed Abner at a trot, but twenty yards +later the driver pulled up and looked back. + +'Have you been up to The Dyke?' she called. + +'Yes, miss,' said Abner, taking off his cap, and approaching. + +'I don't suppose you'd find any one in,' she said. 'Dad's gone to +Ludlow, and the girl's out. What do you want?' + +'I came to ask if Mr Prosser wants any outside help for harvest.' + +She looked at him steadily. Their eyes met. 'I don't know. What's your +name?' + +'Fellows. Abner Fellows.' + +'Where do you live? You don't belong to these parts?' + +'Wolfpits.' + +'Wolfpits?' She examined him more closely, repeating the word with an +accent of surprise. She put a brown-gloved finger to her lip. 'I think +dad will want some one: they're beginning the barley on Monday,' she said +slowly. 'Tell you what . . . you'd better look up here to-morrow +morning. I'll tell dad you're coming. So long!' + +She touched up the horse and the dog-cart shot forward. Abner went on +his way encouraged. + +'Where did you try to-day?' Mary asked him. She was doing her utmost to +appear interested in his quest. Indeed she could not well do less. + +'Up to The Dyke . . . Prosser's place.' + +Mary blushed. 'Did you see any one there?' + +'The place was all shut up,' he said, 'but I met a young lady as I took +to be Mr Prosser's daughter in the drive just after I turned back.' + +'What age was she?' + +'Summat about yourn.' + +'Dark?' + +'Ah, darkish. There was a young 'un along with her.' + +'How was she dressed?' + +'Now you'm asking things out of reason,' Abner laughed. 'Them's the sort +of things a man don't notice.' + +'It must have been Marion,' she said, and later in the evening she +explained to him that Mr Prosser's elder daughter was an old schoolfellow +of hers, and rather more than a schoolfellow, for they had once been +great friends. Mary's father, the unfortunate Condover, had been +something of a crank on the subject of education and had sent her to a +school in Ludlow, where she had mixed with all sorts of people who were, +in fact, her social superiors. 'But that's all ages ago,' she said. 'I +expect that she's forgotten me by now. Mr Prosser lost his wife five or +six years ago, and Marion's had charge of the house ever since then. A +great big place, The Dyke! She's a queer girl, I'll give you my word for +that.' + +Next day Abner went up early to the farm. In the yard he found the +younger of the two girls. She was dressed in a holland overall and a big +straw hat and was watching a hatch of ducklings that an anxious hen had +mothered, learning to swim in an iron bath. When she saw Abner she ran +into the house calling: 'Marion! Marion!' + +The elder came to the door. Abner scarcely recognised her, for she had +changed her tweeds and her sporting hat for an overall like that of her +sister, and her dark hair was bound in thick plaits about her head. She +greeted him frankly, smiling and showing between her parted lips a set of +beautiful teeth. + +'I've told dad about you,' she said. 'He's just gone over to have a look +at the bull and 'll be back in a minute. Have a glass of cider?' + +Abner thanked her. She returned brightly with a mug of cider and a plate +of scones hot from the girdle. + +Five minutes later Mr Prosser came into the yard with his ploughman +Harris. The farmer was a tall, fair man, with golden whiskers and a +moustache that almost hid the weakness of his mouth. + +'H'm, you're the young man, are you?' he said, looking Abner up and down +with more curiosity than he could have been expected to show for a casual +labourer. 'What is it you want? Eh?' + +Abner repeated his request, and the farmer, with a little less than the +usual surliness of his kind, said: 'Well, yes, I dare say we can do with +you so long as you're not afraid of work. But it's a short job, I warn +you!' + +The younger girl, who had been listening dreamily to their conversation, +turned and uttered a shrill cry. 'Dad! Dad!' she said, 'I'm afraid I've +drowned one of them!' She ran forward with an inanimate piece of yellow +fluff in her hand. 'Oh, what a shame!' + +'That's like you, Ethel,' the father grumbled. 'Take it in to Marion.' + +But by this time the elder sister had appeared and was holding the +duckling to her breast as though she would have liked to nurse it back to +life. Ethel stood watching her with tears in her eyes. + +'You'll never make a farmer's wife, Ethel,' said Mr Prosser, teasing her. +'Come here! Give us a kiss!' He held the child's face in his hands and +kissed her noisily. Marion had carried the duckling into the house. He +turned to Abner. + +'Day after to-morrow,' he said. 'Come up early . . . about five +o'clock.' + + + + +The Twenty-First Chapter + + +SINCE the time of her Ludlow schooldays and her friendship with Mary +Condover, Marion Prosser's horizon had widened to an extent that might +easily have explained the distance which now separated them. From Ludlow +she had been sent on to finish her education at a Cheltenham college; for +her mother had social ambitions and knew that the nearest way to the +homes of her superiors lay through the schools that their daughters +frequented. She always taught Marion to speak of her father as a +'gentleman-farmer,' a description which Mr Prosser accepted under more +protest than he usually offered to anything that his wife dictated. For +all that, he was proud of the fact that The Dyke had belonged to his +family for six generations, and when he walked round his fields on a +Sunday evening and surveyed their richness from the crumbled earthwork of +Offa's Dyke, which gave the farm its name, could even be sentimental on +the subject. + +Marion went to Cheltenham when her sister Ethel was a baby two years old. +She made many friends, for she was good at games and a creature of +unusual spirit; but the principal feature of her life was a sudden and +passionate friendship for one of her mistresses, a languid pre-Raphaelite +young woman with a phthisical tendency who made her read a good deal of +romantic literature of a sentimental kind. Miss Randall's literary +heroes were Parsifal and Galahad, and her fetish personal purity, the +shame-faced purity of impotence. She was not fond of men, she said, +although she allowed herself the licence of a spiritual flirtation with +an advanced young priest of the Church of England, to whom she opened her +soul. + +In due course Marion's adoration of her mistress went the way of all such +passions; but her taste for letters remained. In her eighteenth year her +mother suddenly died, and she returned to The Dyke to look after her +father and her baby sister. Even in the excitement of her new activities +she rebelled, feeling herself isolated, alien, condemned to an infinity +of small-talk. + +She became the hostess of her father's friends; farmers of every age and +type, who made love to her with varying degrees of rustic clumsiness but +seemed to Mr Prosser the most desirable of suitors. Usually they drove +up to The Dyke on Sunday evenings or after Ludlow market. Some, by their +liquorish assumption of an easy conquest, offended her and caught the +rough side of her tongue; but she soon found that with them her genteel +shades of irony were so much waste of time, since they were not even +understood. + +The young men retired puzzled, and their sisters sympathised with them. +'She isn't natural,' they said, 'and you can't go against nature like +that. I never could think what you saw in her.' In this way Marion +Prosser got a reputation for shrewishness and conceit. The young men of +the neighbourhood felt that even the possession of The Dyke would be a +small compensation for that of such a difficult wife. They began to +treat her with the instinctive respect of the terrier for the hedge-hog, +leaving her to her books and to her fancies. + +With these, for some years, she was content. The walls of her bedroom at +the Dyke showed evidences of culture in as many strata as can be found in +the coloured ribbon along the edge of a geological map of England. They +ranged from the primary Rossettis of her Cheltenham period to +reproductions of late impressionist pictures. Among books she groped her +way determinedly. In Ludlow she found a branch of one of the London +circulating libraries. Every week she would drive there in her pony trap +and bring back the books that she had ordered, to the amazement of the +stationer who kept the shop. Her father laughed at her tastes. Among +his friends she gained the reputation of a bluestocking, which was enough +to make any young man think twice before he spoke to her. And the years +went by. + +They were dull years, and for very boredom she tried to identify herself +with the work of the farm. She threw herself violently into these new +interests to the amazement of her father. Although he was still more +than a little afraid of her, he could not help respecting her capability. +During the lifetime of her mother he had been so infused with the spirit +of this active woman that he had appeared to be a man of some +determination. Her death annihilated him: he had relapsed into +nonentity, caring nothing, as it seemed, for his crops or his herds, +driving in regularly every week to Ludlow market like an automaton, +driving back in the evening, morose and fuddled, with no clear idea of +what he had been about. On these occasions he would talk piteously of +his motherless girls, and his large, sentimental eyes would fill with +tears. He confided to his friends that he himself was not long for this +world, though, physically, he was as strong as a horse. + +Marion's determination changed all that. Subtly, without his knowledge, +she pulled him together and made a man of him again, and, never having +known the subjection with which her mother had entered the estate of +marriage, she did what she liked with him, sometimes wounding his pride +with her rather brutal frankness. Yet, even when he was wounded, he +submitted to her; for she flattered him by pretending that he was the +real head of the household. At root he was a lazy man, and dared not +quarrel with his comforts. He realised, too, that the knowledge of +practical farming, that was as deeply rooted in him as an instinct, was +more essential to the success of their partnership than Marion's acute +and active mind. + +He prospered, and in moments of exaltation would tell himself that she +was only a girl after all and that he was the man who counted. He made a +startling recovery of his self-possession and talked no more of death; +but his greatest happiness he still found in the society of his younger +daughter Ethel, a child whose nature was nearer to his own. Some day, he +decided, Ethel should marry a solid husband of his choosing, some big man +with many lowland acres, and when the grandchildren began to come along, +he would pass a quiet old age among them. Marion should have The Dyke. +Even if she were not the elder she had earned it. It seemed unlikely +that she would ever marry, being so hard to please. + +Now, at the age of twenty-eight, Marion found herself lonely. The farm +work had become so intimate a part of her life that it served no longer +to distract her. Life was slipping away from her. Ten years had passed +almost without her knowing it. In another ten she would be nearly forty. +A hidden fear possessed her that by separating herself from her own class +and kind she had sacrificed the chance of living. Life was the thing +that mattered, and she had exchanged her heritage for a few pitiful +shreds of culture. The motherly cares that she lavished on Ethel were a +poor substitute for veritable maternity, and she knew it. She began to +see that by refusing all commerce with the men of her own class in the +hope of realising a problematical grand passion she had sacrificed all +opportunity of passion whatever. + +For some years after leaving Cheltenham she had exchanged letters with a +number of her college friends, but little by little this correspondence +had grown more slender and at length it had ceased. In her growing +apprehension she made an attempt to revive several of these ancient +friendships. The result filled her with despair and vague envies. Most +of her girl friends were married: many of them sent her photographs of +their husbands and children. She alone, it seemed, of all their company +was left alone. It was her own fault. She knew it was her own fault, +for her mirror told her that she did not show her age and that she was +still desirable. All things seemed to conspire in fostering her unrest. +The sights and sounds of the great farm around her were full of +insistence on the cycle of birth, fruitfulness, and decay. Her books +helped her no more. Her old aesthetic idols had long since been broken, +and her latest passion, Whitman, whom she had discovered through the +anthologies, swamped her mind with an endless adoration of the body's +pride, the splendour of the flower no less than that of the fruiting. + +In this distressful and desirous state, two incidents moved her deeply. +The first was the dismissal of one of the farm girls who had been seduced +by a clogger and had gone into the workhouse to have her baby. She was a +puny, undesirable creature, with neither beauty nor health, yet she had +found a lover. The second was the scandal of Mary Malpas, her old school +friend, and the young lodger at Wolfpits, rehearsed with many winks by Mr +Williams, whom her father had brought in for a glass of whisky on a +Sunday evening. + +'A well set-up chap, that Fellows!' said Williams to her father. 'It's +no great wonder she's took a fancy to him.' + +'Well, well, 'tis the way of the world!' said Mr Prosser comfortably. +'Fill Mr Williams's glass, Marion!' + +She did so, and then, furiously blushing, left the room. + +'What's up with your maid?' Williams asked. 'I reckon I've shocked her. +Did I say anything out of the way?' + +'Not you! She's a rum 'un is Marion,' Mr Prosser laughed. + +And a few days later she had met Abner returning from his fruitless visit +to The Dyke. + +She had looked at him standing bare-headed in the level sunshine, and +seen that he was well-favoured, but when she pulled up her horse and +emerged from the dream state into which the rhythm of trotting hoofs had +thrown her she had not thought that this meeting would be different from +any other with a labourer out of work. She liked Abner's face, and for +this reason had taken the trouble to ask him where he lived. Then came +the word 'Wolfpits,' and a sudden realisation that Fellows was the name +that Mr Williams had mentioned in his scandalous tale. It thrilled her +to find herself face to face with Mary's lover. She lowered her eyes, +not daring to look at him, and all the time her soul was consumed with a +curiosity to see more of him, to find out what he was like. She knew +that this curiosity was dangerous, that she was deliberately courting +temptation, but she had had enough of prudence and felt that she was old +enough to look after herself. And yet she knew that she had done a +momentous thing when she told him to call next morning at The Dyke, and +feared that trouble, indefinite trouble, might come of it. + +Abner had not been working three days on the farm when Harris, his +principal labourer, told Mr Prosser who the new workman was: 'Young Mrs +Malpas's fancy man,' he called him; and Mr Prosser, who set great store +on the respectability of his farm, felt that he had made a mistake in +employing him. The matter had been settled by Marion. No doubt if she +had known all the circumstances of the case she would not have taken him +on. + +'Do you know who this young chap is, Marion?' he asked. + +'Yes. He comes from Wolfpits.' + +'Do you realise that he's the chap Williams was talking about, the one +that's living with Mary Malpas?' + +'Yes, I do. Mr Williams himself said he didn't blame her.' + +'I thought you yourself were put out a bit by his mentioning it.' + +'Put out? Of course I wasn't. Why should I be put out?' + +'I think it's bringing the scandal rather near home having him here.' + +'He's a good workman, isn't he?' + +'I don't think there's anything wrong with him that way.' + +'Well, that's all you want to know.' + +'Harris doesn't speak well of him.' + +'Harris is jealous of every one who sets foot in the place. You'd think +he owned it.' + +'And what'll the vicar say?' he joked. + +'I don't know nor care. But I'm sure we're doing right to employ him. I +don't know what would happen to poor Mary with that good-for-nothing +Malpas in jail and this man out of work.' + +'Well, I suppose you know best,' said Mr Prosser. He had not expected +Marion to take the matter up so warmly. And Abner stayed. + +He was not long in finding out who was the real ruler of The Dyke and +that Mr Prosser, for all his commanding figure, stood for nothing. When +the men knocked off for their dinner at midday and the two girls came +down the field carrying 'baggins' of bread and cheese and great jugs of +harvest beer, they would wink at each other and say: 'Here comes the +boss!' + +Marion scarcely ever spoke to him more than a word, but her eyes were +conscious of him, and he always felt that he was working under her +scrutiny. Whenever they spoke together he was aware of the fact that it +was she who had got him his job and that she could take it away from him +as easily. When he came back from his work at night Mary would ask him +questions about her old friend, but he could never satisfy her. + +'Does she know that you come from here?' she would say. + +'Of course she knows. I told her at the first.' + +'But she's never mentioned me? Never asked after me?' + +'We've never spoke ten words together.' + +'It's funny, that! When you come to think of her and me having slept in +the same bed. . . . She must know about me!' + +'She's a rum 'un, Miss Marion. There's no getting away from that.' + +He and Mary never saw much of each other in those days, for Abner had to +get up very early in the morning in time for his seven mile walk, and the +harvest labour was severe. Severe, and yet pleasant, for the summer +weather held and no rain fell. The sun shone pitilessly on the whitening +stubbles, but the corn-fields of The Dyke were so lifted upon the back of +the hills that they seemed to be part of a high cloudland and free from +all heaviness. On the lower levels the whir of reaping machines might be +heard, but higher up the fields were so unlevel, following the broken +contour of the hills and bounded by the sloping ramparts of the dyke, +that all the reaping must be done with sickles and the dry shocks carried +to the head of a rough road. Abner had not the skill to wield a sickle, +and so in this part of the labour he was useless. Harris, the labourer, +who acted as foreman when Mr Prosser was not in the fields, resented +this. Before Marion's interest in the farm began he had been his +master's right-hand man. He had been present at the time when Abner was +first employed by Mr Prosser, and knowing that the newcomer was a protege +of Miss Marion's, was naturally jealous. When the men sat in the shade +of a hedgerow for lunch he grumbled to his mates and grudged Abner his +share of the food. The two casual labourers were inclined to take +Harris's side; but old Avery, a man of sixty who had worked at The Dyke +all his life, stood up for Abner. + +'I don't know what the place is coming to,' Harris said. 'We don't want +no navvies here. There's too many about as it is. 'Tis a farming man's +job, reaping. I reckon you're one of Miss Marion's fancies. You'd a' +better look out!' + +The men laughed, and Abner asked him what the hell he meant. + +Harris was a dangerous-looking customer for all his years, strong as a +bull, with a low, ape-like forehead, badger-gray hair, and long, ungainly +arms that seemed to have been bowed by the carrying of trusses of hay. + +'You know what I mean,' he said. 'And I'll tell you another thing. We +don't want no bleedin' outsiders here, snatching the bread out of our +mouths.' + +Violence would surely have followed, but at the most dangerous moment the +farmer and his daughters arrived. The reaping of the twelve-acre field +was almost finished, a huge expanse of stubble lay gleaming under the +noon-day sun, and crackled with heat. In the midst of the field a square +of barley stood unreaped and shimmering, and within it cowered a secret +multitude of field-mice, hares, and rabbits that the destruction of their +homes had driven inwards. Mr Prosser and Marion carried guns, and Ethel +was playing with three dogs that sniffed and trembled with eagerness for +this annual pastime of slaughter. + +'Now, Harris, let's get a move on!' said the farmer. + +The horses, that had stood stamping and swishing their tails and flicking +flies from their ears in the shade of an elder-bush, were brought round +with cries of encouragement, and the machine rolled clanking over the +stubble towards the standing corn. Prosser and his daughters stayed +behind in the hedgerow, the day's work went on, and as the square +diminished, narrowing with each turn of the machine, the dogs sniffed +along the edge of that narrow sanctuary until the guns were ready. + +'Give Miss Marion a hand with her loading, Fellows,' Prosser shouted. +'Tell the men to get their sticks ready, Harris, and we'll put the dogs +in on the far side.' + +Abner and Marion stood together with the sun beating on their backs. The +dogs ran barking into the corn. Above them, in the eye of the sun, a +kestrel hovered. Three frightened rabbits bolted from the farther edge. +Prosser fired two barrels and killed one. Another was wounded, and +Harris ran after it with ungainly strides and stick uplifted. He brought +down the stick with a savage cry and dashed out the animal's brains. 'I +got him, the varmint!' he shouted. + +The multitude within the square of corn trembled. One by one, terror +drove them out into the open. Marion fired twice and missed. Her hands +shook as she gave the gun to Abner to reload. She could not see her +pitiful target; she saw nothing but the young man at her side with his +sun-bleached hair, his red chest and neck, and the milk-white skin above +the roll of his shirt sleeves. + +'Quick! You'm missing of them!' he cried. + +She fired again, and missed. She could hit nothing. + +'I don't know what's the matter with me,' she said. 'I think I've been +too long in the sun. You'd better take the gun yourself.' + +And she stood watching the sureness of his aim as he fired, knocking over +the pitiful, bright-eyed, furry creatures one by one. She watched him, +fascinated, conscious only of his health and strength and the perfect +co-ordination of his body. She saw it as that of her friend's lover, and +in a yearning tenderness she thought of that hidden life away in +Wolfpits. She could stand it no longer. + +'Give me the gun,' she said. 'Don't shoot any more.' + +She took the weapon from him and went over to join her sister in the +hedge, where she sat watching the scene of slaughter in a dream. Then +she got up suddenly, telling Ethel that the sun was too much for her, and +went straight home to her bedroom. All afternoon she lay on her bed in +the green light of a venetian blind. Her eyes burned and her head was +splitting, but she knew that this was not altogether because of the sun. +Later, when she had bathed her eyes in cold water and done her hair, she +pulled out an old album in which there was a photograph taken at the +Ludlow school where Mary Malpas had been her friend. It was a group +ranged round the central figures of the two precise spinsters who kept +the academy. She and Mary Condover were standing side by side: two +solemn, self-conscious, childish faces with eyes staring straight at the +photographer. Now Mary Condover was Mary Malpas, and had this man for a +lover. Over in the secrecy of Wolfpits they loved. Ethel came knocking +at the door with a cup of tea. The sound of her knock made Marion jump. +It was not like her to be nervous. + +'They've counted the rabbits,' said Ethel. 'Thirty-two! That's two more +than last year. Dad's ever so pleased. Is your headache better?' + +'Yes, I'm all right,' said Marion. 'I'll be down in a minute.' + +For several days she saw next to nothing of Abner. One morning, however, +her father sent him up to her with a message. She was making pastry in +the kitchen; her hands and arms were white with flour and the heat of the +range had flushed her face. Again she found that in his presence she +lost her self-possession, and falling on an awkward silence she blurted +out: + +'Well, how does it suit you?' + +'Well enough,' he replied. 'Thanks to you, miss.' + +'Oh, don't thank _me_!' she said, with a laugh. + +He was going, but she called him back to the kitchen door. + +'Don't you find the walk to Wolfpits rather tiring?' she asked. + +'It's a fair step,' he said. 'But I don't take much count of it.' + +'Why don't you stay up here till harvest's over?' she said. 'You could +make up some sort of a bed in the loft.' + +He thanked her, but refused. 'I find a good bit to do when I get home +nights,' he said. 'They can't get on in the house without me.' + +'They?' she said, with a laugh. 'Ah, well, it won't be for long.' + +While they were speaking together at the door Harris passed them with his +basket slung over his stooping shoulders. He touched his cap to Marion, +and gave Abner a wry smile as he passed. Marion returned to the kitchen +without another word, and Abner, on his way back to the field began to +puzzle his head as to what she had meant by her sudden change of front +when he had excused himself from sleeping at The Dyke. The scorn that +she had put into her repetition of the word 'they' made him think that +perhaps there was more justification than he had imagined in Mary's +feeling of resentment against Marion Prosser. But if she felt sore with +Mary for any reason, there was no need for her to practise on him. He +wasn't going to be lugged in to any petty feminine quarrel, they might be +sure of that! He had quite enough to do on his own keeping even with +that leering devil Harris. Mr Harris was going to cop it one of these +days, and no mistake! + +He dismissed Marion Prosser from his mind. And yet, all through the hot +harvest season the two of them were meeting and passing with a sense of +something desired but unspoken on the part of Marion; and whenever they +met there came into Abner's mind a grudging recognition of her physical +presence. He decided that he did not like this strong, dark, almost +boyish creature who, without even speaking, could so thrust herself upon +his consciousness. She was too secret for him. He wished that she would +speak out what she had to say so that they might know where they were and +be finished with it, and since she would not do so he avoided her. + +Meanwhile the harvest season was drawing to a close. The later crops +were marred by the long-awaited rain. From every corner of the uplands +came the same story: straw so weak as to be worthless and wheat sprouting +in the ear. Prosser, who could well stand these losses and many more, +picked up an infection of grumbling at the Ludlow market ordinary. Not +only were the standing crops ruined but the extra hands were eating their +heads off. Harris echoed his lamentations, and Abner, together with the +two other outsiders who had been engaged for the harvest, would have been +paid off but for the intervention of Marion. + +He knew nothing of this. Through all that dead, wet season, when the +baked hill-sides steamed with rain and morning skies were heavy with +autumnal mist, he busied himself with odd jobs about the farm. It was +important for him if he were to find work in the neighbourhood when the +job at The Dyke was over, that he should learn as much as he could of the +farm-labourer's craft. He learned to milk, to brush the horses and to +bed them down, helped with the lifting of the main-crop potatoes and dug +them into the immense buries, shaped like the barrows of the stone-men on +Castel Ditches, in which they were stored for winter. + +Then, sudden, unheralded, came a September summer. The mists +disappeared; the drowned crops stood up golden in a hot and level +sunshine; the work of the fields began again. They laboured incessantly, +for the sunshine and drought were now more precious than gold. They +worked so hard from the light of dawn until the stunted sheaves threw +gigantic shadows, that there was no room in his mind for the foibles of +Marion or the growing jealousy of Harris. Prosser and his girls came +down into the fields to aid them. The sheaves ripened against time, and +Prosser watched the sky and tapped his glass all day long. He held on as +long as he dared; but on the eighth day of the drought the glass began to +fall, and the last sheaves were carted from the fields by moonlight. + +At one o'clock in the morning they knocked off, exhausted, and strangely +happy in the consciousness of a work well done; but the sense of +happiness departed from Abner as he walked home through the owl-haunted +twilight, for he knew that the job at The Dyke was over, and he had +nothing else before him. At the end of the week, he supposed, he would +draw his money and be faced with a new search for employment. + +Next day, in accordance with the ancient custom of The Dyke, a harvest +home was held in the long kitchen of the house. All morning Marion, her +sister, and Agnes the maid were busy baking cakes and boiling hams for +the festival. The wives and children of the labourers were asked to +share in these rejoicings, and more than twenty usually sat down to the +long table at night. Abner and the other extra hands were expected to +come, but Mary Malpas was not invited. + +Abner saw nothing strange or pointed in the omission, and indeed he had +no time to spare for ceremonies of this kind, having been bred in a +country where feudal customs had long since died away under the new and +harder influence of capitalism. But to the labourers at The Dyke, and +particularly to older men such as Daniel Avery, the harvest home was a +feast as religious as any ancient mystery. To them it was the crown of +the year and its labours, more vital and more significant than any +convention of the calendar. Mr Prosser, as a member of the older +generation, was himself attached to the custom. It reminded him of his +boyhood, of the days when his father was master of The Dyke and his +grandfather sat watching the dances from the chimney corner, and in this +way it comforted him with a sense of continuity and flattered those +vestiges of family pride which were the deepest elements in his nature. +The day always found him in the best of spirits, and Marion, who loved to +see her father made happy even by the simplest things, caught a little of +his joyful infection. The house was in a stir; the servants laughed and +sang about their work; the oaken dresser was spread with holiday fare. +Marion caught old Avery in the yard and made him promise to sing his +mole-catcher's song. + +'If I do sing it, I mun sing it right through,' said the old man, with a +wink. 'I can't mind the verses without I sing them in arder.' + +She laughed; for many of his verses were indecent. 'You shall sing just +what you like, Dan,' she said. As well quarrel with the indecency of the +Bible as that of Avery's songs. + +Mr Prosser had told the men to leave their work at five o'clock instead +of at six, in order that they might go home to clean themselves and fetch +their families. Only Hayes, the cowman, who slept on the premises, was +to be left behind. Abner, old Avery, and Harris set off down the drive +together. The others moved too slowly for Abner, for he had seven miles +in front of him. All day long Harris had taken a malicious pleasure in +letting Abner know that his time was up and that The Dyke would soon be +shut of him. There had been one or two ugly moments, softened by the +good humour of old Dan. Now they walked alongside in silence, Abner +setting the pace. + +'Hey, you do go too fast for old bones, my son!' said Avery. + +'Wants to get home to his missus,' said Harris. + +'Here, you'd better drop that!' said Abner warningly. + +But Harris would not be warned. He knew, as well as the others, that +Mary Malpas had not been invited to The Dyke. 'I reckon you'm going to +leave her behind to-night,' he said. + +'I reckon you'd better mind your own business. I've had a damn sight too +much of your lip.' + +Harris laughed. 'Stands to reason they won't have that kind of muck in +the company of decent married women and innocent childer,' he said. + +Abner did not wait to answer him. He let out with his right, catching +Harris on the temple, and sent him spinning toward the ditch. + +'Steady, lad, steady!' cried old Avery. + +Harris pulled himself together and made straight for Abner with his head +low down like a bull. He was the older man, and, in spite of the iron +strength of his arms, Abner always had the advantage. Harris fought +desperately with his hob-nailed boots as well as his fists. They fought +till their faces were bloody and their clothes torn. Old Avery whined at +them to give over, but they took no notice of him. At last Abner drove +Harris into the ditch, where he lay spluttering blood. 'I reckon that'll +teach you to keep your bleedin' mouth shut!' said Abner savagely, and +left him there with the old man trembling and shedding weak tears above +him. + +He washed in the Folly Brook and had made himself fairly presentable by +the time he reached Wolfpits. + +'I thought you were going to the harvest home,' said Mary. + +'Then you thought wrong,' said Abner irritably. 'Give us some tea.' + +Neither Harris nor his family turned up at The Dyke that evening. Old +Dan, who had kept his own counsel, was in the middle of his mole-catching +song when one of the ploughman's children came in with a message to say +that her dad was in a fever, and the bed wringing wet under him. + +'Why didn't your mother come?' Prosser asked. + +'Dad wouldn't let her,' said the child. + +Marion took her aside and gave her a piece of cake. + +'It never rains but it pours,' Prosser grumbled. 'Here's Harris badly, +and now Hayes tells me he's got a poisoned finger. I don't know what +we'll do for the milking to-morrow.' + +'There's Fellows,' said Marion. + +'Yes, it's lucky we've got him. Why, he isn't here either! What the +devil's the matter with them all?' + +Marion said nothing. She had guessed long ago why Abner was not there. +She had half suspected that he would not come to The Dyke without Mary, +but her pride would not let her ask her father to invite the family from +Wolfpits. In the bottom of her heart she doubted if she would dare to +meet her old friend. It would be so difficult, and besides that she felt +that the intuitions of the other woman might discover her own leaning +toward Abner. It was too dangerous. + +Next morning Abner arrived at his usual hour. During the night Dr +Hendrie had been summoned to The Dyke and had found that the neglected +splinter in the cowman's finger threatened him with blood-poisoning, and +the loss of his arm. At dawn Mr Prosser had driven him in to the +infirmary at Shrewsbury. Marion received Abner on his arrival. + +'Why didn't you come up last night?' she said. + +'That sort of thing bain't much in my line,' he replied. + +'I wanted you to come,' she said. + +He only smiled awkwardly, and she wished that she had been more prudent. +She told him that Hayes was in hospital and that Harris was laid up with +influenza. It would be a convenience to them if he could take over +Hayes's work, which was the care and milking of the cows and the driving +of milk-cans morning and night to Llandwlas station. He was astonished +at this turn of luck, for he had expected to be dismissed with his +harvest earnings in his pocket. For all that, he didn't mean to take the +job on false pretences. + +'So Harris has caught the influenza, has he?' he said. + +'Yes, he sent up his little girl with a message last night.' + +'Well,' said he, 'it wasn't true. What Harris got was a damned good +hammering from me--one that he won't forget.' + +She thrilled to hear him. In her eyes he had become a hero. She knew +already that he could be gentle. It gave her a curious, almost physical +pleasure to realise him as a fighting man, for every one in the district +was aware of Harris's iron strength. + +'Tell me what happened,' she said. + +'He only got what he asked for,' said Abner, 'with his dirty talk about +young Mrs Malpas.' + +'Mary Malpas . . .' she said quickly. 'Oh, I'm sick of hearing her +name.' + +She did not pass on to her father what Abner had told her. He came back +from Shrewsbury that evening tired and depressed. 'The doctors reckon +that we were only just in time with poor Hayes,' he said. 'It's a near +shave for his left arm. They've had to open it right up to the shoulder +and he'll be lucky if he's out of hospital by Christmas. I don't know +what we can do, with Harris ill as well.' + +'There's Fellows,' she said. + +'Yes, there's Fellows,' he repeated, thinking of other things. He stared +at her vaguely, but it seemed to her that his eyes were searching her, +and she left him, blushing. + +Abner's new work kept him almost exclusively on the farm premises, and +for this reason he and Marion often crossed each other's paths. They met +so often that Marion lost a little of her shame in speaking with him. +She handled him cleverly, so that in the end he lost a good deal of the +awkwardness that she herself had created. She was frank and kind, +helping him in many small things. He came to take her for granted, and +even to like her. In a little time he became accustomed to the cowman's +job and took a pride in it. To all intents and purposes he was his own +master; for the dairy was Marion's province, and Mr Prosser rarely +interfered with its management. + +Within a week of his hammering, Harris returned, apparently not much the +worse for it. Nobody but old Avery knew what had happened, and the +ploughman kept to himself a story that was hardly flattering. Abner had +been prepared to treat him friendlily; but he soon saw that Harris had no +intention of doing the same, maintaining a surly silence that was never +to be broken, since their work now lay in different directions. + +So autumn passed, the first frosts of winter whitened the upland, and the +first ploughing began. Abner kept to his own work. The Prossers' dairy +was a small one, for their pasture land was limited, but he found that +with the two station deliveries, the milking, and the care of the cows, +his hands were pretty full. He saw less and less of Wolfpits, for it had +been arranged that he should take his evening meal at the farm on his +return from the station, and Mary was not altogether sorry for this, +since it freed her from many embarrassing moments. + +Abner was now earning a good wage, and the household was relatively +prosperous. He was even able to replace the watch that had been stolen +at Bran. In this peaceful interlude the only thing that really +disquieted Mary's mind was George's letter. She had never yet dared to +show it to Abner, but she had not destroyed it, and from time to time a +cruel fascination compelled her to take it from the drawer where she had +hidden it and to read it again. It seemed strange to her that she had +received no other word from him. If he could write once he could surely +write again, and though she did not dare to confide its contents to Mrs +Mamble, she induced the old woman to question the wife of a policeman at +Lesswardine whom she had attended in a confinement as to the conditions +under which a prisoner in the county jail might receive visitors or write +letters. A prisoner in George's condition, Mrs Mamble told her, was +entirely separated from the outside world for the first three months of +his sentence. After that, if his conduct were good, he might write and +receive one letter every month, and invite one visitor to see him during +the same period. This knowledge amazed her; for George had now been in +jail more than nine months but had only written her this one, disturbing +letter and had never once asked her to visit him. The fact filled her +with an inexplicable pang of jealousy; but what troubled her more deeply +was to know that Mrs Mamble was conscious of her humiliation. + +'The less you think about him the better,' said the old woman stoutly. +'He was never no good to you, and never will be.' + +But Mary could not put the matter out of her mind. Once again she +commissioned Mrs Mamble to make inquiries in Chapel Green and find out if +old Mrs Malpas had visited George in prison. The answer was definite. +Mrs Malpas had never left the village since the day of the trial, +although she had received several letters from George, as the postman, +who lodged with one of Mrs Mamble's friends, could vouch. + +Then Mary hardened her heart; for she guessed that George was choosing +for his only visitor the widow woman from Lesswardine, whom she had seen +at the trial. Re-reading George's letter she burned with anger. What +right had he to dictate to her how she should behave? Her soul was full +of hatred and contempt, so that she almost wished that she had given him +real cause for suspicion. In this state she allowed her memory to dwell +with tenderness on the surprising moment that had come to her and Abner +by the sea-crows' pool. She felt that she had been foolish to shrink +from it. And yet she dared not let Abner see what she was thinking; +knowing for certain, that if she did so something violent and terrible +must happen to them. For herself she had no fear; but the thought of +what the children might suffer chilled her. And she released her surfeit +of feeling in a more passionate devotion to these small creatures, +determining, whatever might happen, to hold on for the remaining eight +months of George's imprisonment. This artificial resolution made her +harden herself more than ever against Abner. + +One day Mrs Mamble brought her the news that Susan Hind was being married +in less than a week to Badger, the keeper. She now saw so little of +Abner that she could not be sure that his old relations with Susie had +ceased, but she found herself snatching eagerly at an occasion for +wounding him. + +'I hope you're going to your old friend's wedding, Abner,' she said. + +'I don't know nothing about one,' he said. 'I've no friends in these +parts that I know to.' + +'Susie Hind . . . she's marrying Mr Badger next Monday.' + +She watched him carefully. + +'Well, he's welcome!' said Abner, with a laugh. + +And then, instead of being relieved, she found herself overwhelmed by a +new suspicion. He would not have spoken like that unless he had been +entangled with some other woman. She wondered who it could be, and a few +days later began to ply him with deliberate questions about Marion +Prosser. He did not guess what she was driving at; imagined that she was +still brooding over her old slight. + +'I know naught about her,' he said. + +'Do you like her any better than you did?' + +'I don't mind her,' said Abner. 'At any rate she don't werrit me with +questions about you.' + +One day in October Marion renewed her proposal that Abner should sleep at +The Dyke. She told him that she didn't like to think of him walking to +and from Wolfpits every day. If she had substituted 'Mary Malpas' for +'Wolfpits' she would have been nearer to the truth. + +'We can make you quite comfortable in the little loft above the +harness-room,' she said. 'There's no point in your wearing yourself +out.' + +He said nothing; but told Mary of her proposal. Listening, she held her +breath. + +'I don't want to keep you,' she compelled herself to say. 'You'd better +go.' + +'No fear!' said he. 'You don't catch me losing my liberty that way! A +man that sleeps over his work's no better than a slave.' + +She felt a sudden relief. 'Yes, you're quite right,' she said. 'I'm +sure you're right.' She spoke as if it were the matter of principle that +interested her. + +Next day he refused Marion's offer, and she left him in a huff. She was +miserable, for she could not overcome the attraction which he had +exercised over her from the first, yet was too bashful to declare herself +more openly. She tried to tell herself that Abner was only a labouring +man and her inferior in station, but she could not pretend that +physically he was not her equal, nor deny his influence. She hoped that +he would notice the change in her attitude, see that she was avoiding +him, and, perhaps, miss her; but he went on with his work as usual and +did not seem to care whether she came near him or sent him messages by +Ethel or Agnes, the maid, and so, gradually, with a feeling of shame, she +was driven back to his company. + +The days were now drawing in rapidly, and it was after sunset when the +cows came to be milked. It had been Marion's custom to carry the scoured +pails to the byre and stand by Abner's side while he milked. When he +drove the cows into the shed he would light a stable lantern and hang it +from a nail in the wall before he found his stool and took the pail from +her hands. These were the moments when she felt herself nearest to him. +Standing in the doorway of the shippon she would watch him as he sat with +his fair head pressed to the cows' flanks and listen to the milk swishing +into the pails. It was a moment of most soothing silence. Neither of +them spoke, nor was there any other sound but that of the cows snatching +hay from the racks above them with their lips and filling the shed with +their sweet breath. Marion stood very still in that slow-breathing +quietude, and thither, like shadows, came the cats that lived in the +lofts and roofs of the granary, shy, half-savage creatures. It was part +of Abner's ritual to set a tin basin of milk frothing-warm on the floor +for them, and round this they would walk, five or six of them, with +sidelong gait and tails uplifted. Every night at milking-time they came. +But if she stirred a muscle they were gone. She watched them, quiet, +hallucinated; and when they were gone she stayed on in the silence, while +Abner strained the milk into her scalded buckets and passed from stall to +stall. + +One evening she found him troubled. + +'I don't half like the look of Daisy here,' he said. + +Daisy was a red Devon cow, the only one of her breed in Prosser's herd of +white-nosed Herefords. Some weeks before she had calved; but the calf +had been feeble and had died, and though they had given her a calf-skin +stuffed with straw to lick she had pined, and the milk had failed in +quality. Now she stood miserably in her stall with her ears turned back +and her sleek coat staring. + +'Why, what's wrong with her?' Marion asked. + +'She was coughing a good bit when I drove her in--seemed to have no heart +in her either--and you can see she's breathing quicker than the others. +You put your ear to her and hearken. It's like a lot of bubbles going +off inside of her.' + +He put his arm over the animal's neck and listened. Marion did as he +told her. They listened together, but she could hear nothing but Abner's +own deep, placid breath. He seemed very near to her. She could see his +serious eyes shining with pin-points of lantern-light. Her heart began +to beat so violently that she feared he must hear it. She felt a choking +sensation in her breast, as though her heart was bursting and she must +cry out or weep. It was intolerable. + +'Do you catch it?' he asked. + +'Yes, I hear,' she said. + +'I reckon she's worse than she seemed,' said Abner. 'I think she's got +the bronchitis. You'd best let the gaffer know.' + +'He's gone down to Craven Arms for the sales to-morrow,' she replied. +'He's booked a bed at the Railway Hotel.' + +'Like our luck!' Abner grumbled. 'Well, we'd better give her a drench of +gruel and poultice her when we've finished the milk.' + +When he came back from the station she was ready with a draught of +oatmeal gruel. Then she set herself to making a poultice of linseed meal +and brought it out to him. + +'I reckon I can't leave her to-night,' he told her. + +'Hadn't we better send for Harris?' she asked. + +He flared up at once. 'Harris? . . . I don't want that Harris poking +his nose in my shippon!' + +'Very well,' she said mildly. She watched him adjust the poultice over +Daisy's throat. The animal was now coughing painfully, and the chill of +the night air seemed to strangle her breathing. Marion found it +difficult to leave him. + +'There's no call for you to go catching your death of cold,' Abner said. + +Again she submitted. 'But I think we'd better take turns with her,' she +said. 'I'll go and tell Agnes.' + +She left him, and though she could not persuade him to let her take his +place she returned from time to time to the byre. He scarcely spoke to +her, for the animal's condition made him more and more anxious. At one +o'clock in the morning she came out in her dressing-gown with her dark +hair braided down her back for the night. The cow was now a terrible +sight. She had sunk down upon the floor of the shed and was breathing in +desperate, quick gasps, with her brown eyes piteously upturned. + +'I don't like the look of her,' said Abner, 'not half.' + +'We shall have to send for Harris. He understands them,' she said. + +'All right,' he returned, grudgingly. + +'I'll send Agnes down to the village. And then I'll bring you some tea.' + +'Don't you worry about that!' + +'Agnes is making it now.' + +She sent the maid running off at once. The kitchen fire was nearly out +and the kettle would not boil. It seemed to her an age before she could +get it boiling. Then she filled a jug with tea and prepared to take it +to him. At the door a shadow startled her and she gave a cry. Abner was +standing on the step. + +'It's a bad job,' he said. 'She's gone. She went off quite sudden.' + +She did not realise what he was saying. She gave a nervous laugh. + +'Oh, what a start you gave me!' she said, putting down the jug on the +table. And then, suddenly, she put her hands to her face and started +sobbing hysterically. + +'Don't take on like that!' he said. 'It's no fault of yourn.' + +'Oh, it's not that!' she cried. 'It's not that!' + +He put his hand on her shoulder, trying to soothe her, and the next +moment she was clinging in his arms and he was covering her face and neck +with kisses. Harris, who had run up from his cottage as fast as he could +travel, stood panting and gazing at them in the doorway, but neither +Abner nor Marion saw him, and when he had stared at them for a moment he +moved quietly across the yard into the byre. + + + + +The Twenty-Second Chapter + + +WHEN Mr Prosser returned from Craven Arms next evening he was in a bad +temper. At the Railway Hotel on the night before he had fallen in with a +number of cattle dealers from North Bromwich and Manchester. He had +drunk more than he could stand, and had sat up playing cards in the +commercial room till three o'clock in the morning, losing the price of a +bullock in the process. Marion, who met him at Llandwlas station, told +him that the Devon cow had died in the night. + +'Died?' said he, 'what do you mean "died"? She was all right yesterday.' + +'Fellows says it was bronchitis. It was awful to see her breathing.' + +'Bronchitis! They don't die that quick with bronchitis. What the hell +does Fellows know about it?' + +'He couldn't have done more than he did,' she replied. 'He sat up with +her till she went.' + +'I've never known such an unlucky year,' he grumbled. 'Hayes's wife says +that he won't be out of hospital for another month or more. Fellows +means well enough, but he's not like an experienced cowman.' He sat +broodily in the trap for a few moments. 'Why didn't you send for +Harris?' he asked at length. + +'We did, but Daisy died before he could get up.' + +'I shall advertise for a cowman,' he said, with a show of determination +that gave him a better opinion of himself. + +'Fellows did his best. It wasn't his fault.' + +'What do you know about it, anyway?' said Mr Prosser roughly. + +Reaching The Dyke in the worst of tempers, he had not even time to give +Ethel the kiss for which she stood waiting. He went straight into the +dining-room and mixed himself a stiff whisky and water, then, feeling +masterful and businesslike, he went straight out into the fields to look +for Harris. He found him driving in his team from the plough. + +'Did you see Daisy last night?' he asked. + +'Yes, I see'd her, but not afore she was wellnigh cold.' + +'How did she come to go off sudden like that, eh?' + +'If you want to know what I thinks, Mr Prosser, I'll tell you. That cow +she died of violent neglect. I've had my eye on her some days now.' + +'Then why the devil didn't you say so?' + +'Me and Fellows don't speak to one another, and you was gone off to the +sales.' + +'Why didn't you tell Miss Marion, then?' + +'It's no good talking to Miss Marion about he. Her wouldn't hear a word +against Fellows, though he be no more fit to look after cows than +rabbits, and I know for why.' Harris shook his head knowingly. + +'What do you mean by that? Why don't you speak plain?' + +'And I will speak plain, Mr Prosser, though I don't know where your eyes +have been if you haven't seed it for yourself. Miss Marion's soft on +that Fellows, and he knows it and takes advantage on it.' + +Prosser gave an uneasy laugh. 'You don't get me to believe that,' he +said. + +'You can believe it or not, gaffer,' said Harris. 'It's all the same to +me. I'm only telling you of what I knows, and what I've seen with my own +eyes. When Daisy was dying that Fellows was in your own kitchen and the +two of them kissing one another, so took up they never saw me coming. +And that's the truth, as I'm standing here!' + +Prosser could only stare at him. + +'You ought to have known the name that chap has with women. There's Mr +Hind's daughter over at the Pound House; there's George Malpas's wife, +not counting those that was never found out. He's a proper young bull, +that Fellows, and no mistake!' + +The farmer left him in a fury. He found Marion laying the supper-table +in the dining-room. Ethel was crouched by the fire reading a book of +fairy-tales. + +'You go out into the kitchen, Ethel,' he said. 'I want to talk to +Marion.' + +'I'm so comfy here, dad,' said the child sleepily. + +'Do as you're bid!' he shouted, and Ethel, frightened, left the room. + +'You've scared her,' said Marion. 'She's not used to being spoken to +like that.' + +'No,' said he, 'and it 'ld be better for the both of you if you were. +Just you put those things down and tell me the truth about Fellows.' + +'What do you mean, father?' she asked. 'I've told you he did all he +could. He sat up with her.' + +'And that's a damned lie to start with! Sat up with her, did he? Sat up +spooning in the kitchen along with you. That's more like it!' + +She blushed, then straightened herself and faced him with her hands +clasped before her. He was almost frightened of her burning eyes. + +'Who told you that?' she said quietly. + +'Never you mind who told me. They that told me saw it with their own +eyes. Saw you behaving like a labourer's girl in a hedge. That's a fine +thing to come to! You deny it if you can!' + +'I'm not going to deny it,' she said. + +'Then you've no shame left in you. Thank God your poor mother hasn't +lived to see it! I never thought to hear a daughter of mine speak like +that!' + +He waited for her to defend herself; but she stood as though petrified, +cold, with a furnace of emotions flaming inside her. He took her by the +arm, roughly, and shook her. + +'Don't dad!' she whispered. + +'Here, tell me how far it's gone.' + +She wouldn't answer him. + +'You'd better make a clean breast of it. How long has it been going on? +There's nothing wrong with you, eh? Better tell me straight!' + +The implication affronted her modesty, for though she had fearfully +imagined physical passion and its admonitions had found their way into +her dreams, the least suggestion of crudity shocked her. Her father's +words made her want to cover her face for shame. Her resolution wavered. +In a piercing moment of revelation she saw the scene in which she was +taking a part: the hard, tasteless room, with its steel engravings of +sporting pictures and its horsehair-covered furniture, the coarse cutlery +that she had been putting on the table, the metallic ticking bronze clock +on the mantelpiece, the worn hearthrug, and, in front of her, the angry, +flushed face of her father, the face of a man inflamed by passion and the +prejudices of his class. And she saw herself, a farmer's daughter in a +print overall, discovered, shamed, in a gross affair with a labouring +man. How many times in the history of the countryside had the same scene +been enacted? How many women of her kind had been pestered with the same +urgent questions? And still he pressed her. + +'What's done can't be mended. Better tell me straight, my girl!' + +All her suppressed idealism rose in revolt against him, against her +surroundings, against her whole manner of life. She hated her father and +utterly despised him. + +'I won't have you talking to me like that,' she said. 'I'm not a child, +and you shan't treat me like one. I'm a woman. I'm nearly thirty. Do +you think a woman can go on living this miserable, separated life and +settle down into an old maid like Aunt Isabel without feeling anything? +No . . . people like you don't think that a woman should have any +feelings. You think as long as you're well fed and get your glass of +whisky at night and all your books kept up to date, you think that's +enough life for a woman, you think that it's a privilege for her to spend +her days looking after you. Do you think a woman never wants a man?' + +Prosser gasped. 'I think you've taken leave of your senses, Marion,' he +said. + +'I've a life to live as well as you!' she cried. 'You call yourself a +farmer, but you've no more idea of nature . . .' She could say no more, +but threw her hands wide in a gesture of despair. + +It slowly dawned on him that she was defending herself. He saw himself +shamed among his fellows. There had never been a scandal at The Dyke in +his time. He said: 'Good God! Good God!' then helped himself to another +glass of whisky and took a stiff gulp. 'Well, I never thought it of +you,' was all he could say. He poured out another tot. + +A sudden gust of anger swept over Marion. Scarcely knowing what she did, +she picked up the cut-glass whisky decanter and sent it crashing into the +fire. The flames roared up the chimney; blue tongues of lighted spirit +ran out over the hearthrug. + +'Marion! My God, you're mad!' he cried. 'You'll set the house afire! +What do you think you're doing?' + +He snatched a rug from the sofa and went down on his knees stifling the +flame. She burst out into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. He stared +at her, frightened. 'What are you laughing at?' he cried. + +'I don't know,' she said weakly. 'I felt I must break something. What +an awful mess!' The outburst had sobered her, and more than that the +sight of her father's scared and innocent face. + +'It's all right now,' she said. 'I'll fetch a cloth from the kitchen.' + +He looked so bewildered that she couldn't help laughing at him. + +'I'm damned if I can make you out,' he said. + +'Of course you can't. You've not the least idea. . .' + +'Then it's all right?' he said solemnly. + +The dawning relief in his face was too much for her. She knelt down on +the carpet beside him and kissed his head. + +'Oh, dad, you're too killing!' she said. 'Do you think I can't look +after myself?' + +'Well, thank Heaven for that!' was all he could say. + +They talked the matter out more soberly that evening over the embers of +the fire when Ethel had been sent off to bed. They were as happy in each +other's company and as tender as lovers who have quarrelled and made it +up again. The moment of vision had faded for ever. The room in which +they sat had regained its old familiarity in Marion's eyes, forcing +itself to be accepted as her home; Mr Prosser was no longer a coarse, +fair-whiskered man with more than a drop of whisky in him, but the father +whom she had always known; the sombre life of The Dyke, with its slow, +rich comfort, was the life to which she had been born. And she +considered what would be the effect on that life of her marrying Abner +Fellows, for if her father's suspicions had been justified there was no +doubt but that he would have compelled the lover to make an honest woman +of her. No happiness worth the daring lay in that direction. She knew +that she could hope for nothing but a continual clashing of the two men's +wills and herself a buffer between them. Her father had a long memory +for his hates. There could never be any peace in the house till he died. +Rather than submit to such a humiliation she would cut herself free from +The Dyke and share Abner's life. Love in a cottage with a vengeance! +But did he love her? She had no real reason to believe it. And did she +love him? She could not say. Better, far better, cling to the +certainties, whatever they might be. + +'We'll say no more about it,' said Mr Prosser. 'Let bygones be bygones, +eh?' + +She nodded her head slowly at the fire. A piece of the shattered +decanter that had escaped her brush suddenly caught a gleam of light. It +meant no more to her now than a flake of the stone-men's flint of the +kind that she and Ethel found on their picnics at Castel Ditches. + +'Of course Fellows must go,' said Mr Prosser. 'I reckon I can find +another man by the end of the week.' + +'Yes,' Marion murmured. 'At the end of the week.' + +'Luckily there's no scarcity of labour,' said Mr Prosser happily. + +Marion's thoughts turned idly to Wolfpits. She shut the idea of Wolfpits +out of her mind. It was wrong, she thought, that Mary Malpas should ever +have come again into her life. It was always wrong to uncover the past. +They sat for a long time in silence. She crouched on the floor at her +father's side and his arm was thrown carelessly over her shoulder. His +head nodded and he fell asleep, but Marion still stared into the embers, +seeing nothing. It was nearly midnight when Mr Prosser woke with a start +and rubbed his eyes. + +'I think I must have dropped off,' he said. 'Why, look at the clock!' +He kissed her good-night. + +'By the way,' he said, 'I saw young Fred Maddy over at Craven Arms. He +talked about riding over for tea Sunday. He's doing pretty well, is Fred +Maddy, since his father died.' + +He stood blinking at her curiously; but she made him no reply. + +'Will you put out the light in the kitchen, dad, and see to the doors?' +she said. + +Next morning, when he had listened to Abner's own version of Daisy's +death and stood for a few moments in contemplation of the carcass, Mr +Prosser told him without offering any explanation that he would not be +wanted at The Dyke after the end of the week. Abner took it for granted +that the loss of the cow explained his dismissal. It was a piece of bad +luck, and no more was to be said for it. The blow was a heavy one, for +he had felt that his position on the farm was secure and that the +fortunes of Wolfpits were safe for the winter. He would have to begin +his search for work all over again, and this at a time when the demand +for labour was at its lowest. What made him particularly savage was the +look of triumph that he now saw on Harris's face. No doubt the ploughman +had managed to put a word in against him with Mr Prosser. Well, a man +who had taken such a hammering as Harris got on the night of the harvest +home had a right to get his own back, particularly when fortune had given +his enemy a trip. + +What puzzled Abner more was the strangeness of Marion's attitude. He did +not attach any great importance to her breakdown in the farm kitchen and +the tender moment that followed: that was the kind of thing that might +happen with any woman: but he did find it rather shabby of her to abandon +him as soon as he was down on his luck, for he had always felt that she +was his friend and supporter, and knew, indeed, that he had owed his job +to her from the beginning. Still, he believed that it was in keeping +with human--and even more with feminine nature--to kick a man when he was +down. The school in which he had been brought up had left him with few +romantic illusions: so, instead of brooding over her defection, he went +on steadily with his work until the day of his departure. + +On the last evening they met, for one moment only. She came into the +byre at milking-time and took up her old station in the doorway, watching +him as he worked. He looked round and found her standing there: it was +too dark for him to see her face. She handed him the pails in silence, +and when he had finished and stood wiping his hands on his trousers, she +said, almost timidly: + +'This is the last time.' + +'Yes,' he said, 'and I'm sorry to go.' + +'I'm sorry too,' she said, though she could not be sure that she was +speaking the truth. 'You've been a great help to us.' + +He gave an uneasy laugh. 'If that old Daisy hadn't gone and catched +cold,' he said. + +'Where are you going?' she asked abruptly. + +'That's a hard one to answer,' he said. + +'I wish I could help you.' She found it difficult to speak without +wounding his delicacy. 'If you're in want of money at any time . . .' +She felt it was her duty to give him anything she possessed. It was +necessary for her own self-esteem that she should not feel under any +obligation to him. + +'Money's no use to me,' he said, falling back on one of Mick Connor's +characteristic phrases. + +'But if ever you're in need?' she persisted. 'I know that Mrs Malpas and +her children are dependent on you.' + +It was the second time that she had ever mentioned Mary's name. She +compelled herself to do so now because in this way she could make it +quite clear that the incident of the other night was forgotten and that +he could not build on it. She wanted to clear herself at any price. +Even as she spoke the consciousness of her own motives filled her with +shame. She held out her hand. + +'You won't forget that, will you?' she said. + +'No, Miss Marion, you've been a good friend to me.' And he took her hand +in his. + +His unexpected use of the respectful prefix emboldened her and made her +feel surer of herself. In a moment the indefiniteness of the situation +had gone. They were back on their old footing of servant and mistress. +Her heart gave a leap of thankfulness. She felt that she was saved. The +man whose rough hand her fingers now touched for a moment was no longer +the symbol of an ideal but simply a farm-labourer whom her father had +dismissed. She withdrew her own hand hurriedly. + +'I'll say good-bye, then,' she said. + +'Good-bye, miss, and thank 'ee,' said Abner, and touched his cap. + +The idea of leaving The Dyke had shocked him; but when he passed down the +drive for the last time, with Prosser's money in his pocket, Abner +experienced a sudden feeling of relief. It was probable that hard times +were ahead of him, and yet he had never felt so free since the day when +he left his father's house at Halesby. When he got home he told Mary +with an affectation of lightness that he had got the sack. Her first +impulse was one of fear for their finances, but almost as quickly she +found herself thankful that Abner was no longer in touch with Marion +Prosser. The world in which she and Marion had been friends was so far +behind and spoke to her so poignantly of a lost content that she was glad +to be wholly freed from it. She could not disguise the fact that she was +jealous of Marion, not only for this but for other reasons. She put on a +bold and heartening front. + +'I've a nice bit of money in hand,' she said. 'That shows how wise we +were to go easy.' + +Her show of cheerfulness and courage pleased him. 'I thought it 'd put +you out a bit,' he said. + +'We ought to be used to uncertainty by this time,' she replied. 'I'm +glad you won't have that long walk there and back. It was enough to take +the strength out of any man.' + +'It's a rum thing,' he said, 'but I don't mind it any more than you do, +leaving The Dyke.' + +'You must get a job nearer home now,' she said. 'You're quite a +stranger.' + +'Ay, I'll have a look round to-morrow,' he said. + +When the day came he had not the heart to set out in quest of work. +Instead of doing so he lounged all morning, and after dinner took the +children out for a long walk over the stark, wintry fields. They were +wildly excited to go with him, for it was now many months since they had +known such a holiday. Mary watched them, smiling as they left Wolfpits. +She saw that they were happy, and marvelled at her own happiness. Abner +and the children made their way through the silent larchwoods to the top +of Castel Ditches and sat there gazing idly down upon the river valleys. +About the time when cohorts of starlings wheeled through the sky above +the reed-beds of the Barbel where they made their nightly roosting place, +the three of them dropped down the slope towards the waterworks. There +Abner found a diminished gang still working on the last details of the +track. The sidings, the cranes, and the engines were gone, and in place +of the trenches on which Abner had worked a year before, he now saw trim +walls, culverts, and bridges of stone. A single wooden hut remained +standing, and there he found the Gunner rubbing his hands over a bucket +of coke. He stared at Abner as though he were a stranger. + +'Well, our Abner,' he cried, when he recognised him, 'how goes it? I +thought you'd left these parts long ago. What have you been up to?' + +'Farm-labouring, up at The Dyke,' Abner told him. + +'That's a poor game,' said the Gunner, shaking his head. + +'Don't I know it!' said Abner. 'I've just finished with it. . . Can't +you give us a job here?' + +'No, my son . . . nor any one else,' said the Gunner. 'We're just +clearing up like. I've got ten men of the old gang left, but in another +week we shall have finished the lot. Don't you imagine I'm sorry for it +either. I've had enough of Mainstone to last me for a bit.' + +'Well, I've got to get a job somehow,' said Abner. + +'Then you won't get it here. This place is dead, my son, and that's the +truth! You'd best get back to dear old Brum. Or Coventry, that's the +place for you. Everybody's going mad on these here motor-cars the same +as they did on bicycles. Coventry's your ticket!' + +He gave the children a red-cheeked apple apiece. Abner bade him +good-night and turned homewards. + +'Did you hear about our wedding at the Pound House?' the foreman shouted +after him. 'Whisky? You could have swum in it! Pity old Mick wasn't +about.' + +It was dusk when Abner reached Wolfpits. + +He began his quest for a new job hopefully, undeterred by the foreman's +warning or the still gloomier prophecies of old man Drew. He knew that +work was scarce at that season; but it could not well be scarcer than it +had been when he found continued employment at The Dyke. Abner felt that +luck would come to him in much the same unexpected way. + +His first attempts seemed full of promise. At the time when he had set +out canvassing before, he had always been received with a kind of +negative pessimism that he learned to consider as the normal attitude +toward life of the border farmer. Now, he noticed that the farm-people, +and particularly the women, listened to his applications with more +interest, remembered his name, asked him questions about himself, and +even appeared to regard his person with curiosity. He took this as a +good sign; but though he was encouraged his hopes came no nearer to +realisation. One after another the local farmers or their wives heard +his story, had a good look at him, and turned him down. + +The reason for their interest was not far to seek. In spite of Mr +Prosser's anxiety to keep dark the true cause of Abner's dismissal and +the scandal that it implied, Harris, the ploughman, had not been able to +resist the temptation of making public his enemy's discomfiture, and +though nobody dared to whisper to the principal actors in the comedy that +they knew what had happened, the whole story of Marion Prosser's +infatuation for her father's cowman went the rounds of the neighbourhood. +At Ludlow market it passed for a good tale against Prosser, who was +envied for his possessions, and Marion, whose aloofness had made her +unpopular. + +In the most frequent version of the story Abner had been caught out with +Marion in the byre at a time when that astute young woman had arranged +for her father to stay the night at Craven Arms for his health's sake. +Marion, it was said, had refused, for the most pressing of reasons, to +give her cowman up; but Prosser's family pride--a well-known +quantity--had been so deeply wounded that he had threatened to shoot the +fellow on the spot and let his daughter's name go hang. The men enjoyed +the joke against Prosser; the women were agreed that proud creatures such +as Marion usually found their own level by some such violent means. The +principal question of interest that remained was where Marion would go to +hide her shameful condition. + +In every stratum of local society from that of Lesswardine Court to that +of the newly-married Mrs Badger at the Pentre, the incident was +discussed; but nobody in the district heard it with more triumph and +satisfaction than old Mrs Malpas of the Buffalo. By this time the whole +village was so used to her vilifications of Mary that they were scarcely +taken seriously, for village opinion, even when it is censorious in +expression, is, as a rule, charitable in deed. Now that she found +herself armed with a new enormity to reinforce the old, she set herself +steadily to the task of making it impossible for Abner to find work. She +determined to drive him out of the district, for in this way she knew +that Mary and her children must undergo the suffering that they deserved +and that Abner's devotion had spared them. + +With incredible patience she made it her business to interview every +farmer within five miles of Lesswardine and to beg him, or failing him +his wife, to refuse employment to such a scandalous character. The +Wesleyan minister at Chapel Green, who regarded Mrs Malpas as one of the +principal pillars of his church, helped her in this, and only the +laziness of the vicar of Mainstone prevented his wife from making him a +party to the same plan. Abner, in his ignorance, was faced by a +deliberate boycott. The men who spoke him fairly, when he asked them for +work were prepared to see him and the family that he supported starve +before they gave it to him. + +For a whole month this heart-breaking business went on. When first Abner +began to look for work Mary had greeted him every evening with enquiring +eyes, Now she no longer dared ask him what had happened during the day. +The monotony of unfulfilled promises told on him. He began to avoid her +society and to shrink from that of the children, trying to exhaust his +strength with long walks afield and cutting wood for Mrs Mamble and old +Drew as well as for their own household. She pitied him with all her +heart, but dared not show him pity lest it should tax his courage too +heavily. Money was running short. She starved herself in order that he +and the children might not lack, and thus found herself dragged into a +vicious circle, for her sacrifice lessened her own resistance and made +her temper uneven and liable to be irritated by Abner's moroseness. They +did not speak of their troubles, but neither of them could see what the +end would be. + +Wolfpits, in its utter isolation, was the last place in the district that +rumour ever reached. It was five weeks after Abner had left The Dyke +when Mrs Mamble heard the cause of Abner's dismissal and whispered it to +Mary. In a normal state she might have borne it, but her exhaustion made +her an easy prey to jealousy. One evening Abner found her unusually pale +and speechless, and asked her what was the matter with her. + +'I've only just heard the truth,' she said, scarcely controlling her +passion. + +'What about?' he asked innocently. + +'About why you left The Dyke. Why didn't you tell me?' + +'I did tell you. You know as well as I do.' + +'You never said a word about Marion. Not one word!' + +'Who's been putting that rubbidge into your head?' said Abner angrily. + +'Rubbish!' she repeated. 'You can call it that now! But if you'd left +the girl alone we shouldn't be where we are now, not knowing where to +look for a shilling and the children likely to want for bread.' + +'You've got a maggot in your head, missus,' he said. 'Why I left The +Dyke's got nothing to do with Miss Marion, so don't you think it.' + +'Oh, I'm tired of you!' she cried. 'It's no use your telling off your +lies to me. I'm dead sick of you and your women . . . you and your Susie +Hinds and Marion Prossers! Running after loose women with your eyes shut +and never a thought for those that keep themselves decent like me. And +if there was another caught your eye to-morrow, you'd be up and away +after her the same. You're no better than an animal! Like the rest of +men: they're all the same!' + +She stood up to him, trembling with rage. At that moment she was ugly, +and rising to the violence of her challenge, he hated her. He lost sight +of her weakness. All he saw was her impudent provocation. An answering +anger fumed up into his head and carried him away so that he could easily +have struck her. He came towards her with his hand lifted. + +'Don't! Don't!' she shrieked in terror. + +He dropped his hand and walked straight out of the room. Left alone, she +was overborne with shame for what she had done, and cried for her lost +dignity. Never in her life had she so abased herself. 'But he lied to +me! He lied to me!' she told herself. 'If he hadn't lied to me it +wouldn't have happened!' Little by little the turmoil of her thoughts +abated and she began to remember his goodness, his patience, all that she +owed to him. 'If he had struck me,' she thought, 'I should have deserved +it.' She almost wished that his hand had fallen, for nothing less than a +blow could have justified her violence and her base ingratitude. The +only thing with which she could comfort herself was a firm determination +that she would never offend him again. By nothing but the most complete +sacrifice of her feelings could she repay him a thousandth part of what +she owed him. + +After that day she never uttered one complaint, though the tale of her +sufferings increased beyond the bounds of endurance. To their hardships +she turned a front of steel, but to Abner himself she was as tender as +she dared to be. The consciousness of this discipline sustained her. +She was a new woman, worn and anxious but invincibly cheerful; and Abner +himself took heart from her courage. + +Winter fell upon them. The snow-bound ramparts of the hills came nearer +to them, encircling the valley with a clear-cut beauty. The colours of +life faded from the land, and every farm was like a fortress of stone, +close-barred against the assaults of rain and icy wind. The fields lay +cold and dead; the sap sank downward from every frozen branch. There was +no colour in all the land but a brilliant mockery of red berries on brier +and holly and thorn. 'There's a tarrable lot of berry this year,' said +old Drew. 'I reckon we'm in for a hard winter again.' + +And so the remotest possibility of finding work on the farms drifted away +from Abner. The few labourers who moved about the fields, the solitary +teams at plough, seemed glued to the frozen surface of the land, stirring +sadly as in a dream. In spite of the kindness of their neighbours, so +delicately shown in the gifts of roots and bundles of wood that old Drew +carried home on his bent shoulders, the family at Wolfpits felt the pinch +of cold and want. Mary, true to her resolution, uttered no word of +complaint, but her face told Abner what she was suffering so plainly that +he could not bear to look at her. One night he left her and spent the +evening with old Drew in his bedroom, drinking the labourer's home-made +poison till his brain was fuddled and his limbs, for the first time, were +warm. Mary heard him stumbling up the stairs at night, but when they met +next morning she did not reproach him. + +Her little store of money was nearly gone. One day, racking her brains +for some new expedient to stave off the inevitable end, she remembered +Mrs Malpas's visit and the story of the fifty pounds which George had +stolen from the Buffalo on the eve of his imprisonment. She wondered, +desperately, if the old woman was right, and he had hidden it in some +corner of the house. She began to search, with the fierce enthusiasm of +a seeker after treasure. She spent all her energy in turning the bedroom +and kitchen inside out; she looked into the chimneys, for she had heard +that money was sometimes hidden in such places. By the end of the day +she was utterly exhausted but had found nothing. 'At any rate,' she +thought, 'the place looks tidier.' A poor consolation! + +That night it occurred to her that if only she could get as far as +Shrewsbury she might pawn some of her wedding presents, particularly a +set of plated tea-things which her father, lavish in the expenditure of +other people's money, had given her. They made a clumsy parcel, +difficult to conceal, and in order to spend as little as possible on the +railway fare she decided to walk over the hills towards Clun and catch a +train on the branch railway. She left the children in Mrs Mamble's care, +and slipped away without letting Abner know that she had gone. In +Shrewsbury a sad discouragement awaited her. The man in the pawnshop +sniffed at her property. 'This kind of thing's gone out of fashion,' he +said. 'If you'd brought it here five year ago I might have done better +for you. Twenty-five shillings's all it's worth.' The sacrifice hurt +her, but she accepted his figure. The fare home to Llandwlas left her +with a guinea in hand, and on that money they existed for more than two +weeks. She only prayed that Abner would not notice the blank in the +cupboard from which she had taken the silver, but she need not have been +frightened, for Abner had no eye for things of that kind. One +imprudence, however, nearly betrayed her. On the way to the station at +Shrewsbury she had seen a box of oranges newly imported for Christmas and +had not been able to resist the temptation of buying two for the +children. Next day Abner saw them on the table. + +'Oranges?' he said, his eyes shocked by her extravagance. + +She lied quickly. + +'Yes, Mrs Hendrie met me on the road and gave me them for Morgan and +Gladys.' + +Afterward, in the curiously sensitive state of her conscience, this lie +troubled her. He himself was so open with her that she felt it almost a +duty to tell him the truth. She brooded over the question for several +days, but in the end it sank into insignificance before the fact that +they had no money left. Looking at her empty purse she felt that she +could face the situation no longer. She dared not ask for credit in any +shop in Mainstone, for she suspected that all the shop-people must be +aware of her plight. Greatly daring, she made an expedition to +Lesswardine and entered a grocer's with whom she had not dealt since the +days before her marriage. The man had been a friend of her father's. +Perhaps that would count for something. + +It was Saturday night, and the shop was buzzing with people. The grocer, +flurried with work, scarcely nodded to her, and she was nearly leaving +the shop in fright when a new assistant whom she did not know asked her +what he could serve her with. Fortunately, she had dressed herself with +care and looked respectable. She ordered blindly, lavishly, and the +smart young man dumped her purchases on the counter with a flourish and +dashed off the bill with a pencil that he carried behind his ear in a +hieroglyphic of his own. + +'Cash or account, madam?' he asked rapidly. + +'Account,' she murmured. + +'Certainly. What was the name?' + +'Mrs Malpas, Wolfpits.' + +'Of course,' said the young man, excusing himself. 'Pardon. Shall we +send them?' + +'To-morrow's Sunday, isn't it?' she said. 'I think I'd better take them +with me.' + +'Thank you, madam. Very kind of you,' said the assistant, making a large +blue-paper parcel, which he handed her over the counter with an +obsequious bow. + +She picked up her parcel and fled, thankful that the grocer was too busy +to notice her. She felt that the eyes of all the women were on her and +that they knew her for a thief. Also she knew that she could never +attempt this adventure again. + +So the end came, or what they thought must be the end. They sat together +one night in the kitchen at Wolfpits, and both of them knew that they +were beaten. A fire burned brightly in the hearth--in this thickly +wooded valley they need never lack warmth--the room seemed cosy and +almost gay in the firelight, showing no signs that they had fallen from +prosperity, for though Mary had paid three more visits to the +pawnbroker's and now felt hardened to the adventure, she had always +managed to conceal the deficiencies in the furniture by some new +arrangement. On her last journey to Shrewsbury, hurrying to the station +under the walls of the jail, the idea had struck her that she might be +forced in the end to pawn her wedding ring, and she had laughed bitterly +to herself. Much good had it done her! The idea had only struck her as +a whimsical prospect. She had too much common sense to allow herself to +be driven to this conventional expedient. She knew that they could not +go on indefinitely stripping the house of its furniture. It would be far +better to face the facts. If Abner could not find work, and there seemed +no probability of his doing so, the best that they could do was to part. +He must leave her, and she, pocketing her pride, must apply to the +relieving officer, whom she had once shown to the door, for money from +the parish. She knew that it must come to this, and yet she could not +bring herself to tell Abner. She had settled in her mind that the +proposal must come from him, and for the present he seemed numbed, worn, +incapable of thinking. He sat opposite her in silence with an empty pipe +between his teeth staring at the fire. After a little while she found +herself silently weeping, and turned her face away from him, blowing her +nose to hide her tears. + +Some one knocked at the door, and she cried: 'Come in!' + +It was old Drew. They were not surprised. By this time they were used +to the labourer's visits. Often, in the evening, he would drop in with +the excuse of having a talk with Abner, though most of the talking fell +to Mary, and then, just as he was on the point of leaving, he would +produce from one of the vast pockets in his coat some article of food +that he had picked up at the farm. They knew so well this delicate +subterfuge! At first Mary had been amused by it, and more than a little +touched. Now she only waited impatiently to see what the old man had +brought. + +That night it seemed as if he would never go; but just when they had +reached the point when it seemed that the eggs or turnips must appear, he +turned to Abner and told him that he had some good news for him. + +'Good news?' said Abner. 'It's a long time since I've heard anything of +that.' + +'I was talking about 'ee to Mr Willums,' said Drew, 'and told en that you +was in a purty bad way. "Well, Drew," says he, "if it's as bad as that, +I don't say we mightn't do something. There do be a heap of stones +scattered over the top fields as us might well be rid on. It do be a +boy's work, 'tis true, but Fellows might be glad of it."' + +Mary flushed with pleasure and clasped her hands. 'I'd be glad of +anything,' said Abner. + +'Well,' the old man went on, 'I do reckon that there be no more'n a +fortnight's work there, and a poor, niggling job that's like to break +your back at that. But I thought you'd be glad of it, and I told en so. +So up you comes along with me at six o'clock to-morrow morning, for I +told en you'd come for sure. Threepence an hour he'll pay 'ee. That +makes twelve shillin' a week. 'Tis not much, but 'tis something.' + +They thanked him without reserve, but he shook his head at them. 'I +don't know as it's me you have to thank,' he said. ''Tis your old mother +down to the Buffalo as you'd ought to be grateful to. Mr Willums have +took it into his head as giving Abner work would make her mazed. He've +never forgive her over that cider, and never will. He's a long memory, +Mr Willums.' + +When he left them Mary was so full of an emotional thankfulness that she +could not speak. Abner went to bed cheerfully. She heard him whistling +in his room above her. + +Next morning his work at the Pentre began. As Mr Williams had said, it +was a boy's work by rights and unfitted to a man of Abner's strength. At +first sight it seemed like one of those labours which malignant kings +impose upon their daughters' suitors in fairy tales. The Pentre was a +large farm of miserable land. Its uppermost cultivated fields reached +nearly to the crown of the smooth hills at the valley head, ending +abruptly at the foot of stony screes. From these unstable precipices the +winter torrents rolled down many stones, flat rocky fragments that +impeded the plough. Nor were these all, for the soil was so thin, that +every ploughing turned up thousands more, and in winter the fields were +overspread with a pale bloom of stones. + +At this season of the year the uplands were always cold, enwrapped in icy +vapours or glistening with frost that glued each fragment to the ground. +Abner's task was to clear these stubborn acres of their surface stones: +an endless labour, for no sooner had he picked the surface over than new +stones appeared. No convict labour could have been more monotonous, more +thankless, nor, as it seemed, more futile. From dawn to sunset he worked +in loneliness. No single human figure approached him all day long except +that of Mr Williams, whom he would see coming like a speck in the lower +distance urging his pony upwards. When he reached Abner the farmer would +stay scowling at him for a few minutes. He was a surly man, and rarely +spoke except on Monday evenings after Ludlow market. Then, having +satisfied himself that Abner was not shirking, he would turn away and +walk his pony down the hill again. + +There was never any fear that Abner would not work. It was only by +violent exertion that he could keep any heat in his body, for his food +was poor, and the winter, as old Drew had prophesied, severe. He toiled +there in rain, in sleet, in snow, and in blinding mist. The pay was so +poor that he knew he could not afford to miss a day, picking up stones +with numbed and ragged fingers when no other labourers were afield. +Every evening he walked home dead tired, scarcely knowing if his legs +were his own, for the continual stooping took all sensation away from +them. + +Once, in the dusk, he lost his way, for he had tried to shorten his +journey by a cross-cut. He found himself suddenly on the brink of the +sea-crows' pool, but not a bird was to be seen, for in winter they +returned to their homes on the Cardigan coast. His memory of what had +happened there was as hazy as that of a dream. It seemed to him that he +had lived half a lifetime since that night. He stumbled down through the +fog and passed the door of Badger's cottage. A light burned in the +window, and he thought he saw Susie moving in the parlour. He laughed to +himself and damned her . . . damned all women. Another evening on his +way home a dog-cart overtook him coming over the hills from Clun. It had +passed him before he saw that its occupants were Marion Prosser and a +young farmer named Maddy, whom Abner only knew by sight. They bowled by +him at a good pace. He wondered if she had recognised him, for he had +been in their sight for some time. If she had, she made no sign of +having seen him. And again he hardened his heart against all women. + +And yet, though he did not know it, the sight of Abner trudging homeward +down the lane had awakened a palpitating interest in Marion's heart, and +inspired her with a sudden distaste for the man who was sitting in the +trap beside her. She looked down on him from the height of the driver's +seat, seeing his mean shoulders, the thin nape of his neck, and his small +foxy face in profile. She felt that she would like to lash at him with +the whip that she held in her hand; but since she knew that ladylike +young women did not do such things, she flicked him with the lash of her +tongue instead. + +'That was Fellows, our cowman, Fred,' she said, knowing that the name +would wound him. + +He gave an ugly laugh. 'I know him. He had the face to come and ask me +for work. I soon gave him the right-about!' + +'You!' she cried scornfully. 'You're not fit to talk to him! He's twice +the man that you are.' + +He flushed. 'Look here, Marion, who the hell do you think you're talking +to?' he said, clutching her arm with a show of strength. + +'Don't!' she cried. She wrenched herself free and slapped his face. The +horse broke into a canter. + +'That's not the way to get yourself married,' he said. + +She would not reply to his insult and they drove to The Dyke in an +uncomfortable silence. + +Next day she set out deliberately to meet Abner on the road. She called +'Good-evening' to him, but he, still smarting under the discomfort of +Mary's outburst, would not answer her. She followed him and took him by +the arm. + +'Abner,' she said. 'Will you ever forgive me? I don't like to think of +the way we parted.' + +'I don't bear you any ill-will,' he said. 'That's all over and done +with.' + +'I want you to think of me as a friend,' she said. 'Abner, if ever +you're in need of money . . . if you want money now . . . I wish you'd +take it from me.' + +He laughed. 'I'm in work now,' he said. 'You'd best leave us alone. We +don't want your money.' His resentment burst out afresh. 'Nor you +neither,' he added. + +She controlled herself. 'Very well. That's understood,' she said, and +left him without another word. + +She walked home violently in the dusk, thinking of the desperate mess she +had made of her life, wondering if she could ever bring herself to marry +a man with sloping shoulders and a squeaky voice like Fred Maddy. What +did it matter? What did anything matter? + +Mr Williams had reckoned that the top fields would provide Abner with a +fortnight's work. He had merely given him the job to satisfy a passing +whim of inflicting a pin-prick on Mrs Malpas, and had told him from the +first that he could not continue to employ him when the work was done. +Luckily for Abner at the end of the fortnight half the fields remained +uncleared. Mr Williams recognised that he had worked well, and decided +to keep him on, for perhaps another ten days. The expense was trivial, +and the job worth doing. Christmas, his second Christmas at Wolfpits, +intervened, but by the third of January Abner's work at the Pentre was +nearly finished. + + + + +The Twenty-Third Chapter + + +ONCE again the situation had to be faced. This time Abner was in no +doubt as to what must be done. Those lonely days on the cold upland had +given him time to think. He now realised that as far as finding work in +the Lesswardine district went he was definitely beaten, and that every +day that he spent at Wolfpits must make him more and more a drag upon the +resources of the family. The obvious thing for him to do was to turn his +early experiences at Mawne to account, to set off southward for the coal +valleys and work as a miner underground. On the Welsh coalfield, wages +ran high and he might be sure of earning enough to keep himself in +comfort and to supply the Wolfpits household with a living that would +seem luxurious after their long privations. In solitude this +determination had been easily made, and the feeling that something +definite was in view had made him happier and better pleased with +himself; but when he left the Pentre and came to lay his plans before +Mary, his course did not seem so clear or so free from complications. + +During their three months of hardship their relations had undergone a +curious change. Mary's outburst of jealous anger when she learned the +true cause of his dismissal from The Dyke, had swept through her like a +storm, stripping her heart of its hidden grudges and reservations. It +passed, leaving her weak, bewildered, and yet happy. It was as if this +sudden tempest, while almost destroying her, had snapped the last threads +that bound her to her old life. All the past was broken. It rolled away +from her in a tumult of spent cloud, and in the serene silence that +followed she came to herself, realising that she was alone in the world +with Abner and her children. It was like the bewildered calm that comes +after an escape from death; the hushed birth of a new world; a strange, +unearthly quiet. + +In this new state she found herself most eager to atone for the endless, +wordless contest that she had waged against him. She knew that she could +never repay him a hundredth part of what he had given her and suffered at +her hands. The money was nothing. What he had sacrificed for her was +his freedom, a hard denial for a man in the prime of youth. And so, +thinking gratefully of his goodness toward her and of his unfathomed +patience, she began to dwell tenderly on other aspects of the man: his +splendid, supple strength, his honest eyes, the straightness and +simplicity of his whole nature, and to compare them, instinctively, with +what she knew of her husband: his superficial charm, his persuasive +manners, and his callous heart: all those qualities that she had been +taught by bitterest experience to hate and to mistrust. It was in this +light that Abner seemed to her most wonderful. And she had used him like +a shrew! Every natural impulse of kindness in him she had checked and +thwarted! Pride had made her thankless; prudishness had hardened her. +She was detestable, and if he hated her she had only herself to thank for +it. + +But did he hate her? She hoped, fervently, that he did not. She could +not bear that he should hate her. It pained her even to think that she +owed his kindness to the fact that he had given some promise to George, +and in the simplicity of his nature felt that he must redeem it. She +knew that he was fond of the children and could not bear to see them +suffer; but that was not enough for her. Her new being craved for a +personal devotion. If that were not forthcoming she felt that she would +have little left in the world, that her life must be finally bitter and +useless. And she knew that she was far too young for any such finality. +She hated the pride that had brought her to this, and resolved to +proclaim her new humility by every means in her power. + +Abner himself was sensible of the change in her attitude toward him. +During the time of his work at the Pentre, he became aware of it. Little +by little, for she was far too cautious to make the change a sudden one, +she was demolishing the barrier that she had built so carefully between +them, and he, reluctantly, had accepted. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, +they were nearing once more the point which they had reached in a moment +of stress and abandonment on the night of the white mist six months +before, the moment when he had seen her transfigured, or rather revealed, +as the one woman in the world whom he wanted, body and soul. + +In all those hard days not a single chilling word passed her lips, not a +single intolerable silence drove him away from her. Her kindness made +her beautiful, but the nearness of her beauty frightened him and he +withdrew himself, having once cruelly burnt his fingers at that flame. +He was happy, but could not trust his happiness, not because any scruples +of honour pricked him, but because he feared a new rebuff. + +Even though he dared not believe in her submission he could not escape +the influence of her tenderness. The lean days were the best he had ever +known at Wolfpits: even if he had had money to spend he would not have +gone elsewhere, and every moment that brought him nearer to the +inevitable parting on which he had decided, made the idea of it more +painful and more difficult. It now seemed to him monstrously +unreasonable that when such complete happiness was in his grasp he should +wilfully renounce it. And yet, what else could he do? A sense of the +futility of her kindness made him shrink from it. + +She saw what was happening, knew that she deserved it, and in order that +she might justify herself she now tried to play on his affection for the +children, to create an atmosphere of interdependence among the four of +them, to bind him closer to her with a web of many strands each so +slender that he need not be aware of the process. But he felt the light +pressure of the net in which he was being entangled; he struggled to free +himself. And she saw the convulsions of his struggle and feared to lose +him. The thrill of this new, half-hidden conflict held her. + +On the Saturday night before his last week at the Pentre, he kept back +five shillings of his earnings. By working from dawn till sunset each +day he had managed to put in many hours of overtime, so that he was able +to give her half a sovereign clear. It seemed to him a good opportunity +for breaking the news of his plan to her. Sooner or later the word must +be spoken. She held the gold coin in her hand and looked at him +inquiringly. + +'You'll be two bob short this week,' he said, 'but if any one knows how +to manage, you do. After that I reckon things'll begin to look up a +bit.' + +She flushed with a sudden pleasure. + +'Abner!' she cried. 'You don't mean to say that Mr Williams is going to +keep you on?' + +'Not he!' said Abner. 'There's not more than four or five days left of +the stone picking, and I can tell you I'm not all that sorry. My back's +fair broke at it! No, I'm thinking of a change. I might stay on round +here a year before I find another job worth calling one. They've got a +down on you and me, these farming chaps, them and your old mother. +There's only one thing to be done as I can see. And that's what I've +kept five bob back for to-night.' + +'I don't understand, Abner,' she said, understanding only too well. + +'Of course you don't. Well, I'll tell you. While I've been up on the +hill I've had a good few hours for thinking. I've reckoned it all up +square. There's about four month as you'll have to hang on here afore +old George comes out, and you can't keep the lot of us for four odd month +on nothing. That's clear enough, bain't it?' + +She assented. + +'So I thought like this. What's the use of a chap of my sort, that's +learned a trade and all, and can pick up good money at it, going round +cadging work from a lot of beggars that don't mean to give it me? I've +had a bellyful of farmers' promises, I have, and I tell you straight!' + +Again she said: 'Yes . . .' + +'And so this is how I see it. The only thing left for me when I've +finished along with old Williams is to take a turn down Swansea way.' + +'Swansea?' she cried. + +'That's it. I looked it up Sunday in the time-table on Llandwlas +station, and asked about the fare. You go down through Builth and Brecon +and Neath, and five bob'll do it. There's plenty of work going in the +Western Valleys, they say, and good money and all. You can pick up two +pound ten a week, without killing yourself either. They say lodging's +dear, but I reckon I can send you a clear pound easy: postal orders you +can change at Mainstone and nobody know where they come from. I ought to +have done it before. I know that. But now it looks like as if there's +nothing else.' + +While he spoke he was walking up and down the little room, never looking +at her. Her eyes followed him, but her heart fell within her. He +finished and faced her. She could scarcely answer him. + +'You mean that you must go away . . . leave me?' + +'That's the ticket,' he said. 'I ought to have done it afore. If I had +they'd have left you alone.' + +'But you can't,' she said. 'You can't!' + +'You can't live on nothing,' he said brutally. + +She could not listen to reason. She was beyond reason now. + +'No, no,' she cried. 'Abner, you mustn't go!' + +He set his will against her. She stood and trembled before him, but he +would not face her for fear that he should be softened. He kept silence. + +'You can't,' she cried again. 'I couldn't face it . . . the loneliness! +I couldn't, really! This place . . . all alone. No, Abner, you can't!' + +'It's not for so long,' he reassured her. 'What's four month? After +that you'll have George back again.' + +'George!' she cried. 'Oh, don't speak of it! You're cruel!' + +Her words came as a shock to him. It was now many months since they had +spoken of George. Since the evening of his letter she had not even +mentioned his name to the children nor encouraged Abner to talk about +him. Abner saw the fateful direction in which the tide was drifting, and +held steadily to his course. + +'It's not so long since,' he said, 'that you told me to go away if I +wanted to. The time they tried to get you to go and keep house for the +parson. I reckon you've changed about a good bit since then.' + +'Of course I've changed,' she said. 'I was a fool then. I didn't know +what I wanted. It's different now.' She paused, and then returned +instinctively to her first words. 'You can't! You can't!' + +'You're talking wild,' he said brusquely. 'I've thought it all out. +It's the only thing. You'll have the comfort you'm used to, you and the +kids. You won't find it all that lonely with your stomachs full. It's +the bad times we've been having that makes you talk like that.' + +Still she protested. 'No, no, it isn't. I couldn't bear it. It's like +taking the life away from me.' + +He didn't wait to think what she meant. He was angry that she should +increase the difficulty of his parting. + +'It's no good talking to you,' he said, 'if you can't see sense. I can't +take you along with me, can I?' + +'Why not?' + +She stood before him, meek, submissive. He was overwhelmed. Through all +those months he had schooled himself so thoroughly that this sudden, +voluntary surrender staggered him. His heart melted within him; the +blood beat in his wrists. The past shrivelled away in that moment's +flame. The future was a blaze of light, and in the present he saw +nothing but the woman of his desire. There had been no one like her. In +all his lighter loves he had been able to see himself from without as a +creature fevered with appetite. But now he was lost. He knew nothing in +the world but Mary: her softened eyes, the curve of her lips, the thrill +of her yielding body. He picked her up in his arms, holding her so that +her breath came quickly on his cheek, and strained her toward him as +though, by doing so, he might make her a part of himself. Even if he +killed her with his strength in that moment she was made his, clasped +immutably to him in the surrounding darkness. Their lips were joined in +eager kisses. Her proud body gave itself to his arms. Her eyes were +closed: her lips infinitely happy. + +'Mary, Mary . . .' he whispered to her, rejoicing in the sound of her +name. But his voice was strange, distant, thick with passion, and his +clasping hands could not be certain that they held her. They followed +every curve of her body, seeking to know if it were really she. His +tongue stumbled on phrases that had never come to him before. + +'Mary, my little one, my beauty! Did I use you rough? Did I hurt you?' + +She shook her head and smiled back at him, full of content. She herself, +shyly daring, allowed her hands to caress his head, stroking his hair, +his ears, his neck. And the light contact of her fingers maddened him, +finding strange nerves that had never felt before, awakening new +yearnings. + +At last she opened her eyes. + +'The lamp's flaring,' she said, in a curious, toneless voice. Smiling +gently she freed herself from his arms and turned down the wick. He +followed her, feeling that she was escaping him. Never again should she +escape him. Obedient to his will she came back to him. + +'Us bain't gooin' to wait for the parson, bin' us?' he said, and when she +would not answer: 'Durs'n't you, wench? We've waited above a bit, us +two!' + +'There's the children,' she said, lowering her eyes. 'I thought I heard +Morgan cry out in his sleep.' + +'Bless them!' he said. 'And don't I love every bone in their bodies as +if they was my own?' + +'I know,' she said. 'I know. And they're so fond of you.' + +'It's because they'm yours,' he said. 'So what does it matter?' + +'Don't ask me. Poor sweet lambs! Oh, Abner, where am I?' + +'You'm here with me, wench! In my arms. You belong to me, Mary. +There's nought can take you away from me. I don't let you go now I've +got you. Not a minute, not a second!' + +'I can't take it in,' she said. 'If Mrs Mamble could see through the +wall! To think of all that people have said of us!' + +'They can say it again. They're welcome now! Talk? They can talk their +damned heads off. We've been through all that!' + +'I should just think we have,' she sighed. 'They can't touch us now. +Abner! Abner!' + +She clung to him and kissed him again and again. 'Ah, Abner, don't ask +me!' she said. 'Just let things happen as they will.' + +She hid her face against him. + +'But afterward,' she whispered. 'What can we do? How can we get away, +Abner? I feel as if something might stop us. Let's get away at once. +Let's go. I can't bear waiting!' + +He laughed at her. 'To-night?' + +'No, to-morrow.' + +'Nobody will know it's any different till we're gone,' he said. 'They +can't say worse of us than they have done.' + +'They will. . . . Of course they will. They can't help seeing. Mrs +Mamble . . . an old woman like that sees everything. I shall look +different. I know I shall, if it's only that I'm happy.' + +He laughed as he kissed her. 'Bin yo' happy, my love?' + +'Oh, Abner!' + +'Three or four days'll see me finished up at old Williams's. He done us +a good turn, and don't you forget it. Besides that you couldn't get +ready by to-morrow. You'll take a few days over that, and I'll go on and +look for a home.' + +'No, no, Abner!' she cried. 'Don't leave me now! Don't you leave me! +If ever I lose sight of you now something will happen. I know it as sure +as sure.' + +'You'm a baby, that's what you are!' he said, teasing. He gathered her +up in his arms and talked foolishly to her. + +'No,' she said, shaking her head. 'I mean it. I'm as serious as I can +be.' + +'A damned sight too serious for me!' he grumbled. + +'We must all go together. In three days I can be ready. No, two.' + +'In that case every one'll see us. You'm all the other way now.' + +'I don't care who sees us now,' she said passionately. 'What does it +matter? Let it take its chance! It's nothing to us. I'm so sick of +their talk that it means nothing to me.' + +She became thoughtful once more. + +'Abner,' she said suddenly, 'tell me truly, when did you first want me?' + +Again he teased her. + +'What does that matter?' + +'I want to know,' she protested. + +And he told her of the night at Redlake when he had stood burning in the +moonlight beneath the jasmine-covered windows of the inn. + +'I knew, I knew!' she said softly. 'I couldn't sleep that night. The +time we've lost, us two! Oh, how I hate myself! It was nearly the same +with me. Just when we'd missed our way and my legs ached so that I felt +I couldn't walk another step. Poor little Morgan, and the bottle of pop +you promised him! And then those strange sea-birds crying up in the +dark. Do you remember how I turned on you and told you I hated the sight +of you? That was when I loved you. Then and ever since.' + +'We've been through something, one time and another,' he said. + +She laughed softly. + +'It's like a long courtship,' she said. 'George and I only knew each +other six weeks before we were married.' + +It amazed her to find that now she could speak of George without +discomfort. Her mind ran swiftly over those early days. + +'Abner,' she said, 'I feel sorry for George now, don't you?' + +'Don't speak of him!' said Abner seriously. + +'You're jealous . . .' + +'Don't speak of him. I gave old George my word. I've not been a pal to +George.' + +'You're a funny boy,' she said, loving him with her eyes. + +'I want to forget old George,' he said obstinately. + +'Then I won't speak of him, Abner. What time is it?' + +She put her hand into his waistcoat pocket and took out his watch. The +sweet familiarity of the action entranced him. His eyes followed her +fingers, and the newly conscious turn of her head as she looked at it. + +'Ten o'clock,' she said. 'Who'd have thought it?' + +She rose, and again she abandoned herself to his arms. Then she left him +suddenly and went before him, never looking back. He followed with the +little lamp in his hand. At the foot of the stairs he stopped. + +'What's the matter?' she whispered, turning. 'Aren't you coming?' + +'There's a step outside,' he said. 'Some one on the garden path.' + +'Whoever can it be at this time? Take the light to the door and see.' + +The darkness of the staircase engulfed her as he opened the kitchen door +and peered outside. + +'Who's that?' he called. + +'Is that you, Abner?' a voice replied. 'Now I thought I see'd a light. +I guessed you'd have gone up over by this.' + +'What do you want, Mr Drew?' + +'You wait while I do get my breath back,' said the old man. He had +evidently been drinking and walked unsteadily. 'Ah, that's better! +Well, Abner, I've a' been down to the Buffalo to-night for a quart, and I +thought as how I'd bring 'ee a bit of downright good news I heared. Yes, +old Mrs Malpas she've got news from Shrewsbury--whether it be by letter +or word of mouth I can't say for certain--as young George have behaved +himself so well into prison that they'm going to knock off part of his +time. Any day this week he may be coming home along, so they says, and I +thought I'd better bring the news quick to his missus.' + +'Coming home . . .?' said Abner, dazed. + +'Yes. 'Tis not onusual, they do say. If she's abed you can tell her in +the marnin'. Wish 'ee good-night, Abner.' + +'I'll tell her. Thank'ee for looking in.' + +'Oh, that's nothing! 'Tis only natural. Good-night!' + +'Good-night, Mr Drew.' + +He closed the door. The light fell on Mary, standing pale at the foot of +the stairs. + +'He's coming back,' said Abner. + +'I heard. When?' + +'He couldn't say certain. In a day or two.' + +'Abner!' + +'Well, there it is! We're only just in time, my girl.' She stood mute, +paralysed. He wished she would speak. + +'It's no good your standing there,' he said. 'Go on up. I'll hold the +lamp.' + +She did not move. + +'I can't take it in,' she said. + +He put the lamp down on the table again and held out his arms. + +Still she did not move. + +'Mary . . .!' + +She obeyed, came to his arms, shuddering, shaken with sobs, and through +her tears he kissed her, comforting: 'Mary, don't cry now, don't cry . . +.' + +'What did I tell you?' she wailed. 'Abner, I knew, I knew! I told you +something would happen. Thank God it came in time! We've not a minute +to think. Two or three days! Abner, we _must_ go to-morrow.' + +He did not answer her, for his mind was deeply troubled. + +'I think I can manage if you leave it to me,' she said. He held her +closer. 'What does it matter if we take nothing away? Only just a few +clothes for me and the children. I can leave everything tidy, just as it +was when he went.' She hesitated, for she remembered the tea-set that +she had pawned in Shrewsbury. He would miss that. Then she realised, +thankfully, that it was her wedding present, not his. + +'Nearly everything,' she said. 'Don't you think it's better that we +should start with nothing? In lodgings at first. Won't it be strange?' +She laughed softly. 'And not a soul to know! It's beginning life all +over again. Oh, Abner, my love!' + +So she spoke, confidently, at times almost gaily, and he made believe +that he was listening to her, humouring her childishness. + +'And isn't it lucky,' she said, 'that Mr Drew's working up at the Pentre. +You won't need to go there yourself. If you get up early you can catch +him before he goes and send up a message to the farm. It isn't as if it +mattered your breaking your word to Mr Williams. People must make +allowances, mustn't they?' + +He did not answer her, and she became conscious of his brooding. + +'Abner! What's up with you? Tell me! You're frightening me. Abner!' + +'We can't go to-morrow,' he said. + +'But, Abner, we must, we must! Two or three days, he said. He might +even be a day early. He might come to-morrow. Think of it, Abner! I +should die.' + +'If George is coming home like that we can't go.' + +'Abner, are you mad? What's come over you?' + +'I don't know. Naught's come over me. It's hearing his name sudden like +that. It's like a judgment. It makes you think.' + +'Judgment!' she scoffed. 'Oh, Abner, haven't we thought enough? Haven't +we been thinking for six months? I'm sick of thinking!' + +'Like a warning. Just the very second. If he'd come an hour later . . +.' + +'What's the difference, Abner? If he'd come to-morrow or in a week's +time it would be no different. We'd made up our minds, Abner, we're not +children. Things like that don't count. Whether you've had me or not, +I'm yours. You know that.' + +She clung closer to him, but his mind would not accept the sway of her +emotion. He freed himself from her hands, and the movement swept her +into a passion. + +'Abner!' she cried. 'Don't do that! Don't! You'll kill me . . . kill +me!' + +'George is my pal,' he said stolidly. 'I gave old George my word. We +shook hands on it, George and me. "Abner," he said, "you'm the only pal +I've got that I can trust."' + +'Oh, that's it, is it?' she cried, and her voice went shrill. 'That's +it? What children men are! Gave George your word! Don't you see that +you've broken your word already . . . broken it long ago, ever since you +thought of me like that? And then you say you love me! That isn't love, +Abner, not my kind anyway!' + +He caught her up in his arms, and she could not speak now for tears. His +own face was anguished. + +'You'd better kill me and have done with it,' she sobbed. 'Far better. +Oh, why don't you kill me right out if you're going to leave me? I wish +I were dead! I do! Abner, if we don't go away to-morrow I shall lose +you. I know it . . . I know it! For my sake, Abner! I've had so little +happiness.' + +He fondled her as she spoke. 'I'm not going to leave go of you,' he +said. 'Don't you ever think that!' He kissed her tearful face. 'But I +gave old George my word,' he continued obstinately. + +'Oh, damn your word!' she cried, violently wrenching herself away from +him. + +'Don't get wild,' he protested. 'Listen to me.' + +'I won't listen. You're talking wickedly, madly.' + +'You've got to listen, my girl!' He took hold of her and held her with +his strength. 'A chap may go back on his word. Every one knows that. +But a man that's worth calling don't go slinking away behind another +chap's back like a dog. If old George is coming home he's got to hear +what I say to his face, not find the place empty and say I've run away +from him. Me and George has got to have this out.' + +'Then take us away first,' she pleaded, 'and come back to see him +afterward.' + +'You'm talking soft now!' + +'I'm frightened, Abner . . . frightened!' + +'You've no need to be while I'm here. I can look after myself and you +too. I'm going to see old George and tell him straight. You may like it +or lump it. That's my way.' + +She wept, inconsolable. She would not let him comfort her. She hoped +that her tears would soften him. + +'Can't you do just one thing for me, Abner? You're cruel . . . cruel! +You don't love me. That isn't love.' + +'I've got to do it my own way.' + +'You might just as well kill me.' + +'I've never run away from a man yet.' + +'If you don't take me away from here now,' she said desperately, 'you'll +never have me at all. Never! I know it, Abner, it's our last chance.' + +'It's been too much for you,' he said. 'You can't see anything clear. +I'm not a chap that changes.' + +She stared at him in silence with sad, resentful eyes. Then she lost +control of herself and began to curse the clumsiness of old Drew, who had +blundered in on them with his drunken gossip in the middle of the night. +'I'll never forgive him!' she cried. 'Never!' She shouted like a +drunken woman. Then she stopped and listened intently, just as an animal +listens in suspicion. Morgan, awakened by the sound of raised voices, +had begun to cry. + +'It's Morgan,' she whispered. + +'You'd better go to him,' Abner replied. + +She put her hands to her face. + +'Don't!' she cried. 'Oh, Abner, don't! You're driving me!' + +'Go on!' he said roughly. 'I'll put the light out. Got the matches?' + +She saw that he meant it, and blindly went. + +Slowly, methodically, Abner locked the kitchen door and put out the +light. A moment later he himself went upstairs in the dark. Morgan was +still sobbing, mechanically, for the sake of hearing his own voice, and +as Abner passed the door he was aware of a soft moaning which told him +that Mary was crying too. His heart ached, his body yearned for her; but +in his brain George Malpas's words re-echoed: 'By God, you're the only +pal I've got that I can trust!' In a day or two George would be home, +and then the situation must be faced. He could not be a man and run away +from it. + +He got into bed. Lying there in the dark, listening to the ceaseless +creaking of the boards and joists, he cursed himself for a fool. His +body was on fire. He knew that he could not possibly sleep, and guessed +that Mary surely was awake. He was a damned, soft fool, and nothing +more! Lying there with eyes open, staring at the darkness, it seemed to +him that he heard a soft step on the stairs. The latch of his door +started. His heart dissolved within him. He leapt out of bed, +trembling, tingling in every limb. Mary had been wiser. He knew it. +She had come to him for comfort. She was his. In a moment she would be +sinking warm into his arms. His scruples vanished like a puff of smoke. +He heard himself swallow, heard his breath coming in short grunts. He +opened the door to meet her, to take her. The stair was empty and dark. +A rat scuttled away in the wainscot. A dank, wintry air possessed the +house. He slammed the door to, viciously. + +Next morning, before Mary had stirred from her bed, he had set out as +usual for the Pentre. + + + + +The Twenty-Fourth Chapter + + +ON the same day, at noon, George Malpas paraded before the Governor of +Shrewsbury Jail to take his discharge. The interview was short, almost +friendly. The prisoner had behaved well throughout his term, the +chaplain had reported on him as a young man of superior intelligence, and +for these reasons a remission of a quarter of his sentence had been +recommended and sanctioned. From the governor's office he was marched +across the rigid quadrangle that he knew and hated to another room where +he signed a receipt for the personal belongings that had been taken from +him in the Lesswardine police-court and now miraculously reappeared. A +warder checked them as each was handed out:-- + +'One watch. Silver chain with medal. One packet of letters. One +notebook and lead pencil. One steel foot-rule, folding. Four shillings +and twopence, silver and copper. One pocket-knife.' He paused. 'Is +that all?' + +George Malpas was seized with a sudden anxiety. He tried to speak; but +long familiarity with the ways of warders made him frightened to use his +tongue. + +'Not half!' said the other, with a wink. 'One leather wallet. Fifty +pounds in Bank of England notes.' + +'God! That's something like!' said the other, handing it to George with +a wink. + +He thrust it into the breast pocket of the coat which had been placed +that morning in his cell, and the action gave him an unfamiliar thrill. +What a thing it was to have pockets! + +'Well, Malpas, it's good-bye, then,' said the warder, who was also a +humorist. 'Look in any time you're passing!' + +George Malpas did not smile. They showed him out of a small doorway at +the side of the arch under which the prison vans came grinding in. From +his cell he had been able to hear the sound of the horses' shoes sliding +on the stone. He saw a street along which free men were moving with a +rapt, purposive hurry. Sometimes a passer-by would turn and look up idly +at the great nail-studded doors and the fan of spikes that surmounted +them. George had never seen the gateway before. He only knew the jail +as a heavy building dominating the hill above the station. When they had +brought him handcuffed from the train, humiliated, wondering if it were +worth while wrenching himself free and throwing his body on the rails, +they had driven him to the prison in a black van. Now he stood +undetermined, not knowing which way to take. Over the hill-side the city +of Shrewsbury sprawled: spires, chimney-pots, towers, and smoke stacks +blowing in a free and windy sky. Not a leaf on the trees, and black, +unfriendly dust whirling along brick pavements. + +He shivered. For some reason his newly-pressed clothes hung loose and +damp upon him. He must have lost flesh. Of course he had lost flesh. +Who wouldn't after fourteen months in jail? A cart came slowly past him +with a load of horse manure. A good smell . . . a country smell! The +driver cracked his whip, and the noise made George Malpas jump. That was +a bad sign surely! The sooner he got a drink and steadied his nerves the +better. He looked up and down the road for the sign of a public-house. +A hundred yards away a strip of hoarding with gilt letters topped the +sky-line of a red brick building. Astill's Celebrated Entire, it said. +Brummagem beer was better than nothing. He crossed the road with long +strides, but a dog-cart driven fast down the middle of the street made +him pause. There was a bicycle behind it, and he did not think he could +avoid both. People should not be allowed to drive so furiously. + +He reached the public-house and thanked God for his escape. He felt that +in gaining the shelter of its walls he was doing more than sheltering +from the bitter wind and the dust. He grew surer of himself, cracked a +joke with the barmaid, and paid for his beer. The florin that she +tendered him in change for a half-crown looked like a foreign coin. He +examined it suspiciously. + +'It's all right,' she said. 'One of these new ones. It's quite a change +to get the Prince of Wales' head, isn't it? I don't think he looks half +the man of King Edward.' + +'No,' he agreed. 'No, he don't.' He examined the coin, bewildered. +Then, fearing that she must read the whole of his story in his ignorance, +he pocketed his money and darted out into the street again. It was +strange how a broken habit reasserted itself. He put his hand in his +unfamiliar waistcoat pocket and pulled out his watch. Nine o'clock. +That was impossible. He laughed, realising that his watch had run down +at its usual winding time on the night of his arrest. + +'I'm like a fool,' he thought. 'I don't know what I'm doing. I'm dull, +useless. I want another drink.' + +Gradually, under the influence of the liquor, his confidence returned. +It must be market day in Shrewsbury, he thought, for the streets were so +full of people; but reflection told him that Shrewsbury market is not +held on a Monday and that the crowd that moved on the pavements of the +steep high street was no more than the normal week-day traffic. It gave +him a thrill of pleasure to realise that people were not staring at him. +He was encouraged to slacken his pace, to walk no longer as if some one +were pursuing him. He stared in several shop windows, and at last found +himself gazing at his own image in a long mirror. It gave him a start to +find himself facing an elongated lath of a man that he did not know, +until he realised that the mirror was a convex affair placed as an +advertisement outside an eating-house to emphasise the contrast between a +man who had fed there and one who had not. It was not such a bad idea. +He would go in and eat his first square meal. + +The place was nearly empty, for Shrewsbury does not dine till one +o'clock. They brought him steak and kidney pudding, the best that he had +ever tasted, and a pint of half and half. He began to feel a man again. +He called the waiter for a second drink and ordered, with it, a local +time-table. Looking through it at leisure he found that the trains to +Llandwlas had not been altered, though there was now time to get a drink +in the change at Craven Arms. If he caught the afternoon train he would +have time to look about Shrewsbury for another two hours and see to +certain business matters that were in the back of his mind. + +He paid his bill, gave the waiter a liberal tip, and walked up the hill +past the half-timbered houses to the main street. He wondered if the +place was where it used to be. Yes, it was still there. It pleased him +to think that he hadn't lost his memory. Nothing would have surprised +him after all those useless, numbing months. Above the shop door was the +inscription: 'Emigration Office.' Inside, a long counter, backed by +posters of shipping companies, and a single yawning clerk who had been +left in charge during the luncheon hour. He asked George what he could +do for him. + +'Canada,' said George. 'I want to know all about it.' + +The young man produced a sheaf of circulars and began to explain. He +found it difficult to place the applicant, his pale face, his hat jammed +on his head to hide the prison crop, his equivocal hands. + +'Are you a mechanic?' he asked. + +'No. Farmer.' + +The clerk stared at him. 'Farmer? You want to buy land?' + +'No, I don't. I want to work on it. I have a little money.' + +'Married?' + +'Yes.' + +'Taking the missus with you?' + +'Yes.' + +'And children?' + +'No children.' + +'You have to get two references for an assisted passage, you know,' said +the clerk, producing a form. + +'Never mind that. I can't wait for any rubbish of that kind. What's the +fare, steerage?' + +The clerk looked it up. 'Liverpool, Quebec. That's what you want,' he +said. 'Then you get right over to Calgary if you take my advice. I'll +write it all down for you.' + +He did so, in a sloped, flourishing hand, on the back of one of the +circulars. 'You'll get the Allan boat from Liverpool Saturday week,' he +said. George thanked him and plunged out into the street. + +At the station he bought a daily paper, the North Bromwich _Courier_. As +usual on Monday it was full of football. Albion at the top of the first +league: Notts Forest, second. Strange clubs from the Southern League had +invaded that sanctuary: the season was half over, and they were shaping +well. He read words that meant nothing to him. He could not +concentrate, for he had drunk as much as was good for him. The platform +seemed to him a noisy, exposed situation; for he could not yet be at his +ease in a crowd. He started at the sound of a familiar voice speaking +the word Lesswardine. A man passed him in a drab covert-coat: Mr Prosser +of The Dyke, talking to young Maddy. They had not recognised him. He +slipped into a urinal to avoid them and waited there till he heard the +south-bound train roll in. Then he made a dash for a non-smoking +carriage and hid himself behind his newspaper in the corner. The train +was not full, and to his great relief no one entered his compartment. + +They started smoothly and soon left Shrewsbury behind. A wintry +landscape unfolded on either side of him: the low bow of the Wrekin; Caer +Caradoc, a sheer crag on the left; the cloven bastions of the Long Mynd. +He threw up the window and drank in great draughts of hill air. He +laughed to see the green of the fields and the gray, monstrous hills. +But he knew that he was a stranger. The country that he rejoiced to see +had rejected him. If he lived to be a hundred not a single man of his +acquaintance would forget that he had spent a year in jail. As soon as +he should have left Craven Arms the hills would fold him in, draw him +within the confines of his old life. He was free, but this could never +be a real freedom. A wider country, a new life, Canada. . . . He was +dying for a drink. + +At Craven Arms the satisfaction of this desire did not seem easy, for +others were before him in the Refreshment Room and every moment his +chance of meeting Lesswardine people increased. He took a flask of +brandy from the counter and paid for it without waiting for the change. +The local train stood humbly in the siding. He chose a carriage already +full of Radnor farmers whom he did not know. He drank down the whole of +his flask of brandy, and then fell into a kind of doze lulled by the +sing-song voices of his companions. The train twisted along the valley +in the dark, pulling up with a jolt at every upland station. At +Llandwlas he turned out in a hurry and handed his ticket to a new porter, +who stood at the gate in the dusk swinging a lantern. Men were shouting, +driving bullocks into a pen. A trap was waiting with the lamps already +lit. He avoided their light, but guessed by the colour of the horse and +the erect figure of the driver that Marion was waiting for Mr Prosser. A +year before he might have dared to ask for a lift to Chapel Green. God, +how strange, how hauntingly strange the country smelt! + +An hour later he staggered into the bar at the Buffalo. Mrs Malpas, a +withered, pathetic figure, half the size of the woman whom he remembered, +gave a cry and ran to meet him. + +'My son, my son!' + +He kissed her, laughing heavily, blowing gusts of brandy into her eyes. +She would not think of the spirit in his breath. Her hands caressed his +face. She turned him to the light to see if he were changed. + +'Oh, George, you're that thin! They haven't fed you proper.' + +He freed himself from her. 'How's dad?' he asked. + +'The same as ever, George.' + +'Poor old devil!' he said. + +She drew him into the bar-parlour where the old man was sitting. + +'It's George, my dear,' she cried excitedly. 'It's our George!' + +George slapped his father on the back: 'Don't you know me, dad?' + +The old man only mumbled. + +'He's gone downhill,' said George. 'You've been with him all the time. +You don't see the change like I do.' + +'Perhaps,' she said listlessly. She could not keep her eyes from her +son. 'You're thin, George, so thin!' + +'Then give us a drop of beer, mother. That'll help fatten me.' + +She could not refuse him. While she was filling the tankard at the +counter old Drew and another labourer from the Pentre who had been +driving Williams's bullocks to Llandwlas station came into the bar. + +'My son's home,' she told them gaily. 'And so thin! It's a scandal. +They starve them.' + +'So I've always heard tell, ma'am,' said Drew, with a wink. 'Here's his +health.' + +'Who's that?' George asked anxiously. He still found it difficult to +resist the impulse of hiding himself. + +'I didn't see,' Mrs Malpas lied. + +She gave George his beer, and he settled down to it. The two labourers +spoke spasmodically in the bar. + +'Well, mother,' he said at last. 'Tell us how things have been going +on.' + +Mrs Malpas pursed her lips. 'Going on! That's the word. I wrote to +you, George. You got my letter?' + +'Yes, I got that all right.' + +Mrs Malpas grew intense. Her hands trembled with emotion. 'She's a bad +woman, George. Downright bad. I told you so before.' + +'There's not another kid waiting for me, no surprise packet of that +kind?' + +'No. But she's that deceitful, George. She's no better than her father. +She couldn't have used you worse than she has. So open! You never made +a worse mistake.' + +'You let me teach her!' said George between his teeth. 'I'll learn her +her bleeding duty!' + +'Don't swear, George!' + +'You ought to be more shocked at her than me!' + +'And that Fellows is no better. Rotten bad. Always going after women. +There's Susie Hind.' + +'God! He's welcome!' + +'And Mr Prosser's daughter. They had to turn him off The Dyke.' + +'Her?' George laughed. 'He's a proper young bull!' + +'And all the time living as man and wife with Mary. Laughing at you, the +two of them, behind your back.' + +'I'll see to that!' said George grimly. The liquor was spreading in hot +fumes through his brain. + +'But you won't go up to-night, George,' she said anxiously. + +'Won't I? You bet I will.' + +'You'd best stay here, George. Don't you go near her. She'll talk you +round.' + +'I'll shut her mouth for her. And I'll get level with him too!' + +The old woman grew alarmed. + +'Don't go near them, George,' she pleaded. 'There's a home for you here. +Leave them to it. They're not worth taking the notice of.' + +'What about the kids, eh?' + +'Fellows will have set them again you. They won't know you. You see!' + +'That's what I'm going to do.' He grew excited. 'And I tell you, if I +have to do time again I'm going to put that b-- on his back!' + +He put down his tankard with another oath. One of the drinkers in the +bar knocked at the counter. + +'Keep still till I'm back, George. I won't be a minute,' she said. + +'Get us another pint, then,' George grumbled. + +She took his tankard, and having given the labourers their change and +wished them good-night, she brought it back to him filled. God would +forgive her this sin. Even if he were drunk she wanted to keep him at +the Buffalo, for she dreaded Abner's strength. When she returned he was +still on his feet, talking indistinctly to the old man, who was shaken by +a fit of coughing that choked him. She thumped his back. + +'That's right, dad,' said George. 'Better out than in!' The joke +appeared to please him. + +She drew him down gently to his chair and gave him the tankard. + +'Sit down, my dear,' she said. 'I want to talk to you.' + +'I've done talking,' said George obstinately. 'Let me get at him: that's +what I want. Let me get at the dirty pair of them!' + +She bent over him and whispered in his ear. + +'The money, George,' she said. 'Where did you put it? She told me you +hadn't hid it in the house, but I reckon she lied to me, or they couldn't +have lived all this time with him out of work. They must have got at it. +Where did you put it, my son?' + +He stared at her with affected stupidity. 'What money?' + +'Fifty pounds. Out of my box. I guessed it was you that had it. That's +why I didn't dare tell the police.' + +He laughed. 'Good old woman! I knew you wouldn't. You're a good +mother. I'll say that for you.' + +'Then you can give it back to me. Give it to me, my son.' + +His cunning returned to him. + +'I've lost it, mother. Every penny. It's gone.' + +'Gone? Fifty pounds? You couldn't lose it, George.' + +'You try backing horses, and you'll see,' he said. + +'Racing, too!' she cried. 'Oh, George, George! It was all I had.' + +'Well, you've got me, mother,' he said. 'What more do you want? It's no +good crying over spilt milk.' + +She came to his arms, weakly sobbing, and clung to him. + +'Now don't go crying all over me,' he said thickly. 'Loose me! I'm +going.' + +'George, you mustn't go, dear. You're not fit.' + +'I tell you I'm going. Leave hold of me!' + +'George!' + +'Do you say I'm drunk? I'll show you if I'm drunk!' + +Still she clung to him. He gave her a push and she went over into the +hearth with a clatter of fire-irons. The old man began to wail in a +high-pitched voice: 'Help! Help!' + +'Shut your damned mouth, you!' said George. + +He blundered out into the bar, knocking against the end of the counter +and bringing down a tray of glasses with a crash. A freakish idea seized +him. He took the key from the door and locked it on the outside. He +shook with laughter at the joke. + +A young moon sank slowly over the misty woodland. He stopped in the +middle of the road and solemnly turned over the packet of banknotes in +his pocket for luck. Drunk? Not he! He was sharp enough to think of +everything. He turned his uncertain steps toward Wolfpits. + +Before him, with half an hour in hand, old Drew went pounding along the +same road as fast as his rheumatic knees would let him. He reached +Wolfpits breathless and knocked violently at Mary's kitchen door. She +was upstairs, putting the children to bed. Morgan was tucked in already, +and Gladys was having her hair brushed. Panic seized Mary when she heard +the old man's knock. Those rapid blows seemed to her to herald +catastrophe. She ran downstairs and came to the door with an ashen face. + +'Hey, missus,' Drew panted. 'Be Abner in there with 'ee?' + +'No, he's not back yet,' she said, relieved. Then, as a new fear chilled +her: 'Isn't he at the Pentre?' + +'Most like he be,' said Drew, slowly regaining his breath and leaning on +the doorpost. 'I've been a driving they bullocks to Llandwlas station.' + +She looked at the clock. It was a little earlier than Abner's usual hour +of return. + +'Better wait if you want him. Take a seat, Mr Drew. He'll be back in a +few minutes.' + +'You must stop 'en . . . you must stop 'en!' said the old man +impressively. 'If he come down over the field I shall meet 'en myself. +But often he do come by the road. You must send some one to stop 'en +that way.' + +'Stop him? What do you mean?' she cried. + +'You must stop 'en. Your George be coming up from the Buffalo, mad with +the drink. You must stop Abner. Keep him away, or there'll be murder +done, sure 'nuff! Murder! You take my word for it!' + +'How can I stop him? What can I do, Mr Drew?' she cried. + +'Go yourself, missus. Or send Mrs Mamble. Her'll run along for 'ee.' + +'No. I must wait for George,' she said. + +An inspiration came to her. She took a piece of paper and scribbled a +note to Abner, telling him that George was coming, begging him, for her +sake, to keep out of the way until she had seen him. Then she called +upstairs: 'Gladys!' and the child came down with her hair plaited for the +night. + +'Come here, my darling,' she said. 'Put your shoes on. I want you to go +down to the corner and meet Abner and give this to him.' + +'Isn't it rather dark, mam?' said Gladys, thrilled by the prospect of +adventure. She shivered. + +'No, my darling. There's a lovely moon, isn't there, Mr Drew? Just wait +at the bottom of the drive till he comes, or go a little way up the road. +Let me put your coat on.' + +She helped the child into her overcoat and kissed her. Gladys took the +note. 'Won't our Abner be surprised?' she said, as she went. + +'I'd best bide along with you, missus,' said old Drew darkly. + +'I'd rather you went, Mr Drew,' she replied. 'I know you mean it +kindly.' + +'Well, my dear, I'll be going on up to the Pentre. Maybe I'll meet Abner +up the fields. Shall I send Mrs Mamble in to 'ee?' + +'No. Mrs Mamble's out: gone to the shops in Lesswardine. I'd rather be +alone when he comes. It was good of you to warn me.' + +He left her, and she waited. Her brain followed the messenger down the +avenue step by step. She realised that the most awful moment of her life +was upon her. She wondered if she ought to pray. She could not pray. +What right had she, a guilty woman, to call on Divine help? She must +fight for herself. She looked at the clock. Barely two minutes had +passed since she had looked before. Surely Abner could not be long. + +Her strained ears heard steps in the distance. She peered out into the +moonlight. Two dim figures were visible. Abner, in his obstinate folly, +had seen her note and refused her warning. Even now there was time to +stop him. She dared not call, for it struck her that George might well +be coming up behind him. She stood, trembling with impatience, waiting +for him to come within earshot. The figures of the man and the child +became more distinct. His gait was unsteady but too fast for Gladys, who +ran at his side. He carried her note unfolded. The paper showed white +in the moonlight. They came toward her, and she saw that it was George. +A cry came from her lips. He left the child behind him, stalked straight +into the kitchen and flung his hat on the table. He was as pale as +death; his cropped head shaped like a skull. The walk had partially +sobered him. + +'Go straight upstairs, Gladys,' she called. + +'It's dad, mam. I give him Abner's note.' + +'Go upstairs as I tell you!' + +Gladys's mouth fell. 'Why, mam?' she faltered. + +George pulled a chair toward him and flopped into it. 'You be said!' he +shouted. + +The child ran upstairs, frightened. George sat on, his eyes staring +savagely at her out of his sunken orbits. + +'Well, Mary,' he said at last. 'This is a bloody fine game!' + +She could not speak for her increasing terror. She had never felt so +frightened of him in her life. 'He looks like a criminal,' she thought. + +'Speak up,' he said. 'What've you got to say for yourself. What's the +meaning of this?' He held out her note. 'Tell him to keep away, would +you? You dirty bitch!' + +'George,' she said. 'You mustn't believe all people tell you. You know +your mother's against me!' + +'Hold your noise about my mother! She's a good woman, she is, and a good +wife. The likes of you's not fit to go near her. I know what's been +going on here without her telling me. Sleeping with the lodger! Don't +you deny it, or I'll bash your mouth in for you!' + +'Never, George, never!' she cried, passionately righteous. 'I swear by +God as I'm standing here, it never came to that.' + +'You can swear by the devil for all I care. I've finished with you. +It's him I want!' His voice left him. He cleared his throat and spat +viciously in the fire. + +Mary pulled her senses together. 'George,' she said, 'have you ever +known me tell you a lie?' + +'I never knew a woman who wouldn't,' he said, with a laugh. + +She let his speech pass. 'Imagine the hard times we've had,' she went +on, 'and not so much as a word from you! Not a penny in the house! The +way he's worked for us and suffered for us, and all for the sake of the +word he gave you. There's not a man in a million who'd have done it! +And all for nothing!' + +'All for nothing!' he mocked: 'tell that to some one else!' + +'Without him we should have starved . . . me and the children. Can't you +see that for yourself? And yet you believe the first word that's spoken +against him and me. You ought to go down on your knees to him and thank +him for what he's done. If it hadn't been for him you'd have found us +all in the workhouse. George, you must believe me!' + +'Oh, shut your bloody mouth!' he said, rising clumsily. + +'George, you must!' she repeated. She put her hand on his shoulder, but +he pushed her away. Both of them heard a step on the path. She made a +last, desperate effort. 'George, if you touch him . . . ' she cried. +'If you . . .! + +Abner stood in the doorway. His face was solemn and heavily lined. The +sight of Malpas did not seem to disturb him. + +'Hallo, George,' he said, in a thick voice. 'How goes it?' + +'Don't you talk to me!' said George, threateningly. 'You wait till I've +told you what I think of you, you damned swine!' + +Abner flushed. + +'Steady, George! Go steady! We've got to talk this over. You sit +down.' + +'There's a sight too much talk about the both of you,' George snarled. +'When you've broke up a man's home behind his back and then tell him to +take a seat in it. I'm going to give you your lesson before you get +kicked out!' + +He made a threatening movement toward Abner, who watched him closely. +Spider came dancing into the room. She leapt up at Abner with little +yelps of joy at his return, licking his hand. At this sight the anger +that smouldered in George's brain leapt into flame. + +'Not only the wife and the kids,' he cried. 'You've got round the lot of +them, even the bleeding dog!' + +He snatched up the poker and hit out at Spider. Abner took the blow on +his thigh. + +'Here, drop that!' he cried. + +But George's senses had left him. He flew at Abner, raining desperate +blows at his head. + +'George! You'll kill him!' Mary screamed. + +Abner had picked up a chair and protected himself as best he could. For +a second the two men stood staring at one another, panting for breath. +Then another gust of anger swept over George and he made for Abner again. +Mary tried to throw herself between them, but Abner flung her aside. The +legs of the chair were splintered under George's blows. He continued to +lash out, and it was as much as Abner could do to defend himself. He saw +that the man's flushed brain meant murder, nothing less. Somehow he must +put an end to this madness. George's hobnails slithered on the stone +flags. Abner took his chance, and timed his blow. George went down with +a groan: his poker sang like a tuning fork on the floor. + +'Abner, Abner, what have you done?' Mary cried. She ran to George and +bent over him, pulling up his head. Abner, with black blood dripping +from a bruised vein on his forehead, stood back. The corners of his +mouth twitched with his violent breathing: he still held his chair +uplifted. + +'It was him or me,' he panted. + +'He's dead! You've killed him!' + +'Not he! That sort don't die.' + +But he himself was anxious for a moment and stooped over George's body, +breathing heavily. + +'No. He's all right,' he said. 'Just knocked out. I've been like that +myself.' + +'What can we do?' she cried, staring at him with frightened eyes. + +'Leave him alone. He'll come round.' + +'I sent you a note by Gladys,' she said inconsequently. 'He met her and +took it off her. I'd told you to keep away.' + +'If I'd had it it would have made no difference. You can't stop a thing +like this. Get up and put your things on. I'll keep an eye on him. Get +the children dressed and all.' + +She stared at him as though she couldn't take in what he was saying. She +was still holding one of George's inanimate hands that she had clutched +in her first anxiety. 'Dress them, Abner? What do you mean?' + +'It's time we cleared. He won't hurt.' + +'But I couldn't leave him like this!' + +He took her arm. 'Do what I tell you. Go on! The sooner we clear the +better.' + +'Abner, we can't turn out in the middle of the night.' + +'That's all right. You won't come to no harm. I'll look after you.' + +'Abner, I can't!' she wailed. 'You don't know what you're asking.' + +'It's either go now or stay altogether. I can't stop here. That's clear +enough. If you and me are going together we must go now.' + +'Abner, my dear, I can't face it. Not after this. Abner, I'm too +frightened to move a step. And if he died . . .' + +'I tell you he's all right. He'll come round sober. If I was to wait +for that there'd be no end to it. It'd begin all over again.' + +She gazed at him, anguished. + +'Abner, my love, I daren't. Don't you understand? They'll follow us. +They're bound to. The police . . .' + +'It's no good thinking of that,' he said. + +She began crying softly, there on the floor above the prostrate body. +Her fingers mechanically stroked George's hand. The action irritated +Abner. He could not look at her. He took a cloth from the table and +mopped the blood that was running into his eyes. He propped himself up +with the table edge, for he was still giddy from George's blow on his +temple. A sudden vision came to him of another kitchen, another man +lying on the floor, another woman crying. The room swam before him. He +steadied himself and sank down into a chair. The sense of time left him. +He could not be certain where he was or in what period of his life. A +shrill singing noise was in his ears. Through it, distantly, he heard +the clear tone of a clock striking eight; and this recalled him to life, +to the room that he had lost in a blur of confused memories, to the sound +of Mary's sobbing. He remembered that he had been speaking, but could +only repeat the last words that had left an echo in his memory: 'It's no +good . . .' + +'What?' he heard her ask. + +'Wasting time over this. If you're coming you must come now. Now or +never.' + +She neither moved nor answered him. He felt sorry for her: bent over +her, pressed her to him. She turned her face away. + +'I can't, Abner . . . not now,' she whispered. 'I can't think: I can't +feel. Oh, why didn't he kill me . . . why didn't he kill me?' + +He would have lifted her to her feet, but she lay a dead weight in his +arms. All power of volition had left her. She sank back again limply, +shaking her head from side to side. Her hair had become loose. It hung +down over her shoulder. + +Abner felt that he must do something to break the paralysing spell that +held them. + +'I'm going, Mary,' he said. 'I can't stay. Let me help you up! Come +along now!' + +She shook her head. 'It's no use, Abner.' + +'There's naught left for you here that I can see. It's only you and the +kids I want to look after.' + +She could only go on sobbing: 'It's no use . . . it's no use!' + +'Well, I'm no judge. Maybe yo'm right,' he said. + +He turned from her and went upstairs to collect a few of his belongings. +On his way down again Gladys came timidly to the door of Mary's room and +called his name. Her piteous fragility touched him. He took her in his +arms and kissed her. + +'Where are you going, Abner?' she whispered. 'Where's mam?' + +He picked the child up and carried her to her cot, telling her that she +must be a good girl and go to sleep. Morgan was sitting up with his +fingers in his eyes, crying mechanically. 'You look after our Morgan +till mam comes,' he told her. + +He came down into the kitchen. + +'Mary . . .' he said. + +She did not answer. He went to her and put his arms round her neck. + +'Good-bye, lass,' he said. + +Her sobbing increased, but she would not raise her head. He wanted to +pick her up in his arms as he had picked up Gladys, to carry her away +with him; but he knew it was useless. He kissed her again, then rose and +went to the door, closing it softly behind him. The cold air revived +him. He drew it gratefully into his lungs. He was conscious of a +strange physical lightening, as though a material load had slipped from +his shoulders. + + + + +The Twenty-Fifth Chapter + + +BEHIND him Wolfpits lay brooding in the moonlight on its departed life. +He did not turn to look at it, and in half an hour had reached the main +road. He did not know where he was going, but turned mechanically toward +the east, the quarter from which he had first entered the hills. At +present it was not in him to strike out a way for himself; he could do no +more than retrace his steps. He walked fast, impelled by an unconscious +energy, and all the time one dominant thought possessed his brain. +'Curse women! Curse all women! Curse the bloody lot of them!' + +He passed through Chapel Green and Mainstone, dead villages both. Not a +light in their windows. As dead as Wolfpits. The poplar under which he +had trysted with Susie hung above him. The moonlight broke in ripples on +its lofty crown. He saw nothing at all, heard nothing but the steady +rhythm of his feet and the monotonous burden of words in his brain. The +moon sank. Now the road was only faintly luminous with the reflected +pallor of the sky. He heard a new noise behind him, and the lamps of a +motor-car swept a slanting beam that carried his shadow into the hedge. +The noise of the engine became distinct. A top-heavy van loomed up above +the two blinding eyes of the headlights. He stood aside to let it pass; +but as its roar overtook him, his own voice gave a hail that was swept +along in the draught. He did not know why he had shouted, but a second +later the car pulled up with grinding brakes, striking sparks of fire +from the road. He ran after it. + +'What's up?' the driver called. + +It was a man whom Abner had sometimes met at Llandwlas station when he +was driving the milk from The Dyke. + +'Oh, it's you, is it?' he said. 'Want a lift?' Abner caught him up and +climbed into the seat next his. + +They set off again, whirling like a tornado through the darkness. They +could only speak to each other by shouting, for the engine was old and +full of rattles, and the milk-pails jangled behind. + +'Drop you Lesswardine Bridge?' the driver shouted. + +'Drop me in hell if you like,' Abner replied. + +'What about Shrewsbury to be going on with?' + +'That'll do me!' + +The roar and vibration filled Abner's aching brain. They turned +northward at Craven Arms and plunged on between the rising masses of the +Mynd and Caer Caradoc. The hotels of Church Stretton burned like a +constellation in the darkness on their left. The lights of Shrewsbury +appeared. + +'That's good going, bain't it?' said the driver, with a laugh. + +He refused the drink that Abner offered him and set him down in the +outskirts of the city. Abner's head was splitting. He staggered into a +pub and drank three double whiskies straight off. What was there for a +man to do but drink? + +He passed into the main streets of the town. After the silence and +darkness of Wolfpits it seemed to him a city of palaces sparkling with +light. He moved in a dazed manner through the streets; had another +drink, and began to feel better. For the first time since he had set out +he felt capable of a determination. He resolved, as far as his money +would let him, to get drunk. + +He sampled several pubs and at last found one to his fancy. There, in a +small and crowded bar, he settled himself in a corner next the counter +and ordered his drinks methodically. Nobody took much notice of him, for +most of the men who had gathered there were regular customers who came in +every night. The only person with whom he had anything in common was a +lanky labourer with a small head and dark eyes who sat at a table +opposite to him drinking beer. The evening wore on. Abner was no longer +conscious of such details. The only things that detached themselves from +the warm, rosy confusion were certain points of light, the stopper of a +cut-glass decanter that flashed rays of ruby and emerald-green; a brooch +of brilliants that the barmaid wore; a medal hanging on the watch-chain +of the labourer opposite to him. Abner's fancy played with these lights +childishly fascinated. He heard not a word of the conversation that +buzzed around him, keeping only enough of his senses to ask and pay for +his drinks. + +It was nearly ten o'clock when another figure entered the bar: a man +dressed in a military uniform with staring eyes and a red face that +appeared to be transfixed by the skewer of a waxed moustache. He carried +a silver-headed cane under his arm; his tunic fitted his back like a +glove, and in his cap he wore a raffish bunch of ribbons. He shook hands +with the barmaid, swept the room with a curious glance and settled down +with his drink at the elbow of the lanky labourer. He spoke so loudly, +and with such an accent of gentility that his voice could be heard above +the rumour of the bar. He slapped his neighbour on the back. + +'Out of work?' he said. 'There's no need for any one to be out of work +in these days. I know the kind of work you chaps get, and damn me if I +can see how you put up with it. Now, what have you been earning on the +farm? Fifteen shilling a week? I guessed as much. And ten hours' work +a day. That's a fine life for a man! That's a damned fine life! I know +what it is, my boy. I've had some of it. But that was many years ago. +I had the sense to join the army, the good old Fifty-third, and I've +lived the life of a gentleman ever since. That's what you ought to do. +Take the King's shilling! You don't know what you're missing. Travel? +See the world? I can tell you I've seen things you wouldn't credit. +India . . . Egypt . . . Cyprus. That's a fine place now. You should see +the women in Cyprus! Hey? Women!' He broke into an obscene laugh. + +The last word echoed late in Abner's brain. 'Women!' he heard himself +mumble. 'Curse the lot of them! That's what I say.' + +The sergeant turned to him, delighted to have dragged another person into +the conversation. The old hands nudged each other and smiled. + +'No, that's going too far, my boy,' he said. 'You don't know women till +you've rolled about the world a bit. There's many a chap that's been +disappointed with them in England that's gone into the army and changed +his mind. Now you're another, like my friend here, that's cut out for a +gentleman's life. There's no saying that a fine chap like you mightn't +go a lot farther than I ever did. Athletics count a lot in the army. +Football, cricket, and that. Upon my word, it's just like a long +holiday, and that's the truth. A chap like you might be an officer +before he finished with it.' He crossed to Abner, took his arm, and +whispered in his ear: 'If you went out to Egypt where the second +battalion is now, I could show you some places in Cay-ro as would soon +change your mind about women. God, it's a gentleman's life, Egypt, with +all the blacks to wait on you as if you was a lord! And whisky twopence +a glass in the canteen! Women! I'd learn you about women.' + +'I've learned all I want about _them_,' said Abner sullenly. + +But he allowed the sergeant to stand him a drink, and found, as the time +went on, that he was as good a fellow as he had ever met . . . he and the +dark labouring man who sat at their table. When Abner's money was +finished, the sergeant behaved like a friend to him. 'Money! What's +money?' he said, and pulled out of his pocket a handful of silver that +fell in a tinkling cascade on the marble-topped table. They sat and +talked. The sergeant kept the ball rolling, patting Abner on the back +and taking him by the arm with a friendly grip. He passed through a +phase of exaltation into one of contented stupor, in which his only +anxiety was where he should find lodging for the night. + +'Don't you worry about that!' said the sergeant. 'I'll see you through, +my boy! You trust me. There's just time for another.' + +So, in a flash of brilliant light, the evening passed. A policeman put +in his head at the door and disappeared. Abner found his new friend +helping him to his feet. He laughed weakly, for he found that he could +not stand. + +'Steady does it, my boy, steady does it. You holt on to me and you'll be +all right. God, you're a tidy weight!' + +They passed laughing through an uncomfortably narrow doorway and out into +the road. Street lamps danced before them in an eddying line. The road +had a resilient, velvety feeling, like no other road that Abner had +known. They walked arm in arm, the three of them. Abner felt himself +impelled to stop suddenly, and take the sergeant into his confidence. + +'Look here, kid,' he said, 'I'm boozed.' + +'Boozed? Not a bit of it!' said the sergeant, with an encouraging slap +on the back. + +'Here, you'll look after me?' said Abner anxiously. + +'You bet I will!' + +'You're a good pal, kid,' said Abner. 'Straight, you are!' + +Half an hour later he threw himself with relief upon a mattress that was +built up of three distinct slabs and pulled a gray blanket over his eyes +to shut out the host of lights that swam before them. He heard the +voices of men buzzing round him and heavy, regular steps on the stone +flags. All he cared about now was sleep. + +He fell into a drugged slumber, haunted by many dreams. He dreamed of +Halesby, of old Mrs Moseley's room and Susan Wade sitting demurely at the +foot of her aunt's bed. Alice put in her head and called him, telling +him that his father was dead and that she could not do without him. He +got up and followed her with Tiger prancing at his heels. 'I can't abear +dogs, Abner,' she cried. All his old resentment against her rose up in +him, and he would have told her what he thought of her had not Mick +Connor appeared at that moment and shouted his name. 'Come along wud +you!' said Mick, 'why would you be bothering your head about the likes of +her? It's time we were looking for a drop in Nagle's Back.' They walked +on over twilight fields talking of old times. 'Go aisy round the +corner,' Mick warned him, 'for the ould devil of a policeman's got his +eye on us!' They went round the edge of the woodland on tiptoe, and +there, sure enough, stood Bastard, with a face as white as death and a +thin stream of blood trickling from his nose. 'He's dead said Abner. +'Don't look at him. Our George killed him!' 'Don't you believe it,' +Mick replied. And as he spoke Bastard turned and stared at them with +blank eyes. Abner set off running. He knew that his only chance was to +run as hard as he could. He plunged into a close lane, smelling of elder +trees and nettles. Now he knew where he was! This was the Dark +Half-hour, and if he kept on running he would emerge in safety on the +hill-side above Mawne Colliery, just below the cherry orchard. Even now +he could hear the thudding of hammers at Willises' forge. Bastard was +gaining on him, pounding along behind him, but a man stood in his path +and barred the way. At first he thought it was his father, but a sudden +revelation showed him that it was George Malpas. George Malpas, deathly +white under his prison crop, and armed with a poker. They closed and +struggled. It was a desperate business, for George managed to keep on +battering his head with the poker, and Mary, in her strange tragic +beauty, clutched at his arm. He knew that he was done for; fell with his +hands locked about George's throat. Bastard seized him from behind, and +he woke. + +In prison? Surely this could be nothing else. A long stone room lit by +a single gas-jet burning low and blue. He saw that he was not alone. +The whole room was spread with mattresses, on which were lying figures +covered with gray blankets like his own. His neighbour, a man who snored +heavily and clutched at his hair with his hands, gave a groan. This +could not be a dream. Through the thudding of hammers in his head his +consciousness painfully emerged. He remembered that he had come to +Shrewsbury the night before, that he had slunk into a pub and drunk +heavily. Where was he now? In a workhouse . . . a hospital . . . a +doss-house . . . a jail? He could not guess. In any case it hurt his +head to think. He tried to get his bearings. He had gone to bed in his +boots. That was natural enough. He felt for his new watch. It was not +there. He swore under his breath, not at the unknown people who had +stolen it but at his evil luck. He supposed that they had stripped him +of his money too--not that it mattered! He searched his left hand +trouser pocket to see if anything remained. Not a penny! He laughed to +himself. In the other pocket, to his astonishment, his fingers lighted +on a single coin. How the devil had it got there? He fished it out, +then propped himself on his elbow and held it up in the faint light. It +was a new shilling. He stared at it; then spat on it for luck. So, +tired and wretched beyond words, he turned over on his side, wrapped the +blanket round his head, and went to sleep. + + * * * * * + +_Anacapri_; + _March_, _1910_. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLACK DIAMOND*** + + +******* This file should be named 48813.txt or 48813.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/8/8/1/48813 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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