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diff --git a/49856.txt b/49856.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7fcdf29..0000000 --- a/49856.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14167 +0,0 @@ - THE POST-GIRL - - - - -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 -http://www.gutenberg.org/license. 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 Post-Girl -Author: Edward C. Booth -Release Date: September 02, 2015 [EBook #49856] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POST-GIRL *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - - - *THE POST-GIRL* - - - BY - - *EDWARD C. BOOTH* - - - - New York - GROSSET & DUNLAP - Publishers - - - - - Copyright, 1908, by - THE CENTURY Co. - - _Published, June, 1908_ - - - - - *THE POST-GIRL* - - - - *CHAPTER I* - - -When summer comes Mrs. Gatheredge talks of repapering her parlor, and -Ginger gets him ready to sleep in the scullery at a night's notice, but -the letting of lodgings is not a staple industry in this quarter of -Yorkshire, and folks would fare ill on it who knew nothing of the art of -keeping a pig or growing their own potatoes in the bit of garden at the -back. - -Visitors pass through, indeed, in large enough numbers between seed- and -harvest-time (mostly by bicycle), staring their way round the village -from house to house. But all that ever develops is an occasional -request for a cup of water--in the hope, no doubt, that we may give them -milk--or an interrogation as to the road to somewhere else. Steg's -reply to the latter, through a long succession of summers, has waxed -into a set formula, which he prepares with all the exactness of a -prescription: - -"There 's two rawds [roads] tiv it," he says, measuring out his words -carefully against the light of inward understanding, like tincture in a -chemist's vial. "A right un an' a wrong un. 'Appen ye 'd as lief gan -right un. Wrong un 's a long way round." - -These are mere migratory birds of visit, however--here this morning and -gone by noon--leaving little trace of their passage beyond a footmark on -somebody's doorstep or a mustard-stained sandwich-paper blowing drearily -against the tombstones in the churchyard. Residential visitors are -almost unknown to Ullbrig. One or two petty tradesmen bring their wives -and families from Hunmouth for cheap sojourn during the summer months, -but they are more residential than visitors, recurring each year with -the regularity of harvest, and blending as imperceptibly with Ullbrig -life as the water with Jevons' milk. They have become to all intents -and purposes a part of us, and are never spoken of as "visitors"--they -are merely said to be "wi' us again" or just "coom back." The class of -visitor which is lacking to Ullbrig is the pleasure-seeking variety -which comes for a month, is charged unprotesting for lights and fire, -never lends a hand to the washing of its own pots, and pays town price -for country butter. Our local designation for such guests--when we get -them--is "spawers." - -The word is apt to strike chill on urban understandings when heard for -the first time. I remember when Ginger sprang it upon me on the initial -occasion of my hearing it, I was filled for a moment with an indefinable -sense of calamity. - -"Well," were Ginger's words, greeting me and leaving me almost in a -breath. "Ah wish ah mud stay longer wi' ye noo, but ah mun't. We 've -gotten spawers i' 'oose [house]." - -I shook his earth-worn hand with that degree of comprehensive warmth -which should suggest sorrowing sympathy to a mind quickened through -trouble, but nought beyond fervor to the ruder tissues of health. - -"There 's always something ... for some of us..." I said oracularly. - -"We mud as well 'ev 'em as onnybody," Ginger remarked, with what I took -to be rare resignation at the time, and we parted. - - -It was in the green, early days of July, when the corn waved -slumberously back and forth over the hedge-tops, beating time to -soundless adagios like a sleepy-headed metronome, and as yet there were -few scorched patches in summer's rippling gown of emerald silk, that the -Spawer arrived. Steg was one of the first to give tidings of his advent -to Ullbrig, and after him Mrs. Grazer, who met him on his way home, -bearing the intelligence laboriously with his mouth open, like a -brimming pail of milk. - -"'Ev ye 'eard 'ow Mester Jenkison' mother' sister-in-law 's gettin' on, -Steg?" she asked him, before he was ready to speak first. - -"Ay," says Steg, with a watchful eye upon his own intelligence, set -momentarily down, and waiting his turn. - -"'Ow is she, then?" - -"She 's deead." - -"Nay! Is she an' all! Poor owd woman!" - -"She is that!" says Steg, warming with a sense of triumph to the work, -as though he had the credit of her demise. It is good to be the bearer -of tidings, and feel oneself a factor in the world's rotation. "She -deed ti morn [this morning] at aif-past six." - -"An' when 's t' buryin'? Did y' 'ear?" - -"Ay, they telt me," says Steg. - -"It 'll be o' Thosday, ah 's think." - -"Nay, bud it weean't," Steg replied, mounting up another step by -contradiction toward the top rung of his ladder. "Wensday. There 's -ower much thunder about for keepin'." Then he struck up still higher -without loss of time. "They 've gotten a spawer up at Clift," he said. - -The intelligence was a guest at every tea-table in Ullbrig the same day, -Steg and Mrs. Grazer having done wonders in its dissemination under -wholesome fear of forestalment. Mrs. Grazer beat Steg by a short head -at Shep Stevens', but Steg cut the triumph away from under her feet at -Gatheredge's. To all intents and purposes they ran a dead heat at the -brewery, only Mrs. Gatheredge's superior riding put Steg's nose out on -the post. - -"Steg 'll 'a telt ye they 've gotten a spawer up at Clift Yend," she -said, with diabolical cunning, just as Steg's mouth was opening for the -purpose, snatching the prize from his very lips. - -"Nay, Steg 's telt us nowt," repudiated the brewer. "Steg 's nobbut just -this minute walked i' yard. Ev' they an' all? Up at Clift Yend?" - -"'E come o' Monday," Steg chimed in morosely, picking up what odd crumbs -of attention were left him from the purloin. - -"O' Monday, did 'e? There 's nobbut one on 'em, then?" said the brewer -interrogatively. - -"That's all," answered Steg, left in undisputed possession of the field -by the departure of Mrs. Grazer into the internals of the brewer's house -by the back. - -"Ay.... So there 's nobbut one on 'em, then? It 'll be newspaper man -fro' Oommuth [Hunmouth], ah 's think--'im 'at was 'ere last back-end." - -"Nay, bud no," Steg answered, with decision, plucking up brightly at the -sight of unspoliated pickings. "It 's a right new un this time." - -"'E 'll be fro' Oommuth, though," said the brewer, going down squarely -on the bilge of a beer barrel after a cautious look backward. - -"Nay, an' 'e 's not fro' Oommuth naythur," said Steg, with zest. - -"Why! Where is 'e fro', then?" asked the brewer, in genuine surprise. -Visitors to Ullbrig who don't come from Hunmouth can hardly be conceived -to come from anywhere. We divide the world into two constituents, town -and country, Hunmouth being the town. - -"Ah nivver thought to ask," said Steg, after a thinking pause; "bud 'e -'s not fro' Oommuth.... Ah 'm none so sure," he added, straining the -chords of his actual intelligence for the sake of a little extra effect, -"'t 'e 's not fro' Lunnon!" - -"Ah think not, Steg," said the brewer quickly, rejecting the probability -without consideration, like the blind man's box of matches pushed under -his nose in Hunmouth. - -"Ah think not," the brewer repeated. "Lunnon 's a long way off 'n Clift -Yend." - -"Ay, but ah 'm none so sure, ah tell ye," Steg urged, real conviction -growing in him out of contradiction, as is the way of all flesh. "'E 's -lived a deal i' furrin parts, onny'ow," he said craftily, making a -counter demonstration to relieve pressure on the main issue, and -retiring under its cover from the assailed position. - -"Which on 'em?" inquired the brewer, with disconcerting directness. - -"T' most part on 'em, ah think," Steg replied, boldly. - -"France, 'as 'e?" asked the brewer, testing this broad statement of fact -by the application of specifics. - -"Ay," said Steg, with a big bold affirmative like the head of a tadpole, -thinning out all suddenly into a faint wriggling tail of protective -caution--"ah think so." - -"Jarmany?" asked the brewer. - -"Ay," said Steg again, "... ah think so." - -"Roo-shah?" the brewer went on judicially, suddenly of a mind to turn -this interrogation into a geographical display, but with a keen eye for -the limits of his territory. - -"Ay," repeated Steg, gathering such momentum of assent that he had -buried his reply in the brewer's second syllable before he could stop -himself, with his tail sticking out by the interrogation mark--"ah think -so." - -"Hitaly?" queried the brewer, pausing through a futile endeavor to -pronounce whether America was a foreign part or not. "Choina? Hindia?" - -"Nay," Steg demurred, with wily scruple, "ah 'm none so sure about t' -last." - -"'E 's traviled a deal, 'owseumdivver," said the brewer. "What 's -brought 'im to Clift Yend, ah wonder ... of all places i' world. 'E 's -not for company, it seems, bi t' looks o' things. Did y' 'ear owt why -'e 's come?" - -"Naw," said Steg. "They say 'e writes a deal of 'is time." - -"'Appen 'e writes for t' paper," the brewer suggested. - -"Nay, ah div n't think that 's it," Steg said, taking the brewer's -conclusion into his own hands like an ill-sharpened pencil and -repointing it. "'E 's nowt to do wi' papers, by what ah can mek oot. -'E 's ta'en rooms for a month at start, wi' chance o' stoppin' on if 'e -likes 'em, an' 'e 's brought a hextry deal o' things wi' 'im. 'E 's -brought a bath...." - -"A bath!" said the brewer blankly, interrogation and interjection in -visible conflict over the word. Complete house furnishing in Ullbrig -stops at the wash-tub. Beyond this all is vanity. "What diz 'e want -wi' a bath?" - -"Nay..." Steg said, declining any conflict on the unaccountabilities of -strange men from far places. "Ah 'm nobbut tellin' ye same as they 've -telt me," he added half-apologetically, in fear lest he might be accused -of sympathies with false worship. "It 's a rare great bath an' all, by -what they say--like one o' them big drums wi' a cover tiv it. Ye 've -nobbut to gie it a ding wi' yer 'and an' it sets up a growl same as -thunder. Onny road, that 's what Jeff Dixon says, an' 'e ought to know. -'E wor dingin' it all last neet." - -"Some folks 'as fancies," said the brewer, with impersonal scorn. - -"Ay ... an' ah was nigh forgettin'..." Steg struck in. "'E 's gotten a -'armonium comin' an' all. It 'll ought to be 'ere before so very long, -noo." - -"A 'armonium!" exclaimed the brewer, trying the word incredulously upon -his understanding. "Nay," he said, after testing it with his own lips, -"nay, ah think ye 're wrong this time, Steg." - -"A pianner, then," Steg hazarded, after staring fixedly for a space with -a wrestle going on laboriously behind his eyes. "It's all same thing i' -yend." - -"Nay, nor a pianner naythur," ruled the brewer, refusing the substitute -with equal disregard. "Folks dizz n't tek 'armoniums nor pianners about -wi' 'em fro' place to place i' that road. It 'll be a concerteeny ye -'re thinkin' on, 'appen." - -"Nay, it weean't," Steg said slowly. - -"What'll it be, then?" - -"It 'll be a pianner," he said, carrying the contention relentlessly in -his mouth as a dog does a bone, and, seeing that, the brewer did not -risk wresting it from him by force. - -"'Oo says it will?" he inquired, temporising warily after this -convincing display of faith. - -"I do," said Steg, toll-gathering masterfully for himself. - -"Ay, bud 'oo telt you?" demanded the brewer. - -"Gyles' lad," said Steg. - -"An' 'oo telt 'im?" the brewer continued, pursuing the inflexible -interrogative path to fundamentals. - -"Arny." - -"Arny Dixon?" - -"Ay, 'e did." - -"Arny Dixon 'issen?" - -"Ay, Arny Dixon 'issen. There 's not two of 'em." - -"Arny Dixon telt Gyles' lad and Gyles' lad telt you, ye say?" - -"Ay, ah do," said Steg, with a voice that cried for no abatement of its -responsibility. - -The brewer gave one thigh a moment's respite off the hard cask, and -after that the other. - -"Well!" he said, sententiously. "There 'll be time enough an' all, -Steg. Them 'at lives longest sees most, they say." - -"Ay!" Steg assented, with equanimity. - -A shadow fell across the brewer's yard; an irresolute, halting -shadow--the shadow of one with half a mission and two minds. - -"'Neet, James," greeted the brewer to the yard-end, and the shadow -deepened, falling finally over an adjacent beer barrel with a couple of -nods and an expectoration. - -"We 've gotten company up at Gift Yend, then," it said. - - - - - *CHAPTER II* - - -Where the roadway splits on the trim, green prow of Hesketh's high -garden-hedge, dipping down like the trough of a wave and sliding along -the cool, moss-grown wall beneath a tangle of leafy rigging towards the -sunlit opens of Cliff Wrangham, Father Mostyn, deep in his own thoughts, -came suddenly upon the Spawer, going homeward. - -He was a tall, lithe figure of young manhood, in snowy holland, with the -idle bearing of one whose activity is all in the upper story; eyes -brown, steadfast, and kindly, less for the faculty of seeing things than -of thinking them; brows lying at ease apart, but with the tiny, -tell-tale couple-crease between them for linked tussle--brows that might -hitch on to thought with the tenacity of a steel hawser; a jaw fine, -firm, and resolute, closing strongly over determination, though void of -the vicious set of obstinacy, with a little indulgent, smiling, V-shaped -cleft in the chin for a mendicant to take advantage of; lips seemingly -consecrate to the sober things of this life, yet showing too a sunny -corner for its mirthmakings and laughters beneath the slight slant of -moustache--scarcely more tawny than its owner's sun-tanned cheeks where -it touched them. Father Mostyn awoke suddenly from his musing to the -awareness of a strange presence, encompassing it with the meshes of an -inquiring eye. Before the Spawer could extricate his glance from the -toils of its inadvertent trespass, the dread "Ha!" had completed his -enslavement and brought him up on his heel sideways at the moment of -passing. - -"... A stranger within our gates!" Father Mostyn observed, with -courteous surprise, rocking ruminatively to and fro on his legs in the -roadway, and dangling the ebony staff in both palms. He drew a -comprehensive circle with its ferrule in the blue sky. "You bring -glorious weather," he said, contemplating the demarcated area through -rapt, narrowed lashes, and sensing its beneficence with the uplifted -nostrils of zest. - -The Spawer unlocked his lips to a frank, boyish smile that lighted up -his face in quick response like the throwing open of shutters to the -sunlight. Also, just a little emanative twinkle that seemed to suggest -previous acquaintance with the Vicar over some Cliff Wrangham rail. - -"To be truthful," he laughed, "it 's the weather that brings me. One -feels it almost a sin, somehow, to let such a sun and sky go unenjoyed. -The rain always comes soon enough." - -"Not till we 've prayed for it," Father Mostyn decided with prompt -reassurance, making critical diagnosis of the sky above. "... Prayed -for it properly," he hastened to explain. "Indiscriminate Ullbrig -exhortation won't do any good--with a sky like that. You can't mistake -it. The meteorological conditions point to prolonged set fair." He -dismissed the weather with a sudden expulsion of glance, and put on his -atmospheric courtesy of manner for personal approaches. "... A pilgrim -to the old heathen centre of Ullbrig?" he inquired, diffusing the direct -interrogation over the Spawer's holland trousers. "Brig, the Bridge, and -Ull, or Uddle, the Idol--the Village of Idols on the Bridge. The bridge -and the idols have departed ... the church is partly built of stones -from infidel altars ... but the heathen remain. Large numbers of them. -Do you come to study our aboriginal habits and superstitions? ... A -student of Nature at all?" - -The Spawer exchanged a happy negative. - -"Hardly a student," he said, rejecting the title with pleasant demur. -"I 'm afraid I can't lay claim to that. A lover, perhaps," he -substituted. "That leaves ignorance free scope. Love is not among the -learned professions." - -"Ha!" Father Mostyn commented, considering the reflection, like the -scent of a cigar, through critical nostrils. "A lover of Nature; with a -leaning towards philosophy. You come far to do your love-making?" - -"Fairly far--yes. I am fond of the country," the Spawer explained, with -simple confession of fact, "and the sea." - -"We have not much country to offer you hereabouts, I fear," Father -Mostyn said, looking deprecatingly round it. "We have land." He leaned -interrogatively on the proffered alternative. "If that 's any good to -you. A fine, heavy, obstinate clay like the rest of us. We are -sweaters of the brow in these parts. We find it an excellent substitute -for soap. All our life is given over to the land. We are born on it, -brought up on it, buried in it. We worship it. It is the only god we -bow to. Notice the back of an Ullbrig man; it is bent with devotion to -the soil. We don't bend like that in church. To bend like that in -church is idolatry. So we go to chapel and unbend instead, and hold -mighty tea-meetings in honor of Jehovah. Notice our eyes too; take stock -of them when we give you 'Good day' in the road. There is a peculiar, -foxy, narrow-grooved slant in them through incessant following of the -furrow. You can't mistake it. You don't need any pretensions to -metoposcopy to read our faces. We are of the earth, earthy. When we -turn our eyes towards Heaven, we are merely looking for rain. If we -turn them up again, we are merely looking for the rain to stop. Our -lives are elemental and our pleasures few. To speak ill of one's -neighbor, to slander the vicar, to deride the church, to perpetuate -heresy, to pasture untruths--_spargere voces in vulgum ambiguas_--to fly -off at a tangent on strong beer--these are among our catalogue of homely -recreations. - -"If you were staying here to study us for any length of time--but I -suppose you are the mere sojourner of a day, gone from us again in the -cool of the evening with the night-moths and other flitting things?" - -The Spawer laughed lightly. - -"Not quite so soon as that," he said. "And you make me glad of it. No; -I am pitching my tent in this pleasant wilderness awhile." - -Father Mostyn opened his roomy eye to the reception of surprise. - -"Ha! Is it possible? Within measurable distance of us?" - -"At Cliff Wrangham." - -"Cliff Wrangham!" The ecclesiastical eyebrows elevated themselves up -out of sight under Father Mostyn's cap-rim. "So near and yet so far! -Friends?" he added, as the eyebrows came down, casting over the word a -delicate interrogative haze. - -The Spawer cleaved its meaning. - -"I am making them," he said. "At present I am merely a lodger." - -"Merely a lodger," Father Mostyn repeated, using the words to nod over, -as was his wont. "And Mrs. Dixon, I suppose, is our landlady? Ha! I -thought so. She has the monopoly hereabouts. A tower of nonconformity -in a district pillared with dissent--but a skilled cook. A cook for an -abbot's board. Only describe what a dish smells like and she will come -within reasonable approach of its taste on the table. You won't have -much fault to find with the meals--I 've tried 'em. Her chicken-pies -are a specialty. There 's not a single crumb of vice in the whole -crust, and the gravy glues your lips together with goodness. The pity -is they are not even Protestant pies, and are impiously partaken of on -Fridays and other holy fast days. You need never fear for a dinner. -All you have to do is to go out into the yard and point your finger at -it. We possess an agreeable knack of spiriting poultry under the crust -hereabouts without unnecessary formula. It is inherited. Beef will give -you trouble, and mutton; both in the buying and the masticating. We -kill once a week. Killing day falls the day after you want steak in a -hurry--or has fallen some days before. That is because we sell first -and slaughter second. Our Ullbrig butchers leave nothing to chance. -They keep a beast ready in the stall, and as soon as the last steak 's -sold by allotment, they sign the execution warrant. Not before, unless -the beast falls ill. In the matter of fish we are better off. We don't -go down to the sea in ships for it--we should come back without it if we -did. We get it at Fussitter's. Ready tinned." - -"Ready tinned!" said the Spawer. "It sounds rather deadly, does n't it? -It puts me in mind of inquests, somehow." - -"Ha!" Father Mostyn made haste to explain. "You must n't buy it out of -the window. That 's where the deadliness comes in. The sunlight has a -peculiar chemical action upon the tin, liberating certain constituents -of the metal exceedingly perilous to the intercostal linings. Insist on -having it from under the counter. Ask for tinned lobster--as supplied -to his reverence the vicar...." He wrote out the instructions with his -right forefinger upon the left-hand palm. "To be kept in a Cool, Dark -Place under the Counter. The crayfish brand. Nothing but the crayfish -brand. Ask for the vicar's lobster--they 'll know what you mean--and -see that you get it." - -"Would n't one of Mrs. Dixon's pies come in rather handy there, even on -Friday?" the Spawer suggested. - -"Ha!" said Father Mostyn, with a luminous eye. "I see you realize the -danger of them. The sin that comes in handy. That 's it! That we may -have strength of grace to turn away from the sin that comes in handy! -... Your tent has been pitched in the wilderness before?" - -"Many times." - -Father Mostyn made expressive comment with his eyebrows. - -"Ha! I thought so. A misanthrope?" he asked, in genial unbelief. -"Shunning company for solitude!" - -"On the contrary, I find solitude excellent company at times." - -"A literary man?" - -"No." The Spawer parted pleasantly with the word, unattached to any -further token of enlightenment. - -"A visitor at large, I suppose!" Father Mostyn substituted, holding the -conclusion under his nose with the delicate non-insistence of a -collecting plate in church. "Here for rest and quiet." - -The Spawer shook his head. - -"Again no," he answered. "Rest and quiet are for the wealthy." Then he -laughed himself free of further dissimulation. "I will be frank with -you," he said. "I am none of these things. I am a poor beggar in the -musical line." - -Father Mostyn's eyebrows arched. - -"The musical line!" he exclaimed. "The musical line drawn through -Ullbrig! Geography upheaved! Mercator confounded! One might just as -well expect the equator. And yet ... I felt convinced ... a disciple of -art. You can't mistake it. But in Ullbrig. Is it possible?" - -He wagged the staff in his hands to appreciative wonder, waltzing back -and forth over three paces as though he were performing the first steps -of a minuet. - -"A singer?" he said, with a beaming eye of discovery. "Surely.... You -have the singer's eyes." - -"Alas!" said the Spawer. "I have not the singer's voice." - -The gaze of the Vicar went suddenly thin. - -"But the eyes!" he said; and then, with a quick readjustment of vision: -"At least ... there can be no doubt.... An executant? You play?" - -The Spawer sighed. - -"Yes," he admitted, with smiling resignation. "I suppose I play." - -"The piano, of course?" Father Mostyn conjectured, taking assent for -granted. "Ha! ..." His face melted in smiles, like golden butter, to -rapt appreciation at the vista of glorious possibilities that the -instrument conjured up before him. He lingered over the contemplation -down a long-drawn, eloquent "M-m-m-m," gazing out upon the infinite -plains of melody with a brightened eye. "You are not relying on our -aboriginal stone age pianos, of course," he said, recalling his eye to -the actual, with a sudden recollective jerk. - -The Spawer showed a sunny glint of teeth. - -"Hardly," he replied. "As soon as the railway people remember where -they saw it last, I hope to have one of my own." - -"One of your own. Ha!" Father Mostyn's eye glistened to enthusiasm -again. "I judged so. Beautiful! Beautiful!" The ebony staff shook to -internal humor at a thought. "Fancy Mozart on an Ullbrig piano! ... or -Bach! ... or Beethoven! ..." He wagged the unspeakable with his head. -"I 'm afraid you won't find any music hereabouts." - -"Thank Heaven!" the Spawer breathed devoutly. "I was afraid perhaps I -might!" - -"Ha!" Father Mostyn caught quickly at the inference and translated it. -"I see; I see. A musical monastic! Coming into retreat at Cliff -Wrangham to subject his soul to a course of artistic purification and -strengthening!" - -The Spawer accepted the illustration with a modest laugh. - -"Well, yes," he said. "I suppose that 's it--only it 's rather more -beautiful in idea than in actuality. I should have said myself, -perhaps, that I 'd come into the country to be able to work in -shirt-sleeves and loosened braces, and go about unshaved, in baggy-kneed -trousers, without fear of friends. I 'm half a monastic and half -refugee. In towns so many of us are making music that one never gets a -chance to hear or think one's own; one's ears are full of other -people's. So I 've run away with my own little musical bone to a quiet -place, where I can tackle it all to myself and growl over the business -to my heart's content without any temptation to drop it for -unsubstantial shadows. Instead of having to work in a stuffy room, with -all the doors and windows closed and somebody knocking at you on the -next house wall, I have the sea, the cliff, the sands ... and the whole -sky above me for my workshop. It will take me all my time to fill it. -If a melody comes my way, I can hum it into shape without causing -unpleasant remarks. Nobody ever hears me, for one thing; and for -another, they would n't bother to listen if they did." Father Mostyn's -glance flickered imperceptibly for a moment, and then burned with an -exceeding steady light. "I can orchestrate aloud in the open air, -singing flute, clarinet, oboe, bassoon, ophicleide ... tympani ... just -whatever I please, without any risk of an official tap on the shoulder. -In a word, I can be myself ... and it 's a treat to be oneself for a -while. One gets tired of being somebody else so long, and having to go -about in fear of the great Unwritten." - -"We have our great Unwritten here too," Father Mostyn told him. "I -doubt if any of us could write it if we tried. Ullbrig is weak in its -caligraphy. We do most of our writing in chalk. It suits our style -better. The pen has an awkward habit of impaling the paper, we find, -and carrying it back to the ink-pot." - -"Don't teach me anything of Ullbrig's great Unwritten," the Spawer put -in quickly. "Let me violate it with an easy conscience." - -"By all means," Father Mostyn invited him genially. "It will be a -chastening mortification to our pride. We are swollen with local -pride--distended with the flatulence of dissent. A little pricking will -do us no harm. I should have thought, though," Father Mostyn went on, -"that you would have sought to feed your muse on richer fare than -turnip-fields. I imagined that mountains and valleys, with castles -looking over lakes and waterfalls by moonlight, were more the sort of -stuff for stimulating a musician's fancy. Is it possible there can be -music lying latent in our Ullbrig soil?" - -The Spawer smiled a sympathetic appreciation of his perplexity. - -"I think there may be," he told him. "Anyhow, I have come to make the -experiment, and I 'm very well satisfied with it so far." - -"Heaven be with you," Father Mostyn prayed with fervor. "It passes the -mind of man to imagine the conversion of friend Joseph Tankard into a -symphony, or friend Sheppardman Stevens as a figure in a sonata. You -have your labor." - -"I am not dismayed," the Spawer laughed, with light-hearted confidence. - -"And you are staying here for any length of time--a month, at least, to -start with? ... I would suggest three, if you wish to study the -district." - -"It might very well be three before I leave; certainly not less than a -month." - -"Excellent! Your soul is my cure while you stay. It will be my duty as -parish priest to pay you parochial visits. I hope, too, that it will be -my privilege to receive your full musical confession. And as soon as -ever you grow tired of the company of solitude up at the Cliff End, just -drop down to Ullbrig and try me for an antidote, any time you happen to -be passing. If you 're tired, or want something to drink, don't -hesitate to make use of the parish priest. That 's what he 's for. -Just call in at the Vicarage as you would at the Ullbrig Arms; you 'll -find the attention as good, and the welcome greater. After eight -o'clock you can be almost sure of catching me ... without there be sick -calls. A pain in the umbilical vicinity is an excellent worker for the -Church. Unfortunately, it passes off too soon, and then we are apt to -forget that we called the vicar out of bed in a hurry one morning...." -The first stroke of three fell across his words from the church tower -round the corner, and on the instant his genial eye was wreathed in -priestly mysticism as with the spirals of incense. The mantle of a -mighty mission descended upon him, and he gathered its folds in dignity -about his being. "Ha!" he said, grasping his staff for departure, and -verifying the time from a handsome gold chronometer, "... I must leave -you. They 're waiting.... Priestly duties...." - -He did not specify who were waiting or what the priestly duties were, -but exhaled the spirit of leave-taking in an ineffable smile without -words, and vanished round Hesketh's corner--a vague, ecclesiastical -vapor. A few moments later, by the time his Reverence could have -comfortably reached the belfry, the creaking of a bell-rope overtook the -Spawer on his way homeward, and the tongue of the stagnant hour-teller -roused itself once more in public reproof of schism. - -A mile and a half of roadway lies between Ullbrig and Cliff Wrangham. -As near as may be it stretches straight to the halfway house, like a -yard of yellow ribbon measured against the rod. From there the rest of -it rolls away to the Cliff End in sweeping fold of disengaged material -and the gateways set in. There are four of these, with a music all -their own as they clash behind you, wagging their loose, worn, wooden -tongues, that sometimes catch and are still with one short note, and -sometimes reiterate themselves slowingly to sleep upon the gate-post -behind you as you go. The first lets you by Stamway's long one-story -farm-house, before Stamway's three front windows, hermetically sealed, -each darkened with a fuchsia and backed with white curtains drawn as -tight as a drumhead, and Stamway's front door, an arm's length behind -the wooden palisading, that Stamway has never gone in or come out by -since he happened through with some of the parlor furniture thirty years -ago--our front door, as Father Mostyn himself tells us, being no better -than the church door for all the use we make of it. Beyond Stamway's -third window is Stamway's big semi-circular duck-pond, where Barclay of -Far Wrangham suffered shipwreck one night in November, being found -water-logged up to his knees, and crying aloud (as it is attested): - -"Lord 'ev mercy on me an' gie me strength ti keep my legs while tide -gans down." Adding when rescued: "Ah nivver knowed sea so 'igh i' all -my days, nor rise so sudden. She mun 'a done a deal o' damage, Stamway. -If ah 'ad n't been strongish o' my feet, like, ah sewd 'a been swep -away, for sure." - -"Nay," Stamway told him bluntly, who does not hold with dissipations in -any shape or form, being a strict Good Templar himself, and never known -the worse for liquor more than six times in the year. "It 's Red Sea -i'side of ye, ah think, 'at 's most to blame. It 's drowned a deal o' -Phaarahs in its time. Gan yer ways 'ome wi' ye, an' div n't say nowt -about matter ti onnybody. They 'll know very well wi'oot." - -The second gate gives you your first foot on Dixon's land. The house -stands endwise to the sea, set deep in a horseshoe of trees; a big, -hearty, whitewashed building under bronze red tiles, two stories high in -front, that slope down backward over the dairy toward the stackgarth -till they touch its high nettles. If you are approaching it with -heelless boots and an apologetic tread, beware of the dog. The door -opens under the low scullery roof, with the sink to your right hand as -you go in, where the whole family takes turns at the _papier-mache_ -basin before tea. To the left of the scullery lies the kitchen. You go -in as you go in at Stamway's: scrape your boots over a spade, knock both -heels alternately against the outer wall, skate inwards over two mats, -and give a twist sideways, watching the kitchen floor anxiously the -while to see whether the mats have done their work or will betray you. - -The kitchen takes up the whole end of the house, facing two ways. The -first window watches the lane across the red tile path and the little -unclassified garden; the second comes on the broadside front of the -house, facing south, where the sun is a gorgeous nuisance after -mid-morning in summer, fading all the flowers on the figured print blind -drawn down against his intrusion. It is one of six that look out upon -the little green lawn of ragged grass, where invisible hens are -desperately busy under its long blades all day long, and chase the moths -with vehement beaks above the tangle at even. A rude rail fence bounds -it in front, that gives way at times when you dangle both legs on it, -and tints your trousers with a rich, powdery, green bloom where it -darkens under the trees by the orchard corner. Beyond this, dipping -below the sunk stone wall and the dry nettle-grown ditch in which the -ball buries itself instinctively whenever you hit it, is the big grass -field for cricket, with the wickets always standing. And beyond this, -sweeping away in every direction to right and left, go the great lagoons -of corn, brimming up to their green confines, and Barclay's farm -shimmering on the distant cliff hill against the sky-line; and the dim -Garthston windmill turning its listless sails over in dreamy soliloquy -across three miles of fattening grain and green hedge and buttercupped -pasture, with the cry of cattle and the chorus of birds, and the hum of -wings and the fiddling of hidden grasshoppers; and the celestial sound -of the sea, two fields off, lipping the lonely shore, and the basin of -blue sky above, with a burning round sun for trade mark; and the -stirring of lazy leaves, the cluck of poultry, the soothing grunt of -distant pigs, outstretched on the pungent straw and intoxicated with -content, the solaceful shutting of unseen gates, and all the thousand -things and doings, and sounds and sights and scents that lie expressed -in the words Cliff Wrangham and Dixon's by the sea. - -And here the Spawer came in the early days of July, big with musical -enthusiasm and the themes for his second concerto. - -They made the two end windows over to him, adjoining the orchard; the -best sitting-room--that is not even used by the family on Sundays--with -the best bedroom above; and he was very happy indeed. The diminutive -front door, all out of plumb under its three drunken panes of different -colored glass, and buried a yard deep behind its porch of flowering tea, -cut him off figuratively from the rest of the house; and the little -staircase, starting straight upward for the square yard of bedroom -landing from the sunk mat, cut him off in effect. Its tread is so steep -and so unwonted that it put him in mind of augmented seconds whenever he -went up or down, and the first step gives the door so little turning -space that you have to mount your foot upon it and twist round, with the -sneck in your stomach, to get into the Spawer's room. A little faded, -old-world, out-of-the-world room, like a faint last century sigh, dear -to the Spawer's heart on the first day; doubly dear on the second. The -dearest little room in all the world, perhaps, before the third. Even -the irresistible tide of modernity flowing into it through the Spawer's -possessions settled down in clear, hushed pools, as though the turbulent -current of Time had found rest here at last and was still. In its -nostrils the sweetest breath of decay; the pleasant, musty incense of -crumbling mortar and horse-hair, and curtains heavy in their folds with -the record of departed harvests; of air kept piously secluded under lock -and key, through a sacred life of Sundays, and never disturbed in its -religious brooding by any thoughtless gusts of worldly wind. On its -walls a choir of pink roses, seeking the ceiling in prim devotion--such -a paper as you shall no longer find at any shop in these days of -Lincrusta and Tynecastle and Anaglypta and Japanese leathers, though you -pile gold on the counter in pyramids and exhort the covetous glint in -the salesman's eye through tears. - -From the hook in the center of the ceiling hangs the big brass duplex -lamp, beneath which the Spawer bends his head by the hour together, -orchestrating his concerto over a busy Jacob's ladder of full score; or, -in more material mood, where he draws up his chair to Mrs. Dixon's -immortal productions in pastry, with the little brass bell to his right -hand, that gives forth a faint, far, meadow-tinkle when he swings it. -Whereupon the twins, who have been waiting for the sound of it all the -time, under orders, barely a nose-width out of sight round the corner, -take up its expiring message with a business-like scuffle of boots and -run loudly to the kitchen in double harness, shouting as they go: "Mek -'aste wi' ye an' all. Bell 's gone." - -By the left wall, abacking the staircase, the two-headed horse-hair -sofa, consecrate to Dixon, beneath the framed print of the Ponte dei -Sospiri and the twin china shepherds staring hard at the mantelpiece off -their Swiss brackets; where Dixon fills his pipe at night when the -Spawer's work is over, and puts a cheery retainer on the conversation -with his familiar: - -"Noo then ... ah 'll tell ye." - -And tells him in a confidential whisper, after a look at the door: - -"They say Lunnon 's a rum place!" - -Or, "Ah 've 'eard tell o' some queer goings on i' towns!" - -Or, "Ye 'll 'a seed a deal o' strange sights i' France, ah 's think!" - -And goes to bed slapping his knees and saying: "Well, ah don't know!" -till Mrs. Dixon tells him, "Now, you 've been talking your nonsense -again," knowing well the tokens. - -And for the rest, dispersed indiscriminately about the room, there are -Daudet's "Jack"; Tolstoi's "Sonate a Kreutzer"; half a dozen old -leather-bound volumes of Moliere, opening of themselves at "Le -Bourgeois," "Le Malade," or "L'Avare"; Turgenieff twice over in French -yellow; Swinburne's "Songs before Sunrise"; a litter of Brahms in his -granite Simrock livery; of Grieg in pale pink Peters; of red brick -Chopin; of Buelow's Beethoven; of Tschaikowsky; of Rachmaninov; of -Glazounow; of Balakirev--of Young Russia, in a word; of Hans Huber; of -Smetana; of Dvorak; of loose MSS. and blank music paper--all strewing -the chairs and sofa and table in ideal confusion, so that before the -Spawer may sit down on one seat he must mortgage another. A -letter-weight bust of Chopin on the round antimacassared table by the -window; by its side a signed Paderewski; on the mantelpiece the genial -Bohemian 'cellist, piercing the soul of the little room with his glowing -eyes from under the well-known silvery nimbus, and apostrophising his -"dear young friend," Maurice Ethelbert Wynne, in neatest English through -copper-plate German characters; Sarasate on the sideboard by the big -cupboard undermining the staircase, where the Spawer's table-bass goes -off in heat apoplexy, a bottle a day. - -Elsewhere of literary features a few; of singers, of artists, of actors -even. Lastly, after an octave of days, comes the piano too, and takes -up the far angle by the window corner, its treble truss touching the -steel fender, its bass abutting the sill. - -And the Spawer sets to work in earnest. - -Not the Spawer of hitherto. No longer the smooth-browed son of leisure, -with laughter held lazily captive in the meshes of his moustache and an -unencumbered eye for the clear draughts of gladness, but a purposeful -demon with conspiring brows and deadly-looking hands clawing the keys -with a sinuous throttle in each finger, that draw forth a pencil -murderously from time to time, like a stiletto, to stab thought upon the -paper with the unpleasant despatch of assassination. - -A pause for the day's dip and dinner, and on again; and a pause for a -stroll and tea, and on again; and supper and a chat with Dixon, and on -again. Till Dixon slaps his thigh when he comes back from anywhere and -hears it all in full progression, and asks: - -"What! Is 'e still agate [on the go]?" - -Pushing his hat from his brow to reply: - -"Mah wod! It 's a caution, yon!" - -For a second octave of days. - -And then a strange happening, to check the buoyant current of the -Spawer's activity. - -Very late one night the shadow of his head lingered upon the figured -print blind, drawn loosely down over the wide-opened window, and the -piano poured its unceasing treasury into night's immeasurable coffers. -Already, in the long musical decade since Dixon's departure, he had -risen to readjust the smouldering wicks, and gone back to a new lease of -light at the keyboard. The light was failing for the second time as his -fingers, slowing dreamily, sought the final shelter of Chopin. By many -winding ways they came at length to the hushed haven of the seventeenth -prelude, with the muffled A-flat bell booming its solemn death-message -over the waters, and the little tear-laden boat of melody cradling its -grief to silence on the ripples below. - -The bell tolled no more; the little boat lay tremulous upon the echoes, -and in the lingering stillness that followed, before yet the player's -fingers had dared to break that sacred communion with the keys, fell all -abruptly a sudden human sob. - -A sudden human sob out of the darkness beyond the blind. So near and -real and necessitous that the Spawer's elbows kicked backward from the -keys, and the pedals went off like triggers under his feet as he spun -round to the window. And yet, so far, so remote in probability, that -even while he turned, he found far easier to account for it as some -acute, psychical manifestation of his own emotions, rather than the -expression of any agency from without. Through faith in this feeling, -and no fear of it, he flung up the blind abruptly, and thrust forth his -head with a peremptory "Who's there?" - -Outside, the world lay wrapped in a great breathing stillness. Night's -ultramarine bosom was ablaze with starry chain of mail. From the far -fields came faint immaterial sounds, commingled in the suspended -fragrance of hay, in warm revelations of ripening corn, in the aromatic -pungency of nettles, and all the humid suffocation of herbs that open -their moist pores at even. Distant sheep, cropping in ghost-like -procession across misty, dew-laden clover, contributed now and again -their strange, cutting, human cough. Came, as the Spawer listened, the -slow, muffled thud-thud of some horse's hoofs on the turf, as it plodded -in patient change of pasture, and the deep blowing of kine along the -hedge-bottoms. But these, with the soft sound of the sea, spreading its -countless fans of effervescing surf upon the sandy shore, were the only -answer to his challenge. - -He threw it out again, with the mere indolent amusement of casting -pebbles into a pool, and swung one leg over the sill. Night allured him -with all her mystic altar lights. He was of a mind to sit there and -fling open his soul like a lattice to her seductive minstrelsy; drain -deep draughts of celestial gladness from the overflowing tankard of -stars. In the dead black porch of flowering tea, with one pale -planetary flame shining through its tabernacled branches, no stir. No -stir in the square black rug of long grass, softened in its centre to -grey silver-point. No stir in the massed shadow of trees, uprising rigid -like dim marine growths in a dense ocean of azure. - -"Well?" he asked of the stillness, swinging his leg with a complacent -tattoo of heel against the brickwork, and smiling indulgence at his own -little extension in folly. "For the last time! One ... two ... three. -Or must I fire?" - -The stars twinkled him in irresistible summons to the sea. Even the sea -itself raised its supplicative song a little louder, he thought, as he -listened, and called "Come!" The night was too full of blessings to be -suffocated untimely beneath the blankets; all his senses were making -outcry for its bounty, and the soul of him hearkened. Just one stroll to -the edge of the water and back before bed. It was no new thing for him -to do. He reached his hat from its insecure slant upon the pile of -music topping the piano, and clasped the sill with both hands for -descent. - -As he did so, in the still pause presaging the act, he heard the -frenetic tugging of someone at the sticky orchard gate, that takes six -pulls to open and three and a kick to close, ever since Jabe Stevens -painted it drab, with black latch pickings. He heard the quick repeated -pant of the pulls; felt in a flash the desperate occasion that was -urging them; felt the very prayers surging about him on their way from a -soul in turbulent tussle against destiny, and next moment was down on -his feet before the window with a clear, arrestive "Hello!" - -The click of the liberated latch; garments in swift full stir; a -prolonged rending, like the descent of some four-octave chromatic, and a -sudden breath-held, death-like stillness fell upon his landing. For a -moment he could elucidate nothing by the look. Sight was sealed up in -yellow lamplight. Two steps forward and the bondage was burst. He made -out the line of flat wood stakes bounding the orchard to its half width, -whence rough green rails complete the demarcation; and the gate, thrown -three quarters open; and by it, the dim, motionless figure of a girl. - - - - - *CHAPTER III* - - -All that had been silence before was swallowed up at a gulp in the -sudden deeps of discovery. The Spawer, with legs planted forcefully -apart, chin thrown forward, and sidelong listening ear, tugged at the -tawny end of his moustache. It is not altogether a child's task, -whatever may be thought to the contrary, to address discreetly a panting -feminine figure in the darkness at five paces, that has drawn the -undesirable fire of our attention nearing midnight, and may be either a -common garden thief or a despicable henroost robber; or a farm wench, -deflected by the piano on her way home; or a mere tramp, bungling the -matter of a free straw bed, and in trouble because appearances are -against her; or none of these things at all, but something quite other, -utterly beyond the scope of divination. And since it is neither -generous to approach distress through the narrow portals of suspicion, -nor desirable to doff one's hat in premature respect to what may turn -out, after all, mere unworthy fraud, the Spawer held his peace a while -in courteous attendance upon the girl. Before him her black silhouette -remained rigid, stilled unnaturally, like a bird, in that last tense -moment of surrender beneath the fowler's fingers. She stood, part way -through the gate, with averted head--one hand straining the gate-post to -her for strength and stay--the other clutched to quell the turbulence at -her breast. In such wise, for a short century of seconds, discoverer -and discovered waited motionless the one upon the other. - -Pity for the girl's confusion, after a while, moved the Spawer when it -seemed she meant to make no use of the proffered moments. He broke up -silence with a reassuring swing of heel, though without advancing. - -"I 'm sorry if I frightened you," he said, in an open voice, devoid of -any metallic spur of challenge or odious trappings of suspicion. "I did -n't mean to do that.... But..." He paused there for a moment, with the -conjunction trailing off in an agreeable tag of stars for the girl's -use, and then, when she caught her breath over a troubled underlip, took -it up himself. "... We 're not accustomed to callers quite so late ... -and I came out in a bit of a hurry. Is there anything I can do for -you?" - -Beautiful question of solicitude for a guilty conscience, that he smiled -over grimly as he said it. He knew well enough that the very utmost he -could have done for her would have been to keep the other side of the -sill till she made good her escape. And he knew, too, that some part of -her must have suffered tear by a couple of yards or so, but that was a -matter might very well wait over awhile. For the present, all he wanted -was a little enlightenment; later, the floodgates of compassion could be -liberally loosened if required. He despatched his words, and dipped a -hand into his trouser's pocket, making a friendly jingle of keys and -coppers. The unperemptory tone of his voice, the kindness of the -undiminished distance he kept, and this last show of leisurely -dispassion did their work and raised the girl's head. - -"Oh, I 'm sorry ... and ashamed!" she gulped, battling forth into the -open through a threatening tumult of tears. "It 's all my fault ... -every bit of it. I ought never to have come." She stopped momentarily, -midway through her words, gripping on to fortitude in silence as to a -hand-rail, till the big looming sob had gone by. "... So close. And I -ought n't to have come ... at all, I know. But it 's too late now. -Wishes won't do any good. Oh ... forgive me, please." - -Her voice, even in the listening stillness of leaves, was almost -inaudible, but there was the rare mellow sweetness of blown pipes about -it such as the Spawer had not been prepared to hear at this time, and in -this place. The musical ear of him opened swiftly wide to its magic -like a casement to some forerunning spring breeze; and his heart stirred -on a sudden to wakefulness--keen bird with a most watchful eye. -Whatever else, it were absurd to couple vulgar delinquencies with so -soft a mouthpiece. He flung the lurking idea afar, and a delightful -flame of wonder grew up within him, illuminating possibility. - -"Certainly," he said, in answer to her petition, striving to lull the -girl's alarms with his manner of easy consequence. "I 'll do my best. -But tell me first what for." - -"For ... for what I 've done," said the girl unsteadily, each word -tremulous with a tear. "I did n't mean--to disturb you. I ought to -have spoken--when you called--first of all. But I could -n't--somehow--and I never expected you--by the window. I -thought--perhaps--the door. And I feel so mean--and miserable--and -wretched...." Her voice suddenly went from her to an interminable -distance, falling faintly afar like the unreal voice that wanders -aimlessly about the slopes of slumber. "And oh, please--will you give -me a glass of water?" - -With that, and a residuary shaky sigh of her little store of breath left -over, her head fell limply forward. There was no mistaking this last -tell-tale token of physical extremity; and he was by her side in a -moment. - -"Hello!" he called on the way, encouraging her by voice to resolution, -till he reached her, "what a great iron-shod beast I am, jumping out and -scaring you in this fashion. Hold up a little. You 're not going to -give up the ghost on my account, surely!" - -She made a futile effort to move her lips for reply, and lifted her head -in the supreme spurt of conscious endeavor, but it tumbled straightway -across the other shoulder uncontrolled, and swung a helpless semi-circle -before her breast. She would have been down after that, all the length -of her, but that his arms were quick to intercept the fall. The shock of -sudden succor checked her in her collapse. - -"Thank you," she panted, in a voice that stifled its words, and -striving, in a half-unconscious and wholly incompetent fashion, to free -him of the necessity of her further support. "... I 'm better now." - -Words came no more easily to her under recovery than under the original -discovery, though he knew well enough that it was because her lips were -overburdened with them, and through no poverty of desire. - -"Better?" he echoed, transplanting her own convictionless admission into -the pleasantest prospect possible. "Come, come! That 's gladdening. -There! ... Do you think you can stand all right?" - -He loosened the clasp of his arms for a moment, and she swayed out -impotently in their widening circle. - -"I think so," she said, giving desperate lie to proof positive under the -strenuousness of desire. - -He laughed indulgently, and caught her in again. - -"Capital!" he said, "if only you were trying to sit down. But you must -n't sit down here. See." He took a tighter hold of her. "... If I -help you--so.... Do you think you can manage to the door? It 's only a -step." - -He urged her into motion with a gentle insistence of arm, and set her -the example of a leisurely foot forward. For the first time he felt the -exercise of her power in resistance. - -"Oh, no, no!" she told him, turning off the two little panting negatives -in their sudden hot breath of shame, and stiffening at the suggestion of -advance. - -"No?" he queried, in audible surprise. "You 're not equal to that? But -you must n't stay out here. You need to sit down and have something to -pull you up." He brought the other arm about her in a twinkling. -"Here, let me lift you," he said. "I 've helped drunken men up three -flights of stairs before to-day, fighting every bit of the way. I ought -to be able to tackle you as far as the door!" - -Before she could absorb the intention through his words he had got her -begirt for the raising. The consciousness, coming upon her at such -short notice, in company with the action itself, found her without -preparation other than a gasp of blank amaze. Then her hand went out to -stay him. - -"Oh, let me!" she said, with a horrified desire to avert this fresh -imposition upon his credulity or good-nature. "I can walk--very -well...." - -She finished the petition in mid-air, and the sound of his amused, -wilful laughter just beneath her ears, as he waded with her through that -odious short sea of lamp-light to the black porch. - -"There!" he said, to another note of laughter, lowering her carefully -till her feet found the square slab of scoured stone, with the scraper -set in it, and strove hastily to reassert themselves. "That 's better -than bartering in yes's and no's. Thank you for keeping so beautifully -still and not kicking me; you could if you 'd tried. So!" - -He steered her down the narrow darkness of the porch, with his hands -protectively upon her elbows from behind, through a rustle of leaves and -the springing of flexible branches. She went before him, without any -words. Only when his arm slid past her to throw open wide the door did -she seem about to offer any furtherance of demur. But the dreadful -publicity of burning wicks lay forward, and the still more dreadful -publicity of his face lay behind against retreat, and she went dumbly -round the door, and so into the room. He could feel the sudden -shrinkage of her being as the full force of the episode surged back upon -her in a vivid hot wave out of the lamp-light, and was sorry. She would -have dropped down, in the penitential meekness of submission, upon the -triangle of chair that showed itself from beneath a litter of the -Spawer's music immediately by the door as they entered, but his arm -resisted the tell-tale bend of her body. - -"No, no," he said, realising her desire for the penance of discomfort -rather than the comfort of repose, and jerking the chair out of -consideration, "... not there." He thrust the table far out into the -room with a quick scream of its castors at being so rudely awakened, and -pushed her gently to the sofa. - -"That's better," he said, with a great evidence of content, as she sank -back upon it before solicitous pressure. "The cushions are hard, but the -passengers are earnestly requested to place their feet upon them." He -drew in the table again, so that she might have its rest for her arm or -her elbow, and deferring the moment for their eyes to make their first -official meeting, bustled off to the sideboard. "Please excuse the grim -formality of everything you find here," he continued, in light-hearted -purpose, and commingling his words with an urgent jingling of glass, -"but I 'm a musical sort of man, and like the rest of them, a lover of -law and order. A time and place for everything, that 's our motto, and -everything in its place. It 's a little weakness of ours.... -Therefore"--his voice suddenly went cavernous in the recesses of the big -cupboard--"... where on earth 's the brandy? Ah!" he emerged again on -the interjection smiling, as on a triumphal car. "Here it is. Now I 'm -going to give you a little of this ... it 's better than any amount of -bad drinking water, and does n't taste half so nasty. Oh, no, no, -no"--in answer to the intuition of a quick protesting turn of head from -the sofa--"... not much. I won't let you have much, so it 's no use -asking. Only as much as is good for you. Just a lit--tle drop and no -more." He measured out the drop to the exact length of the accented -syllable, and the stopper clinked home under a soft, satisfied "So-o-o!" -The syphon took up the word, seething it vigorously into the glass, and -next moment his arm had spanned the table to an encouraging: "Here we -are! Take a good pull of this while it fizzes." - -A soft, tremulous hand, nut-brown to the wrist, stole out in timid -obedience over the table, and the Spawer perceived his visitor for the -first time. - -If the mere sound of her voice had aroused his wonder, the sight of the -girl's face added doubly to his surprise. A face as little to be looked -for in this place and at this time, and under these conditions, as to -make quest for orchids down some pitmouth with pick and Davy lamp. He -could not maintain the look long, for before satisfying his own inquiry -he sought to establish the girl's confidence, but he noted the wide -generous forehead, the big consuming eyes, burning deep in sorrowing -self-reproach and giving him a moment's gaze over the uplifted tumbler; -the dispassionate narrow nose, sprinkled about its bridge and between -the brows with a pepper-castor helping of freckled candor; the small -lips, parted submissively to the glass rim over two slips of milky -teeth; the long, sleek cheeks; the slender, pear-shaped chin; the soft, -supple neck of russet tan, spliced on to a gleaming shaft of ivory, -where it dipped through her dress-collar to her bosom; the quick -throbbing throat, and the burning lobes of red, like live cinders, in -her hair. - -As to the girl herself, her whence and where and whither, the Spawer -could make no guess. She wore a shabby pale blue Tam-o'-Shanter, faded -under innumerable suns, and washed out to many a shower, but on her head -it appeared perfectly reputable and self-supporting, and identified -itself with the girl's face so instantly and so completely that its -weather-stain counted for preciousness, like the oaten tint of her skin. -A storm-tried mackintosh-cape, looped over her arms and falling loosely -down her back from the shoulders, and the print blouse, evidenced by her -bust above the table and her sleeves, and the serviceable skirt of blue -serge that the Spawer had caught sight of in the cleft between the table -and sofa, completed the girl as revealed through her dress. Everything -about her was for hard wear and tear, and had stood to the task. There -was not a single button's worth of pretension in the whole of her -attire; not a brooch at her throat, nor a bangle on either of her wrists -to plead for her station. She had dipped her nose meekly into the -tumbler and was letting the sparkles play about her lips momentarily, -with dropped eyelids; then the glass went down to the table, and her -eyes opened wide upon the Spawer as though casting up the full column of -her liabilities, resolved to shirk nothing. - -"You don't drink," he said, with a voice of solicitude. "I have n't made -it too weak for you? ... Surely! I took great care--I might have been -making it for myself. Or is there anything else you 'd rather have?" - -He found her soft voice entangled in his inquiry, and stopped. - -"... Ever so much," he drew up in time to hear. "But it 's not that..." -The frank lips were wrestling to pronounce sentence upon her crime, but -they broke down in the task and transferred their self-imposed judgment -to him. "I don't know what you must think of me..." she said. - -The Spawer laughed light-hearted indulgence upon the admission. - -"To tell the truth," he said, "I hardly know what to think myself, so it -'s no use saying I do. I thought perhaps ... poultry, first of all; but -your voice does n't sound a bit like poultry, and I 'm sure you don't -look it. And I don't think it was apples either, though you 'd got the -right gate for those. Besides, apples don't count ... that way. I 've -gathered them myself at this time of night before now, and been hauled -back over the wall by a leg. We don't think anything of that." - -"It was the piano," she explained unsteadily, and for a moment the -steadfast flames in her eyes flickered under irresolute lids. - -"The piano?" The Spawer raised his voice in amused interrogation. -"Heavens! you were n't going to try and take that away, were you? It -took ten of us and a bottle of whiskey to get it in, and threepence to -Barclay's boy for sitting on the gate and telling us by clockwork 'Ye -'ll get stuck wi' 'er yet before ye 're done,' and half-a-crown to the -man that let the truss down upon my toes. Surely you were n't thinking -of tackling an enterprise like that single-handed, were you?" - -For the first time he drew forth the faint fore-glimmering of what the -girl should be like in smiles; a sudden illuminated softening of the -features, as when warm sunlight melts marble, that spread and passed in -a moment. - -"I was listening," she said. - -"But that 's a dreadful confession." His eyebrows went up in tragic -surprise and his voice departed to the mock-horrified aloofness of a -whisper. "Listeners never hear any good of themselves, you know, and -never come to any." He slipped from the pseudo-serious with a sly -laugh. "Tell me the worst," he begged. "How much did you hear?" - -"Oh! I don't know...." She searched his inquiry for a space with her -luminous eyes. "Only very little. Perhaps ... perhaps I 'd been half an -hour." - -"Half an hour," he said, "with the classics. Lord! you 've been -punished for your offence." - -"But I was n't by the window all the time," she made haste to assure -him. "I was standing in the lane ... by the kitchen gate." And then, -with the vial of confession in her fingers, she let it drain before him -in dropped sentences. "And I did n't mean to come any nearer than that. -All I wanted was the music. Only ... when you played ... what you -played last..." Her voice stumbled a little with her here, but she -picked up the falter with a quick, corrective tilt of the nose, and -walked more wardedly down the path of speech, her eyelids lowered, like -one who moves by spiritual impulse. "I felt ... oh! I don't know how I -felt--as though, somehow, somebody were beckoning me to the window, -where the music was. And so I came. And then, when I 'd got there, all -of a sudden things came back upon me that I knew I 'd known once ... and -forgotten. I saw my mother ... as she was ever so many years ago, -before she died, playing to me ... and crying over the keys; and the old -room--ever so plain--that I could hardly remember, even when I tried. -And all at once a great lump came up into my throat. I could n't help -it.... And I sobbed out loud--as I 'd sobbed before when I was a little -girl. And then..." - -The tears, never wholly subjugated since their first turbulent -rebellion, rose up swiftly against her words at the recital here. She -made a valiant endeavor to ride through the tumult on her trembling -charger of speech, but memory plucked at the bridle, and unhorsed her -into the hands of her besetters; a fair, virginal captive--beautiful -under subjection. - -"And then..." he said, catching up the girl's own words, and simulating -a careless stroll towards the window to give her time, "... _I_ came -in--came out, I mean." He flicked a chord off the treble end of the -keyboard in passing that drew the girl's eyes towards him at once, -watchful through tears. "But we won't talk about that part of the -business, if you 'll be so good as not to mind. One of us needs kicking -very badly for his share in it, and knows he does." He stooped down to -resolve the chord briefly with both hands, and spun round, outspread -against the piano, with his fingers behind him, touching extreme treble -and bass. Only an inactive tear or two on the girl's lashes marked the -recent revolt, and the way to her eyes lay clear. He sent his words -pleasantly out to them at once in friendly hazard. "You don't mean to -say you 're a neighbor of mine?" he suggested, smiling interested -inquiry from his spread-eagle pinnacle by the piano, "... and I have n't -known it all this time?" For who was this strange nocturnal visitant of -his, with a soul for the sound of things? "... Or are you..."--the -alternative came twinkling in time to join the previous inquiry under -one note of interrogation--"just a ... spawer, I think they call it, -like me?" - -The girl shook her head at the latter suggestion. - -"It 's my home here," she said. - -"At Cliff Wrangham?" he asked, and brought his right leg over the left -towards her, in attitude of increased attention. - -"No-o." - -She must have felt a sense of isolation in abiding by that one word; as -though it were a gate snecking her off from the Spawer's friendly reach -in conversation, for she passed through it almost immediately and added -the specific correction: "At Ullbrig." - -"Ah!" His internal eye was soaring over the Ullbrig of his remembrance -in an endeavor to pounce upon stray points of association for the girl's -identity. "I 'm afraid," he said, "that I don't know my Ullbrig very -well. It 's a part of my education here that 's been sadly neglected. -But you were n't going to walk back there alone? To-night, I mean?" - -She looked at him with mild surprise. - -"Oh, yes," she told him. - -"Jove!" he said. "Are n't you afraid?" - -"Afraid?" She gathered the word dubiously off his lips. "What of?" - -"Oh," he laughed. "Of nothing at all. That 's what we 're most afraid -of, as a rule, is n't it? Of the dark, for instance." - -She smiled, shaking her head. - -"I 'm not afraid of that," she said. - -"Ah," he decided enviously, "you 're no newspaper reader. That 's -plain." Then taking new stock of inquiry. "But we 're not in the habit -of passing by ... at this time, are we?" he asked. "I thought all good -people were between the blankets by nine in the country?" - -A queer little flame of resolve began fighting for establishment about -her lips, like the flickers of a newly-lighted taper, that burnt up -suddenly in speech. - -"I was n't ... passing by," she said, the flame reddening her to candor. - -"No?" - -"I came ... on purpose." - -The Spawer's eyebrows ran up in a ruffle of surprise and friendly -amusement. - -"Not ... to hear me?" - -She clasped her teeth in repression upon her lower lip, and nodded her -head. - -"And you 've actually trudged all the way out from Ullbrig?" - -"It 's nothing," she said apologetically. - -"But at night!" he expostulated, in friendly concern. - -"There was no other time..." she explained. "Besides ... I -thought--They said ... it was only after supper." - -"Only after supper?" echoed the Spawer. "What 's that? Indigestion? -Nightmare?" - -"The music," she said. - -"I see." He laughed, nodding his head sagaciously. "So they 've got my -time-table. And I thought I was n't known of a soul! What an ostrich I -'ve been!" - -"Everybody knows of you," she said, in wonder he should think otherwise. - -"I 'm sure they do," he assented. "What sort of a character do they -give me? ... Would just about hang me at the Assizes, I suppose?" - -"They say you 're a great musician..." she said, with watchful eyes of -inquiry. - -"Palestrina!" he exclaimed. "However did they come by the truth?" - -"... And no one can play like you...." - -"Yes?" - -"... And you 've come here away from people to compose a great piece ... -and don't want anybody to ... to hear you." - -The tide of her words ebbed suddenly there, leaving her eyes stranded -upon his. The same thought came up simultaneously to them both. - -"And so ... that 's why you did n't come." - -She dropped her eyes. - -"I knew it was mean," she said humbly, "taking things when your back was -turned. I felt like stealing, at first. I could n't listen for shame." - -"And what 'll be to pay for it all ... when you get back?" said he. - -The fringe of her lashes was raised while her eyes reconnoitred, and -dropped again. - -"Nothing," she told him. - -"And no questions asked?" - -"No." - -"And nobody sitting up for you, ready to put the clock on half an hour, -and point a finger at it when you return?" - -"No-o...." She twirled the tumbler jerkily between soft thumb and -forefinger. "They think I 'm in bed. And I did go," with a sudden -resurrection of self-righteousness. "Only"--the self-righteousness went -under here--"... when they were all asleep ... I slipped out and came to -Cliff Wrangham." - -"So-o-o!" said the Spawer, spraying his comprehension hugely this time -with the word, as though it were a shower-bath to enlightenment. "That -'s the secret of things at last, is it?" His eyes were spinning on the -girl like peg-tops in delicious amusement. "And I suppose I 've got to -guard it with my life's blood?" - -A grateful face flashed thankfulness up at him for its relief from the -necessity of appeal. - -"Here 's the bond," said he. "Subscribe, and say done." He threw out -an open palm of contract across the table, and the small hand crept into -it with the timorous, large-hearted trust for an unfamiliar shelter. -"And I 'm afraid," he said self-reproachfully, "that you 've torn your -dress?" - -"Oh, no, ... a little." She made-believe to look at her skirt between -the table and sofa, and take stock of the damage done. "It 's nothing." - -"At the time," said the Spawer, "it sounded terrible enough. I hope it -is n't as bad as the sound." - -She drew up what appeared to be the ruined remnants of a phylactery, and -held it above the table-edge for his scrutiny, saying: "It does n't -matter," with a hopeful smile. - -"But that 's awful," he said distressfully. - -"It 's only an old skirt," she explained, making light of the raiment -with true feminine instinct, lest perhaps he might think she had no -better. "I can soon mend it." - -"Shall I fetch you a needle and some cotton?" he asked, in a penitential -voice. "I have both upstairs." - -The girl's eyes made a quick clutch at the needle and cotton, but her -lips hung back meekly to a suggestion of pins, with some murmur about -"trouble." - -"Trouble!" said the Spawer. - -He spun the word up in contemptuous disregard as though it were a -shuttlecock, and slipped blithely up the little staircase. A second or -so later, when she had heard him drop the matches and rake over the -carpet for them with his finger-ends, and weave sundry spiderous tracks -across the ceiling, he was down again triumphantly extending the objects -of his quest. - -All too quickly the girl whipped the serrated edges of serge together, -while he watched her--with a busy back and forth of needle--snapped the -thread round a determined small finger, shook the skirt into position, -and rose (conscientiously sheathing the needle in the cotton bobbin), -showing parted lips for gratitude and farewell. The latter, taking the -Spawer somewhat by surprise, awakened all at once his dormant -solicitude. - -"But you 're not going ... now!" he said. The girl said softly, "If he -pleased." "Why, you have n't half finished!" he exclaimed, pointing to -the desolate tumbler, its contents untasted. The girl looked -remorsefully at the object of her neglect, and said, still more softly, -"If he did n't mind...." - -"Not in the least," the Spawer reassured her. "But are you quite sure," -he said anxiously, "that you 're strong enough to start back--just yet? -Do you think it 's altogether wise?" - -The girl thought it so wise that the Spawer had no alternative but to -accept the cotton bobbin from her, a thing which his fingers (in their -concern for her welfare) showed a certain disinclination to do. - -"At least," said he, "you 'll let me see you back as far as Hesketh's -corner?" But the girl said, "Oh no, please ... and thank you.... I 'm -accustomed to walk alone," so once again he felt constrained to abide by -her decision, not knowing how many secret considerations might have gone -to the making of it. - -"But ... look here," he said, in a conclusive spurt of candor, brought -about by the imminence of their parting; "... we 're not saying good-by -for good, are we?" - -"I--I hope not," said the girl, and something stirred her lips and -lashes as though a breeze had blown across them. - -"Well, I hope not too," said the Spawer. "For that would make me feel -sad. I must n't keep you any longer now, I know, for I don't want you -to get into trouble; but it 's awfully good of you to have come, and -believe me, I 'm really grateful. If there 's anything in music I can -do for you, I want you to know that you 've only to ask, and it shall be -done for you with pleasure. Honest Injun. You won't forget, will you?" - -The girl said she could never forget ... his kindness. - -"It 's a promise, then?" said the Spawer. - -Again the little unseen breath blew across her features at the question, -and to his surprise he could have almost sworn to tears upon her lashes -when he looked up for affirmation in the girl's eyes. To cover any -confusion that his words might have wrought, he put out a friendly hand -for parting. - -"All right," said he, in voice of cheerful agreement. "So _that's_ -settled," though a dozen questions were fighting for first place on his -lips as he said it. The little brown hand stole for the second time -into the shelter of his own with a solemnity that, at other moments, he -could have laughed at, and a moment later the Spawer was left gazing at -the orchard gate, thrown three quarters open, as he had done in that -first memorable moment, with the girl's soft footsteps merged every -second more deceptively in the starry stillness of night. - - - - - *CHAPTER IV* - - -Whatever the Spawer might choose to say of himself for purposes of humor -(not, I am afraid, an invariable pole-star to truth), he was no -sluggard. By agreement, dated the first night of his arrival, Jeff Dixon -was to get a penny a day for bringing up the bath-water and having him -into it at seven in the morning. Something short of the hour Jeff would -stumble up the little steep staircase, with his tongue out, behind a big -bucket of cold water (the last of three drawn to get the full freshness -of the pump), and anticipating a few minutes in his statement of the -time, make preliminary clamor for the Spawer's acknowledgment before -departing to fetch the hot. From which moment forth the Spawer was a -marked man, whom no subterfuge or earthly ingenuity could save. Once a -drowsy voice begged Jeff to be so good as to call again. - -"An' loss my penny!" cried Jeff, with fine commercial scorn at the -suggestion. "Nay, we 'll 'ave ye oot o' bed an' all, noo we 've gotten -started o' ye." - -And tramped diabolically downstairs after the second bucket. - -But though a little comedy of this sort, now and again, served to test -the validity of the agreement, and show the Spawer that nothing--short -of repealing the penny--could save him from the inexorable machinery -that his own hand had set in motion, there was little real need of the -bond, except to guarantee that the bath-water should be up to time. -More often than not Jeff came upon a man alertly drawn up in bed, with a -full score spread across his knees, who had been writing and erasing -hard since sunrise. - -Early in the morning after the girl's visit the sun peeped over the -Spawer's sill according to custom, and the Spawer jumped out of bed to -let him in. Already Nature's symphony was in full swing--a mighty, -crescive, spinning movement of industry, borne up to him on a whirr of -indefatigable wings. The sun had cleared the cliff railings and was -traveling merrily upward on an unimpeded course, though still the -grassland lay grey in the shadow beneath its glistening quilt of dew, -and every spider's web hung silver-weighted like a net new-drawn with -treasure from the sea. He stayed by the window a space, and then let go -the curtain with an amused, reminiscent laugh. - -"I wonder who on earth she is?" he said. - -He scooped up the bulky armful of music-sheets that constituted his -present labors at the concerto, and went back to bed with them. But -though he made a determined desk of his knees and spread the papers out -with a business-like adjustment of pages, the work prospered but poorly -when it came to the pencil. After a short spell of it he sat back in -bed, with his hands locked under his neck staring at the window. For -the events of last night were a too inviting vintage to be left uncorked -and untasted, and out of this glowing wine of remembrance he attempted -to win back the girl's face, and did not altogether succeed. He -reclaimed certain shifting impressions of red lips exaggeratedly curled; -of great round eyes; of multiplied freckles about the brows and nose; of -a startling white throat beyond where the sun had dominion; of a shabby -blue Tam-o'-Shanter and a perfect midnight of hair--but all of them seen -grotesquely, as it might be at the bottom of the cup, with himself -blowing on the wine. - -"The thing is," he decided, "I was a fool not to stare harder and ask -more questions. This comes of trying to act the gentleman." - -Duly before seven came Jeff Dixon stumbling up the staircase, and dumped -the first bucket down at the Spawer's door with a ringing clash of -handle. - -"Noo then," he called under the door, when he had summoned the Spawer -lustily by name, and hit the panel several resounding flat-handers (as -specified in the agreement). "It 's tonned [turned] seven o'clock, an' -another gran', fine day for ye an' all. Arny 's gotten ye some -mushrooms--some right big uns an' some little conny [tiny] uns, a gret -basket full oot o' big field. Will ye 'ev 'em for breakfast?" - -"Will I?" The Spawer shot together the loose sheets gathered in -attendance upon an idle muse, and tossed them dexterously on to the -nearest chair, as though they were a pancake. "Ah, me bhoy! me bhoy!" -he called out, in the rich, mellow brogue of one whose heart was on a -sudden turned to sunlight. - -"Ay, will ye?" inquired the mouth behind the door-crack. - -"Ay, wull Oi?" echoed the voice of glowing fervor. "Wull Oi, bedad! me -bhoy? Mushrooms, ye say! Is 't me the bhoy for mushrooms! Arrah, -thin, me bonny bhoy, is 't me the bhoy for mushrooms!" - -After a pause: "D' ye mean yes?" asked the mouth dubiously, and with -meekness. - -"Ah, phwat a bhoy it is to read the very sowl o' man an' shpake it! Yis -'s the word, bi the beard o' St. Pathrick, iv he had wan (which Oi 'm -doubtin'), an' a small, inconsiderable jug o' rale cowld boilin' wather -whin ye retoorn convanient wid yer next bucket, me bhoy, bi yer lave an' -savin' yer prisince!" - -"Will yon little un wi' yaller stripes do?" says the mouth, brimming -with the enthusiasm of willing, and making from the door-crack for -immediate departure. - -Whereupon, in receipt of the Spawer's agreement, the boots stumbled down -the stairs again, as though there were no feet in them, but had been -thrown casually from top to bottom. A minute or so later, when they had -staggered up with the second bucket, and been cast down again to fetch -the jug, and come back with it, the owner of them bestrode all these -accumulated necessities laid out upon the little landing, and let -himself into the Spawer's room--a blue-eyed, fair-haired Saxon of -thirteen, with white teeth and a quick smile, sharpened like a razor on -the cunning whetstone of the district. - -"'Ere 's yer cold," said he, stooping to lift it in after him. "An' -'ere 's yer warm," bringing to view the steaming wooden pail, with as -much reminiscence of milk about the water as we have to pay for by the -gill in town. "An' 'ere 's yer rale cold boilin'. 'Ow div ye fin' -yersen this mornin'?" - -"In bed," says the Spawer, "thanking you kindly, where I put myself last -night." - -"Noo then, noo then!" with that indulgent tone of grown-up wisdom which -is the birthright of every baby in Ullbrig, and on which it practises -its first lisp; "are ye agate o' that road already? Ye mun 'a got the -steel i' bed wi' ye, ah think--ye seem strange an' sharp, ti-morn." He -pulled the bath from its hiding under the bed, set the mats about it, -and brought the pails over within reach. "Noo, it 's all ready an' -waitin', so ye 'ad n't need to start shuttin' yer eyes. Let 's see ye -movin', an' ah 'll be away." - -The Spawer made a feeble shuffle of legs under the blankets, and smiled -with the seraphic content of one who has done his duty. - -"Nay, ah s'll want to see ye on end, an' all," Jeff said sternly, -"before ah gan mi ways. Come noo, Mr. Wynne--one, two, three!" - -Thus adjured, the Spawer found strength to raise his eyelids after a few -moments of bland inertness under Jeff's regard, and turned out affably -(with them down again) on to the pegged rug alongside. - -"That 's better," said Jeff, with conciliatory admiration. - -"Is it?" the Spawer inquired sweetly, sitting down on the bedside to -think over the matter, and rubbing form contemplatively into his hocks. -"Oh! ... Then get me the third razor from the right-hand side of the -case, and I 'll kill myself. Also the strop and the brush and jug and -soap-tube...." - -"D' ye mean a shave?" asked Jeff, with some curiosity. - -"Merely another name for it," the Spawer told him. - -"What div ye want ti get shaved for?" Jeff persisted. - -"Oh!" ... The Spawer sifted a few replies under rapid survey, as though -he were rolling a palmful of grain, and picked out one at random. "... -For fun." - -"Ah thought ye was n't gannin' to shave no more while ye 'd gotten that -there piece o' yours written!" - -"Whatever put that idea into your head?" asked the Spawer, in surprise. - -"You," said Jeff, with forceful directness. "It was you telt me." - -"I? How wicked of me to tell such a story," the Spawer said warmly. - -"Ah do believe you 're gannin' after some young lady or other," Jeff -declared, by a quick inspiration. - -"How dare you," said the Spawer, rising from the bed in protest, "try to -put such ideas into the head of an innocent young man, old enough to be -your father. Hither with the razor at once," he commanded, "and let 's -shave your head." - -But inside, out of sight behind all this laughter, he sent a knowing, -sagacious glance to his soul. - -"The young divil!" he said. - -He shaved, like the Chinese executioners, with despatch; whistled -blithely through his bath as though he were a linnet hung out in the -sun, and was downstairs as soon as might be. The little room greeted -him cheerfully in its cool breakfast array, holding forth a great, -heavenly-scented garland of wall-flowers and sweet-williams and -mignonette--for all the world like some dear, diminutive, old-fashioned -damsel in white muslin--and his eye softened unconsciously to an -appreciative smile. There, too, was the sofa consecrate to Dixon. He -looked at it with a more conscious extension of smile--thinking, no -doubt, of Dixon. Then he shook the bell for breakfast, being -an-hungered, and smelling the mushrooms. - -The door flew wide to Miss Bates' determined toe, as she entered with -the mushrooms in company with the bacon and toast and steaming hot milk -and coffee on the big, battered tray of black Japan, securely held at -either foremost corner with a salmon-colored fist. - -Now Miss Bates was Dixon's orphan niece, whose case deserves all the -pity you can afford to give it, as we shall see. Left quite alone in -the world by the death of her father (who had no more thought for her -future than to fall off his horse, head downwards, in the dark), she was -most cruelly abducted by her wicked uncle to Cliff Wrangham (much -against her will--and his own), and imprisoned there under the -humiliating necessity of having to work like one of the family. You -must not call her the scullery-maid or the dairy-maid or the -kitchen-maid, but rather, with the blood-right to give back word for -word and go about her day's work grumbling, you must appoint her a place -among the ranks of unhappy heroines--reduced, distressed, and -down-trodden beneath the iron-shod heel of labor. She was, indeed, the -persecuted damosel of mediaeval romance, brought up to modern weight and -size and standard--not the least of her many afflictions being that she -was forcibly christened Mary Anne by heartless parents, while yet a -helpless infant, and that nobody called her anything else. Her lips -were full of prophetic utterances as to last straws; as to what certain -people (not so very many miles away) would find for themselves one -morning (not so very far ahead) when they got up and came downstairs, -and said, "Where 's somebody?" and never an answer, and no need to say -then they were sorry, as if they had n't been warned! - -"Now who," the Spawer inquired craftily, dipping a liberal measurement -of spoon into the mushrooms, and smiling confidentially at Miss Bates, -who was balanced gently by the door, with its edge grasped in her red -right hand, and her cheek pressed touchingly against the knuckles--"who -is the prettiest girl in Ullbrig?" - -Miss Bates threw up her nostrils at this direct challenge of romance, -and squirmed with such maidenly desire to insist her own claims through -silence, that the tray in her left hand banged about her knees like -distant thunder. - -"Cliff Wrangham allus reckons ti count in wi' Oolbrig," she said, coyly. - -"But leaving Cliff Wrangham out of the question," suggested the Spawer, -in a voice of bland affability. - -Miss Bates' knees stiffened. - -"Ah see no ways o' doin' it," she declared, tossing her head as though -she were champing a bit. - -So the Spawer was left smiling over his cup, knowing no more about the -blue Tam-o'-Shanter than ever. He enjoyed his mushrooms very much, and -went twice to coffee. Then, breakfast over, he crossed over to the -piano, ran his hands over the keys, and set himself to his daily -occupation without loss of time. - -Thick saffron of sunlight filled the little room. Down below the -window-sash, about the shelterless roots of the rose-tree, moored along -the wall line in barge-like flotilla and at anchor over the hard, -sunbaked path, lay gathered the Spawer's faithful band of feathered -friends, awaiting recurrence of the bounty so liberally bestowed upon -them at meals. Each time the blind stirred they uprose in spires of -expectant beak, whereat the Spawer, squinting sideways, would see the -window space set with jeweled, vigilant eyes, while afloat on the wavy -green border of grass beyond the pathway a snow-white convoy of -ducklings drew their bills from beneath fleecy breasts and got under -soft cackle of steam, ready to sail for the window at the first signal -of crumbs. - -After his departure, for an hour or more nothing but sunlight stirred -the Spawer's blind. Then the voice of Miss Bates was heard in close -proximity outside, and the next moment the Spawer's first crop of Cliff -Wrangham letters was extended to him in Miss Bates' gentle fist. - -"Three letters, a post-card, an' a fortygraft," said Miss Bates, -relaxing the proprietary clench of thumb (tightened recently for -dominion over the downcast Lewis), and suffering the Spawer to gather -them from her confiding hand with all the romantic symbolism of a -bouquet. "It 's good to be you an' 'ev letters sent ye wi'oot nobody -pesterin' where they come fro'. Will there be onnything for 'post' to -tek back?" - -"Let 's see..." said the Spawer, skimming the postcard more rapidly than -Miss Bates had done before him. "Is he waiting?" - -"It 's not a 'e," Miss Bates replied, with no manifest relish of the -fact. "An' she 's stood at kitchen door. 'Appen she 's waitin' to be -asked twice to come in an' sit 'ersen down--bud she 'll 'ave to wait. -Once is good enough for most folk, an' it mun do for 'er." - -The Spawer finished the post-card, tossing it on the table, and forced -his fingers beneath the flap of the next envelope. - -"What?" said he, with a smile of amused surprise. "Is the postman a -lady, then?" - -"Nay," repudiated Miss Bates, stripping the amusement off his surprise, -and treating the question in grim earnest. "She 'd onnly like to be. It -'d suit 'er a deal better nor tramplin' about roads wi' a brown bag ower -'er back." - -"It sounds charming enough," said the Spawer, throwing himself with a -diabolical heartiness into the idea. "What sort of a postman is she?" - -"No different fro' nobody else," Miss Bates gives grudgingly, "though -she 's 'ods [holds] 'er chin where most folk's noses is. They gie 'er -six shillin' a week for carryin' letters to Cliff Wrangham an' Far -Wrangham an' round by Shippus--an' it mud be ten bi t' way she sets up." - -"Six shillings a week," the Spawer mused wonderingly. "Just a shilling a -day and be a good girl for nothing on Sunday. She 'll need all the -pride she can muster to help her through on that." - -"There 's twenty for t' job onny day she teks into 'er 'ead to leave -it," Miss Bates reflected, with callous indifference. "She's n' occasion -to keep it agen [unless] she likes." - -The Spawer put down the first letter and opened the second. It was a -bill. "There 'll be no answer to this," he said grimly, and passed on -to the third. He gave one glance at the green Helvetian stamps under -the Luzern post-marks, and toyed with it irresolutely unopened. "I -don't think the post need wait," he said, this time casting the office -considerately into the neuter gender. - -"Ah 'll tell 'er to gan, then," Miss Bates decided, with a foretaste of -the asperity that would characterise the dismissal. - -"Please," said the Spawer. "With my thanks for her kindness in -waiting." - -"There 's na kindness in it," Miss Bates disclaimed. "She 's got to gan -back, onny road. An' 'appen she would n't 'ave offered bud ah was ower -sharp to call of 'er before she 'd chance to get away. She mun gan 'er -ways ti Far Wrangham, then." - -The Spawer had opened the third envelope, and Miss Bates was blowing -herself out in great gusts like a strenuous candle, fighting hard -against extinction, when she heard herself suddenly recalled. - -"After all," he said, "I 'm going to be a woman and change my mind. Who -writes quickly writes double, and saves two pages of apology. Then I -can get back to work with a clear conscience." - -"Ah 'll tell 'er she 's got to stop, then," said Miss Bates. "An' if ye -'ll ring bell when ye 've finished, Lewis 'll let me know, an' ah 'll -come for letter. Ye need n't trouble to bring it." - -She blew herself out to total extinction this time, and the Spawer, -throwing a leg over the table-end, turned his attention to the letter in -hand--a thin sheet of foreign note-paper, covered on three of its pages -with a firm feminine handwriting. He read it very carefully and -earnestly, his eyes running from end to end of the lines like setters in -a turnipfield, as though they followed a scent, till they brought up to -a standstill by the signature. Then he took up the photograph. - -It was the face of a girl, and he studied it in such stillness and -concentration that his eyelids, lowered motionless over the downward -gaze, gave him the semblance of a sleeper. Without being beautiful, the -face had beauty, but though it took all its features under individual -scrutiny, it seemed, less as though he were concerned with their -intrinsic worth than that he was searching through them the answer to a -hidden train of inquiry. Whether he came near it or not would be -difficult to tell. The smile with which he looked up at last and -dispersed the brooding cloud of concentration might have been purely -recollective, and with nothing of the oracular about it; for it set him -straightway to pen and ink and writing-paper, staying with him the -while, and through the next few minutes the sound of his industry was -never still. Not until well over on the fourth page did the pen stay -behind in the ink-pot, as he sat back to review what was written. Then -the pen was rapidly withdrawn again, to subscribe his name, and he -addressed the letter: - -"Miss WEMYSS, - Luzernerhof, - Luzern, - Switzerland." - - -With this in his hand, and the big bath towel and red bathing drawers -slung over his arm from their drying place on the hot sill, he made off -down the baked pathway, whistling pleasantly like a new pied piper--a -whole throng of feathered followers at his heels. By the wooden gate, -where the red-tiled pump-walk makes junction with the front path at the -kitchen end, Miss Bates waylaid him, holding out damp semi-wiped -fingers, and saying an expectant "Thank ye." - -"What for?" asked the Spawer, trying to dodge on either side of her -ample bosom with an active eye for the kitchen door. - -"For t' letter," said Miss Bates, unperturbed, "if ye 've written it. -Ah 'll gie it to 'er as she gans back." - -"Back where from?" inquired the Spawer, with a sudden thirst for -information. - -"Fro' Far Wrangham," Miss Bates told him, "... wi' letters for Barclay. -But she 'll call again on 'er way 'ome, an' ah 'll see she teks it an' -all, then." - -"Thanks..." the Spawer decided on consideration, "but I think I 'll see -her myself. I want to ask about posts...." - -"There 's nobbut one," Miss Bates interposed hurriedly, "an' it gans out -at 'alf-past four." - -"That 's not the one I mean," the Spawer explained, and tacked on very -quickly: "Which way does she come back?" - -"It 's none so easy ti say," Miss Bates parried. "She mud come back bi -Barclay's road ... or bi--bi"--the task of devising a second route being -somewhat beyond her powers at the moment, she fell back upon a -generality--"bi some other road," adding for justification: "She 'd come -thruff [through] 'edge an' all if it suited 'er." - -"It 's on my way, anyhow," the Spawer determined lightheartedly. "I 'll -sit on Barclay's gate and take my chance." - -He had been sitting on Barclay's gate some time, and would have sold all -share of interest in the chance for a wax vesta, when suddenly he heard -the stir of someone swiftly coming, and turning a leisurely head--with a -hand laid ready to drop to his feet when they should reach the -gate--became in a moment keenly alert to an object that showed now and -again through the green hedge: a moving object that was neither a bird, -nor a blossom, nor a butterfly, ... but a blue Tam-o'-Shanter. - - - - - *CHAPTER V* - - -And the face beneath it was the face he had been trying to remodel this -morning, out of the obstinate stiff clays of remembrance. There were -the dear, kissable, candid freckles, powdered in pure gold-dust about -the bridge of the nose and the brows--each one a minstrel to truth; -there were the great round eyes, shining smoothly, with the black-brown -velvety softness of bulrushes; there were the rapt red lips, no longer -baffling his gaze, but steadfast and discernible; there was the big -beneficence of hair; the oaten-tinted cheeks, showing their soft -surface-glint of golden down where the sunlight caught them; the little -pink lobes; the tanned russet neck, so sleek and slim and supple, and -the blue Tam-o'-Shanter topping all, as though it were a part of her, -and had never moved since last the Spawer had looked upon it. - -In every other respect she was the same girl that had sat in Dixon's -place on the sofa last night. She wore still the simple skirt of blue -serge, cut short above her ankles for freedom in walking (showing too, -at close quarters, a cleverly-suppressed seam running down to the hem on -the left side, like a zig-zag of lightning), and the plain print blouse, -pale blue, with no pattern on it, ending at the throat in a neat white -collar borrowed from the masculine mode, and tied with a little flame of -red silk. Only the light rain-proof cape was wanting, but over her -shoulders, in place of it, was slung the broad canvas belt of a post-bag -that flapped bulkily against her right hip as she strode, with her right -hand dipped out of sight into its capacious pocket. She came swinging -along the hedge at a fine, healthy pace, as though the sun were but a -harmless bright new penny, making rhythmic advance in a pair of stubborn -little square-toed shoes, stoutly cobbled, with a pleasing redolence of -Puritanism about their austere extremities; and so into the Spawer's -presence, all unconscious and unprepared. - -The sight of him, waiting over the gate, with his elbows ruling the top -bar, his chin upon linked fingers, and a leisurely foot hoisted on to -the second rail, broke the rhythm of her step for an instant on a sudden -tide of color, and brought the hand out of the bag to readjust the -shoulder-strap in a quick display of purpose. But she showed no -frailties of embarrassment. She came along with simple self-possession -to the greeting point, giving him her eyes there in a queer little -indescribable sidelong look that a mere man might ponder over for a -lifetime and never know the meaning of--a queer little indescribable, -smileless, sidelong look, sent out under her lashes, that had nothing of -fear or favor, or friendship or salutation, or embarrassment about it, -but was pure, unmingled, ingenuous, feminine, stock-taking curiosity, as -though she were studying him dispassionately from behind a loophole and -calculating on his conduct with the most sublime, delicious -indifference. The Spawer could have thrown up his head and laughed -aloud at the look. Not in any spirit of ridicule--angels and ministers -of grace defend us!--but with fine appreciative enjoyment, as one laughs -for sheer pleasure at a beautiful piece of musical phrasing or an -unexpected point of technique. If he had opened the gate with a grave -mouth and let her through, not a doubt but she would have passed on -without so much as the presumption of an eyelash upon their last night's -relations, and never even looked back over a shoulder. But he stood and -barred the way with his unyielding smile, and when she came up to him: -"Are n't you going to speak to me?" he asked meekly. - -At that the quick light of recognition and acknowledgment poured through -the loophole. Not all the gathered sunbeams, had the girl been of -stained glass, could have flooded her to a more surpassing friendly -radiance than did her own inward smile. No word accompanied it, as if, -indeed, with such a perfect medium for expression, any were needed. She -drew up to the gate, and casting herself into a sympathetic reproduction -of his attitude at a discreet distance down the rail, shaded a glance of -gentle curiosity at him under her velvety thickness of lashes. - -"To think," said the Spawer, looking at her with incredulous enjoyment, -"here I 've been waiting innocently for the post, and wondering what it -would be like when it came, and making up my mind it never was -coming--and it 's you all the time." - -"Did n't you know?" - -"Sorra a word." - -"I wanted to tell you all the time ... last night, who I was." - -"I wanted badly to ask." - -"But I dared n't." - -"And I dared n't either. What a couple of cowards we 've been. Let 's -be brave now, shall we, to make up for it? I'll ask and you shall tell -me. Who are you?" - -She dipped an almost affectionate hand into the post-bag, and extended -it partly by way of presentation. - -"I 'm the post-girl," she said. - -He looked at the bag, and then along the extended arm to her. - -"Really?" he asked, visibly uncertain that the post-bag was not merely -part of a pleasing masquerade, or that the girl might not have put -herself voluntarily under its brown yoke for some purpose as -inexplicable as the trudging to Cliff Wrangham by starlight. - -"Really and truly," she said. "I know I ought to have told you ... at -first. But I thought, perhaps..." She plucked at a blade of grass, and -biting it with her small, milk-white teeth, studied the bruised green -rib with lowered eyes. "... Thought perhaps you 'd taken me for -somebody different. And I was frightened you might be offended when you -knew who it was." - -In the clear frankness of her confession, and the soft, inquiring -fearlessness of eye with which she encountered his glance at its -conclusion, there was no tincture of abasement. As she stood there by -the gate, with the broad badge of servitude across her girl's breast, -she seemed glorified for the moment into a living text, attesting -eloquently that it is not toil that dishonors, and that the social -differences in labor come but from the laborer. In such wise the Spawer -interpreted her, and embraced the occasion for belief with an inward -glad response. - -"But why should I be offended at the truth?" said he at length, his eyes -waltzing all round hers (that were vainly trying to bring them to a -standstill) in lenient laughter. "And how on earth could I take you for -somebody different," he asked, drawing the subject away from the awkward -brink of their disparity, "when you 're so unmistakably like yourself? -Sakes alive! Nobody could mistake you." - -She lowered eyes and voice together, and made with her fingers on the -rail as though she were deciphering her words from some half-obliterated -inscription in the wood. - -"I want to tell you," she began, and the dear little golden freckles on -her nose seemed to close in upon each other for strength and comfort, -"how very sorry I am ... for what happened last night." - -"You can't be sorrier than I am," the Spawer said. "It 's been on my -conscience ever since. I was a beast to jump out as I did, and I admit -it." - -"I don't mean you," the girl cut in, with quick correction. - -"Who then?" asked the Spawer. - -"Me..." said the girl. "You were as kind as could be. Nobody could -have been kinder ... under the circumstances ... or helped me to be less -ashamed of myself." - -"Please not to make fun of the poor blind man," the Spawer begged her, -"... for he can't see it, and it 's wicked." - -"Oh, but I mean it," said the girl. "I never got to sleep all last -night for thinking of the music, and how badly I 'd acted." - -"To be sure," said the Spawer, "your acting was n't altogether good. -If, for instance, you had n't mistaken your cue when I came out through -the window, I should never have known you were there at all." - -"Should n't you?" asked the girl, with the momentary blank face for an -opportunity gorgeously lost. - -"Indeed, I should n't." - -"All the same ... I 'm glad you did," she said, with sudden reversion of -humility. - -"Ah. That 's better," the Spawer assented. "So am I. It shows a -proper appreciation of Providence." - -"Because," the girl proceeded to explain, "when you 're found out you -feel somehow as though you 'd paid for your wrong-doing, don't you? -And, at least, it saves you from being a hypocrite, does n't it?" - -"Oh, yes," said the Spawer, with infectious piety. "Capital thing for -that. Splendid thing for that." - -"Father Mostyn..." she began. "You know Father Mostyn, don't you?" - -The name brought an uncomfortable sense of visitorial obligations -unfulfilled to the Spawer's mind. - -"Slightly," he said, the diminutive seeming to offer indemnity for his -neglect. - -"Yes, I thought so. He said you did," the girl continued. "You 're -going to call and see him sometime, are n't you?" - -"Sometime," the Spawer acquiesced. "Yes, certainly. I 'm hoping to do -so when I can get a moment to spare. But I 'm very busy." He shifted -the centre of conversation from his own shoulders. "Father Mostyn ... -you were saying?" - -"Oh, yes! Father Mostyn 's always warning us against being Ullbrig -hypocrites. But it seems so hard to avoid." She sighed in spirit of -hopelessness. "I seem to grow into an Ullbrig hypocrite in spite of -everything." - -"Never mind," said the Spawer consolatorily, casting a glance of -admiration along the smooth, sleek cheek and neck. "It looks an -excellent thing for the complexion." - -"That?" The girl ran a careless hand where his eye had been without -making any attempt to parry the compliment. "Oh, that 's being out in -the rain. Rain 's a wonderful thing for the complexion. Father Mostyn -says so. But it can't wash these away," she said, touching the little -cluster of freckles with a wistful finger. "These are being out in the -sun." - -"I was looking at those too," said the Spawer frankly. "I rather like -them." - -"Do you?" asked the girl, plucking up at his appreciation. "Yes, some -people do--but not those that have them. Father Mostyn says they 're -not actually a disfigurement, but they 're given me to chasten my pride. -He says whenever I 'm tempted to look in the glass I shall always see -these and remind myself, 'Yes, but my nose is freckled,' and that will -save me from being vain. And it's funny, but it 's quite true." - -"You know Father Mostyn well, of course?" said the Spawer, his question -not altogether void of a desire to learn how far this estimable -ecclesiast might be discussed with safety. - -"Oh!" The girl made the quick round mouth for admiration, and held up -visible homage in her eyes. "Father Mostyn's the best friend I have in -the world. He 's taught me everything I know--it's my fault, not his, -that I know so little--and done things for me, and given me things that -all my gratitude can never, never repay. It was he allowed me to go -round with the letters." - -"That was very good of him," said the Spawer, with a tight mouth. - -"Was n't it?" the girl said, showing a little glow of recognisant -enthusiasm. "At first uncle was rather frightened--frightened that I -ought not to do it, but we all thought six shillings a lot of money to -lose (that 's what I get); and Father Mostyn said most certainly I was -to have it." - -"And so he gave it," said the Spawer. "Jolly kind of him." - -"Oh, no! he did n't give it," the girl corrected, after a momentary -reference to the Spawer's face. "Government gives it ... but he said I -was to have it--and I have." - -"And what did uncle say?" asked the Spawer amicably. - -"Uncle? Oh, he said it was the will of Providence, and he hoped it -would soon be ten; but it's not ten yet, and I don't think it will be -for a long time. There were others who wanted the six shillings too, as -badly as I did--and deserved it better, some of them, I mink. At one -time I felt so ashamed to be going about and taking the money that -seemed to belong to such a number of people who said they had a right to -it, that I asked to give the bag up; but uncle seemed so sad about it, -and said it was flying in the face of Providence to give anything up -that you 'd once got hold of, and Father Mostyn said it was a special -blessing of Heaven bestowed upon me (though I 'm sure I don't know) ... -and so I kept it. It was a struggle at times, though--even though -Father Mostyn used to walk with me all the way round by Shippus to keep -up my courage.... And that reminds me," she said, showing sudden -perception of responsibility, "I have to go that way this morning." - -"What! have n't you got rid of all your letters yet, then?" - -"All except two," she said, and thrusting open the flabby canvas maw -with one hand, peered down into its profounds as though her look should -satisfy him of their presence by proxy. "They 're for Shippus." - -"And you have to walk round by Shippus ... now?" - -She nodded her head, and said a smiling "Yes" to his surprise, letting -fall the canvas and patting the bag's cheek with the consolatory -dismissal for a dog just freed from dental inspection. Then, more -reluctantly, as though the saying were as hard to come at as a marked -apple at the bottom of the barrel, she said ... she must really ... be -going. They would be expecting her. She 'd been kept rather long at -Barclay's as it was, writing something out for him. And made to come -through the gate. - -"And, by Jove ... that reminds me," said the Spawer. "So must I." - -She drew a covetous conclusion from his bathing equipment, and the blue -sky, showing so deep and still beyond the cliff line, and was already -half turned on a leave-taking heel (a little saddened, perhaps, at his -readiness to assist the separation), when she found him by her side. - -"But which way are you going?" she asked, for the sea lay now at their -backs, and the Spawer, as was evident (and as we all know), had been -going a-bathing. - -"The same way as you are," he answered, "if you 'll have me." - -And when Miss Bates (who had been watching them all the time from the -end attic window, with Jeff's six-penny telescope stuck to one eye and a -hand clapped over the other) saw this result of the girl's abominable -scheming, she became very wroth indeed; filled to the brim and -overflowing with righteous indignation that her sex could sink thus low. -She snapped the telescope together so viciously that she thought she had -cracked it, and when she found she had n't she was wrother than ever as -compensation for this false alarm, and almost wished she had. - -"Ay, ye may set ye-sen up at 'im, ye gret, cat-eyed, frowsy-'eaded -'ussy!" she said, hurling the javelins of her anger at the blue -Tam-o'-Shanter (every one of which, so far as could be discernible at -that distance, seemed to miss), "bud if ye think 'e 'll be ta'en wi' yer -daft, fond ways ye think wrong an' all. Ay, _you_, ah mean. Ah 'd be -sorry to set mysen i' onny man's road like yon, mah wod. Think shame o' -ye-sen, ye graceless mynx. Ah know very well 'e 's wantin' to be shut -o' ye." - -And after much further vehement exhortation to this effect, flung -herself gustily down the staircase, slamming all the steps in descent, -like March doors, and carried the full force of her indignation into the -kitchen, where she swept it from end to end, as though she were a tidal -wave. - -"Out o' my road!" she cried at Lewis, innocently engaged in fishing the -big dresser with a toasting-fork for what it might yield; and before he -could stop spinning sufficiently to get a sight of his assailant (though -he had no doubts who it was), was on him again: "Away wi' ye an' all." - -And had him (still revolving) round the table. - -"Let 's be rid o' ye!" - -And licked him up like a tongue of avenging flame by the big range. - -"Div ye want to throw a body over?" - -And was ready for him by the door. - -"Noo, kick me if ye dare." - -And whipped him out through the scullery like a top, with a parting: - -"Tek that an' all." - -Which he took, like physic, as directed; and ten minutes later, seeing -his mother emerge from the calf-house, and being in possession of ample -breath for the purpose, put Miss Bates' injustice on record in a -historic howl. - - - - - *CHAPTER VI* - - -The sun had slipped away through Dixon's stackgarth and twilight was -subsiding slowly in soft rose amber, like the sands of an hour-glass, as -the Spawer wheeled round Hesketh's corner. Against a tremulant pink sky -the lich-gate stood out in black profile, edged with luminous copper; -the church tower was dipped in dull red gold as far as the luffer of the -belfry; and the six Vicarage windows gleamed bloodshot from behind their -iron bars when he came upon them for the first time. A group of happy -children, playing at calling names and slapping each other down the -roadway, stopped their pastime on a sudden and ran up to take awed stock -of this presumptuous stranger, who dismounted before his reverence the -Vicar's as though he actually meant to open the gate. - -At the first contact of bicycle with the railings, the gathered gloom -about the Vicarage door seemed suddenly to be sucked inwards, and the -eddying dusk reshaped itself over the priestly dimensions of Father -Mostyn. - -"Ha!" The word rang out in greeting like a genial note of prelude blown -on Gabriel's trumpet. "There you are. Capital! capital! I made sure -we should find you not so far away." He waltzed down the narrow path to -open the gate, balancing both hands as though they held an invisible -baby for baptism, and its name was "Welcome." One of these--a plump, -soft, balmy, persuasive, clerical right hand,--he gave to the Spawer by -the gate; threw it, rather, as Noah might have thrown his dove across -the face of the waters, with such a beautiful gesture of benediction -that in settling down upon the Spawer's fingers it seemed to confer the -silent virtue of a blessing. - -"The bicycle too," he said, wagging humorous temporal greeting towards -it with his left. "Capital! capital! I thought we should n't be -walking to-night. There 's no evening post, you see, in Ullbrig." He -flung the gate backward on its hinges as far as it would go. "Come in; -come in. Bring your bicycle along with you. Not that anybody would -dare to violate its sanctuary by the Vicarage palings, but the saddle -would absorb the dew and--let me help you." - -All the time, from the gate to the doorway, his hands were hovering -busily about the bicycle without once touching it; yet with such a -consummate suggestion of assistance that the Spawer with very little -prompting could have sworn before Justices that his Reverence had -carried the machine into the hall unaided. - -It was a big, bare hall--square, flagged in stone, and ringing to their -footsteps with the sonority of a crypt. From the ceiling depended a -swing-lamp of brass at the end of a triple chain. On the left-hand side -stood a hard ecclesiastical bench of black oak, primarily provided, no -doubt, for the accommodation of those visitors to whom the privilege of -a front room audience would be denied. On the right side filed a long -line of austere wooden pegs in monastic procession. A canonical beaver -obliterated the first of them; two more held up the dread square -mortar-board against the wall between them, diamond-wise, each -supporting a corner. For the rest, some sticks and umbrellas--with the -ebony divining rod of far-reaching reputation conspicuous among -them--completed the movables of the hall. The bicycle followed the -mesmeric indication of Father Mostyn's hands into place along the wall -under the hat rack, and the priest saw that it was good. - -By a magnificent act of courtesy he relieved the Spawer of his cap, and -swept his own black mortar-board down the rack to make place of honor -for it--though there were half a dozen unoccupied places to either side. -Then, taking up a matchbox from the oak bench, which he shook cautiously -against his ear for assurance of its store, he invited the Spawer to -follow him, and threw open the inner door. - -"The Vicar, you see," he explained, as his shoulders dipped into the -dusk over the threshold, "is his own servant in addition to being -everybody else's. He acts as a chastening object-lesson to our Ullbrig -pride. We don't go out to service in Ullbrig. We scrub floors, we -scour front-door steps, we wash clothes, we clean sinks, we empty slops, -we peel potatoes--but, thank God, we are not servants. Only his -reverence is a servant. When anything goes wrong with our nonconformist -inwards--run, Mary, and pull his reverence's bell. That 's what his -reverence is for. Don't trouble the doctor first of all. Let 's see -what his reverence says. The doctor will go back and enter the visit in -a book, and charge you for it. If anything goes worse--run, Mary, again. -Never mind your apron--he won't notice. Pull the bell harder this time, -and let 's have a prayer out of his reverence to make sure--with a -little Latin in it. The pain 's spreading. For we 're all of us -reverences in chapel, each more reverend than his neighbor; but in -sick-beds we 're very humble sinners indeed, who only want to get better -so that we may be ready and willing to go when the Lord sees fit to take -us. Or if it 's a little legal advice you 're in need of--why pay six -and eightpence to an articled solicitor? Go and knock up his reverence. -He 's the man for you--and send him a turnip for his next harvest -festival." - -Genially discoursing on the Ullbrig habit as they proceeded, with an -occasionally guiding line thrown over his shoulder in bolder type for -the Spawer's assistance: "... A little crockery to your left here. Ha! -... mind the table-corner. You see the chair?" he led the way into the -right-hand room--a room larger than you would have dared to imagine from -the roadway--lighted dimly by one tall, smouldering amber window of many -panes; heavy with the smell of tobacco, and heaped up in shapeless -shadow-masses of disorder. Two great bales of carpet stood together in -one corner like the stern roots of trees that had been cut down. On the -grained side-cupboard to the left hand of the fireplace were -glasses--regiments of glasses--of all sorts and shapes and sizes and -qualities. A cumbersome early-century round table, rising like a giant -toad-stool from a massive octagonal stalk, apparently constituted the -larder, to the very verge of whose circumference were cocoa-tins, -marmalade jars, tea-cups, tea-pots, saucers; sugar-bags red and blue; -some cross-marked eggs in a pie-dish; a brown bread loaf, about three -parts through, and some cold ham. - -And yet, despite the room's disorder, entering in the wake of those -benignant shoulders; treading in the constricted pathways delineated by -those sacerdotal shoes (virtually and spiritually sandals); wrapped -about with the atmosphere of genial indulgence thrown forth this side -and that from those priestly fingers, as though they swung an invisible -censer--one lacked all power to question. A swing to the left, the -fault of the chair was forgiven; a swing to the right, what fear of -treading on crockery; a swing to the front, were he swinging a lanthorn -now the way could hardly be better lighted. - -Such was the power of Father Mostyn. - -So, swinging and censing, and asperging and exhorting, and absolving and -exorcising till all the ninety-nine devils of disorder were cast out, -the priest passed through to the window. - -"Ha!" said he, with the keen voice for a conviction realised, when he -came there. "I knew we should catch sight of Mrs. Gatheredge somewhere -about. By Fussitter's steps for choice. She suffers dreadfully, poor -woman, from a chronic enlargement"--he paused to slip his fingers into -the rings of the shutters--"of the curiosity. I believe the disease is -incurable. It will kill her in the end, I 'm afraid, as it did Lot's -wife. Nothing can be done for her, except to protect her as much as -possible from harmful excitement. If you don't mind the dark for a -moment"--the first shutter creaked upward--"we 'll fasten ourselves in -before making use of the matches. The strain of looking into his -reverence's room when he lights the lamp and has a guest inside might -prove too much for her--bring about a fatal congestion of the _glans -curiosus_. His reverence, you see, has got to think for others as well -as himself. Ha! that's better." The second shutter closed upon the -first like the great jaw of a megalosaurus, swallowing up the dwindling -remains of daylight at a gulp. "Now we can light up in all good -Christian faith and charity." - -He struck a match, and so far as the Spawer could observe--since the -Vicar's back was turned--appeared to be setting fire to the stack of -papers on his writing-table. After a moment, however, when the flame had -steadied, he drew it forth transferred to the wick of a composite -candle, which he held genially horizontal while he beckoned the Spawer -forward by virtue of the signet finger. - -"That 's it," he said, wagging appreciative grease-drops from the -candle. "Come along! come along! Let's see if we can't manage to find -some sort of a seat for you. We ought to do--I was sitting down in one -myself not so long ago." Still wagging the candle and performing an -amiable bear-dance on both feet in a revolving twelve-inch circle as he -considered the question on all sides of him, presently he made a pounce -into the central obscurity and dragged out a big leather-backed chair by -the arm, like a reluctant school-boy. "Here we are," says he, rejoicing -in the capture. "The very thing I had in my mind. Try that. You 'll -want to beg it of me when you 've known its beauties a time or two. -That 's the chair of chairs, _cathedra cathedrarum_. There 's comfort -for you!" - -Negligently wiping the leather-work with a corner of his cassock, he -declared the chair open for the Spawer's accommodation. - -From the fender, bristling with the handles of saucepans, all thrust -outward like the quills of a porcupine, he commanded a block tin -kettle--and a small spirit-lamp. Other journeyings to and fro provided -him with water in a glorious old John Bull mug, with a lemon, with a -basin of lump sugar, with two spoons, with whiskey, with a nutmeg and -grater, with cigars, contained in a massive case of embossed silver, -with cigarettes, of which the Spawer was constrained to acceptance, -having previously disappointed Father Mostyn by a refusal of his choice -Havanas; with tobacco in a fat, eighteenth-century jar, lavishly -pictured and proverbed; and with a colored, clay churchwarden as long as -a fiddlestick, that looked as if it would snap brittly in two of its own -weight at the first attempt to lift it. Lastly, all these things being -accumulated one by one, and laid out temptingly on the little round -table, with the blue flame established at the bottom of the kettle, and -tapering downwards to its junction with the wick like a sea-anemone, -Father Mostyn permitted himself to sink back hugely upon the chair, -lifting both feet from the ground as he did so, in supreme testimony to -the full ripe fruits of ease. - -"Well," said he, setting his fingers to work in the depths of the -tobacco jar, "and what about the music?" His tongue appeared -reflectively in his cheek for a moment, and his keen eye fixed the far -wall on a nice point of remembrance. "Let 's see.... A symphonium?" - -The Spawer adjusted the balance gently: "A concerto." - -"Ha! a concerto." Enlightenment swept over the Vicar's face like a tide -of sunlight, and his shoulders shook as with the laughter of gladsome -things. "Beautiful! beautiful! To think of our stubborn Ullbrig soil's -being made to yield a concerto. Had it been a turnip now. But a -concerto! Ullbrig knows nothing of concertos. It would know still less -if you were to explain. Explanations only confuse us--besides being an -unwarrantable violation of our precious rights of ignorance. Tell friend -Jevons you 're at work upon a concerto, and see what he says. He 'll -tell you, yes, his son 's got one." Father Mostyn cast the forefinger -of conviction at him. "Depend upon it, that 's what he 'll tell you. -His son 's got one. A beauty with bells that he gave eighteenpence for. -Meaning one of those nickel-silver mouth-organs such as we can't go to -Hunmouth Fair without bringing back with us--unless we plunge for a -concertina. It 's got to be one or the other, or people might n't think -we 'd been to Hunmouth Fair at all, and that 's a light too glorious to -be hid under a bushel. But it 's all one in name to us whatever we get. -We call it a 'music.' Whether it 's a piano, or a fiddle, or a song, or -a symphonium, or a sonata, or a Jew's harp, or a concertina, or a -sackbut--the definition does n't alter. We call it a 'music.' -'So-and-So 's gotten a grand music.' 'It 's a grand music, yon.' That -'s our way." - -The little black cat of a kettle, after purring complacently for a while -over the blue flame, suddenly arched its lidded back and spat out across -the table. - -"Ha!" Father Mostyn turned gladsomely at the sound. "There 's music for -you. Come; you 're a whiskey man? Say when and fear not." - -"If you don't mind, I 'll say it now," said the Spawer, with laughing -apology. - -"No?" His Reverence held out the uncorked bottle by the neck, -persuasively tilted. "Think twice, my son, before committing yourself -to hasty judgments." Then seeing the Spawer was not to be moved: "A -glass of sherry, then? Benedictine? Capital! You won't beat -Benedictine for a standard liqueur. Apart from its pleasant effect upon -the palate, it has a valuable corroborant action on the gastric juices, -and tends to the promotion of chyme." - -All in speaking he produced the familiar flagon from the sideboard, -poured out a cut-glass thumbful of amber. This act of hospitality -fulfilled, he turned, with no diminished zeal, to the serving of his own -requirements. He sipped warily from an edge of his smoking glass to -verify his expectations of the flavor, nipped his lips for a moment in -judicial degree, and subsided slowly upon the chair in a long breath of -rapture, extending the tumbler towards the Spawer for wassail--"here 's -success to our concerto, and may your days be long in the land with us. -We 're a stiff-necked and obstinate generation, who worship gods of our -own making, and have more than a shrewd idea that the devil 's in music -(we know for certain he 's in the Church); but we bake good pies for all -that, and our nonconformist poultry can't be beaten." - -The Spawer laughed. "And our postman?" he asked. - - - - - *CHAPTER VII* - - -"Ha!" Father Mostyn played upon the note momentously, as though he were -throwing open the grand double gates of discussion. "Pamela, you mean! -I knew we should come to that before long. No help for it." He -subpoenaed the Spawer for witness to the wisdom of his conclusions with -a wagged forefinger. "But Pamela 's not Ullbrig. Pamela was n't -fashioned out of our Ullbrig clay. She 's not like the rest of us; -comes of a different class altogether. You can't mistake it. Take note -of her when she laughs--you 're a musical man and you 'll soon see--she -covers the whole diapason. Ullbrig does n't laugh like that. Ullbrig -laughs on one note as though it were a plough furrow. There 's nothing -of cadence about our Ullbrig laughter--that 's a thing only comes with -breed. Notice her eyebrows, too, when she 's speaking, and see how -beautifully flexible they are." The Vicar warmed to the subject with -the enthusiasm of a connoisseur. - -"No--there 's nothing of our clay in Pamela's construction. Pam is like -charity; suffereth long and is kind. Envieth not; vaunteth not herself; -is not puffed up. Doth not behave herself unseemly; seeketh not her -own; is not easily provoked; thinketh no evil. Ullbrig does n't -understand Pam any more than it understands the transit of Venus or the -rings of Saturn. Pam 's above our heads and comprehension. Because she -goes to church on Sunday, and does n't walk with our Ullbrig young men -down Lovers' Lane at nightfall, we say she 's proud. Because she 's too -generous to refuse them a word in broad daylight, when they ask for it, -we say she 's forward. Because she never says unkind things of us all in -turn behind our backs, and won't listen to any, we say she 's -disagreeable. Because she does n't read the post-cards on her way -round, and tell us whether Miss So-and-So ever hears from that Hunmouth -young gentleman or not, we say she keeps a still tongue in her -head--which is our Ullbrig idiom for a guilty conscience. That we had -only a few more Pams--with due gratitude to Blessed Mary for the one we -'ve got." - -"As a postman," said the Spawer, entering into the Vicar's appreciation, -"she 's the most astonishing value I ever saw. The girl seems to have a -soul. Who is she? And where does she come from?" - -Father Mostyn's brows converged upon the pipe-bowl in the hollow of his -knee, and his cassock swelled to a long breath of mystery. "Who is she? -and where does she come from? ... Those are the questions. _A priori_, -I 'm afraid there 's nothing to answer them. So far, it seems to have -been Heaven's wise purpose to reveal her as a beautiful mystery; an -incarnate testimony to the teaching of Holy Church--if only Ullbrig knew -the meaning of the word testimony. She came to Ullbrig, in the first -place, with her mother, as quite a little girl, and lodged with friend -Morland at the Post Office. I believe there was some intention on her -mother's part of founding a small preparatory school in combination with -poultry farming at the time. Yes, poor woman, I rather fear that was -her intention. She seemed to think it would yield them both a -livelihood, and give Pamela the benefit of new-laid eggs; but she died -suddenly, the very day after Tankard had agreed to let her the cottage -down Whivvle Lane at four and sixpence a week--being three shillings the -rent of the cottage, and eighteenpence because she was a lady. Ha! that -'s the way with us. To try and do you one; do your father one; do your -mother one; do your sister one; do your brother one; but particularly do -one to them that speak softly with you, and his reverence the Vicar. -Him do half a dozen if you can, being an ecclesiast, and so difficult to -do." He wiped the smile off his mouth with one ruminative stroke of his -sleek fingers--you might almost suppose he had palmed it, and slipped it -up his sleeve, so quickly did it come away. "She died suddenly, poor -woman, before I could get to her. Cardiac haemorrhage, commonly, and -not always incorrectly, called a broken heart. No doubt about it. They -sent for me three times, but it happened most grievously that I had -tricycled off to Whivvle that day to inquire into a little matter -concerning the nefarious sale of glebe straw--(I 'm afraid I shall have -to be going there again before so long; the practice shows signs of -revival)--and she was dead when I got back. We buried her round by the -east window, where the grass turns over the slope towards the north -wall. You can just see the top of the stone from the roadway." He -indicated its approximate position with a benedictory cast of the signet -hand. "After paying all funeral expenses, it was found that there -remained a small balance of some thirty pounds odd--evidently the -tail-end of their resources--in virtue whereof, friend Morland's heart -was moved to take Pam to his bosom, and give her a granddaughter's place -in the family circle. Thirty pounds, you see, goes a long way in -Ullbrig, where we grow almost everything for ourselves except beer and -tobacco. One mouth more or less to feed makes hardly any appreciable -difference." - -"But were there no relatives?" the Spawer suggested. - -Father Mostyn shook his head significantly. - -"And you were n't able to trace the mother's movements before she came -to Ullbrig?" - -"No further than Hunmouth." His Reverence tried the edge of the -Spawer's interest with a keen eye through drawn lashes, as though it -were a razor he was stropping. "Following up a theory of mine, we traced -her as far as Hunmouth. But for that, if we 'd taken friend Morland's -advice, we should have lost her altogether. As I predicted, we found -she 'd been living for some time in small lodgings there.... There was -some question of music teaching, I believe." - -"Music teaching?" The Spawer leaned on the interrogative with all the -weight of commiserative despair. - -"I rather gathered so. She gave lessons to the landlady's daughter, I -fancy, in return for the use of the piano, and she had a blind boy -studying with her for a while. His family thought of making him a -church organist, but unfortunately for all parties concerned, the boy's -father failed. Yes, failed rather suddenly, poor man, and cast quite a -gloom over the musical outlook. Then Pamela seems to have acquired -diphtheria from a sewer opening directly under the bedroom window, and -had a narrow squeak for it; and after that her terrified mother fled the -town with her, and brought her into the country. There 's no danger of -sewers in the country, you see. We have n't such things; we know -better." - -"And that's what brought them to Ullbrig?" asked the Spawer. - -"That's what brought them to Ullbrig. What brought them to Hunmouth is -still a matter for conjecture. I called upon the doctor subsequently -who attended Pam there, but he could give me no information about them, -beyond the fact that his bill had been paid before they left." - -"I should have thought, though," said the Spawer, tipping his lips with -golden Benedictine, and sending the bouquet reflectively through his -nostrils, "that she would have left letters--or something of the -sort--behind her, which might have been followed up." - -"One would have thought so, naturally. But no; not a single piece of -manuscript among all her possessions." - -"That," said the Spawer, "looks awfully much as though they 'd been -purposely destroyed." - -Father Mostyn's lips tightened significantly, and he nodded his head -with sagacious indulgence for the tolerable work of a novice. - -"Moreover, in such books as belonged to her the flyleaf was invariably -missing. Torn bodily out. Not a doubt about it." - -"To remove traces of her identity?" - -The Vicar slipped his forefinger into the pipe-bowl and gave the tobacco -a quick, conclusive squeeze. "Unquestionably." - -"But for what reason, do you think?" - -His Reverence sat back luxuriously in the arm-chair, with fingers -outspread tip to tip over the convex outline of his cassock, and legs -crossed reposefully for the better enjoyment of his own discourse. "In -the first place, she was a lady. Not a doubt about it. No mere -professional man's daughter, brought up amid the varying circumstances -incidental to professional society, and trained to consider her father's -interests in all her actions--(the little professional discipline of -conduct always shows)--but a woman of birth and position. Belonging to -a good old military family, I should say, judging by her bearing, with a -fine, sleek living or two in its gift for the benefit of the younger -branch. Depend upon it. She would come of the elder branch, though, -and I should take her to be an only daughter. There would be no sons. -Unfortunately, a painful indisposition of a lumbaginous nature prevented -my extending her more than the ordinary parochial courtesy at the first, -and she died within a fortnight of her arrival. Otherwise, doubtless -she would have sought to tell me her circumstances in giving the -customary intimation of a desire to benefit by the blessed Sacraments of -the Church--but there 's no mistaking the evidence." He recapitulated -it over his fingers. "She was the daughter of a wealthy military man, a -widower, who had possibly distinguished himself in the Indian service -(most likely a major-general and K.C.B.), living on a beautiful estate -somewhere down south--say Surrey or the Hampshire Downs." - -"Could n't you have advertised in some of the southern papers?" -suggested the Spawer. - -"Precisely. We advertised for some time, and to some considerable -extent, in such of them as would be likely to come under the General's -notice--but without success. Indeed, none was to be expected. Men of -the General's station in life don't trouble to read advertisements, much -less answer them--and if, in this case, he 's read it, it would n't have -changed his attitude towards a discarded daughter or induced a reply. -Therefore, to continue advertising would have been merely to throw good -money after bad.... Ha! Consequently the next step in our -investigations is to decide what could be responsible for her detachment -from these attractive surroundings, and her subsequent lapse into -penurious neglect. It could n't have been the failure of her father's -fortune. A catastrophe of this sort would n't have cut her off -completely from the family and a few, at least, of her necessarily large -circle of friends. Some of her clerical half-cousins, too, would have -come forward to her assistance, depend upon it. But even supposing the -probabilities to be otherwise, then there would be still less reason for -her voluntary self-excision. Though under these circumstances, one -might understand her never referring to her family connection, it 's -inconceivable to suppose that she should have gone to any particular -trouble to conceal traces of the fact. To have done so would have been -a work of supererogation, besides running counter to all our priestly -experience of the human heart and its workings. No. In the resolute -attempt to cut herself off from her family the priestly eye perceives -the acting hand of pride. Not a doubt about it. Pride did her. The -pride of love. No mistaking it. The headstrong pride of love. Faith -removes mountains, but love climbs over 'em, at all costs. Depend upon -it, she 'd given her heart to some man against the General's will, and -run away and married him. Marriage was the first step in her descent." - -"Or do you think..." hazarded the Spawer, with all humility for -intruding his little key into so magnificent a lock of hypothesis, "that -marriage was a missing step altogether, and she tripped for want of it?" - -Father Mostyn received the suggestion with magnanimous courtesy--almost -as though it had been a duly expected guest. "I think not. Under -certain conditions of life that would be an admirable hypothesis for -working purposes. But it won't fit the present case. In the first -instance, we must remember that those little idiosyncrasies of morality -occur less frequently in the class of society with which we 're dealing, -and that when they actually occur, the most elaborate precautions are -taken against any leakage of the fact. Moreover, let's look at the -actual evidence. All the woman's linen--the handkerchiefs, the -underclothing, the petticoats, the chemises, and so forth--were -embroidered with the monogram 'M.P.S.,' standing, not a doubt about it, -for Mary Pamela Searle. Some of the child's things, bearing the -identical monogram, showed that they 'd been cut down for her; while one -or two more recent articles--of a much cheaper material--were initialled -simply 'P.S.' in black marking-ink. It 's necessary to remember this. -Now, if we turn from the linen to the books I spoke about and contrast -their different methods of treatment, we shall find strong testimony to -the support of my contention. On the one hand, linen, underclothing, -chemises, petticoats, pocket-handkerchiefs, and so forth, marked plainly -'M.P.S.' and 'P.S.' On the other hand, a Bible, a book of Common Prayer -in padded morocco, evidently the property of a lady; a Shakespeare; a -volume of Torquato Tasso's 'Gerusalemme Liberato,' in levant; an -old-fashioned copy of 'Mother Goose'; and one or two other volumes, all -with the fly-leaf torn out. No mistaking the evidence. Searle was her -rightful married name, and there was no need to suppress it. For all -intents and purposes, it suited her as well as another. Besides, pride -would n't allow her to cast aside the name of her own choosing. Pride -had got too fast hold of her by the elbow, you see, for that. Keep a -sharp look-out for the hand of pride in the case as we go along, and you -won't be likely to lose your way. It will be a sign-post to you. Searle -was the name she 'd given everything up for--her father, her home, her -friends, her family, her position--and it had been bought too dear to -throw aside. It was the other name pride wanted her to get rid of. -That 's why the fly-leaves came out. Depend upon it. They were -gift-books belonging to her unmarried days. The Shakespeare was a -present from her father; Torquato Tasso came most likely from an Italian -governess; some girl-friend gave her the Prayer-book--perhaps as a -souvenir of their first Communion. The Bible would hardly be in the -nature of a gift-book. People of social distinction, brought up in -conformity with the best teachings of Holy Church, and abhorring all -forms of unorthodoxy as they would uncleanliness, don't make presents to -themselves of Bibles. That 's a plebeian practice, savoring -objectionably of free-thinking and dissent. The Bible is not mentioned -or made use of by well-bred people in that odious popular manner. No, -the book would figure in her school-room equipment as part of a -necessary instruction, but no more. - -"... Ha!" His hand, on its way to the round table, arrested itself -suddenly in mid-air as though to impose a listening silence. "... There -goes friend Davidson--keeping his promise. I thought it was about his -time. He gave me his sacred word he would n't touch a drop of liquor in -Ullbrig for three months, so now he has to trot off to Shippus instead." -The Spawer listened, but could get not the faintest hint of the -delinquent's passage. "So now," Father Mostyn took up, starting his hand -on again with a descriptive relaxation of its muscles, as though the -culprit had just rounded the corner, and there were nothing further of -him worth listening for, "... we 've got the whole case in the hollow of -our hands. We see that the breach with the family was brought about by -her own act, and that that act was marriage. But it was n't merely -marriage against the General's consent or sanction. Marriages of -disobedience and self-will are nearly always, in our priestly -experience, forgiven at the birth of the first child; more especially, -of course, if it happens to be a son.... Therefore we must find a -stronger divisional factor than a marriage of disobedience. Ha! -undoubtedly. A marriage of derogation. No mistaking it. A marriage of -derogation. She married beneath her. That 's an unpardonable offence -in families of birth and position. We can forgive a daughter for -marrying above her, but we can't forgive a daughter for marrying beneath -her--even when she 's the only daughter we 've got. Moreover, this case -was badly aggravated by the fact that there was no money in it. She fell -in love with some penniless scamp of a fellow, with an irresistible -black moustache and dark eyes--there are plenty of 'em knocking about in -London society, who could n't produce a receipted bill or a banker's -reference to save their lives--got her trousseau together by stealth; -had it all proudly embroidered with the name she was about to take; -kissed her father more affectionately than usual one night ... and the -next morning was up with the lark and miles away." He kept casting the -ingredients one after another into the hypothetical pancheon with a -throw of alternate hands--the right hand for the sin she had committed; -the left hand for the penniless scamp of a fellow; the right hand again -for her trousseau; the left hand for the elopement, and so on, with all -the unction of a _chef_ engaged upon the preparation of some great dish, -and stuck the spoon into it with a fine, conclusive "Ha!" - -"After that," said he, interrupting the sentence for a moment to give -two or three reclamatory puffs at his pipe, "the rest 's as plain as -print. She 'd made a bad bargain with her family, and she 'd made a -worse with her husband. Depend upon it. Searle was a gambler--an -improvident, prodigal, reckless rascal--who tapped what money she had -like a cask of wine. As soon as Pamela was born, the wretched woman -began to see where things were drifting. She dared n't suggest -retrenchment to her husband, but she began to practise a few feeble -economies in the house and upon her own person. No more silks and -satins after that. No more embroidered chemises. No more fine linen. -Nothing new for Pamela, where anything could be cut down. Nothing new -for herself, where anything old would do. Cheapen the living here, -cheapen the living there--until at last, thank God! in the fourth year -of his reign, this _monstrum nulla virtute redemptum a vitiis_ takes to -his wife's bed--not having one of his own--and does her the involuntary -kindness of dying in it. So our Blessed Lady leads Pamela and her -mother to Ullbrig by gradual stages, and there, the mother's share in -the work being done, she is permitted to fall asleep. Ha! Friend -Morland"--he approached the tumbler to his lips under cover of the -apostrophe, and sought the ceiling in drinking with a rapturous eye, -"... you never drove a better bargain in your life than when you -acquired a resident daughter of Mary with a premium of thirty pounds. -Look at all the blessings that have been specially bestowed upon you for -her sake. Look at the boots that get worn out in tramping backwards and -forwards to the Post Office since Heaven put into our heads the notion -of buying penny stamps in two ha'penny journeys, and calling round to -let you know we shall be wanting a post-card in the morning. Did our -young men do this before Pam's time? And where do we carry all our -boots and shoes to when they have n't another ha'penny journey in their -soles? Not to Cobbler Roden. Cobbler Roden does n't shelter a daughter -of Mary. Cobbler Roden does n't shelter a daughter of anybody--not even -his own--if he can help it. Not to Cobbler Dingwall. Cobbler Dingwall -does n't shelter a daughter of Mary. Heaven sends down no blessing on -Cobbler Dingwall's work. We find it 's clumsy and does n't last. No, we -don't take 'em to any of these. We take 'em to Shoemaker Morland. That -'s where we take 'em. Shoemaker Morland. He 's the man. All the rest -are only cobblers, being under no patronage of Blessed Mary, but friend -Morland 's a shoemaker. Moreover, the Post Office has n't lacked for -lodgers since Pam came to it--there 's the schoolmaster there now. A -strange, un-get-at-able sort of a fellow, to be sure, whom I strongly -suspect of nursing secret aggression against the Church; still a payer -of bills, and in that respect a welcome addition to the Morland -household." - -"Friend Morland, then," said the Spawer, "combines the offices of -shoemaker and postmaster-general for Ullbrig?" - -Father Mostyn forefingered the statement correctively. - -"Those are his offices. But he does n't combine them. He keeps them -scrupulously distinct. One half of him is postmaster-general and the -other is shoemaker. I forget just at the moment which half of him you -'ve got to go to if you want stamps, but you might just as well try to -get cream from a milk biscuit as buy stamps at the shoemaking side. -Apart from these little peculiarities, however, he 's as inoffensive a -specimen of dissent as any Christian might hope to find. Without a -trained theological eye one might take him any day for a hard-working, -respectable member of the True Body. His humility in spiritual matters -is almost Catholic. You 'd be astonished to find such humility in the -possession of a Non-conformist--until you knew what exalted influence -had brought it about. He repudiates the Nonconformist doctrine that the -Divine copyright of teaching souls goes along with the possession of a -fourpenny Bible. His view on the question is that the Book 'takes -overmuch understanding to try and explain to anybody else.' On this -point, with respect to Pamela, I 'd never had any trouble with him. She -'s been born and brought up in the Church; she 'd true Church blood in -her veins. Her mother was a Churchwoman. Her grandfather, like the -gallant old soldier that he was, was a Churchman; a strong officer of -the Church Militant, occupying the family pew every Sunday morning, who -would have died of apoplectic mortification at the thought that any -descendant of his should ever sink so low as to sit on the varnished -schismatical benches of an Ullbrig meeting-house. All which, when I put -it before him, Friend Morland saw in a clear and catholic spirit. It 's -true for a short time he wished to make a compromise--at the instigation -of his wife, undoubtedly--whereby Pamela was to attend church in the -mornings and meeting-house in the evening--a most odious and -unscriptural arrangement, quite incompatible with canonical teaching. -However, special light of grace was poured into his heart from above, -and he perceived the aged General in such a vivid revelation trembling -with martial anger at this act of indignity to one of his flesh and -blood, that he woke up in a great sweat two nights successively, and -came running before breakfast to tell me that the spiritual -responsibility of a general's granddaughter was proving too much for -him, and he 'd be humbly grateful if his Reverence the Vicar would take -the matter on his own shoulders, and bear witness (should any be -required) that he (John William Morland) had in all things done his -utmost to act in conformity with what he thought to be the General's -wishes. So I made him stand up in the hall and recite a proper -_declaratio abjurationis_ before me then and there, gave him his coveted -_ego te absolvo Joannes_, and received Pamela forthwith as spiritual -ward in our most Catholic Church." - -"But is she going to consecrate all her days to the carrying of -letters?" asked the Spawer, in a voice of some concern. "_A dieu ne -plaise_." - -Father Mostyn knocked the ashes cautiously out of his pipe into a cupped -palm and threw them over the hearth. "There 's the rub. That 's what I -'ve been wanting to have a little talk with you about. Her bringing up -has been in the nature of a problem--a sort of human equation. We 've -had to try and develop all her latent qualities of birth and breed, and -maintain them in a state of exact equilibrium against the downward -forces of environment. Just the slightest preponderance on one side or -other might have done us. Two things we had to bear constantly in mind -and reconcile, so far as we were able, from day to day." He ticked them -off on his fingers like the heads of a discourse: "First. That she was -a lady; the daughter of a lady; the granddaughter of a lady. Second. -That she was become by adoption a daughter of the soil, dependent on her -own exertions for her subsistence and happiness. At one time, so -difficult did the two things seem to keep in adjustment, I had serious -thoughts of taking her bodily under my own charge and packing her off to -school. But after a while, I came to reflect that it would be an act of -great unwisdom--apart from the fear that it might be making most impious -interference with the designs of Providence. Providence plainly had -brought her, and to send her off again for the purpose of having her -trained exclusively in the accomplishments of a lady would simply have -been contempt of the Divine laws and a deferment of the original -difficulty to some more pressing and inopportune moment. My work, you -see, was here in Ullbrig. His Reverence is tied to the soil like the -rest of us--ploughing, sowing, harrowing, scruffling, hoeing, and -reaping all his days--though, for the matter of that, there 's precious -little ear he gets in return for his spiritual threshing. Moreover, -there 's always the glorious uncertainty of sudden death in the harvest -field; and then what would be likely to happen to a girl thrown on her -own resources at the demise of her only friend and protector? Would she -be better circumstanced to face the world bravely as a child with his -Reverence helping her unostentatiously by her elbow and accustoming her -to it, or as a young lady in fresh bewilderment from boarding-school, -with his Reverence fast asleep in the green place he 's chosen for -himself under the east window? Ha! no mistake about it. His Reverence -has seen too many nursery governesses and mothers' helps and ladies' -companions recruited straight from the school-room, with red eyes and -black serge, to risk Pamela's being among the number. Out in the world -there 's no knowing what might happen or have happened to her. Here in -Ullbrig, you see, she stands on a pedestal to herself, above all our -local temptations. Temptations, in the mundane sense of the word, don't -exist for her. One might as well suppose the possibility of your being -tempted from the true canons of musical art by hearing Friend Barclay -sing through the tap-room window of the Blue Bell, or of his Reverence -the Vicar's being proselytised to Methodism by hearing Deacon Dingwall -Jackson pray the long prayer with his eyes shut. No; our local sins -fall away from Pamela as naturally and unregarded as water off a duck's -back. Such sins as she has are entirely spiritual--little sins of -indiscrimination, we may term them. The sin of generosity--giving too -much of her favor to the schismatical; the sin of toleration--inclining -too leniently towards the tenets of dissent; the sin of -forbearance--making too much allowance for the sins and wickednesses of -others; the sin of equanimity--being too little angered by the assaults -and designs of the unfaithful against Holy Church--all beautiful -qualities of themselves when confined to the temporal side of conduct, -but sinful when thoughtlessly prolongated into the domain of spirituals, -where conduct should subordinate itself to the exact scale of scientific -theology. Spiritual conduct without strict theological control is music -without bars; poetry without metre; a ship without a rudder; free-will; -nonconformity; dissent; infidelity; agnosticism; atheistic darkness. -Ha! but our concern for her future is n't on these counts. The question -that 's bothering us now, as you rightly put it, is: Is she going to -consecrate all her days to the carrying of letters?" - -"As a career," commented the Spawer, "I 'm afraid there 's not much to -recommend it. The office of post-girl seems, from what I know about the -subject, peculiar to Ullbrig. There 's precious little chance of -promotion, I should think. She might slip into the telegraph -department, perhaps, but from a place like Ullbrig even that 's -something of a step." - -"I was n't so much thinking of the telegraphic department," Father -Mostyn explained, "... though, of course, it had suggested itself to me. -But I 'd been thinking ... it came upon me rather forcibly ... partly -since your arrival ... after our first little talk together ... and I -wondered. Of course, the telegraph department could be held in view as -a reserve. But I 'd rather got the idea..." a certain veil of obscurity -seemed to settle down upon his Reverence at this point, as though a -sea-mist were drifting in among his words. "You see," he said, suddenly -abandoning the attempt at frontal clearance and making a detour to come -round the thickness of his difficulty, "Pamela 's altogether a -remarkable girl. She 's not the least bit like the rest of us. She can -do everything under the sun, except kill chickens. She can't kill -chickens; but she can cook 'em. And she can make Ullbrig pies till you -could swear Mrs. Dixon had done 'em. And she can bake bread--white -bread, as white as snow for Friend Morland's delicate stomach; and brown -bread as brown as shoe-leather and mellow as honey for his Reverence the -Vicar. Three loaves a week without fail, because there 's nobody else -in Ullbrig can make 'em to his satisfaction--and she wanted to have the -paying for 'em herself into the bargain. And she can paper-hang and -paint. She and his Reverence are going to undertake a few matters of -church decoration shortly. And she can milliner and dressmake. If it -was n't for Pamela, Emma Morland would soon lose her reputation as our -leading society _modiste_. Not even the brass plate would save her--if -she polished it three times a day. Ullbrig does n't want brass plates; -Ullbrig wants style. So when Ullbrig goes to Emma Morland for a new -dress and Pamela 's not there, Ullbrig says, 'Oh, it does n't matter -just then, it 'll call again.' Ha! says it 'll call again. But what I -wanted to illustrate ... with regard to telegraphic departments, of -course ... you see ... her remarkable versatility. Not only that..." -the old fog showed signs of settling over him once more, but he shook it -off with a decisive spurt. "She 's inherited music from her mother in a -marked degree. It seems to come naturally to her. I think you 'd be -surprised. What little bit I 've been able to do for her I 've -done--taught her the proper value of notation, the correct observance of -harmonies, clefs, solfeggio, scales, legato, contra punctum, and so -forth. The amazing thing is the way she 's picked it up. Not a bit of -trouble to her, apparently. What I should have done without her at the -organ--she 's our ecclesiastical organist, you know--I dare n't think. -And it occurred to me ... I felt it would be such a pity to let the -chance go by ... if we could only induce you.... You see, she 's not -exactly an ordinary girl. Different from the rest of us altogether.... -And I thought if we could only induce you to give her the benefit of a -little musical advice..." He paused inferentially. - -"With a view," asked the Spawer, "to what is diabolically called the -profession?" - -Father Mostyn caught the note of dissuasive alarm. - -"Ha! not exactly the profession..." he said. "I was n't so much meaning -that. But I thought, you see, she 'd appreciate it so much ... and -there 'd be no fear of her abusing your favor in the slightest degree. -Unfortunately ... I 'm afraid you 'd find our piano rather below par ... -the Ullbrig air has a peculiar corrodent action upon the strings. -Tuning 's no good; indeed, it only seems to unsettle 'em. But if ... -sometime when you 're here you would n't mind my asking her in ... just -for a short while?" - -"Not the least bit in the world," said the Spawer. "And for as long as -you like." - -"Ha!" The fog lifted off Father Mostyn's utterance in sudden -illumination of sunlight, and he rubbed his knees jocosely. "I thought -we should manage it. Capital! capital! We must fix up a sort of a -soiree some night. That 's what we must do. Fix up a sort of soiree -some night and feed you. We won't speak of dining; that 's a word we -leave behind us when we come to Ullbrig. But we 'll feed you, and give -Pamela a chance to display her culinary skill. Of course, we know all -about our little business of last night, so we need n't speak -darkly...." - -"The deuce we do!" exclaimed the Spawer, laughing. "And I 've been -thinking all the time we did n't." - -Father Mostyn spread his fingers with priestly unction. - -"That," said he, "is one of our fatal Ullbrig errors; always to think -that his Reverence does n't know things. No matter how many times we -prove to our cost that he does, we go on acting upon the supposition -that he does n't. It 's a source of endless trouble to us. Of course, -in the present instance, we absolve you. Your tongue was honorably -tied. Pamela told me all about it this morning--she was full of the -music and your goodness, and the desire to tell me what she 'd done -before silence made a hypocrite of her. Indeed, she was horribly -afraid, poor girl, that she was becoming an Ullbrig hypocrite already. -As though there were a grain of hypocrisy in the whole of her nature. -But that 's what we must do. We must rig up a sort of soiree some night -and feed you." - -How the soiree and the feeding were going to affect the vital question -of the girl's future did not altogether transpire--though this one -subject carried them henceforth into the small hours, and the Spawer -used no inconsiderable skill to elicit some clear understanding on the -point, and when finally the Spawer slid away from the Vicarage gate -under a deep July skyful of stars, the words floated in mystic meaning -about his ears like the ringing of sanctus bells. - -And as far away as the very last gate of all, when the Spawer turned his -head back towards the scene of his evening, he seemed to hear the bells -wafting to him over the corn, as though languid with pursuit: - -"... Feed you. Feed you. Feed ... you." - - - - - *CHAPTER VIII* - - -Pam had grown up in the sight of Ullbrig, variously loved and hated for -her self-same virtues; and on a day when the time seemed not yet ripe -(for fear some more enterprising spirit might pluck it green), the men -of Ullbrig and of Whivvle, and of Merensea and of Garthston, and of -Sproutgreen and of Ganlon, and of Hunmouth even, arose, gave a pull to -their waistcoats, and took turns at offering themselves before her on -the matrimonial altar. That, as you may imagine, made Pam more enemies -than ever. - -Who the first man was to win the honor of her refusal has not been -established on a sufficiently authoritative basis for publication in -this volume, but after him came a constant stream of postulants. She -could have had any man she liked for the lifting of her little finger; -hardly one of them got married but took the wife he did because he could -n't take Pam. George Cringle, indeed, from Whivvle way, boldly -challenged her to marry him while his own banns were up with the -daughter of the Garthston miller. - -"Oh, George," said Pam, when he stopped her by the smock-mill on the -Whivvle road and made his views known to her; too much shocked by his -dreadful duplicity to exult over her sister's downfall as an Ullbrig -girl might have done. "However could you." - -"Ah could very well," said George resourcefully, misconstruing the -reproval into an encouraging query about how the thing was to be done. -"An' ah 'll tell y' t' way. Ah 'd send my brother to let 'er know ah 'd -gotten chance o' betterin' mysen, an' wor gannin' to tek it, an' we 'd -'ave me an' you's names called i' Oolbrig Choch. Noo, what div ye say?" - -Pam said "No," and preached one of the prettiest open-air sermons you -ever heard. It was on love and marriage; telling how true love was -essential to happiness, and how marriage without love was mere mockery, -and how the man that betrayed the affections of a girl by demeaning her -in the sight of another was not worthy to be called man at all; and how, -if George did n't care for Rose, he ought never to have soiled his lips -with the falsehood of saying he did ("Ay, ah do, bud ah care for you a -deal better," said George); and how he ought to try and make himself -worthy of Rose, and she of him; and how, if he really felt that that was -impossible, he ought to stand forth boldly and proclaim so before it was -too late ("Ah 'm ready, onnytime ye tell me," said George); but how Pam -knew that George was a good fellow at heart ("Ah div n't say there is -n't them 'at's as good," said George, modestly, "if ye know t' place to -look for 'em"); and how, doubtless, he did n't mean any harm ("Ah-sure -ah div n't"); and so on ... much as you 've seen it all put in books -before, but infinitely more beautiful, because Pam's own dear face was -the page, and Pam's lips the printed words; and George stood and watched -her with his own lips reforming every word she said, in a state of -nodding rapture. - -"Gan yer ways on," he begged her, when at last she came to a stop. "Ah -can tek as much as ye 've got to gie me." - -"I 've finished," said Pam. - -"Ay; bud can't ye think o' onnythink else?" he inquired anxiously. "Ah -like to 'ear ye--an' it mud do me some good. Rose could n't talk i' -that fashion, ah 'll a-wander. Nay; Rose could n't talk same as yon. -Not for nuts, she could n't. She 's a fond 'un, wi' nowt to say for -'ersen bud, 'Oh, George! gie ower.' What did ye tell me ah 'ad to -prawclaim?" he asked, with a crafty attempt to lure Pam on again. "Ah -want to mek right sure ah en 't forgotten owt." - -Whereupon Pam wrought with her wavering brother a second time... - -"Ay; it 's all right what ye 've telt me," he said, in deep-hearted -concurrence, when her words drew to an end once more. "Ah know it is. -Ye 've gotten right pig by t' lug, an' no mistek.... Well? What div ye -say? Mun ah send my brother to tell 'er ah s'll not be there o' Monday -week?" - -Pam ground her little heel into the dust for departure, and threw up her -head with a fine show of pitying disdain. - -"Some day, George Cringle," she told him in leaving, "you may be sorry -when you think of this." - -"Ah can't be na sorrier nor ah am to-day, very well," George admitted -sadly, "... if ye mean 'No.'" - -"I do," said Pam, with emphasis. - -"Well, then," George decided, "there 's nowt no more for it. Things 'll -'a to gan on as they are." - -Which they did. - -Any other girl might have been ruined with all this adulation; all these -proposals open and covert; all these craning necks; these obvious -eye-corners--but Pam was only sorry, and sheer pity softened her heart -till many thought she had merely said "No" in order to encourage a -little pressing. And indeed, Pam said "No" so nicely, so lovingly, so -tenderly, so sorrowfully, so sympathetically, and with so little real -negation about the sound of it, that one woke up ultimately with a shock -to realise the word meant what it did. Some even found it difficult to -wake up at all. - -"What div ye keep sayin' 'Naw' for?" asked Jevons, with a perplexity -amounting to irritation, when he had asked her to be the mother of two -grown-up daughters and a son, ready-made, and Pam had not seen her way. -"Ah s'll be tekkin' ye at yer wod, an' then 'appen ye 'll wish ye 'd -thought better on. Noo, let 's know what ye mean, an' gie us a plain -answer to a plain question. Will ye 'a me?" - -"No..." said Pam again, shaking her head sorrowfully. Not N-O, NO, as it -looks here in print--hard, grim, inexorable, forbidding; but her own -soft "No," stealing out soothingly between her two lips like the caress -of a hand; more as though it were a penitential "Yes" in nun's habit, -veiled and hooded--a sort of monosyllabic Sister of Mercy. - -"See-ye! There ye are agen," said Jevons, convicting her of it with his -finger. "Noo, what am ah to mek on ye?" - -"Oh, nothing at all, please," Pam begged of him, with solicitous -large-eyed humility through her thick lashes. "Don't bother to try. It -'s not as though I was worth it ... or ... or the only one. You 'll be -sure to find plenty of somebody elses ... There are just lots of girls -... older than me too ... who 'd be only too glad to say 'Yes' ... and -be better for you in every way." - -"Ay, ah know there is," Jevons assented, with refreshing candor. "Lots -on 'em. Bud ah mud as lief finish wi' you sin' ah 've gotten started o' -ye. T' others 'll 'ave to be looked for, an' ah can't reckon to waste -mah time i' lookin' for nawbody. Work gets behint enough as it is. Noo, -let 's come tiv a understandin'. 'Ave ye gotten onnything agen me?" - -"Oh, no, no," said Pam, all her sympathies in alarm at the mere -suggestion, lest it might have been derived from any act or word of -hers. "Indeed I have n't." - -"Well," said Jevons himself, stroking down the subject complacently. -"Nor ah div n't see rightly i' what way ye sewd. Ah 'm a widdiwer--if -that 's owt agen a man? Bud if it is, ah s'll want to be telt why. An' -ah 've gotten a family--so it 's no use sayin' ah en't. Bud it 'll be a -caution if there 's owt agen a man o' that score. There 'll be a deal -o' names i' Bible to disqualify for them 'at say there is. An' ah 've -gotten seummut ah can lay my 'ands on at bank onnytime it rains--though -it 'll 'a to rain strangelins 'ard an' all before ah do. Ah 's think ye -weean't say 'at that 's owt agen a man?" - -"Not a bit," said Pam conciliatorily. And then, with all the steadfast -resolution of her teens: "I shall never marry," she told him. - -Only girls in their teens--taking life very seriously because of -them--ever say that. When they get older they commit themselves to no -such rash statement, lest it might be believed. - -Ginger's turn took place in the Post Office itself. He had been waiting -for it for six weeks, so, of course, being fully prepared, it caught him -at a disadvantage when it came. As he slipped into the Post Office his -prayer was for Pam, but after he 'd got inside and remembered what he 'd -sworn to do if it were, he prayed it might be the postmaster, until he -thought he heard him coming, when his heart sank at another opportunity -lost, and he changed the prayer to Pam again. He was still juggling -with it from one to the other, with incredible swiftness and dexterity, -when there was a sudden ruffle of skirts and Pam stood waiting behind -the counter, with her knuckles on the far edge of it, in a delightful -transcription of the postmaster's position. - -"Well, Ginger," she said, nodding her beautiful head at him. (Ginger -being also a surname, it was quite safe to call him by it.) "Do you want -a stamp?" - -"... Naw, thank ye. At least ... ah 'm not partic'lar. Ay ... if ye -'ve gotten one to spare..." said Ginger. "Bud ye 've n' occasion to -trouble about it o' mah account. It's naw consequence. Ah 'm not so -sure ah could lick it, evens if ye 'ad to gie me it; my mouth 's that -dry ..." - -"Let me get you a glass of milk, then," said Pam promptly, showing for -departure. - -"Nay, ye mun't," Ginger forbade her in a burglar's whisper, waking up -suddenly to the alarming course his conduct was taking--as though he had -come so far in a dream. "Milk brings me out i' spots i' naw time, thank -ye ... an' besides, ah can do better wi'out. Wet's comin' back to me -noo, ah think, an' ah s'll not want to use stamp while to-morrer, 'appen -... or day after; if then. 'Appen ah s'll sell stamp to my mother, when -all 's said and done ... thank ye.... Did ye see what ah did wi' penny? -It ought to be i' one o' my 'ands, an' it 's not no longer. Mah wod!" -He commenced to deal nervous dabs at himself here and there as though he -were sparring for battle with an invisible adversary, and one, moreover, -he feared was going to prove the master of him. "Ah en't swallered 'er, -ah 's think. There 's a strange taste o' copper an' all...." - -"What 's that on the counter?" asked Pam. - -"Ay ... to be sure," said Ginger, with a mighty air of relief, picking -up the penny and putting it in his pocket. "There she is.... Mah wod, -if ah 'd slipped 'er--she mud 'a been finish o' me. Well...." It -suddenly occurred to him that he 'd been a tremendous time in the shop -delaying Government business, and his teeth snapped on the word like the -steel grips of a rat-trap. "Ah 'll wish ye good-night," he said -abruptly, and made a bolt to go. - -"Are n't you going to pay me, Ginger?" Pam asked from across the -counter, with the soft simulation of reproach. - -"What for?" Ginger stopped to inquire with surprise. - -"For the stamp I gave you," said Pam. - -"Ay ... noo, see-ye. Ah wor so throng wi' penny ah nivver thought no -more about stamp. Did ye notice what ah did wi' 'er?" - -He seemed to be shaking hands with himself in all his pockets, one after -the other. - -"In your waistcoat," said Pam. "That 's it.... No; see!"--and as his -hands still waltzed wide of the indicated spot, shot two little fingers -over the counter, stuck straight out like curling-tongs, and into his -waistcoat pocket and out again, with the stamp between them. "There you -are," she said, holding it up before his eyes in smiling triumph as if -it were a tooth she 'd extracted. - -"Ay..." said Ginger, divining it dimly; "ye 're welcome tiv it." - -That touch of her hand on his waistcoat, and the little waft of warm -hair that went with it, had almost undone him. - -"Don't you want it?" asked Pam, scanning him curiously. - -"Not if you do, ah don't," said Ginger. "Ah 'll mek ye a present on -it." - -"Oh, but..." said Pam, with the tender mouth for a kindness, "it 's -awfully good of you ... but we 've got such lots of them. As many as -ever we want and more. You 'd better take it, Ginger." - -"Ay, gie it me, then," said Ginger, holding his waistcoat pocket open, -"'Appen ye weean't mind slippin' it back yessen, an' ye 'll know ah 've -gotten it safe." The little warm waft went over him again, and he shut -his eyes instinctively, as though to the passage of a supreme spirit -whose glory was too great to be looked upon by mortal man. "Diz that -mek us right?" he asked hazily, when the power had gone by, and he awoke -to see Pam looking at him. - -"Yes," said Pam, feeling it too mean to ask for the penny again after -Ginger's recent display of generosity. "That makes us all right, Ginger, -thank you." - -"Same to you," said Ginger. "Ay, an' many on 'em." Then he knew his -hour was come. "Ah want to know ..." he begged unsteadily, gripping -himself tight to the counter's edge, and speaking in a voice that seemed -to him to boom like great breakers on the shore, and must be audible to -all Ullbrig, let alone the Post Office parlor--though Pam could hardly -hear him, "if ye 'll remind me ... 'at ah've gotten seummut ... to ask -ye?" - -"I will if I can only remember," said Pam amiably, slipping a plump -round profile of blue serge on the counter and swinging a leg to and -fro--judging by the motion of her. "When do you want me to remind you, -Ginger?" - -"Noo, if ye like," said Ginger. - -"This very minute?" asked Pam. - -"Nay, bud ah think not," said Ginger, backing suddenly in alarm from the -imminence of his peril. "It 's not tiv a minute or two. Some uvver -day, 'appen, when you 're not busy." - -"Oh, but I 'm not busy now," said Pam, stopping her leg for a second at -Ginger's recession, and setting it actively in motion again when she -spoke, as though to stimulate his utterance. - -"Ah 'm jealous y' are, though," said Ginger, with a rare show of -diffidence at taking her word. - -"Indeed I 'm not," Pam assured him. "I promise you I 'm not, Ginger. -Do you think I 'd say that to you if I were? Now, what is it you want -to ask me?" - -"Can ye guess?" Ginger tested her cautiously, with a nervous, twisted -smile--intended to carry suggestion, but looking more as though he 'd -bitten his tongue. Pam thought over him for a moment, and shook her -head. - -"I 'm not a bit of good at guessing," she said. - -"'Appen ye 'd be cross if ah telt ye," reflected Ginger. "Ay, ah 'd -better let it alone while ah 'm right. Ah mud mek a wuss job on it." - -"Oh, Ginger, you aggravating boy," cried Pam, spurring a dear, invisible -heel against the counter to urge him on, and slapping the oilcloth with -her small flat hand till Ginger's ears tingled again in jealous delight. -"... Go on; go on. You must go on. You 'll have to tell me now, or I -'ll never be friends with you again--and I shall know you don't care, -either." - -"Well, then," Ginger began, pushed reluctantly forward by this direful -threat, "... it 's this." He held on to it as long as he could, taking -breath, and then when he felt he could n't hold on any longer, he -suddenly shut his eyes and let go, saying to himself, "Lord, help me!" -and to Pam, "Will y' 'ave me?"--so quickly and indistinctly that it -sounded like a cat boxed up under the counter, crying "Me-ow." - -"Oh, Ginger," Pam apostrophised him mournfully, when she 'd begged his -pardon three times, and he 'd mewed after each one until at the third -she 'd received the inspiration to know what they all meant. "I wish -you 'd asked me anything but that." - -"There wor nowt else ah 'd gotten to ask ye," Ginger said gloomily. - -"Because..." Pam proceeded gently to explain, "I shall have to say -'No.'" - -"Ay, ah thought ye would," Ginger threw in. "Ah know very well ah 'm -not good enough for ye." - -"You 're every bit good enough for me," said Pam, with swift tears of -championship in her eyes, drawn there by his masterstroke of humility. -"And you must never say that again, please, even if you don't mean it. -It 's very, very good of you indeed to want me, Ginger. It 's awfully -good of you; and I 'd as soon say 'Yes' to you as to any I 've ever said -'No' to. I 'm sure you 'd do all you could to make me happy...." - -"Ay, that ah would," said Ginger, snatching hopefully at the small bone -of encouragement. "Ah 'd try my best. Is it onny use me askin' ye agen -after a while?--say to-morrer or Friday? Ah sewd n't think owt about -trouble." - -Pam shook her head regretfully. - -"I 'm afraid not," she said. "But you must n't imagine, Ginger, it 's -because I don't care for you, or because I doubt you. It 's myself I -doubt, if I doubt anybody, not you. If I could only be a hundred Pams -instead of just a miserable one, I 'd have said 'Yes' to all those that -asked me. I know I should. You can't think how it troubles me to have -to keep on saying 'No'--but what am I to do? Everybody asks me to marry -them ... at least, a few do ... and as I can only marry one, I 'm -frightened it might be the wrong one. It 's so easy to make a -mistake--unless you 're very, very sure. And I'm not; and I feel I -might end by making both of us unhappy...." - -"Ah 'd chance that," said Ginger, with resolution. - -"But there ought to be no chance about it, Ginger," Pam reproved him -gently. "Nobody ought ever to marry by chance. People that only marry -by chance can only hope to be happy by chance--and that 's a dreadful -idea." - -"Ay, ah see it is," said Ginger hurriedly. "Ah beg yer pardon." - -"Well, then," said Pam, "... you understand me, don't you, Ginger?" - -"Ah 'm jealous ah do," said Ginger despondently. - -"And you 're not angry with me ... for what I 've said to you?" - -"Nay, ah 'm not angry wi' ye," said Ginger. "Ah 'm only sorry. Ah -misdoot ah s'll not be i' very good fettle for my supper when time -comes." - -"You 'll shake hands, though," said Pam, catching a certain indication -that he was about to depart without. - -"Ay, ah sewd like, sin' ye 're good enough to ask me," Ginger -acknowledged eagerly, blundering hold of her fingertips, and dropping -them like hot coals as soon as he felt the desire to linger over them. -"'Appen ye 'll let me ... shek 'ands wi' ye ... noo an' agean," he asked -Pam humbly, turning his coat collar up to go--not that there was any -rain at the time, but that the action seemed somehow, in his conception -of things, to befit the hopeless finality of departure. - -"Whenever you like, Ginger," Pam promised him, with moist lashes. - -"Thank ye," said Ginger, making for the door. "Ah div n't know ... at -ah s'll trouble ye so offens ... but may'ap it mud save me ... fro' -gannin altagether to bad if ah was ... to shak 'em noo an' agean." - -And with a husky farewell he dipped out of the office. - - - - - *CHAPTER IX* - - -So Ginger went over to the great majority of those that loved Pam and -lost her, and in his own hour was as sick a man as ever you might wish -to meet outside the chapters of a mediaeval romance, where gallant -knights are wont to weep like women, and women stand the sight of as -much blood, unmoved, as would turn the average modern man's stomach -three times over. But anything like a complete account of all the -hopeless loves that had Pam for their inspiration would crowd the pages -of this book from cover to cover, and still leave material for a copious -appendix, and any amount of lesser contributory literature. "Pamela -Searle: her Time, Life, Love, and Letters," including several important -and hitherto unpublished meat-bills rendered to Mrs. Gatheredge by -Dingwall Jackson, with a frontispiece. "'Pamela Searle,' being a -barefaced attempt to confound the thinking public as much as possible on -the subject of this fascinating character, and present her to them in an -altogether novel and unreliable light, as a means of catching their -pennies--(truth being worse than useless for the purpose)--with a -vindication of Sheppardman Stevens from sundry charges that have been -customarily laid against him."--"'Ullbrig, Past and Present'--(also -'Rambles Round')--fully illustrated; containing a special chapter on -Pamela and Father Mostyn in the light of recent investigation. Compiled -to serve as a guide-book to the district." "'Pamela Searle, the Ullbrig -Letter-Carrier; or, What can Little Ladies do?' A tale and a lesson. -By Mrs. Griffin (Good Children Series, No. 105.)." - -It is no secret that the Garthston parson wanted Pam as badly as he -wanted a new pair of trousers, and would have had her at a moment's -notice if she 'd only asked him, but she never did; and he wore the old -pair to the end. And the Merensea doctor wanted her too--the same that -came in for six thousand pounds when his father died, and married his -housekeeper--but Pam went very sad and soft and sorrowful each time he -asked her (which was generally from his gig, driving some seven miles -out of his way, by Ullbrig, to reach an imaginary patient on the -Merensea side of Whivvle), and said "No," just the same as she said it -to everybody else, with not the least shade of an eyelid's difference -because he happened to be a doctor--which was the girl all over. No -supplicant that ever supplicated of Pam was too mean or too poor, or too -ridiculous or too presuming, in her eyes, ever to be treated with the -slightest breath of contumely. When poor Humpy from Ganlon, whose legs -were so twisted that he could n't tell his right from his left for -certain without a little time to think, asked a Ganlon lass to have him, -she screamed derision at him like a hungry macaw, and ran out at once to -spread the news so that it should overtake him (being but a slow walker, -though he walked his best on this occasion) before he had time to get -home. When he asked Pam to have him, Pam could have cried over him for -pity, to think that because God had seen fit to spoil a man in the -making like this, human love was to be denied him; and though, of -course, she said "No," she said it so beautifully that Humpy could -hardly see his way home for the proud tears of feeling himself a man in -spite of all; and if, after that, there had been any particular thing in -the whole world that twisted legs could have done for a girl, that thing -would have been done for Pam so long as Humpy was alive to do it. - -Lastly, two years before the Spawer's arrival, the old schoolmaster grew -tired of teaching and died, and there came a new one in his place; a -younger man, pallid and frail, with the high white student's forehead, -worn smooth and rounded like the lamp globe he 'd studied under; the -weak brown moustache and small chin, and a cough that troubled him when -the wind was east, and took up his lodgment at the Post Office. Every -day he sat four times with Pam at the same table--breakfast, dinner, -tea, and supper. Every morning, when the clock struck ten, he -manoeuvred over his toes for a sight of the roadway through the -school-room window, and if the veins in his forehead swelled and his jaw -muscles contracted: - -"Ah knaw 'oo yon 'll be," went the whisper round behind him. - -Once he was ill, drawing the breath into his lungs like great anchor -chains dragged through hawse-holes, and Pam nursed him. Dressed the -pillows under his head; laid her cool hand on his hot forehead; gave him -his medicine; sat through the night with him, clasping courage and -comfort and consolation into his burning fingers, wrote letters for him; -read for him. "Noo we s'll be gettin' telt seummut before so long," -said Ullbrig to itself. "A jug gans to pump adeal o' times, but some -fond lass 'll brek it before she 's done,"--but the schoolmaster -consumed in stillness like the flame of a candle. There were days when -"Good morning, Yes, No, Please, Thank you, and Good-night" would have -covered all that he said to Pam directly--and even then the veins in his -forehead and the tightening muscles about his jaws reproved him -straightway, as though he had already said too much. If, by any chance, -Pam addressed him suddenly, the blood would mount up to his forehead and -the outlines of his face would harden, like a metal cast in the setting, -before he spoke, till it almost looked as though he were debating -whether he should give her any reply. And the reply given, he would -take the first opportunity of turning his back. Indeed, there were -times when he barely waited for the opportunity, but clipped his -sentence in the middle and threw an abrupt word over his shoulder to -complete the sense of it, while Pam stood sorrowfully regarding the two -familiar threadbare tail buttons and the shine about the back of the -overworked morning coat, whose morning knew no noon, wondering if she 'd -said anything to offend him. Once, when he had swung round more -abruptly than usual, giving her the reply so grudgingly that it fell -altogether short of her hearing, as though he had cast a copper to some -wayside mendicant for peace's sake, Pam--who could never bear to leave -anything in doubt that a word might settle--asked him softly if he were -angry with her. The question fetched him suddenly round again, with the -appearance of warding a blow. - -"Angry with you?" he repeated. There was the hoarseness of suppressed -emotion about his voice, and his lip trembled. - -"You are angry with me now, though," said Pam mournfully, "for asking -you." - -And indeed, by the way he had turned upon her and spoken, he seemed like -a man brought to the sudden flash-point of passion by some injudicious -word. - -"I am not angry with you," he said, in the same constrained, hoarse -voice, and said no further, but put his shoulders between them again as -though the subject were too unimportant to be discussed. - -Then Pam made a discovery. - -"He does not like me," she told herself, and without showing that she -held his secret, she set herself in her own quiet, gentle fashion to -verify the fact by observation. He was never a man of many words at any -time, but she saw he was never a man of so few as when he was with her. -He had words for the postmaster; he had words for the postmaster's wife; -he had words for Emma; he had words--stray, detached, pedagogic -schoolroom words, read up aloud from the chalkings on an invisible -blackboard--for the villagers. But for Pam--Pam saw herself--he had -only the constrained, hard words between his teeth like the enforced bit -of a horse, that he champed fretfully in the desire to break away from -her. - -No. Pam knew what it was. He liked the postmaster because they could -talk the papers over together, and predict terrible things about the -country to each other; and he liked Emma because Emma was so -straightforward and sensible and earnest looking--even if she was n't -pretty, which perhaps, after all, she was n't--and never said silly -things she did n't mean; and he liked Mrs. Morland because nobody could -help liking her--she was so kind and motherly and sympathetic and -talkative, and so full of allowances for other people. But Pam! ... -Well, he did n't care about Pam because ... oh, because of heaps of -things, perhaps. It was n't any use trying to put them all together. -Because he thought she was a silly, empty-headed gad-about, who cared -for nothing but showing herself around the countryside ... (but that was -n't true a bit; he knew it was n't!) ... and being asked if she 'd have -people.... - -Pam doubled up one little hand in anguish, and stared at an invisible -something in front of her--that seemed to be a bogey by the startled -look she gave it--with a bitten underlip twisting and struggling like a -red live thing to be free; and a drawn grey cheek--till the great round -tear-drops gathered in her eyes and fell hotly on her knuckles one by -one. - -But that was only for a moment. - -Then Pam dashed the tears aside and shook her glorious head with -new-found resolve. Pam would be brave; and strong; and steadfast; and -still; and modest; and nobly feminine; and true. And would show him by -her actions that he had done her a wrong in his heart. - -Pam was still engaged upon the work of showing him when the Spawer took -up his quarters at Cliff Wrangham. - - - - - *CHAPTER X* - - -On the morning following the Spawer's session at Father Mostyn's, before -James Maskill had yet flung himself round the brewer's corner, his -Reverence threw open the blistered Vicarage door and sallied forth -genially to the Post Office in a pair of well-trodden morocco slippers, -screwing up his lips to inaudible cheery music as he went, and holding -in his left hand a round roll of grey stuff which, judging by wristbands -of a similar texture that showed beyond the crinkled cassock sleeves, -appeared to be a reverend flannel shirt. Jan Willim was chalking their -price on a pair of virgin soles when he heard the insidious slip-slap of -heelless leather take the cobbles like the lipping of an advancing tide, -and he put his head hurriedly round the little clean kitchen door at the -sound of it. - -"Noo, 'ere 's 'is Rivrence," he announced, with the loud -double-barrelled whisper intended to do duty as a shout on the one side -and be inaudible on the other, "... an' it 'll be Pam 'e 's after.... -Noo, Pam lass!" - -"Ha! The very girl I wanted to see," his Reverence told her, as Pam -slipped her frank face deftly behind the counter to receive him, like a -beautiful honest marguerite, fresh plucked and button-holed, with a -friendly upward "Yes-s-s?" prolonged through her ivory petals, -pink-tipped, and' a peep of rosy tongue. "The very girl! How 's -Government this morning, John?" he inquired obliquely of the deferential -shadow brooding by the inner door, where the sound of straining -shoe-leather bespoke the presence of somebody striving to keep silence -on his toes. - -"She 's very well, ah think, yer Rivrence, thank ye," responded the -postmaster, stepping forward the necessary six inches to show himself -respectfully before the Vicar in the act of speaking, and retiring when -his words were ended. - -"Busy, is she?" asked his Reverence affably, commencing to unroll the -grey bundle of flannel on the counter with a leisurely ordering of his -hands--Pam lending assistant touches here and there. - -"Ay, she 's busy," said the postmaster, showing again in the door-frame, -and wiping his fingers on his apron, lest their inactivity might seem -like disrespectful indolence before the Vicar. "Bud it 'll be slack -time wi' 'er an' all before long. Theer 's not so many stamps selt i' -'arvest by a deal, nor so many letters written. Folks is ower throng i' -field." - -"Ha! No doubt about it. The harvest field is a fine corrective for -_cacoethees scribendi_," said his Reverence, disposing the shirt on the -counter lengthwise, with limp, outstretched arms, for Pam's inspection, -as though it were some subject on an operating table. "Buttons again, -you see, Pam," he told her, pointing out where they lacked. - -"My word, I see!" said Pam, running over the outlines of the article -with a swift, critical eye. "And wristbands and collarbands as well. -You want some new shirts badly. You 've only four now, with the one you -'ve got on--and that," she said, turning up his cassock sleeves to get a -look at it, "is almost past mending. See how thin it is.... And will -you have pearl buttons, then?" asked Pam, composing the shirt to seemly -folds under soft, caressing fingers, and following every move of her -hands with a fascinating agreement of head, "... or plain white?" - -"Ha! Plain white ... by all means," said Father Mostyn. "Large plain -white for his reverence the vicar--as large and as plain and as white as -we can get 'em, that lie flat where they fall, and don't run all over -the floor and try to find the crack in the skirting-board. Pearl -buttons are for the young and flexible (incidentally too, for the -profane), and not for aged parish priests, whose knees are stiffened -with a life of kneeling.... Shirts and pearl buttons must n't let me -forget, though," he admonished himself, drawing the solitary, backless -cane-bottomed chair under him from below, and sitting to the counter -with one hand drumming on its oilcloth and the other gripping a spindle, -"what I really came about." - -"No," said Pam, watching his lips. - -"We had a visit from our friend of the Cliff End last night." - -Pam's eyes were drawn for a moment to sundry faults in the folding of -the shirt, and her fingers busied themselves with their correction. - -"Yes," she said, looking up again. "But you did n't have any music? ... -Did you?" she asked, with the sudden eagerness for a coveted opportunity -gone by. - -"All in good time--all in good time, dear child," Father Mostyn exhorted -her indulgently. "Last night we made music with our mouths, but the -next night we 're going to make a little with our fingers. Bach! -Scarlatti! Beethoven! Mozart! Schumann! Palestrina! ... And then we -shall have to have you with us." - -"Me?" asked Pam, with swift, desirous incredulity. - -"You," said Father Mostyn. - -Pam plunged her face into her two hands straightway (which was a -characteristic trick of hers at such times), as though the beauty of -this thing were too great to behold. After a moment she let her fingers -slide away into her lap of their own weight and threw back a brave head -with the smile of tears about it, and the little double shake that -remained over to her from the short while ago when her hair had fallen -in sleek, black curtains on either side of her cheeks each time she -stooped. - -"Does he know I 'm to be there?" she inquired. - -"To be sure he does, dear child." - -"But it was your idea ... to ask me," said Pam. - -"It was my vicarage," said Father Mostyn. - -Pam made pot-hooks with her fingers. - -"Yes..." she said, as though the word were only the beginning to a -puzzled objection, but her breath went out in it in lingering, and she -let it stand by itself as an assent. "What did he say?" - -"When?" - -"When you told him ... I was to be there? Perhaps he did n't say -anything?"--with anxiety. "Did he?" - -"And supposing he did n't?" - -"Then perhaps it would mean he did n't want me. And perhaps it would -n't ... but it might." - -"Ha! Might it? Let 's make our mind easy, dear child. He said lots of -things." - -"About me?" - -"Certainly. It was you we were discussing." - -There was only one question possible to ask after this on the direct -line, and Pam drew up short, confronting it with a sudden air of virtue. - -"I don't want to know what they were," she said. - -"There 's no earthly reason why you should n't," Father Mostyn told her -suavely, "so far as that goes." - -"Is n't there?" asked Pam; and then quickly: "... Of course, I did n't -think there would be. Why should there?" - -"Ha! Pam, Pam, Pam!" said his Reverence, raising his hand from the -counter, and wagging a monitory loose forefinger at her. "All the -doctrine of Church Catholic can't drive the first woman out of you -quite, I fear. Curiosity in that little breast of yours is a blackbird -in a linnet's cage, and may break away through the bars." - -Pam looked up from her pot-hooks sideways and laughed the soft, musical -confession of guilt. - -"All that was said about you last night," his Reverence assured her, -"had to do with your music...." - -"But you never told him," said Pam, locking her knuckles with a sudden -alarm against the impending disclosure, and straining them backwards -over her knee. - -"To be sure I did." - -"Oh!" said Pain, and dipped her face into her basined fingers a second -time. "... That 's dreadful. Now he 'll come to church." - -Father Mostyn stroked a severe, judicial chin. "Is that so dreadful? -... to go to church? You would n't have him go to chapel?" - -"No, no," said Pam. "Not if he did n't want. But he never went ... -anywhere before. And now he 'll laugh." - -"In church? ... I think not." - -"When he gets outside." - -"Why should he laugh when he gets outside?" - -"Because.... Oh!" Pam twisted her fingers. "Because of me." - -"And why, pray, because of you?" - -"Oh ... because.... Not because you have n't taught me properly, -because you have, and been clever and kind, and more painstaking than I -deserved ... ever. But because ... what must my playing sound like to -him, when he plays so beautifully?" - -"Pride, dear child, pride!" Father Mostyn cautioned her with uplifted -finger. "Let 's beware of our pride. The Ullbrig pride that can't bear -the humiliation of being taught." - -"I 'm sure I try," said Pam penitentially. - -"Let's try harder, then," said his Reverence, with affable resolve. -"Never let 's cease trying to try harder. The laughter you speak of is -most assuredly a miasma; rising from the deadly quagmires of your own -pride. If our playing merits the fate of being laughed at, why should -we wish it to receive any better fate, or fear its receiving its just -deserts. Is n't that a virulent form of Ullbrig hypocrisy?" - -"I did n't mean it to be hypocrisy," said Pam sadly. "And I did n't -think it swas till you showed me. Only ... somehow ... I can't help it. -I seem to be growing more and more into a hypocrite every day." - -"Ha!" said Father Mostyn, welcoming the admission, "... so long as we -recognise the sin, and the nature and the degree and the locality of it -... and have strength to confess it, dear child, salvation is still -within our clasp. It 's only in sinning without knowing it that the -deadliness lies. And that 's what the Church Catholic is to protect us -from.... Are you listening, John?" - -"Ah catch seummut o' what 's bein' said, yer Rivrence," the postmaster -acknowledged cautiously, manifesting a certain diffidence about showing -himself to this appeal, "... bud ah 'm not listenin' if it 's owt 'at -dizz n't consarn me." - -"The Catholic Church," Father Mostyn instructed him solemnly, "concerns -all men--even shoemakers--and you would be well advised to catch as much -of what you hear her saying as you can. Truth may come to us some day -by keeping our ears open to her, but be sure she won't come to us -without." - -"Ah expeck she weean't," said a depressed voice from the shoemakery. -"Thank ye." - -"You 're welcome, John. And now"--Father Mostyn turned to Pam in -lighter vein--"enough of spiritual meats for our soul's digestion, dear -child. Far from laughing at you, as your little momentary lapse from -discipline permitted you to imagine, our Cliff End friend was most -genuinely interested in your musical welfare; inquired diligently -concerning your state of proficiency; whether--" - -"Oh!" Pam had been torturing her ten fingers over her knee while the -list proceeded. "Did n't you just tell him I knew nothing at all?" she -begged pathetically. - -"Patience, dear child, patience!" Father Mostyn adjured her, with -episcopal calm. "I did better than that. I told him the truth. Ha! -told him the truth. Told him you were willing at heart to learn, but -headstrong, and apt to be careless. Explained where the grave -shortcomings lay." - -"... About the thumbs going under?" Pam prompted anxiously. - -"Ha! ... and your fatal tendency to depart from the metronomic time as -adjudicated by the old masters. Have no fear, dear daughter. I told him -all your musical offences that I could remember at the moment. He knows -the dreadful worst, and has most kindly promised to lend a helping hand -and assist us to make better of it if the thing can be done." - -Pam gulped, with her eyes fixed on Father Mostyn, as though she had been -swallowing one of Fussitter's large-size three-a-penny humbugs. - -"Does a helping hand ... mean lessons?" she asked, in a still, small -voice, after the humbug had settled down. - -"Not so fast; not so fast," Father Mostyn reproved her. "I feared what -my words might induce. Let 's beware of the fatal trick of jumping at -conclusions. It does not appear at present what a helping hand, in its -strictest interpretation, may mean. You see ... we 've got to remember -... our friend is n't like the common ruck of 'em. No mere -bread-and-cheese musician, dependent on the keyboard for his sustenance, -but a dilettante ... a professional patron of the muse, so to speak, who -is n't solely concerned with its sordid side of pounds, shillings, and -pence. I told him he 'd have to let us feed him the next time he came -to see us. Not dine him ... but feed him. And he seemed to cotton to -the idea. So now, dear child, what are we going to do about it?" - -"Oh!" Pam pressed a hand flat to each cheek and fastened a look of -round-eyed, incredulous delight on Father Mostyn's face. "Is it to be a -party?" - -"Not altogether a party." Father Mostyn pursed up his lips dubiously -over the word. "Let 's beware of confusions in our terms, dear girl. -Not a party. Nothing set or fixed or formal. Not a dinner. No, no; -not a dinner. A feed. That 's what it 's to be." - -"Yes," said Pam, sticking close to the suggestion as though she were -afraid of losing it, and nodding her head many times with an infinity of -understanding. "I know. A feed. What sort of a feed?" - -Father Mostyn's judicial eyebrow shot up like the empty end of a -see-saw. - -"That 's what we 've got to settle. I rather fancied.... You see--the -weather 's so hot ... we must consider. My idea was ... I thought, -perhaps ... we 'd have something rather cooling. Something, say, in the -nature of a cold spread.... But anything you like, dear child," he -allowed her. "Just think out for yourself--when I 've gone--the very -best you can do for us, and we 'll subscribe to it in success or failure -when the time comes. And now, let 's settle when the time 's to be. -When can we manage it, think you?" - -"To-night? ... were you thinking of?" said Pam. - -"Ha!" Father Mostyn wagged his hands free of all part in the proposal. -"I was thinking of nothing. But to-night 's a little too precipitate, -dear child. To-morrow night, then, let us say, and I 'll ride up to the -Cliff myself some time this morning, and take the invitation." - -So it was arranged, and the post rattled up over the cobbles, and his -Reverence departed, after a genial word with James Maskill. - -"Ha! Here comes the joyful-hearted James," he said to the figure of the -postman, that showed hot and angry through the doorway, gripping the -neck of his red-sealed canvas bag as though it were a doomed Christmas -turkey, and waiting sullenly sideways for his Reverence to pass by. "No -need to ask how the joyful-hearted James is. Fit and smiling as ever. -Not even the burden of other people's letters can disturb his -equanimity. Splendid weather for you, James. Don't stand; don't stand. -Come in, and let 's see what you 've got inside your lucky-bag this -morning--anything for the Cliff End at all? Eh, Pam?" - -Thereupon James brushed past the reverend cassock buttons with a grunt -like a felled ox, that might have been apology or anathema, or neither, -and brought down the post-bag on the counter like a muffled thud. - -"No," said Pam, when she 'd taken it from him with a smiling nod of -recognition and thanks, and run its contents deftly under her fingers. -"There 's nothing for farther than Stamway's this morning." - -"And nothing for his Reverence?" - -Pam ran over the letters again before his Reverence's eyes, to show him -that she was n't merely making use of the word "No" to save her a little -trouble, and shook her head. - -"Ha! Capital! capital!" said his Reverence, preparing to go. "At -least, it means there 's nobody petitioning for new drain-pipes or a -cow-shed roof by this post." - -"Ay," pronounced the postman darkly after him, watching the retreating -shoulders with an explosive face like a fog-signal. "Yon sod ought to -'ave 'is dommed neck screwed round an' all." - -"Sh! James, James, James!" cried Pam, biting a lip of grieved reproof -at him across the counter, and seeking to melt his hardness with a -sorrowing eye. "How can you bear to say such wicked things?" - -"Ah sewd run after 'im an' tell 'im o' me, if ah was you," James taunted -her, free of any anxiety that the challenge might be accepted. "'E -weean't 'a gotten so far." - -"You know very well I would n't do it," said Pam. - -"Ah know nowt about what ye 'd do," James denied obstinately, shaking -admission away from him like raindrops gathered on the brim of his -cap-shade. "Nor ah don't care." - -"You know very well I would n't do that, anyhow," said Pam, with a -trembling lip for the injustice. "And it 's wrong of you to say I -would." - -"Ah know ah 'm a bad 'un," said James. "Let's 'a my letters an' away." - -"You 're not a bad one," Pam protested, with a more trembling lip than -ever, "but you try to make people think you are. And some of them -believe you." - -"They can think what they like. Folks is allus ready to believe owt bad -about a man," said the postman bitterly, "wi'oot 'im tryin'. Ah sewd -'ave seummut to do to mek 'em think t' other road, ah 'll a-wander, -ne'er mind whether ah tried or no. Nobody 's gotten a good wod for me." - -"I 've got a good word for you," said Pam. - -There was silence over the postman's mouth for a moment, and in that -moment his evil genius prevailed. - -"Ye can keep it, then," he said ungraciously, swinging on his heel. "Ah -nivver asked ye for it." - -And the silence was not broken again after that. Pam went on sorting -her letters steadily, but every now and then she turned her head to one -side of the counter, and for each stamp on the envelope there were a -couple--big, blurred, swollen, and rain-sodden, with a featureless -resemblance to James Maskill about them--that danced before her eyes. - -Only, later in the day, when there was no postmaster to prejudice -matters with his presence, Pam heard James Maskill whistling the -Doxology outside the door with his heel to the brickwork, and she -slipped round and took him prisoner by his coat lapels. - -"James..." she said softly, and the Doxology stopped on the sudden, as -dead as the March in Saul. "You did n't ... mean it, did you?" - -The postman dropped his eyelids to their thinnest width of obstinacy, -and said nothing. Pam waited, looking persuasively at his great -freckles (so unlike her own), and still holding him up against the -brickwork, as though he were Barclay, in need of it on Saturday night. - -"You did n't really ... think I would do such a thing.... Did you now, -James?" she asked him, after a while, trying to gain entrance to his -heart by a soft variation on the original theme. - -"There 's some on 'em would," James muttered evasively through his lips, -when it seemed that Pam meant going on looking at him for ever. "... -Ay, in a minute they would." - -"But not me," Pam pleaded. - -"Ah did n't say you," James answered, after another pause. "Ah said ah -did n't know." - -"But you do know, don't you?" Pam urged him. "You know I would n't; -don't you, James?" - -The postman changed embarrassed heels against the brickwork. - -"'Appen ah do," he said, with his eyes closing. - -"Say you do," Pam begged. "Without any 'happen,' James." - -There was an awful period of conflict once more, in which James showed a -disposition to clamp both heels against the brickwork together, but this -second time his good genius conquered. - -"... Do," he said, with his eyes quite shut; and Pam let go the lapels. - -"I knew you did," she said, but without any sting of exultation about -the words--only pride for the man's own victory--and went back to her -work again (which had reference to hard-boiled eggs and chickens) with a -brightened faith in the latent goodness of humanity. - -And when James was standing on the cobbles before the Post Office that -night, loosing the knot in his reins prior to departure, Pam slipped out -with a neat little parcel done up in butter paper, and put it into his -hands. - -"Ay, bud ye 're ower late," said the postman tersely, with no signs of -the recent softening about him, and sought to press it back upon her. -"Bag 's made up." - -"But it is n't for the bag," said Pam, resisting the transfer. "It 's -for you, James." - -"What 's it for me for?" demanded the postman, with the old voice of -ire. - -"To eat," said Pam. "It 's a chicken pasty I made on purpose for you, -with a savory egg and a sponge sandwich. The egg 's in two halves with -the shell off, and it 's quite hard. You can eat it out of your fingers -if you like. I thought they 'd be nice for your tea." - -The postman exchanged the parcel from hand to hand for a while, as -though he were weighing it, slipped it after deliberation under the -seat, gathered the reins, gripped the footboard and splasher, pulled -them down to meet him, treading heavily on the step, till the whole cart -appeared to be standing on its side, and rocked up into place with a -send-off that looked like shooting him over the saddler's chimney. For -James Maskill to thank anybody for anything was an act of weakness so -foreign to his nature that there were few in all the district who could -accuse him of it; and from the present signs Pam did not gather she was -to be among the number. - -"Good-by, James," she said wistfully, stepping back from the wheel as he -sat down--for James Maskill's starts were sudden and fearful events, not -unattended with danger to the onlooker, "... and I hope you 'll like -them." - -"Kt, Kt!" was all James vouchsafed (and that not to Pam) out of a -threatening corner of his mouth; but as the bay mare leaned forward to -the traces, and Pam gave him up utterly for lost, he turned a quick, -full face upon her. "Good-neet ... an' thank ye," he said. And in a -smothered voice that seemed to issue from under the seat, turning back -again: "Ah 'll try my best." - -Then he set his teeth and brought the whip down hissing venomously, as -though desirous to get clear of the sound of his own words and weakness. -The bay mare sprang up into the sky like a winged Pegasus, taking James -Maskill and the trap along with her, and before Pam's eye could catch on -to them again, they were gone in a cloud round the brewer's corner. - - - - - *CHAPTER XI* - - -Then for two days there were six very busy girls in Ullbrig--busier, -indeed, than any other six girls in the world, I think, and their name -was Pam. They cooked things in the little clean kitchen that gave forth -a savor like all the flesh-pots of Egypt; things that turned Jan -Willim's nostrils sideways in his head through trying to smell them from -the shoemakery at work with his head down, and elicited a constant sound -of snuffling outside the Post Office as of pigs that prize their snouts -under the stye door at feed time. They went abroad with baskets, whose -white napkins Ullbrig's fingers itched to lift, and pushed open the -blistered Vicarage door without knocking, and passed in. They were seen -to pay calls at Mrs. Fussitter's, and then Ullbrig sent bonnetless -emissaries after them, with their bare arms wrapped up in harden aprons, -to inquire: - -"Ye 've 'ad Pam wi' ye just noo, en't ye? ... Ay, ah thought y' 'ad. Ah -thought ah seed 'er... Ah 's think she 'd nowt to say for 'ersen, 'ad -she?" - -You may judge, then, if Pam was busy. - -But in the end the things that had to be done were done, and the -appointed hour came to pass, and Pam slipped through the Vicarage door -with the final basket, and did not emerge again, and the shutters were -drawn in both windows. - -("Ay ... see ye ... look there! ... If ah did n't think they would," -said Mrs. Fussitter, when all hope had gone with the second. "They -weean't let onnybody tek a bit o' interest i' them, ah-sure. Ah mud -just as well 'a gotten on wi' my work nor waste time ower them 'at dizz -n't thank ye.") - -And lastly, the Spawer rode down from Dixon's when the dusk was falling, -to enjoy the ripe fruits of all this preparation. They heard the sound -of his bell, percolating the stillness from Hesketh's corner like a drop -of cool musical rain, and Pam said: "Here he is," in a whisper, almost -awestruck, and bit her nails between her white teeth with a sudden -enlargement of eye, as though they 'd been lying in wait for a burglar -all this time, and the burglar had come. - -And for a moment her heart failed her. She did n't know what to do. -For how was she there? Why was she there? By what right was she there? -What folly or blind presumption had led her to be there? Why had she -ever consented to be there? - -Suppose it was all a mistake, after all, and he did n't really expect -her. What would happen then? What should she do if his face dropped -discernibly when she showed herself, and he became cold? - -Oh, he would be terrible cold. - -And what would he be thinking of if his thoughts made him look like -that? Would he be thinking of the same things as the schoolmaster? - -Oh, no, no, no! Would he? - -Would he turn his back upon her, and talk over her to Father Mostyn as -though she were a mere wooden palisade? What if she was a lady, as -Father Mostyn found necessary to remind her at times when she did n't -act like one? How was he to know that? - -And even if he did know it, what did it matter? If the thing itself was -wrong to start with, how was it bettered because a lady did it? - -Besides ... she was n't a lady. - -She knew very well she was n't. She was just the post-girl. And he 'd -been most good to her in the past; had shaken hands with her and talked -French for her (that she was trying hard to learn, with Father Mostyn's -assistance, out of an eighteenth century grammar that his father's -father had used), and promised to play to her whenever she wanted. - -Oh, yes ... she knew; and was very grateful. But that was different -now. Then (and he knew it, too) she had been trying to get out of his -way. Now she was thrusting herself into it. She was taking advantage -of his own kindness to claim friendship and equality out of it, like the -impudent beggars that make your one favor the plea for asking a dozen. -Friendliness was one thing; friendship was another. - -Oh, what should she do? and how should she meet him? - -It was a terrible moment. - -And then Pam suddenly bethought herself, and dipped her face swiftly -into the font of her two joined hands--as though for baptism by -resolution--and prayed. - -It was very silly of her, of course--though, for the matter of that, -lots of people do the same thing when they are in trouble--particularly -girls; and Pam was only a girl, we are to remember. - -Perhaps she did n't exactly pray so much as think aloud in her thoughts, -so that God might hear His name and listen to her if He would. Very -quickly and earnestly, and without any stops at all, as though the words -had been in her great heart to start with, and she 'd just turned it -upside down. And no sooner had they turned out than she heard the -Spawer's two feet strike the ground outside like a dotted crochet and a -quaver in a duple bar as he jumped from his bicycle, and heard Father -Mostyn throw open the front door and say "Ha!" and the Spawer give him -back sunny greeting in his familiar voice of smiles (that she seemed to -know almost as well as her own--if not better), and immediately her fear -left her as though it had never been; and she knew he was expecting her -and would be glad to see her, and had come more on her account than on -his own, and would put out his hand as soon as ever he saw her, and -smile friendship; and her appetite for this joyous double feast -returned. - -Then she threw up her head and shook it, and slipped out into the hall -(she 'd been standing out of sight in the door-frame during her -momentary disquietude), with her lips a little apart as though for the -quickened breathing of eagerness that has been a-running, and her white -teeth glistening between like the pure milk of human kindness, and her -cheeks aflush with the transparent golden-pink of a ripening peach, and -her head thrown back, and her chin tilted forward, and her two eyes -gazing forth--each under an ineffable half-width of lid; and nobody a -penny wiser about the prayer. - -"Ha! Come in; come in," Father Mostyn was saying. "Take stock of our -lamp. Ha! the glory makes you blink. That's better than the -reprehensible Ullbrig habit of carrying lighted candles with us to see -who 's at the front door, and setting our guests on fire while we shake -hands; or inviting 'em into darkness and bidding 'em stand still and -break nothing until we 've got the shutters up and can strike a match. -Tell Archdeaconess Dixon when you get back that his reverence has a -twenty-four candle-power lamp lavishing its glory in the hall--just for -shaking hands and hanging your hat up by--it 'll do her good to know!" -The Spawer, who had already been passing his recognitions to Pam over -Father Mostyn's shoulder, leaned across the bicycle and shook hands with -her to her heart's content in his own happy fashion--a fashion that had -nothing of offensive familiarity about it, nor any chill of reserve, but -was as sunny as you please and honestly affectionate. Had he pulled her -ear or patted her cheek or kissed her, it would have seemed to come -quite naturally to the occasion under the circumstances, without any -suggestion of impropriety. But he did n't do any of these things--nor -did he call her by any name--which Pam noticed. He simply shook the -little brown handful of fingers that had been so busy on his behalf -these two days, and smiled upon her. - -"Pam, dear child," his Reverence was saying, "how 's the table getting -on? Ready to sit down to, is she?" - -Then he turned to the Spawer. - -"You 've brought your appetite with you, Wynne?" he charged him, with -solicitous interrogation. - -"All there is of it," the Spawer affirmed pleasantly. "They advised me -to up at the Cliff (if it 's not betraying confidences)." A rendering -of the vernacular less literal, perhaps than elegant. "Noo, ye 'll get -some marma-lade!" had been Miss Bates' reflection on the subject. "... -So I 've been keeping it up to concert pitch all day." - -"Come along, then," said Father Mostyn. "Let 's all go and take the -table as we find it. No use waiting for formality's sake. We 'll -manage to get a feed off it somehow." - -And spreading out a benedictory semicircle of arm, whose left extremity -was about Pam and whose right fell paternally on the Spawer's shoulder, -he gathered them both before him like a hen coaxing her chickens, and so -urged them invitingly to the feast. - -Ah! but that was a feed to remember. The glorious, -never-to-be-forgotten first of many of its kind. The same old room it -was in which the Spawer had sat with Father Mostyn two nights ago, but -you could never have known it without being told. There was no longer -any need to walk like a prisoner in shackles, sliding one foot past the -other for fear of treading on crockery, or balancing outstretched arms -as you went against the dizzy inclination to sit down. All the things -by the side of the wall and the skirting-board (including the cobwebs) -were either gone or unrecognisably reduced; cunningly compressed into -semblances of Chesterfields and ottomans and settees. And all about the -room were traces of Pam's taste and explorative industry; everything -that had a good side to show showed it, and even those that had n't had -been coaxed by Pam's alluring fingers into looking as though they had. - -You may guess if the Spawer tried politely to make believe he did n't -notice any change in the room. - -But the crowning glory of the place and of all Pam's achievements--it -was the table. Four candles lighted it and a brass lamp, and they were -every one lighted to start with. There was a chicken-pie in a Mother -Hubbard frill, with its crust as brown as a hazel-nut, and just nicely -large enough to feed half a dozen, which is a capital size for three; -and a noble sirloin of beef, fringed with a hoary lock of horse-radish, -and arching its back in lonely majesty on an oval arena of Spode; and -there was a salad, heaped up high under the white and yellow chequer of -sliced eggs, and a rosy tomato comb, in a glorious old oaken bowl as big -as a kettle-drum, china-lined, bound with three broad hoops of silver -and standing on three massive silver claws; and there were some savory -eggs, deliciously embowered in their greenery of mustard and cress, and -a tinned tongue, tissue-papered in white and red, and garnished with -stars and discs and crescents as though it had never known what it was -to sleep in darkness in an air-tight tin under Fussitter's counter; and -some beetroot, brimming in a blood-red lake of vinegar; and whipped -creams, and a trifle pudding, all set out on snowy white damask amid an -arctic glitter of glass and silver and cutlery. Except the cheese, -which was a Camembert, and went by itself on the grained side-cupboard, -where all the tumblers and wine-glasses had been congregated before. - -And they sat down to table. - -Father Mostyn took his place at the head, in the ecclesiastical -high-backed arm-chair of oak, facing the beef and the window, with the -big buck-horn hafted carving-knife to his right hand and the carving -fork to his left for insignia of office, each of them rearing its nose -over a monstrous cut-glass rest, shaped like a four-pound dumbbell. Pam -sat on his left. And the Spawer sat exactly in front of Pam on the -other side of the table; whenever they raised their eyes they were -looking at each other. While they were drawing their serviettes across -their knees, Father Mostyn keeled abstractedly over the arm of his chair -towards Pamela with his eyelids curiously lowered, as though he were -trying to catch sight of a fly on his nose, and named her in a spirit of -gentle musing: - -"... Pam ... dear child?" - -Then Pam threw up her chin fairly and squarely and fearlessly, after the -manner of one who had nothing to be ashamed of, looking into the -Spawer's eyes without flinching, first of all, and thence to the very -gates of Heaven over his shoulder and crossed herself, and lifted her -clear, bell-like voice in pronouncement, and said: - -"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost." - -Whereupon Father Mostyn crossed himself too--with easy familiarity, as -though he were sprinkling surplus snuff off his fingers; being a priest, -and in the profession, so to speak--his neck stretched out the while -like that of a Christmas Eve turkey, and his nose thrown up raptly over -the beef; after which he let his serviette slip through his knees, and -took hold of both arms of his chair, and flung himself recklessly out -over them at right angles, first to one side of the table and then to -the other, in bland survey, like Punch delivering his immortal gallows -oration, and said: - -"Pam, dear child.... What are you giving us?" as though Pam had not -reiterated every dish to him half a dozen times that very night. - -"... There are the herrings," she suggested, assuring herself by a sight -of them, with a hopeful slant of inquiry for his Reverence's approval. - -"Ha!" Father Mostyn cast up recognisant eyes to Heaven as though he had -not understood this signal act of mercy to form one of the items of -Pam's grace, and must needs now add a special acknowledgment. -"Beautiful! beautiful! Pass them along, dear child. A plebeian fish at -three a penny, but one of many virtues, whose sole faults lie in its -price and name. Fortunately, those are faults not likely to affect the -epigastrium. Wynne, my boy." He received the dish from Pam's fingers -and transferred it magnificently over the roast beef to the Spawer's -side of the table; a gesture that made rare caviare of it at once, "... -let me persuade you. Herring olives prepared according to the recipe of -my late maternal uncle, Rear-Admiral Sir Alexander Cornelius...." - -And so they entered upon it, with little thin, crustless sandwiches of -brown bread and butter (Pam's making) to accompany the olives, and the -Spawer went twice without shame,--just as Pam had arranged he -should,--and it acted beautifully. You would never have known she 'd -risen from the table if you had n't been watching to see what became of -them. And after that they turned their eyes towards the beef with one -accord, and Father Mostyn uttered a dread "Ha!" and seized it between -knife and fork like an executioner, and whipped it over and stuck the -fork critically into the undercut, holding his nose very high, and -knitted at the brows, and looking terribly down the sides of it through -his lashes, and drew the knife (another awful moment for Pam) and melted -in a rapturous smile as the blade sank easily, out of sight, and said: - -"Beautiful! beautiful! ... Cuts like a bar of butter, dear child." - -In such wise they embarked upon the beef stage, and laid siege to Pam's -succulent salad, with its tender, juicy greens and its mellifluous cream -sauce. Then the pie passed in turn, nobly supported by the savory eggs, -and similarly succeeded all the other items of the feed--(a glorious -procession)--the stewed plums, the custard, the trifle pudding, the -port-wine jellies, the whipped creams, and the cheese, with the -wherewithal to wash them down and cleanse the palate for its -discriminating duties--St. Julia winking rosily in the tinted claret -glasses by the sides of Father Mostyn and the Spawer; simple lemonade in -a tumbler for Pam to put her lips to. - -And all the while they talked. At least, the Spawer and Father Mostyn -did. Pam said less with her lips, but her eyes were always present in -the heart of the conversation--so frankly and sweetly and freely -communicative, and with such beautiful brows of sympathetic -understanding playing above them that one never felt any need of the -spoken word. Indeed, one did n't even notice it was n't there. That -was because she possessed the unconscious subtle faculty of extending -her words through manner; of perfuming them, as it were, with her own -sweet, ineffable identity, so that what had been a mere brief-spoken -monosyllable, unmemorable of itself, became through her a complete -sentence in physical expression, memorable for some beautiful phrase of -neck or lips, or brows, or all of them together, perhaps, in one -melodious gesture. - -And after they 'd saturated themselves through and through with the talk -of things musical till the girl's eyes were wonder-worlds, swimming -gloriously aloft amid whole systems of consonant stars, and the priest -was a-hum in every fibre of him with fragmentary bars and snatches of -quotation under the gathering force of musical remembrance, like a -kettle coming to the boil. After all this they passed in procession -over the echoing flagstones into the far room, where was the little -sprightly old-fashioned spinster of a Knoll piano, exhaling still a -faint pungency of ammonia from its recent ablutions, with new candles in -its sconces and an open copy of Rossini's Stabat Mater laid suggestively -on its desk, and all its yellow ivories exposed in a four-octave smile -of seduction. - -And here Pam brought those familiar etceteras of hospitality with which -the Spawer had already made acquaintance; and filled the pipe as -unconcernedly and as skilfully as though she were a seasoned smoker; and -sliced the three rounds of lemon for his Reverence's glass. - -And they made music--glorious music--on the little short-compassed -upright. They had the concerto, of course--what was written of -it--which Pam, nursing intent clasped hands in her lap, with her head -erect and her red lips folded and her eyes aglow, adjudged more -beautiful the more she heard it. Oh, what a glorious thing it was to be -a composer, and have one's head filled with beautiful music in place of -other people's ordinary humdrum ideas! And Father Mostyn passed a -rhapsodical hand over his shining scalp and said: "Ha! ... makes one -long for a few hairs to stand on end in tribute to it. Such music as -that seems somehow to be wasted on a bald head." - -And they had the A-flat prelude again, that sealed Pam's eyes with the -great round tears of remembrance. And the Black Study they had; and some -of Bach's Englische Suiten; and bits of Beethoven, the Waldstein; and -the III; and part of the "Emperor"; and snatches of Brahms--all just as -they came into the Spawer's head, with little illuminative discourses to -accompany them--a sort of running verbal analytic programme, as it were. -And Father Mostyn gave them reminiscences of Mario and Grisi and Braham -and the great Lablache, and sang "I am no better than my Fathers," from -Elijah. - -Not a bit better, really--if indeed as good. - -And the Spawer furnished humorous illustrations of all the great -players. De Pachmann, with the high, uplifted finger and exquisite -smile; and the statuesque Paderewski, sitting stonily at the piano; and -the oblivious Rubinstein; and the imperious Liszt; and the pedagogic Von -Buelow; all of them as funny as could be, with real musicianly insight -at the back of them; most felicitous examples of instructive comparative -criticism. - -And Pam had her first lesson this night, and was quite ready to begin -the second when that was over; and there seemed not more happiness in -Heaven. - - - - - *CHAPTER XII* - - -It was midnight when Pam breathed guarded good-by over her shoulder to -Father Mostyn and the Spawer in the roadway, and let herself noiselessly -out of their sight through the post-house door. - -Up above, in the bedroom that lay over the passage, a rhythmic sonorous -sound gave token that the postmaster, at least, was enjoying the -abundant fruits of blessed repose. In darkness Pam tiptoed to the -little clean kitchen, and cautiously lighting the candle that her own -hands had left ready for her on the corner of the dresser, held it -gently about her on all sides in final inspection, for the observance of -any little neglected duties that might be the better for doing before -she took her way to bed. To one side of the fireplace there was the -little clothes-horse standing--more, by right, a pony--gaily caparisoned -with clocked hose and plain; long stockings and short; grey woollens; -unstarched collars; and sundry inspiriting pink and white frilled -trappings, that should have given mettle to the sorriest nag alive. -Through the internal brightness of remembered music Pam's practical mind -went out instinctively to the stockings. She set down her candle, and -ran them one by one like gloves over her left hand as far as the foot, -working her fingers within the hidden-most recesses of toe and heel for -any signs of the wanting stitch. Out of some dozen pairs it wanted in -three that forthwith did not return to the little clothes-pony, but went -over her left arm in token of unsoundness. With these dangling at her -skirt she made quick, noiseless tracks over the kitchen floor to acquire -the necessary paraphernalia of repair--for nobody ever recognised the -superiority of time present over time past or future better than Pam, -or, recognising it, put the recognition to more practical account--and -slipping a purposeful finger through the ringed handle of the -candlestick, prepared to fetch worsted from the kitchen parlor. - -She took the knob in her hand and entered naturally enough, opening the -door gently first of all, against any grease-sputtering displacement of -air, and keeping watch on the candle's behavior as she brought it round -from the shelter of her bosom and passed it in front of her across the -threshold. Quite two steps forward she had taken with her eyes on the -little yellow flame, before something strange about the feel of the room -plucked peremptorily at her attention as though with live fingers, and -brought her up on her heel, gazing in front of her, to an involuntary -quick-drawn breath of surprise. On the wool mat, in the centre of the -square table where they gathered at meals, stood the lamp, still burning -dimly, and in the obscurity beyond the lamp, the blur as of a second -globe, where a human head lay bowed in the supporting hollow of two -pallid hands. - -Head and hands of the schoolmaster, beyond a doubt. How well Pam knew -them; the long nervous fingers, that always flew to his throat when he -addressed her, as though to throttle back the lurking dog of his -dislike; the high, bulging forehead, with the compressed temples and the -pulse in their veins; the whiteness and brightness of the scalp where -the hair should have been. Oh, how Pam had studied them times out of -number, like some strange, unlearnable lesson, trying to get them into -her head and realise what they meant, and why--but never, perhaps, with -her soft eyelashes fringing a greater perplexity than when she looked -over them to-night. Never before had Pam found him--or any other of the -household--awaiting her arrival when she returned from a late sitting -with Father Mostyn. Was he troubled? Was he ill? - -It was but a momentary glimpse of him that she caught, with head and -hands together; but in that one moment he seemed all these things. The -next, while Pam was revolving in her mind whether she should speak his -name or cough, or rattle her matches, or depart more softly than she had -come--the attitude dissolved. The long spectral fingers slid downwards -(so quickly that he might have been merely drawing them across his -cheeks when Pam entered) and his body rose from the chair to a standing -posture. He gave no look at Pam, though his averted head showed -recognition of her presence. - -For a second or so there was silence in the room, Pam gazing over her -candle at the drawn white face--whiter and more drawn than usual, it -seemed to her--with the guilty thought beating within her that once -again she had brought herself before this man unwelcomely. Then, seeing -that she was the intruder, and that he, risen to full height from the -chair, showed no signs of addressing her, or even of actively ignoring -her, but stood passive, as though she had summoned his attention and he -was simply giving it, without prejudice to any explanation she might -wish to make--begged his pardon (for Heaven knows what) in a voice of -infinite apology and contrition. - -"I hope I have n't disturbed you..." she said. He bit his lip over a -strained short "No." - -"I did n't mean to. I only came in for some worsted ... Emma used it -last. A grey ball with three needles in it, the color of uncle's -stockings. May I look for it? ... It 's by the Bible, I think." - -Without a word he turned on his heel to the sideboard where the big -everyday reading Bible lay, and commenced a silent search. Something -about the desolate droop of his thin, threadbare shoulders and the weary -aimlessness of his seeking, sent (as his rear prospect always seemed to -send) a thrill of spontaneous pity through Pam's heart. Why she pitied -him, or exactly what there was about the shiny obverse of him to -stimulate the emotion, not for the life of her could she have told. - -He was some considerable time with his coat-tails turned towards her, -and seemed, by the laborious stooping of his shoulder, quagmired in his -search, she suggested--with such gentleness of breathing as would not -have rocked the flame of her candle--that perhaps ... if he would let -her ... she might be able.... - -Immediately he spun round from the side cupboard as though she had -struck him, with the needles flashing in his hand. - -"Is this your worsted?" he said. - -"Oh ... thank you so much!" - -Her eyes corroborated the color in an instant, and she started forward -with grateful extended hand to relieve him of the necessity for coming -more than halfway across the kitchen to meet her. - -He took the words, but his eyes refused to admit the look. "No -thoroughfare" seemed eternally writ up over them. Pam gazed a second at -the stern intimation, and then, cuddling her candle to her for -departure, turned--softly, so that he might not construe one single -grain of anger into her going--for the door. Halfway there she looked -back irresolutely over a shoulder, hesitating whether to speak or not. - -"Your lamp ... is getting low," at length she ventured. "I think, -perhaps ... it may want a little more oil. Shall I refill it for you?" -she inquired solicitously. "The smell may give you a headache." - -For answer he stooped over the table on both hands and blew out the -convulsed flame with two short breaths. A thin, acrid column of smoke -from the red wick commenced to wend its way upward, like a soul in -tedious migration. - -"I am going to bed," he said, - -Pam's quick ear caught the sudden collapse of utter weariness in his -voice as he said it. Something in the sound of it smote her soul to -pity, as though she had had a momentary sight of his shoulders. - -"You were not ... sitting up ... for me?" she asked--begged would be a -better word. - -"Why should I sit up ... for you?" he asked her; and his two hands went -up to his collar. - -"I don't know ... why you should," she said, plucking her reply to -pieces, petal by petal, in soft embarrassment, as though it had been a -flower. All the working of his lips, it seemed to her, could not -conceal the sardonic amusement her answer stirred in him. Red shame -rushed up the slim column of the girl's neck and plunged for hiding in -the roots of her hair. "... And of course ... you did n't," she -hastened to add. - -"Of course." - -Whether he repeated her words in mere unconcerned assent, or pressed -upon them with the hard knuckle of sarcasm, or was using them -interrogatively, Pam could not make sure, nor dared she ask, though she -delayed awhile with her eyes fixed for solution upon his face. - -"I 'm glad you did n't," she said gently, and in silence led the way -into the little clean kitchen. "You will want a fresh candle," she -said, putting her own down once more on the dresser, and reaching the -empty holder, that by household consent was allowed to pertain to his -exclusive use. - -Out of a drawer in the dresser she produced a piece of newspaper; tore -off a strip; narrowed its width by folding; bound it neatly round the -base of the candle; pressed the candle securely into its socket; lighted -it from her own, and handed it--after its flame was sufficiently -established--to the waiting man. - -He took it awkwardly and tardily enough, rocking so long in silence on -his feet before acceptance, with head thrown forward and chin bearing -heavily over his collar, that for some moments Pam had doubts whether he -was not fast asleep and about to fall prone across the outstretched -candle and her. But roused at length, as it would seem, by her -prolonged gaze of inquiry, he lifted his head and extended an uncertain -hand--a hand so uncertain, indeed, that at the first attempt it went -wide of the candlestick altogether. At the second, more through Pain's -management than his, thumb and finger closed upon it and he turned to -go. The look of his dazed eyes and the dry, white lips that rubbed -impotently sideways upon each other to shape a soundless "Thank you," -sent a great surging tide of solicitous alarm through Pam's bosom. She -was after him in a moment. - -"Mr. Frewin ... Mr. Frewin.... Are you ill?" - - - - - *CHAPTER XIII* - - -His foot was already on the first step when she urged her bated voice of -inquiry after him. He stayed for a moment so, as though he lacked -strength to ascend or purpose to speak, and then turned upon her very -slowly. - -"You ask that," he said, compressing his words through bloodless lips, -hard and set. "Don't you know? Can't you see?" - -The fixed, meaningful way he looked at her, as though his face were a -written answer, and she could read it if she would, and the strange, -underlying emphasis of his question, took Pam altogether by surprise. -Did n't she know? Could n't she see? All the dread sicknesses under -the sun seemed to swathe him and envelope him in their hideous mantles -as she gazed ... a fearful kaleidoscopic counterpane of ailments. Which -of all these had her blindness overlooked? - -Did n't she know? Could n't she see? - -"See what?" she begged, in the whispered hush of a voice that besought -an answer it scarcely dared to hear. For, framed in the narrow dark -inlet of the staircase, with the candle casting corpse-hollows over his -eyes, and sinking his cheeks under shadow, and sharpening his nose, and -hardening his nostrils--to the girl's disturbed imagination he seemed -dead and coffined already. "Oh, tell me, please!--what I ought to see. -Oh, I am so sorry! Is there anything you want? Is there anything I can -get you?" - -"You know what I want," he said, and Lazarus, wakened from the dead, -might have spoken his first words in just such a voice. - -"_I_ know what you want?" repeated Pam, falling back a little dismayed -before the directness of his charge, and the black inability of her mind -to meet it. - -"... You," he said. - -"Me?" said Pam again, more vacantly still, taking the word from him, and -trying it in turn, like a key, upon all those sayings that had gone -before, to see which of their several senses it might fit and open. -Then, all of a sudden she saw the door it opened, and the threshold it -led over, and let the key fall, as it were, from her hands, and covered -her face hotly with her ten small fingers. "Oh, no, no, no!" she panted. -"You don't mean that." - -She opened a place in her fingers to look at him through, in the silence -that followed, like a fawn staring startled from out the high stalks of -a thicket, and let both hands slip downward to her skirts with the limp -fall of bewilderment. To think this was the secret of his disfavor; -this the reason for all his anger, and all her self-interrogations. -That he loved her. - -He laid down his candle on the dresser beside her own, and ran the -finger of his left hand looseningly round the inner rim of his collar, -as though it had suddenly grown tight about him. - -"Why not that?" he said, in a voice so low and natureless and hoarse -that it might have issued from a man of straw, for all the tone it gave. - -"Because ... oh ... because of everything," Pam told him, with troubled -eyes and lips and fingers. "I never expected it. It 's all so sudden." - -"Sudden," he said. - -Pam moved her lips in mournful affirmation. It cut her to the quick to -hurt him. - -"I 'm afraid so," she said, laying the words soothingly over the raw in -his soul. "... Terribly sudden." - -"... When it 's been going on ... for two years. Ever since ... I came. -You call that sudden?" - -"So long as that?" said Pam, in open-eyed amaze. "Oh, I never knew it. -Indeed I did n't. I had n't the faintest idea." - -He passed his hand across his forehead with a look of pain. - -"... And I thought I could n't keep it from you--even when I tried. I -fancied you read me through and through, and understood what I wanted to -ask of you--but could n't, till now. You looked as though you did. Did -n't you? Don't play with me. Tell me. You must have known." - -Pam shook a head of pitying negation. - -"It was n't that I did n't try," she told him, "... for I tried my best. -But I could n't. I never thought ... you cared one little bit about me. -If I 'd thought you cared for me ... there are lots of unkind things I -'d never have done that I did do, without thinking. I, would n't have -followed you into the room when you were alone, and looked at you, and -tried to make you look at me, and spoken to you. Never. You 'll -believe I would n't when I say so, won't you? All the time I was only -trying to make friends with you--that I was already, though I did n't -know it. And all the time you thought ... that I saw what was the -matter with you, and knew why you would n't look at me, and what you -meant when you turned your back. But I did n't. Indeed I did n't. Oh, -how spiteful and cruel you must have thought me," she said, with the -beautiful wetness of tears about her lashes. "And I did n't mean it for -cruelty a bit. I meant it for kindness. It 's all been a mistake from -the first." - -"Is it a mistake ... now?" he asked. - -"A mistake now?" said Pam, and looked at him for a moment; and then drew -a breath, and looked at him again; and drew another breath, and still -looked at him; while her lower lip broke loose and fluttered a little, -like a hovering butterfly, and stopped, and fluttered a second time, and -her lashes fell by an almost imperceptible shade--less a falling of the -lashes, indeed, than a falling of something not definable--a thin, -gauzy, darkening veil of trouble, it seemed to be, over the very look -itself. "I hope not," she said; but her voice and her eyes and her lips -belied the hope she spoke of. "We understand each other now ... don't -we?" - -"What do we understand?" he asked huskily. - -"I thought you knew," Pam said, setting her gaze on him, in intrepid -wonderment to think he should comprehend so badly, or so soon forget. -"I 've just ... been telling you." - -"I know nothing," he said, and then in a sudden husky outburst of -avowal: "There is only one thing I want to know. I 've told you what it -is. Have you nothing to say in return?" - -The unavailing exertion of trying to raise his lead-heavy voice clear of -a low whisper made him stop to cough--the hard, dry cough that weeks of -patient nursing and nights of anxious solicitude had taught Pam to know -so well. - -"Nothing ... that I should like to say," Pam answered unsteadily. -"Nothing that you would wish to hear me say. I thought ... I 'd said -everything. Oh, please ... don't ask me to say any more. It might only -make things worse." - -He swallowed time upon time in slow succession. - -"And this is the end of all my waiting?" - -"If you 'll let it, please, it is," Pam begged him, very pleadingly for -herself; very sorrowfully for him. - -"I can't let it," he blurted after a while. "You don't know what you -are asking of me. I can't give you up." - -"But I 'm not yours to give," Pam protested, with an awed voice, at this -unexpected assumption of possession. - -"Whose are you?" he cried - -"Nobody's, of course," Pam said, in meek submission, "except my own." - -"You could be mine ... if you would," he told her, grappling with his -throat again. "Just for the saying of a word you could. I 've waited -for you for two years. Is one word too much to give ... for two years' -waiting?" - -"Ginger waited for me longer than that," Pam said, very simply. "And I -said 'No' to Ginger." - -"Who was Ginger, to want you?" he exclaimed. "You could never have -married Ginger." - -"I did n't," said Pam quietly. "But Ginger loved me." - -"I love you," he said fiercely. - -"Ginger loved me first," Pam maintained stoutly. "And others loved me -before Ginger. If I 'd said to them what they wanted me to say to them -and what you want me to say to you, there would never have been any -question of your asking me." - -"Why did n't you let me die ... when I had the chance?" he demanded -bitterly. "But you were kind to me then. You took advantage of me. -You were kind when I was ill and could n't help myself. Death stood as -near to me as I stand to you ... but day and night you stood between us -both and saved me." - -"Oh, no, no!" Pam disclaimed hastily, in twofold fear and modesty, -shrinking before the acceptance of such an obligation. "It was n't I -that saved you. It was you yourself that got strong and better. I only -sat by you and did what little I could; but it was nothing at all ... -really." - -"Nothing at all," he said, and clenched his fist in assurance. "It was -everything. Why did I get stronger and better--but for you? Because -you were by me, and because I wanted you ... and could n't bear to leave -you. Look," he said, standing back from her suddenly, as though to give -her full view of his statement, "do you know there were times ... times -when I could have turned my face to the wall and died for the mere -wishing?" - -"But you would never have done that," Pam whispered, in hushed alarm. - -"Why should n't I have done it?" he asked her, "... when death was so -easy and living so hard? You alone stopped me from doing it. The -thought of you and the sight of you, and the hope of you. Often and -often I was looking at you ... when you thought I was asleep." - -"Sometimes I saw you," said Pam. - -"... And making up my mind whether to die ... or risk living ... for -your sake. But I never could die ... because of you. And once, when -you had been a long while gone ... I said to myself: 'How easy to slip -off now ... before she comes back' ... and just as I was wondering -whether there would be time ... you came in, and stooped over me and -kissed me. How could I die after that? Once I made up my mind to kiss -you back ... but my lips had n't strength. You saw them move, and asked -me if I wanted a drink, and I said 'Yes'; but I did n't. And you cried -over me, too." - -"I was sorry for you," said Pam. "I wanted you to get better." - -"Are n't you sorry for me now?" he asked. "... Now that my mind is ill -... as my body was then?" - -The terrible earnestness of his love troubled her. Love before she had -witnessed in plenty, but never love like this. It was as though she -stood with clasped hands before some burning homestead that her own -unintending fingers had fired, and saw the fierce wind fan the flames, -and heard the cry for succor from within ... and could do nothing. Oh, -it was horrible! For a while they looked at each other and said -nothing, for each feared speaking; he, lest he might divert Pam's -answer; Pam, because she had no answer to divert. - -"Well?" he said at length. "Have you nothing to say to me?" - -Pam only shook her head. What had she to say, and how could she say it -when her own great heart was hammering away like a stone-mason in the -place where her voice should have been. - -"Not even a word?" he said, with a broken sob. "Won't you say ... you -'ll try and care for me ... if I can make you? Is it too much to ask -that?" - -Pam put her hands to her face. - -"Oh ... I don't know. What am I to say? What am I to do?" - -"... Do nothing," he said bitterly. - -"But I want to do something," Pam protested desperately--though her own -shrinking conscience told her how little. "... And I don't say I won't -try. But perhaps ... I could never learn. I don't know. How am I to -know? And if I say I 'll try ... and can't in the end ... what a -dreadful thing for us both.... Oh, are you quite sure there 's nothing -short of love that will do?" she asked, with the lameness that can get -no further, and wrenched her hands, and looked at him in helpless -appeal. - -"That means you won't try?" he said; and she could see his hand close -tight upon the dresser. - -"Oh, no, no, no ... I will try!" Pam cried, charging blindly down the -open roadway of consent, for fault of any other way to turn. "... If -you wish it, I 'll try. But oh, please, it is n't the least bit of a -promise ... and you must n't ... must n't build on it. And you must n't -try and force me to learn ... or be angry with me if I 'm slow ... or -can't. Perhaps I can't. Oh, it may very well be that I can't ... for -all my trying. - -"... And even ... if I ever grew to care anything for you ... in the way -you want--and I dare n't think or say. It all seems so sudden and -unreal. It seems as though I were dreaming it. Last night--half an -hour ago even--I never thought you wanted to speak to me or have -anything to do with me at all, and now--you 're asking me to try and -love you. And even if I grow to care for you in that way (and I don't -know. Oh, you must n't think I 'm promising) I should n't want ... I -mean it would have to be ... oh, for a long time. Years, perhaps. -Longer than ever you cared to wait. I told ... somebody once, when they -asked me--what you 've been asking me, that I never meant to get -married. And if I did ... it would be like acting a story to them--as -they said I was doing at the time. And I 've said 'No' to such lots of -others too ... and now to say 'Yes' to anybody (and I 'm only saying -half 'Yes'--only a quarter 'Yes'--to you) seems, somehow, like breaking -faith. It seems mean ... and unfair. And anyway it could n't ... could -n't possibly be yet. Could n't be for ever such a long time. Perhaps -you 'd never want to wait so long as that." - -"Wait?" He thrust out his hand desperately to shut this dangerous -back-door of her concession. "With you at the end of my waiting ... I -would wait till the Judgment Day." - -The dreary, dogged patience of the man's passion chilled Pam. It rose -up high in her mind like an awesome black monument of Patience, and cast -its great shadow over the brightness of her life--on and on and on -interminably, out of sight to the dull sun-setting of her clays. If she -could have recalled her words then. If she could have had the strength, -the moral strength, to throw him aside from her then and there--at never -mind what momentary cost to their feelings. All her soul, she knew, was -striving impotently to cast off the encumbrance of him--but the strength -was lacking. Strength to be cruel; strength to be kind. Because she -could not bring herself to deal the one smart blow that the moment -required with her own hand ... she was throwing herself contemptibly -upon the protection of the Future; making herself the Future's ward, and -trusting, in some blind, unreasoning fashion, that her guardian would be -responsible for her when the time came, and do for her what she had -lacked the daring to do for herself, and free her without consequence -(if so needed), and deal happiness all round with that lavish hand for -which the Future is, and has been, and ever will be, so extolled. - -Wild, fatal fantasy of Pam's--that she shared in common with every man, -woman, and temporising child of this self-deluded, procrastinating -world. For the Future is that dread witch that, appearing first under -the guise of a sweet and amiable old lady, turns suddenly into the -red-eyed, horrid old hag of to-day. - -But alas! The compact was drawn and signed and sealed. What -consequence that Pam imposed a hundred feverish reservations and -supplications, and qualifications and amendments, and loopholes and -contingencies upon her little old lady in the signing--and seemed to be -granted them every one? Into this little old lady's house she signed -herself for all that, and henceforth all her goings and comings, and -sleepings and wakings were no longer her sweet own, as heretofore, but -under the authority and subject to the control of the little sweet -amiable old lady--who was only biding her good time (as you may be sure) -to snap into the horrid, red-eyed hag we wot of, and fall upon Pam with -the black venom of her malignant nature. - -All through the remaining hours till dawn and daylight the cough of the -schoolmaster rang out monotonously, dull and muffled, from beneath the -bedclothes like a funeral bell, and Pam, the only other awake in that -household to hear it, lay and listened to its tolling with great, wide -eyes staring at the darkness of the ceiling, and at the darkness beyond -the foot of the bed, and at the darkness where the door was, and -sometimes passionately into the smothered darkness of her own pillow, -and said to herself, with a wondering horror: - -"When daybreak comes ... shall I wake?" - - - - - *CHAPTER XIV* - - -Green July, gliding smoothly on the noiseless axles of its diurnal -wheels, gives way at last to golden August, and beneath the assiduous -burning of the sun the cornfields begin to brown like the crust of a -pasty under the brasing iron. It is the mystic eve of harvest, that -consummation of the farmer's year, and all the countryside is -palpitating with it. Everywhere the talk is of cutting, and men, on -meeting, cast anxious eyes from each other's faces to the sky and ask: - -"Will it 'owd [hold], think ye?" - -And while this vast metamorphosis of color is creeping over the land, -and the countryside seems beating like a breast towards the consummation -of its great purpose, Pam and the piano and the Spawer and Father Mostyn -grow daily into a bond of deeper sympathy, and the wondrous ripening -process, so visible in externals, is going on no less surely within -their own hearts. On the little cracked Vicarage piano Pam practises -assiduously, and such is her zeal for the labor, and such her sense of -loyal gratitude to the setter of it and her desire to fulfil his -instructions that, by sheer force of love alone, she keeps pace with -what he teaches and wins his admiring praise for her progress. -Sometimes they gather at Father Mostyn's, cutting into chicken-pies one -night and finishing them off another. Sometimes Father Mostyn and Pam -walk up to Cliff Wrangham for the benefit of the better piano, and -compare the Archdeaconess's cookery--without comment, and very -kindly--and are set back by the Spawer, filled with music and affection. - -A state of things which greatly indignates the orphan Mary Anne, who -cries aloud to herself: - -"Is there nawbody good enough for 'im at Cliff Wrangham bud 'e mun gan -'is ways an' fetch 'em fro' Oolbrig?" - -And every morning, with the habit of second nature, the Spawer goes -forth and sits on the lane gate about Pam's time, and feels a sense of -emptiness somewhere--as though he 'd gone without his breakfast--when -she does n't come. But when she does, and he sees her hat or her blue -Tam-o'-Shanter sailing briskly along the hedgerow, his released -expectancy curls up into smiles like stretched wire, and he strolls to -meet her as though his face had never known doubt, and accompanies her -henceforth to the end of her journey, so that the girl's brisk walk, -divided now between the two of them, is a gentle amble scarcely quicker -than Tankard's 'bus that daily rumbled through Ullbrig. - -Their communion on these occasions, as at all times, is simple and -sacred. The perspicacious reader who has been preparing for tender -dialogues full of love and its understanding will have to suffer the -penalty of his perspicacity, for the sweet trivialities of love are in -no way touched upon. They talk of music; of struggles with "flesh" of -technique; of composition; of the meaning of music--if it has any. They -talk of French, and they talk French, of the recognised question and -answer pattern, till Pam gains quite a vocabulary of sea-coast words, -and could make herself understood intelligibly--and certainly -prettily--to any Frenchman on any cliff you like to name. And they talk -quite sincerely about the sea and the blueness of it; and bend down -their heads for the better appreciation of this great round bubble of -color; and draw each other's attention to clouds, to bees, to -butterflies, and nameless insects fluttering by. At other times, the -Spawer talks to her of his student life abroad and of his present-day -ambitions; the sort of glory he covets and the sort of glory by which he -sets no store. And the talk is of composers and schools of composers; -and players and schools of players--thick as shoals of herrings--till -Pam, who never forgets a precious word of what this deified mortal tells -her, but can reproduce its exact use and inflection for her own hearing -at any future time, is full to the red lips with critical discernments -and differentiations, and could astonish any wandering, way-logged -musician who might, for the sake of illustration, be presumed to find -himself in the district, and open subject of his own business with this -sweet girl stranger under her Government bag. - -Sometimes, towards the end of an evening at Father Mostyn's, the Doctor -drops in upon them casually, introducing himself with the invariable -"Don't let me distairrb ye"--though it is known he comes for whist. -Music appeals to him about as meaningfully as a German band to a stray -dog; and being a Scotchman, he says so in the fewest words wherein this -hard truth can be contained, nor ceases to manifest a lurking distrust -of the piano until they are safely squared round the card-table, and the -cards are being cut. In his own Scotch way he is as fond of Pam as can -be, and on the strength of this tacit affection asks her bluntly to do -whatever he may happen to be in need of at the time. - -"Ye 'll hae to gie me another match, Pam," he says unconcernedly, as he -deals, without looking at her. "A 'm no alicht yet." - -And when she offers it to him, already lighted, he merely holds his -pipe-bowl towards her from his mouth, as a matter of course, scooping up -his cards and drawing vigorously, while Pam applies the flame, till -combustion is effected, when he draws his mouth away. - -"Clubs are trumps," says he. - -Pam does n't mind his disregard of her in the least, for you see he does -n't mean anything by it, being a Scotchman; but she would enjoy these -games better if the exigencies of play did not always pit her against -the Spawer, inasmuch as she and he, being the two weak members of the -quartette, can never be partnered against such past masters as his -Reverence and the Doctor. Eventually, since it proves itself the most -equable division of the table, she comes to be the accepted partner of -the latter, who does not hesitate to acquaint her, with cutting -directness, of any discrepancy in her play. - -"What the deil made ye lead trumps, Pam?" he demanded of her, in blank -surprise, on one occasion. "Did ye no see me look at ye last time -Father Mostyn led them?" - -He is a typical hardy Scotsman, all sinew and gristle, and raw about the -neck, and thinks little--if indeed at all--concerning dress. For the -most part, you will see him bicycling about the roads in meagre -knickerbockers that were trousers when he first came to Ullbrig, blue -stockings, and heavy-soled boots, with the tags sticking off them like -spurs. In other respects, he is a reader of profane literature and -avowed sceptic. Between him and his Reverence the Vicar is a standing -feud of opinion, which finds vent in many an argumentative battle royal. -At the end of one of these tremendous conflicts, that would almost be -hand-to-hand at times but for the pacific whiskey-bottle between them, -the Doctor rises to his feet, buttons his coat-collar as a preliminary -to departure, and cries vehemently: - -"Hey, mon, but there 's na driving sense nor reason into ye. Hand over -the whiskey, and I 'll be gone. Ye 're as stubborn as Balaam's donkey." - -"Ha! with the same authority, dear brother," his Reverence answers -blandly. - -"And what authority will that be, pray?" asks the Doctor, bending the -stiff neck of the whiskey-bottle towards his tumbler, as though it were -his Reverence he had hold of. - -"Divine authority, dear brother," says Father Mostyn. "Divine -authority." - -"Divine authority," says the Doctor. "... Wi' yer meeracles. Mon, hae -ye ever hairrd a donkey speak?" - -"Ha! frequently, frequently," murmurs his Reverence, focussing a distant -point of space through his eyelashes, and waltzing softly, without -animus, to and fro in his foot radius. - -"Ah 'm no speakin' pairsonally, ye understand," the Doctor says, with a -tinge of remonstrance for levity, "but it will hae been in the pulpit ye -have hairrd it. Mon, hae ye never read Hume on the Meeracles? Are ye -no conversant wi' your Gibbon? D' ye pretend to tell me ye are ignorant -o' such men as Reenan and Strauss, and Bauerr and Darrwin, and Thomas -Huxley?" - -"Estimable people, no doubt, Friend Anderson," the Vicar tells him -imperturbably. "... Estimable people." - -"Ah doot ye 've read a wurrd of them," the Doctor pronounces bluntly. - -"So much the better for me, dear brother. So much the better for me." - -"Mon," says the Doctor, exasperated by this equanimous piety that all -his own exasperation cannot exasperate. "... Ye 're a peetifu' creature, -an' ah feel shame tae be drinkin' the whiskey o' such as you. Ye go -inta chairrch and fill a lot o' puir eegnorant people wi' mair ignorance -than they had without ye, teachin' them your fairy tales about apples -and sairrpints, and women bein' made oot o' man's ribs (did one ever -hearr the like!). Let's awa', an' mind dinna tek inta yer heid ta fall -sick this week, or it 'll go harrd wi' ye if ah 'm called." - -"Ha! We can die but once, Brother Anderson," the priest tells him -cheerfully. "Even all the science and medical skill in the world can't -kill us more than that." - -And so the moments of these four pass, and the harvest hour approaches, -inwardly and outwardly, until at last ... one day... - -But in the meanwhile, for all this life of external happiness that Pam -shared with others, she was serving her silent apprenticeship in the -house of the little old lady. Even when he was furthest from her the -schoolmaster clung close to her mind. Each time she laughed, each time -she looked into the Spawer's face, each time she spoke with him she saw -inside her--but as plainly as though she had been looking at him in the -flesh--the dark figure of the schoolmaster regarding her in mute -reproof, with hands to throat and beating temples. The brightest -moments of her happiness, indeed, threw this shadow blackly across her -mind like the gnomon of a dial when the sun shines clearest. Whenever -she returned now from Father Mostyn's or the Spawer's, he was always -there sitting up for her. Heaven knows why, for they had little enough -to say to one another. He never pressed himself upon her, but by -leaving himself to her good pity she felt the claim of him -tenfold--lacking the power to withhold what, perhaps, on demand, she -might have summoned courage to deny. Always he was dumbly set, like -those canvas collecting sheets on Lifeboat Saturdays, for the smallest -coppers of her kindness. If she had not looked into the larger kitchen -before bed she knew he would never have revealed himself, but she had -not the heart to ignore one as little courageous for the winning of her -love as she was herself for its defence. At times the thought of what -the future had in store for her troubled her so darkly that she knew not -how best to shape her present moments. Therefore, in place of shaping, -she merely whittled--for every cut this way, a cut that; for every chip -off one side, a chip off the other; so that though the rough wood she -worked on wore nearer down to her fingers, it assumed no shape. Through -fear of having been too cruel one day she was constantly over-kind the -next; and then, what she had lacked to charge in cruelty to him she -charged extortionately to herself, paid the bills in silence, and said -never another word. But though she could meet these little daily -expenditures, there was a great bill slowly mounting, she knew, which -should of a surety one day be presented to her. And who should pay -that? Who should pay that? - -While the music is at Father Mostyn's and the Spawer's she feels to a -certain extent in harbor against the evil day. But what shall happen -when this harbor is denied her, and for fault of its protection, she -must sail out into the open, unprotected sea? What will betide her -then? What is life coming to? - -Alas! She is soon to know. - -One day.... - - - - - *CHAPTER XV* - - -One day the Spawer wakes up suddenly to consciousness, like Barclay in -the hedge bottom, and discovers, as his friend Barclay has not -infrequently discovered before him, that he is occupying a strange and -uncomfortable position. It was on a Tuesday when he made the final -effort and awoke definitely to an actual sense of his location, but he -had been blinking at it unseeingly for some while before that. The -previous morning Father Mostyn had taken leave of Ullbrig for his few -days' annual pike fishing with the Rev. the Hon. Algernon Smythe -Trepinway in Norfolk, and this sudden break in the continuity of -existence had served as an alarum to the Spawer's long slumber. He woke -reluctantly, but with purpose, took his morocco red bathing drawers, his -towel and his stick, and without pausing to any appreciable length at -the lane gate, plunged across the two fields towards the cliff. - -It was a glorious, steadfast blue day. Not a cloud as big as the puff -of my lady's powder-box showed itself in any corner of the sky. No -breezes, even of the softest, filtered through the hot hedges, or cooled -the parched tips of the burning grass blades. Without intermission the -sun poured his golden largess down upon the earth from on high, so -forcefully that wherever the sunlight rested, it was as though a great -hot hand were imposing its weight. Yesterday the harvesting had set in -with a vengeance, and now the whole air was a-quiver with the whir of -busy blades, whose tireless activity seemed the very music made for -slumber, and lulled all other moving things towards somnolent repose. - -The beach lay out dazzling in its unbroken smoothness, like white satin, -and deserted quite. Not another footstep than his own had been, or in -all probability would be, there that day to tread destructive -perforating tracks over its beautiful surface of sand. Up and down, for -something like a dozen clear miles of coast, or so far as his eyes could -show him, he seemed, like a second Robinson Crusoe, monarch of all he -surveyed. The true spirit of the solitude of the lower Yorkshire coast -is here. There is no elaboration to the picture; it is plain and -lacking detail. Of foliage by the sea there is not a leaf, excepting -mere divisional hedges. Fields in cultivation and out of it run to the -very edge of the cliff--a sombre cliff of soft, dark earth, stained here -and there to unprepossessing rusty red, with trickling chalybeate -streams, and showing terrible toothmarks of the voracious sea, that -feeds its way inland on this part of the coast at the rate of a yard a -year. Looking over the brink of it you can discern as many as half a -dozen paths, in various stages of subsidence, that less than that number -of years ago led people along the cliff top as the path you stand on -leads them now. In other places you may see huge slices of grass land, -descending like great steps downwards to the shore in their progress -towards ultimate devourance, while warning fissures across the existing -pathway show where, perhaps this very winter, another step will be -detached and added to the never-ending stairway of demolition. - -In a sheltered inlet, where the sea has swept up a thick white carpet of -bleached sand, the Spawer pitches his bathing camp this morning. On -other occasions he has trod down here more gladsomely; the sea, -murmuring its musical cadences upon a lonely beach, has not made music -to him in vain. But for him to-day the sun is a little dim, the sea a -little jaded. The inward content that stood interpreter between his -soul and his outward worldly joyance is gone from him, and he stands -somehow like a stranger in the presence of strange things. Here on the -seashore, he has come to play a duet more full of emotion, and more -crowded with difficulties than any he knows within the province of -music, for it is a duet with his own soul. - -In a sense, dimly and vaguely, he has comprehended for a day past, a -couple of days past, at the most--Lord help him--a week, that this duet -was inevitable. He has been, indeed, since these several days, two men. -The second was better than the first, but not much. The second of them -held the strings of the conscience bag (slackly, however) and rattled it -ominously--though more as a warning, if the truth were told--to give the -first his chance of escape. In the heart of the second (if heart it -could be called) there lingered a sneaking sympathy with the delinquent -first, as for a younger brother. And now, after a mutual game of -hide-and-seek, when the one would not look while the other showed, and -the other would not show while the other was looking, through a kind of -desperate conviction that something must be done, they had sneaked their -two ways down to the beach this morning, prepared (though only badly) to -declare themselves to one another, and come to some understanding, -though whether this understanding should be creditable or discreditable -to both or to either was yet unsettled. - -By what subtle, imperceptible paths has he outjourneyed the territory of -that great happiness which seemed so lately his, to find himself all -suddenly in this unpleasant no-man's land of the imagination? By -subtle, imperceptible paths indeed. By the touch of hands; by the -gazing of eyes; by the inflection of voice. Time was, in the early days -it was, when he could look on Pam's fascinating sprinkling of freckles -with an eye as purely interested, and as purely disinterested, as though -they had been the specklings of a wild bird's egg. He had begun by -making a friend of her. He had come ultimately to regard her as a -sister, to whom he had acted in all good faith the strong, reliant, -reliable, affectionate, unemotional elder brother--who could have kissed -her, and thought no more of that kiss, nor prepared his lips for kisses -to come. And now ... what was he going to make of her next? ... of -himself? Who but a brother can act the brother? Who but a father--even -though he doddle benevolently on his legs and have respectable white -hairs--can be sure of acting the father to any daughter not his own? -What are the sexes but phosphorus and sandpaper for the kindling of -love's emotion? Already the phosphorus had not wanted signs of impending -ignition. Just a very little more rubbing of this friendly -intercourse--a day or two ... a week at most ... and the flame would -burst out for them both to see. So here let him settle it. What was he -going to do? - -He did not know what he was going to do.... There were complications. - -Complications of his own allowing, remember. Why had he not let it be -plainly understood--as soon as his relations with this girl grew--that -he was a man with a claim upon him? - -Ah! If only he had. - -Why had n't he? Had he shirked it? If he had shirked it, then he was -indeed guilty. - -He did not think he had shirked it ... at least, with intention. - -But the idea had come to him. Come to him more than once. Did he not -on one occasion at Hesketh's corner make the resolve to tell the girl -that he was going to be married? - -Yes. - -Then why did n't he? - -Because he could think of no expression at the time to relieve the news -of a certain primitive brutality--a blunt statement quite out of accord -with the moment and the mood. - -Thought must always be in some measure of accord with the moment and the -mood. You could not say, for instance: "Good morning. What a beautiful -day. I am going to be married." - -But he had thought the same thought subsequently. - -True. - -Why had he not acted on it? - -Partly for the same reason. And then again ... it seemed so easy in -thought and so difficult in effect. He was frightened he might bungle -it, and make it sound like an unpalatable caution to the girl. "Don't -set your aspirations upon me. I warn you. I am not for you." Faugh! -The idea--in this girl's case--was revolting. - -Because, therefore, of a little unpleasantness on account, he had run up -a long score--prepared to declare himself bankrupt when occasion arose, -and involve the girl in his own insolvency. Was that it? - -He had certainly avoided anything that might be odious to the girl ... -or painful to her feelings--but he had had no ideas of involving her. -God forbid! - -And the other? The Absent One? What had been his feelings towards her? -Had he thought his conduct such as to merit her confidence in him? - -He had not thought it undeserving of her confidence. Their relations -were of long standing. Before now he had kissed some mutual girl -friends in her presence. She had smiled. - -Supposing he had kissed them in her absence ... and she had come -subsequently to hear of it? Would she have smiled? Of course he had -told her in his letters all about the post-girl--and their present -relations? - -He had told her the postman was a girl. - -Exactly. But what sort of a girl. - -Was there more than one sort of a girl? A girl, it seemed to him, was a -girl all the world over. The definition was plain enough. - -Had he said she was a pretty girl? - -Why should he have said that? - -Why should he have avoided it? - -He had n't avoided it. It was only one of the things he had n't ... -specified. Why should he specify a "pretty girl" any more than he -should have specified an "ugly one"? Besides ... prettiness was all -abstract, and relative, and indefinable. When we called a thing pretty -we only meant that it excited that particular degree of emotion in our -own mind. Other people might decide upon it as ugly. - -Exactly. Had he, by any chance, spoken of Cliff Wrangham as a -delightful corner of the world's end? - -He believed he had. - -And he had mentioned Father Mostyn? - -Certainly. He had alluded to him. - -In affectionate and laudatory terms? - -He did n't know about affectionate and laudatory terms. Perhaps he had. -He had spoken of him as he bad found him. Father Mostyn had always been -kind. In writing he had no doubt alluded to that kindness. - -More than once? - -Doubtless more than once. Kindness was not such a common quality that -it would not bear a little repetition. - -He had mentioned the Doctor. - -Some of him. His stockings, he believed, and his strange happiness in -speaking the truth. - -How often had he met the Doctor? - -Perhaps half a dozen times. - -And the post-girl? - -Let him see.... - -Exactly. He could n't count the number. He had mentioned with some -small degree of detail a man who was but a cypher in his visit, and he -had overlooked altogether the figure which was its numerator, so to -speak. - -Suppose he had put the case, as it stood, before a referee, chosen from -the Sons of the World. Suppose he 'd said, for instance: There was a -fellow once, engaged to a girl. The girl went with a maiden aunt by -marriage to Switzerland for the aunt's health. It was arranged that -while they were there the fellow was to go into obscurity by the -sea-coast and complete some great compositional work he had the vanity -to think he could achieve, and that, after the girl's return, either -towards the end of November or the early part of January, these two were -to be married. But during this obscurity the fellow came upon an -altogether unusual sample of a post-girl. She was supposed to be -derived from a family of importance; had all the inherited gifts of a -lady; the low, musically-balanced voice; the symmetrical, graceful -figure and carriage; beautiful teeth and a smile like dawn. Suppose -everything about the girl appealed to this fellow tremendously. Suppose -they became ... well, call it friends. Suppose he taught her music and -French, and met her as often as possible. Suppose all his moments were -occupied in thinking of her. Suppose the life he had left and the life -(presumably) he was going back to were receded so far away that he could -scarcely distinguish them, or his obligations to them. Suppose that the -girl was to all intents and purposes his little cosmos, out of which he -indited letters to the Other Girl--letters that made no mention of the -existing state of things. Suppose, now, he laid this case, just as it -stood, before any man of the world. What, did he imagine, would that -man of the world decide upon him? What would he think of him? - -Another man of the world, perhaps. - -Probably so. And suppose this other girl had been his sister, and he -had been some other man, and the circumstances were as they were, and -some enlightened friend had informed him of them. Well? - -On the face of it, he might be tempted to step in and send the fellow to -the devil. - -And in his own case? - -In his own case? Summarising like that, without any partiality, but -condensed into a cold-blooded abstraction, he supposed he might seem -deserving of being sent to the devil, too--if he were not there already. -Every case looked black when it was formularised. The facts had -accumulated without his perceiving them. It was easy now to go and roll -them up like an increasing snowball of accusation against him, but at -the time they had seemed slight enough. When he had scribbled off the -letters it had been with a consciousness of the shuffle, but with the -inward resolve, clearly defined, to atone for it by a longer letter next -day, or some other day. - -And he had done so? - -Unfortunately, no. Fate, there again, had seemed against him. But the -intention had not been wanting--it was the flesh only that had been a -little weak. - -In the light of present understanding, then, if by the mere wish he -could blot out not only the remembrance of this weakness but the -actuality of it, he would wish the wish? - -No reply. - -Eh? He would wish the wish at once--was n't that so? - -Still no reply. - -Perhaps he had n't quite understood. Put it another way. Suppose, -since the doings of these latter days were not entirely creditable to -him, when viewed dispassionately, was he prepared to wish that he had -never come to Cliff Wrangham? - -He could n't honestly wish that. It was n't fair to Cliff Wrangham or -the Dixons. He 'd had a very happy time there and done good work. -Cliff Wrangham was n't to blame. - -Since Cliff Wrangham was n't to blame, then, would he be prepared to -wish that he had never come across the post-girl? - -He 'd have been bound to come across her. - -Not if, for instance, she 'd been ill, and somebody else had brought the -letters. - -He would n't wish anybody ill for the mere sake of saving his -conscience. - -Supposing she had been away, then? - -Away where? - -Anywhere. - -But she had n't been away, and so there was an end of it. He was n't -dealing with what might have been, but what was. - -And what was? - -He did n't know. He only knew that he would n't wish his worst enemy to -be on the rack as he 'd been on it all last night, and this morning. He -had n't slept a wink. - -Why had n't he slept? - -Because he could n't sleep. - -But surely that was funny. - -It was n't funny at all. It was hell. - -How could that be? If he found now that he 'd been taking a wrong moral -turn, all he had to do was to turn back. His way was easy. - -Was it? - -It was ... if he were sorry he 'd gone wrong. Was he sorry that he 'd -gone wrong? - -Of course he was sorry. The difficulty was he 'd gone such a deuce of a -long way wrong. - -Ah! Longer, perhaps, than he 'd said. - -Not longer than he 'd said, but quite long enough, without saying a -word. To turn all the way back, at this stage of the proceedings--with -explanation or without--was a desperately hard thing to do. - -If duty compelled it, nevertheless? - -Why should duty compel him to do anything so unpleasant? - -But surely that was a strange way to speak of a duty which merely -implied his obligation to the Other Girl. Presumably, as things stood, -he loved her. - -Presumably he did. - -He had come to love her of his own free will? It was not a case where -he had been "rushed"? There was no solicitous mother or obliging sister -in the case? - -None at all. Only he had had larger opportunity to cultivate her -acquaintance than in the general run of affairs. She was a distant -connection of his by a remote marriage, who, in view of her extreme -personal connection with the family, had generally ranked as a cousin. -In the days when he had had prospects from his uncle they were -constantly thrown together, and it was in those days that he engaged -himself. All the family looked with favor upon the match, and even -encouraged it. Then this wretched old uncle took it suddenly into his -head to be actively interested in the nephew's welfare. Wanted him to -throw music to the winds as being unworthy of his high prospects, and -went the length of telling him in a letter of six words or so to choose -between music and the mammon of unrighteousness. Fool, perhaps, that he -was, he chose for music. All his family rounded on him at once--or such -family as it was; thank God, there was n't much of it--and wrote abject -letters to the mammon, telling him how headstrong poor dear Maurice was, -and how darling uncle must please give him time, and not be too severe -upon his wicked indiscretion. Maurice, dear misguided boy, loved -darling uncle very dearly, and would be shocked one day when he came to -his senses, and saw how deeply he had grieved him. - -And the Other Girl? Did she share the family reproaches? - -On the contrary, she said he had acted nobly. He offered her her -freedom, of course, as soon as he relinquished the mammon, but she would -not accept it. - -Had she said to him, for instance: "Dear Maurice, there have been times -when I have been troubled to know which of you I loved; you or your -uncle's money. And now that the horrid money 's gone, I think it 's -you." - -Yes, she had said that. - -Did he tell her that it was n't for beggars to be choosers, and that if -she cared to have a musical pauper she could have him, and there 'd be -nothing to pay but his bills? - -He believed he had made some witty allusion to that effect. - -What did he call pauperdom? - -He called two or three hundred a year pauperdom. With the assistance of -a few pot-boiling songs under somebody else's name, including, to his -shame be it said, a percentage of semi-sacred effusions with angels -fluttering in the treble, and organ obligato, he generally managed to -supplement this. He also wrote a few elementary teaching pieces for a -certain educational firm, under the reassuring title of Ivan Fedor -Ivanowitch, which returned him a pittance. There was no demand for his -two symphonies or his orchestral suite or his first piano concerto in -_fa diese_. That 's why he was writing another. Altogether, taking one -thing with another, his income might be set down--except to the Inland -Revenue--at about three hundred and fifty pounds a year. A man could -n't be much poorer than that, and talk, Heaven help him, of marriage. - -And the Other Girl? Had she expectations at all? - -He hoped not, for her own peace of mind. She had this aunt by marriage. -Perhaps she might be able to call a couple of hundred pounds per annum -her own some day. But it would n't be much more. - -And how long had she been engaged to him? - -Oh, he could n't exactly say. Six or seven years. It had been an early -and a lingering engagement. - -Taking his statements into admission, one thing seemed very clear. He -was under a strong moral obligation to the Other Girl. - -He had never denied it. - -Perhaps not, but his actions--judged superficially, of course--had shown -a large tendency to overlook this obligation. However, let the past -bury the past. He saw now the right way, and where he had strayed from -it. Henceforth, since his sole desire was to purge his spirit of its -temporary faithlessness, and gain grace to win back his claim to the -Other Girl's confidence, henceforth his path lay clear. - -Where? - -Where? Surely he had no necessity to ask that? - -On the contrary, he did ask that. - -But there could be no doubt in his mind. Any way that did not lead him -back into the old temptation was the right way. - -If coming across the post-girl was temptation, there was no way in this -district that did lead the right way. - -Then he must depart to where there was. - -Leave Cliff Wrangham altogether? - -Precisely. - -Why should he leave Cliff Wrangham--that is, before the Other One -returned? Was he an infant that he must be packed off into the corner -in disgrace, because he could n't be trusted? - -He had proved himself an infant by the mere fact that he was no longer -to be trusted. In other words, he had broken his trust. - -He denied it. He 'd broken nothing. - -When a nursemaid, who 's been warned, lets a child.... - -Oh, damn the nursemaid and the child, too! Serve it jolly right if she -did. He was n't a nursemaid. - -Perhaps not. Perhaps he was just a low, common blackguard, after all. - -Perhaps he was. - - -He had his bath, but the salt water was all unfriendly, and there was no -stimulus in its waves. It seemed to have deserted him at this hour of -dark temptation. In ceaseless tussle the two of him returned along the -sands and slowly back to Dixon's. Out of the drifting current of -reasonings two things at least seemed clear. The conscience-bearer was -dimly arguing for departure; the shuffling second self, that had been -actively dodging investigation all this while, was trying to invent -counter-arguments for delay. - -The very life he was leading had become dear to him. He had lost slowly -the desire to regain touch with the big centres of artistic activity, -and seemed to be living somehow a purer life, in which he worked solely -(or at least, thought so) for Art's own sake. The ultimate success of -this concerto troubled him little. Before, he had been building much on -it, as the most promiseful fruit of his muse. Now, if it were scouted, -if he and all his labors were scouted, there was the blessed sense of -being able to return here for solace and shelter. The Dixons would be -sorry to lose him, he felt sure; glad to have him back. The Vicarage -door would open as soon as his figure came on to the vicarial territory -in front of the iron rails; the bland, beneficent hand of his Reverence -would receive him, like the lost lamb gathered into the fold. God bless -the Vicarage! His heart warmed, and his eye--a little emotionalised, it -might be, by the crisis he was passing through--moistened as he thought -upon that smallpox-blistered door, and the happiness that had been -behind it. And last of all ... there was Pam. What a soft and soothing -cataplasm she was for all the soul's inflammations; for all the chafing -irritation of spirit brought about by contact with a rough world. Her -breath was balm, and her voice like a soft south wind blowing through -the strings of a lute. All her freckles would cry aloud in welcome; her -lips would disclose the pure, milky greeting of those white teeth; her -hands--that he had, with amusement and exalted joy, watched struggling -in their dear, feminine tirelessness with the contrary humors of Father -Mostyn's keys--he knew what those hands would do when she heard of his -return. They would clasp themselves and go beneath her chin. He had -not noticed her for nothing. And then his mind went on to the -shortening of the days; to the harvest gathered; to the crisp September; -to the autumn, with its long, cosy evenings in the Vicar's room, and the -music; to the winter; to Christmas; to the meetings; to the happiness; -to the sea.... - -And by Christmas ... perhaps ... he would be married. - -Married! - -Married and far away. All these days would be but a remembrance. -Father Mostyn and Pamela something less, and something infinitely more, -than the figments of a dream. He would be building up a new life for -himself; a new habitation for his soul to live in, out of new interests, -out of new ambitions (if he had any), out of new environments. - -Last of all, out of the mass of arguments and sub-arguments, questions -and cross-questions, considerations and counter-considerations, in one -of those sudden lucid heavenly flashes of righteousness with which the -soul's lightning has power to pierce, at irregular and unexpected -intervals, the cloud of doubt, he received the inspiration of resolve. -Departure, the Spawer decided, was the only thing to save him. The -necessity was cruel, no doubt--to the Ullbrig girl, perhaps, as well as -himself--but in the momentary lucidity of soul he had caught the glimpse -of this as his sole honorable path, and he elected now to pursue it. To -make the requisite retractions and yet stay on was out of the question. -He could not bring himself to exercise those despicable economies of -affection--palpable retrenchments even--in his friendship with the girl, -lacking which, to remain in Ullbrig was not to stand still but to -advance. No amount of mere passive rectitude could check the evolution -of facts and circumstances. The world did not stand still because one -chastened spirit resolved to hold back from the general march of -iniquity. There was nothing for it. He would go. - -Then imagination, intoxicated with the virtuous bitter draught he had -drained, took wild flight into the future. He was going, truly, but not -for long. Pam and this wife of his that was to be should become as -sisters. He pictured Pam's coming to visit them. Long, glorious visits -they should be. And he and Beatrice should return to Cliff Wrangham. -They would make Cliff Wrangham their summer residence, their winter -residence, their life-long residence. Exaltation carried him to the -pitch of bigamy even. In his wild desire to squeeze the last drop of -happiness from these deadly sweet berries of fancy he was deaf to the -voice of reason. He scarcely perceived whether it was Pam or the absent -one that figured, in this glorified vision, as his wedded wife. At -times, for all the power he possessed to discriminate, it might have -been both. Or perhaps, with fine prophetic oversight of worldly -institutions, he visioned a sublime state of platonic bliss in which was -neither marrying nor giving in marriage. For extreme righteousness -knows nothing of reason, nor does it argue. Arguments are but the -beatings of its wings to gain impetus for flight, but the flight, once -attained, transcends all logic. The sublime picture of married felicity -that the Spawer created would have been the scandal of any decent, -respectably constituted community. Had there been a dozen Pams, indeed, -he would have included them all in this spiritual harem, and -yet--repugnant as this indiscriminate scheme of domestic association -might appear to the many--there was no taint of earthly impurity in his -conception of it. - -Fortified with this blest vision of a paradise as reward for the pains -of present righteousness, he swallowed a hasty and a tasteless meal, and -set off without further thought or delay--lest the strength of resolve -might in any way leak from him before his purpose was accomplished--down -the Ullbrig road. For he knew that his composure was bearing a -tremendous burden on its back, and he feared, if he retarded too long, -it might break down, when ultimately he met the girl, into some -stammering, faulty, broken-backed, weak-kneed, incomplete accomplishment -of his mission. If possible, he wanted to drop across her as though by -pure accident. He did n't want her to detect any traces of labored -premeditation in what he had to tell. He held the manner of the -news-breaking roughly formulated in his mind, but he was anxious lest -she might discern, through any flaw in the outer agreement of his smiles -(just sufficiently tinged with regret, he told himself, to be in keeping -with the subject of departure, but no more), the horrible machinery, -driven by a thousand heart-power, clanking away inside him, and -manufacturing this leave-taking to pattern, like rolled steel. - -He was so little sure of his capacity to execute his own purpose that, -through mere distrust of doing what he wanted to do, he was almost ready -to give the project up and declare himself beaten before the battle. -And all the while he walked onward he began to accumulate doubts -respecting the undertaking of such a delicate operation beneath the -searching light of day. He had one revelation of the girl's great eyes -fixed solemnly upon his lips, and watching him as he wallowed in his -embarrassment, and his soul flinched. For a moment he had desperate -thoughts of return. Then he sat, under the white flag of truce, on a -rail. Then he moved slowly onward again, with fixed eyes on Ullbrig, -praying he might miss the girl. And with this prayer almost moving his -lips, at Hesketh's corner he met her. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVI* - - -She wore a great hat of coarse Zulu straw, trimmed with white muslin and -scarlet poppies, and a pale cream muslin dress, beneath whose hem her -neat shoes and trim, black ankles showed themselves so demurely, like -sleek twin witches of seductive enchantment. In her left hand she -carried a snowy-topped basket emblematic of Faith, Hope and -Charity--particularly this last--while the thumb of her cotton-gloved -right hand was tucked, at the time of their recognition, into a green -crocodile leather belt. She was just passing the corner, indeed, as she -caught sight of the Spawer, and had to fall back on her heel to verify -the impression; then she stood waiting for him, swinging the basket in -front of her skirt with both hands, and showing the glad smile for a -welcome and unexpected meeting. All the gloomy necessities of the -encounter were packed up and stowed away at the back of the Spawer's -being with the first slight shock of realisation. Almost spontaneously -he discarded his reflections as though they had been impersonal and -bearing no reference to the girl before him, and advanced upon her with -the sunny face that seemed never to have known the clouds of -disquietude. - -"How funny," said Pam simply, as he came near. "... I was just thinking -about you." - -"I can see you were," he laughed. - -"Can you?" asked Pam, smiling, but a shade incredulous. - -"By your ears," he told her. - -Pam put her fingers to them. - -"It is the sun," she said, nipping a little crimson lobe between cool -white-cottoned fingers. "Yours burn too. Were you thinking about me?" - -"Perhaps." - -"Were you? What were you thinking?" - -"Tell me first what you were thinking about me?" - -"I was thinking whether I should see you if I looked up the Cliff -Wrangham road. But I never thought I should. And you?" - -"I was thinking the same thing." - -"Were you really? Did you want to see me ... about anything?" - -It was the Spawer's opportunity to say what he had come to say, but like -a faint-hearted jumper, feeling he had not bite enough for his purpose, -he burked the hurdle. - -"I don't know that I wanted to see you ... about anything," he answered, -covering up his momentary hesitation with a smile, "... but I was -perfectly agreeable to see you about nothing at all." - -"Perhaps you 're coming to the post?" Pam hazarded. - -"Nothing so reputable," said he. "Fact is, I 'm afraid I 've broken -loose to-day. I 'm on the laze." - -"You lazy!" laughed Pam, in incredulous amazement. - -"Oh, horribly lazy, dear girl," he said. "If you don't know that you -don't know me. It comes on at periods. I can't yet decide whether my -hard work is sheer activity of a guilty conscience, or my laziness is -the collapse of a conscience too highly taxed, but the one follows the -other as night follows day. I 've not done a stroke of work since -getting up. This morning I washed myself and bathed--you 'll say that's -a good work done. This afternoon I determined to stroll inland and see -if there was anybody disposed to take pity on my sad idleness. What a -pretty basket!" - -Pam held it up for his inspection. - -"May I lift the cover?" - -Pam nodded and laughed, showing all her white, small teeth in assent. - -"Bottles," said he, taking a peep under the snowy serviette. "We 're -well met. Which way are you going?" - -"I 'm going to Shippus," said Pam, with a little wistful accent on the -"I 'm," expressive of solitude. - -"The very thing," said the Spawer. "And we won't touch them till we get -there. Not a drop. Will you take me with you?" - -"Will you go with me?" said Pam, a light of desire suddenly dawning in -her eyes at his half-bantering suggestion. - -"If you 'll have me." - -"I 'll have you. But perhaps you would n't care ... it's a sick call." - -"I don't care what it is," said the Spawer, "so long as it 's nothing -catching. Tell me it 's not smallpox and I 'm with you." - -"Oh, it is n't smallpox," Pam reassured him. "It 's only poor old Mr. -Smethurst." - -"Come," said the Spawer, relieved, "that does n't sound so alarming. I -'ll risk it. And are the bottles his or ours?" - -"His," said Pam, as the Spawer disengaged her of them, and they -commenced to walk forward together. "Poor old gentleman. There 's a -lemon jelly and a bottle of port and a bottle of whiskey. Those are -from Father Mostyn--the very same that he drinks himself." Her eyes -kindled luminously at the mention. "Is n't it good of him? Nobody -knows but me what lots of things he gives away ... and what lots of -things he does for people. He 'd do anything for anybody. They don't -understand him in Ullbrig a bit. I did n't always, but I do now. They -talk about his house, and say it wants painting. And of course it does. -And they say he 's a Roman Catholic, and gets paid by the Pope for every -conversion he makes; but that 's not true. He 's nothing at all to do -with the Pope. And then they laugh at him because he goes down on his -knees in church, but as he said one day to Mr. Stevens (Sheppardman): -'You touch your hat to me because I 'm his reverence the vicar, but you -'re too proud to bow to the Lord Jesus.' And it 's not a matter of what -he does in church. They ought n't to go by that--and they can't -truthfully, because they 're never there to see. It's what he does in -Ullbrig. If anybody 's ill, it 's always him they send for, and he -always goes, whether it 's by night or day. When they 're well he talks -about their hypocrisy and their sinfulness, and about their pride--you -'ve heard him, have n't you? But when they 're ill ... oh, you would -n't know him. He 's as gentle as a woman. He looks at their medicine, -and feels their pulse, and smooths their pillow; and oh, he talks so -beautifully. When little Annie Summers died of diphtheria he sat up all -the night after the operation, keeping her throat clear with a feather -(that was very dangerous, of course, and he might have died of it), and -when she was dead her father told him: 'I 've never given you a good -word all my days, Mr. Mostyn,' and Father Mostyn only shook his head and -told him: 'Well, well, John, give it me now.' And when poor old James -Marshall was dying they sent for Father Mostyn, of course, and James -told him he was a bit fearsome he had n't done the right thing in -spending so much of his time at chapel. And Father Mostyn said: 'Make -your mind easy, James, there are no churches or chapels up there.' Old -Mr. Smethurst used to go to chapel, too, when he was well enough to go -anywhere, but as Father Mostyn says, we can't help that. The wine will -do him as much good as if he had been to church. And it was a long time -ago. He 'll never go there any more." - -"Is he so ill as that?" asked the Spawer. - -"He 's dying," said Pam. - -The little tremor of her lip, and the sudden moistness about her -eyes--though he had witnessed these wonderful manifestations of her -tender nature before on many an occasion--went to the Spawer's heart in -the present instance like an arrow. Pam's tears were in everybody's -service. Not idle tears, but tears that seemed the sacred seal of noble -self-sacrifice and devotion. - -And to think he was so soon going to remove himself from the -soft-dropping springs of their sympathy. - -"What a ministering angel you are," he said, looking at her lightly -enough, and yet--though Pam could not know that--with a kind of -tightness about the throat. - -"I 'm afraid I 'm not an angel," the girl regretted. "Not a bit of one. -I wish I were." - -"On the contrary," he said, "wish nothing of the kind." - -"Why not?" she asked. - -"Because Ullbrig would miss you so. Angels' visits are few and far -between, and when they come they don't bring bottles. Be what you are," -he told her. "A lay angel." - -"Don't you believe in real angels?" Pam asked him ingenuously. "Dr. -Anderson does n't." - -The Spawer smiled. - -"Kindness is the greatest angel in the world," he said, and looked at -her. "I believe in kindness." - -"So do I," said Pam. - -"And do you never, never get tired of doing kind actions?" he asked her -curiously. "... Surely you must." - -Pam gave him a quick look and dropped her lip, as though a little -lead-weight of admission were upon it. - -"Sometimes I do," she admitted, and turned her face away from him as -though the thought of her own offend-ing troubled her. "But somehow ... -kind acts always seem to pay for themselves, don't you think?" - -"Do they?" he asked hazily. - -"Why, yes," Pam said, after a moment, just a little shaken in her -confidence by his question. "The more you don't want to do a thing, the -more you 're glad when you 've gone and done it--a kind thing I mean." - -The more you did n't want to do a thing the more you were glad when you -'d gone and done it. How did that apply to him? - -"... Father Mostyn says you must beware of doing kindnesses for the mere -gratification of being thanked. He says that's a deadly sin--one of the -prides of charity. There are a lot more, but that 's the worst. What do -you think?" - -"What do I think? Gracious!" laughed the Spawer, "I dare n't contradict -his Reverence. I think so too." - -"But you! You 're quite different from me," the girl objected. "I -could n't be kind at all if it were n't for Father Mostyn. All my -kindnesses have been taught me by him." Such is the power of loyalty -and loving adherence, that transfers its own virtues to the object of -affection. "But you. I don't think you can help being kind. Some -people can't. You seem to do things from the heart somehow, as though -they came naturally to you; but me, I do all mine from the head, because -I 've been taught what things are kind and what things are cruel. And -often I make mistakes too." She was thinking of the schoolmaster. "But -you never do." - -Did n't he? What were all his trumpery smiles and petty kindnesses, his -smooth words and minor generosities, but little errors of excess in a -grand sum of cruelty, that had brought the total to an amount he dared -scarcely contemplate, and were compelling him this day to cancel these -labyrinthine workings of arithmetic by a wholesale application of the -sponge? - -"That," said he, looking leniently upon her, "is because your kindness, -little woman, won't let you find flaws in mine. But there are flaws in -it--great flaws." - -"Where?" asked Pam, with the earnestness of a child. - -"All over," said the Spawer. - -"You have always been kind to me," said Pam. - -"Don't let 's talk of that," he responded cheerfully, -affecting--double-dyed hypocrite that he knew himself to be--a sublime -disregard of such kindnesses as had been his, which but served to -illuminate his conduct in the girl's eyes with letters of celestial gold -paint. - -"May n't I talk to you about it ... ever, please?" the girl asked him. - -"Oh, if it 's a question of pleases," he said, with laughing concession, -"I would n't deny you for worlds. Talk away, dear child." - -Did he realise how much store the girl set by these diminutive titles of -affectionate address? Did he know that each time he called her "Dear -child" and "Dear girl" and "Little woman" (mere friendly substitutes for -the Pam he never used) her heart leaped up in responsive gladness? Did -he know that each of these designations, so lightly uttered by him, was -a nail driven into the door against his departure, and that door the -girl's own heart? Surely and truly he never knew it, or even our hero, -Maurice Ethelbert Wynne, for all his blackguardism, would have shrunk -from the usage of them. - -"Now I don't know what to say," Pam said. - -"Why ever not?" - -"Because you told me to talk away." - -"How like a girl! Wants to do a thing until she 's bidden, and then ... -be hanged if she will. You contrary little feminine." - -All the same, as soon as he adjured her not to mind, but to say no more -about it, she found plenty to say in a sudden gush respecting his past -kindness to her. He had been so good to her. She had told Father -Mostyn to be sure and tell him how grateful she felt to him for all his -goodness.... Had he? But she had been dying to tell him herself too. -And somehow, whenever she had begun, he had always turned her off so -kindly that she had never done any more than tell him that she wanted to -tell him, and never told him; but to-day, when he had spoken about _her_ -kindness, she felt she must tell him about his. There had been no reason -why he should have been kind to her. He had done it all so beautifully -... that there seemed nothing in it, and at times she 'd almost believed -that there was nothing in it either, and that it was just happening so, -and no more. But when she 'd come to look into it she saw exactly how -much there was, and how it could have happened otherwise--oh, quite -otherwise--but for his great kindness in preventing it. Why had he been -so good to her? It was n't--as he 'd tried to make out--that there was -anything to gain, because she 'd nothing in the world to give him except -her thanks--and until to-day he 'd never even accepted those from her. -Father Mostyn had told her, as he 'd told her himself, that he did n't -give lessons to anybody else ... and that she was his only pupil. She -'d tried not to feel proud about that, because it was no merit of her -own, but simply his own goodness; but she could n't help it. Father -Mostyn said you might feel proud if your pride were pride of loyalty--as -pride in the Church, or in the goodness of another--and in that way she -'d felt proud. But it was difficult dealing with prides; they got the -better of you somehow. He 'd given her music because he said he knew -where to send for it, and could get it down quicker--being known to the -people--but that was just so that she need n't have to pay for it. And -he 'd made her a present of Erckmann-Chatrian's "L'ami Fritz" and "Le -Blocus," and a beautiful French Dictionary.... - -"Well," he asked her, "... where 's the goodness in that?" - -"It was all of it goodness." - -"Nothing of the sort, dear girl. It 's all pure selfish pride." - -Oh, no, no, no! Pam could n't believe that. - -Oh, but she must believe it. He 'd given her lessons solely for his own -pleasure--not hers--because teaching her had interested him, and it was -a sort of recreation. And he 'd taught her French for the same reason, -and for the pride of being looked up to as a great French authority. -And he 'd given her books and music so that she might say what a kind, -generous fellow he was,--oh, she must n't make any mistake about the -matter; it was precious little goodness she 'd have found about him. -Oh, he was a bad one at heart! - -So, arguing agreeably on the subject of goodness specific and general, -they walked along the high-road lane that leads to Shippus. - -Thus they came at last upon a group of two or three detached cottages -along the roadside, white-washed and blinding, with thatched roofs and -tarred palings, and a profusion of giant nasturtiums clambering over the -doors and licking at the window-sills with a great yellow-scarlet blaze, -as though the porches were on fire. Here Pam slowed up, and held out -her hand for the basket. - -"Shall you be long?" the Spawer asked, giving it to her. - -"Perhaps you won't care to wait?" she suggested wistfully, though -offering him his liberation. - -"Trot along," said he, smiling back refusal of the proffered freedom. -"I 'll hang about outside for you. Only promise me you won't slip away -by the back." - -He smiled and raised his hat to her with that delightful blending of -familiarity and homage which had won the girl's heart from the first. -There were points about his kindness which she could not touch upon, -even to him, and this was one. Other men might have made her position -unbearable, but he never. The raising of the hat itself meant nothing, -for she knew it was an instinctive recognition of her sex which -accomplished itself, in his case, even when the sex was adequately -disguised beneath harden aprons and masculine caps; but the action as he -performed it had none of the odious insinuating gallantry to which the -Saturday Hunmouth trippers had accustomed but never reconciled her. -With no man had she ever been so intimate as with this one; and yet no -man had ever so helped her to preserve her own modest self-respect. - -Ah, Pam, Pam, Pam! Do you see that queer little hunched-up shadow, -carrying a shapeless lump of a basket, that keeps close by your side as -you cross the road and lay your finger upon the latch of the tarred -wooden wicket? It is the little old lady, as plain as plain can be. She -makes no noise; her footsteps merge in yours; but day by day, hour by -hour, moment by moment, she never leaves you. The time approaches when -she shall rise up in her hideous deformity and declare you a prisoner in -her dwelling. And you shall gaze upon the features of an altered world -through wet windows of running tears. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVII* - - -Outside the Spawer strolled gently to and fro along the white, staring -roadway, stopping always a little short of the cottages lest his -constant recurrence in face of the window might seem like an embargo -upon Pam's moments. To a casual observer he looked, in his light -flannels and straw hat--tilted a little over his nose for facing the -sun--the typical figure of a summer lounger, with no endeavor beyond -indolence, and no thought above keeping cool. But within, his brain was -busily clanking and clamoring, like an overpressed newspaper office; -editing, sub-editing, inserting, deleting, putting all his conduct into -orderly columns and making ruthless "pi" of it. One item of -intelligence alone remained stable amid the vast jumble of worthless, -inconsequential paragraphs: - - DEPARTURE OF THE SPAWER. - - -He was still pacing up and down the roadway, his eyes engrossed in some -systematic method of placing his toes, engaged on the task of convincing -himself that he had let no real possible opportunity slip during their -walk of acquainting the girl with the inevitable, when the atmosphere of -a sudden lighted up, as it were, and he saw the red poppies over the -gateway, stooping somewhat at the latch. - -"What! So soon?" he asked; and again, by the apparently spontaneous -mental process, he threw off his heavy mantle of musing, and smiled as -though he had nothing to think of but happiness. "Come! You 've let me -off handsome." - -Then he saw that Pam's lips looked a little troubled, and her eyes -sought his face with trepidation. - -"It 's not that..." she said, watching his gaze like a compass. "... I -'m not done yet. But they ... they saw you were with me ... and ... and -won't you come in?" - -"It 's awfully good of 'em, little woman," he said. "Just tell 'em so, -won't you? But really, I don't mind a bit. In fact, I 'd rather be out -here in the sun." - -"I thought you would n't," Pam said, more to herself, as though his -reply constituted a refusal of something not uttered, but in her mind -only. And still she stood; and while she looked at the Spawer her eyes -filled with that sublime wistfulness of theirs that finds no translation -in words. "That 's not all," she said, after a pause. "I have n't told -you. They know ... who you are." - -"Jove!" exclaimed the Spawer. "What a reputation I have in this part of -the globe. If only it were universal." - -"It's my fault..." Pam confessed. - -"There 's no fault about it, dear girl," he made haste to reassure her. -"On the contrary, it 's a jolly kind thought." - -"But I 'm afraid ... I told them it was you when they asked if it was. -And they know how beautifully you play." Her eyes were absolutely -sealed down upon his now, so that not a flicker of their expression -could escape her. "... And ... and poor old Mr. Smethurst said there -were n't many that could play like you. And I told him, indeed there -were n't. And I was telling him how beautifully you did play ... and -all of a sudden he said he should just like to hear you play 'Sound the -loud timbrel' ... before he died. Did I think you would? And Mrs. -Smethurst was frightened, and said: 'Oh, John,' you must n't ask such -things of a gentleman like that. He does n't play to such as us.' And -he said, oh, so sadly: 'Nay, nay, I suppose I must n't. But I feel he -'d do it if only we dared ask him.' And I did n't know what to say ... -because, of course, I know it's a dreadful thing to ask you. But I made -a pretence of coming out to see whether you would come in and sit down." - -The Spawer wrinkled his brows. - -"It 's not so much the asking," he said, with a perplexed smile, "but it -'s the doing, little woman. Have they a piano forte?" - -"No, no." Pam sank deeper into her trouble. "It 's only a harmonium -... a very old one. I know it 's a dreadful thing to ask you to sit -down to a harmonium--and a hymn tune too. I 'd never, never have asked -you to do such a thing for myself--but for somebody else that 's never -going to get better again. Sometimes it does sick people you don't know -how much good to have their fancies gratified. I offered to try and -play it myself, but he told me: 'You can play it and welcome ... but it -won't be him.'" - -"Little woman," said the Spawer, "no one knows better than you what an -act of martyrdom it is for a pianist to sit down to a harmonium and -humble himself to a hymn tune. But because it 's you that have asked -me, for your sake and through sheer pride--to show you how good I am--I -'ll do it. It sounds good, but it's sheer, downright pride, remember. -Only pride could get through with it. Now; lead on, kindly light." - -He took hold of her indulgently by the arm, and for a few paces walked -so with her. To the girl that touch was the crowning patent of his -nobility and goodness; to him it was so magnetically charged with the -dangerous communion of red, warm blood that he let go of it by slow, -imperceptible degrees, but with no less the feeling that he was -discarding a deadly temptation. The warmth of a woman's body is an -enervating atmosphere to the moral fibres of a man when that body is the -object of his renunciation, and his fibres are slackened to start with. -And the proud illumination about the girl's eyes as she went forward at -his instigation was like the high, bright blaze of a lighthouse for -holding him prisoner to its beacon against all the futile beating of his -wings. - -Through the tarred gate and under the trailing flames of nasturtium Pam -led him into the cottage of the dying man. It was a kitchen living-room -they stepped into. All about the threshold and nasturtium porch was -enveloped in its own stifling atmosphere of hot leaves and baking--as -distinct from the corn-scented suffocation of the outer air. The -kitchen itself seemed congested with a close, oveny odor; the -accumulated smell of many meals and many bakings, never expelled, and -the peaty reek of a place where the fire burns day in, day out. - -In a high-backed wooden chair by the warm side of the oven sat the dying -man, not so nearly dead as the Spawer had pictured him, perhaps, but -obviously stricken. He sat, an old withered figure, with the strange -inertness of body characteristic of the aged and the very sick, alive -seemingly no lower than his head, which moved slowly in the socket of a -grey plaid muffler, wrapped about his neck and tucked away beneath the -lapels of his dingy green-black coat. There was a red cotton cushion -propped under his shoulders. His legs, motionless as the padded legs of -a guy, and as convincing, looked strangely swollen and shapeless by -contrast with his white and wasted face. At their extremity a pair of -lifeless, thick ankles were squeezed into clumsy country slippers, whose -toes never once, during the course of the Spawer's visit, stirred away -from the red spot on the hearthrug where he had at first observed them. -The invalid's breathing was the labored wheezy usage of lungs that -bespoke asthma and bronchitis, and the hands that clasped the arms of -the wooden chair might have been carved in horn. A couple of crooked -sticks placed in the projecting angle of the range showed his extremity -in the matter of locomotion. To the Spawer, whose experience with the -dark obverse of life's bright medallion was restricted, and whose -acquaintance with death and death's methods was more by hearsay, as of -some notorious usurer, the picture was not a pleasant one. He had -rather been left out in the pure sunshine with his own tormenting -thoughts than be brought face to face with the actual draught that all -men mortal must drain. And yet, he told himself, this was the sort of -thing that Pam was almost daily sacrificing some portion of her young -life to; giving generously a share of her own freshness and -healthfulness and vitality to keep burning these wan and flickering -flames. Wonder of wonders, the magic chalice of a woman's heart, that -can pour forth its crystalline stream of love and comfort and -consolation, and yet not run dry. - -An elderly woman, in a print dress, whose hands were nervously fidgeting -with the jet brooch at her throat, and who seemed employed in watching -the door with a smile not devoid of anxiety, curtseyed with painful -respectfulness at the Spawer's entrance, and dusting the surface of a -wooden chair, begged him to be seated. If he had lacked Pam's assurance -that his presence was coveted he might have almost reproached himself -for entering at some inopportune moment. A great air of formality -seemed to enter with his advent, and stiffen all about them--he felt it -himself--as though they were on the brink of some important ceremony -with whose procedure they were unacquainted, like Protestants at High -Mass. He took the chair, however, with the utmost friendliness and -thankfulness he could assume, and tried to sit down upon it with a -pleasant air of relief, as though it were a welcome accessory to his -comfort, and he were grateful. He was very anxious, for his pride's -sake, to do Pam credit. - -"Ah!" he said, seeming to welcome the discovery of the fire as -something, in these chill times, to be glad for, and addressing himself -to the sick man, made pleasant allusion to it. "You keep a bit of a -blaze, I see," he said. - -"Ye 'll 'a to speak up tiv 'im a bit, sir," the woman instructed him -deferentially. "'E weean't a 'eard ye. 'E 's gettin' that deaf it 's -past mekkin' 'im understand at times." - -The man's head turned slowly in its grey woolen socket, as though he had -caught the fact of his being in question, but was out of the reach of -the inquiry, and seeking by the petition of his eye to be informed. - -"'E 's speakin' about fire, gentleman is," the woman told him. - -"What fire?" the sick man asked, in a frail, piping voice--a voice that -a three-days' chicken might almost have challenged. - -He asked the question mechanically, with his eyes on the Spawer, but his -interest lay somewhere beyond the borderland of earthly things, as -though his mind, through much solitude of wandering, had strayed in -advance of his body towards the bourne of them both, and was recalled to -the flesh with increasing difficulty. - -"Kitchen fire," his wife explained to him. "Fire i' grate yonder." - -The man followed the line of her knotted, bony forefinger, and let his -eyes fall on the wasted red cinders, so symbolical of his own condition. - -"Ay," he said, after a moment, when it had almost come to seem that the -connection between finger and fireplace was quite lost. "Fire 's a bit -o' company to me. We 've been good friends a goodish piece noo, but ah -s'll not need 'er so much longer, ah 'm thinkin'." - -"Ye div n't know what ye 'll need," his wife admonished him, with the -sharpness of personal anxiety. But to the Spawer she added, catching at -her brooch: "Cough troubles 'im a deal o' nights noo. Doctor says 'e -misdoots 'e 'll see another winter thruff. 'E 'd seummut to do to get -thruff last." - -The sick man knew, with the dumb instinct of a dog, that his case was -being discussed. He fastened his eyes on the Spawer's face to see -whether it would give him any clue to the words that were being uttered. -His wife's, by experience, he knew would tell him nothing; but a -stranger's might. - -"Ah 'm about at far end," he piped, in his placid, piteous harmonic of a -voice, that issued between his lips with a sound like the blowing of a -cornstraw. "Ah 've been a sad, naughty slaverbags i' my time, bud ah 'm -done noo. It's 'arvest time wi' me, an' ah 'm bein' gathered in, ah -think. Doctor 's patched my bellows up a deal o' times, bud they -weean't stan' mendin' no more." - -"Why weean't they? Ye 've breathed a deal free-er last few days," his -wife tried to instil into him. "It 's 'is 'eart as well," she told the -Spawer. "Doctor says it 's about worn out. Ay, poor man, poor man! -What a thing it is to sit an' watch 'im gan, ah-sure. An' 'im so active -as 'e was. Bud cryin' weean't alter it, for ah 've tried, an' it 's no -use. It 's Lord's will, an' we mun just be thankful 'at 'E 's spared -'im as long as 'E 'as, wi' me to look after 'im an' see 'e gans off -comfortable. There 's monny 'at is n't blessed so well as that." - -The sick man fastened his eye on the Spawer again. - -"Ye come fro' Dixon's?" he said inquiringly; and when the Spawer gave -him an illuminative "Yes"--"Ay," he said, through his thin lips. "It 's -long enough sin' ah seed 'im. Mebbe ye 'll do me the kindness to gie -'im mah respecks when ye get back. Monny 's the time 'im an' me 's met -i' Oommuth market an' driven wum [home] i' Tankard's 'bus together.... -Ah 've been nowt bud trouble tiv 'er sin' day she wor fond enough to tek -me, an' she would n't 'a tekken me then, bud ah begged ower 'ard. An' ah -'m nowt bud trouble tiv 'er noo." - -"Ay, an' ah 'd tek ye agen lad," the thin, worn woman told him, with an -assurance that was almost fierce. "Ne'er mind whether ye 're a bad un or -no. Ah 've nivver rued day ah tekt ye--though ye 'd gie'n me twice -trouble ye did. Ah mud 'ave looked far to fin' a better, an' then not -fun' [found] 'im. Let ye be as drunk as ye would, ye nivver gied me a -bad wod nor lifted 'and agen me." - -"Nay, ah nivver lifted 'and agen ye," the man assented. "Ah 'ad n't -need. Bud that 's little to my credit. Ah trailed ye thruff -tribulation. What time ye was n't workin' to mek good what ah 'd wasted -ye was weepin' an' waitin' o' me. There 's scarcelins a Saturday neet, -at one time, ye set oot wi' a dry eye." - -"Ay, bud ye nivver stayed away ower Sunday," his wife claimed, with -pride. "Ye was allus back an' to spare when Oolbrig bells got set o' -ringin'. An' it's not ivvery man's wife about this district 'at can say -same of 'er 'usband." - -The sick man listened to her, and a pale, wintry smile flickered across -his face and over his frost-nipped lips. Years ago, perhaps, it had been -a smile as full of sunlight as the Spawer's own, and dear to the woman's -heart. Perhaps her soul had pined for that very smile, and drunk of its -remembrance, in the dark hours that clouded her life from time to time. -The sick man turned his eyes upon the Spawer, while yet the feeble ray -illuminated them. - -"Ah did n't chose so badlins," he said, with a tinge of the dry humor -that sparkles mirthfully in the men of these parts like the crackling of -blazing twigs under a pot. "Nay, ah got best o' bargain when she -fastened 'ersen. Chosin' a wife 's same as chosin' a mare or owt else, -an' there 's a deal o' ways o' chosin' wrong. Don't tek notice o' way a -lass gans on tiv you, if ye want to pick a good un--for they 're all t' -same when they 're carryin' on wi' a man. Good uns an' bad uns acts -alike then. Div n't tek a woman 'll 'at fin's ower much fault wi' 'er -neighbors--syke a woman 'll fin' plenty wi' you when she 's gotten ye -fast. Ye want to 'ave a sharp eye when ye gan coortin'. There 's some -on 'em 'at gans coortin' by neet, 'at scarcelins knows look o' their -lass by day. That 's no way. Don't tek on wi' a lass because she -carries a 'ymn book. Onny lass can carry a 'ymn book. Tek one 'at 's -gotten all 'er 'ymns i' 'er 'eart. Don't trust yersen tiv a lass 'at -wastes all 'er time i' runnin' after ye. Think on it 's 'er feythur's -time she 's wastin', 'appen, an' when she 's gotten ye she 'll waste -yours. Ay, an' try an' pick a wench 'at dizz n't mind doin' what she -can to mek it a bit brighter for them 'at 's gannin' quick down shady -side o' life. 'Appen she 'll do t' same when it comes tiv your ton -[turn]." - -All these things the Spawer promised to bear in mind when the time came, -with the despicable hypocrisy that assumed, as a cloak, the smiling -improbability of any such occurrence. Cad that he felt himself, he -dared not look at Pam, seated apart on a chair by the door leading into -a small scullery beyond. Like Peter he kept denying--by inference, at -least--the facts of a case that would so unpleasantly involve him. Like -Peter, each successive denial smote him to the heart; he wept in spirit -over his own spirit's weakness. And yet, as he asked himself very -naturally, even as he held his smile towards the old man, and studiously -away from the girl that fulfilled (either in actuality or in the guilty -similarity set up by his soul) every condition of the old fellow's -warning--was this the proper moment to declare to her what he had to -declare to her? Could he for the first time acquaint her with facts for -which she was all unprepared before strangers? No, no, no. Later on, -he swore it, he would fulfil his afternoon's mission. He was merely a -musician, he told himself, using destiny as his fiddle, tuning the -strings of circumstance to the tune needed of him. So, catching sight -of the little despicable harmonium for the hundredth time, with the -suddenly sparkling eye for a revelation, "What," said he, in accents of -surprised pleasure that even deceived Pam--(though he dared not have -thought it)--"a harmonium?" - -The old woman whipped off its meagre tippet of oilcloth in a twinkling, -and displayed its poor double octave of discolored celluloid with a -toothless smile of proud possession. - -"Mester bought it," she said. "He was allus fond of a bit o' music." - -How was she to know, poor soul, the strickening effect that fatal use of -the diminutive had on the sensitive fibres of the Spawer's nature? Not -from his face, surely, for he smiled pure sunlight. - -They dusted the keys for him, and a chair, and put up the fragile desk, -that subsided like a schooner before the blast, with its masts bending, -and the Spawer sat down and did his best. - -Heavens, what a best! - -The very tone of the instrument that cried out under his touch shook his -soul and almost frightened his fingers from the keys. So raucous it -was; so noisily sanctimonious; so redolent of blind musicians; of -street-corner meetings; so unblushingly bald; so callous; so -unsensitive; so ostentatious; so utterly awful. Every nerve, fibre, and -tissue of musical organization was offended; it was a crying offence -against every instinct of musical art. And all the while, as though the -soul itself were not being sufficiently punished by humiliation, the -body was being subjected to the physical indignity of working its legs -like a journeyman scissors-grinder. - -Ye gods! the tragic absurdity of it all. To musical natures less -cultured, to senses less susceptible than the Spawer's, there would have -been the rising of throats and the wetness of tears during this scene, -for, truth to tell, it lacked none of the elements of moving pathos and -tragedy. The dying man; the care-worn woman; the girl with the -compassionate lips; the musician bending over his task of devotion; the -hymn tune evolved into harmony by his shaping fingers from the low -humming of the girl's lips: - - "Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea; - Jehovah hath triumphed, His people are free..." - -the half-drawn blind--so soon to be drawn down to its full; the sun -beating on the window and on the red-tiled floor.... - -Not one witness in a thousand, drawn independently to consider the -scene, would have pierced to the heart of the pathos, and grasped -through the tearful confusion of their sympathies, that perhaps the most -beautiful focus-point of emotion was in the seated figure of the -musician, castigating his musical soul with biting thongs for the sake -of one girl and a dying man, and showing no sign. - -And what recompense of moral gratification did he receive in return for -his act of artistic abnegation? Little enough, it must be confessed, -that the Spawer could discover. The old man looked older, he thought; -the old woman's prefatory smile of appreciative pride had been quenched -by the music, and her attitude when he turned round upon her was the -incomprehending silence of respect. All her face, so to speak, had -fallen to pieces like an over-shortened pie, with no concentration of -interest to hold up the crust of its expression. Perhaps the very -harmonies with which the Spawer had clad the naked melody of a hymn tune -had so baffled their decaying, primitive hearing that they had failed to -recognise it in its new garb. He had done better, possibly, to play the -melody out for them with one finger. Pam's face alone compensated him. -She, he knew--and was glad to know--was too much awakened to the scope -and magnitude of music to have derived anything approaching personal -pleasure from a crude performance such as this; but she had realised -what nausea it must have been to him, and in the light of a sacrifice -alone she had rejoiced in his achievement. - -Well, however, the achievement was over, and they were ready to go any -time now. The old woman replaced the oilcloth over the harmonium with a -look of relief (or so the Spawer thought, but he thought wrong), and Pam -was just opening her lips to suggest departure when the old man piped -out in his faltering treble: - -"Ay, bud ye 'll gie me a chapter before ye gan, lass, weean't ye?" - -Pam turned a troubled eye part-way towards the Spawer, as though it were -accompanying a thought of hers on its own account; but she stopped it -before it reached him, and dropped submissive hands. - -"Would you like me to?" she asked gently. - -"Ay; ah s'd tek it kindly if ye would." - -"You don't mind?" she asked the Spawer softly; and with his assent, -readily given, "I will," she said. - -"Gie 'er the Book, lass," he ordered his wife; and the careworn woman -lifted it from beneath a pair of folded spectacles, and delivered it -reverently into the girl's receiving fingers. - -"What shall I read you?" Pam asked, setting the book on her knees, and -turning over the pages, now backwards, now forwards. - -"Ah 'll 'ave that bit o' John," he told her, "about mansions an' -such-like, if ye 've no objections." - -"Is that the fourteenth chapter?" Pam suggested inquiringly. "Did n't -we have it last time?" - -"Ay, an' we mud as lief 'ave it this," he decided placidly. "It 'll be -none the wuss of a time or two. Book 's not same as other things. -There 's allus seummut fresh in it for them 'at gans tiv it wi' a right -'eart. Ah s'd 'a done better if ah 'd ganned tiv it when ah 'ad use o' -legs Lord gid me. It 's ower late to larn me to walk straight i' this -wuld noo, but 'appen ah s'll be about ready to scrammle along to next, -when time comes." - -"The fourteenth chapter of the Gospel according to St. John," Pam -announced, as signifying that she had found the place, and smoothing -down the page with her soft finger, lifted her voice and read: - -"Let not your heart be troubled.... Ye believe in God, believe also in -me. In my Father's house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would -have told you. I go to prepare a place for you." - -When Pam said: "If it were not so ... I would have told you," one felt -it must be so indeed. Such lips could never lie. And as the girl's -clear voice rose and filled that little kitchen--so compassionate, so -truthful, so natural--the full sublimity of the picture of a sudden -swelled up in the Spawer's soul and mounted to his throat. The -ingredient elements of the scene were unchanged, but now how exalted. -He saw, in a flash, as though his spiritual eyes had been opened, the -true pathos of the picture: the dying man, seated so motionless in his -chair, with his faded blue eyes gazing into Heaven through the blind; -the worn woman, the better portion of whose years and loving energy the -man was taking to the grave with him; the sweet, purifying sunlight -bathing the world outside; the girl with the lips of celestial -compassion, drawing old truths from the battered and thumb-marked Bible, -distilling them anew in pure liquid sound, and dropping them so -coolingly into the overheated kitchen of death. All these he -saw--acutely with his inward vision, dimly with his material--and -wondered, as he saw it, that the girl could proceed so courageously and -so unfalteringly on her consolatory path. He himself would have fared -along it badly, and knew it. But it was not the last time he was to -marvel at the girl's self-possession when circumstances demanded, and -perhaps this second time he would remember it even better. - -"Ye 'll tek liberty to call agen, mebbe," the old man invited him as -they stood finally for departure, "... if ah 'm not mekkin' ower free to -ask ye; but it 's a lonely road when a man draws to yend of 'is days. -Busy folk can't reckon to be treubled wi' 'im--an' i' 'arvest an' all. -Ah wor no better mysen when ah 'ad my faculties. Ye 'll be stayin' wi' -Dixon a goodish while yet, mebbe?" - -At the direct question the Spawer's resolution spun round and made as -though to turn tail. There was just a slight pause--quite inappreciable -to the others about him, but painfully magnified to himself--while he -struggled whether to ignore the opportunity or seize it like a man, and -sign irrevocably the bond of his departure. - -"Perhaps..." he was quibbling with the reply even yet, while speaking, -not knowing whether to evade or to grapple with his chance. Then he -grappled suddenly, but always with that frank, pleasant smile of his -that showed no inkling of an inward perplexity. "... On the other -hand," he said, "... it 's possible I may be going any time now--any day -even." He sensed rather than saw the quick turn of the girl's eyes upon -him, and knew, too, in what kind of mild, protesting surprise she was -looking at him. She could not credit that he should first communicate -such an important piece of intelligence to strangers, without having -prepared her by a single word, and was wondering sorrowfully whether it -were not an excuse to evade any promise of visiting the old man again. - -"It all depends," the Spawer explained, throwing his explanation over -the truth of the matter like a pleasant nebula, "... on a letter. I 'm -expecting to hear. One can't stay for ever, you know," he added -amiably, "even where one 's happy." - -"Nay, nay," the old man acquiesced mournfully. "When a man comes to my -years 'e fin's that oot tiv 'is sorrer. Well, well; ah awpe [hope] when -ye think fit to change ye 'll change for t' better, young gen'leman, an' -ah thank ye for yer company an' yer kindness." He turned the faint -flicker of his long-ago smile upon Pam, like the sunlight stealing over -an autumn landscape. - -"Pam 's not likely to change yet a bit," he said, with a sense of -comfort in the thought, as though the girl were a true staff to rest on -in time of trouble. Pam shook her head reassuringly. "Nay, Pam mun 't -change yet a bit," he admonished her. "She mun stop an' see t' old man -'s time oot, ah think. 'E weean't keep 'er so long noo, but 'e 's a -selfish old chap; 'e dizz n't want to part wi' 'er no sooner nor need -be. She 's been as good tiv 'im as if she 'd been 'is own bairn. Ay, -an' better. There 's not monny bairns 'at 'ud 'a done as much--an' said -as little. Nay, nay; they 'd 'a telt 'im 'e was a treublesome old feller -long sin'. Good-by, lass; good-by--an' gie my respecks tiv 'is Rivrence -when 'e comes back." - -His eye kindled momentarily as the girl laid light fingers on the horny -right hand and stooped and kissed him. But the light of this died out of -them as soon as he had done speaking, and the pressure of her clasp -relaxed. As they passed out of the kitchen his gaze followed them dimly -from afar, seeming to inquire who were these figures departing, and -whence came they and what their errand, and in what remote, -unintelligible degree their presence concerned himself. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVIII* - - -For a short space the Spawer and Pam walked along in silence, but -sharing the same thought, as though they made joint use of an umbrella. -The stillness of a great Sunday had fallen over them; like communicants -of the Blessed Sacrament of Charity, they walked away a little hushed, -each treasuring the remembrance of the other's goodness; each trying to -retain undissipated those elusive sky-colors of exaltation that at -length must melt and fade away, however carefully cherished, into the -dull grey of daily life. - -And between here and the joining of the roads at Hesketh's corner the -Spawer was pledged to sign the document of departure. In two odd miles -of green-bordered laneway he was to waft all their charitable illusion -on one side with the rude hand of resolve, like the intrusive fumes of -rank tobacco, rather than the blessed clouds of incense, and make a -clear path for his shuffling feet to walk in. - -He stole a look down the side of his nose at the girl by his elbow. If -her clear face had been a window, and he a contemptible urchin whose -purpose was a stone secreted in the palm of his hostile hand, he could -not have put it behind his back with greater shame or remorse when she -looked up at him. - -"Hello!" he said, drawing up in their equable stride with a fine -pretence of awakening consciousness to the trend of their steps. "Where -on earth are we hurrying off to so fast?" - -The girl drew up too, and sought his face inquiringly. - -"Home ... are n't we?" she suggested, with a gentle stirring of surprise -at his need for the question. - -"Are you so anxious to get rid of me?" he asked. - -"I? Oh, no ... I was n't thinking about that." - -"Let 's think about it now, then," he prompted agreeably. "Truth to -tell, little woman, you 've made me feel such a very good little boy--so -smug and pious--that I dread going back to the corrupt and naughty world -yet a bit. I feel I only want just a little time for my wings to grow. -So don't spoil an angel for a penn'orth of tar. Give me a chance to -become a cherub, that 's a dear girl. What do you say to a turn as far -as the cliff at Shippus? I 'm not sure that I shan't be able to fly by -the time we get there. Don't stand in the way of my flying, please." - -Pam stood swinging the empty basket against her skirts, with a hungry -look towards Shippus and a lingering duty-pull towards Ullbrig. -Inwardly, ah! if he 'd only known how she was dying to accept this -invitation without demur. - -"I don't know ... I should like," she admitted, and asked: "What time is -it, please?" - -"Ah, what a girl for strict time it is, to be sure," the Spawer made -answer banteringly, pulling out his watch. "Always one, two, three, -four; one, two, three, four. But strict time 's not always music, -piccola mia, don't forget that. And music 's like life, no good at all -without a little 'tempo rubato.' Five o'clock, dear child--and there 's -a green fly on your chin." He stooped forward, put his lips towards it, -and puffed it lightly away. What a pretty chin it was, seen so near -too, and how almost like kissing it it had seemed--though not quite. -Ah, not quite. (What would she have said if he had, now?) "There," he -exclaimed, as the green fly floated out into space, "... excuse my -taking the liberty of blowing, but I was n't sure of my touch. I did -n't want to defile your chin with a murder, by accident. Well, what do -you say?" - -"Five o'clock 's rather late," was what the girl said, but there was as -little backbone in the suggestion as in the body of a sawdust doll. "I -'m afraid ... tea." - -"The very thing," the Spawer decided. "Let 's have tea at Shippus -together, and walk back like giants refreshed. Come; what do you say to -that? I say beautiful! beautiful! What do you say?" - -Apparently the girl said "Oh!" and having said that, seemed able to say -no more. - -"Very well, then," the Spawer declared, artfully taking the "Oh!" for -assent. "Come along and let 's tell 'em to put the kettle on, and be -sure to give us tea-leaves out of the canister." - -He took possession of the basket again, that she released into his hands -as token of submission to his will. - -"You won't ... lose the cover cloth, though, will you?" she besought -him, when he showed a tendency to swing it too freely. - -"I 'll stuff it in my pocket," he promised her, suiting action to his -words. "And then I shall be sure to have it safe with me at Cliff -Wrangham when you want it." - -Then slowly and happily they retraced their steps towards the sea. - -Being a Tuesday, and harvest-time to boot--the sacred Sunday feeling of -silence covered Shippus too beneath its beneficent mantle. Moreover, -week-days are the only Sabbaths that this place ever knows. As soon as -the church bells of Ullbrig announce to the landlady of the Royal Arms -(which is four fifths of Shippus, as everybody knows) the hour of divine -service, she throws open the dingy business door, and listens for the -welcome rumble of the first brake load of travelers who have driven out -the thirteen odd miles from Hunmouth to be supplied with the drink that -would be denied them (by the devout act of a Protestant and religious -Government) at their own door. There is nothing at all royal about the -Royal Arms except the name. It is disclosed with the remaining few -cottages of Shippus at a quick turn of the road--an irregular, -dirty-washed building--presenting, apparently, nothing but back doors. -Indeed, there is no front entrance at all, that I know of. And the -Spawer approaches the Royal Arms and orders the Royal Arms to put the -kettle on and lay the table for two, with ham and eggs and anything else -they think likely to tempt an invalid. And the Royal Arms, which is the -austere-faced lady who looked sternly at them on their arrival through -the small-paned window of what might be the scullery, after suggesting -that he should accompany her to the hen-run and pick his fancy, promised -tea faithfully in twenty minutes. She could also promise it in fifteen, -if he liked, but not faithfully. - -On a backless bench, close by the cliff edge, Pam and the Spawer sat -together in blessed community of spirit, and solaced their souls in the -blue sea before them. The sun, sinking behind their backs, cast their -two shadows far out on to the sands below, above the black silhouette of -the cliff. Right out to sea, on the straight, blue line of the horizon, -a ship stood up in snowy purity, like an iceberg. Over one corner of -the sky a smudge, as though a finger dipped in soot had drawn it across -the azure, broad at its base, thinned away to where it joined itself by -a fine thread to the funnel of a distant steamer. The chalk cliffs of -Farnborough rose up above the water in white marble, and the little -alabaster finger of the lighthouse showed clear, like a tiny belemnite. - -And after they had spent their twenty minutes in contemplation of the -scene and wandered to and fro a little along the trampled margin of the -cliff, they retrace their steps and make their way into the tea-room of -the Royal Arms. - -It is a long, low-ceilinged room, that promises little in the way of -table luxuries, and keeps its word. A great, bare table runs up the -centre of it on trestles, looking like a crocodile; scaly with the -involute rings of many glasses, and discolored with the spillings of -many liquids. At the far end, in a corner by the window, is an aged -piano--more aged than any the Spawer has ever come across, he thinks. -He gives an exclamation of amused greeting when his eyes first fall upon -it, and throwing up the lid, shakes hands with it most affably. -Probably it has never known respectability since the hour of its -birth--or at least since it went into the world from the factory. It -has been a pot-house creature--changing from pot-house to pot-house, -from vaults to cosy, from cosy to smoke-room, and from smoke-room to -private bar--until its landing here from Hunmouth three years ago. It -has the cracked, dissipated, nasal voice of a chucker-out, accustomed to -hurl vile-chorded epithets against a roomful of rowdy soakers, and knows -nothing of tune, never having heard any. But such as it is, it is a -distinct discovery and an acquisition to the present company. - -"My good fellow," the Spawer tells it, "it is plain you know nothing of -my friends Brahms and Beethoven--to say nothing of Chopin. Later on I -must certainly introduce you. It would n't be fair to them to leave you -unacquainted when such a fine opportunity offers." - -But for the present they take their places at the end of the crocodile -table, where a cloth has been spread, with a pewter tea-pot stand; a -glass bowl of some very azure and crystallised lumps of sugar; a dried -seed-cake, set out on a tri-colored tissue paper doyley; some treacly -marmalade; some butter; and a meagre miscellany of cheese-cakes. Ah, -how different from Pam's cooking and Pam's management, all these--and -yet, under the circumstances, quite enjoyable too, as a sort of -super-exalted jest. An under-sized girl in a full-sized apron, who -tilts the end of a big tray at such an angle upward, in front of her, to -sustain it at all, that she appears, on approach, to be walking on her -knees, ministers to their needs. She gives Pam an oppressed greeting, -for Pam knows her and she knows Pam, but her eye is mainly occupied with -the Spawer. She is visibly impressed with his importance, but the -impression, like all else about the Royal Arms, does not run to -superfluous courtesy. When he addresses a remark to her that she has -not heard, she tilts up her chin, sideways on, and screwing her lips to -inquiry says: "Eh?" or "M'm?" When he asks for a knife she demands: -"En't ye got one?" and when he removes his elbow to look, sees for -herself he has n't, and tells him, "Ah thought ah 'd setten two," as -though that explained everything. The Spawer thanks her liberally for -all she does for them, but never once can he succeed in forcing a "Thank -you" from her in return. - -But it 's all very jolly and entertaining. Pam pours out the tea. - -"Sugar and cream mine for me, dear girl," the Spawer bids her, "while I -tackle the ham." - -"How many do you take?" Pam asks him. - -"As many as you like to give me," the Spawer tells her. "I promise I -won't complain." - -"I 'll give you one and a bit, then," Pam says. "Then you can come -again if you like." - -"How good of you," says the Spawer. - -And altogether they are very happy indeed. They eat part of their ham -and eggs with dreadful deadly Bengal metal forks, and cut them with -leaden-looking knives, bone-hafted, that are warranted "Real Sheffield -Steel," without compromising any particular maker by name. - -And they urge each other to fresh helpings of the dried seed-cake, that -probably began its public career last Bank Holiday; and partake of the -fly-blown cheese-cakes, so great is their exaltation. At times too, -those necessary words are almost upon the Spawer's lips. The moment -seems propitious. Only let him swallow this mouthful, and he will tell -her ... he will say to her: - -"Dear girl..." - -Then the Dear Girl smiles, or the Dear Girl turns her head, or the Dear -Girl forestalls his words with words infinitely more desirable, or -catches his eye, and sends it back with as guilty a feeling as though he -were a top-story lodger trying to sneak down the staircase for a bucket -of coal, and intercepted with his nose at the door and the bucket in his -hand. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIX* - - -And meanwhile, as he removed himself more completely from the girl by -resolve, they came closer to each other in spirit. At the piano against -the window, looking out upon a poultry-run and the profile of three -meagre swing-boats, the Spawer sat down and made music, and the -music--even from this cracked, tin-plate, pot-house piano--seemed to sum -up all the goodness, all the charity, all the kindness, all the -happiness of the day; give it a pure and hallowed expression, as the -night's thanksgiving prayer gives blessed articulation to the hidden -processes of the soul. It was a mantle, this music that the Spawer -made, enfolded about them both. Their two lives, at this moment, were -silver streams of content, that met in melodious estuary, and flowed -henceforth with one broad current towards the infinite. - -Ah! Dangerous state of exaltation this, when souls seem severed from -the body, and feel no clog of their fleshy burthens binding them to -sordid earth. When spirits are so emancipated from the material that a -breath can almost blow them; when life seems to have lost all root in -worldly soil, but is merely the blessed sweet odor, hovering above the -blossom of existence. While the Spawer played the sky deepened. It -seemed to descend like a beneficent angel from heaven and clasp the -swing-boats in a celestial embrace, so that they slumbered with the deep -peace that comes from above. Pallid harvest stars opened places for -themselves in the curtain of blue dusk and peeped down upon the scene. -Night threw down her lawny veil of mist, that wound the world dreamily -in its filmy folds and hid the realities of existence. The life of toil -and labor, the life of matter and the life of fact--these lives were no -more, they were merged in a delightful life of dreams. To think was to -do. Activity was merely a beautiful unfolding of the soul, delivered of -all gross physical exertion, like the expansion of a cloud or the dreamy -convolution of a puff of white steam. Pam and the Spawer were no longer -flesh and blood; they were the disembodied souls of themselves. They -were their own thoughts, disencumbered of the flesh, merged delightfully -into each other, and moving by volition amid a world of dreams. -Everything that lay about them was symbolised into sublime moral truths, -into doctrines of love and charity. All the world, all their doings, -were dreams. - -They dreamed they left the piano and bought more tea-biscuits at six a -penny, and wandered forth (without any consciousness of legs) to redeem -their promise to the donkeys. After much wandering, they dreamed they -found them and fed them. Divine symbolism of love. And the girl dreamed -she kissed their noses and said many good-bys. Kissed the donkeys' -noses? Did she really kiss _their_ noses? Or were these kisses, cashed -upon the donkeys' noses, but the kisses of love and happiness drawn upon -the bank of universal love about them, and paid into the treasury of -their joint content? And she wound her soft dream arms about the -donkeys' necks. But in this nebulous state of bliss, where all thoughts, -all actions, all love, and all happiness seemed shared in common, and -indivisible, like the particles of gases that shift and move and change -their relative positions, but do not alter their substantial bulk, it -might have been that her dream arms wound about the Spawer's dream neck. -They dreamed their way to the cliff edge to take farewell of the sea, -that lay out with a silver-grey sheen upon its blue depth. On the same -seat they sat again, with their backs to the contracting shapelessness -of the Royal Arms and the west, whose dusky cheek the setting sun tinged -to crimson like the blush of a beautiful Creole. The penetrating eye of -Farnborough looked out at them from across the water, took stock of them -and closed itself once more. Anon it looked this way again, to see if -they were still there, and there they were. Many strange scenes of -love, in all love's aspects, has the far-seeing eye of Farnborough -witnessed in its day, by the side of the water along this coast. What -it does not know of these emotions--as well as of the comedies and -tragedies of death--is not worth knowing. - -They dreamed, these two did, that they rose again and wandered a little -along the cliff line. They dreamed they saw a faint phosphorescent -pallor away over the water, and the Spawer dreamed he said: - -"It is the moon. Let's see it rise." - -So they dreamed themselves on to another seat, and sat together and -watched the moon push its red rim, like the edge of a new penny, above -the misty horizon. And they watched it turn to gilt as it rose and -threw aside its veil of mist, and mount up at last like a beautiful -goddess with a fair white body. They dreamed themselves back to the old -bench once more, at the head of the zigzag steps, cut in the face of the -cliff for descent to the beach. - -"Let us sit down here a bit," the Spawer said; and they dreamed they -seated themselves. - -The eye of Farnborough looked out searchingly for the bench, and found -it at last, with this twain on it, and said "Aha!" and winked itself out -again. In the growing light of the moon the girl's silvery face shone -forth from the shimmering mist like a planet. Was he going to tell her -here what he had to say? ... - -Or was he going to wind his arms about her and kiss her, kiss her, kiss -her? Would she resent? or would she melt into his embrace like a drop -of water in strong wine? Ah, torture of temptation. St. Anthony scarce -suffered by comparison with this. The moon, the sea, the vastness of -the night, the stars, the winding mist, the exaltation--rising up like -fumes from their communion of this day--were all commingled in his soul, -making his emotions infinite. He was a poor weak mortal, suffering the -Olympian passion of a god. One moment his arms were almost about -her--though he never stirred. The next he was holding up his purpose -like a burning crucifix before his passion's eyes ... and all the while -the girl sat with her face to the moon, and he with his face sideways -upon hers. - -Then the prolonged silence woke the girl to a sense of something -impending--that sense, so fine and subtle in her sex, that tells it, by -one quick touch, as of an antenna, what man must exercise all the -processes of his reason to discover. - -"Shall we ... be going back?" she suggested, part rising, with a -tentative hand upon the seat, for she felt the silence as the dangerous -filaments of a web that was being woven about her for some sort of -captivity. - -"Oh ... if you are tired of this..." he responded. - -"I am not tired of it," she said. - -"Let 's stay a little longer, then," he proposed. "Shall we?" - -"If you like..." the girl said. - -The submissive rustle of her sinking back sounded like a sigh. They -were very dreamy the two of them. - -And again the temptation of St. Anthony commenced. What devils were -struggling for possession of him? Why was he delaying matters? Every -moment threw the girl more upon his hands. He had only to drop his -voice, to whisper, to put out his dream arms, to enfold her, to stifle -her lips under dream kisses.... And with what object this? - -Ah! - -Love is no analyst; does not profess to be; does not want to be. Pure -love and love unworthy are one and the same at the crisis. Whether the -flame is the flame of an evil incendiary or the spontaneous flame of -pure affinity ... it is all one when it burns. She was there; there by -his side. There to be taken ... or there to be left. Should he take -her? Should he leave her? And while he temporised thus with the -devils, before ceding the keys of his inner soul ... the girl was on her -feet again. - -"Perhaps we ought to be going ... don't you think?" - -Fool that he was. The moment was by again. This was no time for his -arm. - -"Plainly ... you are in a hurry to be rid of me." His laugh was -infectiously frank and free. "Am I such poor company?" - -"It 's growing late," the girl said, evading the dangerous quicksand of -his question. "I 'm afraid ... they 'll be wondering what's got me, at -home." - -"Ah, is it such a naughty girl as that? Don't they trust her?" - -"They don't know where I am. I did n't tell them." - -"Do you always tell them?" - -"Not always...." - -"Good girl. She shall have a white mark for telling the truth." - -"But ... this afternoon I did n't know ... that I was coming here. They -may be anxious." - -"Suppose we walk as far as the other seat before going back. Would that -make them very, very anxious?" - -"Perhaps we might walk as far as that ... if you wish." - -And they walked--a whole legion of devils in attendance upon the man. -The searching eye, gazing keenly along the cliff from seat to seat, -found them once more at the second, and blinked knowingly. "The old, -old comedy," it told itself. But for all that, it was not quite the -old, old comedy of the true Shippus sort. The devils were practically -in possession of the dream-Spawer's soul, but the dream-Spawer was so -completely detached from the real Spawer's body that no physical -manifestation took place. The dream-Spawer, floating to and fro above -the small, pitiful, carnal presentment, like a balloon in oscillation, -wound dream arms about the girl, pressed dream kisses upon her lips, -felt her own dream arms wind celestially about his neck; suffocated all -remorse, all scruples, all purpose, all resolution, beneath kisses soft -and seductive as the roseate clouds of a July sunset ... but there was -no contact with the earthly Spawer. All this the vast dream-Spawer did, -but the small earthly Spawer beneath stood still and looked at the sea. - -And a little later the searching eye from Farnborough, stealing a sly -glimpse at the second seat, said a sudden "Hello!" and gazed in -unconcealed, wide-open surprise. "H'm!" it reflected, in a tone of -considerable disappointment. "So they 've gone at last. Sorry I could -n't see the end of that business. Wonder where they are now." - -But it had other little episodes to keep its eye upon--Merensea, -Farnborough, and even Spathorpe way--and could not afford to waste time -in useless regrets. - - - - - *CHAPTER XX* - - -The crisis was over, but the danger of relapse remained. The dream had -not been broken, it had merely been prolonged. Slowly or suddenly, the -awakening was bound to come. Every step of the homeward road that they -took was unwinding their dream like a skein of worsted. And now, -incredulous as it may seem, with the homeward end in view, the Spawer -recommenced to apply himself, by a kind of feverish rote, to the -preparation of the task that he had been so ready to cast down. - -They passed the group of cottages where--ages and ages ago, one blazing -August afternoon--they had called to visit a dying man. He would be -dead now. The Spawer had troubled his last moments with a hymn-tune on -a cacophonous harmonium that emitted a discordant clamor like a flock of -geese in full prayer; and the girl had read him a chapter out of St. -Mark--or was it Matthew or Luke?--John perhaps. What a pious, -smug-faced fellow he had felt himself in those days. Almost fit for -heaven. And in these! He gazed, with the girl, at the little yellow -square of light as they passed, that showed where the scene had taken -place, and thought of Now and Then. All the air was saturated with -moonlight. It looked too thick to breathe. A great exhalation rose up -from the pores of the earth, tremulous as a mystic bridal-veil worn on -the brow of Nature. The hedges swooned away on either side of them. -The sky drooped dizzily. Sounds, filtered and languorous, percolated -through the supernatural stillness, with a strange distinctness and -purity. The cries of children at play, robbed of all earthly meaning -and wondrously tranquillised, as though uttered from the far-away abode -of the blest; the barking of dogs; the call of shepherds; the coughing -of sheep; the lowing of cattle; the unexpected cry of birds; the beating -of metal on some distant anvil, like the ringing of an angelus bell; the -slamming of remote gates--all spiritualised and purified, as though they -came from one world, and these two occupied another. There was a -melancholy and solitude about the earth that made them feel as though -they were among the shades; as though they were dead (very peacefully), -and the sun would never rise upon hard realities again; but as though, -from now henceforth through eternity, their souls might wander in misty -moonlight. - -And still they walked, and still he had not told her. Still his soul was -divided in conflict between the desire to relapse himself to the dream -and the necessity to meet that promissory I.O.U. of honor which he had -given to himself. All the time he was practising overtures; trying -phrases in his mind by which he could approach the subject casually, -without allowing the girl to perceive the degraded tortuous trail over -which he had been crawling to it on his moral belly all this morning, -and all this afternoon, and all this evening. From the thick moonlight, -as they walked, other shades detached themselves of a sudden, as though -they had but that moment been fashioned out of the tremulous mist, met -them walking more slowly, and were absorbed into the mist again on the -Shippus side behind them, like ink-spots in blotting-paper. Silent -couples, walking wordless and sometimes apart, but wrapped in their own -amorous atmosphere, and always with that strange, lingering communion of -step, that concentration of purpose, as though a magnet were drawing -them forward in slumber. And already, here and there, through the -hedges and through branches of distant trees and in the moonlit sky, -were gleaming the dull yellow of blind-drawn casements and the -scintillating beams of naked lamps that betokened Ullbrig. - -And still he had not told her. - -A bat, fluttering blindly over the dusky hedgerow and steering itself -erratically on its course like an uncertain cyclist, flew almost into -the girl's face and wheeled off abruptly, so that she felt the waft of -its wing on her cheek and gave a little cry of surprise. - -"What is the matter with you, dear girl?" The Spawer turned quickly at -the sound. "You have n't twisted your foot?" - -"No, no." The girl held up a face of reassurance in the moonlight. -"It's nothing ... only a bat." - -"And what did the naughty bat do to her to frighten her so?" - -"It did n't frighten me really. I thought it was going to fly in my -face. It startled me at first ... that's all." - -"It was a bad, wicked bat to fly in her face and startle her at first." -He took hold of her arm. At the touch of that round, warm, live member -all the blood in her body seemed to jump to issue with his, and combine, -as though one great pulsing artery fed them both. "Come along," he said -lightly, striving with his voice to palliate the tremulous danger of -their union. "I won't have this dear girl frightened. I will take care -of her." - -She made no demur, either to his words or to his touch, but came along -by his side; so warm, so wonderfully alive, so spiritually silent. - -"Will she trust him to take care of her?" he asked her softly. And -after a moment: "Will she?" for she had not answered a word. She said -"Yes" very faintly, with the faintness of happiness. - -"It is a good girl," he said caressingly, "... and she shall be well -taken care of." He pressed confidence into that supple trunk of arm. -"But she must try and be as kind to me as she can ... now." He waited -to give her the opportunity of asking him, Why? but she did not. She -was in the ethereal state that takes everything for granted. "Because -... well ... because she did n't believe me this afternoon. She thought -I was only telling tarradiddles. Now did n't she? But it was n't -tarradiddles at all, at all. It was something far worse than -tarradiddles." - -He felt the sudden thrill of awakening alarm run through her; but still -she said no word, asked no questions, left everything to him. - -"What does the good little girl say?" he asked her--oh, so lightly! -With his hand on her arm, with the pain of parting quite merged in the -warm consolatory current of their common blood, penance seemed a light, -a meaningless thing. What was departure but a delightful occasion for -kisses and comfort ... till the dread moment came? The good little girl -trembled a little, he thought, but said nothing. "Does n't she say she -'s sorry? Come, come. Surely she 's not such a heartless little girl as -not to say she 's sorry?" - -This time the girl twisted a swift, startled face of inquiry towards his -own half-bantering smile. - -"I thought..." she began, and stopped with the abruptness of fear. - -"Yes, yes; I know you did," he laughed. "I told you so. You thought I -was just telling a great big fib, did n't you? ... because I did n't -want to bind myself to the ordeal of any more harmonium." - -"You don't mean ... you 're going away?" - -"Should you be very sorry?" he asked her. - -She did not speak, but seemed, in the moonlight, to be looking at him as -though she were trying to absorb his meaning, to see if there were any -other sense below the surface of his words. - -"Are you really ... going?" she asked him, after a while. - -The intentness of her look and the wondrous depth of her great -eyes--stirred now to troubled speculation--sent his purpose reeling -aslant again. - -"Ah!" He gave her arm a protesting squeeze. "She 's not going to give -her sorrow away until she 's quite sure there 's genuine necessity for -it. She 's a very wise and very cautious little woman. She wants good -security for any small advances of commiseration. If I did n't know for -certain that her name was what it is ... I should be inclined to think -they called her Rachel or Leah or Abigail or Zipporah--with something of -Benjamin or Isaacs or Ishmael about it. Never mind. I will trust her -with my gold watch, and she shall give me what she likes on it. Yes, -little Israelite ... it was the truth that this unfortunate Gentile -spoke this afternoon. He knows it was ... because he does n't speak it -so often but that he can tell the taste. He 's been loafing about -happily for a long time ... but the eternal policeman Destiny has given -him the office to move on, and it seems he 'll have to move. It 's no -use getting cross with the law. Is she sorry for him now, this little -Usurer?" - -"But you 're not going away ... at once?" she asked him, in a startled -voice. - -"My gracious! What an out-and-out extortioner she is," the Spawer -exclaimed, with an assumption of admiring tribute. "She won't advance -me a cent of sympathy until she knows the term of the loan. If I say I -'m going at once, she 'll give me a better price of pity than if the -advance is to drag on over an indefinite period of weeks." He made -pretence to throw his chin in the air and laugh with pleasure. -"Honestly, little Rebecca," he told her, looking down once more, "I -don't want to humbug a penny more out of you than you think you ought to -give. At present I can't say when I go ... whether I have to go -to-morrow, the day after, the day after that ... or next week even. It -all depends on a letter. I 'm a condemned man, under indefinite -reprieve." He paused for a moment, balancing whether he should say the -next thing on his mind. "As a matter of fact, little woman...." He -turned his face towards her with the engaging air of candor that -seemingly could not deny itself. "... It 's no use trying to stuff you. -You 're too sharp to take a dummy watch with the works out, or a gilt -sixpence. So ... as it 's not a bit of good trying to be anything else -... I 'll be frank with you. I 'll tell you a secret. It 's a big -one--all about myself. Do you think you can keep a secret?" - -"I 'll try," said the girl, with her eyes fixed apprehensively on his -lips. - -"Well, then..." he said. "I 'm in your hands. I 'm going to do a very -silly thing." - -Did a tremor of apprehensive pain, like the very ghost of a shiver, run -up the arm that he held? or was it his own mind, that through a feeling -of sympathy sought to attribute its knowledge to hers? - -"You 'll think me a frightful ass, no doubt, when I tell you what it is. -Can you guess?" - -The girl seemed to concentrate her look upon him, but whether the true -answer had flashed across her mind, or whether the flash of divination -merely served to dazzle her and make her ignorance still darker, so that -she looked for enlightenment from him, he could not tell; but she said -"No," and gave up his riddle with a shake of the head. - -"I wish you 'd guessed," he said. "It throws it all on to my shoulders. -Now I shall have to hoist the confession up like my own portmanteau, and -perhaps look a bigger ass than ever, with my knees all bent under it. -Anyhow, here goes--one, two, three ... I 'm going to be married. - -"Well?" he inquired, after a pause. "Won't you say you 're sorry now? -It 's all my own silly fault, I know, and I deserved to be married for -being such a fool ... but still--can't you squeeze one little drop of -pity for me?" - -"Are you really going to be married?" asked the girl. She spoke in a -very level and, it struck him, a very unemotional voice. - -"Great goodness, little woman," he exclaimed, "what an unbelieving -Israelite you are! Do you think I do a wholesale and export trade in -tarradiddles? You did n't use to suspect me before, even when I told -you I was a great composer. Won't you believe me now, when I 'm willing -to confess myself an awful idiot? On my word and conscience, then ... I -'m going to be married." - -"I hope ... you 'll be very, very happy," said the girl. - -For her, he thought the words and the wish somewhat prosaic. At this -moment she lacked one of those beautiful little emotional touches with -which she could illuminate the simplest saying to poetry. Her voice, -soft though it was, and so full of sympathetic interest, yet struck him -with a painful feeling of matter-of-fact. He and his marriage seemed -suddenly stuck up in hard, unpoetic affirmation, like the tin -price-shield in a pork-pie. The subtlety of artistic suggestion was -altogether lacking, all the romance was gone. The thing he had wished -delicately hinting at, a mysterious romantic melody for _celli con -sordini_, to suit the orchestra of the evening and of their mood, was -become a commonplace tune for a drunken cornet to play outside a -public-house door on Saturday night. All at once he began to feel that -the coverlet of dreams was fast slipping away from him. The moonlight -was clearer: the hedges harder in outline. In spite of the hand that lay -on the girl's arm, as though to retain that part of the dream at any -rate, they were no longer spiritually united. There was an intangible, -invisible, impalpable something between them as keen as the sword of -flame at the Gate of the Garden of Eden. Like many another martyr before -him, in his crucial hour the roseate illusions that had fortified him to -his purpose were floating away from him now, and leaving him only his -actual senses to realise externals and apprise him of the horrible pangs -of suffering. Before, he had been temporising at the stake; trying the -rope to see how its bondage felt, without allowing the cruel loops to -cut into his flesh; posturing as martyr before the girl in mind -only--but now he had made the girl a participant of his purpose. - -And the worst of it was that he must profess that the parting meant -nothing so very much to either of them. He must not insult the girl by -suggesting that his going affected only her--that she would deeply feel -the loss of him who felt her loss so little that he was leaving her for -another. And yet! And yet! - -O Lord! And yet! All his present life was but a meaningless series of -disjunctive conjunctions; words of contingency and speculation; ifs, -buts, supposes, peradventures, perchances, and the like. - -"I say ... you 're very silent, little woman," he remarked, after a -while. "Don't be hard on a fellow because he 's down on his luck. You -'re not offended with me, are you?" - -"Offended with you?" she said. "Oh, no, indeed. What should make me -offended ... with you?" - -He made believe to laugh. - -"Well, I don't know what should. Only ... perhaps because you 're -disappointed to find that I 'm just as much an ass as any other man. -Oh, music 's nothing to do with it, believe me. A man may play like an -angel on the piano--as I do--and yet play as giddy a goat as any on four -legs, in real life, as I 've done. But what 's done is done. I was -younger in those days, perhaps. All the same, I 'm not too old for a -little sympathy. Say something to me, won't you?" - -"I hardly know what to say," said the girl. "I was trying to think." - -"Say something to give me a little courage, then," he suggested; -"something to strengthen my knees a little. You don't know how -white-livered and weak-kneed it makes a man feel when the marriage noose -is round his neck, and he seems to hear the bell tolling, and sees the -chaplain getting out his little prayer-book, and knows his hour 's -approaching to be launched into eternity." - -Even to himself he recognised how beautifully his words were serving the -purpose of concealing truth with truth. No girl on earth--certainly not -the girl by his side--could have probed his utterances, in that candid -voice of his, and said: "You are speaking the truth. You are going to -this wedding like a weak-kneed cur, and all the time you are trying to -cling to me for comfort and consolation--and yet trying not to demean -yourself in my eyes by letting me know it. I am the girl you love, and -you are trying to experience the pleasure of my love vicariously; by -proxy, as it were. If I were in the other one's place, and she were in -mine, not all the waters of the world would keep you apart from her." - -No, no. His smiling, semi-serious words were like a rosewood veneer -over deal wood, and there was no penetrating them. - -They were close on Hesketh's corner now. He had told her all, and he -had told her nothing. Words--hundreds, thousands, millions of words -were still wanting to make the parting as it should be. - -And all at once he felt the power of the dream returning; the impulse to -take the girl in his arms; to kiss her; to tell her that he was but -jesting, and that he loved her above everything and everybody in the -world; pawn all his future, with its honor and duty, for the pleasure of -that one glorious avowal. How could he let her depart out of that empty -leave-taking without a word, a sign, when his heart was like a vast sea, -and she the spirit moving on its waters? Even as he thought of it his -fingers tightened possessively upon the girl's warm arm; his lips -dropped persuasively; the words seemed to rise to his mouth as easily as -bubbles to the surface of water, for the mere thinking. - -"You have not said ... you are sorry I am going yet," he told her. "Are -you sorry?" - -Did the girl tremble? Her face was turned away from him. Was she -laughing or was she crying? - -"Are you sorry?" he asked her again pleadingly, conveying by inflection -what he wished her answer to be; his lips lower towards her still. - -"Yes..." - -He caught the word, but it was more like a shiver--as though all the -tissues of her body had conspired to give it tremulous birth, like the -whispering of a tree. Her head was still turned from him. - -"Very sorry?" he pressed her. "Tell me. See; lift up your face..." -His own face sank lower, as low as the hat brim. "... You are not -crying?" - -He released his hold of the girl's arm, slid his hand about her and drew -her to him by the waist. Into that warm socket she yielded -submissively, like a child into its cradle. She was his now; his in all -but the asking. They were still walking, but their walk was the ghostly -stepless progress of a mist moving across the meadows. The dream was -back again, and the gloriousness of it. He put out his left hand, with -the basket hanging from its wrist, and took the girl's soft warm chin to -pull it gently towards his lips. - -"Pam..." he said. - -Out of the yellow moonlight, or out of the denser substance of the -hedges, or out of the earth at their feet, was shaped suddenly the -motionless figure of a man. Whether he had been there from the first, -or had come there by approach, or had overtaken them, appeared not. As -though he were a black pestle in an alchemist's mortar, he seemed -deposed there, without movement or volition of his own. At sight of him -all the dream was precipitated in sediment of actuality, that fell down -to the ground in fine, imperceptible residue, like the shattered -particles of a bubble. The Spawer's arm slid to his side, and they -dropped apart several paces, guiltily. - -"It is the schoolmaster," Pam said, awakening out of the sleep with a -voice of sudden terror, under her breath. "... I must be going." - -The Spawer commenced to hum, and craning his neck up to the moon as -though he were aware of this orb for the first time, made pleasant -allusion in a clear, uncompromising voice to "A jolly fine night." The -man was on Pam's side of the road. As they reached him the girl -stopped. - -"They have been looking for you," the man said. - -"I am here," Pam answered, in her old clear voice. - -The man did not move. He remained there motionless, seeming to take the -words as an intimation that she would accompany him. Pam held out her -hand for the basket that the Spawer was swinging with an assumption of -negligence and ease. - -"Thank you," she said. - -The dark figure of the man embarrassed all speech. The Spawer handed the -basket over into her hands without a word. - -"And the serviette..." he said, drawing it from his pocket. - -Pam received it from him and thanked him again. - -Then there was a slight pause. - -"Good-night!" she said. - -"Good-night!" - -They shook hands with a strange and ludicrous politeness. - -Had they been naughty children, and this stranger the angry parent of -one of them, they could not have parted under a deeper cloud of ignominy -and disgrace. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXI* - - -The "Good-night" so soullessly inflected, that the girl gave to the -Spawer with her tepid fingers of politeness, was to her the leave-taking -of all her happiness. In joy she was an orphan. Her heart was choking -her as she surrendered herself to the sombre shadow in the roadway; the -black anchor that seemed to hold her fast now at the end of an iron -cable. If she could have died then, in her mingled agony and shame, -sorrow, mortification, and sickening despair, she would have wished it. -For a while no word was spoken. She and the gloomy figure of the man -walked towards Ullbrig together, very far apart, without looking at each -other, almost as though they were ignoring each other's presence. A -great silent wall of division rose up between them, a barrier of -disgrace, on the shady side of which walked Pam. Through all this -silence was going on a mighty struggle. The man, with throbbing neck -and veins of whipcord in his forehead, was desperately striving to find -his pretext to scale the barrier or break through and speak to the girl -on ground of common understanding, but a sense of shame for what he had -seen withheld him. Great waves of heat and cold swept him alternately. -That which he had witnessed chilled him with a horrible fear for the -terrors of that which he had not witnessed, and yet fired him to torrid -anguish. That embrace that had struck him sickly to stone in the -roadway ... was it the beginning, or was it the end? Had the girl been -playing him false all through? With the magnified doubts of his class -concerning the evil magnetism of musicians and the slackness of their -scruples, his heart was wrung with horrible apprehensions as to how far -the Spawer possessed this power, and how far he had used it. Was this -girl--whom he loved with a pure, blind, white-heat passion--was she, -while scorning his approaches, so deeply infatuated with the visitor -from the Cliff that she coveted rather to be the temporary toy of the -one than the honored wife of the other? The doubt stung him to the -quick. He wanted to speak, yet dared not for fear his words might -betray this thorny crown of his torture. Oh, what he would have given -to know the history of that walk from Shippus to Ullbrig; what would he -not have given to be able to wipe it out of all their lives and memories -as though it had never been. - -"Let me ... carry your basket," he said awkwardly, after a while. He -tried to round his voice mentally before using it, to file down its -roughness of emotion; but it came out hoarse and unequal in spite of -him. - -To the girl, troubled with her own personal misery and the gnawing -misery of speculation as to how much of her weakness he had witnessed, -and what he was thinking of her, and the acute irksomeness of his -presence at this crisis of her life, when she sought only solitude, the -mere relinquishing of the basket seemed like another surrender. She -clung to it in spirit, as though it were a straw on the black waters of -her foundering. - -"It is nothing ... thank you," she told him. "I can carry it." - -He felt the resistance to his offer, and the motive that urged it, and -the blood swept up about his head again. The girl, though she did not -look at him, saw the hands go up to his throat. - -"You were ... not carrying it ... before," he hazarded. - -"We are so near home." The girl hesitated, and there was a tremble in -her voice. "You may carry it, if you like," she said, and handed it to -him. - -"Thank you." - -He took it from her with an awkward scuffle of untutored politeness. -Even as he felt the pride of the possession he felt the shame and -degradation of it too--to walk by the side of her as the Spawer had -done; to carry her basket as the Spawer had done; to try and delude his -poor, anguished soul with these fragments of a banquet to which he had -been an uninvited spectator (a guest never), and make himself believe he -was in some sort enjoying her favor. Ah, poor fool! poor fool! By his -side walked the phantom figure of the Spawer, communing with the girl, -and his miserable guard of flesh and blood was powerless to prevent it, -or intercept the messages of remembrance passing between them. Ah, if -he could; if he could. All his life was bound up in the girl. He had -wrestled for her in body and soul. On his knees he had prayed for her, -begging God to give her to him, to incline her heart, to soften her, to -pour into her breast the grace to love him. He had got out of his bed -to pray for her in the sleepless night-time when she ... had been -dreaming-of this visitor, perhaps ... And now. - -"Have you been fair to me?" he asked her suddenly, in a low drenched -voice. The words rushed up to his mouth on a tide of hot blood. - -The girl had felt the imminence of the attack. She had been, in spirit -at least, a participant of the man's agony; had felt the blood rushing -up again and again with its impulsion of speech. - -"What do you mean?" she asked faintly, and turned her head aside -momentarily, as though to the gust of a strong wind. - -"Have you been fair to me?" he asked her again. - -For very fear he dared not alter these words that he had once uttered -and was sure of, lest the alteration might involve him too much. - -"I have not been unfair..." she said. - -She put out the defence like an arm that almost recognises the justice -of the blow aimed, and makes no real effort to ward it. - -"You have been very unfair," he said hoarsely. "You know you have been -very unfair. Even your voice betrays you." He was on the point of -calling upon his eyes for corroboration of her unfairness, but he -stopped himself with an effort that the girl heard and understood. "You -made me a promise," he said. "One night ... what did you promise?" - -"It was n't a promise," the girl protested. "I never promised you -anything. I told you I dared not promise ... and I could n't promise -... and I did n't promise." - -"It was a promise," he said again. "If it was n't a promise ... it was -your word, and I trusted your word. You said there was no bar to my -loving you. You told me ... and you know you told me, that I might go -on loving you, and try to win ... your esteem. All this time I have -been believing you and your word.... Are you going to tell me now that -I 've misjudged you?" - -He spoke very rapidly and jerkily and hoarsely, as though he were -himself ashamed of this necessity to put his thoughts into words and -hear them. - -"I only said it because ... it was because you pressed me so hard. You -would not take my answer. You looked so ill." The slow stream of tears -was trickling through the broken pauses of her speech. "It was you that -put the words into my mouth. You told me it would kill you if I said -there was no hope. How could I say there was no hope? I could n't; I -could n't. You forced me to say that you might go on loving me ... but -I told you it was n't a promise." - -Her tears were running with her words now. She wept for herself and for -this man. The thing she had been dreading, it had come to pass. She -was an Ullbrig hypocrite, a deceiver, a faith-breaker, an actor and a -worker of lies. - -Ah, miserable little sinner, whose only sin perhaps, had she known it, -was the sin of an overflowing, over-generous heart ... her day of -reckoning was upon her now, and her tears were bitter. - -They walked along in silence for a step or two. Though the man by her -side was burning to burst forth in a fiery Etna of denunciation and -reproach, to subjugate her and gain dominion over her by the sheer -conflagration of righteous anger, he dared not, lest she might admit his -charges, confess herself a sinner, and own an unconquerable disregard of -him. To be allied to her by an indefinite hope, frail as a silkworm's -thread, was heavenly compared with the blank severance of despair. He -was a retainer upon her favor, and must keep his place. What authority -he held, to assume authority over her, came from her. - -"You told me ... I might love you," he said, straining his voice to -breaking point in his fierce desire to hold it steady and keep its -control, "... that there was no other bar--no other bar. Have you been -making a mock of me all this time?" - -"No, no." He knew the girl's two hands were together in their agony of -protestation, but they both spoke with their faces unturned, each -looking before them fixedly. "Believe anything of me ... but that," she -begged him. "I have never mocked you. I would never mock you." - -He hesitated a moment, and then: - -"Are you ... making a mock of yourself?" he asked her. - -The question shook her first like a wind, and then stilled her suddenly. - -"What do you mean?" she asked him. - -"Are you making a mock of yourself?" - -They were at the first of the houses now, in the little high street, and -there were figures moving about between them and the Post Office; -figures that might stop; figures that might speak; figures that might -peer into her tear-stained face when the light of some yellow window -shone on it. - -"I cannot go on ... like this," she said, with a half-sob and a shiver. -"I 'm not fit to meet anybody. Let us turn back." - -They turned back, facing the moon. The girl walked with her white, -troubled face set before her, glistening under its tears, like a second -moon. The man, stealing one covert look at it, saw that no resumption -of this subject was likely from her quarter. She was in the clairvoyant -state of trouble that would have led her to Shippus again, unchecked, -without a word. - -"You say you have not made a mock of me," he took up again, in his -monotonous, tightened voice, "... but you are making a mock of somebody. -Who is it? Is it yourself?" - -"Why am I making a mock of somebody?" the girl asked. - -"Is it fair to yourself?" he said, and his voice grew tighter and -tighter, "... to be taking walks down the Shippus road ... at night ... -with a stranger? You know ... what sort of a reputation the Shippus -road has at night-time. You know what sort of company ... you are -likely to meet ... what sort of company you have met to-night." His -voice so constricted about his throat that it seemed like to strangle -him. "Is it fair to yourself ... putting me out of the question -altogether ... that you should give people ... give them the opportunity -of saying ... saying things about you?" - -The girl had no answer but the faster flow of her tears. She knew well -enough that he had spoken no more than the truth. Judged from an -external standpoint, she looked no better than her misguided -sisters--farm wenches and hinds' lasses--that wandered to their shame by -the hedgerows under the shades of night. And for this, and all her -other delinquencies, and all her other sins, unhappinesses, and penances -of suffering ... she wept. - -"I think too much of you ... ever to risk bringing you within reach of -people's slanders. I would rather cut my hand off ... than that I -should hear you spoken lightly of. To me ... your character is more -sacred than my own. I would guard it with my life if need be. But what -is it ... to others?" The reins of his passion slipped his grasp a -little; the girl's tearful endurance encouraged him to speak more -forcibly. "What do men of towns care for the character ... of a girl? -They come to-day and they go to-morrow. What does it matter to them -whether they leave shame ... and broken hearts behind? A girl's heart -is a plaything for them ... and when they have broken it ... they throw -it aside. There are plenty more hearts to be broken in the big cities." - -Like all others of his untraveled kind, he had the wild, generic idea of -cities and of the large places of the earth as being seats of sinfulness -and iniquity. Wickedness filled them and saturated the dwellers -therein. Outside Ullbrig, and the little bit of Yorkshire contiguous -with which he was acquainted, the rest of the world (of which he had the -fleetingest personal knowledge) was Sodom and Gomorrah. All the men who -came from afar, and had the faint traces of fashion about their raiment, -were men of danger; ministers of the world, the flesh, and the devil. -Perhaps, in his own narrow track of ignorant bigotry, he was not so very -far from the truth after all; but it shocks one's cosmopolitan soul to -have to subscribe to such tenets. Not because of what they contain, but -because of the uncatholicity of the formula--a very stocks, indeed, for -the confinement of one's belief. - -"What does it matter ... to him ... whether he makes you food for -people's tongues? All he cares about is his own pleasure and -gratification. The attentions ... of such a man ... are an insult in -themselves. He will know you down here, for his own purposes ... will -flatter you ... will walk with you; but would he know you in the towns? -Would he walk with you ... before his fine friends? No, he would not. -He is treating you as though you were a rose by the roadside, to be -plucked and cast away the moment he is tired of you. Your friends are -not his friends. You ought to see it ... and know it. You have no -right to be associating yourself ... with a man whose acquaintance ... -is so ambiguous. Does it matter to him that you are seen with him ... -along the Shippus lane by night? Does he care whether you are the talk -of every corner and gateway? Does he ask for you honorably ... as I do, -and seek to guard your reputation by every means in his power? No, no. -When your name has become a byword he will go back to his fine ladies -and forget all about you." - -"It is not true. You are wrong," Pam struck in tearfully, catching at -the breast furthest away from him and pressing under it with her rounded -hand as though to hold up her weak and trembling body, "... wickedly -wrong. You have no right to say those things ... and I have no right to -listen to you. You think ... because ... because you saw us at -Hesketh's corner, and we were together.... But you are mistaken. He met -me ... as I was going to Mr. Smethurst's, quite by accident, and went -with me. And then ... we had tea ... at Shippus together, and music, -and stayed to watch the moon ... and came back. It was every bit my -fault. He does n't know anything about Shippus lane ... and I thought of -it, but I dared not tell him. How could I? He has been kinder to me -than anybody else in the world--except Father Mostyn. He is a -gentleman, and I know it as well as you ... and so does he. Is a -gentleman wicked because he 's a gentleman? All the things he has done -for me ... he has done without ever taking advantage of his kindness by -a single word. Other men have done things for me ... and asked me to -love them or marry them at once. He has never played with my heart as -you say, or tried to make love ... or make me unhappy. He is too proud -to do such things. You are wrong ... wickedly wrong. Because ... you -love me ... you think everybody loves me. He likes me ... but he does -n't love me. I wish he did. Oh, I wish he did! But I 'm not good -enough for him ... and I know it. There has never been any question of -his loving me. He is engaged to marry somebody else ... and he may -leave Ullbrig any day. When he told me he was going ... I was so -unhappy that I began to cry. I could n't help it. I did n't think he -would notice ... but he did ... and tried to comfort me. And then ... -then ... you were there and saw. And I love him," she said, almost -fiercely--certainly fiercely for Pam--"I love him. I love him, and I -tell you. Because he has been kind, and taught me things, and played to -me. I love him in the same way I love Father Mostyn. What if he would -n't walk with me before his friends? He has walked with me so kindly -here ... and made life so happy for me ... that it will be like death -without him. Oh, I wish I were dead now! I wish I were dead now that -he 's going!" - -And turning aside by Lambton's gate, close on Hesketh's corner, she laid -her two arms upon the top rail, and lowering her forehead, poured forth -her wet sorrow into the loose folds of her handkerchief, with her back -upon the man. He stood, mortified and helpless, while the girl's figure -shook in the silent agony of wringing forth her tears. Even from her -grief he was shut out. He could not touch her, could not solace her, -could not draw near upon her. He was but a beggar, permitted by her -bounty to sit at the gate of her heart; a wretched, love-stricken leper, -whose confessions of homage were as unpleasant to her as the sight of -raw wounds. And now she had turned the tables upon his whining -reproaches. It was he that stood guilty, not the girl--and yet his guilt -was mingled with an exultant sense of triumph too, at the news she had -told him. The Spawer was going; this evil weaver of charms was under -order of departure. Till then he would hold his tongue; bear with the -surging of his love. When once this stumbling-block on the pathway to -the girl's heart was removed he could renew his approaches--fill the -void, even, that this stranger should leave in it. - -"I was actuated ... only by desire for your happiness," he told Pam, -after he had suffered her to weep awhile without interruption. "What I -have said to you," he tugged at his collar, "has been said ... through -love and for love." - -The girl raised her head, wiped her eyes with the damp ball of her -handkerchief, and put it away into her pocket. - -"Let us go back," she said. And not another word passed between them -that night. - -"'Ave ye brought 'er back wi' ye?" Emma Morland called, coming to the -passage end by the big clock, to inquire of the schoolmaster when they -entered by the front door, and catching sight of Pam: "Goodness, lass, -where 'ave ye been to all this time? We was beginnin' to think ye mud -'a gotten lost." - -"I went to take Mr. Smethurst ... his wine," Pam said. - -The schoolmaster passed through into the little kitchen. - -"Ay, bud ah s'd think 'e 'll 'a drunken it all by this time," Emma -exclaimed, with not unkindly sarcasm. She had a reputation, even well -deserved, in the district of a tart tongue when occasion called for -it--which it frequently did--but to Pam her asperity was something in -the nature of a loving shield. She could say the hardest and flintiest -utterances to Pam, and yet convey the sense of kindness through them. -Her hand, indeed, was bony, but its grasp was tender. "An' 'ow did ye -find t' old gentleman? No better, ah s'd think." - -"No." - -"Nay, 'e 'll nivver be no better i' this wuld, ah doot. They gied ye yer -tea, it seems." - -"No-o." - -"What! En't ye 'ad it, then?" - -"Yes, thank you, Emma." - -"Where?" - -"I had it at Shippus." - -"At Shippus. Well, ah nivver! Did ye gan by yersen?" - -"I met Mr. Wynne." - -"An' 'as 'e been wi' ye all time?" - -"Yes." - -"'Ave ye onnly just come back?" - -"... A little while ago." - -Miss Morland's opinion was expressed by a pause. - -"Come in an' get yer supper. It 's all sett'n ready." - -"I don't want any supper ... thank you, Emma." - -"Not want yer supper? What 's amiss wi' ye?" - -"Nothing. At least ... I have a headache." - -"Ye 'ad n't a headache when ye started." - -"It 's the heat. It was very hot in the sun. Where 's uncle?" - -"I' t' parlor." - -"And aunt?" - -"Ay." - -"Say good-night to them both for me ... will you, Emma?" - -"What ... are ye away to bed?" - -"I think ... I shall be better there." - -"That 's soon done wi' ye, onnyways." - -Emma came closer and took a keen glance into the girl's eyes. - -"Ye look to me as though ye 'd been cryin'," she said. "'Ave ye?" - -Pam pretended not to hear the question. Moreover, she was quite -prepared to cry again at the slightest opportunity. Emma took her by -the arm. - -"You 're all of a shake," she said, and held the girl under scrutiny. -"Pam lass," she said, and dropped her voice to a terrible whisper; -"there 's nowt ... nowt wrong wi' ye? Ye 've not been gettin' into -trouble?" - -"Emma!" - -Pam shook herself free of scrutiny with a burning face of repudiation. - -"Thank goodness!" Emma said devoutly. "Bud it can 'appen soon enough to -onny on ye." Emma testified freely at all times to the frailty of her -sex, from which weakness, however, she dissociated herself, as a woman -possessed of the superior lamp of wisdom and common-sense kept always -burning. And indeed, it shone so conspicuously in her window that any -bridegroom of burglarious intentions would have been singularly intrepid -not to have been scared away by such a plain indication of this virgin's -alertness. "Onnyway," Miss Morland decided, "... seummut 's come tiv ye -beside a 'eadache. 'As 'e been sayin' owt tiv ye?" - -"Who?" - -"Either on 'em." - -"How can you, Emma! ..." - -"'Ave they?" - -"No...." - -"Ay ... bud ah 'm none so sure." - -"Good-night, Emma." - -"Good-night, lass." - -But before the others in the parlor Emma spoke with happy unconcern: - -"Come yer ways an' let 's 'ave supper," she said, with her head through -the door. "Pam weean't be wi' us; she 's ganned to bed. Ah telt 'er -she 'd better. Lass 's gotten a 'eadache, plain to see, wi' trampin' -about i' sun this afternoon-lookin' after other folks' comfort. Ah div -n't want 'er settin' to, to side things away when we 're done. She -would, for sure, if she set up. Ah 'd to say good-night to ye both for -'er, she telt me." - -And that same evening, during a moment of the schoolmaster's absence, -the shoemaker delivered himself of a strange remark to his wife and -daughter. He was struggling with the big black Book at the time. - -"'Ave ye noticed..." he inquired, in a confidential undertone, and -gazing at Emma and his wife over the thick silver rims of his -spectacles, "onnything about our Pam, latelins?" - -Emma Morland looked up sharply. - -"What sewd there be to notice?" she asked, as though the idea were -charged with the sublimated essence of the ridiculous. - -"Div ye think ... there 's owt betwixt 'er an'..." he jerked his thumb -in the supposed direction of the absent one, "t' schoolmester?" - -"Div ah think stuff and nonsense!" Emma Morland said. - -"Ay, bud ah 'm tellin' ye," the postmaster insisted. "Noo, mark mah -wods. Ah 've watched 'em a goodish bit o' late, an' ah 've seed a -little o' seummut when they did n't think there was onnybody to see -owt." - -"What 'ave ye seed wi' ye, then?" Miss Morland inquired sceptically, but -with a sharp eye. - -"This much," the postmaster told her. "Ah 've seed 'em talkin' together -a dozen times when they did n't use to talk one. Ah 've knowed time -when they 'd set i' a room while clock ticked round almost, an' them -nivver say a wod--or they 'd gan their ways oot after a while, mebbe. -Watch an' see if they 'll set i' a room aif a minute noo wi'oot -speakin'? Ay, an' ah 've seed 'im kickin' 'is 'eels about passage end -for 'er, when 'e did n't think ah knowed owt about 'im, an' she 's come -down tiv 'im i' end. Ay, an' ah 've tekt notice on 'im when she 's -ganned out o' room. 'E 's all of a fidget to be up an' after 'er, an' -get a wod wi' 'er on 'er way back. Ay, an' 'e sets up for 'er when she -comes back fro' Vicarage. It 'll be a rum 'un if 'e wants 'er--an' ah -'m ready to lay 'e diz, onny time. Ah div n't know as all could wish -better for 'er, so far as my own inclination gans. 'E 'd mek 'er a good -'usband, an' 'ave a good roof to gie 'er, bud ah 'm jealous t' General -'ud 'ave to be considered. An' ah 've my doots whether 'e 's man to -think ower much about syke [such] as schoolmesters." - -"T' old 'umbug," Miss Morland ejaculated--though whether in reference to -the schoolmaster or the General or his Reverence the Vicar, would be a -difficult point to decide. - -But the subject, temporarily suspended by the entrance of the -schoolmaster himself, took deep root in the family imagination--deeper -root, still, indeed, in the well-nourished soil of Miss Morland's -common-sense, and testing the hypothesis by what she had seen of Pam's -conduct to-night, and finding it in accord, she prepared herself to wait -and watch events with an eye as keen as that of one of her own needles. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXII* - - -Up rose the sun in the morning as though nothing had happened, and -spinning over the red and thatched roofs of Ullbrig, took stock of the -harvest fields, the wheat in sheaf and stock, the oats outstanding; -measured the work to be done with a jocose eye as though he had said -"Aha!" and rubbed his hands in anticipation of a glad time. - -Into Pam's bedroom he peeped--prudently, through a corner of the white -blind--and found the girl open-eyed upon her bed; thrown across it -transversely in abandonment of disorder, with her moistened handkerchief -clasped like a snow-ball in one hand. It had been a night of anguish -and unutterable torture. She had wept, she had prayed, she had -resolved, she had renounced, she had slept--at once the mere fact of -sleeping had awakened her--she had tossed from pillow to pillow, turned -them incessantly to find some coolness for her fevered cheek; she had -risen, and watched from her window the slow arrival of day; had seen the -firmament of stars sliding away in the west, like the giant glass of a -cucumber frame. The doings of the day before were a delirium. In her -dreams the schoolmaster, the dying man, the Spawer, Emma Morland, the -tea-room at Shippus, the donkeys, the moon--were all mixed up in a -horrid patchwork mantle of remembrance. The Spawer was going. There -would be no more music; no more French; no more walks and talks in the -morning; no more evenings at the Vicarage; no more evenings at Cliff -Wrangham. In the days when they had touched upon this final parting -with the light inconsequence for a thing far distant--as people speak of -death--she had entered into schemes for the continuance of all the -studies that he had inaugurated. She should go to Hunmouth for piano -lessons. She should have conversational French lessons _chez_ M. -Perron, whose brass plate and dirty windows she had seen often on her -visit to Hunmouth. Ah, but that was when the Spawer had been with her. -It had been bitter-sweet at times to dwell on future sadness, with the -warm hand of present happiness to take hold of, as a little child likes -to peer round the bogey-man's corner, holding tight to its mother's -fingers. - -Now! - -Ah, now! All was different. She wanted to die. Life was n't worth -living any longer. Now she knew for herself the feeling that the -schoolmaster had suffered and told her of: the dull undesire to live, -the carelessness of existence, the agonies of hopeless despair. She -knew it, but it made her pity him no more. The thought of him, sleeping -within a mere yard or two of her, through a couple of frail thicknesses -of bricks and mortar, filled her with horror and repugnance. All the -night through his cough had come to her at intervals, telling of that -one undesirable companion of her sleeplessness. She was being left to -him. Like a shadow now he would dog her steps. And with the -instinctive fear that he would finally overcome her, in spite of all, -that she would drift powerlessly to him, for lack of anchor to hold her -firm, or impulse to move, she shuddered tears into her pillow, and -clenched the coverlet with tightened fingers. - -For there was only one man in the world for her, and he was going. She -loved him; she loved him; she loved him. She knew that she was not for -him or he for her; that he was above her on the ladder of life, treading -cruelly upon her fingers, as it were, without knowing it, and she too -proud to cry out; that this love of hers could never be consummated. -But she loved him for all that; drove the sharp knowledge of it into her -shrinking soul with the vindictive pleasure of a spur. - -She knew now, now that he was going and it was ended, that she loved him -with all the love of which her soul was capable. Would he have had to -plead at her skirts ... as the schoolmaster had pleaded? No, no, no! -She knew it. She would have kept him waiting no longer at the door of -her heart than at the door of the Post Office itself. Had he just come -to her and looked at her, and said "Pam" ... oh, she would have known. -She would have known and gone into his open arms without shame, like a -bird to the nest. But she was not for him; never had been; never would -be. She had no anger against him because she was smitten. He was above -all anger. She had no silly impulses of passion to declare herself -deceived; no reproaches because he had never before pronounced himself a -man pledged. Her own heart had been so pure that it saw no impurity in -his. Even when he had put his arm about her and drawn her to him, and -uttered her name and looked at her ... there was nothing in that to cast -dishonor upon the other girl. It was only that he had detected her -suffering, had understood that she was weeping and unhappy at his -departure ... had put his arm about her to give her comfort, as though -she 'd been a little child. It was a beautiful act of tenderness and -compassion ... nothing more. Poor girl! poor girl! She was sick with -the misery of love, that, not knowing whence came this sudden sorrow, -multiplied causes without end; shames, ignominies, degradations. Even -the scene with Emma Morland, that would have slipped away from her like -water off the breast-feathers of a swan, had her heart been sound, was -branded now into her remembrance with the sear of red-hot iron. Emma's -look; her inquiries; the grasp of her hand; the drop of her voice; her -anxious whisper--somehow, wretched girl that she was, she seemed in some -fashion to have deserved them; to be guilty of some great unknown shame; -to be a lost sister, sinking like sediment through the clear waters of -life to its dregs, touching here and there as she descended. The day -was full of terrors for her; the morning meeting with Emma and with the -schoolmaster; the facing of her uncle and her aunt; their solicitude -about a headache that had never been. More Ullbrig hypocrisy to wade -through; more shame of lying and untruth. - -From her bed she rose at length, a soulful picture of trouble; replaced -the fallen pillow and drew up the blind. An echo of its sound of cord -and creaking roller reached her faintly from elsewhere, with a muffled -cough, and telling her that her own activity was being duplicated by the -ever-vigilant shadow, struck pain across her mouth. The slide window was -already part open, but she flung it to its extreme width, and resting -her hands upon the white-painted sill, put out her head with red lips -parted, and tried to air her bosom of its close, suffocating atmosphere -of trouble that she had been breathing and rebreathing all through the -hours of this night. Down below, under a thin attenuated mist, lay the -little patchwork kitchen garden of potatoes and onions and peas and -kidney beans, and the dingy vegetable-narrow frame, like a crazy quilt. -And beyond that, away to her left, rolled out the fields in the face of -the sun to Cliff Wrangham ... where he was. From her place she could -distinguish the misty shadow, like a frost picture on a pane, that -proclaimed Dixon's. How often, in the days that were gone, had she -opened this casement and looked just so across the fields, and said to -herself: "Will there be any letters for him this morning? ... and shall -I see him?" But now she looked across and said: "I dare not see him. -God send there may be no letter this morning." All the world looked -strange to her. It seemed that her eyes, like the eyes of an infant, -were not yet trained to correct the images formed upon her retina. - -Poor girl! poor girl! She had been so happy once. So very happy with -her six shillings a week, and no desires beyond the desire to be at -peace with her neighbors and return good for evil. - -At last she lighted her little oil stove, that had once been the supreme -of her ambition throughout a month's saving, and set her can of -bath-water to boil. Every morning she made the complete ablution of her -body ... and in summer sometimes twice. In this respect, at least, -there was nothing of the Ullbrig hypocrite about her. As Father Mostyn -told the Spawer, and more than once, for Pam was a subject to his -liking: - -"Ha! different class; different class altogether. No mistaking it. You -can trust her inside and out. Does n't dress herself first and then put -a polish on her face with a piece of soapy flannel, taking care to rub -the lather well in. Ha! that 's our Ullbrig way. Leave the neck for -Sunday, and rub the soap well in. - -"But, thank heaven, that 's not Pam's way. Can't mistake it. Has the -instincts of the bath. Tubs herself like an officer of dragoons. No -mistaking the derivation of that. It does n't come from the people; -it's a pure blood inheritance; a military strain. She keeps her body as -clean as her mind. You could put her in a duchess's bed, and her grace -need n't be frightened of going in alongside of her. Ha! beautiful, -beautiful! the grace of cleanliness that is next to godliness. Her body -would almost get her into heaven." - -And indeed, St. Peter is scarcely the man I take him for if he would -n't. - -Leighton's Psyche unwound herself from long veils of diaphanous drapery -on the brink of a marble bath, and immersed herself in azure water -without soap--so far as the artist indicates in the picture. Pam's -setting was a big, round, sponge bath, scrupulously enamelled white by -her own hand; she did not stand pensive by its side, as though wondering -whether to-morrow or the day after would do as well; she unwound herself -from no sensuous mists of lawn; she held an active-service towel in her -hand, rough like a tiger's tongue, and in place of the diaphanous -draperies the steam from the hot water rolled and curled and licked -about her lovingly as she poured it into the bath, and tried it with -fingertips of no indecision--but she was Psyche for all that. Her body -was as sleek and supple as the picture Psyche; her flesh, where the sun -had not browned, was as white as alabaster and as sound as a young -apple; her limbs as shapely as any that Leighton's brush could have -given her. When she stood up, with her firm, round bosom thrown out, -and dipping the big Turkey sponge into the wash-basin of cold water, -pressed it to her with both hands as though she were hugging the desire -of her heart, while the water slid down her snowy torso, tinged with -warm glow of pink now, like marble, and ran, still clinging about her -limbs and body, to her feet; and dipped again, and again pressed, and -again and still again, till the water at her service was exhausted, she -was the best, most beautiful type of English girl; unforced in growth, -but developed gradually in pure air and pure thought; not one member of -her corporeal republic in advance of the other, or of herself; all of -them, indeed, reserved in their development rather than in advance of -it, but awaiting only the ripening. The beautiful picture of a girl on -the threshold of womanhood, and waiting in all chastity to be called, -without any indecorous rush to be in advance of the summons. Ah, girls, -girls, girls! Always anxious to be women. Do not struggle so -inordinately to be ripe for the market. Do you think man is such a poor -judge that he does not know the merits of green fruit, or so witless -that he does not know the dangers of the ripe? Keep your thoughts and -bodies green, like oranges for shipment, for indeed you are perishable -fruit. - -The stimulus of the bath restored to some extent the freshness of the -girl's mind, and gave to her sorrow a cleanly, less bedraggled emotion. -From her eyes she swilled away all traces of the night's tears. Thank -Heaven, she renovated very easily; a porcelain girl could not have ceded -the dust of trouble more completely. She showed no redness about the -lashes; no swelling of the lids; no dark hollows above the cheek-bone. -Her flesh had not sickened in the least. A little press of the -fingertip on its plumpness, and lo! it sprang back alive and responsive, -like a cushion, with a little pink blush at the salutation; it did not -respond with doughy sluggishness. Her lips had lost none of their fire -of ruby; they had not consumed at all to grey ash; there was no dryness -to show how great the flame had been, no withering like the dried leaf -of a rose. Moist and elastic they looked as ever; the beautiful -downward pull about their corners--as though an invisible Cupid were -trying hard to bend this bow of his--might be more divinely accentuated, -but that would only be to an acute observer who, holding the secret of -the girl's sorrow as we do, searched keenly upon her face for the -outward signs of it. Her cheeks were still as smooth and creaseless as -ivory; her brow like a tablet on which nothing evil could ever be -written. The same old Pam she looked and seemed to everybody but -herself. Ah, if only one's mind would wash like one's body--what -blissful sinners we could be. - -And with the strangely awakened desire for cleanliness, the feverish -thirst of a mind to counteract by outward purity its inward -contamination, the desire even to change all the old garments of -yesterday's turpitude, to invest herself in a new atmosphere, to give -herself a new mind and a new body and a new environment, if she might, -she drew on her legs black cotton-silk stockings of the sort she wore on -Sundays; buckled them with the best pretty blue silk garters of her own -making (Emma had a pair like these too), clad herself in linen of snowy -white, unfolded from her neat store in drawer and cupboard; and hid all -this dazzling envelopment under a pretty pale print frock that could -have stood up of its own cleanliness--cool and fresh and rigid as an -iceberg. And round her throat she clipped a snowy collar, and tied it -with a crimson bow of silk. To be cool and clean, and be conscious of -it. Let the mind burn, if it will, so long as the body does not -reproach us. - -Thus she was clad at last, and came forth to face the day, diffusing -little wafts of cool print and white linen at every movement of her -body; little breaths, fresh and unperfumed, smelling of nothing but -young girlhood and cleanliness, that the nostril curled gratefully to -inhale and retain, as reviving to the spirit as puffs of breeze blown -into some burning valley from snow-clad mountains. - -Slowly the early hours of the day wore on, and shaped themselves, -outwardly at least, to the semblance of all other days that had gone -before. Days in Ullbrig are as alike as pennies. This might have been -yesterday, or a day out of last week, or a day out of last year. Only -the change in oneself and one's outlook told of the relentless passage -of time. They sat at breakfast in the second kitchen, this strange -assortment of table company. The girl, like a star plucked from heaven, -cleansed with the dew, and exhaling the freshness of skies and dawn; the -postmaster, with his genial honest face of shrewd stupidity, brown as -snuff and wrinkled like morocco leather, who cut bread with his knife -and thumb and shoved it home with the haft, making a pouch of one cheek -while he talked out of a corner of the other; who stirred his cup with -the noise of a grindstone, and looped his thumb round his spoon while he -drank to prevent its slipping down his throat. Mrs. Morland, with her -relaxed face of maternal good-nature, like a well-buttered muffin, who -looked as though she lacked the energy for long-sustained anger, which, -in truth, she did. The vigilant Emma, sitting bolt-upright, as a sort -of human cruet, vinegary and peppery--whose acidulated conversation -almost lent the zest of pickles to the meal. And last of all the -schoolmaster, peering ruminatively--not to say furtively--into his plate -as though it were a book he pored over. When he masticated there were -muscles that worked in his temples and imparted an air of grave, -cerebral activity. His cough troubled him this morning, and his face -bore the haggard evidences of sleeplessness. - -No word of allusion to last night's matter passed between these two, but -the constrained silence of each towards the other was like a finger laid -inexorably upon this page of their past. He was present when the -postmaster inquired of Pam about her headache, but recorded no -expression of sympathy. Perhaps Pam's crimson blush deterred him; but -he lingered, brushing his hat in the passage before departing for -school, and when Pam happened to make a journey into the front parlor he -interposed himself by the door against her return. Pam finding him -there, still brushing his hat as though he were an automatic -hat-brusher, stopped in the doorway coming out, and stood before him -without speaking--not angrily or resentfully or reproachfully--but -decidedly with the unhappiness of awakened remembrance upon her downcast -face and trembling lip. - -"I only wanted..." he began, in a low voice, almost inaudible, "... to -tell you. Last night I--I said things to you ... that perhaps I ought -n't to have said. I can't remember now exactly what I did say, but I 'm -... I 'm very sorry I said anything." - -Pam told him it did n't matter the least bit. He was n't, please, to -trouble. - -"I did it for the best," he explained, "... at the time." - -Pam said ... she was sure he did. He was n't, please, to think about -it. It appeared, however, the only thing he was capable of thinking -about. He seemed to have a difficulty in tearing himself away from it; -brushing his hat the while. It is fortunate school started when it did, -or he would have worn all the remaining nap off. - -"Will you please try ... and forget what I said to you ... and forgive -me?" - -Pam said ... she had forgotten already. A shade crossed over his face -to think that she should so soon have forgotten words that had been so -vital to him at the time, but the forgiveness that accompanied it -relieved the momentary disquietude. - -"I hope..." he suggested--and in the pauses he brushed his hat -fiercely--"... that it will make ... no difference to us. I hope we -shall be ... as we ... as we were before." - -Pam hoped so too, an invalid hope that walked slowly, and touched the -walls of silence for support as it went. - -"Noo," said the postmaster triumphantly, in the clean little kitchen, -holding up a hand to enjoin attention, and jerking his thumb violently -in the direction of the parlor door, whence the brushing of the hat and -the low murmur of voices could plainly be heard. "What did ah tell ye? -There they are agen, whisperin' an' mummelin'. As soon as ivver 'e got -agate wi' 'is 'at i' passage Pam started to be after 'im." - -"Sh! Be still wi' ye, then," said Miss Morland, going nearer to the -door. "Div ye want to mek 'em think we 're listenin' tiv 'em?" - -But even while she spoke the sound of the hat-brush ceased, and the -subsequent shutting of the front door announced that the schoolmaster -had departed to his duties--having told Pam that after this morning -these duties would be at an end until harvest was over. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIII* - - -Half an hour later the mail cart rattled up before the two-fold -Governmental door over the big round cobbles, and the fiery figure of -James Maskill, red and shining like a new-boiled lobster, fresh from his -sun-bath, invaded the Post Office, blowing the sweat off his mouth on to -the floor in a fierce "Bf-f-f!" with a shake of the head, and slammed -the letter-bag on to the counter in a strenuous but not aggressive -greeting. - -"Noo," he said to the postmaster, mopping his face at him with a red -handkerchief, and "Noo," again to Pam, mopping the inside of his cap. -"Mah wod! Bud it 's gannin' to be warm to-day, before it's done." - -"Will you have a drink, James?" Pam asked him. - -At the sight of that ominous bag, so full of deadly inertness and -possibility, her heart had thumped her like a stone in a box. Yes or -no; yes or no; yes or no? - -"What of?" James asked her straightway. - -"Of ... of ... what would you like?" - -"Nay ... 'appen ah 'm best wi'oot," James decided, a great mantle of -modesty falling over him at this suggestion of choice. - -"Not if you want one, you 're not," Pam said. - -Her fingers were burning, and her heart was dreading the opening of the -bag. Was there? Was n't there? Was there? Was n't there? She put her -hand to her side again. James only thought she slackened the grip of -her belt. - -"Ah could do wi' un," he admitted reluctantly, "so far as that gans." - -"Milk ... would you like?" Pam suggested. - -"Nay ... ah mun't mix 'em," he declared oracularly, and licked his -parched lips with a smack of apprehension. - -"Mix what?" Pam asked. - -"Ah 've 'ad one ... o' t' road," he explained. "Bud 'appen yon barril -'s thruff by noo. She wor drawin' a bit thick last time ye asked me." - -"Ye 're best wi'oot, Jaames Maskill," came the voice of Emma Morland, -from the interior of the Post Office, "... this time o' mornin'." - -"Ay, ah think ah 'm, mebbe," said the postman, plunging hands into his -pockets and screwing up his mouth for a broken-hearted whistle. - -"Gie 'im a glass o' lemonade," said the voice again. "'E can 'ave that -an' welcome." - -"Will you have a glass of lemonade?" asked Pam. - -"Ay, ah 'm willin', if it suits ye," the postman acknowledged. - -A hand appeared at the inner door holding a lemonade bottle and a thick -tumbler (the latter looking as though it had once held marmalade in -Fussitter's window), and a second hand, when Pam had possessed herself -of these, held forth a boxwood lemonade opener. - -The postman drew forth the effervescing liquid thirstily into his -profounds, with his red chin mounting up step by step as though it were -going upstairs, and a great fizzling sound from within as if he were a -red-hot man, and let the glass rest on inverted end upon his lips for a -space, to make sure it had yielded its last drop, and set it down on the -counter with a great breathed "Ah!" of appreciation, holding his mouth -open while the sparkles needled his inside. - -"Noo let 's away," he said, "... or we s'll be 'avin' old Tankard -prawtestin' us to Goovinment agen." - -He said this because Pam had already opened the bag and was sorting the -letters with quick, nervous fingers. Those for James Maskill's district -went to the right hand of her; those for her own to the left. Her heart -began to beat furiously. Now the impulse seized her to spread out all -these letters over the counter and to furrow with both hands among them -for the letter she feared to find. She knew by an instinct so strong -that she never for a moment questioned it, what characteristics the -fatal letter would possess. In her mind's eye she saw, with such -clearness that her actual eye could scarcely add aught to the -confirmation, the thin foreign envelope, the green stamps, the familiar -superscription. She went cold and she went hot. Her ears burned, and -there were strange noises opening inside them like whistles and -hummings, as though in protest to the insupportable outer silence, the -imperturbable calm of the Post Office. But the postman was watching -her, and the postmaster from his high deal stool. It seemed as though -they were all three silently concentrated upon the appearance of that -fatal missive. Her emotions hastened, delayed, evaded, shuffled, -ceased; but before these two onlookers her fingers went on regularly as -clockwork. - -Right, left. Right, right, right. - -Left, left. - -Right.... - -Left.... - -James Maskill, watching her, thought she hesitated there for an almost -inappreciable moment, as though she had detected her fingers in -blundering, and expected to see her transfer the letter from her own -pile to his. But she had not blundered. No, no; she had not blundered. -The distribution of the envelopes went on again apace, as though she -were dealing hands from Fate's pack. Left, right; left, right; left, -left, left. She allotted the last letter, and pushed James Maskill's -budget towards him across the counter with a heroic smile, enough to -make his eyes water. It was the smile such as a dying martyr might -bequeath to those she loved, and by whom she had been loved. All was -death and the coldness of it underneath, but at times like these death, -coming from within, drives out the soul from its earthly tenement, and -as it lingers on the threshold of the flesh before departing, the flesh -is glorified. Many smiles had Pam given the postman in his time ... but -this one clung to him--so far as anything seemed to him--that she might -almost love him. That smile accompanied James Maskill throughout his -morning's round. Ullbrig, looking beneath its blinds and through its -muslin curtains, and out of the cool, gauze-protected windows of its -dairies at the toiling figure of the postman--hot, perspiring, and -dusty--could have little imagined that he was the carnal receptacle of a -smile; that he held Pam's last look enclosed in his secretive body as -though it had been the precious pearl and he the rugged oyster. But so -it was. He scarcely noticed the shining of the outer sun, to such extent -did the internal brightness light him. - -And meanwhile, while James Maskill fed his heart upon that one smile and -thought what a treasury of bliss it would mean to possess the possessor -of it, the possessor walked along, a miserable bankrupt of happiness. -Scarcely another smile remained to her. She had given him that one, but -it was about her very last. Under the broad brown strap of her -letter-bag she strode, with her lips locked and her soul as far away -from her eyes as though the body were a house in the hands of the -bailiffs; the key elsewhere; the occupants dispersed. For all the sun -beat upon the red poppies in her hat till the straw cracked again and -planted burning kisses on her neck, she was almost cold, from her feet -in their black cotton-silk stockings upward. Once or twice even, she -could have shivered for a thought. And the burden of the bag! Strange -that one letter should make such a difference. - -All about her the harvest was in full swing; the reapers whirling from -seen and unseen quarters like the chirruping of grasshoppers. The -morning's mist was quite absorbed; the scene was as clear and detailed -as one of those colored Swiss photographs, with a blue sky, showing -perhaps here and there a little buoyant white cloud floating cool and -motionless in it, like ice in wine. Towards Garthston way the moving -sails of the self-binder beat the air above the hedges. Half a dozen -fields distant a pair of red braces, crossed over a calico shirt, struck -out clear and distinct as though the whole formed a banner. Now and -again she heard "Helloes," and looking, saw remote figures hailing her -through their trumpeted hands. When she raised her own hand in response -they made semaphores with the twisted bands of straw or shook rakes in -the blue air. It was not many harvest fields that would have liked Pam -to pass along the road without noticing them. From their side of the -picture they saw the scarlet poppies dancing lightheartedly on their -errand, and took the friendly uplifting of the girl's arm for token of -the smile they never doubted would be there. If they could but have -seen the smile of their blissful imagination at close quarters--a mere -strained drawing back of the lips--as significant of pain as of -pleasure, it would have furnished them with ample material for their -harvest-field converse. - -Ah, yes. She was very sick and wretched and unhappy. All the natural -spring was out of her step. She wanted to walk flat-footed, with both -her hands hanging and her chin down; but by sheer resolve she held her -head high, and broke the dull concussion of her step with that lissom -responsiveness of toe which was now the vanished inheritance of her -happiness. She did not want to meet him ... this morning. She did not -feel equal to it. She prayed, as she walked, that she might have this -one good favor bestowed upon her in her trouble: the blessed privilege -of avoiding him. Without the culminating straw to her sorrow, the -letter in her bag, she could have met him ... perhaps ... with some -amount of courage and confidence. But now ... to have to be the bearer -of what she bore ... and repeat all the history of her misery in this -summarised form; to give him the letter ... be witness while he read it -even; hear him tell her definitely that he must go ... that all was -over! Oh, no, no, no! It was too much for her to sustain. And she did -n't want to break down before him again. She did n't want to degrade -herself in his sight. It was one thing to shed tears at a sudden -intelligence ... but it was another to be always shedding them. If she -showed tears again ... he would suspect her. Had he been another girl -she could have wept her weep out upon his shoulder. That was admissible -between girls. But because he was a man ... she could not weep. There -were no friendships possible between men and women; it was love or -nothing. She must just let her heart break--if only it would--in -silence and solitude. - -All in thinking upon her trouble, her step, accommodating itself -spontaneously to the mental retardation of her progress, grew slower and -slower. The nearer she came to Cliff Wrangham, the more time she needed -to prepare herself. If possible she must try and slip round through the -Dixon's paddock, cut across the stackgarth, and leave the letter with -one of the twins--if only she could come upon them--without being seen. -They would be sure to be somewhere about. Then she tested her stratagem -by all sorts of contingencies. Suppose Miss Bates came upon her -instead, and asked her to wait ... for any letters in return. Suppose -... he was out in the lane ... waiting anxiously for the very letter she -so feared delivering. She might leave it at Stamway's, and ask -Stamway's if they 'd let Arthur drop across the fields with it ... as -she was in a hurry to get back. And she would give Arthur a penny. - -And now her step was slowed almost to a standstill. George Middleway -even could have run her down. All the activity was up above; there was -none left for her legs. Already she was past the halfway house in the -little elbow of road before you get first sight of Stamway's. It is a -part enclosed; except from the immediate fields, which were untenanted, -she could n't be seen here in the pursuit of wasting Government time. -The next turn would bring her into sight again; she would be under the -eyes of Stamway's; Dixon's would be able to follow her progress -henceforward, all but a yard here or a yard there, to the paddock stile. -Before she came into public view again ... she ought to think; she ought -to make sure. And one cannot think, standing erect in the roadway like -a scarecrow. It looks suspicious, even to the suspicious eye of -self--that at these times suspects everything. Instinctively she drew -into the shelter of a hospitable gateway. There, at least, she could -profess for her own satisfaction that she had succumbed to the midday -lassitude; was listening to the music of the reapers, with her arm over -the rail and her foot on one of the lower bars. - -Was the past a dream? ... or the present? Had the Spawer ever been? ... -or was he ever going? Which was easier to realise? The joyousness of -then or the misery of now? Should she wake up to discover that all her -unhappiness was a nightmare, that there was no question of the Spawer's -going, no dread of a letter? She dipped her hand, almost unconsciously, -into the bag to see if, perchance, the whole affair was an unsubstantial -fabric of fancy. - -Ah, no! No fancy; no fancy. She had not wakened yet. There were the -two letters at the bottom of the bag; the one for Stamway, the other ... -it came out with her hand. She had not wilfully drawn it, but it seemed -to cling to her fingers. Oh yes, how well she knew its motley of stamps -and postmarks; how well the superscription in that familiar feminine -hand. She held it before her eyes, and gazed at the writing as though -she would have wrested the invisible scribe out of it; called up the -astral body of the girl who, in these shapely lines, and all innocently -and unknowingly, had dealt her happiness such an irreparable blow. Who -was she? Where did she live? When, where, and how had he met her? Did -she love music? Had he taught her? Had he taught her French? Was she -beautiful? Ah, she was sure to be. And a lady. That would be a -fashionable way of affixing the stamps. And young. Rich too, perhaps. -She must be, for poor people could not afford to spend long holidays in -foreign places like this. Assuredly the writer of these words did not -tramp the country roads with a bag over her shoulder for six shillings a -week. - -Something white and moving grew into the corner of her unconscious eye -as she gazed in absorption upon the fatal envelope--a cow or a horse or -a sheep or a cloud, over the hedge line. - -But no; it was not a cow. It was too erect for a cow; too tall for a -sheep; too progressive for a cloud. There was a patch of color about it -too, somewhere. Cows did not wear ribbons, or sheep or clouds. - -It was a figure; the figure of a man; a man in white; a man in -flannels--the Spawer. - -All at once her dormant consciousness awoke with a start to his -imminence, as though her eye had been giving no warning of his approach -all this while. She turned round, and a great spreading sickness of -guilt took hold of her. Her blood seemed rushing all ways, like an -anthill in confusion. The hand with the letter dropped suddenly, as -though it were a wounded wing. It was the right hand that held it now, -and the bag was on her left side. Had he seen her? Could she pass it -into the bag without notice. He was horribly near ... and looking at -her. Her heart pitched downward like a foundering vessel into the -trough of her fear. - -Into the pocket at the back of her her guilty hand crept, trembling and -craven, and lay there, in its thief's refuge, burning unbearably like -the firebrand of her infamy. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIV* - - -The hot sunlight about the Post Office was savory with the smell of -Yorkshire pudding--you might have almost imagined that it was the house -itself a-cooking--when Pam returned, beneath the sling of the empty -letter-bag. - -On other mornings she would take her way in through the two-fold -Governmental door; announce her arrival in musical pleasantry to the -postmaster in his little shoemakery; hang up the flabby letter-bag on -its peg behind the counter; pop in upon Emma Morland, if she were at -work in the trying-on room, to commend her diligence or express surprise -at the amount of the work achieved, or ask in what way she could be of -assistance; give a look into the little clean kitchen to feel the pulse -of the oven, and proffer herself for some kind service to her -aunt-by-courtesy, as red as boiled beetroot, and fitting her clothes as -tightly as if she 'd been a bladder set before the hot grate. But this -morning the girl made no parade of arrival. She drew nearer to the -house by the shadow of its walls, and let herself meekly in through the -spick-and-span household door--white painted, with fashionable brass -knob and knocker--that gives entrance between the twelve-paned parlor -window beyond the scraper and the smaller eight-paned window of Miss -Morland's trying-on room, whose austere starched curtains (drawn in -primly at the pit of the stomachs with pink sashes to reveal the -polished oak cover of the sewing-machine, and sundry dress fabrics in -course of construction, casually displayed) always proclaimed any -particularly sacred rite of disrobement proceeding within its sanctuary -by being discreetly pinned. - -Whereat, though man's religious fibres might be stirred to their utmost, -it was useless his stopping to spell out the familiar capitals of Emma's -card with all the earnestness of the anxious (and short-sighted) -inquirer after Truth. - -Up to her bedroom she stole, a soft-toed figure, by the best Sunday -staircase, with white holland over the carpet. If she were dead they -would bring her down this staircase in her coffin. She wished she were -dead. She was dead in all but the flesh--and in truth she looked but -the phantom of her former self--but the ghost of the girl that had gone -out this morning. All the color was struck out of her blanched cheeks -as though a hand had smitten them white, and no blood returned to -reproach the blow. Her eyes were fixed in front of her whichever way she -walked; it seemed something horrible had been stamped upon them and set -over them for seal. Her lips were hard and rigid; wax-work lips, -artificially colored, upon a wax-work mouth. It looked as if such a -mouth could never open in speech; it was a mold, a cast, struck off the -face of grief. Slowly, but very surely, the old Pam was being squeezed -out of her bodily habitation. As a house in the hands of new tenantry -loses its old outward characteristics and takes on new features of -blinds and curtains and window-palms, so this body of Pam's in the hands -of its new possessor was beginning gradually to display evidences of the -invisible occupant that, hidden behind its walls, wrung fingers and -wept, and spent its moments in the torturing austerities of -self-examination and penance. - -... Once in her bedroom, the hardness fell off the girl's face as though -it had been stucco; the hidden occupant came to her trembling lips, -looked out of her eyes, gazed forth upon the outer world, as an escaped -prisoner might, full of horror of his position, and dreading every -moment the summons that should announce his discovery. But there were no -tears this time. Tears are but the petty cash of woman's trouble -account; the noisy silver and copper, which make a great jingle, are -parted with and never missed. Pam's trouble was no longer in silver and -copper, not in gold even. It was in silent bank-notes. All the tears -in the world could not liquidate such a liability. One might as well -attempt to compound with a handful of irate creditors out of the loose -coin at the bottom of one's pocket. Besides, it was not sorrow now, it -was horror. In trouble women weep; but in horror they stare with open -eyes, for fear the thing dreaded may come upon them when they are -unaware. So children, who rain tears at a dog by day, will lie abed -silent at night, with their great, dry eyes fixed upon the darkness, and -fear to cry or close them. Tears, scalding tears, were all about the -hot lashes of the girl's eyes; but into her eyes themselves they did not -enter. Like a thief she had stolen round her own door; like a thief she -pressed it to, with a hand over its sneck, and shot the little catch -under the lock; like a thief she listened--she, who had feared nothing -before but herself and her own conscience; feared everything now. - -The big grandfather's clock downstairs went "Br-r-r-r-r!" It was a way -he had; he meant nothing by it; but it sent the girl's hand to her bosom -this morning as though she had heard in the sound the announcement of -her whereabouts to the world at large. Now she strained her ears for -the sounds of feet, the calling of her own name, the approach of -pursuers ... but there came none. Only down below were audible the -muffled intermittent click click click of Emma's industrious machine; -the tapping of the shoemaker's hammer; the sound of the little kitchen -poker thrust energetically through the bars of the grate to rouse the -sleepy fire to its duty by Mrs. Morland; the clash of saucepan lids and -the jangle of a pail. Satisfied that her entrance had been unobserved, -and that the clock's warning had been in vain, she unslung the post-bag -from her shoulder and hung it over the foot of the bed; removed her hat -of red poppies, and laid it on the chest of drawers. - -What had she come for? For a moment even she herself seemed scarcely to -know, standing by the bedside with dangling head as though she had been -some wild driven creature fleeing for refuge, of which now, in -possession, she knew not to make what use. Then as she stood, her right -hand crept round to the back of her, found the entrance to her pocket, -burrowed its way out of sight into its depths like a mole; delved there -for a while, lay still, and came forth into the open, dragging its -prize--something white and square and unsubstantial, that crackled -resentfully under the holding. An envelope; a letter. - -In the stillness of death the girl held this helpless prey of her -fingers under gaze and stared at it. She did not read. It was no act -of curiosity. It was the horror-struck stare of a face that had been -seeking confirmation of its guilt and found it. She did not look at -details of writing or of the address; she fastened her great eyes upon -the thing in gross--the four inches by three of her everlasting -turpitude. She had not given it to him. Into her pocket it had gone; -in her pocket it had stayed. She had stolen it. She was a thief; a -thief; a thief! - -On her soft, clean bed she threw herself and lay face downwards, without -a tear. In her grief, as in everything else that she did, she was -beautiful. Her light dress of print gathered under her and wound about -her body as she rolled, and outlined the supple firmness of her figure -with something of gusto in the task. In abandonment there seemed no -bones in it; it was supple as a salmon; as lissom as a wand cf green -lancewood. Backward or forward, this way, that way, it looked as though -you might have bent it and broken nothing--not even its heart. Her -ankles, dear indices to a fascinating volume, so sleek and tight and -flexible, lost nothing by their encasement in black cotton-silk; into -the little soft leather Sunday shoes her feet fitted like a hand into a -glove; press your thumb and finger anywhere and the leather would gently -resist you. Poor little shoes, that had walked so happily in their time, -how very still and lifeless they lay now, side by side on the white -counterpane, with their soles still fresh and lemon-colored, turned -pathetically towards the foot-rail. This burden at least is too heavy -for you, little patient smugglers. And little arms that had swung so -blithely; how resistless you are now. Many lovers have sought to be -enfolded within them in their time, but you have repulsed them all. Now -is come a lover whom you cannot repulse. They shall clasp him, -unresisting, and he shall enter them. Shame is your lover. He has been -in your waking dreams all this night past, seen dimly and distorted. -Now you have him face to face. Lie still in his arms and be mute before -the hot caress of his kisses. Your Gingers and your James Maskills, your -doctors, your parsons, your schoolmasters, your Jevons, and your -Steggisons have sought you in the flesh, but this lover has found you -through the spirit. Now that the spirit is surrendered the flesh lies -prone enough. - -Poor beautiful flesh. Even Shame's kisses cannot corrupt the beauty of -it. In this moment of its weakness and surrender, if the Spawer could -but be witness of you, it is probable (only you do not know it) that -your defeat would gain you the victory. For the weakness of a woman is -her strength, and to see beauty so overthrown, by a lover less relenting -than himself, rouses a man's best instincts of honor and protecting -chivalry. - -But the Spawer is three good miles away, and cannot enter damsels' -bedrooms as the sun does. Perhaps, as human nature is constituted, it -is well. If you cried on him he could not hear you, and with that label -of your guilt between your fingers, though you knew he could hear you, -you dared not cry. - -Poor child! Poor child! So young, so beautiful, and so wicked! So -dreadfully, horribly wicked! - -To say that she thought would be to convey a wrong impression of her -state. Thought, like her eyes, was wide open, but it did not think--any -more than her eyes saw. It stared--stared fixedly, without blinking, at -the consciousness of her great wickedness. - -Dreadful images passed over the darkened curtain of life, like the -pictures of a magic-lantern. - -In Sproutgreen a poor girl had taken some clothes that did not belong to -her. Only a bodice (very much worn), an old skirt, a vest or two (she -was badly off for vests), and some stockings. She had not meant to take -them, she said ... but all the same she had taken them, and they had -sent her to prison. - -That picture showed on Pam's screen too. - -She had not meant to take it. No, no; but she had taken it. Why should -n't she be sent to prison? Why should the one poor girl be made to -suffer and she go free? - -A man in Hunmouth had stolen a leg of mutton from a butcher's shop when -the butcher's back was all but turned. If he 'd only waited a moment -longer or set off a moment sooner all would have been well. But his -wife was starving and he was in a hurry. He wanted the mutton ... it -was noble of him to risk himself for a dying wife. But the law -recognises no nobility in theft, and sent him to prison. - -That picture showed on Pam's mind too. - -She was n't starving; there was no excuse for her, even of pity. She -had stolen something she did n't want. She was a thief, unworthy to -receive the weight of honest people's eyes. Looks now, the lightest of -them, smiles and glances, were all insufferable burdens deposited upon -the bowed shoulders of her shame. - -Poor girl! poor, unhappy girl! Wrong from first to last. Seeing the -world upside down. Cast forth from the cool leafy oasis of hope into -the burning desert of despair. If she could have taken but one peep -into the man's heart the rain of blessed relief would have fallen in -abundance; she would have kissed that dread letter for token of her -forgiveness; would have risen, smiling in glory, like the sun through -April clouds. - -But she could not see. These two souls, surcharged with their vapors of -unshed trouble, that only needed to come together to combine and pour -forth all their misery in one great shower of gladness and -rejoicing--these two souls lay asunder. - -While the girl stared dumbly into the blackness of her pillow, the man -gazed with the vacant stare of a harmless idiot over Dixon's first gate. -If his state had been hopeless before, he told himself, it seemed doubly -hopeless now. - -To be sentimental by moonlight was one thing, but for a man ostensibly -in the marriage-bespoke department to manoeuvre a wide-awake girl into -the laneways of emotion was a very different thing indeed. All their -yesterday's sentimentalism was so much trade discount knocked off their -relations; he was at cost price now, and something under. The whole -time of their interview this morning she was unmistakably trying to -shake him off; had been inventing urgent reasons why she must be getting -back; had n't a word to say for herself beyond transparent excuses to -get away; could n't say what she was going to be doing this afternoon; -could n't say what she was going to be doing to-night; could n't say -whether she should see him to-morrow; could n't say, apparently, whether -she 'd ever see him again; had almost torn herself away from him in the -end. What was he to think? What was he to say? What was he to do? - -He was a sick man now, and no mistake. His very internals tormented -him, as though he were a storm-tossed, drifting ship, and he saw land -and the girl receding from him hopelessly on the horizon. How to reach -her? How to get back to her? How still to save himself? - -Alas, during these moments of wounded love and pride, for the Other One! - - - - - *CHAPTER XXV* - - -In one swift headlong descent of crime Pam had suddenly arrived at the -awful pitch of robbing Her Majesty's mail. - -She had vague terrorised notions of the penal code and the shameful -penalty of her crime, but her horror for what the world would inflict -upon her, to ease its conscience of the various offences it commits -itself, was exceeded by the horror with which self regarded self. And -she had horror, too, of the unutterable horror that would prevail in -this house, so still and peaceful at present, supposing her crime were -brought home to her and exposed. She saw the awe-struck face of the -postmaster, sitting with his mouth open and empty of words under the -incredible calamity of her shame; she saw Emma Morland looking at her, -part in anger, part in unbelief, part in compassion; she saw James -Maskill obstinately refusing to meet her eye, and pretending to whistle -in shocked abstraction; she saw her one act extended and dramatised to -its very close at Sproutgreen Court-house, as clearly as though her soul -were a theater, luridly lighted, and she were sitting in the pit ... a -horrified, helpless, untearful spectator of her own downfall. - -All suddenly the course of the drama was disturbed. There was a sound of -doors downstairs; voices mixed in question and answer. She held her -breath and listened. Her heart gave a great bump and seemed to stop -altogether. So vivid was her conception of her crime that her mind -accepted these noises as indisputable notification of its detection. -All the world was astir about the stolen letter. The policeman was -there; the machinery of the law was in motion. They were come to take -her. They would all be waiting for her below. She saw them in a -blinding group, with the stragglers beyond, about the Post Office door; -children flattening their noses and sticking their tongues grotesquely -against the panes for a sight inside; licking their fingers and drawing -slimy tracks over the glass. And then she heard her name uttered--that -hateful name that was become now as a second word for sin. The sound of -it sent a shudder through her to the soles of her lemon-colored shoes. - -"Pam...." It was Emma Morland's voice that called her. "Pam! Are ye -there?" - -Instinctively she clutched the tell-tale letter in her hand and -scrambled off the bed. Her first thought was for the little -dressing-table. She pulled up the looking-glass (ah, that was no liar); -rubbed her cheeks with her hands to try and soften their haggardness; -smoothed her hair rapidly; shook out her skirts, and passed on trembling -legs to the door. Her name met her a second time as she opened it, from -a few steps further up the stairs, and more urgently uttered. - -"Pam! ... Are ye there?" - -Her mouth was dry; her lips felt cracked like crust; her tongue a piece -of red flannel, but her voice might have been less unsteady--as it might -also have been louder--when she answered. - -"I 'm here," she said, and with an effort to divert suspicion and appear -unconcerned; "... do you want me, Emma?" - -A guilty person would never ask: "... do you want me?" A guilty person -would know too well, and not dare to risk the question. Don't you -understand? Cunning, you see, was coming to her help--now that she was -enlisted in the devil's own army. When the crime is once committed, -when we have taken the infernal shilling and the devil is sure of us, he -does not stint his soldiers with the armament of craft. - -"Did n't ye 'ear me callin' of ye?" Miss Morland inquired, with some -sharpness of reproof at having been kept at the occupation. - -"... I can't have done," said Pam. "... Have you been calling long?" - -"Ah 've been callin' loud enough, onny road," Miss Morland protested. -"What 's gotten ye upstairs?" - -Pam's fingers tightened their hold of the letter in her pocket. - -"... I 've been..."--she cast a beseeching look around the room for -inspiration; the devil furnished her at once--"washing myself." - -"Goodness wi' ye! En't ye washed yersen once this mornin'?" - -"I 've been ... having another. It 's so hot outside." - -"Ye mud be a mucky un bi t' way ye stan' i' need o' soap an' watter. Ye -do nowt else, a think. Come down wi' ye noo an' set dinner things, will -ye? It 's about time." - -Only that! Not detection; not discovery and shame. Only to lay the -dinner things. And she had been paying for that moment with all the -horror and heart-burning and trembling of knees for the real shame -itself. What prodigality of terror! What an outrageous price to pay, -for a mere worthless alarm! - -Now it seemed to her her body was turned to glass. Every thought within -her she felt must be visible through its transparent covering, as though -she had been but a shop-window for the display of her delinquencies. -Down at the bottom of her pocket, smothered beneath her handkerchief, -and her hand most frequently over that, lay the object of her crime. -She dared not turn her back for long lest they should see it through her -clothing. If it had been buried under the red flags of the kitchen -their eyes would have been drawn to it and found it. They had lynx -eyes, of a sudden, all of them. They pricked her through and through -with strange test-glances, as though they were trying the flesh of a -pigeon with a fork. When she put her hand to her pocket to reassure -herself, at some horrid suspicion, that the letter was still there ... -their eyes taxed the action and charged her at once, seeming to say: -"Ah! ... what 's that? Did something crinkle?" - -Even the handkerchief, in which she had placed her trust to hold down -and choke the evidence of her guilt, narrowly missed betraying her -outright into the hands of her enemies. It was after dinner. They were -all rising from the table, and for some reason, Pam could not say -why--unless it was that she felt some concentrated look upon her from -behind and wished to perform a trifling act of unconcern to divert -suspicion--but all at once she found herself with the handkerchief in -her hand, and heard, at the very moment that her own fear shot like a -dart through her breast, the keen voice of Emma: - -"See-ye; what's that ye 've dropped o' floor? A letter bi t' looks on -it." - -In a flash Pam spun round upon the white square upon the red tiles. The -schoolmaster had already perceived it, and come forward to relieve her -of the necessity for stooping; his hand was outstretched when she -turned, but she almost flung herself in front of him and snatched the -letter from under his fingers. It was a dreadful display of distrust -and suspicion. Her breath came and went, between shame for her act and -terror for the alternative, while she stood before him, thrusting the -letter into the pocket at the back of her, with a face like a flaming -scarlet poppy, and a breast rising and falling, as though he had been -seeking to wrest the missive from her. As for Emma Morland, accustomed -as she was growing to novel demonstrations of the girl's character, this -present act so eclipsed all previous records, and ran so counter to -everything that experience had ever taught her of Pam, that she gasped -in audible amazement. The schoolmaster, on his side, awkwardly -placed--as one whose undesired services seem to savor of -meddlesomeness--flushed up to the high roots of his hair, and then -slowly, very, very slowly, commenced to whiten all over till his face, -his lips, his neck even seemed turned, like Lot's wife, into salt. - -If Pam had but allowed him to return the letter, it is quite probable -that he might have had the good feeling to raise it from the floor and -hand it to her with his eyes upon hers, as a guarantee of good faith. -On the other hand, it was equally probable that he might not. In any -case, the risk would have been truly a heavy one to run. But now, though -Pam had saved herself from open detection, it was only at the cost of a -suspicion that henceforth would keep its wide eye upon her every action. -Love is a terrible detective; it has no conscience; knows no more than a -criminal to discern between right and wrong. Everything that it does it -does for love. The things done are nothing. The thing done for is all. -Back into Pam's pocket went the accursed germ of crime and misery which -she must hug so closely--though she would have given her unhappy soul to -be rid of it. - -But there was no safety in her pocket now; all her confidence in a -personal possession fled from her. Her hand seemed sewn into her dress, -by its anxiety to keep assured of the letter's safety. For everything -that she did with her right hand she did half a dozen with her left. - -And even that tried to betray her. - -"What 'a ye done at yersen?" Miss Morland asked her tartly, when she saw -her collecting the glasses lamely off the table with the left hand, and -the other one missing. "... 'A ye cutten yer finger?" - -"No...." - -Pain jerked it quickly into use and showed desperate activity with it. -Also, she cast a fearful look over her elbow, lest she should see the -condemnatory square of white lying on the floor at the back of her, -blinking maliciously at her discomposure. The letter seemed, in her -imagination, suddenly instinct with the diabolical desire to work her -ruin. She could no longer trust it about her. Up to her room she betook -herself at the first favorable opportunity--which was the first that -Emma's back happened to be turned. In the low, long drawer of the -wardrobe, deep beneath confidential articles of personal attirement, she -buried it in the furthermost corner, as far as arm could reach. Then -she squeezed the drawer to again noiselessly, and standing back, applied -her gaze in terrible assiduity to see whether the wardrobe showed any -outward and visible signs of having been tampered with for improper -purposes. There was nothing suspicious that she could discover. The -knobs spun wickedly, and winked at her in devilish confraternity: - -"Aha, not a word. Trust us. We know; we know!" - -The afternoon drew on with a humming and a droning, and a buzzing and a -whirring, and a tick-tacking and a hammering, all mixed up sleepily -together in thick sunlight, like the flies in Fussitter's golden syrup. -The postmaster slept on his little bench in the shoemakery, with his -head back against the wall, and his mouth open like the letter-box -outside, and Ginger Gatheredge's left boot between his knees, sole -upward, and a hammer in one hand and the other thrown out empty--with -the sort of mute, supplicating gesture towards the inexorable that one -associates with rent-day. Mrs. Morland had slipped out to Mrs. -Fussitter's, and would be back in a minute--without committing herself -to say which. Emma was in the trying-on room, with her mouth all pinned -up; there must have been, at one moment, a dozen tucks in at least. The -schoolmaster was in the second kitchen. Pam was in the first. She knew -where he was; her ears were alert to every sound in the house, but she -did not know that he was keeping guard over her with a terrible check of -concentration and listening apprehension. She was frightened he might -be going to seek a conversation with her, but she need have no fear of -this had she only known. He was as frightened of such a meeting--for -different reasons--as she. Suspicion was consuming him again in -silence, like the old former flame of his love. He dared not trust -himself to words; he could only listen. Only desired to listen and keep -always near her. He trusted her no more than if she 'd been a declared -pickpocket. Love without any foundation of faith is a terrible thing, -and his love was a terrible thing. He had loved her before as he would -have loved an angel; his own unworthiness alone had made him fear for -the getting of her. Now he loved her no less--deeper, indeed--but it -was the love for a beautiful and treacherous syren. His love was as -unworthy as he believed hers to be. He knew not to what extent she -would practise her deadly deceptions, and in holding himself prepared -for any, his mind outstepped them all. He opened a book--it was a volume -of Batty's hymns--and laid it on the table to be ready as an excuse, -should any be needed. And there he sat, with the flat of his face -strained towards the kitchen beyond, where he heard the girl astir. - -For a while, so far as Pam was concerned, in her solitary occupancy of -the kitchen, she was free from actual alarms. Only her mind troubled -her; asking her how she was going to repair this great wrong that she -had done--for she had no wilful intention of retaining the letter. All -her mind was concentrated upon the hazy means of its safe delivery. All -her fears were lest shame of discovery should fall upon her before she -could make redress. And these fears were not groundless. The task of -redress seemed more difficult as she looked at it. In the first place, -the letter bore the date of its Hunmouth stamping conspicuously on its -face. Had the Ullbrig office had the stamping of its own letters, how -easy it would have been to re-stamp over the old postmark. But coming -and going, all the letters were stamped in Hunmouth. Oh, why had n't -Government trusted them with the stamping of their own? So much better -it would have been--so much better. Yet since there was no possibility -of altering the tell-tale postmark, what was to be done? If she took -the letter as it was ... he might remark the date, remember having come -upon her when she was reading something, remember having seen her put -something hurriedly into her pocket, remember her confusion when he -asked whether there was any letter for him ... piece it all together and -learn that she 'd robbed him. - -And till he got this letter ... he would stay at Cliff Wrangham. - -And there might be other things in it besides. - -Money, for instance. Notes that She wanted him to put into the bank for -her. That made Pam feel very ill. Notes--bank-notes! Those would mean -transportation ... or something, for life, would n't they? The kitchen -felt of a sudden so small and hot and cell-like that she could bear it -no longer. She slipped out feverishly into the garden. There, among -the potatoes and cabbages she made a turn or two, but it was such an -unusual thing for her to do, and she was so afraid lest its strangeness -might set other eyes to industry concerning her altered state, that the -fear that had driven her out drove her in again. Back she came from -under the burning sun into the stewpot of a kitchen. And there, all at -once, she heard a horrible sound from overhead that stunned her -intelligence like a cruel box on the ears. The next moment she was -racing up the little twisted staircase with the horrid stealth and the -concentrated purpose of a tigress. To her bedroom she fled on swift, -noiseless feet; crouched by the door for a moment to make sure, and -prepare her spring, and pounced in terrible silence upon the curved -figure of the postmaster's daughter, on her knees by the fatal drawer of -the wardrobe. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXVI* - - -"What are you doing there?" she panted breathlessly. - -"Lawks, lass." The figure of Miss Morland sprang upward like a startled -Jack-in-the-box and caught at the open drawer to prevent an -overbalancement on to her back. "What a start ye gied me, comin' in on -a body like that. Y' ought to 'ad more sense. Ah thought ye wor far -enough." - -"You have ... no right here," Pam said, desperately trying to justify -her entrance. "This is my room. You have no right in my room. What -are you doing in that drawer? You ought to have ... asked my -permission." - -For a moment Miss Morland's face was a kaleidoscope of conflicting -emotions. Her mind apparently was in such rapid progress that her words -could n't descend, like passengers at the door of a railway carriage, -until the train had sufficiently slowed up. - -"Oh, mah wod!" she ejaculated, rising to her feet at length in rare -display of dudgeon, and wiping the unworthy lint of Pam's carpet off her -knees as though it were contamination. "Things is come tiv a pretty -state when ah 've to ask ye whether ye 've ganned an' putten mah red -petticawt i' your drawer by mistake. Mah wod, they 'ave an' all. Ye -mud think a body wanted to rob ye. What 's come tiv ye?" - -Even now, with that fatal drawer thrown open, and the signs of rummaging -visible about the surface, Pam dared not retreat from her standpoint. -(Oh, my Heaven! it was n't her standpoint at all. She had n't made it. -Had n't wished it. Up till now Emma had had the run of this room -unchallenged. But Pam was but a poor, unresisting tool in the hands of -her terror.) She dared not give Emma permission to continue the search. -She dared not say she was sorry. She dared not abate one jot or tittle -of her loathsome simulated indignation. She could n't breathe until -that drawer was safely shut. - -"If you had asked me..." she began. - -"Ah don't want to ask ye nowt," Miss Morland said contemptuously. "Ye -tell me nowt bud lies." - -Pam's lip quivered with fear and reproach. How much did Emma suspect? -How much did she know? How much had she seen? - -"You have no right ... to say that, I think, Emma," she protested. - -It was less a protest than a tremulous feeler, to sound the depths of -Emma's knowledge. But she quaked for results. - -"No, ah en't," Miss Morland acquiesced, with the terrible force of -agreement that means so much dissent. "Ah s'd think ye was just comin' -upstairs to get yersen washed again, when ye dropped o' me." - -"I will look for the petticoat ... if you wish," Pam offered humbly. -"But I don't think it 's here. Which one did you say it was, Emma?" - -"Ah did n't say it was onny un," Miss Morland declared, repudiating the -olive branch. "Ah don't want ye to look for owt. Ah 'll do wi'oot -petticawt sin' ah 'm not fit to be trusted. Ay, an' ye need n't trust -me. Ah don't trust you. Ah know very well ye 're agate o' seummut ye -'d for shame to be fun' [found] out in. Where 's waiter ye washed i' -this mornin' before dinner? An' 'oo's been liggin' [lying] o' t' bed? -Cat, ah s'd think. Folks is n't blind if ye think they are.... Noo, -get yersen washed agen. Ah 'm about tired o' ye." - -At which Miss Morland slammed to the drawer peremptorily with her knee, -and flounced past Pam in a fine show of injured pride and indignation. -And Pam never questioned the justice of her wrath. Emma was right to be -angry. Pam had treated her shamefully, shamefully, shamefully. Oh, -never did she think in the hours of her happiness that she would ever -have come to treat Emma like this. To suspect her; to approach upon her -by stealth; to use harsh words to her; to offend her so needlessly and -so cruelly. - -All the same, as soon as the feet of the postmaster's daughter had -departed downstairs, telling the tale of their indignation loudly to -every step on the way and banging it into the door at the bottom, the -girl dropped on her knees, opened the drawer anew, and commenced to -examine the depth and nature of Emma's exploration. Heart, soul, and -body, suspicion now was eating her up piecemeal. With the lapse of her -own trust she trusted nobody. Carefully she turned up the articles one -by one, to see how far signs of recent disturbance extended. Thank -goodness, they were mainly at the top. She sent her wriggling right arm -to that furthermost corner at the bottom of the drawer, and the letter -was there; there (relief and reawakened misery) flat as she had laid it. - -But this incident had shaken Pam's nerve. Her faith in the room was -shattered, and in agony of spirit she cast her eyes about on all sides -of her to decide where now she could best deposit this horrid -possession. Thoughts of sewing it into a little flannel band and -wearing it across her breast occurred to her. But all sorts of dreadful -things might happen. She might fall; she might faint; some sudden -accident might overtake her; she might drop down dead even, or dying; -willing hands might tear open her dress-body and exhume this frightful -secret from its shallow grave. To such an extent did she foresee -disaster of this sort, that the mere wearing of the letter seemed a -courting of it. It was like shaking her fist in the face of Providence. - -And then of a sudden she bethought herself. In the front parlor -downstairs was a little inlaid brass and mother-of-pearl writing-desk -that Father Mostyn had given her. Once she had made regular use of it -for such small writing as she had, but now never. It had become -elevated from an article of use to an article of household adornment; -one of those penates--ornamental fetiches, with which all rustic parlors -abound. To open it almost was an act of profanity, except for Pam. Pam -had one or two little treasures of a personal nature that she was -guarding zealously, and the household law could be stretched a point to -allow her a sight of these possessions from time to time, so long as she -did not abuse the privilege. True, there was no key--but then, respect -of sacred tradition was as good as any key. Nobody had ever looked into -the desk but Pam since its sanctification. Why should they look now? -Down to the front parlor she worked her way, disguising the directness -of her journey with the cunningest side errands, doublings and -confusings of her tracks. - -It was but the work of a moment to open the desk, but quick as she was -about it the door of the second kitchen, that led out into the passage, -opened in the meanwhile, and she heard the schoolmaster emerge. There -was no time to dwell upon the details of the letter's concealment. -Between the two leaves of the desk she thrust it, pushed the desk back -into its place, reinstated the china shepherdess on its polished top, -and picking up the crystal letter-weight, with the vivid picture of -Southport in colors beneath its great magnifying eye, engrossed herself -in the examination of this--her scarlet neck and burning ears turned -resolutely towards the doorway. - -For some moments, standing silent, a statue of guilt surprised, with her -heart turning somersaults inside her and her voice miles away had it -been called upon--she almost believed that the schoolmaster had entered -the parlor. It seemed she was conscious of his presence advancing -behind her; could feel his eyes boring through and through her like live -coal. So tense was her feeling, and so imperative the summons of that -unseen gaze, that in sheer self-defence she was constrained to lay down -the letter-weight and turn round quaveringly to meet her accuser. - -But there was none to meet. The room was empty of any but herself. For -all she knew, the whole circumstance--from the opening of the kitchen -door to the schoolmaster's entrance--was a mere fabrication of her -tortured nerves. And now she would have liked to bring forth the desk -anew and do her hiding over again more thoroughly, but she dared not, -lest she might be disturbed in real fact. Minutes she waited there, -with her hand on her bosom, listening for the selection of a moment that -should seem propitious. "Now," she kept urging herself; and "now," -"now," "now!" - -But whenever she extended an arm some warning voice within her cried: -"Wait ... what was that?" At times it was but the creaking of her own -corset; the straining of her leather belt; the rustle of her dress. But -it always arrested her short of her intention; it always seemed that the -house woke into movement the minute she sought to revise her work. - -And last of all, when she had wasted enough favorable moments for the -doing of her work twenty times over, she grew frightened that this -continued propitiousness of circumstance was too good--like summer -weather--to last. Every moment now must see its break-up and -dissolution; every moment added to her risk. And in this she was right. -Of a sudden the sewing-machine stopped with a premonitory abruptness, -and she heard its owner astir. With a haunting sense of dejection and -misery for what she had failed to accomplish, Pam whipped from the room -back to the little clean kitchen. - -And the moment after that, her chances for this time present were -ruthlessly snatched away from her. The postmaster awoke to find his -neck and his left arm and both his legs asleep, and something wrong with -his swallowing apparatus, and became very busy all at once on his little -bench. Mrs. Morland came bustling back from Fussitter's and said, "Good -gracious! yon clock 's nivver right." Not that she doubted for a moment -that it was, but as a kind of reproof to Time for having slipped away -from her this afternoon, and got home so much in advance of her. - -And Emma Morland emerged from her trying-on room, and came into the -little clean kitchen, apparently searching for something, and resolutely -keeping her gaze clear of Pam. Pam knew at once what she wanted. It -was not anything that eye could see or hands could lay hold of; not pins -or petticoats or needles or darning thread. It was counsel and advice, -locked up so securely in Pam's own delinquent body, and because of her -conduct this afternoon, the girl for very shame and contrition dared not -offer to give it. She besought Emma's eye with a pathetic, supplicating -look to be asked some favor, however slight, by which she might hope to -work back her slow way into Emma's good graces, but that eye knew its -business to a hair's-breadth, and went doggedly about it without -stumbling into the least collision. - -Last of all: - -"Do you ... want me, Emma?" Pam asked, in an almost inaudible voice of -sorrow and repentance. - -"Eh?" said Emma sharply, turning as though she had not rightly heard, -and could not imagine what possible subject should lead Pam to address -her. "Did ye say owt?" - -"Do you want me, Emma?" Pam begged again humbly. - -She would have liked to throw herself at Emma's feet and pluck the hem -of Emma's skirt, and cling there till Emma poured upon her the -benedictory grace of forgiveness. - -"What sewd ah want ye for?" Emma asked incomprehendingly. "Naw; ah can -do wi'oot ye, thanks." - -No; she could do without her, thanks. She who had been so glad to have -Pam's help and assistance in the past; who had never done a stitch on -her own account without discussing it first with Pam, and whom Pam had -always loved to help, could do without Pam now. Pam was no longer -necessary to her; was no longer worthy to render assistance. No longer, -for very shame, would she be able to enter Emma's little trying-on room, -and know the happiness of helping; no longer be able to enter Emma's own -heart and talk with her as to a sister. - -It was all ended. The lights of life were dropping out one by one like -the lights of Hunmouth when you drive away from it along the roadway by -night. Into the great darkness of shame she was journeying; it seemed -all the old landmarks were being left behind her. In a strange land she -would soon find herself. She was on its borders now--but a twist of the -road, and her old life would be for ever lost to her. - -And then suddenly a vivid flash of resolution shot out and pierced her -darkness with golden purpose, like a shaft of sunlight into the dense -heart of a thicket. Why should she go on suffering like this? Why -should she go on bearing her shameful burden of secrecy and silence -round all these tortuous paths and byways of indecision? If she had an -aching tooth, would she tramp through the wet and the wind in ceaseless -rounds, of which the dentist was the fixed centre? This very night she -would take the letter up to the Cliff and leave it at Dixon's. Let him -think of her as he would. It was better to bear honorable open pain -than ignominious secret torture. The simplicity of the resolve came -upon her like a revelation. To think she could have been beating about -the threshold of this decision so long without the courage to enter. -But that is always the way. When the pain of the tooth first takes us -we submit to its suffering. It is only when it has broken our spirit -that we are driven on weak legs to the fatal brass plate, and bemoan the -many hours of wasted anguish that might have been saved had we made use -of the true light when it first illuminated us. - -Alas! Pam was not at the dentist's yet, and there was still more -suffering for her in that aching molar of crime. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXVII* - - -Soon all was abustle at the Post Office in preparation for the departing -mail. The kettle commenced to throb upon the red embers of the little -kitchen fire, and pushing out a blithe volume of steam through its -pursed lips, appeared to be whistling light-heartedly at the immediate -prospect of the cup that cheers. From the second kitchen came the -melodious clink of the cups and saucers and tea-spoons; gladsome -tea-table music, heard at four o'clock on a hot summer's day, with its -queer cracked thirds and minor intervals and faulty diatonics. James -Maskill rattled up to the Post Office door again, over the great round -cobbles, and tying the reins up into a loop, stimulated hot and dusty -letter-bringers to frantic final efforts with fierce cries that he was -on the point of departure. - -"Noo then, ye need n't gie ower runnin' if ah 'm to tek it." - -"Ah s'd sit down, if I was you, an' watch me gan." - -"Ay, theer, ye 'll 'ave to mek use o' yer legs." - -"Noo, ah 'm just away an' all, so ye know." - -Whereupon, at Pam's invitation, he retired to partake of a cup of -smoking tea on the Post Office counter--that reappeared immediately upon -his forehead in the form of globules--and doubling up plum-bread and -butter by laying it flat on his great outstretched palm and closing his -hand upon it, slipped it down his mouth cornerwise, as easily as posting -a letter. Every now and then he gave his tea-cup a vigorous stir to -shake up the sugar in it, and darting to the door of the Post Office, -scanned the street up and down for distant letter-bearers on its -horizon. - -"Noo then," he cried out at Ding Jackson, lurking onward from afar. -"'Ow much longer div ye think ah s'll wait for ye?" - -"Ah don't know, an' ah don't care," Dingwall Jackson responded -irreverently. - -"Don't ye?" shouted the postman, with sudden ire. - -"Naw," Ding Jackson shouted back at him, going better. "Ah 've no -letters." - -"Ay, bud ye 'll know if ah get 'old on ye," James Maskill cried -threateningly, shaking a doubled fist like a great red brick at him, and -as heavy. "An' ye 'll care too. Ye dommed saucy young divvle." - -"Gie ower sweerin'," cried Ding Jackson, as loudly as he could. He -almost twisted his interior in the effort to publish the postman's -offence throughout Ullbrig. "Feythur, James Maskill 's sweerin' at me." - -"Ay, ye sewd try an' curb your tongue, Jaames," the postmaster -counselled him as he scowled back to his teacup. "It's a 'asty member -wi' all on us, an' stan's i' need o' bridlin'." - -"Ah 'll bridle 'im," said James morosely, stirring up the sugar again, -this time like the dregs of discord. "... When ah get 'im. An' ah know -very well where ah can leet of 'im" [alight on him]. - -At other times this wicked conduct of James's would have grieved and -disappointed Pam, particularly in the face of his recent struggles and -improvements, but to-day she felt no right to be grieved. Indeed, this -sin seemed so inconsiderable by the side of her own that she envied the -postman his comparative state of sinlessness. To call somebody a -"devil" (which Ding Jackson undoubtedly was, at any time that you used -the appellation to him; morning, noon, or night), what was that? But to -steal something from somebody who 'd been your best friend. To be a -thief. She knew by her sorrows what that was. And James Maskill had -been reproved and shamed and corrected for the one, while she, for the -other--that could have sent her to prison and shamed her before Ullbrig -for ever--she was here, acting the saintly hypocrite. - -Oh, no! Whatever James Maskill did now she could never reprove him. -The very worst that his temper could do would always be above that level -to which, through her sheer sinful tendency, she had sunk. James would -never steal. James would never be a thief. From that hour forth she -looked up to James Maskill with a new-born reverence and respect, as to -one whose life was pure and hallowed. - -"Thank ye," said the hallowed one, thrusting the cup and saucer and -plate through the kitchen door, and holding them there until he should -feel himself relieved of them. - -"You 're very welcome, James," Pam answered him, in the softest voice -that was left to her. Even her voice, it seemed, was becoming hard and -sinful and metallic in these days, to match her soul. "Will you have -any more?" - -"No, ah s'll 'a my tea when ah get back," the hallowed one responded; -and in a lower tone, according to custom: "Is there owt 'at ah can do -for ye o' my way?" - -Dear, faithful, honest, good-hearted fellow! How he loved her, Pam told -herself bitterly. How he trusted her, vile character that she was. How -his goodness ought to stimulate and strengthen her own, and draw her -back, if so might be, to the old paths she had trodden once. - -"No, thank you, James," she said after a pause--in which James only -imagined she was trying to think of something. - -"Not to-night?" said the hallowed one. - -"Not to-night ... thank you," Pam told him. - -If a kiss would have been any good to him ... and he 'd asked for it, he -would have got it then. Poor James! Lost a kiss because he never -dreamed of thinking it would be there, or asking on the off chance. - -"Ah 'm still ... tryin' my best," he assured Pam, round the door-post. -"Ah 'm not same man ah was, bud that d ... Dingwall, ah mean, gets -better o' me yet. Ah know ah s'll not be right while ah 've fetched 'im -a bat across 'is lugs. Nor 'e won't, saucy young ... sod. Bud ah 've -not gidden up tryin'." - -He had not given up trying. And she--was she trying? - -Oh, James, James, James! After many days you are bringing back her -soul's bread to her. Pray that she feed upon it and be strong. She -needs it. - -"Good-neet," said James. - -"Good-night, James," said Pam. - -The postman raised his voice. - -"Good-neet, Emma." - -"Good-neet, Jaames Maskill," Emma responded. - -"Good-neet, Missis Morland." - -"Good-neet, Jim lad." - -"Good-neet, agen," James said to the postmaster. - -"Neet, James. Ye 'll 'ev another nice jonney," the postmaster told him. - -"Ay, neet 's about best part o' day, noo," James responded. - -He took up the bag, and lingering, cast one extra "Good-neet" over his -shoulder towards the door-post once more, in his second and softer -voice. It did n't seem for anybody in particular, but more as though he -had it to spare, and might as well leave it at the Post Office as -anywhere. Pam's voice, however, registered acceptance of it from -within, with the grateful inflection for a very welcome gift. - -"Ay, good-neet," said the postman, giving her another forthwith; and -after hesitating on the impulse of a third, hardened his mouth, swung -the bag off the counter by its narrow neck, lunged out into the lurid -sunlight, pulled the cart down to meet him, sprang into his place, said -"Gee" and "Kt," and was round the brewer's corner in a twinkling, -leaving golden clouds behind him. - -And as soon as tea was over and the things were cleared, and the house -commenced to slip into its peaceful evening mood, she set her plans in -motion for the carrying out of her resolve. Viewing the recent -discredit into which her washing had fallen with Miss Morland, it -required all her nerve to brace herself for a visit of this nature to -the bright bedroom overlooking the garden; but stealing a moment when -Emma was absent, she did it, changed her light dress for a darker of -navy blue, and descended, prepared to receive all Emma's scorn now that -it could no longer deter her from her intention. But Emma was nowhere -visible when she reached ground-floor again; her accumulated reserves of -meekness and charity had been vainly stored. And now her first object -was to secure the letter. She reconnoitred the rooms once more, with -the end that she might possess herself of it, and hold it in readiness -for the first suitable moment that might offer her a chance of departure -without being seen. Such departure would not be yet, of course. It -would not be till the dusk was well fallen, and the moon on the rise. -Until that time there was always the fear of coming into collision with -the Spawer about Dixon's farmstead. Above all, she must avoid that. -And meanwhile, the letter must be in her keeping against all chance that -the one moment most favorable to departure in all other respects should -be the least favorable for the procurement of the letter itself. - -To her consternation and dismay, she found that the parlor, though she -had imagined it to be unoccupied when she listened outside the door, was -held in the hands of the schoolmaster. He was seated, reading deeply at -the round table, with his elbows on the edge and his hands over his -ears, when she wavered upon the threshold. This first frustration cast a -terrible shadow over her. She did not know where to go to keep vigil. -If she dallied too openly about the house, there was ever the dread that -it might involve her awkwardly with one member or other, and rob her of -her chance a second time, just at the very moment that the schoolmaster -should leave the coast clear. Apparently he had not heard her push the -half-open door and stop dead upon the outer mat, for he had never raised -his head. Dejected and anxious, she stole back to the little kitchen -and twisted her knuckles by the window, watching the slowly deepening -sky--so reflective of her own sinking gloom. From here the postmaster's -approaching steps drove her into the second kitchen. From the second -kitchen the sound of Emma Morland, humming a hymn-tune severely through -her tightened lips, and advancing by the passage door, drove her back -again, and--as Emma still pushed her advance--up the corkscrew staircase -for the second time this night. - -"Where 's Pam?" Miss Morland inquired acutely of the postmaster, when -she entered--not that she was in active pursuit or need of her, but that -the girl's absences now were always a source of suspicious inquiry and -speculation. - -"En't ye seed 'er?" the postmaster asked innocently. "She 's nobbut just -this moment come oot o' kitchen an' ganned upstairs." - -"Ay, to wash 'ersen, ah' s'd think," Miss Morland reflected shrewdly to -herself. "Ah 'd gie seummut to know what lass 's after." - -At that moment, if it could have been revealed to her, the lass was -after listening at the top of the staircase with a twisted ear to their -solicitudes concerning her whereabouts. Once upon a time, she told -herself while she did it, she would never have listened to anything that -anybody said, whether she had been the subject of it or not. But now, -listening seemed part of her natural defence; she listened with no -interest in the thing heard, except only as a means for her own -intelligence and safety. At the first sound of words her suspicious ear -was up like a cat's at the chattering of birds. - -From her place at the head of the twisted stairs she was driven into her -bedroom once more by Mrs. Morland. Then, when calm had been restored to -the recently ruffled atmosphere of the post house, and it was possible -to probe by ear to the uttermost corners of it, she slipped out a -cautious head, chose her moment, and stole down by the Sunday staircase. -Very gently she pressed upon the parlor door with her cushioned fingers -... very gently ... gently, gently, just so that she ... gently ... -gently ... could catch a glimpse. - -Ah! - -The treacherous door had cracked, all at once, like a walnut-shell under -her boot-heel. She was halfway up the stairs again in a trice; holding -her palpitating heart and listening terribly over the bannisters for the -sounds that should proclaim discovery of her attempt. But none came. -Baffled, goaded with desire, half-crying with fear of her enterprise's -failure, and yet unable to cry because she lacked the tears to cry with, -being only able to pull painful faces; desperate to achieve her purpose -and terrified with her own desperation, she was up and down the -staircase after this a dozen times; back into her bedroom, listening at -the head of the corkscrew stairs; holding her ear to every point of the -compass. But never dared she essay entrance of the parlor. That door, -just ajar on its hinges, held her more effectually at bay than had it -been bolted with great bolts and locked and barred. Dusky night -descended, the time was getting ripe for her purpose ... and still she -lacked the letter. - -Then the greater terror out-terrorised the lesser. Fear of what the -consequences might be should she not achieve her purpose to-night drove -her downstairs for the last time, and into the parlor. With an air of -reckless innocence that pretends it has nothing to be afraid or ashamed -of, she pulled the door wide and strode into the room. In the -simulation of guiltlessness her bearing for the moment was almost -defiant, as though she were braced for going into some hated presence. -And indeed, for all the assuring silence of the parlor, she advanced -with the full expectation of seeing the schoolmaster's figure looming -forth from the table, with his hands to his ears and his back to her, as -he had been on her first arrival. But no black shadow interposed itself -between her and the window; the chair was empty; the room was void. -Gone all this while.... And she in her terror had been letting the -precious moments slip through her fingers like water. Her heart, in -spite of the misery of her lost opportunities, gave a great bound of -exultation when it found the way of its purpose clear. - -She sprang across the room and laid hold of the desk. The pleasure of -feeling it in her possession again after all her dividing anguish; this -union of purpose with opportunity; this path unto righteousness--were -more glorious than untold riches. Tremulously she deposed the china -shepherdess, and opening the desk thrust in her feverish fingers. - -And then, all of a sudden, her heart seemed to stand still. A great -sinking, swaying sickness seized her. - -The letter was not there. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXVIII* - - -The letter was not there. - -Like a wild animal bereft of its young, when the first shock of -discovery had had its way with her, she set herself with both hands to -rummage the contents of the desk, as though sheer frenzy of desperation -alone could restore to her that which was lost. Scarcely even did she -regard the objects that her delving brought to the surface, but dug and -tore at them all with a blind, consuming energy that revealed the -unreasoning horror of her mind; turning and returning and overturning; -now above, now below; selecting each thing seemingly with the prefixed -idea to reject. - -It was not there. The letter that all her life and honor hung upon, -that she had thought to place there with her own hands, was not there. -It was gone. There did not remain a trace of it. On the floor, upon -her hand and knees, she sought distractedly, stroking the carpet with -passionate solicitude to deliver her the letter that was not hers--as -though it were a great, rough-coated beast that she was coaxing. - -And there, on her hands and knees, the schoolmaster came upon her. -Through the thick walls of her engrossment she never heard him; care she -had thrown to the winds. - -Still groping and coaxing, and peering over the floor in the fast -gathering dusk, she saw for the first time the shadow that watched her. -It said no word at the moment of her rising. Slowly and tremblingly she -rose upward, like a faint exhalation, a phantom. Had she continued her -vaporous ascent through the ceiling, and through the bedroom ceiling -above that, and through the red-tiled roof, and forth into the great -eternity of dissolution and nothingness, it would scarcely have been out -of keeping with the strange slow spirituality of her rising. All the -passionate heat of her search cooled before that presence; her body, -that had been so assiduous in its enterprise, froze suddenly to ice; the -very life seemed to have been smitten out of her, and her rising but the -last muscular relaxation of a body from which the soul had fled. - -"Are you ... looking for something?" the shadow asked her, after a -terrible moment's silence, when the girl's guilty heart seemed trying to -cry aloud and betray her. - -It was the old schoolmaster's voice that uttered the question; the -tight, hoarse whisper that seemed to strangle his throat in the -utterance like a drawn cord. And it was the old schoolmaster's figure -that waited upon her answer; the remorseless, condemnatory figure with -its hands to its collar, that always, whatever she did, threw her in the -wrong. All their intervening relations seemed cut out and done away -with. They were back again, splicing their lives at the point where -these had broken off on that memorable night in the kitchen. He was -above her once more, on the great high judgment seat, and she ... down -here--a poor, frail, inconsequential sinner--struggled and wrestled in -the bondage of silence before him. - -"I?" She spoke in an unsteady voice, all blown to pieces with short -breaths, as though she had been running fast and far. "No, no! Only -something that I ... that I ... I thought I 'd dropped. Nothing at all -... thank you. It does n't matter." - -She wanted to pass him quickly on the strength of that denial--a lie on -the face of itself--and get away somewhere, to her bedroom again, before -he could question her further; but he stood there without moving, as he -had stood in the moonlight, and she dared not advance. She had the fear -within her that he might yield her no place. - -"You ... will not find it on the floor," he told her. - -"I don't ... know what you mean," she found strength to say--but only -just. - -"The letter," he answered. "You are looking for a letter." - -In dead silence, like an executioner's axe, the charge fell, and seemed -to sever her anguished head of evasion at one sharp blow from its -trembling trunk. She had no power for struggling now; her life of -tortured anticipation and mental activity was at an end. It was only a -poor, soulless, quivering girl's body that the schoolmaster had in front -of him. He might bend and bruise it as he listed; it should show him no -resistance. - -"It was a letter you were looking for," he taxed her again, his voice -gaining severity, it seemed, from her admissive silence, as though he -meant forcing her to confess with her lips what she had hoped to let her -silence say for her. - -"... Have you ... got it?" she inquired, in a dry, empty whisper. - -Had she spoken the words with a hollow reed under her lips the tone -would have been no more empty. - -"It is safe," he said. - -And something in the malicious utterance, something significant of -exultation for a victory unfairly come by, revealed to the girl in a -flash, when, and by what abominable means, it had come into the man's -possession. - -"You took it," she cried at him, flinging the accusation into his face -as though it were a glove from the hand of outraged honor. "You stole -it out of my desk!" With all the rapid process of moral despoliation -that had been at work upon her during these latter days, and with all -the resultant complaisance for crime, the old indignation rose up strong -in her against the idea of a mean, petty theft like this. It seemed she -might never have sinned or known sin herself, so clear and righteous was -her moral eye become of a sudden. "You thief!" she threw at the man. -"Coward and thief!" - -He made no attempt to resent or defend himself against these puny -javelins of her anger. Possession of the letter was so impregnable a -position that he could afford to let her expend her ammunition -fruitlessly against the walls of his silence. - -"And if I did take it?" he asked her merely, in tones of gathering -assurance. - -"It was not yours to take," she panted at him. "It does not belong to -you. Give it me back. You have no right to it." - -"It belongs to neither of us," he said, yet without anger. With such a -power as this letter in his pocket gave him, he had no need of anger. -And of justification he sought none. "My right is as much as yours ... -and I am prepared to stand by it. Call me a thief if you like; mere -names won't hurt me ... your own harsh treatment has hardened me too -much for that. We are both of us thieves." - -"... I was going to take it back to-night..." the girl protested, part -in asseveration of her innocence, part in supplication that he should -restore her the letter. - -"Perhaps you were," he said, with a callous indifference to her -intentions that boded ill for his own. Apparently he was little -concerned with the girl's atonement or questions of restitution. "But I -have something ... to say to you first. We cannot talk here. Put on -your hat ... we will go outside." - -His assumption of authority and dominion roused the last red cinders of -the girl's independence. Now that her back was to the wall and further -retreat was impossible, the energy, hitherto dribbling away in futile -skirmishes, accumulated itself in frontal activity. She was -shamed--bitterly, horribly shamed--but even shame has its pride. - -"Give me the letter..." she said doggedly, and held out her hand. - -"Put on your hat..." he told her. "We will talk about that outside." - -"I will not go with you. Give me the letter first. If you give me the -letter I will go." - -"You shall have the letter back ... in good time. Not now. If you -speak so loudly they will hear us. Put on your hat." - -"I will not put on my hat." - -"... I think you will." - -"When will you give me back the letter?" - -"When ... we have come to an understanding." - -The word "understanding" tolled out across the dreary wastes of her -consciousness like a death-bell. - -"... Will you give it me to-night?" - -"We can discuss that." - -"Give it me now ... and I will go with you." - -"No; I cannot give it you now. You have had your way ... in other -things. I must have mine, for once, in this. Put on your hat." - -She would have gone on her knees to anyone else in the world that should -have obtained this dominion over her, but before this man, no. To beg -of him, her shame was ashamed. Knowing what he had been wanting of her -all these months--what he was wanting of her now--she dared not plead -for a single concession; dared not put herself under the yoke of one -small favor. Doubly she was at a disadvantage before him. All her -wiles of womanhood; all her tears; all her soft persuasions; her -clasping of hands; her dove-like wooing with the voice ... all that dear -pedlar's basket of feminine graces to win the hearts and minds of man -must be left undisplayed. To this man, of all men on earth, she must not -plead. - -"If I will not put on my hat?" she said. - -She dared not bind herself in direct negation to the refusal, but she -suggested the act--drawing pride for it indirectly--with the twofold -intention of expressing a contemplated resolve she was far from feeling, -and of arriving at some knowledge of the degree to which the man was -prepared to push his ill-gotten power. - -"But you will," he said. - -There was something so black about the insinuation--as though he himself -were anxious to save her the sight of what might be in store for her if -she persisted--that she dared hazard no second contingency. They -remained for a second or two in silence, and the slow melting of her -obstinacy into consent was as palpable during these moments as the -melting away of a fragment of ice on a fishmonger's slab. No other word -passed between them then. Very quietly the schoolmaster opened the door -and stood by the wall while the girl slid by him, cowed and trembling. - -The postmaster, sitting on the high Governmental stool in the Post -Office, with his back to the window and his newspaper held up above his -head to catch the last red reflection from the darkening sky, staring -upward at the crowded firmament of print through his great glasses as -though he were star-gazing, heard the front door close, and looking over -the ribbed glass screen into the roadway, saw Pam and the schoolmaster -pass together in the direction of the brewer's corner. - -"Emma," said he, putting his head in at Miss Morland's door next moment; -and more urgently still, not discerning her there at first in the dusk: -"Emma lass, are ye theer?" - -"Ay, ah seed 'em," said the severe voice of his daughter. "Div ye want -lamp noo?" - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIX* - - -That same night the Ullbrig chimes were as clear to hear at Cliff -Wrangham as though they 'd rung in Dixon's stackgarth, and Dixon shook -his head. - -"Yon 's a bad sound," said he dubiously. "Ah 'm jealous we s'll be -gettin' some rain before morn." - -And while all Ullbrig slept (save two), and all Cliff Wrangham (save -one), a great, black, umbrella-shaped cloud pushed up its head into the -sky above where the sun had sunk, like a mammoth mushroom. Soon there -were no stars left behind Ullbrig church for the tower to show against; -half the sky was black as ink and the mushroom still growing. Out of -the advancing darkness came wafts of cool, wet wind that shook the -sleeping, windows and casements gently, as though to awaken them to -preparation, and bid them: "Be ready--we are coming." And almost while -their breath was whispering the warning, the first rain drop spat -sideways against the Spawer's window, and after that the second and a -third and a fourth. And thenceforward, through the hours till -daybreak--that never broke at all--the silence seethed with the -steadfast downpouring of rain. - -All over the country-side this night there would be white faces peering -out through the streaming wet windows, for your farmer is a light -sleeper where his crops are at stake; and men's low, calamitous voices -heard discussing the swift change in their prospects; and stocking-feet -stirring muffled about boarded floors; and bedsteads creaking as -occupants sit up in them, and roll out with sudden-roused anxiety or -throw themselves flat again in the despondency that knows too well to -need any ocular confirmation of its fears; and the sounds of masters, -calling urgently upon men by name in the great attic above, to inquire -whether this, that, or the other had been safely done last night before -turning in. - -For three days the rain fell, almost without intermission. At times, for -variation, great big-bellied clouds of white mist rolled over the land -from the sea, and hid it, and rolled away again. They heard the booming -of the minute-gun from Farnborough, and the hoot of passing steamers. -More than once, during these three days, the Spawer extended his -excursions--with fitful energy of action--right beyond the confines of -Dixon's farm, and showed a set face of purpose towards Ullbrig. But it -was all mere moonshine. The thought of his advent in Ullbrig village, -with his streaming mackintosh and soaking cap and be-muddied boots, -deterred him from his folly in time. And whenever he turned back it was -always with a certain consolatory pious pain of renunciation, as though -he had just got the better of a great temptation, and had gained a -victory instead of losing one. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXX* - - -Early on the morning of the fourth day, which was a Saturday, Barclay -was sighted in his spring cart, driving down to Ullbrig to catch -Tankard's 'bus; the farm lad sat by his side to hold up the great gig -umbrella, with cylindrical slashes in its cover, through which a cow -could have jumped, and two or three of its complete ribs showing. -Dixon, standing at the pump in his white waterproof and leggings, his -corn-sack headgear, and his six-penny telescope, as though he 'd been a -skipper, and Barclay's cart (with miniature waves of water curling off -at its wheels) an apparently friendly craft, hailed him as the farm lad -consigned to his master the care of the umbrella, and clambered down to -throw open the lane gate. - -"Noo then." - -"Noo then," said Barclay in turn, showing his face, and waving the reins -at him with the right hand. - -"Ye 're not cuttin' owt to-day, it seems?" Dixon inquired jocularly. - -"Nay, ah 'm waitin' while it ripens a bit. Ah thought ye 'd 'a been -agate leadin' yours by noo." - -"Ay," said Dixon, "... 'appen we may if rain dizz n't lift. We mud as -well 'ave it damp as dry, ah think. 'Ow diz it suit ye noo, this -tee-tawtal weather?" - -"Nay, it dizz n't fall t' be no wuss nor it is. That 's 'ow it suits -me," Barclay responded. "It 's no use stayin' i' 'oose, watchin' crops -waste. Ah 'm away to Oommuth." - -"To buy a bit o' band, ah 's think?" Dixon hazarded, with an internal -twinkle. - -"Ay, a bit o' band 'll not come amiss i' 'arvest time." - -"Don't loss it o' yer way back, onny road," Dixon charged him. "Shall -ye come wi' Tankard?" - -"Ay," said Barclay oracularly. "Gen ah don't come later, ah shall." - -... And drove away in the sloppy channel of the lane, with the clash of -the gate behind him for farewell. - -The farm lad, returning after a while in sole charge of the cart, with -the umbrella totally inverted over him, using one of its rents as a -window, held further parley with Dixon at close quarters by the same -gate--that Dixon opened for him to save a dismount--concerning his -master's departure, and the world in general. The conversation -brightened Dixon's face as it proceeded, and sent him back to the house -with a sparkle in his eye, as though he 'd been asked to pronounce -judgment on a glass of XXX, and could say "Proper stuff this!" with all -his heart. - -"Noo, ah 've gotten to larn seummut ti morn, onny road," he announced to -the household assembled in the big kitchen, from whose window the stack -of faces had been interestedly observant of this second conversation. -And in response to the very general inquiry: "What 'a ye larnt, then?" -answered with another: "What div ye think?" - -"What sewd we think, an' all?" Miss Bates demanded rebelliously. "Folks -like me 'as no time to think." - -"Nay, they 'd do better if they did," Dixon assented, with his -imperturbable geniality. - -"Ay, or they 'd do less, 'appen," Miss Bates snapped at him. - -"Ah don't know i' what way," Dixon decided amiably. "Noo, div ye gie it -up? Ah bet ye weean't guess, onny on ye." - -"Sun 's shinin' i' Oolbrig, 'appen," Arny suggested. - -"Feythur Mostyn 's gannin' to slart [daub] a sup o' paint ower t' front -of 'is 'oose," Jeff said. - -"Nay, ye 'll none on ye get gain [near] 'and it," Dixon said, not -desiring, however, to give them too much rope, lest they might. "It 's -a weddin'." - -"Ay, an' ah know 'oo's it is!" Miss Bates cried, emerging suddenly at -the open door of her rebellious silence, to demonstrate the superiority -of her intelligence, and shaking it at him as though it were a broom. -"It 's Pam's, an' she 's gannin' to marry schoolmester." - -"Ay, that 's right enough," Dixon said, with the perceptible reluctance -of admission that would have wished the news--or Miss Bates' guess--to -have been otherwise, particularly in view of her triumphant: "Ah knowed -very well." - -"'Oo telt ye she was, though?" Jeff demanded of his father, with -Thomasine unbelief. - -"Barclay lad, just noo." - -"An' where did 'e get it fro'?" - -"Nay, 'e 'd gotten it off too well for me to ask 'im owt o' that. 'E -telt me it wor ower village 'at schoolmester 'ad asked Pam to 'ave 'im, -an' she 'd ta'en 'im. Ah 'm not sure schoolmester 'issen 'ad n't telt a -goodish few." - -"Ay, 'e 'll want to tell 'em an' all," Miss Bates agreed gustily. "'E -'s been after 'er long enough. Mah wod! Ah 'd 'a seed 'er somewhere -before ah 'd 'a looked at 'er twice, all time she 's been snuffin' 'er -nose at me. They want giein' marriage, both on 'em. Ah sewd 'a 'ad to -be asked a good few times before ah 'd tek up wi' a man same as yon--old -enough to be my feythur, very nigh." - -"Ay, it teks all sorts to mek a wuld," Dixon pronounced drily. "We s'll -see what sort on a man teks up wi' you, 'appen." - -"'Appen," said Miss Bates, with great reservoirs of meaning wisdom -dammed up behind the accent of that word. And then, not finding quite -sufficient satisfaction in this inflectional superiority, could not -resist the temptation to cry out: "Bud 'e 'll 'ave to be different fro' -be yon sort of a man, onny road." - -"When 's weddin'?" Arny asked. - -"Nay, ah can't tell ye owt more, wi'oot mekkin' it up," Dixon said. -"Pick what there is for yersens. Ah lay, ye 'll manage to fin' seummut -fresh in it." And looking towards the mid-parlor door: "'As 'e come -doon yet?" he inquired. - -"Ay, a goodish bit sin'," Miss Bates said. "Bud ah thought it was women -'at did all gossipin'!" she declaimed angrily, seeing the blessed -standard of intelligence-bearer thus being wrenched from her grasp and -carried into the Spawer's breakfast-table by another. And raising her -voice more loudly as the figure of Dixon disappeared from the kitchen on -its coveted errand: "Ay, ye can talk aboot women talkin', mah wod! Ye -can an' all. Bud what aboot a man's tongue 'at must needs gan off as -soon as it 's gotten to know seummut, an' tell it to ivverybody? Ah 'd -for shame to show mysen so throng wi' other people's news!" And thus -commencing to whip up the top of indignation within her, till it hummed -loudly and threateningly, found an effective lodgment for her hand all -of a sudden on the side of Lewis's cheek. "Put yer mucky fingers -gain-'and that bacon, if ye dare!" - -So the Spawer was not the only one to whom the news of Pam's engagement -came as a blow, only he lacked Lewis's privilege of crying for it. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXI* - - -Sunday morning opened out scowlingly, with an angry watery look that saw -no pleasure in anything. There was no rain, but there were great black -clouds heaped up in the sky, every one containing a thunderstorm, if not -a couple. Such clouds they were as you can make for yourselves by -dipping a thumb in ink and smearing circularly over paper. Between the -superimposed piles of them at times, as they rifted, the cold grey light -poured down upon the level landscape below like pailfuls of water. The -chill drops still spangled everywhere from the recent rain. Every bird -that flew out of the hedges scattered diamonds in its passage. The -grass was bowed down beneath its watery burden, drop upon drop was -strung on the bended blades. The trailing porch of flowering tea hung -weightily over the door, ready to discharge its accumulated wetness down -any neck that passed under. On all the window-sills were long, -tremulous watery rows of jewels. The whitewashed walls of the house -were soaked and mottled; everywhere about the path and laneways were -great pools of gathered water, shivering under the breath that blew over -them now and again, in apprehension of more. - -A very day, indeed, for hot coffee, odorous ham, and smoking -mushrooms--as all these ministrants to the stomach's comfort on the -Spawer's breakfast-table there are--but the Spawer only looks at them in -staring disregard. - -This last blow about Pam has struck him so suddenly and so forcefully -that he can only keep feeling himself over, and wonder what bones are -broken, and how many. His pride, he knows, has suffered a nasty shock. -All along he has been reckoning upon the girl as though she were an -actual possession, to be left or taken at his own sweet will; a fixed -star in the firmament. And lo! now he finds she is very much of a -planet, with a path of her own, that has swum into his ken and swum out -again, leaving the astronomer stuck in the mud with his telescope to his -eye, a pitiable object of miscalculation. - -And by turns he is incredulous and despairing, and hopeful and indignant -and irate. She is not going to be married. It is a lie. There is no -truth in it. She is going to be married. The shadow-man, the -moonlight, the parting, her avoidance of him--all point to the truth of -it. - -Pam was marrying a pair of bell-bottomed trousers and a shabby morning -coat. Horrible! horrible! - -Oh, the sting was bitter! The disappointment supreme. Even his love for -the girl was so steeped in the sense of humiliation and of grief that -she should have fallen to such extent below the standard of his -measurement, that at times almost he failed to tell whether he really -loved her any longer, or was possessed only of pity. - -He could n't believe it. On his soul, he could n't believe it. He knew -it was true, but he could n't believe it. On Sunday morning, wet or -fine, he must go to Ullbrig and learn the truth. Father Mostyn would be -sure to know and tell him. - -And meanwhile he had to garb himself with the extra scrupulousness of -attire for covering his torn pride. Now that he was humbled he must be -very proud. He must show no tell-tale flinchings. He must laugh with -the lazy, half-contemptuous humor, as though this little rustic world -... Morbleu! ... this little pasture of bucolic clods ... this fallow -field of earthen intelligences ... you understand? ... this pitiable -place called Ullbrig, meant no more to him in serious reality than Jarge -Yenery's straw hat. If this thing were so, as he knew and dared not -believe ... it should be buried in his bosom and heaped under a thousand -simulations of indifference. Neither the girl nor any in Ullbrig should -have the gratification of knowing that he had ever acted to her as other -than the friend. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXII* - - -It lacked yet some minutes to service time when the Spawer passed up the -path to church. In the porch old Obadiah Beestman, with a bell-rope in -one hand and a bell-rope in the other, and his right foot slung in the -noose of a third, was still ringing his dismal ding, dang, dong, as the -Spawer entered. Obadiah is also clerk and sexton too, and is shrewdly -suspected by his Reverence of Nonconformist proclivities into the -bargain. - -He nodded solemn greeting to the Spawer as the Spawer arrived--the -ringing of the bells being to Obadiah as much a part of the morning's -devotion as the Prayers and Litany--if not more--and told him, "Onny on -'em to left 'and." By which he meant that the Spawer was at liberty to -occupy any pew that caught his fancy, without fear of trespassing upon -rights or being disturbed. Not a soul, so far, was in church. The -Spawer picked his favorite pew, with its faded green cushion and family -of hassocks--the grand patriarch standing a foot and a half high, and -sloped for the knees to rest on without unnecessary bending; with others -of various shapes and sizes, down to the baby sawdust-stuffed buffet, no -bigger than a bath bun. Once upon a time, some God-fearing household of -the Established Faith had come here week by week to worship, and brought -these hassocks to kneel upon, and this cushion for ease in sitting, and -had died or gone away, while the tokens of their devotions were lapsed -into possession of the church. In his old right-hand corner, with his -shoulders fitted into the angle of the high pew-back and side, he sat -and turned over the books within reach; hymns, ancient and modern, -commencing at page twenty; prayer-books, decorated with rude designs of -the human body, with poems against theft, and so much inscribed with -names of ownership that the nine points of law and possession were -merged in them quite; some small, some large; all clammy and smelling of -the vault. Up and down the woodwork of the pew, and the hymn-books, and -the green cushions, were the glistening tracks of lethargic but -progress-making snails. All over the damp walls of the church they ran -too, like luminous hieroglyphics of death and decay; and over the mural -tablet in marble to the memory of Francis Shuttlewell Drayman, one time -vicar, who served God in this church faithfully for forty-nine years, -and was given rest as a reward for his labors on February 19, 1799. -Also Hannah, wife of the above, who departed this life in search of her -beloved husband, August 5, 1804. - -As the Spawer sits and ponders over these things, trying to assimilate -them by a sort of spontaneous process with his own state--and find one -common key which shall fit all the varied wards of the locks of -life--the worshippers begin to assemble. Mrs. Hesketh, holding her -youngest by the hand and piloting it (whether a boy or a girl does not -exactly make itself apparent to a superficial observation) up the aisle -in front of her, at the manifest peril of falling over it, and trying by -jerks of the arm to shake its stare off the Spawer, which, however, -requires a stronger arm. They disappear into a pew somewhere under the -lectern, where much sibilant whispering begins to issue immediately upon -their incarceration, as though they were cooking something; and every -second the big forehead of the infant, surmounted by its sailor hat, -shows itself as far as the eyebrows over the pew back and goes down -suddenly, as though its supports had been sundered. Old Mary Bateman -shivers up the aisle too, on the far third-class side, with her brown -charity shawl drawn tightly over her shoulders and clasped into the pit -of her stomach by invisible hands wrapped up in it, as though she were -cold and hungry, and the pinched, alms-house look of humility about the -lips of her bowed face befitting a pauper. Being entirely dependent for -everything in life upon the mercy of God, and having a very proper value -and appreciation of it--which is too infrequently the case with people -able to earn their own living--she has long since discarded pride as an -unmeaning and useless appanage, and walks humbly before the Lord and her -fellow-beings (if they will kindly pardon the liberty of her calling -them such) as the devoutest Christian might desire. At Sacrament she -will wait until the last lip has left the cup, and only presume to -approach the table when sought out and summoned there by the priestly -forefinger. And after death she will go underground in a nice deal -coffin, as being cheaper and more perishable, so that she may the sooner -mix her dust with the soil and make room for somebody else when the time -requires. After her comes Mrs. Makewell, who deems it advisable to show -herself occasionally beneath the priestly eye, as a reminder that she is -still able to go out charing ("God be praised, your Rivrence") at -eighteenpence a day, with her beer; also as a midwife when requested; -and will give his Reverence judicious samples of her bronchitis during -pauses in the service, knowing that his Reverence hears every cough and -scrape and clearing, and bestows port wine upon the worthy. While she -is trying to fasten herself into her pew there are sounds of a massive -sneck being lifted somewhere round the chancel where the vestry is, and -the scuffle of loose boots that are too big for the control of the feet -that don't fit them echoing over a flagged floor. This, the Spawer -knows by experience, is the choir. He even sees them peering round from -the far end of the choir stalls and pushing each other out into the -chancel, and hears the strident hiss of much whispering, which at closer -quarters would resolve itself into: - -"See-ye! Old Moother Bateman! old Moother Bateman!" with an -unpublishable effusion upon the subject of this unfortunate from the pen -(or the lips, as he would n't know what to do with a pen if he had it) -of the Ullbrig bard. "Gie ower shovin', ye young divvle." "Look at -Spawer fro' Dixon's, like a stuffed monkey in a menagerie." "Let 's -chuck a pay [pea] at 'im." - -The sound of the massive latch resounding acutely through the empty -building a second time puts a death-like stop to the chancel activity, -and an august step heard passing over the flagstones in lonely majesty -of silence announces beyond all doubt that his Reverence has arrived. -At the same moment the Spawer, with a strange, nervous fluttering about -his heart--as though he were about to face some great audience in his -musical capacity--hears the whispering echo of light footsteps going up -the winding stairs of stone from the door in the porch to the organ -loft. If he had been a gargoyle, or a sculptured effigy of Peter, his -ears would have heard that tread, and known the maker of it. Every step -of the way he followed her progress. Now she had two more left, and -then the loft door. The two were taken, and the loft door creaked on -its hinges. She was in the church and behind him. By an instinct as -unerring as that which guides a homing bird he felt, with a painful -throbbing of the throat, the fact of his recognition. He knew, almost -as well as if he had been looking at the scene from some high point of -vantage--higher even than the girl's--that she was gazing down upon him -from the organ loft. And with this consciousness was poured into him -from a vial more bitter the knowledge of her sudden start; the -constrained tightening of her lips; the light suddenly extinguished in -her eye at sight of him; all her being standing still like a human -apostrophe and saying: - -"He here!" - -Yes; he was here. Miserable wretch that he was; he was here. - -Into his shoulders he drew his neck; wedged his head down firmly, and -sat without moving in the corner of his pew. On other Sundays he would -have looked round at her and smiled his greeting upward. But not now. -He dared not risk any such greeting now, lest he should look to find the -girl's face turning from him. Without any shadow of doubt, their -alienation was complete. He who had been regarded as a friend at the -first was come to be regarded as a persecutor now. Even his presence -there this morning was a persecution to the girl; a menace to her. She -could trust him no longer. She suspected his intentions of dishonor, -and was striving to hold at arm's length a man who hung about the skirts -of her encouragement. He renewed his suspended breathing with a measure -of relief when he heard the sliding rattle of the manual doors, and knew -that her eyes were removed from him at last. - -And then he knew that another figure had gone up to the organ loft with -the girl, and was contemplating him from on high; a silent, spectral -figure, whose flesh seemed constituted of pale moonlight; and whose garb -was the shadow of night. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXIII* - - -"Ha! this is beautiful of you," his Reverence said, coming up to the -Spawer after the service and enfolding his hand in that warm, balmy, -beneficent softness of palm. "To come three miles on a morning like -this for the sake of worshipping in the true Faith. Beautiful! -beautiful! quite an example to our Ullbrig laggards, it 'll be talked -of. Ullbrig has only three yards to come ... and it does n't come -those, as you see. When Ullbrig comes, look for the Millennium or port -wine--generally port wine. There 's no mistaking the symptoms. Mrs. -So-and-So's liver 's no better. Put on your best black dress and go to -church this morning, Janie; a bottle of his reverence's port would do -her good. Take care and sit where he can see you and sing as loud as -you can. Show him how capitally you can find all your places, and don't -stare about you when he 's preaching. That 's our Ullbrig way. Go to -church to get something out of it if you can. 'His reverence gets paid -for preaching; we ought to get something for going. That 's only fair.' -See what his reverence the vicar 's to put up with in a place like this. -_Ex nihilo nihil fit_. That 's our motto; which, being rendered -according to Ullbrig theologians, means: Nothing done without good value -given for it in return. If Nonconformity had n't its tea-urns and its -bath buns it would n't hold sway over Ullbrig another twenty-four hours. -Plenty of hot tea and big bath buns, with plenty of flies and currants -in 'em; that 's the way to subjugate the heathen bucolic beast. Music's -no good--any more than the Church. We 're dogs with bad names to start -with, both of us. Musicians are unscrupulous, dissipated vagabonds, -such as you, that live by their wits, as everybody knows. Vicars of the -Established Church are children of Satan and prophets of Baal. We 're -both in the same boat. And," said he, picking up the dismembered -mortar-board from its place by the water-bottle, "this morning we shall -have to swim for it. You can't go back to Cliff Wrangham in the teeth -of a storm like this that 's brewing." - -"It 's awfully good of you..." the Spawer began. "But really, I counted -the risks when I came. I 'm ready to take my chance." - -"Ha! not a bit of it! not a bit of it!" his Reverence objected, lifting -up his forefinger. "You shall take your chance with me. It 'll be a -dry chance, if frugal. We don't get so many faithful here that we can -afford to treat them with indifference. Come along with you. We 'll -lock up and make a bolt for it. I daresay we can find something in the -larder to serve us in lieu of lunch if the storm sets in. And judging -by the sound of it"--a prolonged peal of thunder spread itself out above -them and shook the hollow fabric of the church to its uttermost -corner--"it 's going to be a stayer." - -Together they made the round of the building, closing up all the swing -windows against the deluge that must inevitably come, and giving the -lock of the exterior vestry door two turns as the clerk had admonished -them, set the thick fibre mat close against the lower chink to oppose -any intrusive swill of water, and did what they thought best in such -cases as those where a diamond pane lacked in the leaded windows; -removing the hassocks from below, and spreading a mouldy cushion or two -to absorb the bulk of what wetness came through. - -They had only just completed the last of their preparations when a vivid -streak of lightning flashed in the yellow, murky air like a knife-blade, -and seemed to rip up the great baggy canopy of water suspended above -them at one slice. A roar of enraged thunder followed the deadly -thrust, and the rain fell whizzing to earth next moment like arrows. - -His Reverence gathered up his cassock in both hands as far as the knees, -and screwing up his mouth and aiming a way for himself with one eye -through the thick downpour to the Vicarage gate--but a dozen paces or so -from the porch--made a game dash for cover. - -"Ha! capital! capital!" his Reverence was saying at the other side of -the close, bruised, blistered, and by this time rain-soaked door, wiping -the drops off his chin and nose-end, and running the handkerchief round -the inner rim of his Roman collar. "That 's one of the beauties of -living by your own porch. The elements have n't any terrors for you," -and stamping his feet upon the flags to shake out the legs of his -trousers, where he had rucked them over his shoes, he led the way into -the sanctum sanctorum, so full for the Spawer with memories of by-gone -happiness. - -A dual sense of gladness and sadness possessed him as he walked forward. -Here he was very close to, and here he was very far from, the spirit of -Pam. Out of every tile he trod on some brooding remembrance of the girl -rose up as though his foot had dislodged it; wound about him like the -sorrowing smoke from a funeral pyre and dissolved. In every corner of -the room they entered, the spirit of the girl seemed to linger. All -about the room were the visible tokens of the girl's presence--tokens so -acute that to each of them his mind's eye supplied the absent figure of -the girl as she had been at the actual moment of its accomplishment. -Here she was stooping to straighten the antimacassar of a chair; here -she was smoothing a cushion; here she was adjusting the objects on his -Reverence's writing-table. - -And because the Spawer's heart was full of the girl, they did not touch -upon Pam first of all. Instead, they talked of the storm, of the -thunder, of the crops. - -And all the while his Reverence was making excursions to various corners -of the storm-darkened room; opened the cupboard door and plunged his -hands with a rattle into a hidden knife basket; tried the blades on his -thumb, and sprang them critically against his palm for selection; -jingled amid silver forks, and counted them to his requirements, large -and small; brought forth glasses, tumblers and wine glasses, and -liqueur; then casters and bottled condiments; plates and napery, and -laying them on the far end of the big dining-table, cleared that space -near the window for their ultimate disposal. - -"Let 's see ... one, two ... did I bring the forks? To be sure. What am -I thinking of? Capital! capital! I 've been so long in other people's -clover, you see, that I 'm forgetting how to graze on my own meagre -grassland. That 's better--and the salt. Well! and what 's the concerto -been doing all this time? Made headway, has it?" - -He picked open a folded table-cloth by its two corners, and shook it out -of its stiff, snowy creasing. - -The Spawer told him that he was afraid ... it had n't been doing much. -To tell the truth (that candid truth at which the Spawer was becoming -such an adept), the weather had corrupted him. First of all it had been -too fine ... and then it had been too wet. This rain had unsettled him. -It had washed out all his inspiration. He 'd only felt inclined to stick -his fingers in his pockets and shiver over fires. The keys were too -cold and damp. There was no warmth about them. - -His Reverence gathered the cloth, and spread it over the table. -"Indeed? I suppose you 've not seen much of Pamela ... since I left?" -he asked casually. - -The Spawer's heart hit him under the chin. - -"Pam?" he replied, as though for the moment nothing had been further -than this girl from his thoughts. "Very little. Let 's see. One ... -no, twice, I believe. Yes; twice to speak to since you 've been away." - -"Ha!" said his Reverence, and smoothed the cloth scrupulously down all -its creases and over the corners of the table. - -What did that oracular "Ha!" mean? Did it mean that his Reverence knew -the whole history of those two times--or suspected it? ... or knew -nothing; suspected nothing? There are moments when an ambiguous -monosyllable is more potent than the wisest of words--and this was one -of them. The Spawer waited a little space, while his Reverence passed -his smooth palm backwards and forwards over the snowy surface, in the -hopes that he might add something to that unexplanatory "Ha!" But his -Reverence said nothing. He might have been waiting too. - -"I 've heard, though..." the Spawer began, feeling the discomfort of -that monosyllable like a drop of cold water down his neck, and stopped -there suggestively. - -"Ha!" His Reverence passed a concluding hand over the table-cloth, and -straightened himself with puckered mouth and portentous brows. "... -Unfortunately true. Unfortunately true. Yes." - -"Unfortunately" true! The Vicar, then, was his ally. - -"... At first," he said, professing suddenly that the destiny of two -drops, trickling slowly towards each other on the window-pane, was of -more moment to him than the matter of the girl, "... at first ... I -hardly believed it. I suppose, though ... you say there 's no mistake." - -His Reverence shook his head, and passed over to the cupboard again. - -"A very great mistake," he said, stooping on one knee and speaking into -the cavernous recesses of the shelves; and after a moment: "A very great -mistake," he said. "I 'm not surprised at your incredulity. Of course, -being ignorant of circumstances, you 've nothing but your judgment to -guide you--and plainly judgment would lead you to pronounce against such -a form of proceeding. Yes!" He raised himself from the floor with the -twisted face for a rheumatic twinge in his knee, and returned once more -to his table preparations. "I must admit that the girl has disappointed -me. Of course ... ever since the beginning--as Ullbrig will tell you if -you care to pay it the compliment of asking (which I don't suppose you -will)--this has been a contingency to reckon with. But I 'd hoped. You -see ... it 's different. Things latterly had looked so favorable. I -thought the musical experiment was likely to succeed. Ha! and the -French too. Yes, yes; the French too. It seemed to have stimulated the -girl to aspirations altogether beyond Ullbrig. I thought we 'd trained -her palate to require daintier food in every respect than Ullbrig could -give her. And then ... all at once ... to be beaten on the post. Of -course--" he drew attention to what followed with a quiet gesture, as -though it were really quite obvious enough without the superfluous -emphasis of pointing out--"... it would be quite possible for me to -forbid the thing--veto it completely and put a stop to it once for all. -But then..." he screwed up his mouth for a moment's reconsideration of -what such an act would effect, "for the present I have n't quite found -my justification for this extreme measure." - -"He is ... a schoolmaster?" the Spawer hazarded. - -"Exactly; our Ullbrig schoolmaster. A worthy enough man, no doubt, in -his own particular way--but it is n't the way I had in my mind for Pam. -I believe he excels somewhat in free-hand and rule of three. These are -his specialties. His father--if my memory serves me right--" here the -Vicar appeared to interrogate his memory through fringed lashes, "... -was a--ha!-small greengrocer and mixed provision dealer--Knaresbro' way, -I believe. Of course, under ordinary circumstances, I should have had -no alternative but to nip the whole affair in the bud; pack Pam away, if -need be, and arrange meanwhile for the fellow to be transplanted in some -peculiarly far and foreign soil. But as it is ... that seems an -unnecessary setting of the mills to grind without grist. If we stop this -marriage..." His eye roamed over the table, where knives and forks and -spoons and plates and glasses commenced to array themselves with a -semblance of order beneath his fingers. The Spawer's eye shifted, as a -meeting seemed imminent. "... Perhaps, when I 'm dead and gone, she may -contract a worse. Situated as she is, without friends or society, we -can't hope to place her in life as by right and reason she should be -placed. Perhaps, if one could only finance the girl, and secure -fashionable influence for her, and float her upon the social sea, she -might repay the investment cent for cent. But on the other hand ... -there 's always a fear. Knowing nothing of the temptations of society -life, she might fall to the first barrel like a lame pigeon. Besides, -the girl shows no hankerings after the flesh-pots. There 's not a pinch -of mundane salt in her nature. So why apply it with one's own fingers, -and spoil her in the seasoning? Ha! why indeed? Therefore, as things -stand, she must be sacrificed. This man wants her and she wants -him--more strongly than even I 'd supposed--and when all 's said and -done, we might only make worse of it if we tried to twist human nature -to our own preconcerted theories. At least, the fellow has no positive -vices--they are mostly negative. He is steady, sober, respectable; a -hard worker, likely--so far as one can foresee--to provide the girl with -a certain home for life. For an indefinite period they may remain at -Ullbrig, where--except for those inevitable little disturbances which we -may expect under conditions of matrimony--her existence will be but -slightly changed. Of course, she will have to relinquish her postal -duties, but her parochial work will suffer no modification. - -"Ha! now for the larder. Let 's see what there is to pick. Do you feel -anything in the lobster way? Here 's a pie that Pam 's cooked and -stuffed into the larder for me--knowing I should be back too late to lay -in stock for Sunday. Dear girl. Why in the world could n't she think -as beautifully for herself as she does for others? And here 's his -reverence's brown loaf, and some beet, and some herring olives. Come, -come! We shan't do so badly." - -"You only got back last night?" the Spawer inquired. - -"Last night only," his Reverence rejoined, dispersing his various -acquisitions about the table. "Came along with Friend Tankard from -Hunmouth. Poor Friend Tankard! I think he gets slower and slower. -Some day, mark my words, he 'll set out from Hunmouth, and never reach -Ullbrig at all. That 'll be the end of him. However, he did just -manage to pull us through this time, and for the rest of the evening I -was interviewing our errant sister. But she stood firm. I tried to -shake her on all points; had her in tears even. Yes, poor girl, had her -in tears. She rained copiously, but it only seemed to water the roots -of her resolve. She used the tears of my making to beg to me with. Ha! -Let 's see ... to be sure! The beer. You 're a beer man, at least, are -n't you?--even though you stop short of whiskey. Capital! capital! I 'm -going to offer you a little specialty of my own. It 's a local -beer--not Ullbriggian, by the way--but from the district, and you 'll -say you never tasted its equal. Foams like champagne and bites like a -nettle. Mild withal." - -He disappeared from sight on this new errand, and returned, after a -remote sound of clinking, with half a dozen bottles of his specialty, -three by the neck in each hand. - -"Here we are! If the light were n't so bad, I 'd ask you to examine the -color. But that 's no use. We 'll let that go, and judge by the taste -alone.... And so--" By a skilful intonation he cleared his voice of -the beer, and skipped back to the old topic where they had been before. -"... In the end we allowed the matter to stand, and deferred judgment." - -"And they will be married..." the Spawer began. - -He was thankful beyond measure that the Vicar picked him up without -delay, for his voice went suddenly as husky as bran. - -"Not yet! not yet!" his Reverence said. "That's quite another thing. -Though, for that matter, the girl wished to prevail over my scruples -even there, and persuade me to an actual date and definite consent. But -no. They must possess their souls in patience until I 've had -opportunity to study them under these new conditions. I 'm prepared to -let her go, since her happiness requires it, but I 'm not going to throw -her. Besides ... a little object lesson of this kind appeared to me -desirable. As I pointed out to Pam, the man's conduct in the matter -left much to be desired. Had he been possessed of the natural instincts -of a gentleman he would have approached me first, before intruding -himself upon the girl's affections." - -"Of course," the Spawer acquiesced hurriedly. - -He loathed himself for a cowardly renegade as he did so, but the -priest's eye, to his guilty vision, fixed him with such a meaning glance -of severity that he felt anything short of verbal agreement would betray -him. - -"Of course," Father Mostyn repeated, with renewed emphasis. "The proper -way--indeed, the only way for a gentleman--would have been to approach -me in the first instance, and receive my sanction before unsettling the -girl with a suit which subsequent events might prove to be undesirable. -But there, of course, you have the man, unfortunately. I daresay his -nature would be quite unable to appreciate the niceness of the -point--even if you explained it to him. Now you and I"--here the -terrible condemnatory look seemed to be fixed on the Spawer again--"know -these little matters by instinct, as it were. Such things as those are -in our blood. We don't work out our conduct by free-hand and rule of -three. It 's inbred in us. We act upon them as spontaneously as a -pointer points. Ha!" He ticked off the first and second fingers of the -left hand with the magnetic index-finger of the right. "Bread ... -corkscrew..." and hesitated at the third as though uncertain whether -there did not exist some still further necessity. "Ha! to be sure," he -said, and wagged his shoulders, "cheese." He ambled genially out of the -room again, and returned presently with a loaf of white bread on a -wooden trencher, a corkscrew, a lever, and a dish of Cheddar. - -"Now, come along! come along!" he said, all his being fused in the -glowing warmth of hospitality, and sending forth its comforting rays -even to the Spawer's chill fibres. "There 's nothing to wait -for--except grace from Heaven. That's it. Draw up your chair and make -yourself at home." - -And bending his head over the tinned lobster: "In the name of the -Father, the Son, and of the Holy Ghost." - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXIV* - - -And now, thinks the Spawer, with the fine egoism of wounded love, there -is not in the whole world a heart so heavy as his. - -But he is wrong, for here in Ullbrig hangs a heavier. - -Heaven knows Pam had sinned in a hard market, and bought her iniquity -dear. Other people, worldly people of experience and sagacity, know how -to obtain all their sins below par, at the expense of the widow and -orphaned. Pam, knowing nothing of this moral stock-and-share market, -was paying for her shares with everything that she possessed. To the -last penny of her self-respect she was paying for them. Of all moral -and conscientious coinage she was void and bankrupt. There was nothing -left her now but the body she lived in--all its beautiful furnishment of -soul had been distrained and bundled out by the bailiffs long ago. And -the body was mortgaged. - -For this marriage--that to the Spawer looked but a callous flaunting of -her bliss before his stricken eyes, a cruel demonstration of how little -she was dependent upon him for any share of her happiness in life--what -was it but a foreclosure? She who had preached the gospel of true love, -of the necessary unity of the body and the soul in marriage; who had -proclaimed to Ginger that "there must be no chance about it, Ginger! -..." she who above all girls knew a love as free of carnality as any -earthly love can be--she was selling her body now for its price. - -Would she ever forget the night of horror that saw the compact made. -The lonely, dusty highroad to Hunmouth, with its wide grass borders -sloping down to the ditch bottoms, between the trimmed, stunted -hedgerows, where the schoolmaster led her; the rising moon; the sickly, -suffocating mist of harvest; the dim stars. And there, backward and -forward over the powdery road, she had fought that last fateful fight -for her soul's freedom--and failed. - -Give her the letter back ... only give her the letter back ... and she -would try to love him in earnest. She would force herself to love him. -This time she should not fail. Give her the letter back. It was not -his; it was not hers. Come with her himself if he doubted, and see her -hand it in at Dixon's door. She swore she would give it. He did not -understand. It had been all a mistake. She had not meant to take it. -If he only knew the horror she had felt of herself. Oh, she promised! -she promised! - -But the man would have no promises. She had made him promises before -and broken them. Here was the letter--here in his possession--and here -it should remain, for witness against her, if need be, until the thing -was settled. Let her call him what she would now; abuse him as she -liked; hate him--all was one. This night she must let it be proclaimed -in the family that they were plighted. As soon as Father Mostyn -returned, she must plead for them both with him. Not until she had -pledged herself publicly beyond all prospect of withdrawal would he give -the letter up. Promises availed nothing. He was done with promises. -If she would not accept him on these terms it was a plain proof that she -did not mean to fulfil them, and unless she was prepared to fulfil them -she must abide by the consequences. - -And more tears; and more entreaties; and pitiable shows of rebellion, -quickly subdued; and petty resistances; and tortured turnings to and fro -over the road; and at last surrender. - -At last surrender! - -Death even, had death been his condition, she would have accepted sooner -than this dire alternative. Only one idea possessed her now--that the -Spawer should never know the presumption of her love. - -But the letter! Till he got that ... he would not go at all. The -longer its restitution was delayed, the longer must she endure her -agony. - -Strange reversal of misery. In the beginning she had suffered with the -sickness of his going. Now, in the end, she suffered doubly with the -sickness that he should stay. Of a truth, she was snared in her own -wicked net. The sin that she had committed against him was turned into -an all-sufficing punishment more than meet for the offence. And when -would she be able to ease her pain in delivering the letter? - -She did not know. Since that night of shameful surrender no further -mention of the letter had passed between these two guilty partners, and -because of the cruel mercy at which this man held her she would ask him -nothing. To appeal to him respecting his intentions respecting her--to -inquire of my lord's pleasure, as though she were a bond slave, -purchased with gold ... no, no, she could not! When he deemed the time -ripe to return her his ill-gotten seal of authority--once it had stamped -the bond to his service--let him do so, and she would take it. Till -then, let them both keep silence respecting their compact. - -Hardly a word, indeed, passed between them on any topic. And by -trifling, wordless actions the schoolmaster tightened his hold upon the -girl's shrinking muscles, and held her to him as in a vice. Mere little -attentions of courtesy they were, for the most part, that the household -regarded--and kept watch for--with significant looks to one another, -seeing in them the pleasant ripples on the seductive surface of true -love--but to the girl they were but bolts being driven home, one by one, -into the padlocked door of her prison. For she was this man's prisoner -in thought, word, and deed. Whenever she moved, he moved with her. If -she hid herself from him in her bedroom, be sure he was keeping safe -guard over its door from his own. If she changed rooms, he was after -her like thought. In all except the derision of the outer world she was -a felon, convicted, imprisoned, and under close surveillance; unworthy a -grain of trust or credence. When he handed her an apron, or helped her -into her mackintosh, she felt the act as keenly as though she were being -given a gaol garb to wear. Oh, the degradation of it all! lacking only -the degradation of men's eyes. But for that one pair of eyes which held -her to her purpose, she would rather have gone to a real prison than -suffered this horrible incarceration. And yet, it was plain to see, the -man was only doing his best to gain her love. He had trapped her like a -bird, cruelly, no doubt; but now that she was his, and caged, he was -ready to whistle to her, to give her sugar; gild her captivity the best -he knew how. Her love to him was like the lark's song; he had snared -her for that, and counted on hearing her sing to him. Once she was his, -and he would save her life with his own if it might be. But meanwhile, -teaching her and taming her, he made sure that the cage was secure; -passed his fingers feverishly over its wires a hundred times a day to -assure himself that he had overlooked no loophole for her escape. There -were letters for Ullbrig during those days of rain, and he proffered to -take them in the girl's stead. With a rain like that there was nothing -to be feared. But the girl would not. To his cruelty she had had to -submit, but to his kindness never. So they went, the two of them--for -though he could venture to leave her behind, he dared not be the one -left--battling through the downpour beneath mackintoshes and umbrellas, -with their heads down, the whole roadway apart, exchanging never a word. -And Ullbrig, safe at home, behind its starched curtains, saw the letters -come thus, and smiled. - -Truly, many waters cannot quench love. - -Sunday--that never-to-be-forgotten Sunday, that seemed like the climax -of the girl's shame, when to her horror she had found the Spawer in his -pew beneath her; bless Heaven for the timely storm that kept them -apart--Sunday came and went. - -Monday replaced it; a promiseful, rainless day. All the sky was heaped -up with great broken masses of cloud from yesterday's storm, that a -persistent warm breeze swept over the cliff edge and across the sea, in -ceaseless waves of sunlight and shadow. Throughout the day figures were -moving about the fields, turning the limp and soddened sheaves to catch -the wind. Still the breeze blew, and the countless host of clouds--like -another Exodus of the Children of Israel--passed steadily over the land -from the west to the east; to the brink of the sea and beyond. By -evening they were nearly all gone over. Only detached bands of them here -and there rode up silently from the great west, as though they had been -horsemen of a rear guard, and moved slowly across the sky in the wake of -that mighty passage. And as the last of these departed, the sun, like a -great priest garbed in glorious gold vestments, rose to his height on -the far horizon with arms extended to Heaven, and pronounced a -benediction over the land. - -Rest in peace now, oh, Ullbrig farmers! Have no fear, oh, faint-hearted -tillers of the soil! Rejoice, ye harvesters, for the Lord God of the -harvest-field is come into His own again. The corn shall ripen in the -ear; there shall be reaping, binding, and gleaning, and an abundant -return for all your labors. - -That same night, while the land lay still under the sacred hush of that -benediction, in the little front parlor, all flushed glorious with the -exultation of the sun's message, the schoolmaster returned to Pam what, -on just such as evening as this--millions of ages ago, in some remote -epoch of the world's history--he had taken from her. - -Not a word accompanied the restoration. In silence the girl's hand went -forth--with not even her own eyes watching its shameful errand--to meet -it and receive that precious, hateful pawn that she was redeeming with -her body. For some seconds they stood, maintaining their respective -attitudes in that surreptitious transfer; the man with bent head and -averted gaze as he had given; the girl with high, rebellious bosom for a -great grief, and her chin shrinking in the nest of it, while the -recipient hand at the back of her worked slowly downward in the depths -of her skirt-pocket. - -Then suddenly, before the man had time to realise or utter the words his -mind was slowly coining, the girl's high breast fell in the convulsion -of silent sobs. With both hands pressed to her cheeks, and the tears -streaming fast through her spread fingers, she brushed abruptly by him. - -At the door, for he had something to say, he spoke her name and laid a -restraining hand upon her shoulder, but she shook it off with the -hateful shudder for a serpent, and passed swiftly from him up the Sunday -staircase. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXV* - - -All throughout the rest of that evening the schoolmaster had employment -in guarding Pam's bedroom door. At times, drawing long breaths to -suffocate his beating heart, he listened at its keyhole, applied his eye -even, pressed his hot face flat against the woodwork, and strove to -elicit some filterings, however attenuated, of its occupant and her -concerns. - -But the door was as uncommunicative as a gravestone. Had he not seen the -girl go in, and heard her close the lock upon her entombment, he would -have been sick with apprehension and doubt; ready to believe that she -had eluded him, and that he had lost her. More than once, as it was, he -tapped at the door, but no response came to him, and he was fearful to -intensify the summons lest he might betray his presence to those -downstairs, and bring about an enforced relinquishment of his watch. - -Evening gave place to night, and the yellow harvest moon arose. Sounds -of supper things stirring and searches after Pam drove him from the -landing into his bedroom. Emma Morland, less timorous of knuckle than -he, and less furtive of intention, came boldly up the staircase, calling -Pam's name, and rapped--after finding the door locked--a peremptory -summons upon its inmate. - -"Come; what 'a ye gotten door fast for?" he heard her demand of the -languid voice of response that had raised itself faintly at the summons, -like a wounded bird. "Is n't it about time ye came doon an' gied a 'and -wi' supper things? Ah 've yon blouse to finish by to-neet, think on." - -Then the wounded voice stirred itself wearily again. - -"What! another?" Emma Morland cried, with more of resentment in her -tones than sympathy. "That meks second ye 've 'ad i' t' week. Ye -nivver used to 'ave 'em. What 's comin' tiv ye?" - -"Well! ah declare!" she exclaimed, after further parley of an -apparently incomprehensible and unsatisfactory nature. "It 's a rum un -when a lass like you starts tekkin' tiv 'er bed, 'at 's nivver knowed a -day's illness in 'er life! There mun be seummut wrong wi' ye, ah -think--a decline, or seummut o' t' sort. We s'll 'a to be fetchin' -doctor tiv ye, gen ye get onny wuss. Will ye let me mek ye some -bread-an'-milk? Some gruel, then? Some tawst an' tea? Ye weean't? Ye -'re sure ... noo? Well, then; it 's no use. Ah 've done my best. -Good-neet tiv ye, an' ah 'ope ye 'll be better i' t' morn. Don't trouble -aboot gettin' up no sooner nor ye feel fit. 'Appen ye 'll sleep it off." - -So she was safe in bed, then. Through the sorrow his love felt at the -unhappiness in which it had involved the girl--for love it was--nothing -short of love, and great love at that, could have moved this nervous, -self-secluded man to such courageous acts of infamy--he drew relieved -breath at the intelligence. Now he could relinquish the closeness of -his vigil without fear. - -He would have followed Emma Morland down the staircase with less ease of -mind, perhaps, could he have seen the dressed figure of the girl, curled -up on the quilt, with her face plunged in the pillows; and been able to -follow the fevered hurryings of her thought. For the languid, -wing-wounded voice he had heard was but a lie, like all the rest of her -in these days. It was no headache she had--heartache, if you like--but -no headache. What her seclusion sought was thought, not oblivion; -action, not restfulness. - -With the letter back at her breast again, all was undone once more. The -door of the last few days seemed opened, as with a key. With this -restored to her, and in her arms, all her courage came back; all her old -steadfastness and fortitude; the blinded eyes of her spirit seemed -opened. This very night, while the household slept, she should steal -forth--as she had stolen forth in that first early dawn of her -happiness--and make restitution of the letter. Under the door by the -porch, or in at that familiar window--if only it were left -unfastened--she should slip it. And with this letter must go a -second--that she would write--making full confession of the offence, and -humbling herself before him for his pardon and forgiveness. No longer -did she desire to be clad in his presence with the garments of -hypocrisy. Let him look upon her in the nakedness of her sin, for her -soul's true chastening. Let nothing be hid from him. Rather now his -proper scorn and loathing than his ill-gotten favor, as her -unrighteousness had once sought to retain it. For his favor was no more -hers, at this time, than the letter she held. Both had been gained by -hypocrisy and fraud. Both must be restituted for the completion of her -atonement. - -And then her soul, walking forward with face glorious, saw the atonement -done ... and passed beyond ... and stopped. - -After the atonement.... What? - -Lord have mercy on her! What? - -Should she come back to this house, return to this bed, go on living -this life of shame and dishonor, give herself ultimately into the arms -of this man? Should she celebrate the sacrament of atonement this -night, only to enter upon a fresh course of unrighteousness to-morrow? - -Oh, no, no, no! She could not. A thousand times no! She could not. - -By fraud he had got her. By cruelty he had broken her resistance. If -she were going to pay openly for her sin, by just atonement before the -proper tribunal, why need she pay a hundredfold in secret to this -unrighteous extortioner? What she had undertaken to do she had done. -She had bound herself by no promises, for he would not accept them from -her. She had tied herself to him publicly, and pleaded with Father -Mostyn as though she had been pleading for her life's blood; had -submitted to the degradation of this man's authority ... only for the -letter that she held. Rather than give herself up to him she would cast -herself over the cliff and seek refuge in death. - -And so thought ran on with her, and the further it traveled the further -it seemed to take her away from the scene of her guilt and the man who -had wronged her. - -Yes, slowly but surely--as though, all along, it had been aware of its -destination, and kept it only from the girl herself--her mind, traveling -over its miles and miles of railed purpose, arrived at this dark -terminus. She would go. - -She wept when she saw at last where it was she must alight, and said -good-by to herself as to a dear friend. But the parting was inevitable, -and weeping, she bowed to it. To pour new wine of life into this old -burst bottle of hers, how could she? Without open proclamation of the -truth, her life in Ullbrig would but be days and hours and minutes of -wicked, unbearable deception. But in a new place, away from the old sin -and the old temptation, she might better succeed. She could never be -happy again; that she knew. Happiness was gone from her for ever, but -she could be good. Goodness should be her adopted child, in place of -the one she had lost. The Spawer was good; like him she would try--oh, -how patiently--to be. - -Maddest of madness. The girl thought she was arriving at it all by -processes of reason; she was merely delirious. Grief had been a -five-days' fever with her, and this was the crisis. But there were no -kind hearts to understand her sickness; no gentle hands to restrain her. -Delirium, that she took to be reason, dictated "Go," and she was going. - -Vague dreams of vague work in vague towns blew through her -comprehension, like drifting mists from the sea. She would go here; she -would go there; she would get work as a dressmaker; as a cook; as a -clerk in some other post office; as a secretary ... as God knows what. - -Night drew on as she fashioned her plans. One by one the familiar -sounds acquainted her exactly with the progress of it. In the darkness -of her pillow, before the moon got round to her window, she needed no -clock. She heard the clatter of pottery; "good-nights" exchanged in the -kitchen; creaking of the twisted staircase to the postmaster's -stockinged feet, with the hollow bump of his hands as he steadied his -ascent; the amiable gasping of Mrs. Morland, gathering up her -forepetticoats and laboring in the wake of her husband's ascent; the -unutterable sound of the schoolmaster's footsteps, that sent pangs -through her, each one, as though he were treading all the way on her -heart; the cruel catch of his bedroom door, so hard, remorseless, and -sinister. In such wise he had shut the door of his compassion on her -soul's fingers, and heeded not. And last of all, the sounds of bolts -shot beneath; journeyings of Emma to and fro between the two kitchens. -Now she would be extinguishing the lamp; now she would be lighting her -candle; now she would be putting the kitchen lamp back for safety on the -dresser by the wall; now she would be coming upstairs ... ah! here she -came. The flickers of her candle winked momentarily in the keyhole of -Pam's door, as though she were listening at the head of the staircase to -gather assurance of her sound repose. Then the keyhole closed its -blinking eye, and there ensued the click of Emma's own latch. - -At that last culminating sound, Pam's heart turned palpitatingly within -her, part exultant, part terrified; seemed almost to come into her mouth -like a solid materialised sob. Now all the path was clear. Its -clearness dismayed her. Soon slumber would prevail over the post-house, -and act sentinel to her purpose. But though purpose, standing like a -bather by the brink of wintry waters, shivered at the prospect of -immersion--yet did not falter. Purpose had vowed to go, and purpose was -going. Another hour the girl kept stillness upon her bed, and the half -of an hour after that, listening until the rhythmic _ronflement_ of the -postmaster's snore was established, and the intervals between that -horrible menaceful cough--short at first--had spaced themselves out into -ultimate silence. Then from her bed she rose. - -Stealthily, seated on the side of it, she unlaced her shoes and laid -them on the quilt, that her feet might be noiseless upon the floor. -Then, letting the weight of her body slide gradually on to the rug by -the side of her bed, she moved forward, balancing with outstretched -hands. The clear beams of the moon filled her white bedroom by this -time, as though it were day. And now that the actual moment of flight -was upon her, its keen, constricted space in eternity acted like a -pin-hole lens, through which, magnified, she saw the difficulties of her -task. - -What, in the nature of personalty, should go with her? She would have -need of her bath, of her big sponge, of her toothbrushes, of her -dentifrice and powder, of her brushes and comb, of her night-gowns, of -her dressing-gown, of changes of underlinen, of her blouses, of her best -dress, of her Sunday shoes, of her walking-boots, of -pocket-handkerchiefs ... these only concerning her toilette. - -And she would have need of her mother's books, and her own little -library; her own little stock of French grammars and easy reading books; -the music that he had given her ... heaps and heaps of precious, -inconsiderable gifts and souvenirs that in this hour of severance her -soul clung to tenaciously, as to dear, human fingers. - -Alas! of such latter, it seemed, she had none to cling to. - -But all these things she could not convey with her. Flight could not -hamper itself with baths and books, and boots and blouses. All that -hindered it must be cast aside. And these things ... the only trifling -landmarks in life to remind her who she was, and what small place she -held in the great waste of existence ... these must be cast aside too. - -These must be cast aside! - -What a severance! - -How would her soul know itself without these familiar tokens? Without -these, without Ullbrig, away in strange places, in strange surroundings, -she might be anybody. She was no longer Pam. She was simply a life ... -an eating and a drinking; a sleeping and a waking. She wept. - -Stealthily withal, but bitterly, and without any abatement of her -purpose, like a child weeping its way to school, that never dreams of -contesting the destiny that drives it there. - -Yes; all these dear things of her affection must be left behind. For -the present, at least. But they were not robbers in this house; they -were honest people, who had loved her in the past, and been kind to her. -They would guard these things for her, and if some day she wrote to them -and asked as much, they would cede them to her without demur. Only what -she positively needed must she take with her. A night-dress, her -tooth-brushes, her sponge (that, at least, would squeeze up), a collar -or two, some stockings, one change of linen, one brush and comb, one -extra pair of shoes. Just such a parcel as she could carry without -causing too much fatigue to herself, or too much comment from others. -And she would need money. - -How much had she? - -In her purse she had four shillings, sixpence, and coppers; in the -pocket of her old serge skirt, three half-pence. Five shillings odd to -face the world with. Oh, it was very little! - -But in an old chocolate box she had one pound ten shillings in gold, and -a fat five-shilling piece--all her recent savings; the proceeds of -little works for his Reverence, and dressmaking assistance for Emma. -From various parts of her bedroom, she gathered all the items necessary -for her outfit and essayed upon her most terrible enterprise of all--the -descent of the staircase. - -Slowly, slowly, slowly ... oh, agonisingly slowly ... she turned the -handle of her door and opened it upon its hinges. In those early days -she had done this same thing--with trepidation, indeed, and compression -of lip--but never with the blanched horror of to-night. To stumble now, -or betray herself; to arouse the house to her flight, and be caught -disgracefully in the act--with nothing but shame and exposure as -recompense for her anguish--that must not be. And yet all the boards -cried out upon her, sprang up, as though she had startled them sleeping, -and called: "Pam! Pam! What! is it you? Where are you going, Pam?" -And she dared not hush them. - -And the wooden walls, when she laid a guiding hand upon them, rocked and -yielded to her weight; it seemed they must inevitably shake the sleepers -on their beds. And the stairs--treacherous stairs--each one of them -tried to betray her; promised fair to her foot, and called out when she -confided to them her body: "Noo then; noo then! where 's ti gannin' to -this time o' neet? Mester Morland! Mester Frewin! y' ought to be -stirrin' alive noo! There 's this lass o' yours away seumweers wi' a -bundle o' claws [clothes]." Oh, the slow sickness of it; step by step, -foot by foot, stop by stop, rigid as a statue, cold of heart as of clay, -burning of head, tingling of ears. But at last her feet found the -friendly kitchen mat, solid on the red-tiled floor. - -Long, standing there, she listened, panting and sifting the overhead -silence for the slightest sound that might betide discovery of her -flight. But none could she catch, though the meshes of her hearing were -drawn painfully fine. The worst of her task was over. Now were only a -few concluding things to do ... and then the going. - -The moon filled the little clean kitchen and the kitchen parlor--all -this back part of the house, indeed--with its great white beams, as it -had filled her bedroom upstairs, and gave her no need of lamp or candle. -Speedily moving over the red tiles in her noiseless stockinged feet, she -acquired her few remaining necessaries from drawer and cupboard, made up -her effects into as neat a parcel as they would let her, put on her old, -faded, blue Tam-o'-Shanter, laid her brown mackintosh ulster on the -dresser, and got ready her thick-soled walking shoes. Now she had only -a little writing to do, and she could be gone. First of all, with her -tears intermittently running, she must write her letter to Him. And she -must write also to Emma Morland. And a line must be left for the -postmaster, and one for Mrs. Morland, and a farewell to the man -upstairs, who had wrought this havoc with her life. And Father Mostyn -... he must not be left in ignorance. And James Maskill too ... poor -hallowed James, who looked so sadly at her in these days; and Ginger. At -this sad hour of her parting, her heart wished to make its peace with -all against whom it had offended; all that had offended it; all that had -showed it kindness. To everybody that had given her a good word or a -bad she felt the desire to leave a little epistolary farewell. But she -could not write to them all now. Later, perhaps. To do so would be to -keep her hand at work with the pen till daybreak, and now every moment -was of importance. Ullbrig would be early abroad to-morrow. Eyes would -be scanning the earth from every quarter long before sunrise. Not the -most that her heart wished to do now, but the least, for her purpose, -that it might, must be her rule. She would write to the Spawer; he, at -least, must be written to. And to Father Mostyn, and to the -schoolmaster, and a word to Emma. - -So deciding, she got pen and paper and ink, and set herself to this -final task in the broad white band of moonlight over the window table. - -With writhings, with fresh tears, with bitings of the pen, with painful -defections of attention to the regions upstairs, in the flood of clarid -moonlight, she coped with her labor. But at last that too, like all -suffering in the world, had an end. The letter was written and sealed. -And next, more fluently, was penned the epistle for his Reverence; and -succeeding that, her farewell to the schoolmaster; and her sorrowing -penitence to Emma. The first two she gathered to herself; the second two -she left, displayed on the table, to be found of their respective -addressees in the morning. - -And now she was on the brink of departure. All her work in this house -had been accomplished except the mere leaving of it. She had looked -upon this as easy, by comparison, but how truly hard it was. Dear -little kitchen, that swam away from her eyes as she gazed upon it--like -a running stream under the moonlight. So the glad current of her past -was racing from her. Dear little blurred dresser--friend of hers from -her childhood upward. She stooped her lips to it on an impulse, and -kissed its hard, scarred cheek again and again, in one last sacred -farewell. Never more, perhaps, should her eyes rest upon it. Dear -little warm-hearted oven, that had done her so many good turns in the -past. Sometimes, perhaps, it might have been a little too short with -her tarts, and a shade crusty with her pies--a little hot-tempered with -herself even, but that was nothing. What were its faults by the side of -hers! She held its round, bright knob in a lingering grasp. "Good-by, -little oven.... Oh, little oven, good-by! Do your duty better than I -have done mine ... and take profit by me. Be kind to Emma ... and Mrs. -Morland ... for my sake ... and brown your very best." - -And to the little fender also, her soul said good-by; and to the lamp -that had lighted so many nights of her happiness in the great agone; and -to the brass boiler tap; and to the warming-pan. All over the house she -would have liked to wander, raining her mild, sorrowful tears ... and -saying her spiritual good-bys to these dear, inanimate friends of her -vanished happiness; but it might not be. Into her mackintosh she stole -at length--that rustled like marsh flags, for all her care--slipped on -her shoes, gathered up her parcel, and passed out of the kitchen on -cautious tip-toe. But a few more moments and she had renounced the -comfortable roof of red tiles that had made so pleasant a shelter over -her head these years past. Now there intervened no shield between that -dear head and the stern, starry sky; so severely calm and clear and -dispassionate. No hope from there, dear child, though you lift your -lips to it and invoke its mercies. Others too, as tender--though not -more fair--have confided themselves so, and sunk in the great world's -ocean beneath these self-same stars. - -And thus, with one long, drenched, searching gaze of tears, sideways up -the wall of the house that had held her, good-night and good-by! - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXVI* - - -The schoolmaster, never a sound sleeper at the best of times, this night -slept his worst. Being but a novice in practical iniquity, and lacking -yet the reposeful assurance that lulls the veteran evil-doer upon his -pillow, and gives him slumber unknown of the godly, who have consciences -to lie upon their breast like lobster, he tossed hotly between his -sheets. Sleep came to him, indeed, but it was a troubled sleep, blown -across his mind's sky in fitful patches, like the clouds that had -scudded seawards over the land this day, and gave him no repose. - -Thoughts, like teetotums, spun too fast for the mind's eye to recognise -the figures on them. But always the basis of his delirium was Pam; the -ceaseless desire of her possession; his love of her; his remorse of the -evil that had been done to get her; her horror of him that his act had -inspired in her; wild resolutions to atone to the girl for his past -iniquity by his future dedication to her worship; to justify the means -by the end, and make her bless him at last for the sin that had brought -them together. - -So his mind was spinning on its unchecked dizzy orbit in space through -the hours, like a star through the centuries, when all at once, with a -shock that shuddered him from head to foot, some unseen power arrested -its flight as with an omnipotent hand, and left him wide-eyed and -wakeful on his bed; no star at all now, but the bed-bound, trembling -body of a man, filled with sudden fear and apprehension. - -What had happened? Had his being just wrested itself from the bonds of -a horrid nightmare? Had he been dreaming or thinking when the shock -came? He could remember nothing, whether it had been dream or -reflection, to which he could attribute the alert horror of this moment. -It had dropped upon him from somewhere without himself; as though it had -been a mighty, soundless peal of thunder, shaking his soul to its -foundations. His thoughts he could recall with equanimity; there was -nothing in them to cause him fear--and still fear filled him, the more -greatly for having not form nor expression. Fear, or apprehension, -filled him to such extent that the cold, tingling fingers of terror -crept up his scalp, from neck to forehead, brushing all his hairs the -wrong way; and a great, boiling sweat burst out next moment upon his -face and body. So men have been made aware at times of the doings of -death, and the schoolmaster, recalling cases of the kind, drew himself -up palpitatingly in his bed. On the cane-bottomed chair by the head of -it, it was his nightly custom to set his candle, which he thus -extinguished, with a hand thrust out from between the sheets. Thrusting -out the same hand now, he possessed himself, in agitated haste, of the -match-box, struck nervously for a light with the match's unphosphorused -end, and with the red tip of phosphorus on the unsand-papered side of -the box; and lastly, after much work of the sort, drew into existence a -fitful, wavering flame, that died in giving light to the candle. Then -he pulled forth his watch by its chain from under the pillow, and -holding it out from him, fixed a disturbed eye upon its face. Half-past -twelve. - -Half-past twelve! No more than that! Ages he seemed to have been -battling with the fever of thought. Could the watch be true? He pressed -it to his ear, and heard the active click-click, click-click heart go -beating in its busy little body. It had not stopped then. It spoke the -truth. - -He replaced it under the pillow, and remained drawn up in bed, with both -arms outstretched on the coverlet, as though debating action--though -what to do, or what might be supposed to be required of him, he knew -not. His heart, thumping against his ribs, gave abundant evidence that -he had been rudely roused--if otherwise he had had any inclination to -doubt. And there was the relaxed weakness about his legs, too, and his -limp arms, that bore witness to the sharpness of the shock. Had the -shock come upon him standing, his first instinct would have led him to -sit down. Over and over in his mind he kept turning this awakening like -a strange, unknown coin, seeking to find some decipherable -superscription upon it, and learn what it might presage. It had come -upon him suddenly. It was like to a clap of thunder without noise; the -boom of a gun; the slam of a door. Something whose sound he had not -heard, but whose shock had stirred him. Yet all he could think of was -death. Somebody was dead; somebody was dying; somebody was going to die. -To such extent did the idea of death possess him that it seemed to -expire from him like a mighty stream, whose fount was in his brain. The -whole room was filled with the awesome presence of it. Death was at the -bed-foot; at the window curtain; shrouded the candle. And then, of a -sudden, thoughts of death and thoughts of the girl, circling round each -other, came into horrible collision, and commingled, and lo! death and -the girl were one. - -In his guilty state of mind, he was an easy prey for terror. He tried -to rid himself of the idea with a hundred assurances drawn from pure -reason. How could she be dead? She had never died before ... why -should she die now? She was sleeping safely in her own bed, not four -yards from him. Draw a bee-line through the wall at his head, through -the landing beyond, and through the wall of the girl's room, and there -she should surely be. Only last night he had been speaking to her; -hardly more than four hours ago he had heard her voice. Death could not -have come to her so soon. The idea was nonsense. But like a child, -terrorised by things unseen, that the wisdom of grown-up logic cannot -pacify, the more he reasoned the more his unreasonment grew. For all -this ill-gotten authority over her that he had been wielding so -unmercifully these days past ... to what might it not have driven her? -Desperately he listened--with his face turned toward the wall--as though -death were a thing audible, like the tick-tacking of the big clock in -the passage below. But the tick-tacking of the big clock, and the -irregular thudding of his own heart, and the long-drawn snores of the -postmaster, were all that he could hear. This trinity of sounds hung -like a creaking door before his hearing. He was sensible of a deep and -deadly silence beyond, flowing like the sea of eternity; but despite his -desperate fishing, he could draw up nothing from its depths. Last of -all, wrought to the supreme pitch of suspense, he threw aside his -coverings, slid from the bed, and stole across the room towards the -door--a miserable figure of inquietude in his thin, bare legs and short -scholastic night-gown, that took him pathetically somewhere by the bone -of the knee. Again, at the door itself he listened for a while, trying -to cancel those three intrusive factors--the snore, the clock, and his -own heart--and base his calculations on the silence beyond; but he could -not. If he would gain any reassurance for his disquieted spirit, he -must go forth and inquire deeper of the surrounding stillness than this. - -And he went forth, and saw the moonlight bathing all the landing through -the little staircase window and issue idly in a pale, phosphorescent -stream round the three sides of the girl's part-opened door. - -Like a wide-mouthed statue of horror, he stood marble in the white -moonlight and stared. Her door was open; her door that had been closed -and locked upon her last night was open now--open so emptily and with -such desolation, while the moonlight flowed placidly through it, like -sea-water through the hollow hulk of a submerged vessel--that it seemed -as if never it could have held the live, blood-warmed body of the girl. -For a moment, the shock of what he saw was twin to the shock of what--so -short a while back--he had failed to see. Then in his little, wasted -cotton night-dress and his bare legs as he was, he started forward into -action, pushed open the panels unhesitatingly with his fingers, and -entered. - -All to itself the moonlight possessed the room; filled it from floor to -ceiling, from corner to corner. There was no girl. Her bed had been -merely laid upon from the outside; she had not slept in it. There was -her night-dress untouched in its embroidered case. Except for the -callous, white moonlight, that showed him these things without a thought -for his anguish, the room was empty as a sieve. The girl had gone; gone -where and why and when, he could not tell. Whether with thoughts of -death, or thoughts of flight, or thoughts of treachery--he could not -tell. The discovery flew to his head like the vintage of bitter grapes. -He searched madly about the room; threw up the white valances of her -bed, lest perchance she were but hiding from him; opened her cupboards -and beat his hands wildly among the darkness of skirts and hanging -garments for some clasp of fugitive flesh and blood; part shut the door -to assure himself she was not lurking behind its hinges, with her face -in her hands and her forehead against the wall. - -But she was not. He knew she was not when he searched. She was gone! -she was gone! - -And thence, with his thin, worn, calico lapels blowing about his legs, -he scurried down the twisted staircase to see what the lower regions had -to show him. - -As soon as his feet flinched on the bristles of the fibre mat, they -showed him all that they had to show. The two letters spread out side -by side on the window table, white as driven snow in the moonlight. It -needed no slow investigation to assure him what they were. Gravestones -did not more certainly indicate what lay beneath them than did these two -pallid envelopes. He was on them at once, like a hawk. "To Mr. -Frewin," he read on the first, in Pam's neat, well-known script, and -ripped it open regardlessly, as though he were gutting herrings. So did -his heart beat at him from within, and so did his brain contract and -swell, and so did his apprehensive hand tremble, that for some seconds -the piece of paper, for all the words he distinguished on it, might have -been a white, waving flag. But in the end he got control over himself, -and wrested the girl's last message to him from the paper on which, to -all intents and purposes, it was scarcely dry. - -"When you get this..." he read. Ah! that familiar, time-worn overture -for stricken messages of grief. How many miserables, by water-sides, by -lone lochs, by canals, reservoirs, and railways, have prefaced their -journey to eternity with these four words. Scarcely a suicide so -unliterary that, at this last moment, he cannot call them to his aid for -epitaph to his misery. As soon as the schoolmaster read them, he knew -all. Death or departure ... this was the end. - - -"... When you get this" (he read), "I shall be far away from Ullbrig, -and you will know why. If you had done differently with me, I might -have done differently with you. But it is too late now for regrets. -After the sin you have forced me to share with you, I could never, never -love you. The future frightens me. For all you have made me suffer I -forgive you freely, but I pray God we may never meet again. I have been -as wicked as you, and for this reason I dare not join our wickednesses, -for fear of where they may lead us. Please forgive me for the things in -which I have sinned against you, and beg God to forgive us both for the -things we have done against Him. Pray for me too, as I will pray for -you. Perhaps your life may be all the brighter and better for my -absence. Strive to do your best that it may be so; and please remember, -if at any time you are tempted to think hardly upon me, that I am not -angry with you, and that I do not blame you. Good-by for ever. PAM." - - -That was all the letter told him--but it was enough. His face was like -the face of a snow-man when he had finished reading. Not only was he -smitten to the heart with the lost love of the girl, after all his -lavish outlay of unrighteousness and sin, but now she was gone, and he -was here in Ullbrig to bear the brunt of his deed. For he had no -misconceptions as to his true position in the matter, as Pam had. He -knew his conduct for what it was, and his hold over her for what it was, -and the world's judgment for what it would be. Her very going was a -declaration of the thing he had held over her in his wickedness, and -would have never dared employ. The worthless blackmail with which he -had threatened her had served its purpose only too well. To such extent -had the girl believed its power and feared it, and accredited him with -the intentions of its use, that she had been terrorised into flight from -him. And now the full responsibility of his act pointed at him with -awful finger. To-morrow, tidings of the girl's departure would be out. -Tongues would be busy. She who had been going to wed the schoolmaster -had loved him so little that she had fled from him. Why had she fled -from him? Because he had held a letter over her head that he had robbed -from her desk--a letter belonging to neither of them--and by withholding -it from its proper owner, and threatening the girl, he had got her to -submit to his terms. When once that became known he was a ruined man. -His love was ruined; his life was ruined. The death that had so -terrorised him already must have been none other than his own. For -rather than face this terrible exposure and degradation, he would die. -He was a wild and desperate man now, holding the slipping cable of life -and honor in his hands. To avert this catastrophe, to find the girl--at -scarcely anything would he stop short. But what must he do? Where seek -her? How act? - -To cast his eye on the second letter was to seize upon it as he had done -the first, and tear open its contents without a moment's hesitation. -Emma Morland would never know what had been left for her this night, and -beneath this envelope there might lurk a confession of the whole history -of the girl's departure, with his own share writ incriminatingly large; -at the least, some word or sentence that might give him a clearer clue -to her intentions than her own letter to him. But he was disappointed. -Beyond beginning: "Dearest Emma," this second epistle told him nothing -that he consumed to know. It was a mere farewell of sorrow for all the -sin Pam had committed against Emma, particularly during these last few -days, and a pathetic begging for forgiveness. Emma did not know how -unhappy Pam had been--Pam hoped Emma would never, never know such -unhappiness. She was not the girl Emma thought her. She was a living -lie, full of wickedness and deception. The only thing for her to do, -she felt, was to blot out such a horrible lie from the face of Ullbrig -and be gone. Then followed assurances of undying love to Emma, and to -the postmaster and to Mrs. Morland, with a list of such things as Pam -bequeathed to Emma for her own use and possession. To all intents and -purposes, it was Pam's last will and testament, pathetically worded -enough, had the man been in any mood for pathos other than his own. To -the postmaster, Pam left this; to Mrs. Morland, that; to James Maskill, -the other; to Ginger--if he would have it--some further token of her -affection. Only the schoolmaster's name was absent. And at the end was -Pam's own name, blurred and spotted with the tears that had fallen fast -at this juncture. - -But for these the man had no heed. He had read the letters, and they -had told him nothing; now he must decide quickly, as he valued his life. - -And first, he could accomplish nothing as he was. The remembrance of -his ungarbed condition came upon him suddenly, and he cursed himself for -his bodily unreadiness--although his mind had as yet no commission for -his limbs to execute. Up the twisted staircase he pattered again, -employing his hands on the steps in front of him like paws, to -accelerate his pace, and thrust himself wildly into his clothes. Then -he scurried down again to the little kitchen. There he sorted his own -boots from the disorderly gathering for the morning's clean, strapped up -their leather laces with the speed of desperation, stuffed the two -letters into his coat pocket, caught a cap from the row of pegs where -the postmaster's official regalia hung, and scuffled down the passage to -the front door. - -There was no mistaking signs of the girl's flight, or the way by which -she had fled. For him there was no necessity to work back the big -square bolt, or turn the traitorous key. Pam's fingers had done that -service already. He was out in the street with scarcely a moment's -delay, on the whitewashed step where Pam's own feet had rested less than -fifteen minutes ago--could he only have known--closing the door upon him -by stealth, as she had done, and looking up and down the roadway, -divided lengthways between its far white band of moonlight and its -nearer black shadow, with its serrated line of broken roofs and -chimney-pots--like the keyboard of a piano--as she had looked before her -purpose made its final plunge. - -Which way had she gone? he asked himself, in frenzied supplication. For -all he knew, she had been gone an hour, a couple of hours, three hours -... four hours. Even now, while he was making this vein-bursting -struggle to come abreast with her and stave off that awful exposure of -to-morrow, it might all be ended. Destiny might have this shameful -history written to the full in the book of record, and the book -inexorably closed. Perhaps the girl's purpose had been maturing all -these days past. Perhaps her plan had been prepared from the first ... -and in abeyance, pending restitution of the letter. Fool that he was -ever to give it! Why had n't he adhered to his first project, and given -it to her only when they were in sight of the house, and he was with -her, or left it there himself by night, with a message that it had been -overlooked in a corner of the post-bag? Now what had she done with it? -Had she restored it? That would mean the Cliff Wrangham road she must -have taken. Or had she fled with it, bearing all traces of her guilt -with her? That might mean any road ... the Hunmouth road, the Garthston -road, the Merensea road. Or had she gone to cast herself upon the -protection of the Vicar? Accursed old busybody! who had drilled and -questioned and cross-examined him about the wedding like a school-thief -under suspicion. There was probability about this latter surmise, and -at least, to put the speculation to the test would not take him far out -of his way. Full of the wild, unrestrained desire to do something, with -tumultuous, incredulous hope in the desire, he quitted his place on the -doorstep, and set off in madman's haste for the Vicarage. - -But the moon poured down in sublime, unpitying indifference upon its -unlighted windows. The house was as still and unawake as the church at -its side and the white graves beyond. Baffled, he stood and glared -hatefully, with his hands twitching about the upturned collar of his -coat, and his face working as though the house were human and he would -have throttled it. Of all men in the world to help him, here, behind -these luminous opal windows, was the man, and he knew it, and was -powerless to evoke his assistance, grinding his teeth together in the -fierce agony of despair. - -Motion took him in the legs again, and drove him down the narrow, -crooked side-street towards the low road and Merensea Hill, between the -rows of tumbled cottages, with their yellow window squares. He could -have drummed on them with his fingers, and in his desperation and need -of assistance would have done so, but fear withheld him. As he ran, he -heard troubled night-coughs rap out sharp at him here and there, where -some aged sufferer drew breath badly, and wrestled for such stagnant air -as was contained in the sealed chamber. The buzzing of some big -eight-day clock, too, chiming a belated hour, he heard, and the fretful -crying of a baby, being lulled to sleep by its weary mother. Heaven -knows where his run would have ended in this direction, for it was -become so blended and amalgamated with his consciousness that he could -have as soon stopped running as the feverish urging of his thoughts. -But at the bottom of the street, where the road dips its lowest before -making the sharp ascent of Merensea Hill, he saw the dark figure of a -man, and death could not have stopped him sooner. It was only Bob -Newbit, smoking his black cutty, with his hands in his belt, and a coat -thrown over his shoulders, come out to watch over the fire of the -brick-kiln that glowed red in the field across the roadway, but all men -were one man in their power to read the schoolmaster's dark secret, and -do him harm. He saw the burning end of the cutty turn his way, and -without waiting to know whether he had been perceived, or give the -chance of a hail, he turned on his tracks again like a hare, and was -forging up the street through the square lighted windows towards the -Vicarage. - -This time, without stopping in his breathless course, he went by. One -way was as good as another to him, who had no reason for going any. He -would keep on to Cliff Wrangham. - -At first, panting doggedly onward, he ran this way as he had run that. -If his clothing had been on fire instead of his brain, like this he -would have wildly run, seeking flight from the agony that consumed him. - -But conviction came upon him as he ran. It seemed incredible he could -be making all this desperate endeavor for nothing. It must surely end -by repaying him with positive result. Little by little the mad, fitful -uncertainty gave way to the madder flame of assurance. Of all madness, -this fixed madness is the most to be feared. Now he was merely pursuing -the girl, who was along here in front of him. At times, turning his ear -before him as he lunged onward, he seemed to hear elusive footsteps; -thought he saw her flitting aside into gateways and hedgerows to escape -him. Once he staggered halfway across a grass close because, he saw her -standing in the middle of it, trying to deceive him by her -motionlessness into thinking her some inanimate thing. When he came -near she was a pump-well. Then he saw that he had relinquished the -substance for the shadow. She was on the roadway there, in advance of -him; her skirts flying, her hands to her hat. And he lumbered back over -the soft grass, soddened by the recent rain, to the roadway, and resumed -his forward pursuit. - -Full of fresh strenuous desire to press ahead, and worn out with this -unaccustomed exertion, he passed, half running, half walking, with his -hand bound over his heart, and his breath drawn up convulsively, like a -child with the croup--through the final gateways, one after another. Now -he was in the little end lane, making a poor pretence of caution. Now -he waw by the stable; now he was by the iron wicket. The hope that had -been his while he ran stopped dead as his flight stopped. By the little -iron wicket, and still under cover of the kitchen-garden wall, he -stayed, gasping, and dared not go further, or look at the front of the -house, for fear of what he should see--the sight of all its moonlit -windows looking out with the calm, self-communing gaze of the blind, -that know nothing of what they gaze upon. As the Vicarage had faced -him, so this house should face him. It was the end. He knew his doom. - -And knowing it, he found strength to see, and saw. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXVII* - - -Saw the magnified yellow window thrown over the pathway and out across -the tangled grass to the mouldy green railings, from the Spawer's room. -Here was life at last. Thank God! Here was life at last. - -His heart gave a convulsive leap of exultation within him. Could it be -mere coincidence that of all Ullbrig and Cliff Wrangham this man should -be unnumbered among the sleepers? Could it be that the late light, -flowing from that little low window beyond the porch, had no concern -with his own misery and the girl's flight? He could not think it. Here -was his journey's end. Let him take the girl red-handed in shame, if -need be. Shame, even, counted for nothing in his love of her. Had she -been dyed to the neck in iniquity he would have wished her, and followed -to the world's end for her, without the lash of his own sin to whip up -the pursuit. - -Slowly, with his eyes fixed on the sidelight from that fateful window, -he advanced; arms outspread for caution, doubling inwards from his -middle at each step, and making a semi-circle upon the grass to get -sooner and deeper sight into the room. All at once his eye cleared the -obstruction of trailing porch, and he stopped here, as though to take in -fresh supplies of cautious reserve and get leverage upon the position. -Then, more laboriously he worked forward again; his head far in advance; -his knees bent; his arms like a baboon's, extended to the ground--as -though at an alarm he would clutch at the long grass and draw himself -into its shelter. The piano-end came into view. Its keyboard of -chequered ivory lengthened as he approached upon it; next he gained -sight of the mantel-shelf; and last of all ... with his finger-nails -clenched into his palms for self-repression ... the man. - -He was seated on an end of the table, with his back towards the window, -and appeared to be reading or scrutinising something beneath the -powerful light of the big hanging lamp. What it was he bent his head -over the schoolmaster could not see, but his acute, tormented vision saw -something else that discharged itself at once in lightning of revelation -through the whole length and breadth of his being, and blinded him for a -moment with fierce, flashing passion and exultant joy. The room was -heaped up under the confusion of a departure. There were books stacked -together carefully on the table; music in fat portfolios; there were -garments folded and unfolded; coats and trousers; boots on trees; and to -give crowning evidence to his deduction, a big leather traveling -portmanteau, open of lid, beyond the fireplace. Ah! was it any longer a -coincidence, these two departures? Thank God he was in time. The Lord -had not deserted him. It was the Lord that had brought him here this -night. - -Meanwhile, the Spawer kept his attitude, with bowed head of absorption -beneath the lamp; and the man watched. - -Yes; he was going. The schoolmaster had made no mistake. A child, -looking in at the open window, would have declared as much. Of a truth, -Maurice Ethelbert Wynne had had his last decisive bout with that big -bully Destiny. No mistake about it, he had been badly beaten. All -through the hours after supper he had been collecting his effects -together; packing the big trunk down here, that it might be more easily -conveyed to the spring cart on the morrow; packing the smaller -portmanteau upstairs. Upstairs to-night for the most part his work had -been, only quitting it at long intervals to bring down further -contributions for the yawning leather trunk. And now, on this last -occasion of his descent, he had been made aware, for the first time, -that a couple of letters lay on the keyboard of the pianoforte, by the -bass end, near the window. - -At the beginning his eye had rested upon them, and accepted their -presence as a matter of course, without any further inquiry or -speculation, quite content with seeing them. It was a customary place -for him to leave things of the sort, only he did n't remember having -left anything there lately. By the way, what letters would they be? -More out of idleness than real curiosity, he put out his hand and took -them up. - -The first, addressed to him in that firm, feminine handwriting--almost -masculine--beneath a wealth of green stamps and postmarks, he recognised -at a glauce. But it had not been opened. Strange that! Which of all -her letters had escaped him like this? When had it come? How long had -he overlooked it? Still asking himself the questions, he turned his eye -upon the second letter. That too, was addressed to him in a handwriting -he knew no less surely--though with less familiarity: the soft, neat, -girl-like script of Pam, and that, too, must be unopened, for it was the -first he had received from her. From Pam, of all people in the world. -What had she to say to him? Perhaps this letter would explain the other. -Very nervous of finger, he tore open the envelope. - -A curious little letter it was, perplexingly short, that puckered up his -brows and left him more puzzled after its perusal than before. It -appeared to be, in some sort, a confession for an imaginary crime that -the girl had committed--though wherein lay the enormity of it, or the -necessity for this present epistle, not for the life of him could he -perceive. Pam, indeed, whose own guilt was so vivid that a word was -sufficient to depict it, had thought that the same word could reveal it -to all the world. Her letter was like the answer to a riddle, with the -question lacking. Apparently, the Spawer told himself, the girl had -failed to deliver a letter--the letter accompanying this, he -presumed--and it had preyed terribly upon her mind. He was to forgive -her, as she felt sure he would forgive her if he could only know what -suffering it had cost her. And then followed an outburst of -affectionate gratitude for all the kindness he had lavished on her; his -never-failing goodness and patience. These she should never forget. -With a concluding appeal to him that he should try and think as -leniently of her as he could. - -Think as leniently of her as he could! Miserable topsy-turveydom of -life, where all one's acts turn upside-down in the acting, and one's -deeds misrepresent one with the deliberate purpose of political agents. -Here he had been holding himself a supplicant upon the girl's mercy, and -lo! all the while, it seemed their positions were exactly reversed, and -it was she who imagined herself an offender against him! This letter of -the girl's troubled him. Did it mean she had never been sure of his -friendship? Did it mean she had altogether overlooked the signs in his -conduct that should have told her he would have forgiven anything ... to -her? Had all their relationship been built up of vain imaginings and -misunderstandings? If ... for instance... - -But he would have no more "ifs." Already he had had too many. What -might have been and what was were as asunder as the Poles. Let him not -revive the old unworthy desires under the cloak of If. What did the -second letter say? - -He opened it more slowly than the first--as though he felt a little the -shame of going before its presence, and did not anticipate much -happiness from this interview of pen and ink. But as he read, it seemed -he could not tear his eyes away from their fascinating occupation. If -Pam's letter had added cloud to his confusion, this letter was explicit -indeed--and yet dazed him at the same time with an overwhelming sense of -unreality. - -The freedom that he had felt himself unable to ask of the Other Girl, in -this letter she was asking of him. All the old stock-in-trade arguments -of love that he had thought once of bringing to bear upon her, she was -bringing to bear on him. Their attachment, she pointed out, was a mere -boy-and-girl attachment, that had never taken deep root in their later -lives. He had offered her her liberty once, but he would know that all -her sense of loyalty had refused the gift at the time. But now it was -different. Another stronger love had come into her life, and she would -not disguise the fact from him--it had more to offer. She was not cut -out for the wife of a composer. He would know that, really, without her -telling him. She could never be helpful to him; never even give him the -full measure of sympathy that the creative mind needed. In a word, love -and worldly position had been laid together at her feet and she dared -not proceed with this flat, stale attachment of theirs, that had neither -reason nor riches. It was always a woman's privilege to change her -mind, and she would avail herself of it to accept the liberty he had -offered her before. Friends they had been, all this while--never lovers -at all--and friends, she trusted, they would never cease to be. There -was a little blot of tears at the end, a slight incoherence of -phraseology in a sentimental reversion to their happy past ... but only -slight--only very slight. Love had been dead between them long ago. -She was reconciled to that. But this letter was its official -funeral--and it is a strong woman whose tears can resist the appeal of a -burying. - -And this was the letter the Spawer read with face bent down, while the -man outside kept watch. - -No wonder he sat motionless on the corner edge of the table, as he had -first seated himself, poring over that magnetising something that the -watcher, for all his watching, could not see. For what did this letter -mean to him? Nothing at all now, in hard fact, perhaps ... but yet ... -what tantalising riches in speculation. Here were his trunks, and here -was he, all ready for dutiful departure--and in his hands was the -instrument of reprieve. His duty had been remitted him. From that duty -he was free. Who should say what was his duty now? Had he a duty at -all--to himself, or anybody? Or was he, by virtue of this -relinquishment, become a mere jellyfish, without volition, to float this -way or that at the mercy of the tides? What was there to take him from -Ullbrig now? What was to keep him? If he stayed? If he went? If this -letter had come sooner! If this letter had only come sooner! - -And the whole thing began over again. - -All the old fever of reasoning set in anew with him, and rose up to its -height. All the old desires. All the old wild hopes. He had been -tired when he came downstairs, less with physical fatigue than with the -dull, sleepless lassitude of established despair--but now he was very -wide awake. His eyes revolted at the thoughts of being closed perforce -upon a pillow; they wanted license to keep open house for his brain all -night through. Suddenly, too, came upon him the nervous appetite for -activity; the desire to give a bodily articulation to the movement of -his mind. He felt as though he could have set off, and walked the globe -round, and been back again here by to-morrow's breakfast. And -submitting to the feeling, he rose all at once from his place on the -table, turned down the twin burners of the swing lamp, picked up his -cap, squeezed his way out through the two doors and the narrow porch, -and set off towards the sea. - -He walked with a brisk, purposeful step, for the night was chill beneath -the white moon and the many cool stars. Part way across Luke Hemingway's -big ten-acre field, at a sudden turn of his head towards some recumbent, -cud-chewing cattle, his eye-corner caught the tail-end of an upright -figure, vanishing into the hedge at some distance behind him. There was -nothing, of course, when he looked, to confirm the impression, beyond -the clear-defined, moonlit path along which he had come. But his eye -retained such an obstinate remembrance of its own delusion, that at a -few yards further on, choosing his moment, he turned on his heel again. -And again, strangely enough, his eye seemed to be just eluded by the -vanishing figure of a man. Had he been nervously given, he might have -felt tempted to walk back and scrutinise the hedgerow that had thus -twice afforded refuge to his shadowy pursuant. But for one thing, his -mind was too busy for nerves to-night, and knowing, moreover, the -strange receptive sensitiveness of the human eye, and the assurance with -which it attests, as realities, mere miraculous figments of the brain, -he passed on--reserving the right to turn again when he had given his -visual informant an opportunity to forget its impression. - -After a longer interval, therefore, he looked back again, on the pretext -of stooping to his shoe-lace, and three times after that. Twice his eye -attested to the presence of a furtive figure, that seemed to drop to -earth in the thick fog grass when he turned, only now he knew that his -eye did not deceive him. He was being followed. - -That the discovery did not tend to add much zest to his midnight -ramble--even had there been any before--the Spawer would have been the -last to deny. It is an unpleasant thing, at any time, to have one's -back turned towards a stealthy follower of undeclared intentions, but -moonlight and a lonely coast add still further unpleasantness to the -situation. However, the fact remained, and it was no use getting into -an unnecessary fuss about it. To turn back openly would not remedy -matters much, or give the Spawer any particular advantage over his -unknown pursuer. He decided, therefore, keeping cautious vigil over -alternate shoulders as he walked, to push on to the cliff, without -betraying the least sign of suspicion, and see to what extent this -figure would press pursuit. So, quickening his step imperceptibly, and -setting up a blithe, not too noisy whistle of unconcern, he came to the -cliff, the shadow following. - -The wind and storm of the past few days had troubled the sea, that -thundered up in ugly assailment of surf about the cliff's soft earthen -base, for the tide was rising. Awhile he stood, at the point where he -had come upon the path, watching the great waste of chill waters with -one eye, and the spot where the figure had vanished, with the other. -The keen gaze of Farnborough gleamed out at him in sudden recognition, -and here and there little intermittent pin-points of yellow pricked the -horizon where boats rose and fell upon the bosom of the sea. Then he -lifted his leg leisurely over the gate-stile, by which he had been -standing, and sat for a moment astride of it. From this perch he -commanded the hedgerow--that ran down to the cliff edge at right -angles--on both sides, and could not be approached without his -observance. But whatever object his follower had, it seemed certainly, -so far at least, that it was unconnected with any ideas of direct -encounter. There had been no attempt to gain on him; their relative -positions now were what they had been at the first moment of discovery; -and it seemed he might sit here till daybreak without his shadow's -making any advance in the open. Suddenly, an idea to test the situation -came into his mind, and on the instant he acted on it. The man, whoever -he might be, was about fifty yards or so inland, on the shady side of -the hedge, and watching the Spawer's conspicuous, upright figure keenly, -no doubt. All at once the Spawer brought his second leg over the rail, -descended, stepped quickly some paces inland, and drew into the hedge. -Though the moon fell on him, the hedge was straggling and untrimmed, -with somewhat of a dry ditch at its bottom, and long grass. Standing -here, unobtrusively, it would take an active search to come upon him, -and such a search would not only show him his pursuer, but give him some -shrewd idea of the man's intentions. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXVIII* - - -It was not long that the Spawer had to wait. He had scarcely subsided -into his position, indeed, when he heard, on the other side of the -hedge, the rapid "rff, rff, rff," that told where long grass was being -torn aside to the passage of hurried feet. The fellow was running, -then. It flashed across the Spawer's mind grimly, as he listened to the -sound of him, that he did not think himself of such interest to any -mortal man. And almost before he had time to gratify his ironic humor -with a smile, the mortal man had scrambled desperately over the stile, -flinging himself to ground on this side of it with such a thud of -precipitation that he had to preserve his equilibrium with spread -fingers in the grass. Next moment he pushed himself upright again, ran -hesitatingly forward some paces, stopped dead, and commenced to beat -about in a wild, blind search on all sides of him, as though he were -dazed with the loss of his quarry. For a moment it came into the -Spawer's head as he watched him that perhaps the man was mad or drunk. -Certainly there seemed little of rationality about his actions. At -times he ran; at times he cast himself so close upon the edge of the -cliff that the Spawer's flesh crept cold, and he wondered whether he -ought to stand by and see a deluded fellow-being submit himself to such -dangers. If he went over there, with the boiling sea beneath, it was -little chance he would ever come up again--till the tide brought him. -But after a moment or two, the Spawer grew reassured that this -catastrophe was not likely to happen, and continued watching in silence. - -He was a furtive, unprepossessing-looking fellow, it struck the Spawer. -His coat-collar was buttoned up to his neck, lending a particularly -sinister touch to his appearance, and the coat itself hung upon him -loosely, as though he had no shoulders, and bagged with an empty -flatness about the waist, as though, too, he had no stomach. It was a -tramp's coat, with tails--such as no honest rustic would wear--but had -found its way here, through a nameless course of degradation, from the -towns. And they were tramp's trousers too, that looked as though any -minute they might come down; loose, lifeless, shapeless trousers, whose -bottoms his boots trod on at every step. Otherwise, he wore a dark cloth -cap, pulled tightly over his scalp, with its neb scowling down to his -eyebrows, and his breath came and went vindictively--or so it seemed to -the Spawer--as though he had been baulked of something, and was panting -more through rage than exertion. - -And all at once, puzzled to fit some kind of a key to the fellow's -strange conduct, what enmity or what design he could have against him, -the Spawer's mind harked back to the two letters he had received this -night, and to the enigmatical epistle of the girl, and in a flash he -knew his man. - -But though he knew him, whatever the recognition might serve him in -despatching theories of robbery and violence, it served him little for -enlightenment. Added, indeed, to his perplexity, instead of subtracting -from it. For what object had caused this man to follow him--him, his -poor, crushed, and trampled antagonist--to the sea to-night? Had he not -injured him enough, but that he must needs track him in this despicable -fashion, and play spy upon his doings? All the hatred and unreasoning -disregard that the unsuccessful have for the successful rose up within -him at the discovery. Of the schoolmaster's virtues he knew nothing; -sought to know nothing. It was enough for him that to this man he was -indebted for his soul's humiliation; that this sinister-looking figure -had supplanted him for occupation of the dearest territory in the world; -and he rejoiced with a cruel and unhallowed joy that this, his -vanquisher, had been given over thus into his hand. - -Ten to one, were he only to make no sound, he could succeed in eluding -discovery, for the fellow showed no aptitude in search, but success of -this sort was not what he desired. He had been contemptibly dogged for -some purpose or other, and he would have full revenge of the man's -shame. Very quietly he stepped out of his shelter and showed his tall -figure in the moonlight. - -"You appear to be looking for something," he said. - -At the sound of his voice, the man spun round eagerly on his heel, as -though his first emotion had been of pure incredulous joy that his -quarry was not lost to him. Shame succeeded upon that, to think of what -the Spawer had been a witness, and his forward impulse was checked -momentarily into a falling back on the heel that had urged him. Then, -just as quickly, anger succeeded upon shame. Those chance words, -uttered so carelessly, but with such a frigid tone of scorn--as though -the Spawer in mind towered above him like an Alpine summit, and his -lofty contempt was snow-capped--roused his wrath to desperation. - -"You know what I am looking for," he said hoarsely, and advanced with -both hands up at his coat-collar. - -Could the Spawer have had but one glimpse into the surging hot mind of -the man at this moment, and seen of what wild charges he stood accused, -he might have turned the sword of his words into a ploughshare, and -tilled honestly for enlightenment. But in his own mind it was he who -had been wronged. And besides that, the fierce, unexpressed hostility -of love was between them. Even had there not been this present cause of -quarrel to kindle anger, they would have been rampant for the fray like -two rein-bucks. - -"I know what you are looking for?" he asked, and his voice moved -contemptuously away from the suggestion as he might himself have moved -(so the schoolmaster thought) from the contaminating touch of an unclean -beggar. A clear, well-pitched, musical voice it was--so different from -the schoolmaster's hoarse, toneless utterance--and its very superiority, -seeming now to take conscious pride in itself, stirred up the listening -man's worst hatred. In birth, in station, in presence, in voice, in -possessions, and in love, this tall, insufferable figure prevailed. -"You make a mistake..." he heard it say to him. "I know nothing at all -about you, except that you have been dogging my footsteps for this last -quarter of an hour. I know that. If you have anything to add to it, I -am ready to hear you." - -The lean, shabby figure of the schoolmaster flinched visibly in the -moonlight at each fresh phrase, as if it had been a whip-lash that his -antagonist was curling about him. With both hands clenched at his -coat-collar, he seemed almost to be hanging on to resolution against a -groan. - -"Yes," he blurted out fiercely at last, releasing his hands at the same -moment from this occupation, and crying out his confession like a wild -triumph of delinquency; "I have been following you. You may know it." - -"I do know it," said the Spawer. - -"I say you may know it," the schoolmaster repeated, raising his hoarse -voice another tuneless semitone up its chromatic of passion. "I don't -care." - -"Don't care," the Spawer told him coolly, "as you may be aware, got -hanged. I would advise you to take profit by his example." - -The schoolmaster's hands flew back to his collar again with one accord. - -"You thought you were safe from me," he forced through his unsteady -lips. "You thought you were free to do as you liked." - -"I certainly thought I was free to walk along the cliff without being -persecuted with these attentions," the Spawer cut into him. - -"Yes; you thought ... you could trample on me!" the schoolmaster hissed -at him venomously. - -"I have not the least desire to trample on you," the Spawer assured him -frigidly. "I would not tread on a worm if I knew it. There is room in -the world for us both--if you 'll be so good as to make use of it." - -"You think..." the schoolmaster cried passionately, "that because you -come from big towns, and live in fine houses, and wear fine clothes ... -that you can do what you like in the country." - -"It seems I am mistaken," the Spawer apostrophised sarcastically. "In -the towns, at least, we have the police to defend us from molestation by -night." - -"You think," the schoolmaster shouted at him, as though to beat down his -words and tread them and his opposition underfoot, "... you think we -country people are fit subjects for your scorn. You think you can walk -over our feelings, and trifle with all our happiness as though we were -mere paving-stones for your own evil enjoyments. You think we are the -dirt beneath your feet." - -"Indeed?" the Spawer remarked. "I never thought half so much about you -as you suppose." - -"You have thought it," the schoolmaster cried at him; "and you are -thinking it. Every word you say to me is an insult. You want to tell -me that I am beneath your notice, and that your contempt is too good for -me. You think you can mock me indiscriminately, and make a fool of me." - -"Not at all," the Spawer responded carelessly. "I have my own business. -You can do that quite well enough for yourself." - -"But you are wrong!" the schoolmaster shouted, in a voice almost -inarticulate with passion, and the terrible cooped-up storm of hopes and -fears. "You are wrong. You thought you could kick me aside like a dog, -and leave me to the derision and contempt of Ullbrig. You thought you -could break up an honest man's happiness for your own wicked diversion, -and steal off like a thief with it. But you are wrong. You are wrong." -He was almost weeping--though the Spawer did not know it--with the -insufferable fever of desperation. Had the Spawer known it, he would -have had mercy, and surrendered this wordy victory rather than fight to -the finish with the poor God-forsaken, love-forsaken, self-forsaken -devil that cut and lunged so furiously at him. But the only conclusion -respecting this encounter, glimmering at the far back of his brain, was -that the man was consumed with the fire of an unworthy jealousy, and he -took joy in piling up its fuel--even at the risk of burning his own -fingers. "But you are wrong! You are wrong!" the schoolmaster -reiterated at him. - -"It seems I am wrong in many things," the Spawer assented. "But that 's -scarcely surprising; since I don't know who in the world you are, or -where you come from, or what the devil you want with me." - -"You know who I am," the schoolmaster shouted at him. "And you know -what I want with you." - -"Not in the least," the Spawer told him, "unless it is relief, but if -so, you have a strange way of asking for it." - -"You know it is not relief!" the tortured figure exclaimed. "If I were -starving, I would go to my grave sooner than ask a penny of such as -you--that have n't the heart of a dog. You want to put me off with -words and sneers and scorns, but I won't be put off. You shan't put me -off. I have stood everything that I will stand." - -"You have certainly stood long enough," the Spawer remarked. "Don't -stand any longer on my account. If you have said all you wish to say, -perhaps you will kindly tell me which way is your way, and leave me free -to choose the other." - -"I have not said all I wish to say," the man cried, opening and -clenching his fingers. "You shall not shake me off, for all your -pretending. I have found you in time, and I will stick to you for the -rights you want to rob me of. You shall not slip me. Where you go I -will go. You shall not get away." - -The Spawer pulled his moustache, and looked the man up and down. - -"Really..." he said, after a while. "You are a smaller man than I ... -but you tempt me very much to kick you." - -In a second, at that threat of action, the pent-up torrents of the -schoolmaster's rage and anguish burst forth from him. Anything was -better than words. He rushed up wildly to his adversary. - -"Kick me!" he cried fiercely, shouting up with hoarse voice of challenge -into the Spawer's face. "Kick me! Touch me. Lay a hand upon me. You -say you 'll kick me. Kick me." - -He pressed so hard upon the Spawer, with arms thrown out and flourishing -wildly, that even had he wished it, the Spawer would not have had -purchase to kick him. Instead, he receded somewhat from their -undesirable chest-to-chest contact, striving by gentle withdrawal to -mollify the man's mad anger. For he had seen into his eyes, and their -look startled him. Not for himself--he was in every sense the man's -better, and could have wrought with him as though he were a schoolboy's -cane--but for the man. It was borne in upon him suddenly anew, with -terrible conviction, that the fellow was mad; the victim of some fierce -hallucination--whose fixed point of hatred was in himself--and he -repented now that he had goaded him to such a cruel pitch. And still -the man pressed upon him. "Kick me!" he kept saying, utterly deaf to -the Spawer's temporising and persuasive utterances. "Kick me. Touch -me. Lay a hand upon me." - -To lay a hand upon him now, even in mere pacification, meant an -inevitable struggle, and such a termination was too unseemly to be -thought of. As it was, matters had gone altogether beyond their bounds. -To have chastised the fellow with scorn had been one thing, but to be -involved in a retreat before the hoarse breath of a passionate madman -was another, utterly outside all dignity. Sooner or later, too, he -would have to stand or be forced over the cliff. The thought of the -boiling sea below, to which, in the concentration of his faculties upon -this ignominious encounter, he had been paying no heed, recalled him -hotly, and he stole an anxious glance over his shoulder to learn where -he stood. - -And at that very moment he stood on the cliff edge, and it slipped and -gave way with him. Wynne flung up his arms, beating the air with them -like wings, to regain his balance, but he could not. An arm clutched -out after him, whether to push or clasp him he did not know. Half -spinning as he went, he doubled out of sight backward; and if anything -were needed, apart from the anguish of his own mind, at that awful, -inevitable moment, to add to the horror of his going, it was the -schoolmaster's long, horrid scream. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXXIX* - - -That scream--having no part with the man's self, but tearing forth from -him as though it were a liberated fiend--curdled the schoolmaster's own -blood. This culminating horror of a night of horrors took hold upon the -pillars of his reason, like a blind, despairing Samson, and overturned -the temple quite. Before, he had had just the madness requisite to -carry out what unaided reason could never have accomplished; but now, -madness filled him like thick, suffocating smoke, and extinguished his -last guiding spark of lucidity. From head to foot he was mad; mad with -a terrorised madness that is one long mental scream, like the -unrestrained scream of his lips. First, as the man went over, and his -own cry rang like a terrible knell in his head, he dropped to his knees, -and bound wild hands upon his eyes, to blot out the horror from them. -Again and again and again, with insufferable rapidity, he saw--for all -his binding--the horrid vision of the Spawer's beating arms; the -sickening collapse; the sudden emptiness of sky. Again and again and -again his own cry tore out in his ears. If his brain had been one great -slate, and this cry the screech of a perpendicular pencil torn across -it, it could not have scored it more terribly. All his hallucinations -were reversed and turned against himself. His mind had no mercy upon -him; he was a murderer. This was the death that came to him upon his -bed. The horror of now fitted the horror of then like a bolt. He was a -murderer, fore-ordained. The hot brand of Cain was on his brow. Twice -the fatal cliff called upon him to come and look over at the scene of -his crime, but twice he heard the surging of the sea below, and twice he -dared not. Then the irresistible magnetism of his own murder drew him, -and he crept forth the third time on all fours, and peered awfully over -upon a small projecting shelf of the cliff. Close down by the roaring -surf the Spawer lay stretched on his back, and looked with his dead face -up at him. As he had fallen, so he lay. His head was to the sea; his -feet toward the cliff at which they had struggled so desperately for -hold; his right hand, by the force of rebound, had jumped across his -breast, and seemed placed in mocking attestation upon his heart; his -left lay limply from him without a bend, its palm turned upward, its -fingers partly closed; his chin was thrown up, white and ghastly; his -face a little sideways upon his cheek, as though in renunciation of this -dark, wicked world, and seeking slumber. A very different figure of a -fellow, indeed, from that proud six-footer of scathing independence that -had mocked this miserable onlooker from above. And yet, how terribly -triumphant. Even on his back, without a word between his lips, or a -look in his eyes, he had more of majesty at this dread moment than life -could ever have given him. - -And so thought the man who, blindly seeking but to prevail, had put -death's conquering sceptre in his hands. For the one moment of his -guilty gaze he saw with clear eyes, freed from madness--as people are -free from worldly thoughts that take their look upon the dead. But the -moment passed, and his madness descended upon him once more, like the -cloud of a whirlwind. It swept him to his feet, and drove him -blightingly before it--anywhere away from the scene of that awful fall -and cry. Before, he might have killed himself, but now, with the horror -of death before his eyes, and ringing in his ears, he dared not die. -Over gate and by hedgerow, through field and fence; beating and battling -a mad passage for his flight against the armed hosts of standing corn; -pitching blindly over stooks in the stubble; turning and doubling; -falling headlong and regaining his feet with terrified fighting-fists, -as though in conflict with unseen adversaries, so his madness drove him, -like a leaf before the breeze. - - - - - *CHAPTER XL* - - -Out of the dark womb of Eternity--and with all the penalties and -discomforts incidental to birth--Maurice Ethelbert Wynne was born again. - -With pangs, with anguishes, with flashes of light, and alternating -darkness; with terrible struggles to lay hold of this elusive state -called life, that seemed floating somewhere about and above him, if he -only could secure it, he drew shuddering breath of consciousness at last -upon his little six-foot couch, and saw, through tremulous eyelids that -were yet powerless to open themselves, a multitude of round things -shining. - -They were so many, and their light so marvelously great, that he went -off through pain into darkness forthwith, and abode there for a space. -Thence, after awhile, he commenced to struggle inwardly again for the -life he had once laid hold of, and groping, found it; and looked through -his impotent lashes once more, and at once the multitude of round things -shining fell in, and hurt him, and a second time he let life go quite -quietly, and relapsed into his darkness. But the taste for life, once -awakened, cannot be so inanimately surrendered. Cost what cost in pain, -lips will keep returning periodically to the cup--each time with further -strength of fortitude for pain--till in the end hands are strong to -grasp and retain, and life, sipped at first, is gulped with eager -mouthfuls. And so, slowly but surely, the Spawer returned again and -again to his multitude of hurting things, and looked upon them -diligently, and patiently learned their shape, and studied them, and -knew them in the end for moons. Vague, shadowy remembrances of a former -life, or premonitory forecasts of the life he was now about to live, -floated--not in his mind, for he had as yet no concentrated point of -consciousness that could be called a mind--but, dispersed and -uncollected, all about the dark void of his being. Names that he did -not know for names flitted hauntingly about him, like bats--names that, -as though he were a mere baby, he had not the strength or the capacity -to utter, but that he somehow recognised and knew. One name, in -particular, came to him in his dusky sojourn, and abode with him; a -blessed, dove-like messenger of a name, whose presence was peace. When -it departed from him he was troubled, and sought for it, as a blind -kitten seeks after the breast. When he found it again he was content -with his darkness; quite content to lie and be conscious that he was -alive. - -Then, to names succeeded shapeless dreams; after-shadowings or -forecastings, as the case might be, snatched by violence from Eternity, -and bringing him pain. Shadowy figures in conflict he seemed to see; -men running; men pursuing; men wrestling; men falling--not men, as men -are, but men as his infant mind conceived them, dark and formless and -blurred; men like trees walking, whose movements disturbed him -painfully; men crying; men screaming. When they screamed, instinctively -he sought the shelter of darkness once more, for he could not bear the -sound of that scream. It frightened him from life. Yet after awhile, -he would be back at the moons again, nibbling at them industriously with -his intelligence, like a mouse at cheese. They were moons now, he knew -quite well. He did not know them as such by name, but he understood the -substance of the things seen, and thus feeding on them and deriving -nourishment, his consciousness thrived. One by one it diffused itself -through the darkened channels and subways of his being. It reached his -ears, and he heard a great buzzing, and a roaring and a beating--as -though all his brain were being churned within him. It reached his -limbs, and his being strove to stir them, and after many trials -succeeded insignificantly, whereupon, with his lips he groaned. -Centuries thus, it seemed, he floated, a mere helpless log upon the tide -of existence, clutching at things he could not hold, bumping against -consciousness for moments at a time, and being drifted off again into -the dark; in reality it was scarcely minutes. Then, of a sudden, -something icy cold and wet fell with a rude slap over his face. - -The shock roused him, and the coldness contracted spasmodically the -relaxed tissues of his thinking. All his brain, diffused hitherto -vastly throughout space, seemed to shrink up at that Arctic contact, -like metal in a mould, and occupy the narrow limits of his head, -throbbing painfully at the restriction imposed upon it. Thought, in this -cramped environment, became agonisingly congested. His head was a sort -of Black Hole of Calcutta, in which thought seethed for outlet. Where -one idea before had attenuated itself throughout the centuries, now -centuries of thinking were compressed insufferably within the space of -one moment. Life, that had been unoccupied, teemed all at once with the -fever of activity. A hundred incidents seemed in progress within him at -one and the same instant. His lips were useless to him for speaking, -but from somewhere in his throat came a voice that poured out from him -unceasingly, as though it were a tap, accompanying with narrative the -course of events. Still, though all the forces of life and thought were -humming at high pressure inside him, was he powerless to burst the -fetters of his body. Like an iron man he lay, with his one arm -extended, and his one arm bent, and his chin thrown upward, and his legs -stretching from him to their limp extremities--miles and miles and miles -away. Over and over again in mind he got the victory over this -unresponsive flesh, and rose with it, and looked about him at the -encompassing multitude of moons; and over and over again his mind -returned dejectedly to its recumbent habitation, and knew itself -deluded. The desire for movement was become a nightmare. All his being -wrought in motionless agony to wake up his dead limbs to life, as his -soul had been wakened. The horror of this inactivity grew upon him and -focussed itself to a great, loud, liberative cry that should cut his -bonds like a knife and loose him from this awful lethargy. But though -the cry was within him, all prepared, his lips could not utter it. He -was lead-weighted; feet, hands, legs, eyelids--not a member to help him. - -And then the cold wetness fell upon his face and forehead a second time, -and with a terrible spasm of anguish he pushed his cry. All heaven -seemed to ring with it in his tortured imagination; he could not have -conceived that the bulk of his effort had been wasted mentally before it -reached his lips, and that the residue of physical impulse would -scarcely have sufficed to deflate a kitten's lungs. Just another cry or -two like this, thought he, as he rested from the exertion of it, and he -would burst forth from his bondage and be free. - -And again, with titanic intention, and the merest inappreciable -flattening of his diaphragm, he launched his pitiable mew. - -And this time it suddenly seemed to him that he had awakened some -external sympathy on his behalf; that other forces were being brought to -bear upon him from without--how, or whence, or why, he knew not. -Voices--or his mental equivalent for voices--seemed disturbing the -atmosphere of his being; besieging him, trying to lay hold upon his -voice and give him a ladder to outer life. The moons too, as he stared -at them through his eyelashes, appeared moving about in agitated -disorder this way and that above the high wall of blackness that fronted -him. Then, something detached itself from the wall-top, and slid -downward with a rattle. He was here! He was here! Did n't they see -him? In went his stomach feebly again, and he ejected his agonised -sigh. And while desperately he sought to aid the outer assistance, and -proclaim his dire need--of a sudden his attitude changed. The moons -swam backward overhead, the black wall rose above his sight. What his -paralysed limbs had failed to accomplish of themselves, was being -accomplished for them. Arms were under his neck, hands were beating his -cheeks, voices were calling upon him. - -And all at once, with a great spasm, his eyes rolled round into their -right position--it seemed he had been gazing out of the backs of them -this while--and the blindness fell away from him like the stone of a -sepulchre; and his ears burst open; and the calling voice came clearly -through into his understanding. - -Oh, surely that was Pam's dear voice! None other in the world would -have had sweet power to penetrate such a darkness as his. And his lips -dissolved, that had seemed glued inseparably together, and let him move -them over the girl's name. - -"... Pam ..." he said. - - - - - *CHAPTER XLI* - - -Yes, it was Pam's own self that knelt beside him and sustained him, her -arms wound supportingly about his helpless body, his head on her knee, -and shed tears of warm thankfulness over his lifted face, and caressed -him eagerly with her voice. - -"I thought you were dead..." she said tremulously. - -His response flickered elusively to and fro at the bottom of the -Spawer's being, like sunlight deep down a well; but he merely watched it -with curious philosophic content, as though quite sufficiently satisfied -to know that it was there. - -"Where am I?" he inquired listlessly, after a moment, and then, out of -sheer gratitude to the girl, without waiting to be told, subsided into -peaceful slumber upon her knee. - -So long as she was there to hold him and nurse his head, what more could -a man want? To sleep with Pam for pillow ... ye gods! But his period -of blissful oblivion was short. The beating and the calling -recommenced, and he was forced into opening his reluctant eyes. - -"You must not..." he heard the girl beseech him. "Oh, indeed, you must -not! Try to come to yourself. Are you hurt? Do you think you can -stand?" - -He heard the questions plainly enough--in his grave he would have heard -questions that that voice put to him--but their import excited him -little. What did anything matter, so long as Pam was with him? She -would look to everything. Trust Pam. All he did was to dwell -pleasantly upon the sound of her voice inside, and seek to slumber to -it, as a child is soothed by singing. But though his soul longed for -this peace, she would not grant it, but plied her questions anew with -strange, inexplicable unrest. He had never known Pam so unrestful. - -"Are you hurt? Do you think ... you can get up ... if I lift you? -Shall I lift you? Will you let me lift you?" - -He fished about listlessly for a moment or two in the depths of his -well, and brought up the word "Eh," as being both easy to catch and to -utter. - -"Eh?" he said, without the slightest desire to be told for information's -sake, and made as though once more to settle his head. - -But she rubbed his cheeks vigorously with her hand, and roused him with -her voice anew. - -"Oh, please, please..." he heard her beg him, with tears. "Try to wake -up now and answer me. Don't go back again. You must n't go back again. -Do you think you can stand if I lift you? Do you?" - -"Where am I?" he asked again, in the same apathetic voice. - -He did n't care where he was. Wherever he was, Pam was with him. That -was good enough for his taste. He merely wanted her to nurse him, and -soothe him, and lull him. All speculation, all curiosity, had been -knocked out of him by his fall. The heavens might have opened now, and -the sight of angels descending would have caused him no wonder. - -"You are down the cliff!" Pam told him, shouting the words in his ear, -with the twofold object of reaching his remote understanding and rousing -him by sheer strenuousness of voice. "You must have fallen. Don't you -know what's happened? Can't you remember?" - -He was down the cliff. He must have fallen. Did n't he know what had -happened? Could n't he remember? Of a sudden--yes, of course he could -remember. He was down the cliff. He must have fallen. The -schoolmaster had pushed him. He 'd been fighting with the schoolmaster -in a dream, and got pushed over. What did it matter--a dream? He 'd -often got pushed over in dreams. - -"Can't you remember?" came back to him, in echo of the girl's voice, and -he told her: "Yes, he could remember." Furthermore, to prove his good -intentions, he asked her with his eyes shut: "Where are the moons?" - -"There 's only one," the girl shouted into his ear. - -"That all?" he said, fishing hazily for the words as before. - -"It 's up there--there in the sky." She let down his head a little, so -that the moon might come into his line of vision. "There ... do you see -it?" - -He saw it and shut hie eyes, turning his head away from the light. - -"All right," he said, and added a dreamy "Thank you." - -Something boomed out behind him, and he saw the girl's hand go up -defensively above his head. Next moment cold trickles were wriggling -down his face. Some rested on his eyelashes and blurred the moonlight. - -"What 's that?" he asked complacently. - -"It's the sea..." the girl cried into his ear, and wiped the wet -tenderly from his face and lashes with an end of sleeve drawn into her -palm by her fingers. "The tide is coming up. We must not stay here any -longer. We shall be drowned if we do." - -"Oh!" he said. Drowned, would they? What was drowning to a man who had -been dead? And then, quite irrelevantly--its irrelevancy even puzzled -himself, in a placid kind of way--"are there any mushrooms?" - -"Oh, yes, yes," the girl told him eagerly. "Lots and lots of them. But -not down here; up at the top. We must get up to the top first." - -"I 'm the boy for mushrooms," he said, and thought he smiled knowingly, -but it was only his inside that smiled. The face of him never moved a -muscle. - -"See ... I am going to lift you!" the girl shouted. "Let me put my arm -about you ... like that. Yes. And now like this. Now ... so. Do I -hurt you?" - -My Heaven! Did she hurt him? The groan that followed needed no -conscious bidding to find the outlet of his lips. His immobile face was -broken suddenly into seams of pain, like the cracking of a cast. - -"Oh ... my poor darling! My poor darling!" the girl cried, lowering him -a little, in an agony scarcely less than his own, and the tears started -from her fast. "Have I hurt you? I did n't want to hurt you. But we -can't stay here. However much it hurts we can't stay here. We must get -you moved. I can't let you drown for the sake of a little pain. Come! -try again. You 'll help me, won't you? Now. Is that better? Is that -better? Am I hurting you now?" - -And again she raised him. In a measure the first pain had paved the way -for a second, and being prepared for it this time, by twisting his face -he was enabled to bear the lifting; but it was agony. Such complete -change of posture seemed to shake up all the dormant dregs of his -discomfort, like the lees of a bottle. His body was become no more than -a mere flagon, for the contents of mortal anguish. His heart beat as -though it had been knocked loose by the fall. All the inside of his -head had been dislodged, and bumped sickeningly against the walls of his -skull. His ribs were hot gridirons. His back was on fire. But at -least he stood unsteadily upright. Within the compass of the girl's -arms--as once, on that first night of their meeting, she had been within -his--he stood rocking helplessly to and fro; his knees trembling -treacherously beneath him, only saved from sinking by the uplifting -power of the girl's embrace. Suddenly it seemed to him, with a warning -buzz in his ears, that the darkness was coming on again. A great -weakness crept over him and enfolded him. - -"Let me ... sit down..." he said faintly. He thought that by sitting he -might elude the enveloping embrace of the darkness. - -"No, no; not here. Not just here..." the girl implored him. "Not so -near the edge. Try and walk. Please! ..." - -And then the darkness closed upon him swiftly, as he stood in her arms, -like a great engulfing fish. - -But it disgorged him, almost at once. It seemed his own pain deterred -it. And slowly, what time he suffered untold agonies of body, the girl -half pushed, half carried him from the perilous edge of their narrow -shelf, toward the cliff side; weeping to herself for the pain she knew -she was inflicting; talking all the while to interpose her soft, tender -voice between himself and the keen edge of his suffering. Did she hurt -him now? That was better, was n't it? Oh, that was beautiful! Just -another step like that. And now just one more. And now just one to -finish. And now just a little one to bring him round here. And got him -propped up in the end--though Heaven knows how--with his back against -the ugly black slope of cliff, and his face towards the sea, that bit -with raging white teeth against the miserable crust of their refuge, and -roared and snarled mercilessly for their devourance. - -And there, resting awhile, with the assistance of his own pain that had -roused him, and the stern sight he saw, the girl assiduously coaxed and -fretted, and rubbed his apathetic consciousness, like a cold hand, till -it returned at last some vital warmth of understanding. As far as his -loosened brain would allow, all the doings of this night came back to -him, remotely remembered. Through clouds of intervening suffering he -called back his quarrel with the schoolmaster; the words, even, that had -been uttered; his horrid plunge over the cliff, and that sickening -arrest at the bottom. And before these things had happened, came back -to him his love for the girl, and his loss of her; his resolution and -his irresolution; his night's packing, and the letters he had received. -Even it occurred to him that the big lamp would be still burning--unless -its oil were exhausted by now. It was all unreal and incomprehensible, -but he remembered it and never doubted. This was no new life, but the -old--to whose jagged splinters of breakage he was being so painfully -spliced. What a wonder his breakage had n't been beyond all repair! How -on earth had he come, neck downwards from that great height--a height it -would have sickened him to contemplate jumping--and yet been spared? -The mill of his mind ground slowly, by fits and starts, and not -over-fine. All its mechanism seemed dislocated and rusty and out of -order; in mid-thought it would be brought up suddenly with a horrid jolt -that seemed like taking his head off. The noise of its working, too, was -almost deafening. - -"What are you doing here?" he asked vaguely, all at once, of the girl, -who, with one arm about him, was seeing how far he might be trusted to -keep his own balance against the cliff. It was a question that had been -glimmering at the bottom of his well for some time past--only, so far, -he had never been able to perceive clearly why she should not be here as -well as anywhere else. But now the strangeness of her presence forced -itself upon him. - -"I was on the cliff..." she said, speaking in quick gasps, as the result -of her exertion, "and heard you fall. At least ... I heard you cry out. -You cried out ... did n't you? as you fell." - -"Yes..." he admitted slowly, for the mills of thought were grinding -again, and he knew whose cry had brought him succor. Murderous, -cowardly cur! Friction of anger set up in his mind and heated him--who -knows? ... perhaps for his own good. Anything, only to rouse him. - -The girl shuddered at that cry's remembrance. - -"... I heard you. I was by the boat ... and I knew something dreadful -had happened ... and ran back, and looked over the cliff ... and saw -you, and scrambled down to you. But we must n't waste time. Not a -moment. If once the tide gets over here.... Do you think you can let -me leave you ... for a minute? I must find a way up the cliff. So." -She withdrew her hand from him, holding it outstretched, however, for a -moment, with fingers close upon him, in case he might show any dangerous -subsidence. But he did not. "Are you all right now? Do you think you -can keep just like that?" - -He assured her he was all right, and could keep just like that. He was -by no means convinced in his own mind that such was the case, but he -felt his acquiescence due to the girl, and gave it. - -And she, with a final adjusting touch of finger, that was a caress all -told, consigned him timidly to his own insecure care, and turned her -energy upon the cliff. - -Even as she looked up its black, forbidding side, smooth and sheer, and -clayey with the recent rains--and remembered the desperate abandon of -her descent--her heart forsook her. Calmly, first of all--trying to -stimulate her bosom to courage by deliberateness of action--she sought -of the cliff for some mode of ascent; desperately, after awhile, when -none forthcame, flinging herself at the slimy earth, kicking with feet -for a foothold--that slid down with her when she used it, as though she -had been trying to scale butter; tearing with her hands at straggling -tufts of grass, that pulled out by the wet roots, soft and -sodden--struggling, scrambling, fighting. - -And at last the fearful truth was borne in upon her--or perhaps, more -accurately, the seal was put upon the truth that her bosom had secreted -when she sacrificed herself over the cliff-edge for this man's -saving--and with tears, not of terror, but of bitter defeat, she came -back to him. Oh, the agony of that confession! Yet with death so close -upon them, it was no moment to offer the cup of false hopes. However -she tried to screen the knowledge from him, death would shortly tell him -everything. - -"It is no use..." she said, her tears streaming, her hands all muddied, -that she wiped hopelessly on her skirts. "... I can find no way." - -"Oh," he said, so apathetically, that for a moment she thought he had -not understood. But it was only the mills that were grinding. - -"It is all my fault," the girl burst out bitterly. "If I had run to the -Dixons' at once ... they would have been here now ... and saved you. -But I never thought. I was in such a hurry.... Oh, forgive me ... -forgive me, please!" - -And into her hands, for the man's sake, she sobbed as though her heart -would have burst. It was so dreadful for him to be lost like this, when -she had been so near to saving him. For herself it mattered nothing, -who had so little to lose. And though she strove to extinguish the -thought, there was a kind of proud, defiant exultation at being drowned -in such company. Oh, God forgive her such wicked thinking! Her heart, -so anguished during these latter days, could not, in its wildest -moments, have wished a more companionable death than this. - -After awhile, the mills of the man's mind, slowly moving, ground a -little grist for his lips to get rid of. - -"... Can you get up the cliff by yourself, if you leave me?" - -He seemed to be talking to her out of the closed chamber of dreams. -What he uttered reached her, indeed, but there was something between -them yet, like a wall, that both were sensible of. - -"But I would not ... I would not!" she cried impetuously. - -"But could you?" - -"No, no, no ... I could not!" - -"Are you quite sure?" - -"Quite. I could not. Indeed, I could not." - -"Shall we both be drowned?" he inquired. - -To the girl the question came with a callousness almost brutal. -Moreover, it cut her to the quick to hear how this fall had blunted the -keen edge of the man's susceptibilities. It was as though another being -of an altogether inferior calibre were usurping his body. Oh, that for -their last agonised moments together this terrible dull veil might be -rent, and for dying happiness she might know him as she had known him in -the past! And for this she maintained her weeping. But inside, the man -was stoking up the furnace of his mills with desperate activity, to get -work out of hand before this last. He, too, was filled with ripe grain -of thought to be ground, and knew how bruised and blunted he was--and -how little near he could place his thoughts to the thoughts of the girl. - -"What were you doing ... on the cliff?" he asked laboriously. - -All his within was striving to find a short cut to somewhere, but his -mouth would not let him. - -"... I was going away." - -"Oh! Where to?" - -"... Anywhere. To Hunmouth ... round by Garthston." - -"Why were you going anywhere?" - -"Because ... because ... did n't you get the letters? I left them on the -piano." - -"Oh, yes; the letters. I read them. But I did n't ... know them." -"Know them" was n't what he wanted to say, and he struggled for a moment -to find the requisite expression, but his mills were not equal to it. -"I did n't ... know them," he repeated vaguely. - -"Oh ... because ... because..." - -And thereupon the girl plunged into the shameful deeps of her -wickedness, and made confession. A hurried confession it was, for time -pressed, but she cried it in its entirety into his ear--shielding -nothing but the absent man ... and her love. - -And the mills of the Spawer's mind thumped faster. - -"I want ... to ask you something," he said slowly, "... before I die." - -"Yes ... yes." The girl was at his lips in a moment, to catch their -precious outpouring before death should stop her hearing for ever. "Ask -me. I am here." - -"I want to ask you..." he said. "You know why I was going back. The -other letter was ... from Her. She asks me to set her free. If there -had n't been ... been any other one in the case, and I 'd asked you ... -to marry me ... would you have married me?" - -And in an instant the girl's arms were about the man's neck, and her -lips upon his lips, as though they would have sucked the poor remaining -life out of his body into her own, and given it an abiding habitation. - -"Oh ... my love, my love!" the girl wept, through the wet lips that -clung to him. "What do I care about dying now? I would rather a -thousand times die to learn that you had loved me ... than live and -never know it." - -And she poured her streams of warm tears over his face, and wrapped him -about with her arms, and bound her body upon him. And in the fusion of -that mighty love, the laboring mills of the man's mind burst free. - -"Why did you come down to me?" he cried. "For God's sake get away while -you have the chance. I 'm not worth saving now ... I'm only the -fragments of a man.... But you!" - -For all answer she bound him in tighter bondage of protection, as though -she were trying to steep their souls so deep in the transport of love -that they should not know death or its agony. - -"If you leave me..." he urged upon her, "and get up the cliff ... there -may still be time." - -But she clung to him. - -"For my sake, then!" he implored her. "You are my last hope of safety. -For the love of me, try and do it. We must not die like this." - -And for his sake, with her old desperate hopes falsely revived, she -redoubled kisses of farewell upon his mouth and lips, and threw herself -passionately against the relentless wet wall of their prison. Now this -side, and now that. Now trying to kick out steps with her feet; now -trying to tear them with her hands, she wrought at this frantic -enterprise, and the man watched her, and knew it to be of no avail. And -then, at his urging, she cried out--lifted her own white face to the -sullen black face of the cliff, and cried--cried with words, and rent -the air with inarticulate screams. But all was one. Like a thick -blanket the cliff, so close upon her, muffled her mouth and I smothered -the voice that issued from her. - -"It 's no use ... no use," she said, and came back to the man. - -And at the same moment the cruel, horrible sea, that had been boiling -turbulently about the far brink of their ledge, with occasional casts of -foam, thundered against the cliff, as though to the collected impulse of -intent, and rushed up, roaring, and gained the summit of their slender -refuge at last, and curled a scornful, devastating lip of water over it. -They stood for a moment like marble, the two of them, at this clear -message from the mouth of death; watching the water slide back after the -retreating wave, and pour away at either side of their earthen shelf -amid an appalling effervescence, and then the girl woke up again. - -"It will not be long ... now," she said, very quietly. - -Then she went to the man and laced her arms about him-- - -"Promise me..." she said, "you will not ... let go of me ... when the -time comes." - -"I promise you," the man answered, very huskily. - -"May I call you ... Maurice ... before we die?" she asked, and her voice -faltered at this. - -"Please..." he begged her; and she said "Maurice" a time or two. - -"Hold me ... Maurice," she said. "I may ... turn coward ... at the end -... but hold me. Don't let me go. I want to die with you." - -"I will hold you," he answered, and their arms tightened. - -And again the sea thundered, and this time something swirled about their -feet. Then they asked forgiveness of each other for inasmuch as they -had offended, and received the sacrament of each other's pardon. - -And there being nothing else to do, they stood and waited for death. - - - - - *CHAPTER XLII* - - -On this same eventful evening, the absent Barclay o' Far Wrangham -returned to himself by slow stages from nowhere in particular, at some -vague, indeterminate point between Hunmouth, Sproutgreen, and Ullbrig, -having missed Tankard's 'bus by a small matter of two days and one -night. - -Out of five golden sovereigns that had gone forth with him, he retained -a halfpenny, which, wedged tight in the corner of his trouser's pocket, -kept troubling him like a conscience at times. On his head was a -brimless hat that some friendly cattle-drover had exchanged with him on -Saturday. A tramp had picked up his overcoat and was walking the high -road to London in it; but Barclay o' Far Wrangham still retained the new -waggon-rope that had been one of his early purchases in Hunmouth market -on his arrival; and with this over his shoulder he lurched onward. He -possessed not the faintest idea of destination, but his legs shambled -along with him instinctively, like horses that knew their road. They -took him safely across fields, and over stiles, and along hedges, and -down narrow pathways between standing corn, and through gates--that he -hung over affectionately and went through all the most conscientious -formulae of shutting, and still left open behind him. Somewhere short -of Sproutgreen he perceived a figure coming distantly down the road in -his direction. At a hundred yards away or more he made elaborate -preparations for its greeting; wiped his mouth; let down the waggon-rope -to the ground, trailing it loosely by an end; took his hat off and -reversed it; rubbed the cobwebs from his eyes, and held out an arm like -a sign-post in attitude of friendly surprise. There had been a word in -his mouth, too, for welcome; only it slipped him at the last moment, but -he made an amicable bellowing instead. - -"Bo-o-o-o-oh!" he cried, exploding loosely, like a good-natured cannon, -whose recoil sent him staggering backwards over his legs till it seemed -he meant retiring all the way to Hunmouth. By a gigantic effort, -however, he resisted the backward impetus when it had sent him off the -roadway into the shaggy side-grass, and fell forward on his hands. -"A-a-a-a-ay!" he shouted genially. He was brimming over with foamy -friendship for this dear, familiar stranger. "Noo wi' ye!" and stood up -on all fours at the greeting, like a well-intentioned dog, whose muzzle -was the battered cleft in his hat-brim. - -Thus adjured, the pedestrian drew up with some severity on his aloof -side of the road, and gave Barclay to understand, with a grudging "Noo" -of inquiry, that he had nothing whatever to hope from him on this side -the Jordan. As he had chanced to stop in a line with the dead-centre of -Barclay's hat, Barclay could not immediately discern him, and was filled -indeed with suspicions of treachery. - -"Wheer are ye?" he inquired, after a few moments of futile activity, -making valiant efforts to keep his eyelids lifted. - -"Ah 'm 'ere i' front o' ye," his unknown friend replied, with small show -of favor, regarding this picture of human debasement with scorn. - -"Are ye?" Barclay inquired, somewhat foggily, and pushed himself with -much effort on to his haunches. "Which way div ah want to be?" he asked. - -"Wheer did ye come fro'?" the figure demanded sternly. - -"Eh?" said Barclay. - -"Wheer div ye come fro'? 'Oo are ye? What 's yer name?" - -"Barclay o' Far Wrangham," said Barclay unsteadily, going forward on his -hands again. - -"Ah 've 'eard tell on ye," the figure remarked. "Gan yer ways wi' ye. -Yon 's yer road. Come, be movin'." - -For some moments Barclay rocked silently on his all fours, as though -thinking deeply. - -"Which way div ah want to be?" he commenced again, after awhile, and -there being no immediate response, embraced the opportunity for a little -slumber. - -Having slumbered pleasantly for a space on his hands and knees without -interruption, his head swaying in circles close to the grass as though -he were browsing, he awoke of a sudden, under consciousness that he had -received no response to this question, and working the muzzle of his hat -diligently in all directions about him, found to his surprise that he -was alone. - -The discovery troubled him, first of all, so that he muttered darkly in -his throat like distant thunder. Then the brewing turned to sparkles, -and he laughed deliciously on the grass, rolling over on to his back, -and sprawling with limbs in air as though he were a celestial baby, -brought up from the bottle of pure bliss. Lastly, his mind darkened to -anger, and he rose to all fours, roaring defiance after his departed -enemy. It took him some time to find his hat after this, which had -rolled away from him during his Elysian laughter, but his knee trod on -it at last, and the moments expended in its discovery were doubled in -his efforts to apply it to his head. - -A dozen times he clapped it down, sideways forward, and the same number -it rolled off him, and had to be resought. - -Last of all: "Nay, ah weean't be pestered wi' ye!" he cried indignantly. -"Gen ye can't be'ave yersen proper, an' stay where ye 're put, ye 'll 'a -to gan." - -And "gan" it did, sure enough, into the hedge bottom. - -"Lig [lie] there, ye ill-mannered brute!" he shouted after it, and -filled with righteous wrath, picked up the waggon-rope and staggered to -his feet for departure. - -"Come up wi' ye, ye lazy divvles!" he cried at his legs, that, through -their long inactivity, betrayed a certain tendency to let him down. -"Div ye 'ear? 'Od up [Hold up]. Dom yer eyes ... if ye weean't do -better ah 'll walk o' my knees an' shame ye." - -"Gum! it 's tonnin cold," he decided, after some progress. - -"Ah nivver knowed it ton so cold of a neet this time o' year," he added, -a while later. - -And a short way further up the road: - -"Gum ... bud ah feel it i' my yed [head] strangelins!" he declared, and -putting up an inquisitive hand to learn the cause of it, was blankly -amazed to discover himself hatless. - -"Well! of all ... bud that 's a caution!" he said, and stopped as dead -as his legs would let him. "Well ... it 's no use seekin' after spilt -milk. Noo ah s'll 'a to mek best on it." - -The best of it he made forthwith; and to compensate for this frigidity -of head he put such warmth of pace into his advancement that at -times--with his head a body's length in front of his feet, and his feet -churning in the rear like twin-screws--his progress was considerable. To -have stopped under a road's length would have been to fall as flat as a -pancake. Nothing short of the most gradual arrest could preserve his -equilibrium, and as the easiest solution of the problem was not to stop -at all, he forged ahead till the wind whistled on either side of his -ears. And this constant freshness, combined with the exposed state of -his head, so sobered and revivified him that, by the time he was passing -through familiar Ullbrig, he already knew what houses were which, and -who lived in them; the day of the week; how long he had been absent; and -was commencing, in common with the history of all these nocturnal or -matutinal returns, to see the evil of drink, and speak openly of wine as -a mocker. - -Moodily pursuing this well-trodden path of his conversion, he slammed -his way through the gates, one after another, and passed Dixon's -sleeping farm-stead with a covetous eye upon its moonlit windows. - -"Ay, you 've not slipped fi' pun [five pounds] doon yer belly this -'arvest-time, Jan Dixon," he reflected, as he turned his back to the -scrambling white house, so calm and self-contemplative in the moonlight, -and cut across towards the cliff. All his loquaciousness leaked out of -him now, in sight of the goal which he had been three days aiming at and -missed up to the present, and he tramped along with the impersonal -passivity of a cow being driven to market; untroubled as to fate, and -almost thoughtless. The sea shook the cliff, as he walked, with seismic -shivers, and boomed noisily in his ears; but he 'd known it off and on -now for forty years, and minded it--particularly at such moments as -this--as little as the buzzing of his own eight-day clock. Of a sudden, -however, the sea-surge bore up a sound to him--a small, shrill, -penetrating sound, that pierced his passivity to its vital marrow, and -caused him to throw up his head, with a gaping mouth to all quarters of -the compass about him, for the sound's location. He was sufficiently -sober by this time to realise how very drunk he had been, and in the -desolating flatness of life's Sahara--lacking any pleasant green oases -of illusion--that he was laboriously traversing now, he knew the sound -to have been produced by real, living, human lips; for his own brain was -far too stagnant to create fancies. Therefore he eased the wain-rope to -the ground, and holding up his open mouth to the sky, as though it were -an ear-trumpet, he listened for a repetition of this discordant note in -Nature. - -And again it came: small, faint, embosomed in the roaring surge, but -cutting as a diamond. - -This time he had no doubt. It came from over the cliff, and had the -despairing ring of death and danger in it, that not even returning -prodigals like Barclay can by any means mistake, though they 'd gone -away with twenty pounds in their pockets instead of five. And bellowing -response at the top of his lungs, he ran to the cliff edge. - -"A-a-a-a-ay! 'Ello! Noo wi' ye! What 's amiss?" he cried, and -dropping on hands and knees, thrust his head recklessly over the brink -of it. - -And again the cry rang out from almost straight below him--shriller and -more terribly charged this time with the agony of animated hope. - -"Lord Almighty!" said Barclay; "it 's a lass." - - - - - *CHAPTER XLIII* - - -To this day the tale of that eventful midnight is told in Ullbrig. How -Barclay, returning from Hunmouth market, where he had sold three beasts -and a score of sheep, and drunk the money, heard Pam's last despairing -cries for assistance, beaten out of her by the sea itself. How he ran -to the edge of the cliff, and looked over, and saw the two drenched -figures sticking to the side of it like wet flies against a pudding -basin. How, even while he watched them, the sea boiled up again as -though it were milk, and rose bubbling above where they were, and made -him shut his eyes with a groan for what he might not see when the milk -subsided. How, praise God, they were still there when the water sank -down. How he untackled his waggon-rope, shouting courage to them all the -while, and made a loop to one end, and hitched the other to the adjacent -stile-post, and cast the slip-knot down the cliff. And how, for an age, -while he swore at them from above, the girl would not come up before the -man; and the man would not come up before the girl. And how, owing to -considerations which he did not then know or understand, namely, that -the man was powerless to give any help to his own ascent, and the girl -feared their rescuer might be unable to haul him unaided--the girl -slipped the noose under her shoulders, and struggled and clambered up -the cliff-side while Barclay pulled upon her. And how, almost before -she was on the top, she had detached the securing loop and thrown it -down to the man. And how he had just had time to slip it over his neck -and under his shoulders before the next sea came, cursing and swearing -because of the loss of them, and seethed up three parts of the cliff, so -that the foam of it slashed their faces. And how they felt the rope -first slacken and then go dead heavy in their hands, and knew the man -was off his feet, and would have been swept away but for their hold upon -him. And how they tugged together, the two of them, and how, at certain -intervals of progression, the girl had wound the slack rope round the -post, against all possible danger of slip or relapse. And how, in the -end, the man's face showed above the cliff-brink, and how they had -toiled him over; and how the girl had thrown herself beside him, and -taken him into her arms, and wiped his streaming face, and called upon -him by name, with a hundred solicitations and endearments, and kissed -him. - -Till, in Barclay's own words: "Ah think theer 's one ower monny on us," -he told them. - -And the tale, continuing, recounted how these two, Barclay and the girl, -made a seat with their hands, and bore the man back to Dixon's between -them; and how the man, wringing wet though he was, kept falling asleep -on the shoulders of one or other of them, and telling Barclay he was the -boy for mushrooms, and he 'd eat them now she 'd given him up. And how -they got him home at last, and how Barclay took double handfuls of earth -and flung them up at Dixon's window, and how Dixon put his head out -first of all, and cried: - -"Naay, Barcl'y, man! Naay, naay! Next farm. Ye want to tek more care -i' countin' when ye come 'ome this time o' daay." - -And would n't believe Barclay's reasons for bringing him down, till Pam -joined her voice with his, when he said: "Well! Ah don't know!"--and -the whole household stood on its legs that same moment. - -And then a mighty fire was roused up in the kitchen, out of the grate's -still hot embers, at Miss Bates' blowing, and the blinds were pulled -down carefully by Mrs. Dixon, and all extraneous elements--men, and so -forth--were unceremoniously banished, and Pam, shivering, crimson-eared, -bright-eyed, and hectic--but wildly joyous--let them skin her of her -sodden habiliments as though she had been a drowned rabbit, and was -rubbed dry with coarse kitchen towels till her white, starved body -glowed like a sunset over snow. And Jeff, having been despatched at -Pam's instigation to the cliff, and having run all the way there and all -the way back, thumped lustily against the outer panels of the kitchen -door, and Pam's parcel--looking, oh, so frail and pitiable and -shamefaced in its new surroundings--was drawn in by Mrs. Dixon, and its -contents bestowed, as the circumstances demanded, upon Pam's own body. -And Pam seemed so genuinely overcome with their kindness that all -questions of a controversial nature were by one consent avoided; and not -a word asked--beyond mere details of the rescue--as to the strange -juxtaposition of Pam and her bundle, and Mr. Maurice Ethelbert Wynne, -along the cliff at this time of morning. To such degree, indeed, did -Pam's own tearful, lip-quivering emotion of gratitude play upon her two -ministrants, that they discharged their self-sought duties in a -reflected emotion scarcely less profound than the original; giving the -girl tear for tear, and quiver for quiver. - -And when they had rubbed and towelled her, they dressed her in the same -loving, lavish way, and vied with each other in finding articles from -their own wardrobe which might fit the girl; and when they had finished -with her, they looked upon her completed presentment as proudly as -though they 'd actually made her. - -And while Pam was being in this way taken to pieces and readjusted and -put together again, Barclay and Dixon did the same by the Spawer, -upstairs in his own bedroom; and laid him between the blankets with a -hot-water bottle at his feet, that was fetched from the kitchen; and -Arny harnessed Punch to the spring-cart and drove off for Father Mostyn -and the Doctor--not that Father Mostyn's presence seemed called for on -any urgent or spiritual grounds, but that Pam knew what a slight he -would think had been administered upon his vicarial office, were he to -be left one moment uninformed of such an occurrence as this. - -And until the arrival of the Doctor, Pam's courage and good hope had -never once deserted her. He for whom she would have died gladly twice -over was saved from death; but now there were other vague things to -fear. And as soon as she heard the ominous rattle of the spring-cart's -return, that well-known clear-cut voice of the ecclesiast, and the -sharp, Scotch, businesslike tones of the Doctor--as direct and straight -to their purpose as a macadamised road ... she quailed, and her -fortitude left her. It seemed as though the whole atmosphere were -charged at once with electrical dangers at lightning-point. - -She sat with her face plunged in her hands, by the side of the roaring -kitchen fire, not daring to rise, or move, or go out to meet these awful -newcomers, lest her movement might precipitate the danger. All her -hearing was drawn out from her like wire, insupportably fine, to the -doors of that dread bed-chamber. Sounds near at hand, the roaring of -the fire, the fall of cinders, the subdued babel of downstairs voices, -had no existence for her. Her hearing, as though it had been a -telescope, was aimed above them to some distant star, and missed these -terrestrial obstacles by miles and miles--but every sound from the far -landing, every whisper, every turning of the handle, every creak of the -bedroom floor-boarding, was magnified a hundredfold. To support such -auricular sensitiveness it felt she needed the strength of a hundred -bodies, instead of that poor tortured one. - -But at last, lifting her face from her hands with the blanched cheek of -high tension for the very worst, she heard the tread of general exodus; -the resonant "Ha!" of Father Mostyn, and the Doctor's little -sharp-tongued, Scotch-terrier voice, giving out its reassurance to the -applicants at the staircase foot. - -"Na doot he 's had a narra squeak, an' ah 'm no goin' to say he 's oot -o' the wood yet," she heard him tell them. "His back will have had a -nasty twist, an' there 's some concussion, but there 's naethin' broken, -and no dislocation. Na, na, he 's no sae bad. Shock 's the worrst o' -'t. Dinna mek yerselves onhappy, he 'll mend verra nicely. Oh, he 'll -mend fine!" - -And going on beneath the Doctor's voice like an organ pipe, to support -and sustain and enrich it with ecclesiastical authority, was the voice -of his Reverence. - -"Ha! No doubt about it. Concussion. That 's the mischief. But -nothing broken. No fractures or dislocation. No injury to the clavicle, -or more important still, to the dorsal vertebra. It's purely a case of -shock. Keep him well wrapped up in blankets, get some hot brandy and -water for him, and see that the bottle is n't allowed to grow cold. Ha! -that's the way. Beautiful! beautiful! We 'll soon bring him round -again." - -And the tale, as it is told, goes on to tell how in Dixon's kitchen that -morning--for day was breaking now--Pam made long confession of something -to his Reverence the Vicar. Nobody in Ullbrig knows for sure what that -confession was, except the Doctor, who did not share the Dixons' -delicacy in withdrawing, but sat in Dixon's chair on the other side of -the fire, with his steaming toddy glass--compounded out of the sleeping -man's decanter--and stirred the fire with the poker when it needed it, -and was heard quite plainly to level his voice on such direct -interrogation as: - -"But ye hae not explained ... so-and-so." - -Or, "He may thank his guid stairs ye were there to hear-r-r! But hoo -cam ye by the cliff at midnight?" - -But as Pam would have told him freely anything about her body if illness -had required it, and as she could trust him like Father Mostyn's second -self, it would have been cruelly, distrustfully invidious to divide her -carnal and spiritual confidences on this occasion with so fine a line; -and since the Doctor felt no compunction in their acceptance, Pam felt -quite tranquil in their bestowal. To these two men she told the history -of her past few days, shielding everybody save herself; how she had come -to love the Spawer, and how he had told her of his departure; and how -she had wept on her bed; and how she had feared facing him that morning, -lest she might weep betrayal of herself, and of a love she had no right -to let him see, or trouble him with; and how, while she was trying to -gain time for her terror, he came on her before she was aware; and how -she had plunged the letter into her pocket; and how she had taken it -back with her, not daring to deliver it after that ... and how ... and -how... - -Here, in her desire to screen the guilty partner of her trouble, her -nervous narrative seemed all plucked to pieces. Her words, indeed, were -less for the purpose of telling than for the purpose of stopping their -own lips from asking. - -"... And so ... he said he wanted me ... and he said he loved me.... I -know he loved me, because he 'd told me so before. Only then.... And -after that...." - -But the Doctor, comfortably ensconced in Dixon's fireside chair, with -its red chintz cushion in the small of his back, and half a steaming -tumblerful of toddy inside him, was in no mood to be put off with such -ambiguous verbal impressionism. - -"Stop, stop, stop!" said he, holding up an arrestive toddy-tumbler at -her. "I haena got the sense o' that. What d' ye say happened to the -letter?" - -"Oh ... I cannot ... I cannot," Pam said, the tendons of her narrative -relaxing suddenly as though never could they be brought to bear her over -this part of the history. But in the end, with point-blank questions -from the Doctor, and gentle leading-words from the Vicar, Pam passed -over that rocking bridge of all that had happened--only, every admission -made against the man's interest was coupled with a pleader for his great -love of her. And she imparted to them, with a face glorified, how that, -when nothing seemed sure but death, the Spawer had told her his other -attachment was broken. and had confessed his love of her all the time, -and she had poured out her love of him ... and ... and they knew the -rest. - -"Ay, it 's a very quairr complaint, this love!" the Doctor reflected, -pulling out his pipe, "... an' harrd to diagnose. Ye never can tell. -Ye never can tell. But losh! ah thocht ye were clean gyte when ah -hairrd ye were goin' ta marry yon fellow!" - -But Father Mostyn was n't astonished in the least; waltzed gravely on -his feet with a superior, restrained tightness about the corners of his -mouth, and a far-away sparkle in his keen grey eyes, as of one to whom -revelation is no new thing. - -"Beautiful! beautiful!" he mused, when Pam had finished, and was looking -with a timid, sub-radiant eagerness from one to the other. "There 'll -be a scandal, of course. That 's the proper penalty for not having -confided your trouble into the care of Holy Church." Here the Doctor -made a savage thrust with the poker through the gratebars, and stirred -and stirred up the red coals till they glowed to incandescence. "But -better late than never. Leave it to me. Leave it to me, dear child. -Our spiritual Mother never yet turned away from any supplicant that -sought her with true faith and humility. We 'll do our best for you. -Of course, the business is not so bad as it would be if it had been -unexpected. But fortunately, we 've been prepared for it. No mistaking -the symptoms." - -And the tale, as Ullbrig will tell it to you to this day, goes on to -relate how Pam would not return to the Post Office, but took up her post -as nurse by the Spawer's bedside, and could hardly endure to let a bite -pass her lips thereafter, for her care of him, till he made the mend. - -And that same morning, news traveled to Ullbrig that the schoolmaster -had been found, roaming and raving like a madman, in the neighborhood of -Prestnorth--where a married cousin of his was living--and was in bed now -at her house, with brain fever. Not likely to get better, the rumor -said, but therein it proved false, for a fortnight later he resigned the -mastership of Ullbrig School, and wrote, at the same time, to Miss -Morland, requesting that his effects might be despatched to him by -carrier as soon as she could conveniently find leisure to undertake the -commission. Another letter accompanied it, addressed to Pam in his -clear Board School script. In proclamation it was a penitential -acknowledgment of his sins; in effect it was a cacophonous outburst of -reproach, love, despair, and recriminations. She sorrowed for the man -and his hard lot--for if he had loved her so torturingly it was no fault -of his own, but he had taught her to fear him, and sympathy can never -truly subsist in the same bosom where fear is. - -There were those in Ullbrig at first, as Father Mostyn had predicted, -who, with their sharp tongues, whittled the affair to a fine point of -scandal; those who considered the schoolmaster an ill-used man, and Pam -a conscienceless hussy who had jilted him under circumstances that would -not too well bear the stress of investigation; those who whispered; and -those who nodded their chins with compressed lips of meaning. But they -had the melancholy dissatisfaction of fearing, each one in his own -heart, that these things might not after all be true. Before such a man -as Barclay it would never have been politic to repeat this primitive -creed at any time. A champion of Pam's from the beginning--when he -cried reproof upon them for their uncharitableness towards the child--he -was doubly her champion now; strode up and down over the district like a -mighty sower, spreading seed of her heroism broadcast from both his -hands. And so it came to be that the real history of the girl burst its -early grain of scandal, as though it had been sprouting wheat, and sent -up its produce into the clear blue heaven of truth. To-day, when -Ullbrig tells you of that Monday midnight, it only gathers breath of -proud inflation to breathe how one of its daughters--by name Pam--went -down the cliff for the man she loved, and how Barclay saved them both. - - - - - *CHAPTER XLIV* - - -But for Pam and the Spawer, the true tale of their history only began -after the terrible events that give Pam her place among the heroines of -the district. They used its remembrance as a steel on which to sharpen -the blades of their present bliss, but it was not an inherent part of -their story. That commenced when the horror of this was over; when the -Spawer woke up finally, with a lasting wakefulness, on his bed, and saw -Pam, and smiled. - -Ah! What a beautiful opening chapter that was--full of a golden -tremulousness on the girl's side, as of timid sunlight peeping through -the curtains of a May morning when a great day is in the balance. For -there had crept into the girl's heart while she watched him a strange -little dark bird, that fluttered ... and was still, and fluttered again -... and again was still, gathering its strength and grew, and was -fledged and flew up--almost into the clear skies of her reason, though -not quite--and sang plaintive melodies to her; among others, that the -man she thought of as Maurice had made love to her in his madness; that -he was not free; that he had never loved her; that she was only tending -him back to consciousness for the cruel happiness of finding that his -consciousness on the intellectual side meant unconsciousness on the -emotional; that he would remember nothing of his delirious words, and -that his love had been but the outcome of bodily weakness. Last of all, -she grew to dread his waking for the news it might tell her. When he -stirred ... she closed her eyes momentarily, with swift apprehension of -the worst. When he lay a long while still, she prayed he might wake -promptly and put her out of her misery. - -For it was become a long misery of suspense. All her happiness was laid -aside like fine raiment; she dared not look at it or think of it; her -heart made ready to wear mourning. And oh, the anguish of that moment, -when at last--while her swift blood turned suddenly turbid in her veins, -and the very breath in her lungs curdled thick to suffocation--he came -out of his sleep, and his eyes opened incomprehendingly upon her ... and -she, drawn back in apprehension, with her hands clasped up to her lip -... met his gaze, and knew not how to respond to it. - -And then that glorious burst of certainty when recognition woke in him -wanly and illuminated him like pale glad sunlight, and he struggled to -free his arms of their coverings, and held them out to her ... and she -had gone into them like a dove descending ... and put her own red, moist -lips to his dry ones ... and kissed his lingering soul back to life and -happiness. - -Ah! To have lived that one brief moment, as Pam lived it, was to have -lived a lifetime abundantly. Now indeed that she knew he loved her for -certain, and had had the true sign and seal of it, she was ready to die -forthwith, if need were. It was enough to have held his love once in -her own soul's keeping, as a child treasures the moment's confidence of -some precious breakable vase. Pam was not greedy. She would have been -quite content with no more. - -But Heaven was kinder to this dear terrestrial angel than that, and -filled every moment of her days henceforth with gladnesses as great, and -greater. At times she wanted to get right away from everywhere and -everybody; Heaven seemed to keep her plate replenished with celestial -meats quicker than her soul could consume them. She wanted to dally with -the taste of them, and extract their last nutritive juices of virtue. -But she ... well, she was only human, after all, and said grace, and ate -what was set before her. - -In a way, Pam's prayer was almost of gratitude and rejoicing that her -love had been given to her in this hour of his weakness. While he lay -there, helpless upon his bed, following her mutely with his eyes, the -fact of his belonging to her seemed set forth and glorified to an extent -almost apocalyptic. In image he was a little child, dependent upon her -breasts for subsistence. Every moment furnished her with opportunities -for feeding him with the living love that flowed in her own body. Oh, -truly, truly, he seemed hers when she nourished him thus back to life -with her ceaseless attentions; with caresses; with sudden -fondlings--such as only his helplessness could have made possible; with -a thousand ministrations thoughtful and divine. Her thoughts were -always of him; her every movement showed him plainly as the motive -power. All the love of him that had been gathering in the stillness of -her soul flowed out towards him now in a great psychic stream--as warm -and broad as a beam of sunlight. From her fingers when they touched -him; from her lips when they rested on him; from her attitude when she -turned towards him--flowed this constant current of love, love, love. -Like a very planet was the life of Maurice Ethelbert Wynne in these -days--a luminous orb swimming in pure ether of love. The love of a -true, good woman is great and wonderful, but the love of this girl was -so great and so wonderful that in the strong tide of it the Spawer lay -half incredulous on his bed and blinked. It was no love of laughter; no -love of jingling words; no love of triflings or pretty affectations. It -was a strong, tense, electric current of unselfish feminine devotion -that set the very atmosphere a-quiver. When she came near him he could -almost hear it humming aeolian music, as though he had laid his flat -cheek to a telegraph post. - -And in a way, too, he was glad to be thus helpless on his back, for the -glory of being cradled in such a love, and learning his love all over -again, like an infant its alphabet, from the lips and looks and actions; -the dear, large-hearted ABC Primer of Pam. Her very love of him, -issuing towards him from every pore of her body, fertilised the girl's -own beauty, like the sap in the lush hedgerows at spring. Her soft, -velvet eyes, that had been dark enough and deep enough before, darkened -and deepened for the accommodation of this love till they were beyond -all plumb of mortal gaze. Her lips, that had been red enough and -tender, colored now to a deeper, clearer carmine, with little pools of -love visible lurking in the corners of them; love that stirred and -eddied when she spoke, and settled down again into their ruby hollows -when the lips reposed. Her lashes, that had been black enough, and long -enough, and thick enough, lengthened almost under sight of the man; grew -black as ebony and so thick that when she looked upon him from above, -they lay in unbroken flatness upon her cheek. And her freckles -too--those dear little golden minstrels on the bridge of her nose and -brow--grew more purely golden, till at times almost they gleamed like -minute bright insets of the precious metal itself, and sang love like a -cluster of caged linnets. At whiles, when the Spawer looked at her, -such a proud and tearful tenderness floated into him that had he been -another woman, sure he must have wept. Her confidence in him; her -self-sacrifice; her unceasing devotion; her countless -ministrations--frightened him for what his own conduct must be ever to -repay them. - -"Little woman..." he was moved to tell her, during that first day of his -convalescence, "... do you know ... I think I don't ever want to get out -of bed or on my legs again." - -Pam was plainly alarmed, for it seemed to her he had suddenly caught the -desire of death which comes at times to those whose days are numbered. -But he made haste to reassure her. - -"I just feel..." he explained to her, "... as though I could wish to lie -here, like this, for ever and ever and ever, with you by me to look at -and make me happy. Kiss me again, Pam, will you? It does me good." - -Then Pam stooped over him, as she was always doing, and slipped her -linked fingers under his neck, and looked into his face first, and -kissed him (praying for him the while, though he did not know that), and -buried her face by his, and lifted it to look at him once more, and -kissed him again. For who was there now to lay a forbidding hand -between their lips? Who should stop her now from telling him she loved -him, loved him, loved him? - - - - - *CHAPTER XLV* - - -And rapidly the Spawer drew back, from its intricate shadowy by-paths, -to the great broad highway of Life. - -How it would have fared with him but for that revitalising power of -love, if there had been no Pam to cling to and sustain him, no man can -positively say. The lonely Maurice Ethelbert Wynne of our latter -chapters, void of hope or happiness or aim, might have turned up his -hands and sunk under the deep sea without a struggle. But Pam was hands -and eyes, and feet and lips, and thinker for them both. - -Emma Morland brought the letters round in these early days, but Pam -opened them, at the Spawer's express bidding, and read them to him aloud -in her musical fluty voice--the voice that had won her a place in his -heart before even he had set eyes upon her. And as she read, the -Spawer, sitting in the big chair by the open sunlit window, with -cushions under him of Pam's placing, would explain to her the various -allusions; let her into his life; throw open all its gateways to the -girl. In the inmost shelter of his soul he felt as though he needed the -comfort of Pam's companionship. - -"Nixey" stood for So-and-So, he would explain to her; and "Jack" was the -brother of So-and-So--the fellow that did this and that and the other -that he 'd told her about, did n't she remember? - -And did n't Pam remember? Oh, my Heaven! Pam remembered. Not a word -he ever said to her that she forgot. - -Then, if there were any letters to answer, Pam would seat herself at the -table, with his writing-case thrown open, and dip deft fingers here, for -envelopes; and deft fingers there, for paper; and draw forth the pen, -and wield it as though armed for the fray; and would spear the ink-pot -with it, and wait upon his words with a persuasive "Yes, dear?" - -And the Spawer would make prodigious pretensions of thinking, and not a -word come to him sometimes, because of the girl's face. His mind held -up its thought as an obstinate cow does milk, and never a drop could he -squeeze from it. All he could think of was Pam. - -"Oh, bother the letters!" he would tell her. "They stop my thinking -about you. Why must I pawn my attention to a horrid old business screed -when I want never to take it from you?" - -"Don't you?" says Pam gladly, and melts over him with her smile, -wrapping him up in such a heavenly mantle of indulgence and love and -devotion that he almost feels himself among the saints. - -And oh! the joyousness of that return to the outer life, when Pam led -the Spawer out at last, she carrying a cushion and a little net-bag of -literary food (a French reader and the like); and they betook themselves -to the harvest-field, and sat down under the blue sky in the stubble, -with their backs against the golden stocks, and watched the elevated -figure of Arny riding over the sea of waving corn, like another Neptune, -turning off the wheat from the tip with rhythmic sweeps of his trident; -his eyes steadfast upon the tumbling crest of corn beside him; and they -contemplated the busy shirt-sleeves of the band-makers, pulling out -their two thin wisps of straw from the recumbent "shawves," splicing -them dexterously, and twisting them--across their chests and under their -arm-pits, till their arms flap like the wings of a crowing rooster--into -a stout-stranded band, that they lay out in the stubble alongside the -flat heaps of fallen grain; and they watched the harvestmen following, -who rake up the loose corn into a round bundle against the flat of their -leg, walk with it, so clipped, to the ready-made band, depose it there, -stoop, gather the two ends of the band in their strong hands, squeeze -the sheaf in with the knee, bind it, make a securing tuck with the -straw, and taking up the trim-waisted shock by its plaited girdle, cast -it aside out of the path of the reaper on its next round. - -And then, when "lowance" time was proclaimed, this stock where Maurice -and his Pamela were seated would be made the headquarters of the repast. -Here would come the welcome brown basket, and the carpet bag with its -bottlenecks protruding; the blue mugs and the tin pannikins; the cheese -and the bread; the pasties and the sweet cakes; the tea and the beer. -And here would come Dixon's genial voice, greeting them from afar: - -"Noo then, Mr. Wynne! 'Ow div ye fin' yersen ti morn? Very -comfortable, bi t' looks of ye. Ye 're in good 'ands, it seems." - - -And when the Spawer grows equal to it, it becomes a daily obligation for -them to wander across the intervening stubble and pasture to Barclay's -farm--where the sails of his reaper can be seen churning the blue sky -above the hedge level, like the paddle of a steamer--just to give -Barclay's stocks a turn, and show themselves not forgetful of their -deliverer. The time comes, of course, when they must cease thanking him -with their lips, but Pam's mere gaze upon him is a gratitude, and -Barclay would have missed it, if she failed him one day, as he would -miss his pipe or his "lowance." - -"Ah," said he, on a certain occasion, looking over with a manifest nice -eye of critical observation, and finding no fault, "If ah 'd 'ad a lass -like you to tek me at start, ah mud 'a been a better man, an' a richer." - -"But there are others," Pam told him encouragingly, "... besides me." - -"Ay," Barclay cut in, with a grim humor. "There is. Ower monny, lass. -Bud they 'd 'ave to be good uns after ah 've 'ad you to sample. Ah -would n't tek onny rubbish noo, an' it 'd 'ave to be rubbishin' stuff -'at 'd tek me. Ah 'm ower well known 'ereabouts. 'Appen ah mud get -chance wi' next farm if ah change." - -But the seed of resolution germinated in Pam's breast, and some days -later, getting Barclay to herself, it pushed its pure blades through the -warm soil all suddenly. - -"... Oh, Mr. Barclay," she begged him, going close under his broad -chest, and showing the peeping hands of petition. "You won't be angry -with me ... please?" - -"Nay, that ah weean't," Barclay protested staunchly. "Oot wi' it! What -'ave ah been doin' noo?" - -"I want to ask you something," Pam continued, a little more softly, and -a little more rapidly. "... Something very particular. I want you to -promise something." - -"Ay," said Barclay assentively. "Ah can promise ye, lass. Ah can -promise onnybody, so far as that gans. But it's keepin' of it 'at's not -i' mah line." - -"If you promise _me_ ... you 'll keep it," Pam insinuated very softly, -but with an almost irresistible forcefulness. - -"Ah 'm none so sure," Barclay reflected. "Ah know what ye want to ask -me." - -"What?" said Pam. - -"Ye want to ask me to gie it up." - -"Yes," said Pam, after a pause, "I do." - -"Ah 've tried ... lots o' times," Barclay admitted. - -"But not for _me_!" Pam urged. "Not for the sake of anybody. Oh, Mr. -Barclay ... you don't know how unhappy I 've been at times about you, of -late ... to think that you 've saved my life--and his life--and put this -happiness in our way ... and all the time you 're not taking any care of -your own life ... at all." - -"Why, lass," Barclay told her, but visibly troubled about the eyes by -her solicitude. "Ah 'm sorry ye 've let me be a trouble to ye. Ah 've -been nowt bud trouble to missen an' ivverybody. But where would ye be? -... an 'im too, if ah 'd kep' pledge sin' last time ah signed 'er? Eh?" - -"I know; I know," Pam admitted. "I 've thought of that, too." - -"Ay," Barclay took up, pleased with her admission. "It's a caution when -ye come to think on it. If ah 'ad n't been mekkin' a swill-tub o' -missen, an' walked back when ah did--it 'd 'a been good-by to ye, an' -long live teetawtallers. It just seems as though Lord 'ad called me to -Oommuth for t' puppos--though ah did n't know it at time. An' 'ow am ah -to know, if 'E calls o' me ageenn, same road ... 'at 'E 'as n't seummut -else 'E 's wantin' doin'? Eh noo?" - -"Perhaps..." Pam suggested pleadingly, "... perhaps it was n't God that -called you, Mr. Barclay ... but it was God that sent you back. Don't -you think it might be that?" - -"Noo, ah sewd n't wonder," Barclay decided, with obvious admiration for -the girl's ingenuity. "But it 'll be a rum un for me to know which way -'E wants me to gan ... or which end 'E 's at." - -"... And you 'll promise me, won't you?" Pam besought him, and took hold -of his watch-chain. "You 'll promise me to fight your very best ... for -my sake." - -"Ay," said Barclay, after a pause. "Ah can bud try." - -"You 'll try hard, though?" Pam adjured him--finding too much fatalism -in the tone of his promise for her satisfaction. - -"No.... when ah say ah 'll try, ah mean ah 'll try!" Barclay reassured -her. "Ah s'll try my very best for t' sake of 'oo asked me." - - -And Father Mostyn and the Doctor are constant attendants upon the -Spawer's recovery too, and stay for meals whenever they want them; and -tell him when the whiskey flask is running low. - - -And it comes to be decided that their marriage shall not take place for -a year. And meanwhile the Spawer is going to stay where he is; and Pam -is to push on with her music, and her French, and with her English, and -fill her dear little head with the intellectual fare for which it has -always hungered. And she is to do no more letter-carrying. Father -Mostyn has inhibited her from that with an _ex cathedra_ usage of the -great signet. To remain at the Post Office in an official capacity in -face of present circumstances would be an act of rebellion towards the -Church, and exceedingly offensive to Jehovah. As the girl's spiritual -and corporeal guardian, he charges himself with her care until she can -be decently and respectably married. And they will go, all three of -them, to Hunmouth at times, by Tankard's 'bus (oh, bliss! oh, heavenly -rapture!) for purposes of shopping ... and the sheer pleasure of it. - -And the Spawer talks seriously of coming back to Ullbrig after the -honeymoon, and fitting up a little place for their own two selves, where -they can be near Father Mostyn, and all their old friends; and where he -can work earnestly, and without distractions; and where they can escape -all the jealousies and soul-corrupting ambitions of towns and places -where they "live." - -"Oh, little woman!" he tells Pam, "I can't bear to think of your giving -up your own dear self, and letting your soul be shaped to the -conventional pattern of the world. I want you to be what you are--and -for what I love you. You shall see all the big places, of course, dear. -We 'll save up our coppers and manage that somehow. But let 's see 'em -from the outside. Let 's go and look at them through glass windows, as -though they were so many great shops, and come back to our own humble -happy life, and break bread and be thankful. The world for us, dear, is -just our two selves. We 're two little human hemispheres that go to -make our one globe, and if we 're only happy in ourselves ... why, let -the other planets go hang! Because you love me I just feel I don't care -how many people hate me. They can hate their heads off. They can cry -'pish' to my music. They can turn aside their faces when I go by, as -though I were a pestilence. What I do I want to do now for you. I feel -I would rather write a little song that pleases you, love, than compose -a Beethoven symphony for the world to bow to. And why? Because, -dearest, I know that the world is as ready to kick me as to bestow one -ha'porth of its kindness ... but You! All the pleasure I can give to -you ... is just an investment, which you can pay back to me in love at a -thousand per cent." - -"Is n't it funny?" says Pam, though without showing the least -appreciation of the avowed humor, "... what love is. I 've thought the -same as you, too, but not put so beautifully. I just want us to try and -be like what we are now, in our hearts, as long as we live. At times -(do you?) I like to think of you as belonging to me ... as though you -were every bit mine. And at other times ... I feel frightened of having -you. The responsibility seems somehow too great. And then I just think -of myself as belonging to you. And all I want ... is to creep into your -heart, dear, and for you to shelter me. Oh, Maurice! To think. Six -months ago ... three months ago ... I had no thought of you, or you of -me! And we might never have met each other; never have loved each -other! Is n't it dreadful?" - -"What the eye does n't see, darling!" Maurice tells her, "... the heart -does n't grieve. What we never know we never miss. But now we 're -going to make up for what might have been, are n't we?" - -Pam says yes, they are. "And oh," she says, "if you had n't found me -you might have found somebody else, Morrie dear, do you think it -possible that I may be standing in the way of somebody you don't know at -all ... that you might love better?" - -"Very likely you are, dear!" Maurice says, acting Job's comforter. "But -anyway, I 'm ready to risk you, and take my chance of what may be for -what is." - -And this time Pam is ready to risk it too, and does not tell the Spawer, -as once she told Ginger: - -"There must be no chance in love!" - - - - - *CHAPTER XLVI* - - -One bright morning in late September, when the sky dreamed as blue as -June, and the sun shone August, a stranger passed through into the -churchyard by the lich gate, and his Reverence the Vicar, having -received telepathic intimation of his presence, along one or other of -the invisible slender filaments that connect the Vicarage with the -churchyard, emerged shortly from his retreat, like a fine full-bodied -spider, and captured his prize by the side wicket, with a "Ha!" of -agreeable greeting. - -"A stranger within our gates!" he observed, in courteous surprise, -rocking to and fro upon his legs in the pathway, and balancing the ebony -staff across both palms, as though he were weighing theological -propositions. He encompassed the sky with a comprehensive circle of -ferrule, and thrusting up a rapt nose to appreciation of its beneficent -blue, "You bring glorious weather!" he said. - -The stranger acknowledged with marked politeness that the weather was as -his Reverence had been pleased to state. He was an elderly man, soberly -habited in black, and a compression of mouth that seemed to betoken one -whose office exacted of him either deference or discretion, or perhaps -both. - -"A pilgrim to the old heathen centre of Ullbrig?" his Reverence -inquired. "... An antiquarian at all? A connoisseur of tablets? or a -rubber of brasses?--in which case we 've nothing to show you." - -The stranger said he was not exactly any of these things. - -"Ha! ... an epitaph hunter, perhaps?" his Reverence substituted -agreeably, as though desirous of setting him at ease. - -Nor scarcely an epitaph hunter ... in the precise sense of the word, the -stranger disclaimed. He scanned Father Mostyn sideways with a -deferential regard of inquiry. "The Vicar, I presume?" he said. - -His Reverence acknowledged the appellation by inclining leniently -towards it. - -"I thought ... I could not be mistaken," the stranger told him. "As a -matter of fact ... I had intended taking the liberty of troubling you -with a call, after giving a glance round the gravestones here. It is -possible, if you would be so kind, that you might be of considerable -assistance to ... to me in a matter of some importance." - -Father Mostyn wagged the divining rod sagely over his palms. - -"A question of the register? Births? Deaths? Marriages? A pedigree in -the issue, perhaps?" - -"To a certain extent, sir, you are quite correct." The stranger -compressed his mouth for a moment. "I may as well be explicit on the -point. Indeed, there is no reason, sir, why any particular secrecy -should be maintained. I am here to pursue investigations on behalf of -Messrs. Smettering, Keelman & Drabwell, solicitors, of Lincoln's Inn, -who are acting according to instructions received from a client of some -importance. Our object is merely to trace and establish connection with -a member of our client's family--considerably to this member's -advantage, I may assure you." - -His Reverence looked speculatively over the stick as though the last few -sentences had escaped his precise observation, and he were trying now to -reclaim the import of them. - -"... A military family at all?" he inquired. - -The stranger eyed him with respectful surprise and dubiety for a moment. - -"... An old family of importance," he admitted slowly. "I should say it -might be called a military family." Then he stopped. "Perhaps..." said -he, and looked at his Reverence. - -"Ha!" said his Reverence blandly. "And the present client? An army -man, is he?" - -"The son of one, I believe, sir." - -"To be sure. Precisely. The son of one. Beautiful! beautiful! One or -two fat benefices in the family, do you know?" - -"I rather fancy ... there is one attached to the estate. There may be -more, for anything to my knowledge." The stranger followed the lead -with the resignation of one who plays void of trumps. "If you know -anything..." he hazarded. - -His Reverence stroked a gorgeous nose of wisdom. - -"No mistaking the symptoms. Not a bit of it. Your client seeks -recovery of a daughter?" - -The stranger demonstrated as much surprise as his discretion and his -respectfulness would let him. - -"You can inform us ... where she is?" - -"Certainly! certainly! We have been expecting you. I thought you would -n't be long in reaching us now. To-morrow ... or Thursday, I thought." -His Reverence cast a fine finger of effect towards the white headstone, -rising from the grass, beneath the east window. "She is there." - -"Dead?" said the stranger. - -"Your client is just a little matter of thirteen years too late." - -"Her married name was Searle?" said the stranger, as though offering the -fact for the priest's verification. - -"To be sure. On the gravestone. On the gravestone. 'Sacred to the -memory of Mary Pamela Searle.' And her father's name, of course, -was..." - -"... Paunceforth, since you know it, sir, ... of Briskham Park, -Hampshire." - -"He will be getting an old man," said his Reverence. - -"Seventy-four ... or five," the stranger responded, "... and very -feeble. He has had one seizure already, and is anxious to make amends, -before he dies, for an act of early severity. At one stage of the -proceedings there was a child involved. A daughter. Is she still -living? If you can give me any information likely to lead to her -recovery, I may tell you that expense will be no object at all. No -stone is to be left unturned, by our client's instructions, to trace -matters to their final step. And I may add that ... as this is now the -last surviving branch of our client's family ... and he is a gentleman -of considerable wealth..." - -"Exactly," said his Reverence. "I think it will not be difficult to -conclude matters to your client's entire satisfaction. His -granddaughter has been, and still is, under my safe care.... Just come -along with me as far as the Vicarage. There are a few things there in -my possession. ... Beautiful! beautiful! Quite an Indian summer we 're -having." - -And that same day, before dinner, the news is racing all over Ullbrig -that Pam's grandfather had sought for her and found her; and that she is -to be a real lady at last, and ride horses, and drive carriages, and -order servants of her own, and live in a great big house in a great big -park, where deer are grazing and peacocks stalk the terraces, and will -never come back to Ullbrig any more, but give them all the go-by now, -and set her nose up higher than ever; and the Spawer is only marrying -her for her money. - -Steggison says to himself with a Satanic joy: - -"Noo all s'll get a chance at post-bag. She promised me ah sewd 'ave -fost try at it if owt 'appened 'er. Mah wod! Bud ah 'll gie 'em James -Maskell an' all. They 'll 'a t' run when ah call of 'em--ne'er mind if -they weean't!" - -And James Maskill stands forlornly with his back propped against the -post-house bricks, and a heel hitched up to the wall beneath him, and -his hands in his pockets, and his mouth screwed to a spiritless whistle -that can't produce the ghost of a sound; staring at nothing, and -thinking of nothing; and feeling nothing--for life in front of him is -nothing now, and he would n't have the heart to fetch Dingwall Jackson -his promised bat across the lug, even if you caught him and held his -head up for the purpose. - -And Emma Morland is bursting with pride, and weeping with the misery of -losing Pam--for this fashionable interment of Pam in the classic vaults -of High Society fills her with a more terrible sense of their severance -than a little green grave in Ullbrig churchyard. - -And the postmaster makes an impressive chief mourner, standing by the -counter with set face and lowered eyes as though it were a coffin, and -telling his daughter, when she comes hither to embarrass him with her -demonstrations of grief: - -"It 's all for t' best, lass no doot. We s'll larn to get ower it i' -time." - -And Mrs. Morland, her mingled gladness and sorrow commingling to -reminiscence, tells, through fond tears, how Pam did this, and Pam did -that; and how she 'd always thought of others before herself; and what a -strange sad house it would be without her--and wept herself into -perspirations, and wiped her tears and her steaming forehead with large -double sweeps of her apron. And Ginger went off his food again--for -though she 'd never been his, at each new name with which hers was -coupled, he felt once more as though he 'd just lost her. - -And Pam went dancing up to Cliff Wrangham that day, hugging his -Reverence's arm--as sad as any of them, and so joyful that it seemed not -earth she trod on, but the big round prismatic blown bubble of a dream, -shivering warningly, all ready to puff into nothing and let her down -into nowhere. And when they came to Dixon's, Pam went into the little -parlor, and looked at the Spawer, and said, "Oh, Morrie!" in a doleful -voice of preparation. For, to tell the truth, though she was come here -intended to play a little comedy on him, with a triumphant _denouement_, -her own conviction in things actual (including, for the time, their own -happiness) had been so surprisingly shaken that, despite her errand's -being presumably of gladness, she looked, as she looked at him, for all -the world as though she had seen a ghost. - -"Good gracious, darling!" said the Spawer, in concern, when he saw her. -"Whatever 's been happening now?" - -"Oh, Maurice!" said Pam again, trying hard to win back assurance that he -and she were not two mere unsubstantial figments of somebody else's -dream, but flesh and blood, and dear and bend to each other. "I 've -something to tell you, dear--I mean, to ask you, dear. Do you love me?" - -"Do I love you?" repeats the Spawer, with a look of incredulous -surprise, and a tinge, in his tones, of severity. "What a remarkable -question to ask a man--and at such short notice! Really, Miss Searle -... I must confess you surprise me." - -"Oh, but do you, do you?" begs Pam. - -"Well, it 's dreadfully, horribly sudden," says Maurice. "And you put me -quite in a flutter. But since you 're rather an attractive girl ... -well, yes, I do." - -"Oh, but suppose ... suppose..." says Pam, going on.... - -"Yes, little riddle-me-ree?" - -"Suppose ... suppose I was n't what you 've always thought me. Suppose -it were found that ... I was n't a lady at all. Suppose I was somebody -altogether different from what Father Mostyn said I was." - -Sundry speculative shadows rise up in the Spawer's mind, but he is not -dismayed, and feels no flinching. - -"Well?" says he encouragingly. "And suppose you were?" - -"Would it make no difference?" Pam asks tremulously, it must be -confessed, for oh ... if now it should! - -"Darling," says the Spawer firmly, "not the least little bit." - -Pam wants then and there to clasp his avowal and proclaim her mission. -Her soul has scarcely strength for further dissimulation, but for the -full crop of joy that she hopes to reap in the end, she keeps her hand -to the plough. - -"Would you want to marry me ... just the same?" she asks. - -"More!" says Maurice Ethelbert. "A hundred times more." - -"Why more?" Pam inquires vaguely; her curiosity suddenly fanned to seek -the reason of this strange great increase in his affection for her. - -"Because," the Spawer tells her, "the less you are to the world, dear, -the more you must be to me. The less claim the world can make upon you, -the more I feel I 've got you all to myself." - -"You would still marry me, under any conditions?" persists Pam. - -"Under any and all." - -"And you won't let me go?" - -"I won't let you go." - -"Whatever people say?" - -"Whatever people say." - -"You 'll hold me as tight ... as you held me when we thought we were -going to die ... that night." - -"Tighter, darling, tighter." - -"Even if..." - -"If what?" - -"... I should turn out ... just a bit of a lady, after all, dear?" - -The Spawer is going to answer, but he stops suddenly, lifts up the -girl's face, and looks straight into her eyes. - -"Pam!" says he. - - - - THE END - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POST-GIRL *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/49856 - -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. -Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this -license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg(tm) -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg(tm) concept and -trademark. 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